The Joker's War

Chapter One

The constant sway of the bus tosses me between the window and my seatmate. The letter from my mother is wrinkled from folding and unfolding the sheet of paper. I flatten the paper against my lap and attempt to straighten out the folds and salvage the message. The graphite transfers to my palms as I run my hands over the page again and again.

Don't worry, I'll see you tonight.

-Mom and Rhys

I take a deep breath, letting her words bring me some comfort. I tuck the letter into my purse for safe keeping, and look up. I make eye-contact with a bald, black man and offer him a small smile. He returns my gesture and lifts his hand to wave, but my smile quickly falters once I see his red wristband. I look down just as quickly as I had looked up as he make his way to the back of the bus, his shoulders slumped and his once kind smile, absent.

The lanky man next to me scoffs. "Those filthy Jokers shouldn't even be allowed to use the bus. We've given them far too much already." A part of me can't believe that he had the nerve to say such a thing out loud, but I can't help but nod in agreement. With the threats they have posed against our society in previous years, threatening to overthrow it, and almost succeeding. They shouldn't even be able to be on these buses after the very real threats that were to put explosives in them last year, but the Diamonds insisted they didn't have the means to become a threat. Rumor has it, they have their own arsenal, where they got the supplies for such devices is a mystery. 

The bus lurches forward and I clutch the seat in front of me to keep myself from slamming into the leather of the seat opposite of me. I keep reciting what could possibly be the last kind thing my mother ever says to me as we pull into the drop off lane of my school. I wipe the graphite on my hands off on my slacks and scoot past the man who sat next to me. I hear the whirring of the engine as I descend the stairs and the doors come to a close. The bus glides forward, on its way to the next stop in town. 

I walk silently to my first class: History.

Once again, I find myself staring at my mother's written words and can't help but wonder if finding a note on my refrigerator will be the last interaction I ever have with my family. After today, I may be too embarrassed to come home. After today, I may not be allowed to come home. My eyes begin to moisten as I imagine my life without my mother or my baby brother. "Come on, Xan, you need to calm down. I can see your eyebrows furrowing from here!" My eyes shoot up to the direction of the booming, but still young voice. My tense shoulders relax and I smile when I realize who has called to me. His long, lanky leg help him get from the classroom door to the back of the room in just a few strides.

"Hello," I tell him. "How are you?" 

He tosses his book bag onto the floor beside his chair and takes his seat. He leans onto the back two legs of the chair, threatening to tip it over. I roll my eyes, like I always have when Ezra tempts harm to himself. "Well, clearly, I'm doing better than you are. Is that sweat?" He asks me, swiping his index finger across my forehead and rubbing my 'sweat' off onto my pants. I chuckle, but his smile fades. "You're nervous, aren't you?"

"Try terrified." I sigh.

"What do you have to be worried about? You can only do your best. You're such a hard worker, and they would be stupid to try and place you somewhere to where you wouldn't be able to contribute. That's just silly, innit?" His jab at my dedication makes me chuckle, and he laughs along with me. "Come on now," he continues more seriously than before, "you're an ideal candidate for any of the suits. I'd bet my entire bank account the classes are already fighting over you."

I shake my head, normally that would be a kind statement, but Ezra hasn't worked a day in his life. The only way he would have even a cent in his bank account would be if his parents were kind enough to give him a portion of what they have, but he and I both know that would never happen, but I guess it's the thought that counts.