Safe Hands

37. Belonging

Grayson got out of History class, walking the noisy hall, but he didn't fail to catch the whispers. They all spoke about his encounter with Miles. Miles was a senior, and Grayson brought him down without a second thought. Some students even went further to assert that the seniors were scared of him. Grayson hated the talk. It was becoming like his old school, choking. The talks that never ended and the constant rumors that grew out of control. He desperately wanted to retreat to the attic, where he could go unnoticed for hours. Not because he wanted to hide from trouble, but because he felt safe and sane. There, his mind could spin freely, and even there, he had a memory of his mother, so it felt like she was beside him in the silence, as she usually was.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he flinched before turning around swiftly, ready to counter whatever attacked. Julian's blue eyes gazed into his.

"Chill, you've got that flinching trauma," he stated.

Grayson rolled his eyes. "Don't touch me if you don't want to get your nose busted one of these days."

Julian glared lightly, then he raised his hand rapidly, and Grayson flinched. "See?" he said as he placed his hand on Grayson's locker. "I was just reaching for the door, but you flinched. It's confirmed you've got flinching trauma."

Grayson burned a glare into his forehead. "That's stupid," he stated as he slammed his locker shut, causing a few students passing by to look his way.

"No, it is not," Julian argued. "You've got flinching trauma."

Grayson turned on his heels, leaving Julian behind. The boy ran after him. "Don't walk out on me," he whined.

Grayson rolled his eyes at his drama. Finally catching up to him, Julian started again. "Your name is on many lips. And you're really messing with the wrong guy. I know you're a troublemaker, but don't mess with the seniors. You attack one of them, you attack them all. You will be a senior next year, so you can start then, not now," he advised.

Grayson dipped his hands in his trouser pockets. "I don't care. He should have kept his nasty tongue to himself."

Julian sighed. "Seriously, Gray, you could get badly hurt. They did it to Steven last year. It was very humiliating. He was even asked to eat off the floor and clean the seniors' shoes. There were seven of them. Poor Steven switched schools in the second week."

Grayson paused. "I'm not Steven."

Julian huffed. "You're very stubborn! I'm just trying to look out for you."

Grayson rolled his eyes. "You need to look out for yourself first."

Julian glared. Grayson resumed his steps, leaving the boy behind. "Jerk!" he heard Julian say.

"You owe me one," Grayson called out as he continued taking a turn.

Fortunately, he didn't have any detention, so he devised a better plan. He had thought for a long time about the neighborhood bullies. One of them attended Marvin and was a senior—a golden opportunity.

Grayson pulled out a USB key from his pocket as he got out on the court. The wind immediately rushed through his hair and clothes. From a distance, he spotted Jerry, the teen he had pepper-sprayed. Jerry was taller and somewhat muscular. The color of his face told the dark truth behind his behavior—he was on drugs, no doubt. His sagging shoulders and rugged laugh, even the tattoo on his neck, spoke volumes.

Jerry was surrounded by four other boys around his age, looking like they belonged to the same group. They all shared a cigarette as they spoke and laughed.

Grayson reached into his pocket to feel the cold metal of a penknife as he approached them. Jerry was the first to spot him, so he hopped down from the fence, his eyes narrowing at Grayson.