Playing With Fire

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The engine of my beautiful baby roars to a stop in the student parking lot, drawing looks of admiration from the male population. Dad and I had been restoring Lucy, my gunmetal gray '67 Mustang Shelby Fastback, since I was ten. She was well worth the wait. Not that she doesn't have her little quirks, like the fact that the emergency brake is held up with safety wire, but for the most part, she's perfect. For a long time I thought we were fixing her up for my dad, but then, for my sixteenth birthday he'd handed me the keys and orders to Cherry Point.

I didn't know which I was happier about.

Looking out at the faces of strangers slowly gathering for a peek at the new girl, I take a deep breath, pat Lucy gently on the dash, and scoop my bag from the passenger seat.

With my chin held high, I stepped out of the car and into the harsh light of the North Carolina sun and head for the door.

I'm still standing in line in the office when the first bell rings. There are two other new kids in front of me, an attractive senior boy transferring in from somewhere abroad, and a freshman girl from somewhere near Texas if I've heard her accent correctly. By the time the elderly secretary gets to me, first period is well underway. Super. Nothing says inconspicuous like bursting in during the middle of class.

I get my schedule and map and head off to first period. I find the correct door, do a quick double check of my schedule and stuff the paper into my back pocket, opening the door as quietly as possible. Instantly all eyes swing my direction. Walking in, trying my best to look more comfortable than I feel, I hand my note to the teacher, Mr. Walker.

"Class, we have a new student," he announces as my stomach sinks into my shoes. Of course he's going to be one of those teachers who makes a big deal about it. I shift my backpack onto my other shoulder and struggle to keep my chin up as he announces me. Best not to show any weakness. Teenagers, like sharks, can smell blood in the water.

"This is Farris Barnett. I trust you will all make her feel welcome."

There are a few mutterings from the back, but I can't make anything out. He makes a note on a clipboard on his desk and waves his hand in my direction.

"Why don't you tell us a little about yourself, Farris?" he says absently, lowering himself into his creaking chair.

I glance to my right, at the open windows. Maybe I can make a break for it. A fall from a second-story window couldn't possibly be more painful than this, I reason. But I'd probably end up in one of those full-body casts and be tortured by an unreachable itch for three weeks. The teacher clears his throat impatiently. Ah, the hell with it.

"Right. I'm Farris. I spend my spare time trying to calculate the air speed velocity of the European swallow. My life's ambition is to develop some sort of freeze ray, and I'm a firm believer that at some point, the world will be taken over by zombies."

Chirp, chirp, chirp. Either no one gets it, which wouldn't surprise me, or no one cares, which also wouldn't surprise me. To my left someone snickers, but I'm too busy glancing longingly at the windows to notice who it is.

Traction is looking pretty good right now.

"Yes, well, welcome to Cherry Point High. Please take a seat in the back there." The teacher points to an empty desk in the farthest row before launching into a forty-five-minute lecture on the infrastructure of post-Julius Caesar Rome. At some point I stop taking notes on my tablet and just allow myself to zone out, scrolling through the local news instead. When the bell finally rings I practically leap from my seat, gather my crap, and headed for my next class.