Through the Break in Her Hair

Chapter 7

Ben got sent home that day, still shaking and muttering to himself about being burned, but he came back the next morning, reeking of incense. His mother must have scrubbed it into his pores, stuffed it into his sheets, and pillowcases from the smell of the poor kid. It was no wonder every teenager in the building gave him a very wide girth, circling around him like vultures instead of passing by him normally.

I think that even the teachers were on high alert, not just because of his new aroma, but because they were all waiting for him to have another meltdown. Thankfully, he didn't. Ben just acted like the previous day never happened, and not a single person dared to approach him about it either, even though they didn't skip a word the moment he turned his back to them.

As much as I would have liked to plot my revenge against Ben, or at least crack a few jokes about his "episode," I just kept my head low. I hadn't spoken to him all day. I even chose to sit at the outskirts of the trough, making sure that I was hidden behind several boisterous groups of girls. But camouflaging myself was more difficult than I thought it would be.

Most of the kids in the school recognized me by the fact that I was always with Ben, and now that he was the center of everybody's attention...so was I. Which, as you well know, was not my favorite place to be. Hence the reason I was trying to hide, and failing.

"Hey, you're friends with that crazy kid, right?" a girl, five or more seats down from me said.

I glared at her out of the corner of my eye, barely moving my face in her direction. If I didn't answer her, she would only say it louder, and bring down more curious glances. That was the very last thing I wanted. Maybe that was an over exaggeration. The very last thing I wanted was a bullet in the head, but being the center of attention was a very close second.

"His name is Ben," I said in a low voice, hunkering over my lunch.

My appetite had disappeared somewhere around, oh, I don't know, the third drippy bite of Salisbury steak. The sickly grey sauce started congealing the moment the trough slopper piled it onto my plate. Ten minutes later, it was all one big salty pile of mystery meat en glace. Not at all appetizing, and that was if you had an iron stomach. My poor lactose intolerant digestive system would be in an uproar for the entire afternoon if I ate even one drop more of that crap.

"So...you're Josh then?" the girl said, interrupting my favorite pastime of-fork the food around your plate so it looks like you're attempting to eating it.

"No," I corrected, my gaze flitting to the corner of my eyes.

"Oh!" she tipped her head back, opening her mouth wide. "You're Johnny Hawthorne then? I've heard a lot about you."

My neck snapped in her direction. Who was this girl and who had she been speaking to? My eyes roamed her face trying to make a connection, but I didn't know her. I doubted if I ever saw her before then.

There was something about her, though. Something about the look in her eyes that reminded me of someone else. I couldn't pin it right then, but I knew it would come to me, eventually.

"What have you heard about me?" I asked. My tongue whittled my words down to a sharp sword that would cut even the thickest of skins, and I locked eyes with the girl. Somehow, she was impervious.

Her mouth hitched up in a smile, and she flicked back her thick hair, letting it fall down her spine. "A girl I know talks about you a lot. She thinks you're cute." Her smile turned into a mocking smirk, taunting me.

I didn't bother asking her who the girl was. A small clip of a vision warned me that she wouldn't budge when it came to name dropping. In my head, I watched her pull an invisible zipper across her mouth, lock it, and toss the key away.