Born Wicked

III

No one wants to be the guy who goes against the crowd. They don't all hate me or anything, but the looks I get if I get them are either filled with censure and dislike, or pity. I'm not sure which is worse sometimes. The open hostility sucks, but the pity? I hate for people to feel sorry for me. If I have a preference, it's to be ignored.

I know this guy, the new kid, will fall into one category or the next, he could be a Sorcer, who knows? Looking at him, he's most likely a mundane, so either way, he won't be someone I'll really get to know. Maybe I'll get lucky and he'll just ignore me.

I have no idea if he's as aware of the silence as I am, but he's not saying anything so I stop trying to figure it out. Even if I knew what to say, it wouldn't matter. Once everyone figures out there's a new guy, the new guy will figure out I'm not someone he should talk to anyway. Balance will be restored. All will be right with the world. At least, the world according to Salem.

I see my locker on the left and slow down. I'm on the even number side of the hall and when I turn my head, scanning the numbers, I see his locker is three over from the one directly across from mine.

"Here you go," I say, pointing it out. Standard locker. Empty, door closed, and no lock.

He nods. "Thanks."

I sigh. "Let me see your map."

He tilts his head in silent question, but hands it over. I ask for a pen, he fishes one out of his bag and I uncap it.

I put the paper up on the locker next to his. "Okay, here are the main doors," I underline them. "Do you drive?"

He nods. "Yeah."

"You parked here?" I point to the student lot.

"Yes," he says.

I put an asterisk next to the southwest doors. And then a dot where we're standing. I draw a line connecting the two. He's watching over my shoulder, and I feel it. I feel his eyes roaming over me like a touch, his breath shifting my hair ever so softly, like a gentle, warm, barely there breeze. I'm not quite breathing.

It's like I've forgotten how.

"Can I see your schedule?" I ask, with a croaking whisper.

He digs in his bag and hands me the page. I notice he's in a lot of my classes, which is impressive. There all AP classes. College bound, I see.

I start boxing rooms in pen.

"Okay," I say, "This is the student lot, obviously. If you come in these doors, you end up in that stairwell down the hall."

I point to the right and he nods. "Come up here and you see, you're at your locker." I look back at the map. I number the rooms I've boxed according to the periods of the day.

"Your homeroom is here, first period. Second, you have AP Calculus. Third, AP Biology. Fourth is lunch. You'll probably go to the cafeteria. That's on the first floor. Some people eat out in the quad between buildings, but this isn't San Diego. It gets cold here. Fast."

He smirks. "I'm originally from Chicago, I think I can handle it. Besides, I have cousins here. My dad and I used to visit them a lot over Thanksgiving and Christmas."

"You have cousins here?" I ask, pointing my index finger to the floor. "Like, they go to this school?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, Davis does. His older brothers don't anymore. They graduated already."