The Ripple Effect

Chapter One - Winning. Technically.

Anger is a secondary emotion. It isn't a stretch to say anger is the body's natural defense mechanism. When someone blows through an intersection, almost killing you and whoever else is in the car, of course you're furious. Why? Because you were afraid. No one likes to feel fear, because fear makes you feel weak. Our body turns to rage instead. At least when you're furious, you feel as if you can do something about it. It's a lot like the fight or flight instinct. Anger always masks the real emotion underneath, whether it be fear, jealousy, sadness, grief, hurt, or self-loathing. But I think anger is better. When you're angry, everyone knows to stay the hell out of your way.

My brother died. I never wanted to hear his name again. The world kept spinning and people forgot. It's how Life worked. He was gone. He got his wish and everyone needed to drop it. 

"You can't really feel that way." Ms. Adeline, the new grief counselor, insisted.

"I've said it a thousand times."

"Corren," she pressed me with her eyes. It wasn't going to work. "I know deep down you're hurting. Rage is a perfectly normal part of grieving."

I stood up, slammed my hands on her desk and leaned forward. "Let's get one thing straight: my brother was a selfish prick who snapped his own neck with a rope. So yeah, I'm fucking pissed - pissed that everyone won't shut the fuck up and leave me the hell alone!"

I grabbed my backpack and threw open the office door. My heart kept bursting against my ribs and my hands were shaking. I could hear my own blood pumping hot in my ears. The day had quickly gone to shit. What wouldn't I give to forget it all?

"Hey, Lockwood," the voice of Grayson McNeil called from behind me.

I turned around, glaring at the the trio of guys that were leaving the bathroom I had just passed. "Piss off, McNeil."

"Awh, havin' a bad day?" Grayson snickered. "I didn't see your name on the sign up sheet for lacrosse. Giving up the dream?"

I gritted my teeth. "Not my thing anymore."

Quinton, a skinnier guy from my chemistry class, piped in. "Why's that? Can't live up to the former captain?"

My hands balled into fists. A hot rage built within me, waiting - just waiting to tip over the edge. Don't do it. Don't do it.

"Careful, Quinn," Grayson warned, "he might snap and go postal like his brother."

In a blink my resolve was gone.

All that mattered was my fist against Grayson's face. I reveled in the crunch of his nose and the blood that poured from it. It lasted all but five seconds before his two friends pried me off of him. I fought and thrashed, but I knew the odds of three against one. Grayson recovered, using his bloody hand to send his knuckles toward my jaw. The impact rattled my teeth, almost causing me to bite my own tongue, but I wasn't about to let him win. One of his friends had loosened his grip when head went down from the hit, and I slipped my arm right out of it. Taking the moment of surprise, I punched the other guy holding my arm and then lunged for Grayson. We landed on the ground. I used both fists, sending blow after blow to his face and stomach.

By then the school's security guards had rushed in, two yanking me off of Grayson and the other hauling him to his feet.

"You're dead, Lockwood!" Grayson spat through bloodied teeth.

I smirked as the guards held my arms behind my back. "Better luck next time."

The security guards dragged us to the discipline office as the bell rang. Students left their classes in swarms, parting for us like the Red Sea. I grinned to myself.