Grayson Snaps

Chapter 15: Guidance

Chapter 15: Guidance 

There are balloons in the hallways tied to weighted bases. Orange and black. Some are overly filled, other are under. Smiling pumpkins are plastered on the walls between the black-and-white missing posters of Tristan Sinclair. They give a happy, blissful vibe amiss the chaos rupturing within the student body.

Grayson Dolan enters the dark blue doors of his high school. With him, there's the rush of cold autumn air that swings through the halls rippling the paper clutched his passing peers' hands. Students are moving to and from classes and although there's a handful of them still shuffling to get to class on time, two very similar students have not.

The moment Grayson spots the blonds, he makes a beeline for them, snaking his way past a couple of slow-moving goths.

"Hey, have you seen Ethan?"

Emma blinks and Meredith turns in the direction of the voice, startled. Emma is staring not at Grayson's eyes, but his forehead. Meredith shakes her head.

"How about Cheyenne?"

"No." Meredith replies.

"Um, you've got a little..." She makes a gesture on her face towards the very bloody cut on the top of Grayson's face; the crusted blood is etched against his hairline. She watches as Grayson's wing earing gently rocks back and forth with his calm breathing.

He ignores her. Meredith stares still caught up on how he's here, standing in front of them like he was never absent from school. He looks slightly disheveled; he has on a pair of blue jeans and a dark shirt, hair uncombed. Meredith has guessed he just rolled out of bed; Ethan had informed her Grayson had been sick for awhile now.

"You going to the Greenhouse Bash tonight?" He says, completely changing the subject and aiming the question towards Meredith.

"Yeah." She says, blinking.

"Good." He replies, a strange expression crossing his face. He's grinning-had Grayson always had such sharp looking teeth?-in a way that causes a shiver to race up Meredith's back. With no explanation of her own, the phrase 'the cat that ate the canary' crosses her mind.

"I'm in charge of the prizes. You, too, could be a winner."

Meredith laughs at his tone, but there's a subtle edge of nervousness to it; why did Grayson look so, well, off in the head? Is he flirting? It seems like he is, but it's probably in the most semi-threatening tone that she's ever come across.

Seemingly oblivious, Emma flashes him a grin.

Not one of them notices Mr. Wayne until he's right there, a couple feet away; he's in a dark gray sweater with embroidery across the front; it's now clear he had seen Grayson the moment he had stepped into the building.

He makes a coughing sound, alerting them to his presence.

Pointing towards the vicinity of his office down the hall, he makes eye contact with Grayson; Grayson, in return, gives him his most guiltless smile.

But Mr. Wayne is having none of it.

"Grayson, my office. Now. Alright?"

-

I'm running down the street. My lungs feel like they are on fire, like every breath I take has flames licking their way up my trachea. Is this what it's like to have an asthma attack? If so, I feel a whole other degree of sympathy for Grayson because this sucks. Familiar house after familiar house flashes past me, my sneakers slapping against the web concrete. There's an abundance of dead, wet leaves that are clinging to the hard, black ground. I'm still in Bailey Downs, and yet I'm almost out of the complex.