alters

18

HARRY drives us both to school about fifteen minutes later. It is a silent drive, consumed by an agony of mystery and murder. The man beside me has not uttered a single syllable pertaining to his dreadful hobby, and I have not attempted to make a connection concerning his mental enigma.

The school is quiet and elegant without the flood of students swimming through the halls, and I quickly make my way to my first period class. I peek my head through the glass window implanted in the doorʼs wooden framework. An embarrassed heat gathers in my washed out cheeks, and as a plan to avoid in-class humility, I lazily let my back drop against the wall and slowly slide down it until I slump against the floor. My hand laces itʼs way into my damp hair, shaking it and tugging at it.

Once the bell rings I rapidly shoot up into a standing position and snake my way into the burgeoning crowd, blending in easily. Almost too easily.

Lunch dawns in an instant, and I feel my stomach grow more and more desperate for satisfaction. I scoot next to Alex once I reach our table and Heather sits in front of us, poking chop sticks at some fancy container of sushi.

I briefly scan the room for Lucas, before the horrid truth abruptly attacks my senses. I lower my head, resting my chin against my cradle of arms. My appetite has seemed to vanish.

ʻʻAlice, you should eat...ʼʼ A British accent invades my ears, my eyes peering out to gaze at Harryʼs features. He sits closely beside me, his arm rounding my shoulders. His fingers draw little circles on the small of my back.

ʻʻYeah, you should.ʼʼ Heatherʼs snarky tone appears as she glares at the boy next to me. ʻʻAnd you know what you should do?ʼʼ she asks him in a hiss.

ʻʻBox you up and ship you back to the American Girl Doll factory?ʼʼ He suggests, shrugging his shoulders.

ʻʻNo!ʼʼ She snaps, pounding her chop stick against the tableʼs surface. ʻʻYou should go to jail, where you belong.ʼʼ

ʻʻCalm down, Barbie, all I did was smoke inside school. Itʼs not that big of a deal.ʼʼ He rolls his vibrant forest eyes, retracting his arm away from me.

ʻʻDonʼt call me that!ʼʼ She shrieks. ʻʻAnd thatʼs not what Iʼm talking about. Iʼm talking about what you did to Luke.ʼʼ

I freeze. Very visibly. I glare at Harry from the corner of my eye only to witness his completely calm stature.

ʻʻWhat? You think I murdered him or something?ʼʼ He laughs lightly. Heʼs so natural and collected. How many times has he done this before?

ʻʻI donʼt think. I know.ʼʼ she insists meanly, narrowing her perfect blue eyes. ʻʻAny guy who wears eyeliner and nail polish is obviously a murderer.ʼʼ At her words I flick my eyes up to him, and finally realize the black liner drawn beneath his lashes.

He frowns bored, giving his eyes another roll. ʻʻOkay, Detective Blondie, you got me.ʼʼ he lifts his hands above his head. ʻʻTake me away Sheriff Stilettos.ʼʼ

ʻʻWould you quit it with the nicknames? Honestly, just give it up. We all know you are obsessed with Alice, and wanted to get Luke out of the way. Just admit it!ʼʼ

ʻʻOkay, I am obsessed with Alice, Iʼll admit that I am a classified stalker when it comes to her.ʼʼ He confesses smugly, giving me a wink. I groan and look the other way. ʻʻAnd I also admit Iʼm a tad on the crazy side. More insanity than sanity, if you know what I mean.ʼʼ

Heather frowns.

ʻʻBut, I did not, did not, kill Puke.ʼʼ Harry looks at his intertwined fingers briefly. ʻʻI...I know what he meant to Alice.ʼʼ He breathes, looking away.