As we putter along the roads to school, I quickly give up on getting Betsy’s radio to work and scope out the landscape instead. Rows of gray tract houses stretch off in every direction. Gravel driveways divide weed-choked squares of yellow grass. Gray clouds fill the sky, as always.
Ahead, there appears a red brick building three stories high with an arched roof. The wooden sign on the yellowing lawn reads ‘DL-19 School for Quasi Servitude.’ I park Betsy in a remote corner of the parking lot. This is it, school. Yuck. It’s always an extra letdown to hit class after the adrenaline rush of the Arena.
Eh, no point delaying the inevitable any longer.
I tiptoe across the yellowing lawns. The rules state that students show up on time, and ghouls follow rules to the letter. Fighting evil souls in the Arena? Cuts me zero slack when it comes to the infamous Tardy List.
With maximum stealth, I step up to a small steel door on the side of the school. If I can sneak in here, I won’t get nailed for being late. Crossing my fingers, I jimmy the door open with my tail. Please let there be no one around. Grabbing the handle, I grit my teeth and slowly swing the rusted door open a crack. Time to peep inside.
Empty. Yeah!
I punch the air with my fist, slip through a few more doors and step onto the school’s main hallway. Students rush by. Everyone’s wearing the same standard-issue gray sweats and dark t-shirts.
Excellent, I caught the break between classes.
I scan the monochromatic crowd for Cissy. After this morning with my Mom, I really need to see her smile.
My best friend stands by her locker. While we’re both tall, I’m more on the curvy side with long auburn hair. Cissy is willowy, her blond hair hanging in shoulder-length ringlets. She has a golden retriever tail, which isn’t good in a fight but sure looks cute on her. Seeing me, her face brightens and her arms open wide. I melt into her hug.
“Good morning, Cis.”
“Hello, sweetie.” She air-kisses my cheek, then flips about to fuss with a mangy old shoebox on the top shelf of her locker.
I nod toward the strange box. “What’s that?”
Cissy closes her locker door with suspicious speed. “Nothing.”
I set my fist on my hip and smile. “What did you rescue this time?”
“Some little cocoons.” She shivers. “Dad’s redecorating our basement again and he was going to kill them all.” Cissy’s father runs our black market. Sure, the ghouls let quasis manufacture a few things, but mostly they foist earth cast-offs on us: huge black-and-white TV sets with wire bunny-ears on top, answering machines as large as a Buick, that kind of thing. Everyone goes nuts for new stuff, which is how Cissy’s family makes their money. It’s also why Cissy’s dad goes bat-shit crazy that his daughter’s more interested in saving strays than shopping. As an Arena-fighting anomaly, I definitely fall into the ‘stray’ category, in her parent’s minds anyway. We mostly hang out at my house.
Cissy pats the top of her locker door and beams. “I think one of the cocoons will open today.”
I stare at her closed locker, my mouth screwing onto one side of my face. We don’t get butterflies in Purgatory so those are… “Moths?” I wince. This is unbelievable, even for Cissy. “You saved moth larvae?”
“False! I saved cute little cocoon thingies.” She puffs out her lower lip. “They need me.” She sniffles.
Ugh, now I made her feel bad. “No worries.” I pat her shoulder with what I hope is a comforting grin. “I think it’s pretty cool.” Maybe. I yawn and scratch my neck. What a day and it’s not even noon yet. “Did I ever tell you about the time I fought the Mothma demon?”
Cissy rolls her eyes. “Only about four hundred times.” She steps back, scanning me from head to toe. “You look like Hell…In a bad way. Were you home sick all morning?”
“Nah, they sent me into the Arena.” I wink. “Took the guy down in less than a minute.” I get into battle stance. “Let me show you what happened.” I reach toward Cissy’s neck. “This guy came at me with a classic choker hold.”
My best friend raises her arms, palms forward. “Whoa, there!” She takes a giant step away. “Haven’t we talked about this?”
I stare at my toes and play dumb. “I don’t know. What do you mean?”
“I’m glad you enjoy killing things, but–”
“They’re not things. They’re super-evil souls.” Cissy’s not a fan of the Arena. Normally, that’s fine with me, but today? For some reason, it stings. Frowning, I stare at the floor. “We should get to class.”
Cissy tilts her head to one side. “Hey, honey. I didn’t mean to shut you down.” She points to her cheek. “But you did chip my tooth in fourth grade, remember? You just had to show me your screw driver.”
“Pile driver. It’s a wrestling move.”