Undertow

“Deshane will not be back,” Mr. Ervin says.

 

“Did he go to jail?” one of the girls in the back asks. I think her name is Lynn.

 

“He did,” Mr. Ervin responds. “But he was released to his uncle. Together it was decided that Deshane would be better off in a different learning environment, so he was transferred to a new school.”

 

Jorge stands up and points at Ghost. “What about him? He started it all.”

 

Ghost stands and hisses. “If you feel you’ve been wronged by me, you are welcome to challenge me.”

 

“Bring it to me, ugly,” Jorge shouts, knocking over another desk.

 

“That’s it. Let’s go,” the soldier shouts. He charges down the aisle and snatches Jorge by the scruff of the neck. The boy struggles to free himself, but the soldier is too strong. All Jorge can do is flail and scream on his way to the hall.

 

“Fine with me. I don’t want to be around those things, anyway. They smell!”

 

“They are simple beasts, with no backbone, Your Majesty, like sea cucumbers that can talk,” Ghost says to Fathom, then sweeps his gaze over the rest of us. “Cowardly, too. What about the rest of you? Or are humans all talk, like they say?”

 

Mr. Ervin slams a book down on his desk. “Ghost, sit down.”

 

“I don’t take orders from the likes of you,” Ghost says. “You grunt like a blobfish, and you’re only slightly less ugly than—”

 

“Silence yourself,” Fathom commands. “This man is a teacher, like the Children of Ceto, and he deserves your respect.”

 

Ghost is startled by the criticism. “Your Majesty, these beasts can’t be compared to Ceto!”

 

“I have three challenges that await me in the camp, Son of Nix. Are you proposing a fourth?”

 

Ghost shakes his head. His eyes are full of panic.

 

Another soldier enters to replace the first. “Enough talk. The next person to make a peep is going to the Tombs.”

 

 

 

 

 

When the bell rings, ugliness floods the halls like bursting sewers after a long rain. It comes pouring out of every room, a boiling soup of aggression aimed at the Alpha, and it threatens to drown us all. My classmates aren’t happy that Deshane is gone, even though most of them probably wished for it at one time or another. Someone has to answer for the outrage, and the Alpha are at the top of that list. Luna is cornered and called a whore to her face. The stupidest kid in the world tries to start a fight with the big Selkie. Ghost can’t walk six inches without getting shoved, but it’s the smallest of the bunch, the Ceto girl, who I learn is called Bumper, who gets most of the abuse. She’s small and quiet, but it’s her troubling appearance that makes her a target: a flat nose and a soft, pudding-like face. Her shoulders and neck have thick, black crustacean-like growths and her skin is slightly see-through. But like Ghost she hides something deadly, and if the others provoke her enough . . . No, I can’t get involved.

 

No one bothers Fathom. Perhaps it’s how regally he stands, or his confident stride, or maybe it’s the wounds all over him that shout loudly that he will fight back. Whatever it is, no one dares punk him, but he does get plenty of attention. Everywhere he goes, people stare, which is unfortunate because he’s right behind me, step for step.

 

“I think you have a stalker,” Bex says when she looks over her shoulder at him. “Sigh. Even in this dress I cannot compete with Lyric Walker.”

 

“You can have him if you want,” I grumble.

 

“No take-backs,” she says as she spins off into her chemistry class.

 

I sneak a quick peek myself. There he is, my own personal lost puppy. Does he really not know that people are going to notice him waiting for me at drinking fountains and outside the ladies’ room? Are all the boys in my life really that dumb?

 

I dart down a less-populated hall, then spin around on him.

 

“You can’t follow me!” I growl as low as I can. “Do you understand? People are staring.”

 

He looks around. He needs proof and, seeing it for himself, nods and gestures impatiently for me to move on. It hardly matters. Mr. Doyle has put him in my English lit, biology, and history classes, plus my fourth-period study hall. I’m fully prepared to find him standing at the podium in my debate class when I get there, but Doyle stops me in the hall.

 

“I’m giving you and the prince some privacy so you can get to know each other,” he says.

 

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