Someone else says, “Yeah, they just ran by, laughing their asses off.”
Shane lets go of the kid and takes off running. During lunch, Dylan and his cronies can usually be found in the gym, shooting hoops. Alarmed, I race after him. For me, yesterday was the worst; now I’m braced and I can take whatever they throw at me.
I call, “Shane, wait! It’s okay. I don’t care.”
But he’s beyond earshot or just not listening. He bangs through the double doors, so hard that one of them hits the wall. Dylan’s on the other side of the court, going up for a layup. Shane charges at him. No conversation, no accusations. And he takes him down in one hit. For a few seconds, I’m frozen. Rage fuels his strikes, and he slams him once, twice, three times in the face. I’m positive Dylan’s never been in a fight like this. He covers his face with his hands and rolls to his side, but Shane doesn’t let up.
“Think you can do whatever you want, you little bitch?” Another blow. “Fight me, asshole. Show your friends how tough you are.” Shane pummels him again. “No? You sure?”
It takes four of Dylan’s buddies to drag him off, and Shane punches two of them before the PE teacher intervenes. He drags Shane out of range and somebody runs for the nurse, because Dylan looks seriously messed up.
He spits a mouthful of blood and says, “Somebody call the cops. I’m pressing charges.”
His friend gets out his phone and dials before the teachers can decide how to handle things. Oh my God, no. I forgot. I forgot what he told me about needing to lay low—that if he gets in trouble again, he’s going to juvie until he’s eighteen.
A huge crowd gathers while the teachers confer. They try to shoo us away, but nobody’s budging. Dylan’s mom comes from the office and puts an arm around him; she glares at Shane, who’s still being restrained by the gym teacher. Eventually the cops show up and they talk quietly with the principal. I wrap my arms around myself because I can’t stop shaking.
This is because of me.
I try to explain that it’s not Shane’s fault, but Mr. Oscar pulls me away. “This doesn’t concern you, Sage. You should go to class.”
Yeah, that’ll happen when half the school’s in the gym or just outside, rubbernecking. My gaze meets Shane’s, but he’s wearing that empty expression, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I feel like I’ve ruined his life when I only wanted to make things better for him. His beautiful musician’s hands are spattered with blood.
“What happened?” Lila asks. I didn’t even notice her arrival.
In a monotone, I tell her.
“Holy shit. I mean, Dylan totally had it coming, but this is bad for Shane.”
“I know,” I choke out.
I’m still watching when the cops cuff Shane’s hands behind his back. It feels like the whole world slows down as he passes me. His eyes meet mine, and he’s trying to tell me something, but I don’t know what. He mouths the word sorry, and then life snaps back to normal speed when they take him away. I run all the way to the front of the school, keeping far enough back that the cops shouldn’t complain. As I push through the doors, I see them shove Shane into the back of the car. He turns his face away.
Rage boils up inside me then. This is bullshit. After what Dylan’s done, he gets to be the victim? I could do horrible things to him. For a few seconds, I let myself picture them. Then I wrestle the anger into submission. I’ve come too far to fall into the hole and let Shadow Sage out again. I don’t want to be a bad person; I don’t want these pictures in my head. What Lila and I did with the truck, that was as far as I can go.