Nemesis (Project Nemesis #1)(5)

"Thanks for your concern," I said calmly, pushing through the circle. "It never occurred to me that trailers aren't built to survive asteroid impacts."

Ethan smiled as I retreated. "On the other hand, you could tow your place inside a cave or something. For safekeeping."

His joke drew a few chuckles, but I wasn't worth the trouble. Ethan allowed me to escape down the hall and turned away.

Then a voice rang out. "Of course, your place is probably much safer."

Tack was standing beside the door to first period. Ethan shot him an annoyed look. "Obviously, Thumbtack." Ethan's father owned the town's only grocery store, and they lived in swanky Hillside Gardens.

"Tack!" I tugged him toward the safety of class. "Don't sta-"

"No, no! That's not it." Tack pulled free of my grasp, his voice carrying so that others stopped to listen. "You see, God always favors the drunk and stupid. And your dad is blessed on both counts. So the Fletcher home is practically a safe haven."

Ethan blinked, his neck and cheeks flushing red. Then his face went still.

Sarah rolled her eyes. Jessica giggled, covering her mouth.

The bell rang, startling everyone.

"Catch ya later, E-Dawg." Tack slipped through the door. Ethan stared at the empty space, then looked at me, as if I were guilty by association. His smirk returned. "Tell your friend he made a mistake."

Inside the room, I scurried to where Tack was calmly arranging his things on the table we shared. The Nolan twins entered a beat later-Chris with a shoulder-length ponytail, Mike's red hair cut short and spiked with gel. Chris was a chatterbox who loved stirring the pot, although he wasn't a disaster by himself. Mike rarely spoke.

Chris chuckled, shaking his head as he sat. "You're ballsy, kid. I'll give you that much. But if I were you, I'd find a new route home after school."

"Thanks, Mike," Tack replied, knowing full well he was speaking to the other twin.

Chris snorted, unzipping his backpack. "Freaking death wish," I heard him mutter.

I wheeled on Tack. "Why'd you do that? Ethan's not gonna let it go."

Tack was digging through his bag, seemingly unperturbed. "Because I felt like it. And screw Ethan, he's a jackass. Maybe next time he'll think before he yaps."

"What he's going to do is beat the crap out of you."

Tack shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time. I've taken worse." Unconsciously, his hand rose to the bruise on his face. We both fell silent. Maybe Tack did have a death wish.

Then I couldn't help but laugh. "You called his dad a stupid drunk."



       
         
       
        

"I sure did." Tack shot me an exhilarated glance. "He looked really mad, didn't he? Chris is right, I'd better dig a tunnel out of here this afternoon."

English passed uneventfully. At the bell, Tack fired out the door at warp speed. Our next class was directly across the hall, but no sense taking chances. I was following on his heels when my name boomed down the corridor.

"Min Wilder!"

I glanced left. Principal Myers was slowly emerging from the main office.

"Wonderful." Under my breath, as our school's fearless leader made his way toward me, his right knee locked and unbending, the result of a shrapnel wound he'd suffered in the first Iraq War. I would've hurried down to shorten the distance, but every student in Fire Lake knew you didn't acknowledge the principal's disability. Not unless you wanted a twenty-minute lecture on how little the injury affected him.

"Yes, Mr. Myers?"

"You have an appointment with Dr. Lowell today," he said sternly, a burly, broad-shouldered man in his mid-sixties, with thinning gray hair framing a round face. He wore pleated gray pants and a plaid button-down every single day. Leaning on his cane, Myers scrutinized me over the rims of bronze-framed bifocals.

"Yes, I know, sir."

He gave me a severe look. "Your special session is not canceled, despite all this Announcement hubbub and . . . and . . . whatnot. I was told to inform you of this specifically."

A sigh escaped before I could stifle it. "Yes, Mr. Myers."

"You had a birthday over the weekend, did you not?"

I stiffened in surprise. "I did." Cautious. Why are you keeping track?

Myers eyed me closely, as if expecting me to say more. I had zero intention of doing so. "Well," he said finally, his non-cane hand rising to scratch a wrinkled ear. "Okay, then. See to it you're on time."

"I will." Dismissed, I beat a hasty retreat into second period.

Tack was sitting at his desk, twirling a pen in his fingers. "That looked fun. What'd the Big Man want?"

"Just a friendly reminder to visit my psychiatrist." I collapsed into the seat beside him. We stuck together in our classes whenever possible.

"From our freaking principal. I hate this inbred town."

I nodded, more disturbed than I was letting on. Myers often seemed interested in my therapy sessions, and this wasn't the first time he'd delivered a message from Dr. Lowell. The connection didn't feel right. And why did he ask about my birthday? 

"You think he'll try to go to college with us?" Tack asked.

An old joke, but I snorted anyway. Andrew E. Myers had been our principal-for-life, moving up through the system in lockstep with my class. The uncanny timing of his promotions meant I'd never had another administrator, despite attending three different schools.

Biology. Spanish. Then lunch. Tack wisely avoided the cafeteria, leaving me to eat by myself. Students bunched together in knots, whispering about the Announcement, each striving to outdo the last with how little they pretended to care.

But their laughter rang hollow, betrayed by tapping feet and dry-washed hands.

The afternoon proved more painful than the morning.

In Algebra II, Mr. Fumo assigned a worksheet we'd completed the week before, then spent the whole period refreshing his phone and glancing at the clock. In seventh period, Mrs. Cameron kept losing her place and repeating herself. After her third attempt to explain the siege of Acre, she gave up, blessed us all, and dismissed class.

I packed up quickly, hoping for a stealth sprint through the parking lot. I hadn't seen Tack since math-our schedules had Gym and Health flip-flopped, and Tack couldn't care less about European History, electing to take Home Economics instead.

But my hopes for a clean getaway were dashed. Exiting the main building, I heard laughter reverberate across the courtyard. A crowd was forming in the corner near the parking lot. Crap.

I sprinted over and wormed through the ring of onlookers. Ethan had levered one of Tack's arms behind his back and was forcing his face down toward the concrete. Flailing, my friend fought to free himself, but he was giving up at least fifty pounds. Toby and Chris were grinning, egging Ethan on, while Jessica and other members of the cheerleading squad pretended to protest. Sarah watched impassively, seemed bored. Beyond the circle, Noah was leaning against a walkway post, eyes drifting. The more Tack struggled, the more the mob swelled.

"Ethan, let him go!"

He glanced at me and smiled. "Oh, hey, Melinda. Glad you're here. Tack's about to sing 'Bad Blood' for us, and you shouldn't miss it."

Seeing me watching, Tack thrashed twice as hard, his eyes narrowing to slits in a way I'd seen many times before. "Let me go, you douchebag! I'm warning you!"

"Or what?" Ethan asked with a lilt. "You said some nasty things about my family, so now we're in a feud. I want you to sing about it. We all do, right?" Laughter erupted all around. Faces bore hungry expressions, as if seeking a violent release to the day's unbearable tension. This was getting ugly fast.

Ethan yanked Tack's arm higher, eliciting a painful yelp. "Have any more funny jokes, Thomas? I'd love to hear them. Or maybe you're all tapped out for now."

"That's not what your mother said!" Tack kicked out a foot. Missed.

A low ooh rose from the spectators. Chris Nolan giggled. Toby danced and hooted.

Ethan's eyes went flat.

Damn it, Tack.

I seized Ethan's arm. Felt his muscles ripple. He looked down at my hand, then back up, blinking rapidly. For a split second, I wasn't sure he recognized me.

"Take it easy! Tack's just running his mouth, like always."



       
         
       
        

Ethan shook his head, shrugging off my hand. He spun Tack around and grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him close. "You can't talk to me like that, Thomas. Not ever."

"Kiss my ass!" Tack's head rocketed forward, catching Ethan across the nose.

Ethan's hold loosened and Tack wriggled free.

But he didn't run, the idiot. To everyone's astonishment, Tack leapt at Ethan and swung.

Damn it, Tack.

Ethan blocked instinctively, then slugged Tack full in the face.

A second, louder ooh rose from the crowd.

Tack dropped to the ground like a boneless chicken breast.

"Stop!" I jumped to stand between Ethan and my friend. "That's enough!"

Voices yelled for me to move. Chris and Toby were laughing, encouraging Ethan with cries of "Finish him!" and "There can only be one!"