Vicious Deep by Zoraida Cordova Page B

Adlemare looks down on us through his glasses. He wears a light blue, short-sleeved button-down shirt with red suspenders that hold up brown trousers, and I wonder, out of everything that you could wear in public, why a purple polka-dot bow tie?
    â€œMr. Hart. Thank you for joining us. These must be your cousins from…?”
    â€œItaly.”
    â€œFlorida.”
    â€œIreland.”
    â€œAh, I see.”
    Kurt clears his throat. “We travel constantly.”
    â€œNo one place is home! Lovely. Welcome, welcome.”
    â€œThank you, sir,” my cousins say in unison.
    Some people snicker. The smells of everyone overwhelm me. Their interest smells of burning sugar.
    We take the row in the back, where the Goth-punk-stoner kids sit. Homeroom gets less and less crowded toward the end of the year. I stare at the scratches on my desk and admire the announcements Mr. Adlemare has written on the board. Notice the way everyone gives us a long once-over. Anything not to look at Layla, sitting there and saving me a seat like always. I can feel her eyes on me, but I won’t look.
    Thalia takes out a notebook and pen, and I watch her draw Mr. Adlemare’s face. She’s quite good actually. I draw a mustache on her portrait of Mr. Adlemare, and she bursts into her bell-chime giggles. Kurt shakes his head, disapproving.
    Someone sighs angrily, and I know it’s Layla. But this is the only way I know she’ll be safe. I can’t drag her into this freakish sideshow. This past week has been the longest we’ve ever really been apart. It’s just, what am I going to say? Hey, guess what? I’m a merman now. I just have to keep ignoring her, the best friend I’ve had my whole life. The only girl who gets it, gets me. Yeah, I’m a good guy. But right now, looking at her as she gives up trying to catch my attention, I wonder if I have enough strength to stay away from her, even though not doing that could kill her.
    When I look at the clock again, it’s already time to leave. She’s the first one out the door, two seconds before the bell even rings.

Yo, Hart!” Angelo’s voice carries even from down the hall. “Ball drill!” He does this every time he thinks you’re not looking. I’m the only one who ever catches the ball. It’s in the air before he finishes his sentence. I can catch it; I know I can. I extend my hand up and to the left, but so does Kurt. The basketball is in his hands even before I hit the wall of lockers.
    â€œI don’t remember your name being Hart .” I push myself up right away.
    The guys walk over to us. I stretch out my shoulder. Kurt throws the ball back at him. Thalia watches them carefully. They really need to stop acting like the Mermaid Brigade.
    â€œSo these are your cousins. Where are you from again?”
    Kurt looks to me and I answer, “Canada.”
    â€œAren’t Canadians more—?” Bertie looks like he’s trying to do x 2 + (a + b)x + ab = (x + a)(x + b).
    â€œMore what?” Kurt asks.
    â€œPale?” And he still hasn’t solved it.
    â€œWe travel a lot,” Thalia says, winking in their direction. I think she likes being a teenage girl more than Kurt likes being a teenage boy.
    The effect is instant, though. The boys relax their posture and are all smiles. Angelo lets his basketball drop, and it bounces across the floor, causing three freshmen to trip over it.
    Bertie can’t seem to decide which foot he wants to shift his weight on. “Man, where have you been? You didn’t show at the Wreck and you didn’t show yesterday. The team is worried about you. They think you’re seeing a shrink or something. And that guy? You know? The reporter? Nikky’s dad? He’s writing that you’re going to be shipped into one of those psych facilities. Like in the movies?
    â€œOh. Check this.” He turns around to show us the new design etched into his