“Never going back inside that shithole again.” I pocketed the blade and clapped my best friend on the shoulder. “It’s good to be back. Let’s go find some bitches. I need to get laid.”
Lace
The office secretary kept droning on about school rules and policy long after the bell for first period rang. Already nervous about being the new girl, I nodded but shifted impatiently.
“Did you get all that?” She glanced over the rims of her purple glasses at me as she handed over my class schedule.
“Yes.” I nodded again, making my blond ponytail sway.
She’d spewed a ton of information, so fast that I didn’t really get everything. But what I didn’t get, I’d figure out somehow.
I’d come from an accelerated program at a charter high school. Even though I wasn’t quite sixteen yet, I was entering Southside High as a sophomore. I was smart, and not just academically. My brother, Dizzy, and I had been through a lot that had forced us to grow up fast.
“Okay then, let’s get you to class.” The secretary crooked her finger at a pretty Latina who was dressed nearly identical to me in a sweater set, jeans, and ballet flats.
I wondered if her outfit was purposefully chosen to project an image like mine was. Clothes did make the person, or so I tried to convince myself. Often.
“Sabrina,” the secretary said. “Please escort Miss Lowell to her first-period class and show her where the important things are along the way.”
“Yes, Mrs. Hodges,” Sabrina said dutifully. She abandoned the graffiti-emblazoned plastic chair she’d been sitting on and beckoned to me from the glass office door. “Ready?” she asked, finally making eye contact.
“Yeah,” I said hoarsely, and swallowed to moisten and loosen my throat. It felt thin like a straw, and tight like it had a tennis ball stuck inside it. Clasping my class schedule to my chest, I hurried to join her.
As soon as the door closed behind us, Sabrina said, “You’re in a bunch of honors classes.” She spoke with a slight Spanish accent. “Are you really that smart?”
Shrugging, I said, “I make good grades.” I had to make them. A scholarship was my only real chance to get out of Southside Seattle.
“That’s cool. Well, c’mon.” Sabrina turned and practically sprinted through the empty hallway. The soles of her flats were loud as they snapped across the cracked linoleum.
I jogged to keep pace with her. It was an inelegant jog. Without a locker yet, my backpack was heavy with textbooks I’d just been given.
“I’m not saying this to be judgmental or anything . . .” Withdrawing a navy bandanna from her sweater pocket, Sabrina tied it around her loose ebony hair. “But being smart around here makes you a target. Being pretty will too. Before the end of the day, you’re probably gonna get jumped.”
Fear clutched my stomach, but not because of the novelty of the experience. I’d been beaten before. By my own mother, a few of her boyfriends, and at school by other students.
“You’ll need to pick a group to join for your own protection.” Sabrina gave me a sidelong glance. “You into sports?”
“No, not really.” I shook my head, the fire-engine-red lockers on either side of me blurring. I felt a little dizzy and sick.
“In a gang?” she asked, looking hopeful.
“No.” I shook my head.
“I’m in La Rasa Prima. I can put in a good word for you with Jorge if you want.”
“No, that’s okay.” I was born and raised in Southside. I knew how that gang worked. They might keep me safe, but the cost was too high.
“It’s your ass.” She shrugged.
I straightened my shoulders. I can hold my own.
Most of the time that was true. On those occasions when it wasn’t, my big brother intervened.
Dizzy and I were the only family each other had. Our mother didn’t count, and the uncle we lived with only nominally. Food, clothing, shelter, he provided those, but he didn’t do it out of affection. Constantly, he reminded us how us living with him put him out. But since we’d moved in with him, Dizzy didn’t hover over me as much as he once did.
“Here’s your locker.” Sabrina stopped and banged on the metal door of locker number 303. The paint on it was scratched with the words don’t grow up, it’s a trap.
I almost smiled. That was my brother’s philosophy, for sure.
Unfolding my schedule, I glanced down at the combination code Mrs. Hodges had written on it. While I opened my