The sky outside finally exhaled all of the wind that it had been holding for two days. Gusts of stale, hot air pushed through every open window into the sweltering school. It caught loose sheets of paper, skirt hems, unbound hair, stray wrappers, and other odds and ends, and tossed them all toward the ceiling like hats on graduation day. For a moment it seemed to Helen that everything stayed up there, frozen at the top of the arc, as weightless as space.
Lucas was standing in front of his locker about twenty feet away, staring back at Helen while the world waited for gravity to switch back on. He was tall, over six feet at least, and powerfully built, although his muscles were long and lean instead of bulky. He had short, black hair and a dark end-of-summer tan that brought out his white smile and his swimming-pool blue eyes.
Meeting his eyes was an awakening. For the first time in Helen’s life she knew what pure, heart-poisoning hatred was.
She was not aware of the fact that she was running toward him, but she could hear the voices of the three sobbing sisters rise into a keening wail, could see them standing behind the tall, dark boy she knew was Lucas, and the smaller, brown-haired boy next to him. The sisters were tearing at their hair until it came out of their scalps in bloody hanks. They pointed accusing fingers at the two boys while they screeched a series of names—the names of people murdered long ago. Helen suddenly understood what she had to do.
In the split second it took for her to close the gap between them, Helen saw the other boy lunge at her, but he was stopped by Lucas, who threw out an arm and sent him flying back into the lockers behind them. Then her whole body stopped and strained.
“Cassandra! Stay where you are,” Lucas called over Helen’s shoulder, his face no more than an inch away from hers. “She’s very strong.”
Helen’s arms burned and the little bones in her wrists felt like they were grinding together. Lucas was holding her by the wrists to keep her hands away from his neck, she realized. They were locked in a stalemate, and if she could get her fingers half an inch closer, she could reach his throat.
And then what? a little voice in her head asked. Choke the life out of him! answered another.
Lucas’s achingly blue eyes widened in surprise. Helen was winning. One of her long nails grazed the pulsing skin covering the fat artery she itched to slit. Then, before she could process what was happening, Lucas spun her around and clamped her to his chest, restraining her arms against her breast and standing between her legs. The position he’d forced her into kept her off balance and unable to bring her heel down on his instep. She was immobile.
“Who are you? What is your House?” he breathed into her ear, giving her a rough shake to punctuate his point. She was beyond understanding language.
Outmaneuvered and helpless, she started to scream with rage, then stopped herself. Now that she couldn’t see his eyes she was becoming aware of the fact that half the school’s faculty was trying to tear her off him. Everyone was staring.
Helen doubled over in agony as her abdomen seized up with cramps. Lucas immediately let her go as if she’d turned into a lit match, his body convulsing spasmodically, and she dropped to the floor.
“Miss Hamilton! Miss . . . Helen. Helen, look at me,” said Mr. Hergeshimer. He was kneeling on the floor next to her while she panted, trying to relax her muscles. She looked up at his sweaty face. His hair was messed up and his glasses had been knocked sideways on his face in the fight. She wondered for a moment if she had been the one to hit him, and then she burst into tears.
“What’s wrong with me?” she whimpered softly.
“It’s all right, now. Calm down,” Mr. Hergeshimer said sternly. “All of you had better get to class. Immediately!” he roared to the throngs of kids standing around with their mouths open. Everyone scattered as Mr. Hergeshimer stood up and took charge.
“You boys,” he pointed at Lucas and Jason, “are to come with me to the principal’s office. Mr. Millis! Miss Aoki! You are to take Miss Hamilton to the nurse’s office and then go directly to your next classes. Understood?”
Matt immediately stepped forward and put Helen’s arm over his shoulder, helping her to stand. Claire took Helen’s hand and held it reassuringly. Helen glanced up and saw Lucas looking back over his shoulder at her as he went quietly with Mr. Hergeshimer. Another wave of loathing broke over her, and fresh tears lined up in her eyes. Matt guided her while she cried, awkwardly patting her hair and getting her to walk toward the nurse at the same time. Claire walked on Helen’s other side, shaken and silent.
“What did he do to you, Lennie?” Matt asked hotly.
“I’ve never seen him b-b-before in my l-l-life!” Helen hiccuped and cried even harder.
“Great idea, Matt! Ask her questions! Can you shut the hell up now?” Claire snapped, trying to get hold of herself.
They walked the rest of the way without talking. When they got to the nurse’s office, they told Mrs. Crane what had happened and made sure to add that Helen had come to school with heatstroke that morning. Mrs. Crane had Helen lie down with a cool towel over her eyes and went back into her office to call Jerry.
“Your father’s on his way, dear. No, no, keep your eyes covered. Darkness will help,” Mrs. Crane said as she passed by Helen’s cot. Helen heard her rush out to the hall to speak to someone briefly, then come back in and sit behind her desk.
Helen lay under the towel, grateful that she was being left alone and in relative privacy. She couldn’t think two coherent thoughts in a row, let alone explain herself to anyone. What scared her the most was that for some reason she knew that what she had tried to do was right, or at least that it was expected of her. Deep inside, she knew she would have killed that boy if she could, and she didn’t even feel guilty about it. Until she saw her father.
He was a mess. Mrs. Crane told him everything that had happened, explaining that Helen was suffering from a serious case of heatstroke and that it may have caused her strange outburst. He listened patiently and then asked Mrs. Crane for a moment alone with his daughter, which she gave them.
Jerry didn’t say anything at first; he just sort of hovered over Helen’s cot while she sat up and fidgeted with her necklace. Finally, he sat down next to her.
“You wouldn’t lie to me right now, would you?” he asked softly. She shook her head. “Are you sick?”
“I don’t know, Dad. I don’t feel right—but I don’t know what’s wrong,” she told him earnestly.
“We’ve got to take you to the doctor, you know.”
“I figured,” she said, nodding. They smiled at each other, and then suddenly they both turned their heads at the sound of hurried footsteps coming toward the nurse’s office.
Jerry stood up and faced the door, putting himself in front of Helen. A tall, impossibly fit man in his early forties burst into the room. Helen jumped off the cot and stood on the other side of it, glancing around instinctively for another exit. There wasn’t one. Helen had the feeling that she was going to die.
In the corner of the tiny office, one of the sobbing sisters appeared. She was hunkered down on her knees, her face covered by her filthy hair, moaning names and saying “blood for blood” as she hit her forehead repeatedly against the wall.
Helen put her hands over her ears. She pulled her eyes away from the horror in the corner and mustered enough courage to look back at the large man. A spark of recognition passed between them. She had never seen him before, but somehow she knew that she should be very afraid of him. At first his angular face was set with determination, but it quickly morphed into shock and then confusion. His eyes zeroed in on Jerry, and a nearly comical look of disbelief derailed what might have been a terrible fight.