I just need to get through my final exams.
To be honest, I don’t even know if I can do it.
Concentrating this year has been basically impossible.
How do I study without my dad egging me on to be the best I can be?
What’s the point of getting good grades when there’s no mother at home to hug me and tell me how proud she is?
Walking into homeroom, I head for the back, flopping into my seat and scanning for Braxton.
He’s not here.
I texted him this morning to tell him it was done, but I never heard back.
Maybe he’s sick.
Whatever.
I got the guy what he wanted. We don’t have to interact ever again, and I’m okay with that.
Slumping down in my chair, I tap my pen in a rhythmic beat on the pad. The final bell rings, and Mr. Evans stands up to call us to attention.
He points at me, then my ears, telling me to lose the headphones.
Pulling them down, they rest around my neck, and I kill my music. Eyes glance my way and I dip my chin, hating the way my skin crawls when they stare.
“All right, class, let’s—”
A sharp knock on the door shuts him up, and the assistant principal appears. Her eyes narrow in on me, and before I know it, I’m being told to follow her.
Whispers ripple through the class, people guessing what it could possibly be.
Ms. Bryant looks kind of pissed, so it can’t be good.
My brain scrambles to figure it out. I covered my tracks. Left no trace of my hacks behind, so it can’t be that.
Snatching my bag, I follow her down to the main office. We don’t talk to each other, and I’m fine with that. I force my brain not to think or panic. That’s what the old Kena would do. The new Kena doesn’t care.
My black boots scuff the floor. Ms. Bryant glares at me, her gaze darting to the shiny linoleum, so I scuff them some more until they’re squeaking on the polished surface.
She doesn’t say anything, just clenches her jaw, her nostrils flaring.
Her long, thin braids are bundled up in a ponytail, and they drape down her back like a curtain of ropes. In spite of the fact that she’s a hard ass, I’ve always loved her long braids. I remember trying to count them once during a really boring assembly. I had to start over three times, but it entertained me while she droned on about reaching for the heights and living life to our full potential.
Living life?
How the hell are we supposed to do that when life can be snatched from us in a moment?
Planning is dangerous. Dreaming is a waste of frickin’ time.
“In here.” She opens the principal’s door and I step inside, spotting Braxton in a chair by the wall and Nigel Wong beside him. They’re both looking pretty shame-faced, and I know I’m done.
My insides roil, wondering if they’ve called my aunt and uncle yet. Oh, they’ll get a real kick out of this one.
“Take a seat.” Principal Mackey points to the chair in front of his desk.
I do as I’m told, eyeing Ms. Bryant as she walks around behind him.
She crosses her arms, her pointed gaze enough to make me squirm just a little.
“Did you hack into the school database and change Braxton’s and Nigel’s grades?”
I clear my throat and glance at the guys. Nigel won’t even look at me. His skin is pink, his ears bright red, as he fidgets with his bony fingers. Braxton’s eyebrows dip together, his look maybe just a little remorseful as he shakes his head.
“I had no choice,” he murmurs, like it’s some kind of apology.
I turn back to the two angry adults and nod my head once.
“Oh, Kena.” The principal holds his forehead like this is the worst news in the world. “What is going on with you? You used to be a straight-A student, captain of the swim team, valued member of the Decathlon team, not to mention all the other committees and clubs you were involved in. You were our superstar. Wouldn’t put a foot wrong. Now this?”
I can’t say anything. What is there to say?
“This is unacceptable,” Ms. Bryant barks, her voice harsh and low. “Hacking into the school database is illegal. Why’d you do it?”
I shift in my seat, not wanting to be a narc like the two guys beside me.
“Why, Miss Chan?”
She’s not going to let me get away with staying silent, so I softly tell the truth. “Because they paid me to.”
Disappointed sighs.
More glaring.
More squirming.
Redder ears.
Groans of disappointment.
“Oh, don’t think your parents won’t be hearing about this, Mr. Hill.” Ms. Bryant’s eyes bulge at Braxton. “They’ll be my first call.”
She crosses her arms again while the principal keeps staring at me with dismay. “You will return that money, and these students will be receiving their rightful grades.”
“Mm-hmm.” Ms. Bryant nods her agreement.
“We won’t tolerate this behavior at our school.” The principal frowns, obviously struggling to say what he needs to. “You’ve left us no choice but to start the process of expelling you.”
My insides flash cold for a moment.
I manage to not let it show.
Instead, I shrug. “Whatever.”
“That’s your response?” Ms. Bryant clips. “Whatever?”
I look up at her, my expression hopefully as bland and soulless as I feel right now. “What do you want me to say? Thank you?”
They both sigh like I’ve wounded them.
Principal Mackey rubs his mouth. “Look, Kena. We know you’ve been through a really rough time, and we want to help you, but you need to let us.”
“I never asked for your help.” I stand, grabbing my bag and heading for the door.
“You have not been dismissed, Miss Chan.” Ms. Bryant tries to call me back, but I fling the door wide and walk through it.
Picking up my pace, I head straight for the exit.
They can call me back as many times as they freaking want. I’m not coming.
In fact, I’m never stepping foot in this building again.
I am out.
All the way this time.
No more messing around.
My guardians don’t want me.
My school is expelling me.
That’s all the reasons I need to get the hell out of here and never look back.
5
The Wrong Road
Amateur cage fighting is a beast of its own.
There are no rules or regulations. No ref to keep you in check. The way Cruz runs this operation, it’s just two guys scrapping for the win while the crowd roars, sloshes back beer and gets high on the energy of betting.
It’s hard not to feel like a caged animal, but I force the thought aside, focusing on my opponent, who is not the simple pushover Cruz told me he’d be.
He might be shorter than me, but he’s quick and cunning.
They started chanting “Fox! Fox! Fox!” as he walked toward the cage. I should have realized then that this would not be an easy five-minute brawl.
I lash out with my fist, but he ducks my punch and skirts around me, coming back with a quick jab to my kidneys.
I wince and spin back with my leg, but he catches my foot, throwing me onto my back. I slam against the mat, the air rushing out of me, my vision hazing as I’m taken back in time to a small playground outside of school.