Turn around Alma.
Go back.
He hates you.
I keep my eyes locked on his and continue forward with the note tightly secured in my sweaty palm. Efren lifts his hand, and with the slightest flick of his wrist, the friends surrounding him vanish. Naomi stalls for a moment, rolls her eyes, and then follows after the others. The noise in the hall begins to fade, and I’m left standing there.
“Can you give this to Esteban?” My voice cracks. “Please?”
The bell rings, and the halls empty while I stand there unable to move. Efren looks down at the folded note trembling in my hand, then back at me. His finger grazes mine when he takes it, allowing me to sigh in relief. But then dread seeps in, taking its place, as I watch Efren tear my note clean down the middle. My eyes question him, but I can’t say anything. Two pieces become four and then eight.
A shiver makes its way up through my spine when he leans down, his face inches from mine.
“I’m not your personal fucking bitch.”
“I didn’t think—” My words catch in my throat when I feel my spine hit the locker. A scream is trapped in my throat, wanting to come out, but it can’t. Rage simmers beneath my skin, and tears pull behind my eyes.
“You never do. That’s the problem.” Efren’s lips brush against mine, his hand tightening around my throat. “You think Esteban gives a shit about you? You think he’s going to read your pathetic little note? He’s somewhere deep into a new pussy. Get over it.”
His cold words stay even after his hand releases me andhe walks away. My lips tremble in his absence as I look down at the shredded paper littering the floor. There’s a newfound emotion that breaks through me. It’s foreign to me, the feeling hot beneath my skin, and yet there’s comfort in embracing it. I clench my fist and let it settle there.Fuck him.
Chapter 2
Efren
PAST
Freshman Year
Before Esteban’s Death
Moderation isn’t something I subscribe to. While other people strive for balance, I seek after and embrace the maladaptive behaviors that define me. I don’t question wrong or right. I just do what feels right to me in the moment.
This includes overindulging in my share of drugs, sex, and violence. Preferably mixed together. But nothing I’ve tried has satisfied me long-term. Every day is another search for a new high. And that has been my life.
Until I saw her.
Until she became the high I was chasing.
From the moment she enrolled in my school, I knew she’d be a fucking problem. I’ve watched her from afar, trying to understand who she is and what group she’d fit into. But the more I watch her, the more I’ve become intrigued with her. Big brown eyes, long curly hair, and pouty lips. Traits manywomen possess, but none carry them the way she does. There’s something different about her.
Her first day of school, she didn’t try to make friends. For weeks on end, she walked through the halls, oblivious to the world around her. Detached, like me. Like something was haunting her, and I wanted to know what.
One day, I followed her from school to the hospital. Alma’s mother, Missy, had glioblastoma, a fast-acting brain cancer. Or at least that’s what the intake paperwork I stole claimed. In that paperwork, I recognized something strange. Under “Next of Kin” Alma wasn’t listed, not even mentioned. In fact, under “Pregnancies” Missy reported never having a child.
Was Alma a foster child or adopted like I’d been? Who was Missy? What was Alma’s story? The need to know and understand her continued to fester, but before I could find out, Missy died.
Alma took a whole week off from school before she was back, carrying on with the same façade. Showing up and going to her classes as if nothing had happened.
I wonder what she does to cope when she’s alone? Does she do the things I do to feel something? Does she seek adrenaline and pain like me? Is she as fucked up as me, trying to chase death just to see if it will look back and wink?
She was my little mystery I was eager to unravel. My muse. My fucking obsession. That was until she caught the eyes of another predator, my brother. The thought of the asshole reminds me of the text he’d sent me earlier.
Esteban
Where you at?
Tell my dad I’m spending the weekend with Alma.
