Tera Childs - Sweet Venom

I’m helping Mom with the dishes when Thane returns.

He nods at us and then goes to find Dad. Thane may have a temper, but he also has an acute sense of integrity. He’ll apologize, and everything will be back to normal.

Everything except me, of course.

Nothing can fix that.

Thane and I ride the same city bus to school, even though I stay on for several stops after he gets off. It’s packed in the morning, and I’m penned in by people on all sides. The bus takes the corner on the street that runs by Thane’s school, and I swing hard toward the window, over the lap of a man in a business suit who is busy checking email on his phone.

The businessman scowls at me, and before he can say something nasty, I look away, glancing out at the sidewalk to see how many people will try to cram on at the next stop.

That’s when I see the woman.

She could almost pass for fully human, except for the dark-red exoskeleton and the scorpion tail trailing behind her.

I squeeze my eyes shut. This is not happening. I mean, I know it’s happening—after everything that happened Friday night, I’d have to be completely delusional to pretend that monsters don’t exist, and Gretchen assured me I’m not insane—but it shouldn’t be happening. It’s against the rules or something. Gretchen said monsters don’t come out during the day. They’re supposed to be nocturnal, according to her and her missing mentor. So why is scorpion lady strolling down the street in the early-morning sun?

Well, you know what? Not my problem. Gretchen didn’t want me involved—and I walked away willingly—so I won’t be involved. It’s not like I can fight the monster, anyway. I wouldn’t even know how to try. I’m going to turn away from the window, open my eyes, and act as if the lady I saw was heading to an early-morning costume party.

Hey, it could happen.

The bus jostles down the street, slamming to a sudden stop and knocking me forward into a woman with a baby stroller, then back against Thane’s shoulder. He stares blankly out the window at the row of pastel buildings.

What’s wrong with him? I know he’s still a little upset about my nightclub disappearing act, but he said he was over it.

“Hey, are you okay?” I ask, not wanting to start the week with things weird between us. “I’ll apologize again if—”

“It’s nothing,” he snaps.

“Thane, seriously.” I lean around so I can look him in the eye. “I’m sorry I left without telling you. If I could go back and do it differently, I would.” Then, just in case humor will fix things faster, I add, “Hurry up and invent that time machine already.”

He cracks a grin and I release my breath. He says, “Working on it.”

We both laugh.

The bus jerks back into motion. I tighten my grip on the bar to keep from swinging into someone’s lap.

“So,” I ask tentatively, “we’re okay?”

“Yeah,” he says as bus pulls up in front of his school. “We’re fine.”

I guess that’s as good as I’m going to get from Thane this early in the morning. By the time we get home after school, things will be back to normal. Considering everything else going on right now, I need as much normal as I can get.

The bus stops in front of the main gate with a squeal of brakes, and everyone on board lurches forward a step. As the doors open, Thane nods at me and says, “See you later.”

I smile and give him a small wave as he heads toward the door.

Half the bus empties out and I drop into the nearest available seat. I’m glad it’s one with a view of the school, because if Thane is arriving at school, then maybe Milo is too. There is a whole ocean of students funneling into the central courtyard. If Milo were there, though, I know I’d be able to find him. I’d see his head of dark curly hair above the crowd.

I haven’t seen him since Friday night and I’m having Milo withdrawals. Okay, that’s an exaggeration—I realize I’ve barely met the boy—but I am worried that he might be mad at me too. One minute we were dancing, the next I was gone. Even though I’m nothing but a new buddy’s sister to him, he has every right to be annoyed about being abandoned.

I scan the mass, searching for a mop of dark messy curls.

Instead, I spot a long, dark-blond braid.

Gretchen?

She goes to Thane’s school? Well that’s one of my questions about her answered. As the bus pulls back into motion, I wonder what will happen if Thane sees her—or, considering my life lately, when Thane sees her. Instant mess. Great, another thing to worry about. Exactly what I need on a Monday morning.

“Good morning, Mrs. Deckler,” a woman’s voice says about fifteen minutes into homeroom.

I look up and see Ms. West standing in the doorway.

“I need to see Grace Whitfield.”

“Certainly.” Mrs. Deckler scans the room for me and says, “Your presence is requested.”

I push up from my desk and make my way down the aisle. As I pass Miranda’s desk, she slides her leg into my path. Luckily, I see it in time and manage to leap over it, saving myself from a face-plant. Miranda laughs, but I ignore her. I stiffen my spine and follow Ms. West into the hallway.

She has a very serious look on her face. “Are you having a problem with Miranda?”

“No. No, it’s fine,” I insist. The last thing I want is to make a bigger deal of it than it already is. If I ignore Miranda’s taunts and jabs, then maybe she’ll eventually give up. She’ll decide I’m no fun to mess with, because I don’t fight back.

Hopefully.

“Are you certain?” Ms. West’s eyes narrow. “We do not tolerate disrespectful behavior here at Alpha. If another student is—”

“Really.” I appreciate her concern, but I want to handle this problem myself. “It’s fine.”

I force a cheery smile.

“All right then,” she says, shifting her focus. “I wanted to check in and give you one last opportunity to change your elective choices.”

“Change them?” I ask. “Why?”

“The drop deadline is tomorrow,” she says. “I thought I should give you one last chance to trade Yearbook for something else, something more . . . challenging.”

My schedule is full of challenging. Yearbook seems like it’s going to be fun, and it will give me a chance to meet lots of other students in the process.

“Actually,” I say, “I think I’ll stick it out with Yearbook.”

“Very well.” She clasps her hands behind her back. “As long as you’re happy with your choices.”

“Oh, I absolutely am.”

“Wonderful,” she says in a less-than-thrilled tone. She glances past me, into the classroom. Maybe at Miranda. For a moment I’m afraid she’s going to make a bigger deal out of that situation after all, but in the end she just says, “You should get back to your class.”

Then, without waiting for me to respond, she turns and walks away.

As I make my way back to my desk, wondering at Ms. West’s disapproval, I avoid Miranda’s leg again and swing into my seat.

“Ms. West is pretty harsh,” I say, kind of to Vail, but kind of to myself in case she ignores me.

She doesn’t.

“Guess so.” She shrugs. “Never really talked to her much myself.”

“Oh,” I say, a little surprised to hear that. Why am I the lucky one? “Maybe she takes a special interest in new students.”

This time Vail does ignore me.

“Grace,” Mrs. Deckler calls out, “can I see you for a moment?”

This time I circle around to the next aisle and bypass Miranda completely. As I reach Mrs. Deckler’s desk, she hands me a book.

“We’ll be starting this in class today,” she says with a sunny grin, “but I thought you might like a head start.”

I inspect the book, a brand-new–looking copy of Poetics by Aristotle. “Thanks.”

“I always begin the year with the origins of Western literature,” she explains, “with Greek myth and drama. Aristotle is the perfect introduction.”

An image of the griffin pops into my head, followed immediately by the feathered serpent, the fire-breathing lizard, and—of course—the minotaur. Like I need more Greek myth in my life at the moment. Not that I say that to Mrs. Deckler, because she seems very enthusiastic.

Instead, I say, “Cool.” And try to look as excited as she does.

She winks at me. “There are perks to being in both my homeroom and my English class.”

Back at my desk I glance over at Vail and see that she’s busy coloring in the letters on the cover of her calculus textbook with a black permanent marker.

I’m not rebellious enough to doodle the cover with marker, but when I flip open Poetics to the title page and find a line drawing of an old Greek guy in a drapey dress, I take my pencil and shade in the fabric of his toga. Still light enough that I can erase it before turning the book back in, but I feel a little daring for the effort.

Now, if only I could be more daring in everything else. Too bad real life isn’t erasable.

Gretchen

Monday morning comes too early and too hard. I ditch first period to catch an extra hour of sleep in the third-floor janitorial closet and to avoid running into Nick in biology. After what he saw on Friday night, I need to come armed with a reasonably believable excuse for two guys vanishing out from under me in that courtyard. I’ve got a marginally lame one, but I’m in no rush to feed him the story.

Instead, I snooze until the bell and then slip into the between-classes crowd in time to make second period. Mr. Alioso’s lecture on the Constitution lulls me to sleep, and since it’s a PowerPoint presentation and the lights are off, I get to catch a few more winks.