Blood & Bond

Chapter Two

Sinella rolls her bike to Treaty High. She reads the time on her pumpkin face watch. 8:40. The first session has started. “Is almost done,” would be a better way to put it. This morning she has History with Ms. Pringle.

Great!

Sinella rolles her eyes, exhaling her exasperation as she pushes her bike to the back of the school. She catches a whiff of the fetid odour emanating from the dumpster. The garbage gets collected every other day but somehow the dumpster carries the perpetual stench of fermented food, hinting, teasing at a bigger stink. Sinella takes a large gulp of the foul air, holds her breath, and rolls her bike closer to the dumpster. She tries to slip the bike into the space between the dumpster and the back wall of the school.

“Damn it!” The bike doesn’t fit. The dumpster must have been pushed back. Sinella adjusts the wheels and the handlebars, angling the bike in different orientations. It still doesn’t slide in. She rams the bike against the dumpster while trying to pull the half-full dumpster away from the wall.

“You’re going to hurt yourself doing that.”

Sinella jumps. The voice came from the other end of the dumpster. She backs away with her bike. The boy who spoke steps out of his hiding place with a lit cigarette in hand. Blonde hair, shaved low on the sides. Skin as fair as Sinella’s. Dark, intense eyes. She’s never seen him before.

“You know, they have special parking by the front for that.” He points at Sinella’s bike.

“My bike prefers it around here.”

“Behind the dumpster?”

“Yep.” Sinella’s eyes rove about, searching for another spot to stash her bike. Her eyes land on the wooded area behind Treaty High. Tempting. “It’s nice and peaceful back here,” Sinella adds, still distractedly searching the schoolyard.

“Sure.” The boy c***s his brow, puffs on the thing he had been smoking. It’s not a cigarette. “Nice and peaceful.”

“How about you stay out of my business and I stay out of yours.”

Sinella gives up, returns to the front of the school, and finds a vacant spot at the far end of the lot reserved for bicycle parking. She deposits her bike and doesn’t bother to chain it. The bike will be there when school is over or it won’t. She shrugs and saunters to her locker. There is only one session of History this morning and it’s almost over. She’ll collect her things and head to Math instead.

Bright, red letters on one of the lockers just ahead, grip Sinella’s attention. Before she reads the words scrawled across the metal, Sinella knows the graffiti is a note left for her. Without a doubt, the message is on her locker. “This again!” Sinella sighs, relinquishing the small hope she has been harbouring that things can be changed. The angry red words temper her pace. Angry and hateful, that’s the only type of communication she receives at Treaty High.

Sinella counts her steps, trying - and failing - to not read the letters before she reaches her locker. She delays her arrival, stretching out the minutes until she’s confronted with the mean words, and they officially become her problem. Wolf Bait. A recurring insult. Her schoolmates are hateful but they lack the imagination to think up novel slurs. Last week they tagged her a Halfer Lover.

As much as she hates them, Sinella needs to belong to them. Maximus will never turn her, so she needs to fit in with her own kind. She needs a people of her own. She needs to be accepted by the humans who despise her because of the werewolf who is raising her. Sinella can never understand why whoever left her at The Academy couldn’t have left her on the steps of Treaty High instead. She will never understand why Maximus fought to keep her. Sometimes she wishes he hadn’t. Her life would be better if he hadn’t. He should have let her be a neglected human orphan.

Sinella slams her fist against her locker. Her hand lands on the red streaks racing from the “W” in wolf to the “B” in bait.

“Are you trying to tear the school apart? If yes, count me in.”

The boy has walked in from the back. Sinella pays little attention to him and the herby odour that perfumes the air around him. She examines her throbbing hand. The side of it is red. Blood has flooded the area underneath her skin, where her hand met the hard metal. There is also a red smear on the surface of her skin. Sinella rubs her index finger over the letters on her locker, feeling the fine lines of the brushstroke. They have upped the ante. This isn’t spray paint. Someone laboured with a can of paint and a brush, then took their time to transcribe their hate. She bets there were witnesses.

“Did the dumpster do that to your knee?” The boy is still here and he’s still talking. “I told you you would hurt yourself. You look like you had a run-in with a halfer.”

Sinella loses it at the mention of the word “halfer.”

“How about you grab a mint and stay out of my business,” she snaps at him.

“Oh!” The boy’s mouth and eyes grow wide. He’s looking at the locker, not Sinella. “Yours?”

“What do you think?”

“No peace in here I guess.” He lowers his gaze to Sinella’s ripped pants. “You really should have somebody look at that.”

“I’m fine.”

Sinella pushes past him and heads to the janitor’s office. She raps on the door twice, then pushes it open.

“Mr. Wesley, there is paint all over my locker.”

“Again.” Mr. Wesley moans the word over a mouthful of his sandwich. He places the half-eaten sandwich on his desk, wipes his hands and mouth, and turns to face Sinella, causing Sinella to lose her partial view of the bald spot in the centre of his head.

Mr. Wesley’s greasy dark hair is brushed back, away from his face. He examines Sinella intently, with light brown eyes. Sinella grows weary under his gaze. She knows what will come next. She inhales deeply, basking in the pine and bleach smells that fragrance the room.

“You’ll have to clean it yourself this time,” Mr. Wesley says.

“But that’s not fair.”

“Is it fair for me to clean it?”

“No…but…”

“Report it to the principal.”

“I don’t want to do that.”

Mr. Wesley turns away from Sinella, returning his attention to his sandwich, granting Sinella, again, a view of his side profile and a peak of his bald spot.

“The soap and bucket are in that corner.” Mr. Wesley points to a red bucket by the door. A yellow rag hangs lazily across the handle. “That’s your special bucket,” Mr. Wesley adds. He chuckles, takes another bite.

Sinella turn, swings the door wide.

“They won’t stop until someone holds them accountable,” Mr. Wesley says as Sinella exits his office. Sinella allows the door to swing close behind her without looking back.

She returns to the locker and finds the boy still standing there.

“Is the janitor coming?” he asks. Sinella reaches past him and opens her locker. She takes out her Math textbook and notebook and slams the locker shut.

“So,” the boy continues, “is he coming? Do you need me to go get him? They already gave me the tour.”

“He’s not coming,” Sinella answers so the boy will shut up. “Says I should clean it myself.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s what he’s here for.”

“Actually it isn’t,” Sinella snaps. “It’s not his job to clean up after them.”

“And it’s yours?”

“No.”

“So what? You’re just gonna leave it like that? Make yourself a target for more insults when everyone sees it.”

“What do I care? I’m already a target.”

“I have a feeling that you care a lot. You wouldn’t have fought your locker if you didn't.”

“You know what-”

“I should mind my business. Yea. I know.”

The bell rings, disrupting Sinella’s thoughts. Instinctively, Sinella falls back against the locker, pressing her body against the red words, trying to conceal the slur.

“I thought you didn’t care.”

“Oh. Shut up!” Sinella was trying not to care, but she really should have washed the locker off before the bell rang. All her days at Treaty High are miserable, but she experiences her worst days when her locker is tagged. It’s as if the messages act as a form of bully signaling, a reminder to all that they should taunt her. Even the quiet students, the ones who don’t bother her most days, hurl a few choice words at her when the bully signal is activated.

The hall fills with people spilling out of various rooms. Sinella is fenced in. There isn’t enough of her to hide all the letters. The busyness slows, stills. Sinella glues herself to the locker. It doesn’t stop the snickers.

“Sup, Wolf Bait?” Brad, captain of the soccer team, greets Sinella as he passes her. If she had to guess, she would say that he’s the one who has written the message.

“Lay off it man.” The nosy boy jumps to Sinella’s defense.

“Let me guess…” Brad c***s his head to the side and faces the blonde-haired boy. “New guy.” Brad lifts his brow quizically. “Must be,” Brad adds. “You must be new if you think you can tell me what to do.” Brad steps to the boy. The snickers morph into whispers. The crowd falls back. Dylan and Emmet - Brad’s right and left arms - step forward.

“Listen, new guy,” Brad says, “if you expect to fit in around here, you need to learn that we don’t mix with halfers.”

“I’m not,” Sinella screams. The boy turns to her. His eyes search her face questioningly. Sinella whispers, “I’m not.” Trying to escape the stigma of who her father is, is like trying to crawl from underneath a weight that gets heavier by the minute. It presses her down, reducing her to nothing so that all that’s left is who her father is.

“Thanks for the tip,” the boy says, “but I’ll choose who I mix with.”

Brad steps even closer to him. “Are we going to have a problem?”

“Looks like Wolf Bait has got herself a little protector,” the right arm, Emmet says.

The new guy steps forward, closing the little distance between him and Brad. Brad is several inches taller than the new guy. The new guy looks up to meet Brad’s eyes, showing no signs of backing down. Something snaps in Sinella. She’s never had anyone stand up for her before. She feels simultaneously protected and humiliated. Sinella likes feeling that someone has her back, but it also makes her feel small because the new guy thinks she’s so weak and needs his protection. Sinella doesn’t know what to do with these foreign and conflicting emotions.

“If I was a halter, yours would be the first throat I rip out.” Sinella’s body heaves with her rage.

Brad’s head snaps in Sinella’s direction. He looks ready to kill. Fear grips Sinella. She has nothing left to say or do to stand her ground. She waits for Brad to attack. He looks ready to but the bell rings capturing all of their attention. The crowd starts to disperse.

“I’m Ethan,” the blonde boy says to Sinella when the crowd thins. “I should probably tell you my name since you will be my only friend here.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” says Sinella.

“Do what?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Sinella turns to face her locker. She chips the red paint with her nail. A flake of red paint lodges underneath her nail, exerting pressure there, filling up the space where her skin meets the nail, looking like blood. Sinella turns to face Ethan again. “You don’t want to be on the oust with them. You shouldn’t have stuck your neck out for me.”

“I don’t like people telling me what to do.” The boy looks down the hall, then back at Sinella. “So are you going to tell me your name?”

“Sinella.”

“Nice to meet you, Sinella.” Ethan extends a hand toward her. Sinella considers it, then takes the hand in hers. “Nice to meet you too.”

“We should probably head to class,” Ethan says. “I have English. You?”

“Math.”

“Where do I find it?”

“Thought you said they gave you a tour.”

“So you were listening.” Ethan smiles. His eyes aren’t as dark and intense as Sinella first thought. There’s a lightness, a playfulness to them.

“How about we skip it?’

“What? Class?”

Ethan nods.

“I shouldn't. Don’t want to get in any trouble.” She probably wouldn’t get in trouble. Sinella doubts anyone will inform Maximus that she missed history. What’s one more class added to the list? “Where to?” she asks Ethan.

“Not far. I was thinking we could go chill in the principal’s office.”

Sinella walks away, heading in the direction of the staircase so that she can head to room 401 where her Math class has already started.

“Are you just gonna leave me hanging,” Ethan calls after her, then chases after her. When he catches up to her he says, “You should report it to someone. I know jerks like Ethan. They always escalate.”

Sinella stops, turns to Ethan. “Just let it go. It will blow over.”

“How long have they been harassing you? Has it ever blown over?”

Sinella studies her ripped jeans.

“That’s what I thought. Don’t wait until they take things too far.”

Sinella nods. Ethan steps off in the direction of the principal’s office. Stops. He waits for Sinella to join him. Is it really worth pursuing this? Sinella answers her question with something Ethan has said. What if things escalate? It’s hard enough to deal with the mean words and the jeers. Sinella has heard of the bloodshed of the past. Though she never witnessed the c*****e, daily she is privy to the hate that fueled the brutality. What if that hate inspires new murder?

Sinella nods. “I’ll do it.” She surrenders all hopes of fitting in. Perhaps Ethan will be friend enough for her.

Mr. Creech sits at his large brown desk. When Sinella enters the room, Mr. Creech doesn’t peel his eyes from his computer monitors.

“How may I help you, Ms. Groves?” He asks with his eyes still glued to a computer screen. Sinella fixes her gaze on the oscillating pendulum on Mr. Creech’s desk.

“I’d like to report an incident of harassment,” says Sinells. “Several incidents,” she mutters this part under her breath.

“Go ahead.” He still doesn’t face her.

“Do I just tell you?” asks Sinella. “Don’t I need to fill out a report or something.”

“Writing the report puts in on the record,” Mr. Creech says. “Those types of things follow students all their lives. I’m sure you don’t want to put any of your schoolmates at that severe disadvantage. I’m sure we can resolve this without such drastic steps.”

“I am at a disadvantage because of the way my schoolmates treat me.” Sinella tightens her jaw. “Calling me wolf bait, halfer lover, and tagging my locker puts me at a disadvantage. Every day I come to school I’m so tense because I don’t know what I’ll have to endure.” Sinella leans into the courage flowing through her body. This too is foreign but she seems to know what to do with it.

“It will blow over…”

Sinella scoffs. Blow over. Did it sound this ridiculous when she had said it to Ethan?

“Kids like to tease,” Mr. Creech adds. “If you make too much of this, it will only get worse.”

“How much worse can it get?” Sinella’s fists are balled at her sides. She steps closer to Mr. Creech’s desh.

“I would urge you to watch your tone,” Ms. Groves.

“This isn’t a game, Mr. Creech. They. Are. Harassing. Me.” The silver pendulum catches her eyes again. “Do you suggest I wait until they cut me open and see if I’ll heal? Or are you going to do something about it?”

“There is no need for me to intervene when you can easily solve this with Mr. James.”

“I never told you that Brad was the one harassing me.” So Brad was the one who wrote on her locker. How did Mr. Creech know that he was the one who did it? “You saw him do it! And you did nothing about it.” Sinella marches around the desk to confirm her suspicion. She examines the screens that had Mr. Creech transfixed. Mr. Creech tries to adjust his monitors, turning them away from Sinella but she sees the multiple camera angles displayed on the monitors. Mr. Creech is always watching. He has been watching. He knows how Sinella is being harassed and who is doing the harassment. Sinella chastises herself for thinking that Mr. Creech would ever grant justice to a halfer lover.

“I’ll see what my father has to say about all this,” says Sinella. Mr. Creech bristles at the mention of her father.

“I’m sure these aren’t the terms he agreed to,” adds Sinella. She storms from Mr. Creech’s office, finds Ethan waiting where she left him.

“What happened?” asks Ethan. “You look pissed.”

“I should have known better.” Sinella leaves him standing by his chair and marches to the front of the school to retrieve her bike and begin the climb up the hill.