Bound By Blood and Sin

CHAPTER ONE BENTLEY (Lee) By morning, the whole school has heard. I walk with my head down, camera slinging from left to right on my neck. I count the scuffs on my faded white Nikes, and the bits of brown dirt on the hem of my jeans. No matter how hard I tried to fit in with the crowd, to blend and be forgotten, the truth somehow manages to leak out. Covering me in the disgusting scent that comes with it. This time, the blame is fully on me. “That’s her.” “It's her." This chorus follows me all the way down the hall, past the principal's office, and into my history class. I've counted thirty scuffs on my shoes by the time I settle behind my desk. I don't meet anyone's gaze. I don't have to. Because the second I set my feet inside, first there's an impregnable hush. It's like the entire class has been doused in ice. No one moves. Then, like a balloon blown past its elastic limit, they explode. Voices crash on each other. Seats screech across the floor as they huddle. Though they're trying to whisper, it flies directly to my ears. I fiddle with the buttons on my camera, flicking furiously through the images I'd captured two days ago. My hands are numb. My head feels twice it's size. My mouth tastes bitter. I can't remember if I brushed my teeth this morning. I don't remember if I even showered. I hate having my hair touch my face. Today, the thick brown strands act as shields, hiding my heated face from their hateful stares. I stop clicking at the picture of Violet cutting her cake. Or rather, the mountain of gimpap (rice rolls) she'd chosen instead. Violet had done one of those DNA tests and discovered she's thirty percent Korean. She'd even dyed her blond hair black, and began to wear black contacts. Our classmates and friends rallied around her, faces cracked with smiles. I'd greedily captured the moment, a piece of happiness desperately missing from my life. The next picture is kind of a selfie. I'd held up the antique camera dad loved so much. I'd taken a picture including my face because they'd been asking for it. And wouldn't wait for a timer either. There was this smugness in my face. As if I'd finally won. As if I'd finally succeeded and didn't have to run any more. In another ten minutes, Mr. Covey will come to teach. I just have to survive till then. I could've stayed home. But that's not even an option. My stepmom thinks I'm a harbinger of evil or something and won't stop harping about it. The dark thing is, I believe her. She's been raving for two days now, about how she'd rather just throw me out than pack up and move again. After all, I just turned eighteen, legally, no one could do anything to her. Either way, Santa Falls is too small for me to hide. The sooner they get it out of their system, the better. A balled up piece of paper comes flying toward me. I duck but not in time and it hits me square in the forehead. Tears enter my eyes and I blink furiously to hold it back. The last thing I need is to appear weak. “Hey! Lee! Did your dad really murder seventy people?!" My entire body heats from inside. My heart misses several beats and thunders against my ribcage. I don't look in the direction of the petulant male voice. Up till this moment, I thought Kevin was the dreamiest boy I'd ever seen. With his full curly blond hair, bright hazel eyes. He's the first quarterback I've seen with the best grades in school. History is the only class we share. I used to look forward to staring at the back of his head. He hardly ever asked questions in class but if they came his way, he'd ace it. The other day, my pencil case had fallen beside him. I started to stammer something I can't even remember, absolutely mortified. He'd flashed this heartstopping smile at me, leaned down and picked them all up, packaged and handed back. “Hi, Lee," he'd said. I didn't even know he knew my nickname. Throughout that day, I doodled his name and mine and named our children. Now, I can't face him and I can't answer. I don't have to. It's all over the news. It's the first thing anyone will see, if they run my facial search. Headless horseman Convicted on all counts of murder and sentenced to death. Another balled up paper misses my head and lands in front of me. Kevin's question opens the floods. They bombard me with, “did you know?" “She helped him." “She was there." “They couldn't arrest her cause she's a kid." Another object is hurled through the air. A piece of broken tile. I stumble back, just in time. My back hits the desk behind me. My camera crashes to the ground and the lens shatters. “Ew, don't touch my desk," the girl behind me mutters under her breath. A strangled cry tears through my throat as I scramble to my feet. “Who threw that?! You'll pay for my camera!” I scream. A guy beside Kevin sticks out his tongue and gives me the finger. Laughter follows his ‘funny’ face. Even as I stoop to gather the pieces. Kevin and his friend are at the next aisle, close to the wall, overlooking the window. I stomp over and slam my camera on Tucker's desk. “you'll pay for this." “Yeah, make me," he leers. “Killer. Ohhhh, you gonna strangle me too? Cut off my head?" This attracts deeper guffaws. Hysterical laughter. Several papers thump on my body. Something sizzles just beneath my skin. A rage that burns through my core, lighting up all the pain I try so hard to hide. This broken thing is the last gift I have from dad. The last thing I ever got from him. It holds memories I can never replace. My fingers curl into tight fists. I stop hearing the jeers. I picture it. Slamming Tucker's head hard on the wood. His smug forehead, splintering. That stupid smile frozen forever. It would only take a second and he'd be gone. He doesn't know it. None of them do. Of the monster trawling beneath my skin, aching for release. I start to raise my hand. Tucker's head is knocked forward. I jump back, shaking with the fear that I'd actually done it. That I'd exposed a secret I'm supposed to carry to my grave. But there's an audible gasp in the room. A sound I've become accustomed to. Wherever he goes, he elicits that effect. I'd been so focused on Tucker and my camera that I didn't see him arrive. “Pack your things and go home," Dante says curtly to me. He grabs at Tucker's collar and yanks him to his feet. None of Tucker's friends come to help, as my brother drags him out. I gather my broken things, stuff them in my backpack and scurry off with them. I'm afraid my brother would kill Tucker. It won't be the first time.