Drowning Instinct(7)
Author: Ilsa J. Bick

Great. You know that very last scene in The Birds, Bob, the one where Rod Taylor and the old lady who played his mom are trying to get Tippi Hedren into the car, only they have to run this gauntlet of seagulls and crows that might just peck their eyes out? Well, this was like that. I swear, it felt like a gazillion eyes drilled my back, all these other kids watching and waiting for me to trip or burp or fart, or maybe all three. I made it to my desk without any drama and that seemed to be the general cue for everyone to go back to gossiping, which was fine by me.

Then, maybe ten seconds after I slid into my seat, I felt a tap on my right shoulder. I couldn‘t help it; I flashed to Harley and that dumb coffee cup: This yours? I turned.

―David Melman.‖ He had dark eyes and a mop of muddy brown hair. When he smiled, a dimple showed at the left corner of his mouth. He stuck out a hand. ―Welcome to Turing.‖

―Jenna Lord. Uhm, pleased to meet you.‖ His skin was soft, but his grip was very firm. The handshake was weirdly comfortable and formal all at the same time.

―Everyone will tell you that I‘m just being nice because I‘m running for student council,‖ David said. ―They‘re partly right.‖

―About the student council part, or the being nice part?‖

―Oh, I‘m running. Looks good on the résumé. If you haven‘t gotten that speech from your advisor yet, you will. Do you know who that is?‖

―I‘m too busy trying to find my way around.‖

The tardy bell rang. David dropped his voice to a whisper, ―Well, if you need any help or don‘t understand something, just ask, okay?‖

―Sure.‖ I gave my perkiest you bet grin and faced forward. But, to tell you the truth, Bob, I was a little pissed off, too. Like, did I look as if I needed the help?

This is just like the ward. I inched a little lower in my seat. Don’t shout, don’t make a fuss, smile at the doctor and we’ll all be just fine.

The first day of all classes is virtually the same, regardless of the school. Trig was no different. Fish Eyes finished calling attendance and then got a couple students to hand out textbooks. We spent the next twenty minutes going through the books, looking for stray marks, and noting where other students had scribbled in answers. Then, in the fifteen minutes that were left, Fish Eyes snorted and snuffled his way through the first chapter, all of it review, and assigned homework—―Even problems, one through sixty‖—with maybe thirty seconds to spare before the bell shrilled.

Thank you, GAWD. I gathered up my books as everyone else started jabbering like caged parakeets. All the noise was the perfect cover, though. I figured to just slip in behind those three girls and glide on out—

David slid in at my elbow. ―What do you have next?‖

―Ah.‖ I had to think about it a sec. ―Honors English.‖

―Oh, you‘ll like Dewerman.‖ He grinned. ―He‘s really—‖

―Ms. Lord,‖ Fish Eyes called just as we got to the door. ―A moment, please.‖

I braked so quickly that David nearly tripped over my feet. ―Sorry,‖ I said.

―It‘s okay,‖ he said. ―You want me to wait?‖

―Ah . . .‖ Everyone else was spilling around us, some tossing curious glances and others smirking: Yeah, sucks to be you. To be honest, David was getting on my nerves. I wasn‘t a lost puppy, for God‘s sake, just the crazy new kid.

―No, I‘m good, thanks,‖ I said. David opened his mouth to say something else, but I was already doing a quick about-face.

―David, if you‘ll close the door on your way out?‖ Fish Eyes called.

―Sure,‖ David said. ―See you, Jenna.‖

―Yeah,‖ I said but didn‘t look around. I heard the door snick shut. The room was dead quiet except for the shush of my slides over linoleum as I walked back to Fish Eyes‘s desk.

―Yes, sir?‖ I wasn‘t sure if I ought to say sir, but I blanked on the guy‘s name and Fish Eyes would probably be a mistake. ―Is there a problem? Did I do something wrong?‖

―Wrong? Oh, no, no.‖ Fish Eyes tugged off his glasses and dragged a cloth from his front pocket. Without his specs, his eyes dwindled to lead pellets. ―I just wanted to let you know how delighted we all are that you‘re here, Jenna. . . . May I call you Jenna? Good. . . .

I‘ve, uh, had the opportunity to look at your record—your placement exams and those you took while you were homeschooled—and they are impressive, most impressive.

Particularly.‖ He hawed on one lens and rubbed with the cloth. ―Particularly given your, ah, peculiar circumstances.‖

I said nothing. I could feel the heat rising up my neck and splashing over my face.

My God, was it going to be like this with every teacher? No, wait, that wasn‘t fair. Mr.

Anderson hadn‘t treated me like a freak. Yet. Maybe he just hadn‘t placed the name with the diagnosis.

―We, uh, know that you‘ve had quite the, ah, struggle,‖ Fish Eyes said. ―A very bad, very tough time of it. I want you to know how sorry I am about—‖

―Thanks.‖ In five seconds, my twitching skin would rip itself from my bones and go screaming down the hall. All I wanted was to run run run and find someplace to cut in peace. ―I should go,‖ I said, flashing a bright, chipper little grin. ―Wouldn‘t want to be late my first day.‖ Which was true enough.

―No, of course not.‖ Fish Eyes slipped on his glasses. ―I just want you to know that if you, ah, need anything, any special help, just want to talk maybe . . .‖

―Thanks,‖ I said, edging away, grinning my frozen little rictus of a grin. ―Thanks a lot.‖

I didn‘t exactly run, not like I had from Mr. Anderson. Oh, I wanted to, but my eyes stung and I would probably have bashed into a wall. And, anyway, running was just too pathetic. But I was still moving pretty fast and so, of course, as I burst through the door and into the general swirl, I didn‘t look where I was going.

Bam!

I plowed right into David Melman so hard that even he staggered. My notebooks, bright M&M colors, fluttered like broken-winged kites. My trig textbook promptly got turned into a hacky sack by assorted legs and feet before some kid scooped it up on the fly and backhanded it to David.

―Whoa, you okay? Here, let me.‖ David stooped just as I bent to pick up my notebooks and we banged heads. My vision sheeted white. This time, both our trig books went to ground. ―Jeez.‖ David put a hand to his forehead. ―Are you all right?‖

―I‘m fine,‖ I said for what must be the millionth time that day. How many hours had I been at this already? I could feel a knot beginning right above my left eyebrow. Great.

Now I‘d look like a rhino. ―Are you okay?‖