Chapter 63 Stand off

Chapter 63 Stand off
The clock above the chalkboard reads 2:45 PM. In the front of the room, Mr. Davis draws a molecular diagram for our advanced chemistry lab, his chalk scraping against the slate. I sit in the back row, my notebook open to a clean page. I haven't written down a single formula since the period began. Instead, my eyes keep tracking the red second hand as it moves around the clock face.

Underneath my wooden desk, I hold my phone in my lap. The screen is dimmed to the lowest setting. I open my messages and select Sarah’s name.

'Are you taking the 3:15 bus today?' I text her.

Her reply comes back thirty seconds later. 'No, my dad is picking me up after track practice. Why? I saw you in the hall this morning with that new transfer. Leo called me during his lunch break too. He said Raphael moved into the apartment next to yours last night.'

I stare at the glowing text. My fingers hover over the keyboard. I want to tell her everything. I want to tell her about the way Raph grabbed my wrist in the kitchen, about the purple marks currently hidden under my gray cardigan, and about Jackson dragging me into the stairwell during lunch. But if I tell Sarah, she will tell Leo, and Leo will confront me. Calling me dramatic and a liar.

'Just wondered,' I type back, erasing three other sentences before hitting send. 'See you tomorrow.'

I shove the phone into my backpack just as the final bell rings at 3:00 PM. The classroom instantly fills with the sound of shuffling feet, zippers, and moving chairs. I stand up, slide my backpack over my shoulders, and walk out into the crowded corridor.

My locker is down the hall, located in the busiest intersection of the senior wing. I work the combination lock quickly, twisting the dial to fourteen, thirty-two, and eight. The metal door clicks open. I drop my chemistry binder onto the bottom shelf and reach for my history textbook.

Before my fingers can touch the spine, a hand reaches past my shoulder and grabs the book for me.

"I've got it," Raph says.

I flinch, my back hitting the interior metal of my locker door. Raph is leaning against the adjacent locker, his senior blazer unbuttoned. He looks relaxed, his dark hair brushed back from his forehead. He smiles down at me, showing the single dimple on his left cheek. To any student walking past us right now, he looks like a helpful, attentive boyfriend.

"Raph," I say, keeping my voice low so the people at the neighboring lockers can't hear me. "Give me my book."

"I'm just helping you out, Maya," he says smoothly. He doesn't lower his voice at all. He sets the history textbook into the open main compartment of my backpack, then reaches down and slides the canvas straps off my shoulders. "Your mom sent me a text twenty minutes ago. Her shift at the store got extended until eight tonight. She asked me to pick up a gallon of milk and some bread on our way home so you don't have to walk to the grocery store in the rain."

He zips my backpack shut and swings it over his own right shoulder. He stands directly in front of my locker door, blocking me from stepping out into the hallway stream.

"I told her I'd handle it," Raph continues, his voice dropping into that quiet tone he uses when we are alone. "I told her we’d be home by four. Let's go."

I look at the canvas bag hanging from his shoulder. He has my books, my keys, and my mother’s approval. If I refuse to walk with him, he will call my mother right in front of me, and I will spend the evening listening to her scold me for being ungrateful.

"Fine," I whisper. "Let's go."

I slam my locker door shut and lock it. Raph extends his right arm, bending his elbow the same way he did this morning. I look at his silver-and-gold sleeve, then lift my hand and slip my fingers through the crook of his arm. The moment I touch him, his left hand comes up and clamps down over my fingers, pressing my wrist firmly against his ribs.

We walk down the main corridor toward the rear exit of the building. The path to the public bus stop requires us to cross the length of the senior parking lot. It is where the wealthiest students park their cars. Its always filled with imported sports cars and luxury SUVs.

As we step through the glass double doors into the damp afternoon air, the cold wind hits my face. The rain has stopped, leaving the ground slick and covered in shallow puddles that reflect the gray sky.

Raph walks with a slow pace. His eyes scanning the rows of vehicles ahead of us.

"Row one," Raph murmurs, his grip on my fingers tightening slightly. "That's the hockey captain's car, right? The black one near the athletic entrance?"

My heart drops. I look ahead and see Jackson’s car.

Jackson is standing by the rear trunk, tossing his leather gear bag into the cargo space. He is still wearing his gray practice jersey, his jacket nowhere to be seen despite the cold temperature. Chloe is leaning against the passenger side door, her arms crossed over her uniform vest, chatting with two other girls from the cheer squad.

"Let's just take the side path, Raph," I say, trying to pull his arm toward the grassy perimeter of the lot. "It's faster."

"The main asphalt path is drier, Maya," Raph says, his voice pleasant. "We don't want to get your sneakers muddy."

He adjusts his course, steering me directly down the center lane of row one. We are walking straight toward Jackson's trunk.

As we close the distance, Chloe’s laughter dies down. She stops talking mid-sentence, her blue eyes tracking us as we approach. She reaches out and taps Jackson’s shoulder, nodding her head in our direction.

Jackson straightens up slowly. He slams the trunk lid shut with a loud bang that echoes across the asphalt. He turns around, his eyes locking onto my face. Then his gaze lowers, fixing on the position of Raph’s arm around me.

When we are exactly five feet away from the rear bumper of Jackson's car, Raph stops. He shifts his weight, sliding his arm off his side and placing it around my shoulders. He pulls my body firmly against his hip, his fingers pressing into the fabric of my cardigan right above the area where he bruised my wrist yesterday.

I stiffen, my breath catching in my throat. I look at Jackson, my eyes wide with a silent warning. Don't do it. Remember the eviction. Remember your dad.

Jackson takes two steps forward. His jaw set tightly, his hands buried inside his pockets, but I can see the fabric straining as his fists clench.

"Raph," Jackson says. His voice cutting through the sound of idling engines around us. "You're blocking the lane."

"Just passing through," Raph replies. He tightens his arm around my shoulder, forcing me to lean into his chest. "Maya and I have to get home to help her brother with his leg exercises. Her mom is expecting us for dinner."

Jackson’s eyes shift from Raph’s face down to me.

"Maya," Jackson says, his voice cracking slightly on my name. He ignores Raph, stepping closer until he is standing right at the edge of a puddle between us. "Are you going home?"

"Yes," I say quickly, my voice steady despite the panic fluttering in my chest. I look directly into his pupils, trying to project every ounce of urgency I have left. "I'm going home, Jackson. We have errands to run. We're late."

I need him to understand. I need him to stay back.

Chloe steps around the side of the car, her heels clicking loudly against the wet asphalt. She slides her hand through Jackson’s elbow, mirroring the way I am holding Raph. She looks at me with a triumphant expression.

"Let them go, Jackson," Chloe says, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "They have a bus to catch. We need to get to the athletic center before the booster meeting starts anyway. Your dad said he'd be waiting for us in the lobby."

Jackson’s tenses at the mention of his father. His eyes stay on my face for a few more seconds, searching for any sign that I want him to intervene, but I keep my expression dead.

"Right," Jackson whispers, his voice hollow. He steps backward, clearing the path between his car and the next row. "Get out of here, Raph."

"Have a good practice, Thorne," Raph says.

Raph guides me past the rear bumper, his arm remaining until we clear the final row of vehicles and reach the gravel path leading to the public bus stop, a victorious smile clinging on his face.

When we reach the metal shelter of the bus stop, the city bus is already idling by the curb, its exhaust pipe releasing clouds of white smoke into the cold air. Raph removes his arm from my shoulders, stepping onto the metal stairs of the bus first to drop his fare into the box.

I follow him inside, the doors groaning shut behind us as we move toward the empty seats in the back.