Inquest by DelSheree Gladden Read Free Book Online

done this without a good reason. There is a reason he
chose to subject me to high school rather than exile. It could be a
simple desire to keep an eye on me, but I doubt that.
    “If it were up
to me you’d be locked up right now,” Principal Andrews continues,
interrupting my thoughts and striking a not so pleasant nerve with
me. I glare up at her with my class schedule clenched between my
fingers.
    “I haven’t
done anything! They don’t have any right to touch me!”
    She pulls away
from me visibly, and says, “Yet.”
    That single
word quells my burst of anger and makes me shrink back. She claimed
not to know the full story behind me not being dead, but her
comment makes me wonder how much she really knows. I don’t want to
think about it too deeply so I force my attention back to my
schedule. It does not make me feel any better. The silence of her
office feels so oppressive. I say the first thing I can think of to
alleviate it.
    “When do I eat
lunch?” I ask. I hate how weak my voice sounds. I hate even more
how Principal Andrews’ voice has gone from angry to fearful in the
face of my outburst.
    “You’ll have
to eat between classes. There just wasn’t enough room for you to
have a lunch break. There wasn’t even enough time to fit all your
classes into the regular seven periods. I did the best I could.
You’ll just have to make it work, Ca…Libby,” Principal Andrews
sputters.
    Her falter at
the end makes me sink in on myself even more. Usually she insists
on calling every student by their true name. She can’t force
herself to utter mine or even make herself look at me now. She’s
staring at the papers in front of her like they might jump up and
devour her face if she takes her eyes off them. I can’t help
wanting to slap her.
    “You may go,
Libby. First period starts in five minutes.”
    Anger hot
enough to sear the fear right out of me flares to life. “Thank you
for your help, Principal Andrews,” I say through clenched teeth.
The fury in my voice shocks her enough to finally make her look up
at me. She flinches away almost instantly. The pen in her hand is
rattling against her papers as I hastily pull down my shirt sleeve
to make sure my diktats are covered. She cringes at the
movement.
    In a moment of
clarity I realize she’s honestly terrified of me underneath her
earlier anger. She has known me for years, and she’s afraid I’m
going to hurt her. Anger morphs into twisting nausea, hitting me
and making me stumble out of the room. The hallway is bustling with
people trying to make it to class on time, but I barely notice
them.
    I have a death
grip on my bag and simply stand against the wall taking deep
breaths, waiting for my heart and stomach to calm back down. My
heart wins the race, but my stomach seems content to stay as it is.
Shrill and irritating, the warning bell rips through the hallway.
Students dart into classrooms. I have to force myself to push away
from the wall and trudge through my first three periods. It takes
nearly inhuman strength to make myself walk into the gym locker
room and dress down for Speed and Strength training.
    The shorts and
t-shirt I pull on are familiar, but the strip of painted fabric I
strap around my left wrist is a new addition. I made it last night
in an attempt to muddle through some of my emotions. The fuchsia
fabric I started with can barely even be seen beneath the angry
slashes of black, electric blue blotches, and splashes of nearly
every other color I had on hand. Color and lines usually do wonders
for calming me, but last night I was too close to bursting to do
much more than take the edge off. Not much has changed since then.
I trudge out of the locker room feeling ready to either puke or
hurt someone, or possibly both.
    I’m not the
only girl in the class, thankfully, but I am the last one to walk
out onto the basketball court. As I feared, the entire gathering of
students freezes and falls silent when they notice me. Lance’s
presence