Veneer by Daniel Verastiqui Read Free Book Online Page A

touch of his fingers. Deron was frugal with his public displays of affection, which made them all the more wonderful. The teachers frowned on such intimacies, the other students jeered at them, but Rosalia felt it was the most natural thing in the world to have that tiny bit of pressure at the small of her back, pushing her along ever so slightly. At the end of the hallway, his hand moved to her elbow, then slipped past her hand.
    He disappeared without a goodbye, just an expression on his veneer that Rosalia had decided meant undying love but that could have easily been an upset stomach. As she lost his face in the crowd, another came into view, the sharp lines and angry eyes of Russo Rivera. His presence sucked all the happiness out of her, made the brief stroll with Deron seem like a distant memory. He was walking with his longtime accomplice, Jalay, who was basically a Russo clone without a grasp of portion control.
    The little shit actually smiled when he saw her staring.
    Russo, on the other hand, was looking away with forced detachment. A confrontation with him would have been fun and likely satisfying, but all it would accomplish would be the revelation that his antics were getting to her. Murder, as practical an idea as it was, would probably result in her incarceration, unless she hired someone else to do it. She sighed, imagined the possibilities. It was too extreme a reaction, killing someone just for making fake pictures of her boyfriend. Besides, Deron didn’t seem to care that much. At least, he never consciously showed it.
    There was a substitute teacher in Pre-Cal, which meant Rosalia would have the whole hour to plot her revenge. If Russo wanted to play the shop game, then it was time she responded in kind on Deron’s behalf. She spent most of the class running through the gamut of embarrassing pictures on her palette, shying away from the man on animal action and eventually settling on an almost artistic depiction of Russo and Jalay in a mutual tugfest. Her fingers moved deftly, adding various background items like S&M gear and bottles of lubricant. Finally, she added past shops of Deron, a little blurry, to an assortment of photos on the floor.
    A giggle off to the left got Rosalia’s attention. It was Ilya, sneaking a peek from her desk.
    “It’s funny,” Ilya offered.
    “I know,” said Rosalia, admiring her work. “Now, to expose it to the masses.”
    “You could post it in the bathrooms. I just saw one this morning—”
    “Yeah, it’s been done. I need something epic.”
    Rosalia saved the photo and closed her eyes, letting her mind drift into an arena where ideas were birthed and destroyed in fits of rapid chaos. She made a mental catalog of every available surface in the school, coupled it with the ease of reconciliation, and ranked it by risk of getting caught. The main hallways were no good; there were cameras on constant watch. A presentation in the cafeteria might work, but it would only get one of the lunch periods. Whatever the solution, it had to hit every student at once.
    “You love him, don’t you?” asked Ilya. She had a playful look in her eyes.
    “How do you figure?”
    “Defending his honor.” She gestured to the blank palette. “It’s very noble. Especially for a high school boyfriend.”
    “Huh,” snapped Rosalia, “so because we’re in high school our relationship doesn’t matter?”
    Ilya’s eyes went wide for a second. “Just saying...”
    “What are you saying?”
    She began playing with the tips of her hair. “It’s just the way it is. These relationships don’t last. We go off to college, we meet new people, try new things. Doesn’t leave a lot of room for the people we reconcile in our lockers.”
    Rosalia started to respond, but a sudden idea stopped her. “You’re a genius,” she said, bringing up a new portal on her palette.
    The Ukrainian had been right; a locker was a place that every student visited at least once a day. At Easton Central,