Friday. She cornered me at my locker before first bell. Petra van den Berg, dressed in all black, of course, with a silver key exactly like Rosalee’s dangling from a long, thin necklace. Blond, pretty, and bone thin. I wasn’t sure if her recent illness had wasted her flesh or if fashion had.
I figured she wanted to get into it with me, some he’s-my-man-so-step-off song and dance. If so, she would have to dance solo.
I don’t do drama.
“It’s not gone work with you and Wyatt,” she said, sounding congested.
“It isn’t?”
She cleared her throat and then leaned against me—like I was a wall!—resting her bent arm on my shoulder. “I get where you’re coming from, okay? You’re just a candy-ass transy; believe me, I’ve been there.”
Been there? She was still there. The slightest breeze would blow her down to Mexico.
“So you think, ‘Wow!’” she continued, her greenish waif’s eyes bright with sincerity. “‘Look at this strong, fearless, yummy-looking boy. He’s the answer to my prayers.’ Right? Well, wrong.” The sincerity darkened. “Wyatt’s Mortmaine duties always come first, so you’ll always come second. Or third. Or
tenth
.”
Petra took a break from her speech to cough into the back of her hand. She was
very
congested and still leaning against me, so I patted her on the back, wishing I had a jar of Vicks so I could offer it to her.
She needed a keeper.
“I don’t care about Wyatt’s priorities,” I told her. “I don’t care about Wyatt.”
Shock cleared away Petra’s congestion. “You don’t?”
“No.”
“So you’re not gone go for him? At all?”
“I wouldn’t cross the street with that boy.” I hadn’t forgotten or forgiven the lap incident.
“Well …” Petra seemed surprised I hadn’t put up more of a fight. Surprised and relieved. “Good. Great! You’re too strong for him anyway.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” As an experiment I sidled away from her oppressive leaning, just to see if she’d stand on her own. She didn’t. She backed up against the dark blue lockers and leaned against them.
“It’s not bad. Must be nice to be strong.” Petra ducked her head, examining the delicate framework of papery skin and spidery bones that was her body. She sighed. “But if I was, I wouldn’t need Wyatt. And he’s the kind of boy who needs to be needed.”
“You need air. You need food. You don’t need some beastly boy.”
A spark lit within her waif’s eyes, like the gleam of a razor blade in a bowl of pudding. “Wyatt’s not just some boy, and he’s
not
beastly. He’s Mortmaine. An initiate, but a survivor. A real badass.”
“Mortmaine?”
“They’re a family. Not a blood family, but they all take thename Mortmaine when they pass initiation. You have to be real special to join.” She took note of my blank face. “You must’ve seen ’em around. They dress all in green, drive green trucks, keep us all safe? Duh.”
I remembered the bossy woman all in green from the administration office my first day. “Safe from what?”
Petra’s eyes lost their spark. For the first time I understood what the dark peach girl had meant when she said you could always tell by the eyes who had seen something real and who hadn’t. Petra had seen something real—some
thing
that had burned itself into her retinas.
“I can’t even remember what it’s like to be that clueless,” she said, her voice low and awful. “I almost envy you.”
“Pet!”
Lecy stood near the stairwell, waving Petra over.
Petra grabbed my shoulders, leaning on me again, but this time so she could whisper in my ear. “Do yourself a favor and find someone tough, someone like Wyatt, who’ll look after you. You’ll thank me.” She let me go and rushed off to join Lecy.
Someone tough to look after me?
Petra seemed like a nice girl, not quite the bitch I’d beenexpecting, but even if I’d wanted to be her friend, her attitude would drive me
I figured she wanted to get into it with me, some he’s-my-man-so-step-off song and dance. If so, she would have to dance solo.
I don’t do drama.
“It’s not gone work with you and Wyatt,” she said, sounding congested.
“It isn’t?”
She cleared her throat and then leaned against me—like I was a wall!—resting her bent arm on my shoulder. “I get where you’re coming from, okay? You’re just a candy-ass transy; believe me, I’ve been there.”
Been there? She was still there. The slightest breeze would blow her down to Mexico.
“So you think, ‘Wow!’” she continued, her greenish waif’s eyes bright with sincerity. “‘Look at this strong, fearless, yummy-looking boy. He’s the answer to my prayers.’ Right? Well, wrong.” The sincerity darkened. “Wyatt’s Mortmaine duties always come first, so you’ll always come second. Or third. Or
tenth
.”
Petra took a break from her speech to cough into the back of her hand. She was
very
congested and still leaning against me, so I patted her on the back, wishing I had a jar of Vicks so I could offer it to her.
She needed a keeper.
“I don’t care about Wyatt’s priorities,” I told her. “I don’t care about Wyatt.”
Shock cleared away Petra’s congestion. “You don’t?”
“No.”
“So you’re not gone go for him? At all?”
“I wouldn’t cross the street with that boy.” I hadn’t forgotten or forgiven the lap incident.
“Well …” Petra seemed surprised I hadn’t put up more of a fight. Surprised and relieved. “Good. Great! You’re too strong for him anyway.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” As an experiment I sidled away from her oppressive leaning, just to see if she’d stand on her own. She didn’t. She backed up against the dark blue lockers and leaned against them.
“It’s not bad. Must be nice to be strong.” Petra ducked her head, examining the delicate framework of papery skin and spidery bones that was her body. She sighed. “But if I was, I wouldn’t need Wyatt. And he’s the kind of boy who needs to be needed.”
“You need air. You need food. You don’t need some beastly boy.”
A spark lit within her waif’s eyes, like the gleam of a razor blade in a bowl of pudding. “Wyatt’s not just some boy, and he’s
not
beastly. He’s Mortmaine. An initiate, but a survivor. A real badass.”
“Mortmaine?”
“They’re a family. Not a blood family, but they all take thename Mortmaine when they pass initiation. You have to be real special to join.” She took note of my blank face. “You must’ve seen ’em around. They dress all in green, drive green trucks, keep us all safe? Duh.”
I remembered the bossy woman all in green from the administration office my first day. “Safe from what?”
Petra’s eyes lost their spark. For the first time I understood what the dark peach girl had meant when she said you could always tell by the eyes who had seen something real and who hadn’t. Petra had seen something real—some
thing
that had burned itself into her retinas.
“I can’t even remember what it’s like to be that clueless,” she said, her voice low and awful. “I almost envy you.”
“Pet!”
Lecy stood near the stairwell, waving Petra over.
Petra grabbed my shoulders, leaning on me again, but this time so she could whisper in my ear. “Do yourself a favor and find someone tough, someone like Wyatt, who’ll look after you. You’ll thank me.” She let me go and rushed off to join Lecy.
Someone tough to look after me?
Petra seemed like a nice girl, not quite the bitch I’d beenexpecting, but even if I’d wanted to be her friend, her attitude would drive me
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