The Lost Prince. Julie KagawaЧитать онлайн книгу.
smirked. “What’s the matter, Daddy cut off your allowance this month, so you have to beat it out of the losers and freaks? Does practice not give you enough manhandling time?”
“Who the hell are you?” The smaller jock, Brian, took a menacing step forward, getting in my face. I gazed back at him, still smirking. “This your boyfriend, then?” He raised his voice. “You got a death wish, fag?”
Now, of course, we were beginning to attract attention. Students who had been averting their eyes and pretending not to see the trio against the locker began to hover, as if sensing violence on the air. Murmurs of “Fight” rippled through the crowd, gaining speed, until it felt as if the entire school was watching this little drama play out in the middle of the hall. The boy they’d been picking on, the half-breed, gave me a fearful, apologetic look and scurried off, vanishing into the crowd. You’re welcome, I thought, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Well, I had stepped into this pile of crap—I might as well go all out.
“New kid,” grunted Brian’s companion, stepping away from the lockers, looming behind the other. “The one from Southside.”
“Oh, yeah.” Brian glanced at his friend, then back at me. His lip curled in disdain. “You’re that kid who shanked his cellmate in juvie,” he continued, raising his voice for the benefit of the crowd. “After setting fire to the school and pulling a knife on a teacher.”
I raised an eyebrow. Really? That’s a new one.
Scandalized gasps and murmurs went through the student body, gaining speed like wildfire. This would be all over school tomorrow. I wondered how many more crimes I could add to my already lengthy imaginary list.
“You think you’re tough, fag?” Bolstered by the mob, Brian stepped closer, crowding me, an evil smile on his face. “So you’re an arsonist and a criminal, big deal. You think I’m scared of you?”
At least one more.
I straightened, going toe-to-toe with my opponent. “Arsonist, huh?” I said, matching his sneer with my own. “And here I thought you were as stupid as you look. Did you learn that big word in English today?”
His face contorted, and he swung at me. We were extremely close, so it was a nasty right hook, coming straight at my jaw. I ducked beneath it and shoved his arm as the fist went by, pushing him into the wall. Howls and cheers rose around us as Brian spun furiously and swung at me a second time. I twisted away, keeping my fists close to my cheeks, boxer style, to defend myself.
“Enough!”
Teachers descended from nowhere, pulling us apart. Brian swore and fought to get to me, trying to shove past the teacher, but I let myself be pulled off to the side. The one who grabbed me kept a tight hold of my collar, as if I might break free and throw a punch at him.
“Principal’s office, Kingston,” ordered the teacher, steering Brian down the hall. “Get moving.” He glared back at me. “You, too, new kid. And you better pray you don’t have a knife hidden somewhere on you, or you’ll be suspended before you can blink.”
As they dragged me off to the principal’s office, I saw the half-faery watching me from the crowd. His orange eyes, solemn and grim, never left mine, until I was pulled around a corner and lost from view.
CHAPTER TWO
HALF-BREED
I slumped in the chair in the principal’s office, arms crossed, waiting for the man across the desk to notice us. The gold sign on the mahogany surface read Richard S. Hill, Principal, though the sign’s owner hadn’t given us more than a glance when we were brought in. He sat with his eyes glued to the computer screen, a small, balding man with a beaky nose and razor-thin eyebrows, lowered into a frown. His mouth pursed as he scanned the screen, making us wait.
After a minute or two, the jock in the chair next to mine blew out an impatient sigh.
“So, uh, do you need me anymore?” he asked, leaning forward as if preparing to stand. “I can go now, right?”
“Kingston,” the principal said, finally glancing up. He blinked at Brian, then frowned again. “You have a big game this weekend, don’t you? Yes, you can go. Just don’t get into any more trouble. I don’t want to hear about fights in the hallways, understand?”
“Sure, Mr. Hill.” Brian stood, gave me a triumphant sneer, and swaggered out of the office.
Oh, that’s fair. Jock-boy was the one who threw the first punch, but we don’t want to jeopardize the team’s chance of winning the game, do we? I waited for the principal to notice me, but he had gone back to reading whatever was on the computer. Leaning back, I crossed my legs and gazed longingly out the door. The ticking of the clock filled the small room, and students stopped to stare at me through the window on the door before moving on.
“You’ve quite the file, Mr. Chase,” Hill finally said without looking up.
I suppressed a wince.
“Fighting, truancy, hidden weapons, arson.” He pushed back his chair, and those hard black eyes finally settled on me. “Is there anything you’d like to add? Like assaulting the school’s star quarterback on your very first day? Mr. Kingston’s father is part of the school board, in case you did not realize.”
“I didn’t start that fight,” I muttered. “He was the one who swung at me.”
“Oh? You were just minding your own business, then?” The principal’s sallow lips curled in a faint smile. “He swung at you out of nowhere?”
I met his gaze. “He and his football buddy were about to stick some kid’s head down a toilet. I stepped in before they could. Jock-boy didn’t appreciate me ruining his fun, so he tried smashing my face in.” I shrugged. “Sorry if I like my face as it is.”
“Your attitude does you no credit, Mr. Chase,” Hill said, frowning at me. “And you should have gotten a teacher to take care of it. You’re on very thin ice as it is.” He folded pale, spiderlike hands on his desk and leaned forward. “Since it is your first day here, I’ll let you go with a warning this time. But I will be watching you, Mr. Chase. Step out of line again, and I won’t be so lenient. Do you understand?”
I shrugged. “Whatever.”
His eyes glinted. “Do you think you’re special, Mr. Chase?” A note of contempt had entered his voice now. “Do you think you’re the only ‘troubled youth’ to sit in this office? I’ve seen your kind before, and they all go the same way—straight to prison, or the streets, or dead in the gutter somewhere. If that’s the path you want, then, by all means, keep going down this road. Drop out. Get a dead-end job somewhere. But don’t waste this school’s time trying to educate you. And don’t drag those who are going somewhere down with you.” He jerked his head at the door. “Now get out of my office. And don’t let me see you here again.”
Fuming, I pulled myself upright and slid out the door.
The hallways were empty; everyone was back in their classrooms, well into postlunch stupor, counting down the minutes to the final bell. For a moment, I considered going home, leaving this sorry excuse of a new school and a clean start, and just accepting the fact that I would never fit in and be normal. No one would ever give me the chance.
But I couldn’t go home, because Mom would be there. She wouldn’t say anything, but she would look at me with that sad, guilty, disappointed expression, because she wanted so badly for me to succeed, to be normal. She was hoping that this time, things would work out. If I went home early, no matter the reason, Mom would tell me I could try again tomorrow, and then she would probably lock herself in her room and cry a little.
I couldn’t face that. It would be worse than the lecture Dad would give me if he found out I skipped class. Plus, he’d been very fond of groundings lately, and I didn’t want to risk another one.
It’s