Page 39 of Wrath

I had Dr. Bumble for tenth grade honors chem, so it’s a little weird to hear his soft monotone again as he calls roll. “Masters…Ezra.”

Ezra raises his hand.

After roll call’s over, Bumble realizes he’s missing some papers, so he steps out to make copies. Everybody starts talking at once, and my eyes snap to dickface again. I’m surprised to find the social butterfly with his head down. His right hand is raised to rub his temple like he’s got a headache.

Good.

I rub my own forehead. I don’treallythink it’s good. Why am I like this? Always the nice guy. Nice guys finish last. I know they do. That’s why I’m not acting like one. I’m not showing him I’m a marshmallow. But as he folds his arms atop his desk and lays his head down on them, I feel a tight clench of remorse.

Did he deserve to be punched in the eye? Fuck yes. Do I getany joy out of watching him lie on his desk now? Not even a little bit. All the fury I felt this morning when I thought of rolling his hand up in the car window has dissipated. Probably diluted by this long-ass school day.

I can’t help the way my brain works: It’s his first day at a new school, and he had to start with a black eye. I think of how I found him last night—crying on the roof from what seemed like a wicked nightmare. What makes Ezra Masters cry?

His hand sifts through his blond hair, fingers curling slightly, and I wonder if I really hurt him.Shit.

Then Dr. Bumble is back, and while I’m opening my notebook, I guess Ezra gets up. When I lift my gaze again, I see him walking out of the room.

Fuck. What if he has a concussion, and he’s going to the school nurse? What if he exacts revenge by telling his dad?

That’s stupid, Miller.

Shit—I want to know if he’s okay, though.

He doesn’t give a fuck about you, so don’t give one about him.

It’s all useless. When we’re assigned lab partners, Bumble pairs me up with Ezra, and my pulse surges like Pavlov’s dog.

“Helps to study together,” he says in his drawn-out, twangy Southern monotone. Bumble frowns at Ezra’s empty seat.

“Mr. Masters,” he says, with his hand half-raised, as if he wants to point at me but doesn’t have the energy. “He left to use the hall pass, but that was some time ago. Perhaps you might follow and see if he’s become lost?”

I take a second hall pass from Bumble’s desk and set off.

I’m not energized by this, or nervous. I feel nothing, I tell myself. It would make no sense if I felt any way aboutanother Ezra encounter. Especially after what went down last night.

As I walk toward the nearest restroom, I wonder where he went—and what I’ll say when I find him. There’s a part of me that hopes I’ll find him snorting cocaine off the sink’s ledge just so I can hate on him. Because I should—hate on him. The guy’s a menace, snooping through my shit and always ribbing me, calling me Millsy. The way he grabbed me last night—that was beyond fucked up.

Something’s wrong with him, I think. I mean…Iknow.

I’m pretty curious to see what the fucker’s up to when I push open the bathroom door, so I’m surprised to find the place is empty. Maybe he did get lost. More likely, dumbass stepped outside to smoke.

If I can’t find him soon, I’m going back to class. I pull open the door of the bathroom stall, where some guy on the toilet mutters, “Fuck.” Then I turn around toward physics.

Let him skip. It’s not my job to go find him.

As I walk, I think about last night. Again. I think about his eyes on mine as his hand closed around me. Always with the sneering attitude, but his eyes—they burned into mine.

I wonder if he’s gay, or bi. I know I shouldn’t care, but how can I not, after what happened? How can I not wonder? It’s okay, as long as I don’t want him. And I don’t. I don’t want anything to do with Ezra.

I stop walking as my eyes latch onto an “EXIT” door on my right. It’s cracked open with a rock wedged in between the door and door jam. As soon as I inhale, catching a whiff of smoke, I know it’s gotta be my wayward stepbro.

A peek outside shows Ezra standing with his back against the brick wall. He’s got a cigarette held to his lips. I watch as his shoulders rise on the inhale.

“That shit stinks.”

He jumps a mile and turns to me with shock on his face. “Jesus, Miller.”

“I don’t look a thing like him.”

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