Page 10 of Burn

Someone stands, walking their test to the front of the room and placing it on the teacher’s desk. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, willing my brain to catch up to what I’m reading. At the same time, I hear a quiet ‘psst’ and lift my head again. He’s still staring at me, a wicked sneer on his lips. Goosebumps spread across my skin, and I push my brows together, silently asking him, ‘What?’ His lips twist, stretching and spreading most maniacally, revealing his white teeth. This guy has the sharpest canines I’ve ever seen outside of some Hollywood vampire movie.

Shifting my gaze, I look to see if anyone else is seeing what he’s doing, how he’s acting. I can see from here that his testsheet is blank; he hasn’t even started. The room is filled with the tops of heads; his eyes are the only ones I can see. When I return to him, he slowly shakes his head back and forth. The motion is so subtle, but it’s a clear warning: do not look away again. My heart pounds wildly, creating a thunderous noise in my ears. I immediately fell in with many kids when I transferred to this school. I just as quickly fell out with that group, landing myself uncomfortably in the ‘outsider’ category and spending my lunch hours alone in the far end of the yard.

Overall, the girls I spent a few weeks hanging around with act like I don’t exist. Occasionally, I’d hear them snicker, discussing my second-hand clothes or my mother’s most recent escapades in the school office. No one has paid me the type of attention I’m currently receiving from this boy. The teacher stands, and the scrape of his stool has every head in class swiveling toward the front — every head except for one. I can feel his gaze drilling a hole into the back of my head. It creates prickles on my skin that feel like fleas, and I nervously lift my hand to scratch my scalp.

“Ten-minute warning, kids,” the teacher announces as he walks down our aisle.

Ten minutes?

Fuck.

I’m nowhere near finishing this, and it might as well be in French, which I’malsostruggling with, because I’m lost. Flipping through the pages, I focus on the multiple-choice options, quickly filling in the option thatfeelslike it makes sense. I’m most certainly going to fail this test. Another blur rushes past my face, and this time, I’m fucking angry. I slam my pencil down on the desk and turn on my stool to face the boy. His smile is gone, his expression like an ice sculpture. I open my mouth to ask him what the fuck his problem is, but he movesfirst, leaning forward in his seat, pushing in front of the small girl beside him. She pulls back, exclaiming, “Hey!”

“Fuck. You,” he grits out.

My eyes widen, and my mouth drops open in shock. This time, every head in the class points toward us. My mind scrambles for a response, and simultaneously, my body screams at me to run away. I draw a complete blank. I don’t know this boy. I think he’s also in my drama class, but we’ve never exchanged words. While I’m trying to come up with a response, he continues to push toward me. Instinctively, I lean back, trying to escape him, and bump into the girl beside me.

The teacher is on the other side of the room and hasn’t noticed our altercation intensifying by the second. The girl I bump into doesn’t even comment. She stares at us. The boy is up, taking slow, measured steps toward me. With each step, I’m required to tilt my head up to see his face. I glance from his face to his hands. He halts when he’s just inches away from me. I can smell his body wash; it smells like that terribleAxeshit all the boys started wearing recently. He has the word ‘FUCK’ written in bold black letters across his knuckles on one hand. On the other hand, it says, ‘KILL.’

He pushes his hand across the tabletop, using it as leverage as he leans over me, bringing his face too close to mine. My breaths come short, like the air is too thin, and I can’t get enough oxygen.

“What the fuck, Aaron?” the girl next to me spits at him. “You’re such a freak. Sit down.”

He doesn’t even look at her. His eyes don’t so much as flinch away from mine. Sweat forms in my palms and armpits. He feels like a train barreling toward me, and I can’t move or look away. I can’t get out of the way. My face must still be a completevision of shock and horror because his eyes drop to my mouth, and he huffs out the cruelest-sounding laugh.

“Shut your fucking mouth, Morgan,” he growls. “Or I’ll assume it’s an invitation to put my fucking dick there.”

This gets the teacher’s attention.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Aaron. Principal’s office. Now!” he screams at him, hand outstretched toward the door.

Aaron doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink. His left hand, which says ‘KILL,’ slowly lifts. I can’t lean any further back. I’m pressed so hard into the girl behind me. More kids around the class are starting to whisper.

“Aaron don’t touch that fucking girl!” the teacher yells as he storms across the class.

Aaron doesn’t retreat or stop. His hand continues toward my face, and I brace myself for what I have to assume will be a painful experience. When he’s millimeters away, I slam my eyes shut, squeezing them as tightly as possible.

Maybe I’m dreaming.

I feel his finger brush my cheek as he collects the wisp of hair that frames my face and pushes it behind my ear. My heart vibrates in my chest, the beats so rapid that the sensation reminds me of a video I watched on hummingbird wings. The teacher reaches us seconds later. My eyes fly open when I feel the impact. Aaron is taller than the teacher — taller than anyone else in class. The teacher grabs him by the back of his black hoodie and drags him toward the hall.

“I’m too fucking old for this shit, Aaron. Too close to retirement.” He’s livid; his voice echoes through the room.

Aaron’s eyes remain fixed on me until he’s pulled into the hall and out of sight. Only then do I take a deep breath. My body is tense, muscles clenched tight. The girl beside me nudges me slightly, stands up, and shoves her books into her backpack,shaking her head in disbelief. The bell rings, and the class empties, but I can’t move. I remain there, standing awkwardly, until older kids filter in for the next class. Rushing, I gather my things in my arms, realizing my test is still sitting on the desk and my teacher still hasn’t returned. In a flash decision, I jam the papers into my backpack. I’ve never been one to cheat, but I can’t fail this test.

I head outside, passing through the busy cafeteria, through the field, and lower myself to sit under a large oak tree. This has become my favorite space on school grounds, and I pull out my book, trying to lose myself in the pages and forget the chaos of the morning.

“Did you fuck him?”

The voice startles me out of the book I’ve been absorbed in for the last hour. I look up, squinting against the afternoon sun, to see which classmate stands over me. Or rather, which classmates — there are three of them.

“Excuse me?” My tone is thick with confusion and a hint of annoyance.

“Aaron,” she continues, her hands on her hips and her head tilting slightly to the left. “Did you fuck him? Why is he so obsessed with you?”

Right, Aaron.

Obsessed with me?

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