Uninvited: An Unloved Ones Prequel #2 (The Unloved Ones Prequels) (5 page)

“Okay,” she says, getting back to the front of the class. “Number three.” She reads the sentence slowly, as if translating from a foreign language. “On
Tuesday
, Molly worked at the greeting card store until it closed.” Then she goes to the board, puts another circle around the word VERB, and asks who can find the verb in the sentence.

I raise an eyebrow.
Seriously
?

I look around, wondering if somehow I’ve not only switched myself into another body, but into an earlier grade as well. But everyone around me is a teenager—some even look older enough to graduate—and no one has raised a hand.

“It’s a tricky one,” the teacher, Mrs. Meyers, says apologetically.

No one responds.

Mrs. Meyer’s enthusiasm is undaunted. “Let’s give it a try!” She looks around the room, and her eyes meet mine. I realize I probably look as confused as everyone else, although for different reasons. “Becka!” she calls. “Help us out here.”

“The verb?” I ask, making sure I’m not missing the real question. She nods, and I refer back to the sheet. “Worked.”

“Correct!” Mrs. Meyer squeals. She actually claps her hands. Then she grows instantly serious. “Now. Can you tell us
why
it’s the verb?”

“
Because
,” I say, matching her condescending tone, “it performs the action of the subject. It’s what Molly
does
. She
worked
at her meaningless little retail job, probably for minimum wage without benefits, until it is closed, never to open again.”

Mrs. Meyers looks down at her sheet, as if expecting to see altered sentence there. Then she recovers herself and smiles. “That’s correct, Becka.” She hops back over to her desk, picks up a small bowl, and walks over to my desk. I look down to see it’s filled with ancient salt-water taffy. “Pick one,” the teacher says, and waits for me to decide.

I’m so surprised that we get a candy for finding a verb that it takes me a moment to reach forward. In this space in time, the boy in the next desk to mine leans over and whispers, “The red ones are the best.
Strawberry
.” I try to hide the horror on my face as I lean away from this Good Samaritan, and pick a candy at random and set it on my desk.

By the time the bell rings, there is a small mountain of salt-water taffy on my desk, and I am gaping at how easy Becka’s life is—from her ability to steal Todd away without any effort, to her good-bye hugs and perfect family, to her insanely easy workload at school—and I can’t understand how she’s still failing, even with all her advantages. I can only come to one conclusion: she’s lazy. She’s a horrible, lazy person, and she doesn’t deserve any of this.

I collect my candies and make my way out into the hallway. Bodies block the path, and I am half walking, half being carried by the crowd as I make my way forward. I am nearing the end of the hall when I see Todd come around the corner. He sees me almost immediately, and jumps into the crowd to meet me.

“Hey, babe.”

I don’t like the way he calls her ‘babe.’ He never called me that—not that I’d let him. It’s demeaning.

“I’ve missed you,” he says. “Even if it’s only been an hour.” He smiles his perfect smile at me, trying to cheer me up, and all I think is,
She doesn’t deserve you
.

“Why are we dating?” I blurt out. We’ve only got until the bell rings; no sense in beating around the bush.

He laughs. “Because we like each other?”

“But you liked Jackie, didn’t you?”

He nods, answering carefully. “Sure. I guess.”

“I mean, you wouldn’t go out with her unless you
liked
her, right?

“What are you getting at?”

We’ve stopped walking, and a few people are standing around, listening in for potential gossip.

“I just don’t get it,” I say. “If you liked her, I mean, really had feelings for her, how can you be here with me now? Shouldn’t you still want to be with her?”

“Becka, what are you talking about? I’m with you now. You know that.”

He reaches for my hand, and I pull back. I need an answer.

“But if you like someone, and then you break up, where does that love go? Where did it go, Todd?”

He’s staring at me now, as if studying me. And for a split-second, it’s like he’s looking at a different person. I don’t think he can see me inside. It’s more like he’s regarding Becka in a new way.

“You know,” he says quietly, “I never realized before how beautiful you are.”

My eyes open wide, and I scream. “Agh! Leave me alone!” I push past him, and continue through the throngs of students. Before he can reach me, the bell rings, and I see him turning back to get to his next class.

Good. I want him away from her.

I let the students rush around me as I stand still at the bottom of the stairs. I don’t know exactly what I hoped to accomplish today, but I am not succeeding at it. I don’t understand what attraction Becka holds for Todd. I’m no closer to getting him back, and I haven’t made Becka’s life any worse. If anything, I’ve made it better.

The final bell rings. I look up at the empty halls, and automatically reach for her schedule.

I look at the dirty, crumpled paper, with her stupid name on it, and get angry all over again. I cry out and rip her schedule in half, and then tear it into itty-bitty pieces that I leave at the foot of the stairs.

“No,” I say, standing up. “No more classes. She doesn’t deserve them. She deserves—”

I don’t know what she deserves.

I start walking down the hallway, past closed classroom doors, with a complete lack of respect for the rules. I don’t care if Becka gets caught.
I
want
her to get into trouble. It’s just that I have so little experience with causing trouble that I’m not sure where to begin. It’s not until I cross to the front of the school, by the main office, that I see something that makes me stop. I smile a cruel smile.

Directly across from me is the door to the Teacher’s Lounge.

Remarkably, the door is unlocked.

It’s a generic space with dirty linoleum floors, fluorescent lighting, and four round tables. The blinds of the windows are closed, and a refrigerator hums in the corner next to an ancient coffeepot. The smell of stale cigarettes hangs in the air. It is perhaps the most pathetic-looking room in the entire school.

My eyes land on a series of cubbies on a side wall, with purses and papers piled inside. Each belongs to a specific teacher, and I run my hand over a series of cubbies. I pull out a purse at random and sift through it, but find nothing more valuable than Tic-Tacs. I throw it to the ground and pick up a cheap leather briefcase. It’s locked. It’s not until I come to Mr. Tandy’s cubby that I find something good: a nearly full bottle of whiskey.

He must be spiking his morning coffees. I unscrew the cap and put the bottle to my lips.

“Bottom’s up,” I say, and swallow half the bottle. I can’t feel it burning, like I’ve read it can, but Becka’s eyes water.

That’s when I hear a sound outside the door.

I quickly stuff the bottle into Becka’s knapsack, and then hide behind the door as it opens. A janitor walks into the room, his back facing me, and while he takes in the mess I’ve created, I sneak out the door and down the hall. I’m giggling to myself as I run. I feel like a criminal, and it feels
good
.

I don’t feel drunk though. Maybe it’s impossible for me to get drunk when it’s not my body. I need to do something worse, something bigger.

I turn down another hallway and come face to face with a security guard. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

“Okay, Missy,” she says. She’s an older woman with short white hair and about sixty extra pounds on her frame. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

“Wherever I please,” I say, and to my displeasure there’s a slight slur to the words. Even though I’m not drunk, Becka’s body must be.

The security guard gives me a cynical look. “Is that so? Well, I hope you planned on going to the principal’s office, because that’s where you’re headed.”

I look at her, trying to match her hardened expression. “And if I don’t?” I ask.

She laughs. “Ooh, you’ve got some mouth on you, girl.” Her hand whips out and grabs my arm above the elbow. Her grip is surprisingly firm. She pulls me back in the direction I was coming from.

I try to resist, but I’m having trouble enough walking. The whiskey must be hitting Becka hard now. But I have to go further. She has to be in deep trouble.

We reach the principal’s office, and she pushes me through an open door. There’s a secretary sitting at her desk and three office chairs lined up in front of it. The security guard shoves me toward one, and I fall into it.

“Caught this one running wild, high as a kite,” she says.

“I’m not high,” I object. “I’m drunk.”

The guard opens her eyes wide to give a look to the secretary, and the secretary nods.

“I’ll have Mr. Goldstein take care of it right away.”

The secretary whispers into a phone on her desk while the female security guard walks back over to me.

She holds out her hand. “Give me your bag.”

I hand it over. I don’t care.

She opens it open and quickly finds the whiskey. “And what is
this
?” she asks, holding the bottle in front of me like she’s confronting me with a murder weapon.

I shrug. “What does it
look
like?”

She’s fuming, which makes me smile. It only makes her angrier. She keeps digging until she finds Becka’s billfold, and slides out her ID card. She takes this and copies down some information onto a notepad.

Mr. Goldstein walks in from a door in the back. He’s a bald man in a suit that’s two sizes too big for him. “Come with me, young lady.”

Good. He’s taking this seriously. Now I just need to find a way to escalate the situation. I need to make things so bad Becka can never fix it.

I leave her things in the waiting room, and follow this man into an office that’s so small it might have once been a walk-in closet. He squeezes behind his desk, and gestures for me to sit down in the chair crammed in front of it. I do so, and I am immediately distracted by the contents of his desk. Before me is what must be the world’s largest collection of Beanie Babies. At least forty stuffed teddy bears are facing me on the front of his desk, not to mention the shelves of stuffed animals lining the walls behind him. It makes this tiny space feel even more claustrophobic.

“Miss Walsh,” he begins, but I have trouble maintaining eye contact. My gaze keeps dropping down to the bears. I can’t use bears. “We take instances of substance abuse very seriously.”

I nod. He starts talking about the school’s zero tolerance policy when I spot a microphone on his desk. It’s what allows him to do the morning announcements over the loudspeaker.

The loudspeaker that broadcasts all over the school.

And I know: this is it. This is the break I have been waiting for. Forget drinking on school grounds. That might get her a ten-day suspension at best. No, what this presents is a chance to pin something on her that could get her expelled for good. But what can I say? What’s the worst thing you can say in a public school?

The answer is so obvious I wonder why someone as smart as me didn’t come up with it sooner.

“Excuse me,” I say, interrupting Goldstein’s speech. “I need my purse.”

He looks at me blankly.

“My purse,” I say. “It’s in the next room. I need it.”

“It can wait.”

I shake my head. “No, I need it
now
.” He’s about to object when I give him the only reason he can’t possibly object to: “Female troubles.”

He shifts awkwardly. “Female troubles?”

“I don’t want to get too graphic,” I say, “but—”

He holds up a hand. “Okay. Fine. Get your purse.”

It takes all my willpower to hold back a smile. “I can’t,” I say. He gives me a look, and I explain. “I’m too drunk to walk.” I try to look as limp and unthreatening as possible.

He stares at me a moment, and then lets out a deep sigh. Without saying anything, he pushes himself up from the desk.

The moment he crosses the doorway, I leap up and slam the door behind him. I bolt the lock, and run to the desk. I shove his damn Beanie Babies out of the way, and grab the microphone. There’s a button on the side, and I test it. I hear a crackle through the loudspeaker outside. Mr. Goldstein must hear it too, as he is pounding on the door.

“Put that down!” he yells.

But I ignore him. I press the button again, and hold it down.

“Attention,” I say, hearing Becka’s slurred voice amplified outside the door. “Attention students. Please stop whatever you are doing, and listen to this very important announcement.”

I swallow. I’ve gone this far. I have to go all the way.

“This is Becka Walsh. I am now in control of the school. Your principal, Mr. Goldstein, is dead. I have killed him.”

Mr. Goldstein pounds on the door, and I wink at him. I hear screams already on the floors above me.

“I am here to tell you that your lives are in danger as well. I have placed a bomb in the school.” I pause a moment to let that sink in. “You have five minutes to exit the building, and then it will explode.”