Page 8 of The Ruling Class (The Fixer #1)

“Are you okay?” Vivvie asked me for maybe the fifteenth time in the past six hours.

That’s one word for it , I thought. A better word might have been irked . Or possibly overwhelmed .

I’d traded American History with Mr. Simpson for Contemporary World Issues with Dr. Clark.

We were currently broken into pairs, discussing the effects of internet censorship in East and Central Asia.

Or at least that was the assignment. I had a feeling most people were actually discussing Contemporary Hardwicke Issues.

Namely me. And my sister. Who apparently fixed problems for a living.

“I’m fine,” I told Vivvie. Her brow furrowed. Clearly, she was less than convinced.

“Would you feel better,” she said seriously, “if I recapped my favorite horror movie and/or romance novel for you?”

“All right, people!” Dr. Clark clapped her hands.

“I’m going to assume the sound of chattering means you have strong thoughts on the issue of governments limiting access to information—thoughts that you’ll back up tonight with a five-hundred-word essay analyzing the content of a major news site and the effects of denying access to that content. ”

I’d made it through English, Spanish, physics, math analysis, and an elective called Speaking of Words. If it hadn’t been for a free period in the middle of the day, I might not have survived this long.

The second the final bell rang, I slipped out of my chair. Automatically, my brain began thinking ahead. Check the feed. Put in orders. Make sure Gramps eats something. Call—

Reality hit me a moment later. I didn’t need to do anything. There was nothing for me to do. And Gramps—

I cut the thought off at the knees.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Vivvie asked. “The offer about the romance novel still stands.”

My lips took a stab at a smile. It probably looked more like a grimace. Get it under control , I told myself. It was just a stupid Pavlovian response. Hear bell, go home. But I wasn’t going home. Home didn’t exist anymore. Not without Gramps.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Vivvie. Ducking into the hallway, I pushed through the crowd and made a beeline for the bathroom. I just needed a second. I needed to breathe.

The bathroom door closed behind me. I walked over to the sink and turned on the faucet. I closed my eyes and, just for a second, let myself listen to the sound of running water.

And that was when I heard it—a hitch of breath.

I turned off the water and waited, and there it was again. I looked back at the stalls. Only one was occupied. I could picture its occupant, hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the sound of a sob.

It’s none of my business. I made it halfway to the door, but couldn’t make myself keep walking.

“Hey,” I said, feeling about as awkward as I sounded and wishing I was the type of person who could leave well enough alone. “You okay?”

Oh God , I thought, realizing how much I sounded like Vivvie. It’s catching.

There was another ragged breath on the other side of the stall door, and then: “ Go. Away .”

Whoever was crying in that bathroom stall would have wished me off the face of the planet if she could have. It wasn’t the anger in her voice that crawled beneath my skin and stayed there—or the deep and cloying sadness. It was desperation: wild, violent, spiraling out of control.

“I said go away ,” the girl repeated, her voice hoarse.

I almost did, but as my hand brushed the door to the bathroom, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t just leave .

“Not a big fan of away right now,” I said instead.

No response. I leaned up against the wall and crossed one foot over the other.

The seconds ticked by in silence. Finally, the stall door opened.

The girl inside was doe-eyed and baby-faced—and not a graceful crier.

Everything about her screamed freshman .

“You’re the new girl,” she said, her eyes swollen from crying, her voice dull.

“Tess,” I supplied.

She didn’t tell me her name, and I didn’t ask.

“I’ve had a really long day,” I told her. “You?”

The girl looked down at the ground, then walked over to the sink. She turned on the faucet and washed her hands. Again. And again.

“I did something stupid.” Her words were almost lost to the sound of the water. She was taller than me, but bent over the sink, scrubbing at her hands like she could wash away this entire day, she looked very small. Very young.

“How stupid?” I asked softly.

She should have told me it was none of my business, possibly with a few colorful modifiers thrown in for emphasis. She didn’t. Instead, she turned off the faucet. The edges of her lips trembled. “The kind of stupid that involves pictures?”

I slammed out of the girls’ bathroom. Vivvie was waiting for me.

“Just out of curiosity,” I asked her serenely, “where is the boys’ bathroom?”

“Down the hall and to your left,” Vivvie replied. “Why?”

I was already striding down the hallway. “No reason.”

If Vivvie had known me for longer than a few hours, she would have been concerned. Very concerned. I reached the boys’ bathroom, put my hand on the door, and shoved it inward.

“Tess!” Vivvie said. I glanced back at her. She studied me for a moment and then shrugged. “Godspeed.”

A ghost of a smile pulled at the ends of my mouth, but as I stepped into the guys’ bathroom and the door shut behind me, the expression hardened on my face. Three boys stood nearby, passing a single phone between them.

“No, this one is my favorite. Totally this one. The expression on her face!”

“Fresh meat, man. You should have heard her. ‘Are you sure? Do I look okay?’ ”

Fury worked its way through my body as I sidled up behind them. The phone was passed from hand to hand, and inadvertently, they passed it to me. The third boy’s eyes registered my presence just as my hand locked around the phone. He attempted to pull it back, but I twisted. Hard.

“What the —”

I tucked the phone into my waistband. They all stared at me like I had just announced an intention to set myself on fire.

“This is my phone now.” I let the weight of my words sink in. The biggest of the three boys took a threatening step toward me.

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed. “Hand it over.”

I hated bullies, and I’d had a very long day. I stared at him for several seconds, daring him to come closer. Somewhere inside that empty skull of his, an alarm should have been going off.

It wasn’t.

“That’s private property,” he grunted, towering over me. He reached for the phone, and I caught his wrist. He was bigger than me. Stronger than me. But my hands were callused, and he’d probably never worked a day in his life.

“There are a lot of ways to castrate a bull,” I said, my words deliberate and slow. “You can band the balls off so they shrivel up and die. Or you can take a knife and slide it just so.” I demonstrated with my free hand. “I grew up on a ranch. I know a lot about castrating bulls.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“Are you threatening me?” the boy asked. His friends glanced uncomfortably at each other. In my experience, it was pretty much impossible for the male of the species to be comfortable while listening to someone reminisce about castration.

“No,” I said, my eyes locking on to the ringleader’s.

“If I were threatening you, it would sound more like this.” It took everything I had not to ball my hands into fists.

“She’s fourteen. Ever heard of Andrew Stinson?

That case got some press, didn’t it? If I remember correctly, they found pictures on his phone, too.

And you know where you can find good old Andrew now?

” I could see the wheels in the boy’s head turning.

“I’ll give you a hint: it’s a registry, and it’s not for weddings. ”

I took the phone out and scrolled through the sent texts, then through the e-mails. One of the boys tried to stop me, but a strategically placed foot and a tiny bit of applied pressure gave me the space I needed.

“You haven’t sent them to anyone,” I said. “That’s good.”

“You psychotic little—”

I didn’t bother listening to the coarse insults that came pouring out of his mouth.

“I’m not psychotic,” I said. “I’m just used to dealing with creatures a lot bigger and a lot meaner than you. This is my phone now. I suggest you get a new one.”

I turned and walked out of the bathroom.

“You just made a very big mistake,” one of the boys yelled after me.

I didn’t bother turning around. “That’s the only kind I make.”