Chapter 3

~ Gabrielle ~

Six years earlier

I froze with my hand on the cool metal door handle. I dreaded the next step, the one thrusting me into a foreign environment, with unknowns and uncertainties facing me at every corner. There was no turning back now; I understood I had no other choice. But the realization didn’t stop my heart from pounding or a cold sweat from breaking out.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I took a deep, steadying breath and pulled hard on the door. On the other side, I stopped short, letting it close against my back. I glanced around, looking for any indication I wasn’t alone, but the hallway was empty.

“Jesus, Gabby. Will you just come on?” My younger sister, Monica, rushed back toward me and grabbed my arm to tug me down the hallway toward the front office, as indicated on the small, almost illegible sign hanging over our head.

No matter how much I tried to put it off, we were now in new territory and the teasing was eminent, but I squared my shoulders and soldiered on. I refused to cry today. I was through with the tears since they didn’t change our circumstances. No, I was determined to get through the day and then the week, and eventually become a wallflower. But when we passed two girls on the way to the office, their inquisitive glances passed over us. Monica’s fashionable skinny jeans and cropped sweater passed their approval test, but their eyes widened at my tight bun and buttoned-up white blouse under a black sweater, tucked into straight black jeans, and they giggled, whispering to each other as they strolled in the opposite direction. I reluctantly admitted my invisibility would not happen overnight. Like always.

“Just ignore them,” Monica muttered as she opened the door to the office and pulled me in.

We entered and grimaced at the assault on our hearing. Multiple conversations were happening at once, in raised voices in order to compete with the hum of the copier, the buzzing of the overhead lights, and the constant ringing of the phones. We stood at the chest-high counter, cluttered with papers stacked haphazardly, in a variety of colors and sizes, waiting. Taking in the chipped, ice blue paint on the walls, the worn laminate tops of the counters and desks, and the incessant flickering of one light bulb struggling not to burn out, the reality of our situation hit me hard—again. We were a long way from the clean, modernized surroundings of our old high school.

“Hello?” Monica called out over the noise.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there, sweetheart. What can I do for you?”

A friendly, but tired face with bright blue eyes, surrounded by over-washed blonde hair—the color only found in a bottle—greeted us. Her gravelly voice sounded as if she smoked three packs a day.

“Today’s our first day.” Monica held her head high and spoke confidently.

“You two are new here?” She rifled through some papers. “Let me find your information. What are your names, sweetie?”

“I’m Monica Wells, and she’s Gabrielle.”

“Gabrielle? What a pretty name.” The woman’s eyes narrowed as she took me in. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

I caught her scrutiny, but only smiled in acknowledgement.

“Well, you can definitely tell that you two are sisters, even with…well, whatever.” She waved her hand.

I didn’t miss her meaning. The disbelief at the drastic differences between Monica and me was old news and nothing I hadn’t dealt with before. It wasn’t breaking news that my sister appeared more her age than I did. In fact, “Ms. Prudy” had been my nickname at my old school because of my preference for long-sleeved tie-neck blouses. Maybe this school would come up with something just as clever.

The only other attire I was content in was a leotard and ballet skirt, but those were hardly appropriate to wear outside the studio.

“Okay, I’ve got your schedules.” The clerk handed over a slip of paper and went over Monica’s with her, and then she turned to me. “Your first hour is—” she pulled out another piece of paper and pointed to a corner, “—right here. Here’s a map of the school, and your lockers are here. I’m Ms. Thomas, if either of you girls need anything or have any questions.”

Armed with the stack of papers, we left the office and headed off to our respective classes, but not before I overheard the woman’s remark to her co-worker. “That poor girl is going to get eaten alive out there, and she’s the older one.”

Yes. She was probably right.

Bidding Monica good-bye, the last friendly face I would likely see all day, I made my way down the long hallway as a bell trilled overhead, followed by doors banging open left and right to emit swarms of bodies rushing toward me. The mass swallowed me up and I hitched up my shoulders, trying to push through. Some glanced my way, some ignored me, which I was thankful for, and others stopped and stared. My face flushed and my body trembled, but I kept my focus trained forward and continued walking, trying to mold myself against the wall in order to stay out of the way.

The crowd pushed and pulled me in multiple directions, and I fought to keep my ground. People yelled around me as if I wasn’t there. Papers, books, and other objects were tossed into my path, causing me to duck, but I persisted, fighting the crushing wave, and refusing to stop or make eye contact with anyone. The bell rang again, and the hallway cleared out as quickly as it had filled, leaving me alone again. I stopped and leaned against the cement wall, grateful to be able to take a deep breath.

Reaching the classroom, I paused and tried to steady my pounding heart.

“Let the fun begin,” I mumbled and opened the door.

The teacher turned at the sound, his expression puzzled, but friendly. “Yes?”

It all became real with several pairs of eyes following my every move, and I tried to swallow around the sudden tightening of my throat. “I’m in your class.” My voice wobbled and my hand shook as I handed him my schedule.

His smile broadened, trying to put me at ease, which I appreciated, even if it didn’t help. He glanced at the paper he took from me. “Welcome, Gabrielle. I’m Mr. Watson.” He turned to the classroom. “Class, this is Gabrielle. Let’s make her feel welcome, okay? There’s an open desk right there.” He pointed toward the back corner of the room.

I rushed down the aisle and slumped into the seat with an inward sigh. I only had to survive through seven more classes and then the day would be over.

Mr. Watson restarted his lecture and I recognized the topic of the Civil War, something my old school had covered the year before, so I let my eyes roam over the other students sitting around me. Not one resembled me—a straight-laced, conservative white girl from the suburbs, although I wasn’t the only white person present.

The area, known for its high number of factories, was home to many blue-collar neighborhoods, and I lived in their world now; not by choice, but by events out of my control. All I cared about was getting through the school year, my last one. After graduation, I could follow my dreams to Juilliard and put this whole mess behind me.

“Please pass this back to Gabrielle.” Mr. Watson handed a book to the student in the first chair.

I was startled at hearing my name, turning too late to catch the book tossed over the shoulder in front of me, and it landed on the floor with a loud, heavy thud. Before I could pick it up, another hand beat me to it.

My heavyset neighbor held the hardcover over his head, out of reach, and his dark brown eyes smirked at me. “Fifty dollars, and I’ll give it back to you.”

My eyes flitted to the front of the classroom, but the teacher’s attention was on the blackboard, unaware of the happenings. I swallowed, unsure of what to say or how even to handle the situation. The last thing I wanted was to get the teacher involved, especially on my first day, forever labeled a snitch. But then a low voice spoke, saving me from having to do so.

“Don’t be an ass, Kris. Give her the fucking book back.”

I scanned behind me and spotted the owner of the voice leaning back in his chair. His black hoodie kept his face in shadows, but as he leaned forward, his sharp blue eyes came into view, shocking me with their intensity.

“You gonna give me fifty, D?”

He glanced at me before scowling and slouching in his seat, looking bored. “Nah, but I’ll give you a foot up your ass if you don’t give her the book.”

Kris sighed and tossed the book on my desk. I gave him a fleeting glance before looking back at the boy in the corner, who had turned his attention to the window. I studied him with interest for a second, and, as if he felt my eyes on him, his head turned my way.

“What?” he mouthed with an annoyed frown.

I jerked and dropped my gaze to the floor by his feet, but whispered, “Thank you” before turning around. Believing I’d found a compassionate heart, I’d been hopeful, but very wrong.

The day progressed without another incident, and I got used to the stares, nudges, and points in my direction. I only had to keep my focus on my goal at the end of this battered road. I could, and would, make it through.

Stopping at my locker after my last class, I tried the padlock, but someone had taken a hammer to the dial, and there was no hope in using it. I leaned against the beat-up metal cubby, with a huge dent in the bottom preventing the door from closing, and dropped my backpack with a defeated sigh. I glanced down the now silent hallway, taking in the strewn papers, food wrappers, and whatever else thrown everywhere, as if the hall was one big garbage can. The clock on the far wall didn’t even work, forever on straight up twelve, and more than one burned out light hung overhead, throwing long stretches into darkness. Graffiti marked the walls, some of which still showed, the attempts to cover with paint failing. I didn’t belong here, but it didn’t matter. There was no way out.

~ Danny ~

I stood in the shadows, watching. She looked breakable and overwhelmed standing there, fighting with her locker and forcing back the tears. The circumstances bringing her here were a mystery, but, without a doubt, it was clear she would rather be anywhere else. She stood out like a sore thumb, like royalty among the servants, and thinking about how she most likely expected the world to kiss her ass when she walked by made my blood boil. She should expect fair treatment when playing with the commoners, and I was no different. I was sick and tired of feeling like I was nothing, simply because I hadn’t been born into the same opportunities as others; that I had to work for everything I had.

As I continued to watch her, however, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. She was obviously upset, and, if anything, had tried to keep her head down and blend into the walls. An impossible feat, in my opinion.

She was beautiful, no question about it. I had no idea what the story was with her clothes, but whatever. I wasn’t one to talk. Even though she wore her hair pulled back into a tight bun, the honey blonde color was silky and stunning, with white and golden streaks throughout. Her skin was fresh and clear, her pink tinted cheeks giving her a fragile appearance, but her eyes stood out most. They were big, round, and the shade of bright emeralds mixed with a rich bronze. I found myself wanting to talk to her in order to see them up close, which only made me irritated again.

School hadn’t been in my plan this year, intending to drop out and focus on my ticket out of this hellhole, which didn’t require a diploma, but something had pulled at me to show up, and now I wondered if I was looking at it. I didn’t question fate; I believed in destiny or predetermination, but the last thing I needed was some stuck-up chick interrupting my plans. I struggled to harden myself against her, but watching as she sunk against the locker in defeat, the desire to reach out, to shelter and comfort her, was too overwhelming.

Pushing away from the wall, I stepped out of the shadows. I would help her one more time, and then I would forget her and this place.

“You don’t want to be here alone for too long.” My voice was harsher than I meant it to be, but she needed truth more than she needed a friend.

Her head jerked up. I half expected her to cower away, but she surprised me by reaching for her bag and rushing forward to get in step with me. “Thank you.”

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, but didn’t stop.

“It was nice of you—”

“I’m not nice.” I snorted at the ridiculousness of that description.

“Oh. Well, I appreciate that you—”

“Look.” I stopped, turning toward her as I lowered my hood. “You seem like a nice girl; maybe a little uptight, but whatever.” I waved at her, standing there all buttoned up. “But watch your back, all right?”

Her eyes watered. “Watch my back?”

Jesus. I hadn’t meant to make her cry, so I bent toward her, forcing her gaze to mine and tried to soften my message. “Look, I don’t know who you are or where you come from, but you don’t belong here. We all know that. I’m just trying to give you some pointers, so I don’t pass your body along the side of the road somewhere.”

She nodded as a tear fell down her cheek.

I sighed and shifted my weight, at a loss as to what to say. I was obviously going about this all wrong. “Fuck it.” I grabbed her arm and pulled her down the hall with me. “Let’s go.”

She let me tug her with zero resistance and that worried me. If she wanted to survive in this hood, she needed to have some fight in her.

Once outside, I jogged down the cracked cement steps, giving acknowledging nods to those who still mingled around the front of the school and were glancing our way, curious about what was transpiring. When I reached the crumbled sidewalk, I stopped and let go.

“Now get out of here. Go home and don’t stop until you get there.”

“Can I at least know your name?”

“Jesus Christ, girl! What’s your deal? Just get out of here.”

She scowled, tears forgotten. “I can’t even know your name? What? Am I not good enough?”

My brows lifted, surprised at her change in tone. I studied her a minute, before shaking my head. Maybe she did have a backbone on her. “D.”

“D?” she repeated with a look of disbelief.

“My name is D.” Maybe she wasn’t as smart as she looked.

“Your name is D? Like, as in the letter ‘D’?”

I nodded as I pulled my hood back up. “Yep.” I started down the sidewalk before turning and walking backward. “And you’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.”