Scorpio

Chapter III

Claren walked to his locker, mopping the sweat from his forehead with a navy-blue towel. Most of his teammates had already left after practice. A chat with Coach had made him later than usual.

He sat down on one of the benches in the locker room and spun the combination into his lock. It clicked open. He pulled up on the latch. A letter-sized white envelope fluttered down from the grill slots and onto the floor.

Curious, he bent over and picked it up. It was sealed shut. He turned it over. There was no name or note on the front or back.

He wondered who it was from and whether he should open it. If Ari were here right now, she'd probably whip her hand out to stop him due to "suspicions" of anthrax mail. But that terror had passed more than ten years ago. Besides, what high schooler had anthrax laying around? The school only had those creepy cats, not bacterial bioweapons.

He slid an index finger under the envelope flap and tore the letter open. Inside was a single, tri-folded piece of paper. He uncreased the missive. There were only two lines stamped in imposing, bold font.

You need to rinse your mouth out.

There's a reason why you have Listerine.

Claren froze. His heart thudded. He whirled from side to side, looking to see if anyone was in the room. He saw no one, just metal lockers and empty wooden benches. He looked into his locker at the shelf over his gym bag. A half-empty bottle of blue fluid was perched on top.

Did someone know? How could they have found out? Were they trying to blackmail him? The letter didn't contain a threat, a "do this or else" clause. What did they want from him? To scare him? To screw with his head?

Nobody could find out. Ever. All h—— would break loose if anyone knew. He'd never be able to explain. How could he possibly explain? Would they even believe him if he tried to? From all outward appearances, it was bound to look like he had rigged the whole thing, and then he'd be kicked out with a nasty record to boot. What could he possibly do after that?

He had to get himself out of this situation. The world wouldn't end with a bang, but with a whimper. Ari had told him about that poem once. Something about scarecrows and cacti and a random dime or nickel or other odd and end. It felt like that now, like he was being swung around and around a prickly pear with its all-too-eager, spiny fingers reaching hungrily for him...

No, that was it. He was going to quit.

He set his jaw and bore tunnels into the depths of his assigned locker. He crumpled up the letter and held it so tightly in his clenched fist that his knuckles bleached white.

There was only one way out, and that was to network his way in.

~ ~ ~

I held my breath past the Anatomy room and tried to stifle my starved gasps as I approached the Calc doorway. The ever-enigmatic Xanexa was already sitting in the alcove, sketching away without references, and paying no heed to anyone else, as I had observed xyr doing for the past three days. As always, xe was dressed in a dark hoodie and jeans. The metallic pencil alternated between hands enclosed by fingerless gloves. A bag of popcorn lay partially open on the floor.

I wondered if xe really was another talent recruit. The school hadn't collected any artists yet. They'd gotten an impressive lineup of athletes and scholars running around either on the field or between academic competitions. The legacies of previous highly accomplished youth sat gleaming in the front office behind glass cases, preserved forever like those bug-eyed, foul-smelling furless cats, floating in formaldehyde. We had produced football champions, Quiz Bowl wizards, fencing kings, and debate masters, but never a Picasso or young Monet who'd go on to Julliard or conservatory or wherever it is that artists go. Maybe that was why xe was here.