It All Started With The Butterflies

Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Interrogation

'So?" Caspian asked, leaning back into his chair.

"Umm." I had been so sure of what I was going to say, and now I couldn't remember a word of my rehearsed speech. "You're a Stinger, right?"

"I would think so, yes," Caspian replied. He was smirking and I could tell he wanted to laugh at the way I had begun the conversation.

I chided myself. Of course he's a Stinger. Everyone knows that.

"What exactly do the Stingers do?" I enquired.

"Want to become a Stinger?" Caspian furrowed his eyebrows.

Did I? I would get to sit with Caspian at lunch. I was over my crush, I reminded myself harshly when fantasies of me kissing Caspian sneaked their way into my head. I couldn't allow myself to get distracted, not until Asher's murderer was found; and even then, getting involved with Caspian would probably not be the best idea. Sure, he was hot, anyone could see that; but like all other hot boys, he was a player. I didn't want my heart to be broken, especially not by Caspian. I knew that one kiss would be all it took to fall for him, and that would lead to me never being able to get over him.

"Initiation is tough," Caspian continued. It sounded like he was trying to convince me it was a bad idea.

"I don't want to be a Stinger," I said, trying to convince him.

"Then why the sudden interest?" Caspian asked, his mouth twisting into what seemed like a relieved smile.

"You didn't answer my question" I told him, ignoring his question. I couldn't tell him I suspected that one of his friends had killed my brother.

"Answer mine first," Caspian calmy ordered, closing his eyes and putting his hands behind his head, like he was relaxing on vacation. His hoodie fell off his head and his blonde hair caught the light in a very distracting way.

"It's about my brother." I tried to remain vague, while reminding myself to not get distracted by his gorgeousness.

"What about him?" came the reply.

"What do the Stingers do?" I repeated my first question.

Caspian dodged my question yet again. "What about your brother?"

This could go on forever. I tried a different approach. "Was my brother a Stinger?"

"No," Caspian plainly stated, running his hand through his hair.

"He had a bee tattoo," I said, in an attempt to get some sort of an explanation.

"Anyone can get a bee tattoo. Pretending to be a Stinger stops people from other gangs messing with you," Caspian suggested, shrugging.

"You sure?" I asked, not happy with the little information I was getting.

Caspian leaned forward in his chair. He suddenly didn't seem as relaxed as he had been before. "Why does it matter? He's dead."

Stingers really did have the power to sting. His words hurt more than they should. He had jabbed the most sensitive nerve in my heart.

I stood up. Caspian was hiding something, but I was in no mood to interrogate him further. I would ask another Stinger. I could pool all my savings, to use as bribe money.

I left the cafeteria well aware of Caspian calling me back, but I pretended I couldn't hear him. My eyes stung, and I rubbed my palm against them. Small drops of liquid clung to my skin. I didn't cry at Asher's funeral, but I cried when Caspian told me the truth. Who understands the inner workings of human tear ducts?

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