Ghosts Of The Attic

5. New Face

5

     As soon as I walked inside the office with my mother, the secretary scrunched up her plump face in disgust, but masked it quickly before my mother could see it. “Lucas Hellebore?” Acid dripped from her voice.

     I nodded while she shoved two slips of paper into my hands. My mother quickly signed some paperwork and wrapped me into a warm embrace before departing with her a worried expression on her face. Gulping, I glanced at the first slip of paper, which showed my locker number and its combination, then my schedule.

     “Better go to your first period or you might just get detention,” the secretary snarled.

     Ignoring the hefty woman’s comment, I glared at her and mentally smirked as she seemed to back away. Stop, I thought. You’re supposed to show them that you’re not a sociopath! After realizing this, I hurried out of the office to the main hall, where I was greeted by the ruckus of students. A few pairs of curious eyes glanced at me before widening in surprise. Then as I walked down the hall, the noise was slowly vanishing until when I finally reached my locker, it was completely silent. With shaky hands, I dialed in my combination before closing it back up. It’s here, I thought. Right here for everyone to graffiti.

      As I turned back around, a punch in the gut sent me slamming into the lockers. Clutching my stomach, I glanced up to stare at a bulky guy, a smirk on his face. “Welcome back to Branwen High,” he spat out, “freak.” Behind him, the chuckles of fellow friends caused my pulse to race, the sound making it hard to hear. But a clear, assertive voice managed to catch my attention–my pulse now slowing–and my eyes landed on a black haired boy, no older than me.

     “Why are you being such an arsehole?” the boy inquired with a mid-Atlantic accent.

     My assailant was about to retort with a snarky comment, but at the boy’s glare, he paled and shuffled off with his friends. Then the boy whirled around to face me, his eyes–one blue while the other was brown–stared at me before a grin graced his face. The chaos of the hall resumed as we continued to stare each other down.

     “That was close,” he finally stated.  

     “Yeah,” I replied, “thanks.”

     He shrugged before sticking his hand out in a friendly gesture. “Alaric Grigor,” he greeted. “You’re...Lucas Hellebore, right?”

     “Yeah, how’d you know?”

     “Before moving here, I looked this place up.”

     “Why?”

     “Curiosity,” he replied, cocking his head. “Did you really–”

     “I didn’t do anything.” And I walked away, not wanting to hear his question because I already knew where it was going to lead. Moments later, I walked inside first period with my eyes scanning the room for an empty seat, which was in the front of the class. Gulping, I strided over and sat down; behind me, the other students began to whisper.

     “Isn’t that Lucas Hellebore? Didn’t he kill his sister?”

     “I heard he was abusing her before…you know.”

     “The cops found him covered in her blood.”

     “What a sick son of a bitch.”

     The statements continue to pile on, one after another stabbing me. I gripped the corner of my desk and bit my lip, so the offensive words wouldn’t slip out of my mouth. My eyes were down casted, staring at the tiled floor until a pair of worn out shoes stepped in.