Where We Stand

4 | Where We Stand

Chapter 4

Block B-13 sits on the edge of Winterside High, a massive slab of red bricks and peeling paint. The windows are darkened by grime, the wood panels are rotten and the rain gutter is dented by age and rust. Nobody dares to step inside. The doors are sealed shut and so are the windows.

This abandoned building is our very own urban legend. Rumors of flickering lights, cold spots and creepy ghosts have long been passed among students though nobody from my class has actually been inside. The security guards once claimed they'd heard strange music at night. Derek swears there's an underground class that has the lights on twenty-four hours a day and that if anybody shuts them down, the ghost of the old principal would haunt them.

In my opinion, that's a whole lot of bull. The building was closed ten years ago due to budget cuts. Period. There's no haunting.

On the other side of the building, the walls are a canvas for graffiti artists and a playground for the jocks. I'd taken a photo three weeks ago after class. The reflection of graffiti on the rain puddles had conjured a world of colors and magic. I still haven't named the photo.

I pull the collar of my jacket closer to my neck and curse Carlos for the umpteenth time. It was his brilliant idea to renovate Block B-13 as part of community service under the "School" category. That would have been my job if Mrs. Davis hadn't forced us to work together. I can't imagine how this is going to work. Six hours isn't going to cut it. This hellhole needs at least a month's worth of renovation activities to get all nice and shiny.

The sky is swelling with grey clouds and any time now, it's going to rain. I cast a glance at my phone. Twenty minutes to eight o'clock. Carlos was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. I skipped breakfast (and a confrontation with Mom) to get here on time. Where is he?

"If he doesn't show up in the next five minutes, I'm going to shove his pretty face down a-"

Somehow, my rage summons him because just as I'm plotting revenge, I hear him saying, "Hey, looking good there."

I whirl around and blink.

Carlos is dressed up in a grey overall with the sleeves folded to his elbows. There's a group of girls standing underneath an oak tree and they let out giggles and whisper among each other as they stare at him. I'm pretty sure I know what they're thinking. They're giving him the googly eyes. Carlos looks good in anything and I mean anything, even in the drab overall but is this some kind of a joke or did I miss something? I don't remember Mrs. Davis stating we had to wear overalls.

"Hmm," he says, eyeing my blue top with interest. He's staring at the DARE YOU TO words right below a picture of a girl with red lips, aviator sunglasses and a come-hither finger motion. I'd worn it as an act of rebellion because Mrs. Davis banned wearing any form of clothing with derogative and suggestive content for the sake of upholding moral respect. Today being a non-school day means I'm entitled to wear whatever I want. "Dare me to-"

"-never arrive late again," I say. "Or wear overalls."

Carlos laughs. "I actually got dared by the guys to wear it. They thought I couldn't. I proved them wrong."

I know who was behind the silly dare. Tora Kobayashi. Master of Dares. Certified Troublemaker. He's worse than Aiden and Carlos combined. When Aaron joined the Blue Ravens last year, Tora made him steal the microphone and profess his undying love to his crush Lucy Raymonds during the school assembly as part of the initiation ritual. To say it was embarrassing is an understatement. I suspect he was also responsible for the rat infestation stunt.

"Whose stupid idea was it to color the rats?" I ask.

Carlos makes a face. "Come on, that was pure genius. It would have been the best prank of the year if Charlotte hadn't ratted us out."

"Whose idea was it?" I repeat.

"Don't give me that look. It was our idea. All of us."

That means Aiden is in it too. Aside from Megan and me, Aiden hangs out with the Blue Ravens. He can't strum lovely notes out of a guitar, sing like a handsome devil or make a rhythm out of vicious drum beats but he's always been one of their own. I just can't imagine why he'd get involved in this insane prank when he was supposed to be in bed, resting. Sometimes, I can't understand boys. And they say we don't make sense. He's going to get an earful when I tell Megan.

"You guys really got us into a big fat mess," I say to Carlos. "My Mom is going to kill me. Seriously."

His face pales. "Sorry about that."

"Well, in case I die, I'm going to haunt your sorry asses for the rest of your lives. I'll swap your shampoo with Veet, put salt in your sugar bowl, whisper mean little curses in your sleep and dance on your tables while you're having dinner."

"You'd still make one pretty ghost."

I want to brush away his compliment like a coat slipped off the shoulders but when he's looking at me like that, with those deep brown of his eyes searching mine and reflecting honesty, my face flushes. I look down, try to focus on the lime-colored laces of my sneakers.

"We're about to start," Carlos says. I look up just in time to see Joel, our old janitor, unlocking the main door of Block B-13.

We follow him into the building. I pat my camera bag and offer a little prayer just in case. It never hurts to take precautions.

A carpet of dust stretches across the hallway. Strands of cobwebs dangle from the ceiling. To the left, three chairs lie abandoned and a series of desks are crammed into a corner. Joel drags a cleaning trolley behind him. He leads us across the hallway, unlocks the last class and ushers us in.

"You have six hours to get this class in shape," Joel says, standing at the doorway. "Make sure it's spotless. Mrs. Davis will conduct an inspection on Monday."

"No free tours?" Carlos asks.

Joel hands him the cleaning trolley. "Get to work. I'll be back when your time's up."

He leaves without another word. And there's our janitor, the friendliest guy in the block.

I take a tentative step forward, dodging a sea of discarded textbooks. The desks are thick with dust and the chairs form a toppled mess. There's a mountain of garbage at the back of class: yellowed papers crumpled into balls, an overturned coffee mug with a chipped rim, a stack of magazines stashed in a bin, cardboard boxes torn to bits and empty bottles stained green. The whole class is a mess.

"Oh joy, I can't wait to get started," I say in a deadpan manner.

Carlos answers with a shrug, pulls a fluffy duster out of the trolley and throws it my way. I catch it with one hand. I'm about to start cleaning when I hear a beep from my jeans pocket. I pull out my phone. My heart plummets to the floor.

Lunch at Mil & Meals. Today, 02:30.

- Mom