in the ass."
"Nice. Real nice."
Miriam thinks, Fuck it, the truth shall set you free . She's only been hamstrung by lies lately. Better to puke up the truth than stand sick with a belly full of bullshit.
"Here's the poop, little bird. I have this power. Like, a psychic power? Except, not your everyday average psychic hoodoo. I can't levitate shit, I wouldn't know palm reading from a pile of donkey guts, and Tarot cards weird me out a little. But what I can do is touch a person and see how they're going to die. I saw how you're going to die. And I don't want that to happen."
Blink, blink.
Wren takes one ginger step back. "Yeah, I gotta go."
"Wait. Hold up. You don't want to hear more?"
The girl backs toward the gymnasium door. "I'm good, thanks."
"You're going to be murdered."
Wren gives a thumbs-up, fake smiles, nods exuberantly. "Uh-huh! Sure, no problem, let's talk again!" Then the façade falls and she mutters, " Psy -cho."
"Wait!"
The girl's butt bone thumps the door open, and she ducks back into the gym. Leaving Miriam alone.
Shit.
Well that didn't work.
She's about to go outside, maybe have a smoke, when the gymnasium door opens again. It's the teacher. The "sensei." Mister Firm-Jaw, Mr Strong-Chin
"Miss," he says. "Hold up."
The dude radiates confidence. Chin up, back straight. Self-assured smile. He seems healthy. Together.
It's a total turn-off.
"What's up, Caine-From- Kung-Fu ?"
Broad white teeth. Run your thumb over them, they'd probably squeak.
"You're not Wren's sister."
"Really? I'm not? You heard her. I'm Melissa."
"Megan."
"Right. Megan. Melissa for short. Nice to meet you. Beck, was it?"
"Short for Beckett."
"It's a good name. You get a pass."
"You're the woman from the Headmaster's office."
Miriam narrows her eyes, pretends to think about it. "Hmm, no, no, doesn't sound familiar. Sounds like a porno I might've watched, but those aren't real. They're just fiction, silly. Do you think girls bend like that? We do not. And most guys don't have giant wangle-rods the size of a fat baby's arm, either. You ever wonder how much Viagra those dudes have to pop to keep that shit going? Those porno dicks are pretty freaky looking, actually. That's the problem with porno these days. Too many close-ups. You can see every vein, every ingrown hair, every mole, crab, zit, cigarette burn–"
"I want to know what it is you think you're doing." His façade doesn't crack. Smile so placid it drives her batty.
"Standing here, soliloquizing – is that a word? – about pornography with some kind of girls' school karate-master. I bet those girls like having you for a coach. Don't they? Uh-huh. Real eye-candy."
Blunter this time: "What do you want with Wren?"
"To help her."
"She has all the help she needs here."
"Yeah. I don't believe institutions are all that helpful, honestly. Besides, this is not the kind of thing they can help with. This is something of an edge -case. Requires a specialist ."
"And you're that specialist."
She winks, fake-kisses the air.
His gaze flicks to the right, down the hall at the Tbone intersection, and Miriam follows his eyes–
Coming out of a stairwell are Roidhead and Mario, security guards extraordinaire.
"You called the cops on me," she says. "How sweet."
"I'm very protective of my girls."
She shakes her head. " Now who's the creeper?"
Heavy footsteps – running now, not dawdling – come from the direction of the guards. She doesn't have to look. They're bolting toward her.
Which means it's time for her to bolt, too.
She breaks away down the hall, giving him the middle finger as she flees.
The guards are hot on her tail.
Up ahead, the cafeteria doors.
The murmur of lunching students getting louder and louder.
Perfect.
Miriam gets to the doors and cuts a hard
"Nice. Real nice."
Miriam thinks, Fuck it, the truth shall set you free . She's only been hamstrung by lies lately. Better to puke up the truth than stand sick with a belly full of bullshit.
"Here's the poop, little bird. I have this power. Like, a psychic power? Except, not your everyday average psychic hoodoo. I can't levitate shit, I wouldn't know palm reading from a pile of donkey guts, and Tarot cards weird me out a little. But what I can do is touch a person and see how they're going to die. I saw how you're going to die. And I don't want that to happen."
Blink, blink.
Wren takes one ginger step back. "Yeah, I gotta go."
"Wait. Hold up. You don't want to hear more?"
The girl backs toward the gymnasium door. "I'm good, thanks."
"You're going to be murdered."
Wren gives a thumbs-up, fake smiles, nods exuberantly. "Uh-huh! Sure, no problem, let's talk again!" Then the façade falls and she mutters, " Psy -cho."
"Wait!"
The girl's butt bone thumps the door open, and she ducks back into the gym. Leaving Miriam alone.
Shit.
Well that didn't work.
She's about to go outside, maybe have a smoke, when the gymnasium door opens again. It's the teacher. The "sensei." Mister Firm-Jaw, Mr Strong-Chin
"Miss," he says. "Hold up."
The dude radiates confidence. Chin up, back straight. Self-assured smile. He seems healthy. Together.
It's a total turn-off.
"What's up, Caine-From- Kung-Fu ?"
Broad white teeth. Run your thumb over them, they'd probably squeak.
"You're not Wren's sister."
"Really? I'm not? You heard her. I'm Melissa."
"Megan."
"Right. Megan. Melissa for short. Nice to meet you. Beck, was it?"
"Short for Beckett."
"It's a good name. You get a pass."
"You're the woman from the Headmaster's office."
Miriam narrows her eyes, pretends to think about it. "Hmm, no, no, doesn't sound familiar. Sounds like a porno I might've watched, but those aren't real. They're just fiction, silly. Do you think girls bend like that? We do not. And most guys don't have giant wangle-rods the size of a fat baby's arm, either. You ever wonder how much Viagra those dudes have to pop to keep that shit going? Those porno dicks are pretty freaky looking, actually. That's the problem with porno these days. Too many close-ups. You can see every vein, every ingrown hair, every mole, crab, zit, cigarette burn–"
"I want to know what it is you think you're doing." His façade doesn't crack. Smile so placid it drives her batty.
"Standing here, soliloquizing – is that a word? – about pornography with some kind of girls' school karate-master. I bet those girls like having you for a coach. Don't they? Uh-huh. Real eye-candy."
Blunter this time: "What do you want with Wren?"
"To help her."
"She has all the help she needs here."
"Yeah. I don't believe institutions are all that helpful, honestly. Besides, this is not the kind of thing they can help with. This is something of an edge -case. Requires a specialist ."
"And you're that specialist."
She winks, fake-kisses the air.
His gaze flicks to the right, down the hall at the Tbone intersection, and Miriam follows his eyes–
Coming out of a stairwell are Roidhead and Mario, security guards extraordinaire.
"You called the cops on me," she says. "How sweet."
"I'm very protective of my girls."
She shakes her head. " Now who's the creeper?"
Heavy footsteps – running now, not dawdling – come from the direction of the guards. She doesn't have to look. They're bolting toward her.
Which means it's time for her to bolt, too.
She breaks away down the hall, giving him the middle finger as she flees.
The guards are hot on her tail.
Up ahead, the cafeteria doors.
The murmur of lunching students getting louder and louder.
Perfect.
Miriam gets to the doors and cuts a hard
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