Seeds of Hate by Melissa Perea Page A

be broken. Rushed steps grew louder and I tensed, bracing the possible onslaught, but then the feet became silent.
    A cold hand grazed the back of my neck and all of my bottled-up fear froze, then dropped onto the floor—shattering into a million pieces of shame and humiliation. And like before, I ran. I ran away from my biggest nightmare.
    My feet hit the pavement like thunder bolts from the sky, and I screamed at the trickling students near the front of campus. I saw the wires as I reached the street and kicked off my shoes. My fingers sweaty with hate and the disappearance of forgiveness kept slipping, as I tied them together in a triple knot. I held the laces taut as the shoes dangled from the side of my hands and then I looked up. My peace. My quiet. My freedom.
    Bending at the knees I did a partial jump as I threw the shoes straight into the air. They caught on the wire, coiled and bounced, but stayed hanging. My breath came out in pants as I saw Izzy stepping inside his mother's van. I closed my eyes and shook my head from side to side.
    "Javier! Wait. Wait. Javier!" I heard her voice climbing from the distance but didn't look back. I had to get home. Home was safe. Home was quiet.

Chapter 16
    Hanging Shoes
    (Selah)

    I tried to keep up with him, but his reaction frightened me. The invisible caution tape trailing at his feet gave me pause—I should've just left him alone. When I neared his stopping point, his shoes were off and hanging above his head. It didn't make sense. Shoeless again?
    I yelled out for him, but as expected, he didn't respond. He just left. Again.
    My hands sat at my sides, lifeless and bereft, knowing that they couldn't help. The students around me carried on with their day, only a few whispering and pointing at his shoes.
    "Do you think he's special?"
    "Maybe he's bi-polar."
    "I had an aunt once that suffered from reality dissociation."
    "Do you even know what that means?"
    "Yeah, it means he's crazy."
    Special. Bi-polar. This is what they thought of him? Various students began to bring up the past and talked about things I had never heard before. Self-mutilation, depression and a myriad of other disorders. All things I'd never attribute to Javier.
    "Hey, Selah! Do you have a car?" Izzy's voice rang out from beside a van. An older woman inside was scolding and pointing at him. Not happy at whatever he was about to do.
    "Yes, of course," I replied.
    Izzy leaned in, kissed the woman on the cheek and slammed the car door behind him.
    "Do you think I could get a ride?" he asked.
    I bit my lip as my fingers trembled. The sudden urge to pee surfaced with my fear. "Is this about Javier? I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to touch him," I said.
    Izzy's head pulled back and his face grew a double chin. "Touch him?"
    The ears around us grew substantially as our conversation took a turn. I could feel them staring. I could feel them judging. I looked at Izzy and nodded. He grabbed my arm and started walking toward the parking lot.
    "Let's get out of here first," he said with rushed steps and a fevered whisper. "Then we can talk."
    I followed him toward the parking lot. My eyes twitched as I focused in and out—wondering who had seen me, what they would think and what would they say. I shouldn't have touched him. When we neared my car, I clicked the alarm and jumped in.
    "What the hell just happened?" I asked through clenched teeth. My hands began to shake as I backed out of the stall.
    "Stop!" Izzy yelled. My feet pumped the brakes and we jolted in the seats.
    "Hold on," he said. He got out and started picking up little pieces of white paper that dusted the hood of my car. His body bobbed up and down alongside it, picking up more that had fallen to the ground.
    He got back in, I hit drive and we took off. Nathan stood at the corner of the fence, flipping us both off as we passed him.
    "I hate him," said Izzy, both of us staring at his statuesque form. Not a hint of remorse written on his face.
    "I don't even know