Shallow Grave by Alex Van Tol Page A

cleaning up too.”
    â€œDon’t worry about them,” Shannon says. “Karma’s watching. They’ll get what they deserve somewhere down the line.” She tucks a strand of purple behind her ear. “Besides, you should be glad. You collected lots of positive karmic points for trying to help.” She grins. “Especially someone who obviously doesn’t fit on your spectrum of…social acceptability.”
    I can’t argue with that.
    â€œHow could I not stop and help?” I say. “You were screaming like someone was tearing your heart out of your chest.”
    â€œMy hero, Elliot the A-student jock superstar.” She clasps her hands under her chin and flutters her eyelashes.
    Girl’s got a chip on her shoulder a mile wide.
    I bite my tongue. Take a deep breath and release it very, very slowly. I count to ten, like that buck-toothed psychiatrist taught me how to do back when my parents split and I was beating the crap out of everything within arm’s reach.
    This could be a long afternoon.

Chapter Two
    If it weren’t for this stupid situation, Shannon and I would never have had any reason to cross paths. We don’t run with the same crowds. Not that I have such an established crowd after only seven weeks at Wildwood, but there are some good people in it.
    Smart people. People who work hard. People who want to do well in school so they can do well in the world.
    I’m not so sure I could say the same about her crowd.
    In the last seven days since Mr. Harrison walked in on us in the bushes, I’ve learned how different Shannon and I are as people. “Like chalk and cheese,” my grandmother would say.
    I swim for the national team. Shannon writes mouthy articles for the school newspaper.
    I work hard and apply myself so my mom’s not wasting her money sending me to a school like this. Shannon breaks the rules no matter who’s paying.
    I like to look respectable and approachable. Shannon likes to shock people.
    I am black. Shannon is white.
    End of story.
    When I pulled in last Friday morning after my doctor’s appointment—a long needle in my foot for another plantar wart from a dirty pool deck—I’d seen the principal, Mr. Harrison, leaving the building. My mom wanted me to ask him about missing some school. There was a big tri-state meet in November, and I was going to have to miss a couple of days on either side of the weekend. This seemed to be as good an opportunity as any to speak with him.
    I parked and grabbed my bag.
    Once I was out of the car, though, I couldn’t exactly ignore the shrieks coming from the bushes at the edge of the parking lot.
    I forgot about talking to Mr. Harrison and went over to investigate.
    Okay, I ran over with my heart in my throat. I thought someone was being assaulted.
    One glance told me all I needed to know. There was this purple-haired girl with her foot stuck under the tire of one of those little Smart Cars. Swearing a blue streak. Two skinny weak types were yelling at each other. A third guy dressed head to toe in black was hissing at the girl to keep it down. Four or five other people were pelting down a forest trail, away from the scene.
    Holy crap. They actually rolled a car into the bushes.
    Purple Girl was shrieking. “Don’t tell me to shut up, Ramone. Just get this goddamn thing off my foot!”
    I cleared my throat. Heads whipped in my direction. They seemed shocked to see me. Like it never occurred to them that hysterical screams coming from the forest might attract attention.
    â€œUh,” I said. “Is this Mr. Harrison’s car? ’Cause he’s on his way over.” I nodded over my shoulder, toward the parking lot. “I just saw him leaving the school.”
    It wasn’t going to take him long to notice that his car was gone. I’m sure he’d already heard the screams and was wondering what the hell was going on in the bushes.
    The