Undertow by Michael Buckley Page B

the room. Apparently the new kids are not going to the Tombs. Jorge growls something under his breath. I turn and see that he is wearing a Niners shirt with a black mermaid on it. There’s a slash through her body, and underneath are the words throw the fish back .
    Terrance Lir enters next. He scans the room as nervously as the day before, then gestures to someone in the hall. A moment later, the prince steps into the room and stands next to his friends. He towers over them, shoulders back, perfect posture, surveying us like we’re privileged to be in his presence. Terrance whispers something in his ear, and the boy nods.
    â€œYou may go,” the prince says. Mr. Lir bows deeply and leaves, but not before he turns his head and looks right at me. Is he going to say something? I hear my father’s warning and look down at my desk, feeling ashamed. I love this man. He’s as good as family to me, and I have abandoned him. My father doesn’t trust him. That has to be good enough for me, even if it makes me feel like a jerk.
    â€œPeople, we have another new addition to our class,” Mr. Ervin says.
    â€œThis is such bull,” Jorge shouts. He’s so angry, he kicks an empty desk really hard and it slams into the wall.
    â€œKid, shut your mouth,” the soldier barks. His hand is already on his rifle.
    Mr. Ervin jumps in without missing a beat. “He calls himself Fathom and he is the son of the Alpha king, which I learned this morning is called a prime. Thus, Fathom is a prince—he’s royalty, and I have been asked to inform you that he is accustomed to a level of respect you may not give your friends.”
    â€œHey, prince, you suck,” Jorge shouts.
    Fathom peers down the aisle at him.
    Jorge laughs. “Yeah, I said it. What are you gonna do about it?”
    â€œSon, that’s strike two,” the soldier shouts at him.
    â€œLet’s all have a seat,” Mr. Ervin says.
    Ghost and Luna slip into a couple of empty ones near the front while Fathom slides into one next to me. My heart rate multiplies, and I’m sure I’m bright red. I want to crawl under this desk and die, yet I can’t help taking quick glances at him. His hands are criss-crossed in white scars, and I can see the horrible open wound where his blades break the skin. His arms are rock hard with bulging triceps, and his face is—oh, he’s staring at me like he’s waiting for me to tell him what to do. I bury my head in my hands.
    â€œWhere’s Deshane?” Jorge asks.
    â€œDeshane will not be back,” Mr. Ervin says.
    â€œDid he go to jail?” one of the girls in the back asks. I think her name is Lynn.
    â€œHe did,” Mr. Ervin responds. “But he was released to his uncle. Together it was decided that Deshane would be better off in a different learning environment, so he was transferred to a new school.”
    Jorge stands up and points at Ghost. “What about him? He started it all.”
    Ghost stands and hisses. “If you feel you’ve been wronged by me, you are welcome to challenge me.”
    â€œBring it to me, ugly,” Jorge shouts, knocking over another desk.
    â€œThat’s it. Let’s go,” the soldier shouts. He charges down the aisle and snatches Jorge by the scruff of the neck. The boy struggles to free himself, but the soldier is too strong. All Jorge can do is flail and scream on his way to the hall.
    â€œFine with me. I don’t want to be around those things, anyway. They smell!”
    â€œThey are simple beasts, with no backbone, Your Majesty, like sea cucumbers that can talk,” Ghost says to Fathom, then sweeps his gaze over the rest of us. “Cowardly, too. What about the rest of you? Or are humans all talk, like they say?”
    Mr. Ervin slams a book down on his desk. “Ghost, sit down.”
    â€œI don’t take orders from the likes of you,” Ghost says. “You grunt like a