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Meet me in the stairwell near room 272 after school. I want to tell you something. -Juliette
Devin had found the note in his locker, folded like it was origami. The lines were so precise and sharp; this was obviously something serious.
He hadn’t shown his friends– why would he? Juliette was one of the prettiest girls in their grade; tall, long shiny hair, dark blue eyes. Of course, those weren’t the only things that made her stand out. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t looked her way when they were playing volleyball in gym class; and of course, he was standing behind her where she couldn’t see.
No harm, no foul, right?
He stopped by the bathroom to make sure his hair wasn’t too chaotic. Checked his breath, sprayed some mouth spray for good measure. Double checked his teeth to make sure nothing was stuck in it.
When the final bell rang out, he waited in a stall.
The halls emptied rapidly; it was Friday after all. Who wanted to stick around a high school when the weekend was right there?
Still, he waited. This was not an opportunity he wanted to miss.
Looking at the time on his phone, he decided he might as well head over. He wasn’t in any rush, or so he told himself. His heart was beating so hard in his chest he was starting to wonder if it was visible.
The door to the stairwell opened with a small creak; the janitors never bothered to fix it. Or maybe they had tried but no amount of oil would ever keep it from making noise.
Juliette was standing there; hair glossy as always, her posture straight as a board. She really was pretty, maybe even ethereal.
Devin had come across that word online the other day– it seemed to match how Juliette looked. She was almost always dressed in white, like some kind of ghost. Or a bride.
“Hey, Juliette.”
Her head turned and she smiled. It was such a sweet smile, her pink lips curved just enough.
“Hello, Devin. I wasn’t sure you would come…”
Devin let out a casual scoff, trying to seem cool.
“Of course! And miss out on what you wanted to tell me?” He grinned at her and she looked down, sheepish.
“I’m sorry I had you wait until after school…I just wanted to make sure it was, um, private.”
Was she blushing? Luck was a lady after all.
“No prob, it’s better if it’s private, right?”
Juliette looked up then. She stepped towards him, as neat and precise as the folded note.
“What I wanted to tell you…”, she reached out and took his wrist in her hand, “it’s…important…”
Her long, slim fingers wrapped around his. She brought his hand up and looked at it. Their fingers were intertwined, though hers seemed to dominate his. Not that he minded, of course.
The moment ended in a wave of pain, shock and the horrific noise of something snapping that shouldn’t be.
Devin fell to his knees, his hand still being held by Juliette.
His wrist was bent at an angle that it shouldn’t be, his hand felt numb and tingly at the same time.
His vision blurred with what might’ve been tears or pure adrenaline flooding his system.
“What I wanted to tell you,” Juliette repeated, her voice like ice, “was to never approach Sasha again.”
She turned his wrist, sending a wave of pain through his arm and shoulder.
He had no idea if he screamed or made any sound at all. He couldn’t tell. He was focused entirely on what Juliette was saying.
“If you ever harass her, speak to her, even so much as look in her direction, I will make sure the pain you are experiencing right now is a hundred times worse.”
As if to punctuate her statement, a flood of horrific pain filled every nerve in his body. He didn’t understand how; she was only holding his numb hand. It was as if she had zoned in on every pain receptor in his body and dialed it up to the highest amount.
“Do you know what the NRS is, Devin?”
Devin couldn’t form words anymore. He limply shook his head.
“It is a scale used to measure pain in clinical environments. The pain you feel right now, your wrist, is most likely at a 5 or 6. That is known as moderate pain. If I ever see you near her again, I will make it a 10. A 10 is equivalent to full scale third degree burns, having a limb crushed by machinery, or having a limb amputated without anesthesia.”
The pain flared through his body again. He nearly blacked out.
“Do you understand, Devin.”
It was not a question; it was a command.
Her voice was sharp, cold, clinical.
More than the pain, Devin felt fear. Perhaps that was a weak word though; terror. Pure, unadulterated terror.
When she finally released him, he fell to the floor. A crumpled paper of a man. Origami that had been thrown out.
She stepped over him like he was something unfavorable on the floor. Her steps were elegant, graceful. Quiet, most of all. A ghost in white.
“If anyone asks what happened to your wrist,” she said without turning, “tell them you fell off of your skateboard while trying to do a trick. It doesn’t matter which one. Just make it believable.”
It was the last thing she said before she pushed open the door and walked down the hall.
Her footsteps barely made a sound against the tile floors.
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Sasha closed her locker and fiddled with the lock. She wasn’t exactly looking forward to her 3rd period class but she got to sit next to Juliette while she poked fun at the teacher’s inability to remember the majority of World War II.
Juliette seemed to appear next to her but Sasha didn’t jump, she never did. She always knew when Juliette was there because the scent of clean laundry and some kind of flower was always following her. It was a nice scent, comforting.
“Hey, Jules.”
“Hello, Sasha. How are you?”
Sasha shifted her bookbag on her shoulder and shrugged, “Eh, fine. You ready to listen to Mr. Schnekk try and remember if it was the Allies or the Axis who won the war? Again.”
Juliette snickered, “Of course.”
They walked down the hall, talking about whatever came to mind.
Sasha was halfway through a story about one of her mother’s garden cats, Penney, when a group of boys nearly ran down the hall.
“Devin! What the hell happened to your wrist, bro?!”
“Dude, is that a cast?”
Sasha turned to see Devin, the boy who had been teasing her about her hair and shoving her into lockers, with a cast on his hand and forearm. It looked like he had taken a nasty fall.
Devin muttered something about trying a trick on his skateboard and ‘making a stupid mistake’, ending with him snapping his wrist.
His friends were gathered around him, half panicking, half jeering.
Sasha raised an eyebrow and turned to stop from laughing.
“Karma really is a bitch, isn’t she?” she said, half laughing as they walked up the stairs.
Juliette laughed with her, “Maybe Karma just has good judgement. She may not be so much of a bitch.”
Sasha turned to Juliette, surprised to hear her swear.
“Oh no,” Sasha said, waxing dramatic, the back of her hand pressed to her forehead, “I’m corrupting our lovely Juliette! What light through yonder window breaks!”
Juliette laughed again and shoved Sasha playfully, “Please, you sound like Medi when she gets overly dramatic.”
Sasha laughed again, the thought of Devin’s broken wrist and fearful look towards her vanishing.
Karma might be a bitch, but she was fair nonetheless.
As they listened to Mr. Schnekk mix up the countries in the Axis and Allies, Juliette looked at Sasha.
The sun hit her hair in a way that made it look like fire, like she had become a supernova even if she was just doodling in her notebook instead of listening.
Comme le soleil, Juliette thought as she half listened to her teacher. Si elle est le soleil, peut-être pourrais-je être les étoiles.