Page 13 of Shadowface 1979

“Freak.”

“Demon eyes.”

“Ghost skin.”

Remy takes a spot beside me and crosses his arms, his expression unreadable, if not amused, and the teacher, clearly taken aback from his surprise, coughs.

“Okay, settle down,” the teacher says with a pinched expression. “Everyone, let’s welcome Diana.”

No one welcomes me; in fact, you can hear a pin drop from the deathly silence that takes over the room. No one wants me here, and I’m starting to see what Marty and Miss Denton were trying to warn me about. No one will even look me in the eye; everyone diverts their gaze. I slump in my seat and grab my notebook and pencil.

The teacher sighs and turns back to the chalkboard and continues writing formulas, which I immediately recognize from my studies a few weeks ago.

“This week we are going to finish our practice of the quadratic formula. And we also have a pop quiz,” he announces.

This elicits a strong emotional reaction from the class.

A girl sitting near the front with perfect long curls and equally perfect posture speaks up, “It’s the witch’s fault. She’s cursed and needs to go. We don’t need any more bad luck in this town.”

The teacher shakes his head as the rest of the class snickers. The teacher passes out a piece of paper to everyone.

“One more peep out of you, Cindy, and I will send you to the office for the rest of the day.”

She scowls and continues to glare at me.

It’s then I notice the guy from earlier still wearing his short shorts and striped tank top, staring down at his test. His legs are incredibly muscled, like he must run a lot.

I couldn’t make out the features of his face earlier, but I’m convinced it’s Tommy. He’s holding his head in his hands, and he has a small bead of sweat on his brow.

Although clearly distressed, his facial features are soft. His sandy hair curls around his face and his mustache is incredibly cute.

He glances up momentarily and catches me staring at him. I quickly divert my attention downward and begin to focus.

Darn it, Diana…stop it!

When I glance back at him, he is once again fretting over his quiz.

I forget about him, and everyone else, and start working on the equations. I aced this subject a few weeks ago, and I finish the quiz much faster than everyone else.

Tommy’s stress grows with each passing minute. He runs a hand through his hair. “Time’s up,” the teacher announced. “Pass your quizzes to the right for grading.” I glance at Remy, his black hair now partially obscuring his face, and hand him the paper. We review the answers, and when Remy returns my quiz, every answer is correct.

And his eyes suddenly seem kinder.

TOMMY

APRIL 1979

There is nothing better than the feeling of the wind in my face and leaving my opponent in the dust. Especially when that opponent is Remington Vital, who is hopefully choking on it.

Sweat drips down my nose as I finish the tenth lap Coach is making the two of us do as punishment for fighting earlier today. Coach is killing us. We have to run until we figure our shit. The only problem is our wounds cut so deep, I’m not sure we will ever recover from it. And I’m not even sure what we are fighting about.

One minute, we are running through the woods doing our Sunday morning run, the next, he’s being accused of killing Daniel Jenkins and stopped talking to me.

None of it makes sense.

There is no damn way my best friend of eighteen years is Shadowface. I’d know if Remy were a serial killer.

Somewhere along the way, I lost my best friend, and he won’t talk to me about what really happened. The town turned on him, anger consumed him, and he’s a shell of who he once was. He even started dressing differently—wearing black leather and shit.