"Thank you," she said. "That's all that I was hoping for—a few more pairs of eyes on the lookout."
Chapter 20
In Enemy Hands
"A wise person recognizes that sometimes there is no difference between a friend and an enemy. Both can destroy you with equal delight."
The day at school had started out so well for Bron, but all too soon he felt as if he wanted to hide. All through his first class people had asked if he would play again at lunch. He couldn't really keep a low profile.
Since he didn't have a locker at the school—those were reserved only for freshmen, and came with the fear of scorpions creeping into your gym shoes at night—Bron had to carry his guitar from class to class.
Within an hour he was so famous that at the beginning of second period, social sciences, his teacher announced, "I've had several requests for Bron to play for us today, and so if you're all quiet and attentive for the first hour, I will ask our guitar virtuoso to play."
The entire class was angelic, so Bron played.
He felt conflicted. Olivia had warned against attracting attention. She wanted him to keep a low profile, but he'd never felt popular before.
He wondered if he should come up with a cover for his new-found skill. After all, it had come out of nowhere. But no one here knew him. Back in Alpine, at the Stillman's, he'd played only in secret. As far as anyone knew, he'd always been talented.
So he made sure to hit a wrong note in class, just so that folks didn't get too excited.
At lunch, he wanted a little anonymity, so he hid his guitar in the car and huddled in a corner beneath the stairs at the atrium and ate a sandwich from a sack lunch.
A couple of the guitar geeks in the school sought him out—a pair of undersized kids who apparently felt that he might spout some wisdom that would multiply their own talents. They squatted on the floor next to him and talked softly about their World of Warcraft exploits while munching on carrot sticks and bologna sandwiches.
As Bron ate, he closed his eyes and listened to songs on his iPhone. Someone kicked his feet. He peered up at Justin Walton, the teacher's aide for his dance class, who was all glaring eyes and square jaw.
A couple of Justin's friends hovered at his back, thugs eager for some entertainment. Bron pulled off his headphones and said, "Hey, looks like you found Crabbe and Goyle!"
"You've played your last song with Whitney," Justin growled, nostrils flaring. His face was red, and his curly hair looked like the mane of a wild animal. His sculpted body was all sinew and muscle, without an ounce of fat. He breathed heavily, as if he'd just gotten out of dance practice. "I know all about you. You're just welfare scum."
Bron thought of a couple of comebacks, all having to do with piglets, but decided to take it easy.
He'd often found that the best way to avoid a fight was to simply ignore the aggressor, and he suspected that any match between him and Justin wouldn't be even.
"Whitney can hang out with anyone she wants," Bron said, and slipped his earphones back in, as if he was disinterested. But he just couldn't let it go at that. "Besides, I don't take orders from ballerinas."
Justin kicked Bron's feet again, hard, and made a face that was half snarl. This fool didn't know who he was dealing with. Sure Justin was bigger and more muscular, but Bron figured that he could teach the cop's son a few wrestling moves.
As quickly as he considered how to go about a takedown, Kendall McTiernan stepped around the corner, appearing at the edge of the stairs, as if he'd been standing guard duty.
"Is there a problem here, Walton?" Kendall asked. He stepped in front of Justin, and glared, the muscles bunching in his broad shoulders. The two kids who had been sitting next to Bron also rose to their feet, backing Kendall.
Suddenly Bron realized that his newfound friends had all been standing guard duty.
"I was just... advising Bron here to stick with his own kind." Justin retreated a pace, as if unsure whether he could win this fight.
"Oh," Kendall said easily. "His own kind? You must mean the really cool people? Whitney's crazy about him, in case you haven't noticed, and he's crazy about her. I really think that they should hook up, don't you?" Justin's face fell at the sexual innuendo. "That's okay with you isn't it? There's no law against it."
Bron's fingers began itching, his sizraels extending. He closed his fists, even as his palms began to tingle.
For an instant, Justin's nostrils flared as his frustration turned to wrath, and then just as suddenly his face paled in dismay. Bron felt energy flow into him, like living water.
Justin's pupils shrank to pinpricks of fear. His nostrils flared and his face went white.
Bron had begun draining Justin of will. The effect was palpable, instantaneous.
At that moment, Kendall's hand strayed to the back pocket of his slacks. Bron expected Kendall to pull a knife, but instead he pulled out a comb. "Get out of here," Kendall told Walton, "unless you want to party?"
At that moment, Justin's resolve crumbled. He turned and strode away, his entire frame shaking.
The guitar geeks guffawed at Justin as Kendall stood combing his hair. The tension in the air began to ease. Kendall leaned over and put his hands on his knees, as if he'd just taken a punch. His geek friends were shaking too, and Bron realized something.
I wasn't just draining Walton. I was draining all of them!
He felt energized, alert and powerful and just a bit deadly. But his protectors were all trembling, as if they'd just lost a fight.
Bron kept his fists clenched, to hide his sizraels. "Hey, thanks," Bron said. "I owe you."
He put a hand on Kendall's back while Kendall struggled to draw breath. He willed something vital back into his friend, and felt a small tug as it was released. It wasn't much, but Bron gave something back.
Kendall drew a deep breath. Bron looked at the two geeks, wanted to help them, but felt too nervous. He couldn't do it now, in public. It would have to wait.
Kendall drew upright and said, "Watch out for that creep. He'll send his dad to do his dirty work."
Bron went through the next couple of hours in a daze, worried about Kendall, longing for Whitney. He went to class, but couldn't have repeated anything that was said.
At the end of third period, as the hall filled with students bustling between classes, Bron bumped into Galadriel.
Literally, he bumped into her. Or maybe she bumped into him. He was walking through a crowd, had turned his head while he tried to maneuver, and "slam," he stepped right into someone. He got the impression of soft, yielding flesh, long blonde hair, and he caught the gentle aroma of perfume.
He turned as Galadriel grabbed his shoulders, as if to keep from falling, then steadied. "Oh, sorry!" she said.
Somehow he wasn't surprised to see her. He was more amazed at the change in her. There was something brilliant and determined behind her eyes, and she held him with ... boldness, he decided.
"Hi," Bron said. "You coming to school here?"
"Yeah, I'm all registered." She smiled, waited for him to strike up a conversation. Finally she asked, "So, are you going to try out for the Hyperion Club?"
"Me?" Bron said. "Nah."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to look like any more of an idiot than I already do." Galadriel's face fell a little. The school was electric with excitement. This was the most important club on campus. "I'm going to try out."