Page 3 of Ace of Spades
Ward finally dismisses us and I rush out of the hall, weaving through a small crowd of students still hanging about, and into one of the emptier marble hallways with rows of dusky gray lockers. I only slow when a teacher turns the corner. She gives me a pointed look, her sleek bob giving her face the same scary, judgmental appearance of Edna Mode fromThe Incredibles. Then she passes and I can breathe normally again.
The sound of a locker door slamming hard grabs my attention, and my head whips around to find the source. A dark-haired guy with sharp, heavy makeup around his eyes and an expression that saysFuck offstares back at me. Josh? Jared…? I can’t remember his name, but I know his face.
He’s the guy who came out last year at Junior Prom, walking in holding his date’s hand.His guy-date’s hand. And it wasn’t that big a deal. People were happy for him. But all I remember was looking at him and his date, hand in hand, and feeling this overwhelming sense of jealousy.
Prom is one of Niveus’s many compulsory and meaningless events, and so, like a masochist, I watched them all night, from the benches at the side of the hall. I watched them slow-dance, arms wrapped around each other like they were naturally safe there. Like nothing bad would happen to them. Like none of their friends outside of school would hurt or mock them. Like their parents wouldn’t stop loving them—or leave them. Like they’d be okay.
My chest had squeezed as I’d held on to that thought. My vision blurred, the lights in the room becoming vibrant circles. I had blinked back the tears, quickly wiping them off my cheeks with the sleeve of the black tuxedo I’d rented, still watching them dance—like a class A creep—looking away only when it got too painful.
“What?” A deep voice cuts into the memory like a blade. I blink to find the guy at the locker is staring at me, looking even more pissed off than before.
I turn quickly, walking the opposite way now, not daring to look back. Because, one, Jared? Jim?—that guy—scares the shit out of me, and two… My mind flashes back to prom,their intertwined fingers, their smiles. I screw my eyes shut, forcing myself to think of something else. Like music class.
I climb the steps to the first floor, where my music classroom is, burning the depressing memory and tossing its ashes out of my skull.
My body tingles when I see the dark oak door with a plate engravedMusic Room, and the sadness melts away. This is my favorite classroom,the only place in school that’s ever felt like home. There are other music rooms, mostly for recording or solo practice, but I like this one the most. It’s more open, less lonely.
“Devon, welcome back and congrats on becoming a prefect!” Mr. Taylor says as I step in. Mr. Taylor is my favorite teacher; he’s taught me music since freshman year and is the only teacher I ever really speak to outside of class. His face is always lit up, a smile permanently fixed to it. “You can get started on your senior project, along with the rest of the class.”
My classmates are lost in the world of their own music, some on keyboards and others with pencils firmly gripped in their hands as they write down melodies on crisp white music sheets. We were supposed to start planning our senior projects over the summer, ready to showcase when we got back. But I spent most of my summer occupied with my audition piece for college, as well as other not-so-academic things.
I spot my station at the back by one of the windows, with a keyboard on top of the desk and my initials,DR, engraved in gold into the wood. Not many people take music, so we all have our own stations. I’ve always loved this classroom because it reminds me of those music halls from the classical concerts online: oval-shaped, with brown-paneled walls. Being in this room makes me feel like I’m more than a scholarship kid. Like I belong here, in this life, around these people.
Even though I know that isn’t true.
“Thanks,” I say, before stepping toward the keyboard I’ve dreamed of all summer. I don’t have a keyboard at home, because there’s no space and they are a lot more expensive than they look. I’m sure my ma would get me one if I asked, but she already does somuch for me, and I feel like I burden her more than I should. Instead, when I’m not in school, I improvise; humming tunes, writing down notes, and listening to and watching whatever I can. I’m more into the composition and songwriting aspect of music anyway, but it still feels good to have an actual instrument in front of me again.
I plug the keyboard into the wall and it comes alive, the small square monitor in the corner flashing. I put my headphones on, running my fingers over the black-and-white plastic keys, pressing a few, letting a messy melody slip out, before I sit back, close my eyes, and picture the ocean. Bluish green with fish swimming and bright sea plants. I jump in, and I’m immersed in the water.
The familiar sense of peace rises inside, and my hands stretch toward the piano.
And then I play.
2
CHIAMAKA
Monday
High school is like a kingdom, only instead of temperamental royals, golden thrones, and designer outfits flown in from Europe, the hallways are filled with loud postpubescent teens, the classrooms with rows of wooden desks and students dressed in ugly plaid skirts, navy-colored slacks, and stiff blue blazers.
In this kingdom, the queen doesn’t inherit the crown. To get to the top, she destroys whoever she needs to. Here, every moment is crucial; there are no do-overs. One mistake can have you sent to the bottom of the food chain with the girls who have imaginary boyfriends and wear polyester unironically. It sounds dramatic, but this is the way things are and the way they will always be.
The people at the top in high school get into the best colleges, get the best jobs, go on to run the country, and win Nobel Prizes. The rest end up with dead-end jobs, heart failure, and then have to start an affair with their assistant to create some excitement in their otherwise dull lives.
And it’s all because they weren’t willing to put in the work to make it in high school.
Maintaining popularity at a place like Niveus is not about how many friends you have. It’s about looking the part, having the best grades, and dating the right people. You have to make everyone wish they were you, wish they had your life. I know to an outsider, it seems horrible—making people self-conscious, feeding off their envy, destroying anyone who gets in your way—but I learned early on that it’s either kill or be killed. And if I had to stop and feel bad for every instance I’ve had to step on someone’s toes to keep the crown, I’d be very bored.
Besides, regardless of whether it’s me or someone else, there will always be a kingdom, a throne, and a queen.
I stare down at the badge withSenior Head Prefect, Chiamakaengraved into the shiny gold metal. It’s weird that after three years of fighting my way up to the top of the ladder, it can all be summarized by something so small and seemingly insignificant. I find myself smiling as I run my thumb over the cold surface. Even though it’s so minute in the grand scheme of things, it’s what I’ve wanted since I was a freshman, and now I have it.
“Your badge is really pretty, Chi. Congrats,” Ruby says as I walk out of Lion. She and Ava, the other girl I hang out with most of the time, are outside by the door, waiting. The hallway is still filled with students, talking and biding their time before the warning bell rings. The new headmaster kept me back a little longer than the other prefects, wanting to introduce himself properly.
I’m hoping I made a good first impression on him. That first image someone has of you is etched into their minds forever, but the new head didn’t seem that enthused by me. He just stared at me coldly, like I had insulted his tacky suit or told him his tie didn’t match his shoes. I did none of that, I was polite. And yet…
I slip the badge into my blazer pocket and wipe the smile off my face with a shrug, not wanting to seem too eager.
