Page 34 of Lost
Lysander was no stranger to tripping. Being a runner it happened more often than not, but having somebody deliberately push him was not something that he was accustomed to.
He landed hard, his hands not reacting quickly enough to completely break the fall. He held back a shout as his left wrist gave a particularly painful jolt, taking instead to narrowing his eyes at the boy who now towered over him. Several people had stopped to stare.
“Better watch your step, Maverick. Ground’s a lot shakier in California.”
Lysander got to his feet, brushing dirt and grass from his clothes as he went. A couple of people snickered; many of the bystanders watched him eagerly, no doubt waiting for his counter-strike. He tested out his injured wrist gingerly, making sure the damage wasn’t too bad, before he decided what his next move would be. His first instinct was to hit Ethan Masters, just as he had hit Jeffery Hallon. There was no doubt in his mind that Masters deserved it, and yet...
Dakota would not have approved.
“Thanks for the heads up,” he said instead, rolling his shoulders to release the sudden tension. “I’ll see you in class.”
Masters looked irritated as Lysander passed him and made his way up towards the main building. He didn’t look back as he walked, but he maintained a state of alertness just in case Masters decided that they weren’t done. The bystanders, many looking disappointed, departed the scene once they realised there would be no fight.
“Coward,” a senior boy muttered as he pushed past Lysander.
Lysander ignored him. He made a beeline for the closest bathroom, where he promptly set his backpack down and turned on the tap. It took only a moment to make sure the water was suitably cold before he put his now aching wrist under it and let out a sigh of relief. Ice would have been better, but cold water would do in a pinch.
He counted himself lucky that all he’d gotten out of the surprise meeting was a potentially sprained wrist. He wondered briefly why Masters hadn’t pursued the attack any further, especially when he had looked so thrilled to have an audience. Maybe he was smart enough not to start a fight with so many witnesses around? Or maybe he was too afraid to start something with Lysander when he didn’t have his friends around to back him up. That seemed far more likely.
Masters was already in his seat when Lysander walked into his science class, talking quietly with his friend, but neither he nor Lysander acknowledged the other. Lysander simply made his way over and took his usual spot beside Jack, who showed no signs of knowing that anything had passed that morning. He smiled in greeting. It was a look that faded to one of amusement as he examined his friend.
“Why are you covered in grass?”
Lysander looked down at himself. Sure enough, several blades of grass still clung to his shirt and his jeans, somehow having evaded his thorough brush down of himself.
“I had a minor run-in with Masters this morning,” he explained, nodding over at the boy in question as he set about cleaning himself off again. “No big deal.”
“You got into a fight?”
“Not exactly.”
The look on Jack’s face was one of doubt, but he didn’t push the matter any further.
“Sorry,” he said instead. “I didn’t mean to land you on his hit list.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did. You hit Hallon because of me.”
“Maybe. But you neveraskedme to do it. I did it because I wanted to.”
And because it was the right thing to do, he inwardly added. The school might have been doing a decent job of filtering out physical violence, but they still had a long way to go when it came to bullying. He imagined Dakota would have something to say about that when she finally got there. Maybe she and Eliza Beth could team up and start some sort of campaign against it. Anything that he could do to help put a stop to it in the meantime was a good cause as far as he was concerned.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Zack didn’t usually hear his phone ringing over the sounds of the band practising. It was only since he’d learned he was a father that he’d become super-attuned to his ringtone, a stereophonic version ofThis Is Halloween. He was forever conscious of the fact that Maria could call with news of Dakota, or that Lysander could call if there was an emergency. So when he heard it start to ring just before midday, he dropped everything and left the garage to answer it — leaving behind him a disgruntled bassist and a chuckling guitarist.
“Mr. Bennett? James Randall here. Do you have a moment?”
Zack pulled the door shut behind him, dulling the sound of still-drumming Aaron, and retreated further into Pat’s empty house. James Randall. The name struck a chord within him, but he couldn’t place where he knew it from.
“Sure,” he replied without hesitation, his mind still reeling. “How can I help you, Mr. Randall?”
“I’m afraid it’s about your son, Lysander.”
James Randall, Zack suddenly recalled with startling clarity, was the principal of the high school. He was kicking himself internally for not having picked up on this straight away — these were the sorts of things he should have committed to memory, right?
“Is he okay?” he asked quickly. “He’s not hurt, is he?”
