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High School Cafeteria
“Do you even speak English?” Courtney Paulson asked while shoving the new girl into the cafeteria.
The teacher said her name was Azadeh. I wasn’t sure how to pronounce it. Sounded pretty, though, like her. I also liked her hair. It was black or very dark brown and fell in loose springs down her back to her butt. It was shiny but not in the greasy way that some people’s hair was. Azadeh’s hair shined like the stars in the midnight sky. Was that a thing? I didn’t know, but I had an overwhelming urge to rub the strands between my fingers.
“Maybe she doesn’t know how to speak.” Rachel Kilterson smirked.
I wished Rachel didn’t know how to speak. The girl had the most annoyingly nasal voice on the planet.
“Why does she smell like that?” Kathy Markson sneered.
Kathy Markson should talk. She farted once in the second grade, and it was like a three-month-old fish curled up with a carton of rotten eggs.
I tensed as the three girls performed their vulture dance around their defenseless prey. This wouldn’t end well. I knew these girls were petty and ruthless. They’d cultivated a hierarchy that put them at the top of the pecking order, thanks to the help of their insufferably rich parents. Parents who had indulged their every whim, even at the expense of innocent bystanders.
I gripped the table, knuckles white as I witnessed the verbal abuse of the new girl. I stayed out of it while the decrepit crows limited their torment to gawking. But when they smashed her modest meal to the floor, their mocking laughter bouncing off the cafeteria walls, I was out of my seat and in front of them in four quick strides. I was prepared to fend off Azadeh’s tormentors before they created more carnage.
“Leave her alone, Courtney,” I demanded.
Courtney stared at me, eyes rounded and mouth wide in utter shock. I guessed her reaction made sense. I rarely spoke to anyone at the school, and when I did, it was because I had to. My days were spent suffering through classes with the simpletons and vermin of the world until the hours ticked by, and I finally got to go home. So I understood why my actions were out of the norm for Courtney and her coven of witches.
Rachel’s mouth twisted in disgust. “Why do you care about this… thing?”
“Maybe it’s not about her,” I growled. “Perhaps I’m sick and tired of the way you three bitches torment every fuckin’ human being that you perceive as beneath you.” I stepped toward Rachel until her back hit the cafeteria table. “I suggest you and your band of merry bitches pack it up and leave Azadeh alone.”
“Or what?” Courtney asked. Her long, manicured neon green nails gleamed as she placed her hands on her hips.
The corners of my lips curled up. “You know who my grandfather is, don’t you, Courtney? You’ve heard the rumors about how he tortured his victims for hours on end, cut up their bodies into various pieces.”
One of Courtney’s hands slid off her hip to hang at her side, and she took a step back. With the other hand, she gripped the back of Kathy’s shirt, pulling her away from me and abandoning Rachel to the brunt of any unhinged act I might commit.
Ignoring the cowards, I turned my gaze to Rachel, wanting to ensure she was as terrified as the other bitches. “They say the shit my grandpa did is genetic.” I leaned forward, whispering so that only Rachel would be privy to my words. “You’d make a pretty first victim.”
Through all this, Azadeh remained seated. Her long dark hair fell like curtains around her face. She was visibly shaking, but she didn’t move. I didn’t like that she appeared so frightened and didn’t understand why.
I bent slowly so I didn’t spook her more than I already had. Maybe it was because I knew what being the new kid was like. But for Azadeh, it seemed somewhat worse because not only was she at a new school full of assholes, but she was also in a new country, away from everything familiar.
I sat across from her and smiled to put her at ease. I was sure I appeared like a crazed psycho. She just heard me talk about being a killer, and then all I did was smile at her. Azadeh lifted her head, peering at me through her pretty hair.
I jabbed my finger to my chest. “I’m Ezekiel, but you can call me Zeke.”
She pointed to her chest. “Azadeh. English no good, but learning. Nice meet you, Ze-eck.”
Usually, I wanted to bust someone’s lip for fucking up my name, but she could’ve called me a hot pile of shit, and I would’ve been happy as long as it meant she kept talking to me. I wanted to know everything about her.
“Your name is beautiful.”
She blushed and averted her eyes. “Thank you. Means free.”
“You speak a language other than English?”
Azadeh nodded. “Yes, Persian.”
“Persian like the cat?”
She laughed at my question, and I swear I saw angels appear. Okay, not really, but I wouldn’t be shocked if they did.
“Yes, like cat. Me from Iran.”
