Tears of a Lion

         “Have we met?”
         The central air griped and squealed overhead. Wet sneakers squeaked on the soaked gym floor, as did the wheels of an age-old basketball rack slowly making its way to the center. The entire gym was full of teenagers – a combination of the third period P.E. class and the weightlifting kids. Rain pounding the roof made it seem like the world was flooding, and, even if it was, no one could peel their eyes from their smart phones long enough to check. I was the only one listening.
         The wind tore shingle after shingle from the old building’s roof, snatching the branches from the trees and flinging them into the walls. Water dripped from several places, making the preppy girls cock their eyebrows with distaste. The intercom went on nonstop, correcting their tornado warning to a hurricane watch, and then deciding that the watch had turned into a warning. Moments ago, she’d said that it was definitely a class three hurricane, moving rapidly westward from the Atlantic Ocean. It would find us in less than an hour.
         I’d been spread-eagle across the bleachers since the beginning of the class period, attributing my solidarity to how intimidating I was. I had this section of the gym to myself, and I was enjoying it until he showed up.
         He climbed to my level and slid between the rows, propping his elbow on the higher step and resting his face on his palm. He was soaking wet, his long black hair stuck to his face, water droplets forming a current over his nose.  I was raised to be tough, so I didn’t really care for pretty boys like him, but I held off shooing him. He seemed harmless enough; a good distraction while I waited.
         “You borrowed my pen once,” I responded sarcastically. No, I’d never met him, and I’d never seen him on campus before. But then again, it was my first day here.
         “Did I give it back?” He wondered, tipping his head like a curious dog. His voice was deeper than I’d expected; he didn’t seem to be a teenager. For some reason, that detail didn’t bother me.
         “Nope,” I chimed.
         “So now you’re holding a grudge?”
         “It was a nice pen.”
         He sat up and shrugged, a smile growing on his face. “It’s gone now.”
         “You owe me a buck-fifty.”
         The smile widened. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
         “I had a test that day.”
         The boy didn’t skip a beat. “Name’s Cole.”
         “I didn’t ask.”
         “Consider it a gift.”
         I looked away. Michael was circling the court, dodging other players as they advanced on him; he was doing a good job of hiding his superior athleticism. He seemed completely occupied by his game, but he found time to glance at me, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. When he noticed me watching him, he missed a step and someone stole the ball, racing into the safety of a crowd of damp teenagers. He paused momentarily – probably waiting for me to mouth ‘save me’ – but then rejoined his team.
         Cole didn’t relent. “So, you don’t have a name?”
         “No, they call me Jane Doe.” I’m not the social type – ask my parole officer. I consider myself quite the hermit, and a very pissy one at that. If the times call for it, I can be sweet, even shy, but when strangers meandered to my bad side, I wouldn’t hesitate to remove a limb. One of my triggers was asking for my name.
         “Alright, well, I can see that you’re irritated, so I’ll offer you an out. Tell me your name and I’ll leave you alone.”
         “Do you have a problem with personal space?” Somehow he’d migrated from his spot and started occupying mine. Another trigger was touching me.
         He moved to a lower row. “Name.”
         I snorted.
         “Please?”
         I shook my head.
         “How ‘bout a deal? I’ll give you this nice cup of pudding in my bag if you tell me your name? It comes with a slightly-used spoon – I know right? What a value! – and, oh, look! It’s a bonus wedge of deodorant. Smells like… what’s that smell like to you?”
         Shoving his hand away, I snapped, “Stop, or I’ll break your arm. In half.”
         He laughed. “Try it.”
         “Do your friends think you’re annoying, too?”
         “Who says I have friends?”
         “Who did you annoy before I got here?”
         “Mostly teachers. The entire chess team. That guy who hangs out by the back exit. If Jones’ restraining order hadn’t expired this year, I wouldn’t even be here.”
         I watched him for a moment, unsure. He had an excellent poker face.
         “Damn those technicalities,” I murmured eventually.
         “I’m sweetening the pot. You can feel my bicep.”
         “That’s not happening.”
         “Why? I’ve been told I have excellent form. I bench three hundred.”
         “Napkins?”
         “That’s funny, but no. I’m partial to puppies. I love the little pugs; they’re faces are so irresistible. Have you ever pulled on a pug puppy’s cheeks?”
         “No… can’t say that I have.”
         “But you want to, don’t you? Don’t you? Huh? Don’t you?”
         “Stop poking me.”
         “Pew. Pew. Pew.”
         “That counts.”
         “I didn’t touch you. Pew. Pew. Pew.”
         “People are staring.”
         “I get that a lot. They must’ve noticed my hair. You wouldn’t, because we just met, but I brushed it different today. It’s to the right side, instead of the left. Three hairs go down my neck; girls love that. Here, just lick your finger like this and smooth it down and… bingo, see those heads turn?”
         I had to admit it, he was almost adorable. Like a six-year-old hocked up on sugar and caffeine. “They’re wondering why you just slobbered on your finger and rubbed it all over your rat-tail.”
         “I get the feeling you don’t like me.”
         I smiled tightly. “Gee, you’re quick.”
         “Look, we’re gonna have to get along. You know you have me for first and second period, and of course this one; fourth is the only time you’re safe, and I’m right across the hall.”
         “You weren’t in my first and second periods.”
         “Yeah… I don’t wake up that early. I finally found a reason to. My new friend: name withheld.” He skipped several seconds, and then went on. “Please. Just tell me your name. I’ll resort to guessing if you don’t give it up. I’m a horrible guesser. I lose every game of charades and I’m banned from playing Pictionary in seventeen states.”
         I shrugged. “Guess all you want.”
         “Shelly?”
         “No.”
         “Margaret?”
         “Seriously?”
         “Angel?”
         I snorted and shook my head.
         “Princess?”
         “Nope.”
         “Cupcake? Lily? Daisy? Penny? Sneaker? Basketball? Rim?”
         “Is that little hamster in your head getting tired?”
         “He’s on break.”
         “It’s Jamie.”
         I don’t know why I told him. As a pissy hermit with a juvenile record and plenty of cops breathing down my neck, I was usually good about keeping my name to myself. Sure, they could look it up, but it pissed them off when I refused to give it to them like an obedient little girl. It had been years since I’d flat-out told someone my name, and here I was giving it to this guy like a piece of gum.
         What was it about him?
         He stared at me with more intensity than before, the playfulness fading out of his bright sapphire eyes. The change in his expression intrigued me, loosening my tongue.
         “My name is Jamie,” I went on, my voice dropping. “My last name is Fault. And, before you ask, no, I don’t have to kill you. Satisfied?”
         “The last name’s Shariah,” he responded immediately. “It’s Cole Shariah.”
         Our eyes met. It was like staring into the surface of Neptune and seeing nothing but ocean waves crashing against each other. I’d read plenty of books about understanding people’s eyes, being able to see their whole story every time they batted their lashes, but that didn’t happen with him. I just saw… blue. I just saw his eyebrows drawn down slightly – thinking – and his lids slipping down – narrowing. He was scrutinizing me, and I was scrutinizing him right back.
         The bell rang. I looked up momentarily from his electric eyes, but I was drawn back again. I barely noticed the kids making their way for the door, ignoring whatever the substitute was trying to tell them. Cole also stayed in place, though he flinched slightly when the bell screamed above our heads.
         “How ‘bout we ditch fourth period?” he suggested.
         I looked down at the bleachers, where my thumb had been carving a smiley face into the soft wood. Honestly, I’d already considered leaving school, but my plans didn’t involve him. “What makes you think I’m a criminal like you?” I asked quietly.
         “Well, you moved across the street from me, and I get a play-by-play of your day’s activities from my paraplegic grandmother; apparently you have a parole officer, a social worker, and bi-weekly check-ins.” He looked up, disrupting the anger that began to consume me. “I know why you came here.”
         “It’s the closest school,” I responded dryly, offering nothing and hoping he wouldn’t say what I feared the most.
         “No. Here. North Carolina. I know why you came to this state, and not any other; I know what happened, Jamie.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward, his breath just gentle enough to shatter me. “I know how you feel; I’ve been where you are.”
         Blank. My mind went blank. “How?”
         “Because you and I are one in the same. The first time I… knew… I caused a lot of chaos and I hurt the people I loved; because of that, I can’t go home anymore.” He wrapped his hands around mine. I could feel his pulse quicken through his palm. I could see the veins flowing through his eyes, shifting rapidly from blue to black, and then from black to gold. His voice shivered and deepened with every word. “No one understood what I was going through, and I struggled with that for a long time. But you don’t have to. Come with me, Jamie; I know people who can help you.”
         I fell back into reality at that moment. I was afraid of him, afraid of the strange knowledge in his eyes, afraid of what he might already know and what he might do with that powerful information. What had been an innocent conversation, a random rendezvous in the gym of a public high school, turned rapidly into a planned encounter; he knew who I was. Had he waited for this storm to grip the town, hoping to make his move in the midst of the confusion? How long had he been watching me? Did he know about Michael, too?
         The change must’ve been present in my expression, because Cole dropped my hand and leaned away, his eyebrows drawing down. “Jamie…” he whispered urgently, “Don’t be afraid. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
         “I have to… go to class,” I navigated the bleachers while I excused myself, stumbling a few times. Cole followed me, exhibiting the perfect balance I’d been fighting to hide. He tried to help me when I tripped at the bottom, but I staggered to my feet and brushed by him. The gym floor offered stability as my world caved in.
         Michael was leaning against the back door, watching intently as I walked toward him. He smiled at me. I grabbed his arm and shoved the door open, practically dragging him to the safety of the hurricane.
         “Does he know about us?” he hissed into my ear. He knew. He’d been watching us, and he’d heard Cole’s final words. Good.
         I swallowed. “I think so… it’s not safe here… we have to run.”
         He froze, grabbing my shoulders and shaking his head furiously. His hair whipped back and forth. “No way! We can’t just go strolling through the woods in this! We’ll leave in the morning; after it passes.”
         “No, Michael, he knows where we live; he’s been watching us.”
         The fear in his eyes turned to sheer terror. He released me, weaving his hands into his hair and whispering, “Holy crap… why can’t they just leave us alone? We’re not hurting anybody…” He fell into a stoop, groaning so loudly that it momentarily overtook the storm. When he rose, the brown was already fading from his eyes, replaced by veins of gold. His nose wrinkled and his lip curled, but he said nothing.
         I glanced back at the gym doors, and then took a good, long look at the road leading into town. I’d liked it there, even though it had been my home for less than a week. The Johnsons were nice people – nice enough to accept two children as foster kids, instead of just one. It was within their power to split us up, but they didn’t. The people weren’t half bad, the food was alright, and the scenery was perfect.
         But it was time to leave this place.
         Michael nudged me, and then started sprinting for the woods. Just before he hit the foliage, he kicked off and transformed, landing on four paws. He stopped among the first trees and waited for me, giving his scraggly mane a few hard shakes. It was no use; it was soaking wet, and hung pitifully against his shoulders.
         I drew in a deep breath before mimicking his escape. We ran shoulder-to-shoulder through the undergrowth, splitting apart when something blocked our path. The gale sweeping through the treetops didn’t touch us, but a fraction of the furious rain managed to make it a cold, soggy run.
         I guess I should’ve expected what came next.