Shannon Delany - 13 to Life (Book 1)

I closed the door behind me, heading down the hallway and straight to Hell. The hall glowed eerily in the morning light. Outside, the wind snarled and threw a kaleidoscope of dry leaves against the large windows. I was sure whoever summoned me had very good intentions, but that only encouraged the gnawing sensation in my gut. Wasnt the road to Hell paved with good intentions?

My feet dragged the whole way to Guidance. The call had gotten me out of Ms. Ashtons literature classnot gym. Nobody ever got called out of gym.

The whole thing made me suspicious. Why did Guidance need me? Had they finally figured out who wrote that scathing editorial about the double standards between the jocks and the nerds? Considering what I knew of Guidance, I could be fairly certain they hadntat least not without assistance.

When the call came rattling through the intercom system, Id shot a look at Sophia, a fellow editor. Shed shrugged. I presumed I hadnt been ratted out.

Then why was I being summoned? Sure, I was perpetually late handing library books in, and there were at least three times Id signed in tardy with the nurse and accidentally taken her pen. But, seriously. If Guidance wanted to summon a troublemaker, they had the wrong girl. Wellpretty much.

My sneakers scuffed along the oatmeal-colored tile floor and I sighed. God, I asked, dont let them be holding some stupid intervention for me about Mom. The thought stopped me cold. I looked at the flimsy blue pass in my hand. How bad would it be to forge a time and signature on it and go back to class? Would Guidance remember theyd called? It was the middle of first quarter, progress reports were due soon, so wouldnt they be scrambling to organize last-minute study sessions with the kids slipping (or diving) through the cracks?

I glanced up the hallway; its cinder-block walls seemed to tighten around me. Breathe... The walls retreated. There was no witness to see me scrawl the signature Mr. Maloy joked was proof he could have been a doctor. I could make a quick U-turn and head back to class.... I chewed my lower lip, considering the odds Id get caught. Hmph.

I turned down the hall and opened the door to Guidance; scanning the waiting room, I looked for a coat or hat belonging to my dadanything to warn me to leave before someone with a masters degree decided it was best for me to talk about my innermost feelingsagain. But there was no sign of Dad.

A poster hung on one wall, obviously an art project, raising awareness about the rash of teen suicides occurring on the train tracks between Farthington and Junction. Could things ever be so bad Id willingly jump onto the tracks before an approaching train? The tension fell out of my shoulders. No. I wasnt a suicide risk. Id witnessed the worst and I was still here. I exhaled, surprised to find Id been holding my breath.

The secretary was focused on a magazine. Its blaring red cover featured titles including What Type of Tree Would Your Lover Be? and When to Worry About His Psycho Ex. I cleared my throat. She looked up, said, Oh. Jessica, and pointed a carefully manicured finger toward the conference room. Mr. Maloys waiting.

Fabulous.

She smiled, big eyes pleasantly blank. Clueless. I figured it was best to have someone like her greeting folks as they entered Guidance. Shed never panic if bullets started flying. She probably wouldnt even notice unless they clipped her stylish hair.

I knocked on the conference room door, goose bumps raising the fine hairs on my arms. Id been here before, sitting on one of many hard plastic chairs pulled in a tight circle as counselors and teachers told me how much I still had to look forward to in life. How great it would all still be if I only tuned back in... How they all cared for me and were there to support me... And Id hated it. None of what they said mattered. They were paid to say stuff like that. Probably contractually obligated.

Besides, I always hated things that made me cry. And I knew I was strong enough to cope with what had happened. Without help.

As the door opened I saw a group of people I didnt recognize, along with Junction Highs head counselor and a police officer. Weird, but a relief. No intervention, thenobviously this party wasnt for me; I was merely a guest.

Miss Gillmansen, Mr. Maloy said, rising from his spot at the far side of the table.

Sipping from a coffee mug, the cop leaned against the wall by the window.

The others turned to face me. They were tall and well built, with high cheekbones and strong jawseven the single girl standing with the three guys. They had thick dark hair, glinting eyesand name tags.

These are the Rusakovas, Mr. Maloy said, motioning to the group.

Out of the corner of my eye I watched the cop set down his mug and pick up a brochure on the windowsill. It had to just be coincidence he was here. Just more bad timingtypical stuff at my high school.

I turned my attention back to the Rusakovas. I smiled encouragingly.

They did not.

Mr. Maloy rounded the table and, peering none too subtly at their name tags, pointed to one of them, announcing, This is Peter Rusakova. Hes in eleventh grade this year. A junior, just like you.

I kept the smile plastered across my lips, groaning inwardly. So that was what this was about. Hello, Peter. I couldnt help my uninspired tone. I wasnt a girl who liked being saddled with the responsibility of escorting newbies to classes.

Mr. Maloy slid his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and gave me a warning glance. Here is Peters schedule. Show him around and make sure hes not late.

The police officer glanced at me, saying slowly to Peter, Got that, Rusakova? Dont be late.

Something prickled along my spine at his tone.

The eldest in the group smiled broadly and wrapped his arm around Peter. Of course he wont be late, Officer Kent, he guaranteed. Peter is very glad to be at Junction High.

Peter did not seem so convinced.

Officer Kent said, We cant have people avoiding an education.

We were getting one, the other boyaccording to his name tag, Maximilianmuttered.

The eldest cuffed him on the back of the head, attempting comedy, but I sensed a threat in the display.

I took the slip of paper and quickly compared it to my own. I looked from the officer to Peter and back to the schedule. Handing my pass over for a signature, my eyes paused on Peter again. He glowered darkly before me, a sharp contrast to the eldest males bright smile.

I should have forged Mr. Maloys signature after all.

Okay, I said, more to myself than to my silent ward. Were both in Ashtons lit class. Lets head in that direction, for starters.

Peter gave one brief nod of his head, but his face was a tight mask of disinterest.

Exiting the office, I tried to keep my curiosity in check while I steered him by locations hed need to know as a student at Junction High. I pointed and explained until my arms were tired and my mouth was dry. He never said a word. Never responded with more than a nod. Bathroom, library, cafeteria, art, shop, band, gym, main office, nurse...

In-School Suspension...

I eyed him, speculating. Who knew how fast somebody like him could land in ISS? He had that could-be-trouble look. And obviously he came with baggage of the police-escort type. But surely he wasnt dangerous.... The cops would never let me lead a real criminal to classes, would they? I continued walking and explaining, gradually increasing the distance between us.

If he noticed, he never mentioned it.

The thought he could be dangerous made me nervous. And when I get nervous, I get talkative. I glanced at his schedule again. Oh. Your names not Peter, I said, wondering if Id been pronouncing it at all correctly.