“They are barnacles,” Fathom says dismissively.
Is that what he thinks of me? It must be. He’s staring right at me. I feel like socking him again.
“Leave them be,” he continues.
“So, the son is now the peacemaker? Does your father know you have chosen the humans over us?”
Fathom’s girlfriend appears in front of the titan, bringing a blast of wind in her wake. Her speed is incredible and explains how Fathom materialized out of nowhere.
“Your words are soaked in disrespect, Selkie. They will not go unanswered,” she says.
“A challenge I will be happy to accept, Arcade, once I’ve taken care of these bottom feeders,” Surf says, then turns back toward Svetlana and her gang. “Know this: today you taste your own blood.”
Arcade swings hard, crashing knuckles into Surf’s face. The giant steps backward several feet but stays on his feet. He shakes off his surprise, then charges again. This time I hear the click of blades erupting from Arcade’s forearms. Like Fathom’s, they are black, sharp, jagged, and eager to cause damage.
Surf turns his angry face to Fathom. “You would have your female fight for you? You are unworthy of your crown.”
“Your mouth is too big, Surf,” Arcade says. “It can’t hold back all the dumb things in your brain.”
“I will kill you,” he seethes.
“A perfect example,” she says, then leaps for the boy. Her fist catches his open mouth, and I hear the sound of breaking teeth. He staggers back, but not before her foot catches him in the gut. He’s twice her size, but Arcade’s beat-down is almost effortless. She raises her arm, and the blades come out again.
“Here is what happens when I am insulted,” she rages.
I gasp, knowing she intends to bury the tip in his chest.
“Stop this now!” Terrance shouts. He’s standing, by some miracle still alive. “You have mde promises to not draw blood in this school.”
Soldiers rush into the room with guns drawn and stern warnings. They circle Surf and Arcade and demand that the two of them back away from each other. A few others try to pull the students off the chairs, but the Niners kick and fight. Some have to be tackled to the floor, handcuffed, and violently dragged from the room, but it doesn’t stop their chant.
“GO HOME, FISH HEADS, GO HOME. GO HOME, FISH HEADS, GO HOME. GO HOME, FISH HEADS, GO HOME!”
As they drag Svetlana past me, she spits in my face. “We’ll get you, fish lover.”
I wipe the spittle from my cheek and look at it. She knows I’m meeting with Fathom—everyone knows. Terror enters my bloodstream. I’m trembling, nauseous, drowning in panic.
“Lyric Walker, are you well?” Fathom asks.
“I’m not—” A migraine slams into me like a truck. I have never experienced pain so sudden or so savage. Everything is red and molten. I’m blind. I hear a sickening crack, then realize it was the sound of my head slamming onto the marble floor.
Thunder wakes me. When I get out of bed and pull up the blinds, I find a purple sky filled with charged and menacing clouds. If it could talk, it would all be threats. I will unleash hell on you. I will open up and drown you like ants. A storm of biblical scale is on the way. I can’t help but feel it’s the best thing that could happen to this neighborhood. I’m ready to be washed away.
I hear a buzz and realize my phone is sitting on my bedside table. My father must be home, because he took it when I went into school. Oh, yeah, school. I did a face plant in the cafeteria. I reach up and feel a warm, spongy knot on my head. It aches when I touch it.
The phone buzzes again. It could be a text from Bex, and I need to find out what everyone is saying. But when I scroll through my messages, I realize I don’t need her after all. Everyone in the world has sent me a text of their own.
F U AND UR FISH HEAD FRIEND.
FISH LOVER.
FILTHY WHORE.
YOU’RE DEAD.
WATCH YOUR BACK YOU PIECE OF TRASH.
I’M GOING TO PUT A BULLET IN YOUR EYE.
I don’t recognize most of the numbers, but there are some I do. They’re from people in the neighborhood, people I used to consider friends—Mark, Kelli, Talia, too many to count—all wishing me dead, promising they will have a hand in it.
And then there are Bex’s.
R U OK?
U DROPPED LIKE A ROCK.
I THOUGHT U WERE DEAD.
FATHOM CARRIED U 2 THE OFFICE. IT WAS LIKE AN OFFICER AND A GENTLEMAN.
VERY HOT.
Really? I’m surprised. Why would Fathom do that?
PLEASE CALL ME!
DAMN U 4 MAKING ME WORRY.
U R MAKING ME OLD BEFORE MY TIME.
I FOUND A GRAY HAIR.
I LUV U. WILL CALL SOON.
I’m pecking out a message to make sure she’s okay when I look at the time. It’s noon. How can it be noon? Did I really sleep an entire day? Oh, Bex! She was supposed to stay with me last night. I was her escape from Russell. I send her a text and then realize she’s at school right now. She doesn’t have her phone.
There’s a light knock at the door, and it swings open. My mother is there, looking tired and doing that nervous thing with her hands.
“I’m the worst friend,” I say. “Bex needed to stay here last night. Russell is smacking her around.”
A crease appears between my mother’s eyes. “I’ll call your father and have him bring her here after school. Right now I have to worry about you.”
I gesture to my phone. “They’re sending me messages.”