Crimson Oppression

Sneak peek ~ CISANDRA

“Keep your head down and don’t interact with people too much.”

Uncle Malcolm’s last words to me before leaving for my first day of public school seem counterintuitive. I’m a teenager in a new place, and a part of me wouldn’t mind having a friend or two. Then again, it might be smart to keep quiet until I can figure out who would be a good friend to begin with, who would be someone I could trust. I drive to the school alone today, and I turn down the wrong street twice before seeing the brick exterior pull up in front of me. 

This time when I arrive, dozens of teenagers pour inside the school. It looks like a lot of camisoles and jeans with Jansport backpacks. An overwhelming amount of the girls are blonde, and it makes me roll my eyes. The blondes where I’m from are shallow, self-obsessed, always ready to go to the beach or to the country club, and generally as clueless as Clueless. 

Maneuvering my way through the school proves to be fairly easy. The hallways have letter names and rooms are numbered along with the hall letter, just like Wilford. Wilford High School is based on an easy grid system too. 

However, the clamor of voices makes me want to clamp my hands over my ears on my way to class. I haven’t heard this much noise in months, and it’s like hearing a chainsaw up close for the first time. Whirring and rattling, with winding rises and falls, but always too loud. I’ve never been to a public school before, and I’m already ready to quit, but I can’t. I’m just not used to this many people, this many young people. What I wouldn’t give to take a drink right now. 

Don’t think like that, Cisandra. You don’t have a source to take a drink from. Suck it up… Only not literally. 

First class on the roster is Advanced Microbiology. Two-person tables fill the room, and it’s not that full. Maybe twelve or thirteen students. A lot of glasses glint from faces in this room. Only a couple of girls are in the class. I guess this is typical? The teacher is at the front desk, with a fluffy tuft of white hair and an eye patch. I wonder if it’s because of a science lab mishap. I make my way to through the classroom, and a couple of people look my way. 

A pretty girl with long golden hair and piercing light blue eyes smiles warmly at me. I smile back. She lifts a backpack from the seat next to her. 

“You can sit by me,” she says. “My lab partner is never here.” 

I say thanks and settle into the chair. “You’re new,” she says, resting her lovely head on her hand. “What’s your name?” 

“Cisandra,” I respond, extending a hand. 

“Ooh, how pretty!” she gasps with a wide smile. “I haven’t heard that name before. I’m Mandy. So nice to meet you, Cisandra.” 

“Likewise.” I smile back. For reasons beyond me, I actually feel comfortable with someone I know nothing about. The bell rings, and Mandy sits at attention, taking furious notes the entire class. Nice and studious. She and I will get along great. 

After a brief introduction, I don’t say anything more in the class. Unfortunately, I was already taught everything in this particular class session. I don’t even need to take notes. Here I thought public school would be a good idea. I don’t need a refresher course, thank you. My memory works just fine when it comes to my academics. 

Calculus definitely teaches me something I didn’t know before moving to this small town. 

Another male-taught class with a majority of guy students. This time, though, the desks are single person. One thing that surprises me is the group of jocks at the back of the room in green letterman jackets. The teacher, who is balding with a bit of a gut, gives me raised eyebrows and the “come here” finger. I approach him. 

“Are you lost?” he asks. I have to hold in a chuckle, but end up snorting. 

“Calculus with a Mr.—” I take a look at my class schedule. “Grisham?” 

He gives me an appraising look before looking to his class roster. “Cassandra?” 

“Cisandra. The C is soft.” 

“Ah.” He finally stops looking at me like I shouldn’t be here. “You’re that new girl.” 

I furrow my brow at his preconceived judgment of me, whatever it may be. 

“I’m not sure what you mean, but yes, I’m new here. Now if you’ll excuse me,” I say, about-facing immediately. 

I go back to my seat. I don’t want to hear what people are already saying. They know nothing about me, and I’d almost prefer to keep it that way now. As soon as I sit back down, a guy with shaggy black hair and pale skin enters the room. My heart drops. He’s wearing a red cast on his left wrist beneath a black leather jacket. His green eyes pass over me for a moment, and my eyes pulsate in response. 

“Oh, please God, no,” I whisper, closing my eyes. I turn my head in the other direction. Every fiber of my being is on edge. It’s like I can hear his irregular heartbeat through his leather jacket, pumping the blood of the Virus through his veins. The back of my mouth waters hungrily. I can just imagine his blood scorching a path of delightful pleasure down my throat and into my gut. A piece of me wants to just take a sip, just one, even if only to see what it tastes like. 

No, no, no. This cannot be happening! 

I chose to come here because there was supposedly no one else here with the Virus. And yet, here is a boy who has no idea what his body is doing to him. Or to me. My hand twitches over the side of my desk in an incessant rhythm. The teacher is saying or teaching something, and I can’t even bother to listen. Not while he’s here. 

Of course, he’s in Calculus. And of course, he chooses to sit right behind me. Deep breath after deep breath, I try to keep my mind under control. But the thirst keeps pushing its way back in, the flavor of burning rust. Then, I start remembering how it felt to drink, to feel that thick liquid quench every flicker of thirst I’ve ever had. The power that filled me, the strength, the feeling that nothing could ever tear me down. Not even my mom’s death. 

My whole body tenses and explodes with my fist slamming against my desk.

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