Chapter One

Love to Hate

“Sharpe’s Boarding School,” the sign read. Cyrus stood facing the marble pillar with a sigh. Another year, another school. Another class of people for him to drive away, he thought bitterly.

It’ll be a fresh start, his mom had told him in the three hours they’d been together. The car ride from the science camp where he’d spent the summer to Sharpe’s had been the first time Cyrus had seen his mother in nearly six months, and probably the last time for at least as long. Not that he cared. It was obvious that she used every opportunity not to see him, so why should he feel any differently?

Maybe he just wouldn't try this year. Maybe he’d just accept the fact that he’d never have any friends and move on with his life; after all, it was his last year before college. A fresh start my ass, Cyrus thought to himself. More like a fresh group of people to convince that I’m a freak.

With another sigh, Cyrus pushed open the gate and stepped onto the grounds. Naturally, his mother hadn’t accompanied him in, so Cyrus was left lugging his large suitcase and duffle bag over the cobblestone path which wound its way to the large, old fashioned stone buildings of the main campus.

Sharpe’s, so he was told, was one of the oldest boarding schools in the state of Pennsylvania, and therefore all boys. As if this year couldn’t get any worse. They prided themselves on their academics, and promised a challenging course load. Cyrus couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt challenged in school academically. It wasn’t pride that drove him to think that way, but more the fact that having no friends gave him the tendency to spend every waking minute with a book. That, combined with the various science, math, and engineering camps of which his mother was so fond, left Cyrus feeling not even remotely worried.

A woman in a preppy maroon blazer met him at the doorway. “Cyrus Angeles?

Cyrus nodded, “That’s me.”

She inclined her head, her straight, jaw-length hair tilting unevenly as she corrected, “I believe you mean, ‘That’s I’.” Cyrus could see her eyes narrow ever so slightly behind her glasses as if to say, And I thought you were supposed to be smart. He sighed inwardly this time.

“Yes, ma’m.” Sure, he that was what he meant, if he was living in 19th century England.

“Good,” she said, as if satisfied that she set the tone for their relationship. “I’m Assistant Headmistress McMillan, here to welcome you to Sharpe’s Boarding School the oldest school in the state and the most prestigious on top of it,” McMillan said, sounding as if she had memorized the brochure. Or wrote it. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to meet a student who will be showing you around and helping you with whatever else you need.”

McMillan set off down the hall, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor. At least this school fit the pattern of those ones he had been at previously - meet someone important, get dumped off on some unsuspecting kid, get ditched by the kid and find your way yourself, usually with much embarrassment.

Cyrus walked with her in silence, wincing every time the wheels on his suitcase caught in a rut between the stones. The school was indeed old; it was almost like a castle on the inside. High ceilings and gray stone were everywhere, and everything looked gracefully worn. Cyrus half expected to see torches dotting the walls, but no such luck.

They turned a corner and found a boy Cyrus’s age sitting on a bench, his light hair a little disheveled and his tie crooked. He stood immediately, pulling on his blazer to straighten it.

“Mr. Brenton,” McMillan said, addressing the boy, “this is Cyrus Angeles. Take care of anything he might need,” she commanded. “He’ll be your new roommate.”

McMillan looked between Cyrus and the other boy, then strode off purposefully down the hall. After she left, the boy turned to Cyrus, “She’s chatty, isn’t she?” he said with a wry smile. Cyrus just looked at him as he offered his hand, saying, “You can call me Hayden. Welcome to Hell.” He said these words with such a falsely cheery smile on his face that Cyrus had to crack a smile of his own.

Cyrus shook his hand and said, “I’m Cyrus, obviously.”

“You’re also apparently my new roommate,” Hayden said, his green eyes seeming to scrutinize Cyrus, seeing if he was indeed roommate material. “Come on, I’ll take you to the dorms so that you can drop off your stuff. Class doesn’t start until tomorrow, so I’ll give you a tour of the place afterwards.”

Cyrus nodded mutely, following him down the corridor.

“Want me to take one of your bags?” Hayden offered.

“I got it, thanks,” Cyrus said dismissively.

Hayden shrugged. “Suit yourself. So, where you from?”

Cyrus wondered how he should answer that. He hadn’t had a home in over five years, instead moving from school to school, camp to camp. His mother lived in Canada now, but he’d never even been to visit her. His father was dead. “Ohio,” he blurted, the first state which came to mind.

“Huh,” came the noncommittal reply. “I’m from New York, myself,” he said conversationally. “So…uh…tell me a bit about yourself, Cyrus.”

“Nothing,” Cyrus replied flatly. “There’s really nothing to tell.”

“Aw, come on. I’m sure that’s not true,” Hayden said. Cyrus just shrugged. Eventually, Hayden gave in, “Well, alright then.”

Neither made any further attempt at conversation for the rest of the walk to the dorms. Cyrus made up his mind that he wouldn’t go through the disappointment of hoping that the person who’d been assigned to show him around would be his friend yet again. He wouldn’t fool himself into thinking that Hayden’s friendliness was anything more than doing his job, or that he was different from the others, that he wouldn’t get annoyed by Cyrus in less than a week. It was always the same. Cyrus was always the new kid trying to tag along with the first person he met, and it never worked out. This time, he wasn’t even going to try. He could survive one year by himself, no problem. He had survived all the others.

“Here we are,” Hayden said at last, gesturing to a twisted staircase which led up to the dorms. Cyrus looked at him, and Hayden must have been able to read his expression. “Yeah, I know. Like some Harry Potter crap. Go on, though, it’s pretty nice up there. You sure you don’t want help with those bags?”

They were a little heavy for carrying up stairs, so Cyrus said reluctantly, “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Hayden replied. “Here, give me the larger one.”

Whether or not he was just trying to show off, Cyrus handed it over without argument. He was far from weak, but Hayden’s arms were tight and muscular - strong, but not ostentatiously so. He seemed far more naturally proportioned than the many football players whom Cyrus had run into over the years, he thought before realizing that he shouldn’t be thinking about that at all. Silently, he hefted the duffel bag and headed upstairs.

There was a small lounge area with a fireplace and several cushy chairs. A few tables lined the walls, each stacked with either books or the occasional chess set. Preppy, just like Cyrus had expected. Two hallways branched off of the lounge, and Hayden took the one to the left. A few boys looked up as they passed, but none seemed to care very much about the new kid. Cyrus preferred it that way.

“Here we are,” Hayden said, taking a metal key from his pocket and slipping it into the hole. “Room 203.” He swung the door open and then handed the key to Cyrus. “Here, take my key. I have a spare around here somewhere.”

“Thanks,” Cyrus said.

The room was much larger than he’d been expecting. In fact, there were two rooms, one with two twin beds pushed against either wall and the other with a couch, two desks and a projector hanging from the ceiling. “Bathrooms are at the end of the hall,” Hayden said. “Your bed is the one on the left, if that’s okay.”

Cyrus stepped from the living room into the bedroom, noting how symmetrical everything was. There were two parallel beds, each with a dresser at its head and a closet at its foot. Two bookshelves lined either side of the door, and a window broke the blank expanse of the far stone wall between the beds. It was open slightly, making the little curtains which framed it flutter in the wind.

Without a word, Cyrus dropped his duffel bag on his bed and started unpacking, figuring Hayden would leave him alone for a bit.

He didn’t. “So, what do you think of the place? Like my decorations?” Hayden asked with a grin as he flopped down on the bed. He gestured at two posters hanging on the wall, one of a car and the other featuring Pat Benatar in too few clothes. “Nice, huh? That beauty is a ’67 Jaguar E type. The other’s just a beauty, not to mention a rock legend.”

“Cool,” Cyrus said less than enthusiastically. He turned back to his bag, taking out his clothes and putting them, already folded, into the drawers. He unzipped his hard suitcase and took out his button down shirts, moving to the closet for hangers. When Cyrus turned around, Hayden was standing at the edge of the bed, taking something out of his luggage. “What are you doing?” Cyrus snapped.

Hayden’s head jerked up, and he stepped back, hands raised in surrender. “Sorry, it’s just - are those vinyl records?”

Hesitantly, Cyrus nodded.

“That’s so awesome,” Hayden replied. “I’ve always wanted a record player, but…” he trailed off with a shrug. “Did you bring a turntable too?”

“Kind of,” Cyrus replied, taking a slim device shaped almost like a TV remote with a slit in the side of it. He popped it open at the slit and showed Hayden the pin in the middle. “You put the record in and it clamps down on both sides, then there’s a needle which swings out.”

“That is wicked.” Hayden’s eyes lit up, re-evaluating Cyrus, his eyes saying, Maybe this guy is cool after all. As if. “So what kind of records do you have? Aerosmith? AC/DC?”

“Uh,” Cyrus said, but Hayden had already pulled out the stack of records which took up almost half of the room in his suitcase. Even though his two suitcases had to hold nearly all of his earthy possessions - save the few boxes at his mom’s storage unit somewhere or other - Cyrus’s records were important to him. He would sacrifice the space to have the one thing that made him feel better - music.

The more Hayden flipped through, the more disappointed his face got. “Jim Croce? What’s this - Beethoven? Mozart?” He looked up. “Dude, we gotta update your collection.”

“I like my collection the way it is,” Cyrus said stiffly, “thank you very much.” He took the stack of records out of Hayden’s hands, stacking them on the bookshelf standing up, as he’d learned was the best way to store his precious vinyls.

“Maybe I can change your mind,” Hayden said, smiling crookedly.

Giving him a dull stare, Cyrus said, “Hardly.”

Hayden shrugged. “I like a good challenge.”

Cyrus scowled.

After Cyrus had finished unpacking, Hayden led him around campus, pointing out many of the same places which he’d seen in every other boarding school. Library. Dining Hall. Gym. Classrooms. Lab. Auditorium. Nothing was exceptionally out of the ordinary, so Cyrus focused instead on Hayden’s commentary, stashing the nuggets of information away for later.

“Sometimes study groups meet there,” Hayden said, pointing at the Arts Center. “They’re a lot more laid back. The art teachers don’t really care if we get, uh, a little creative with our study habits, if you know what I mean.” He grinned slyly.

Cyrus just looked at him. “I don’t actually know what you mean.”

Lowering his voice, Hayden whispered, “I’m friends with one of the janitors, and he’s got as much beer as you can pay him for. And, let me tell you, some of the kids here are loaded.” Letting out a chuckle, Hayden kept walking. “But one time, Coach Jackel found an empty beer bottle in the locker room and had a total meltdown. So you gotta be careful.”

“I don’t drink,” Cyrus replied stiffly.

“‘Course you don’t,” Hayden muttered with a little bit of a sigh. Right about to protest, Cyrus was cut off when Hayden added quickly, “So what do you do for fun? You don’t seem like the partying type to me. What do you do to unwind?”

Cyrus shrugged. “You know. Stuff.”

Hayden pulled a mock serious face and nodded. “Oh, yeah. I know all about stuff,” he said, his statement laden with sarcasm.

With a scowl, Cyrus replied, “I read. I listen to music.” He wasn’t about to tell this kid whom he’d just met about his love for drawing. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his hobby, but Cyrus knew from past experience that saying crap like that didn’t exactly score any points with teenage boys.

“Music - now that I can get behind,” Hayden said, nodding with approval. “Do you play any instruments?”

“No. I move around a lot.”

“You can take a guitar with you,” he pointed out. “Guitar’s the best. I could teach you a few things, if you want?”

Cyrus shrugged. “Maybe later.”

Hayden nodded agreeably. “Alright,” he said. “Come on, let’s head back around to the dining hall. It’s almost dinner time.”

Feeling like he was obligated to continue the conversation, Cyrus asked, “How’s the food?”

“Pretty good, actually. Just never, and I repeat, never get the chili,” Hayden said seriously. “Especially if I’m sharing a room with you. I will kick you out in a heartbeat, you understand?”

He was grinning, and Cyrus had to crack a smile of his own. “Yeah, I understand.”

After a second, Hayden’s smile faded into nothing. Cyrus dropped his as well, confused until he noticed that his roommate was looking past his shoulder. “Uh oh,” Hayden muttered. It might have been Cyrus’s imagination, but he seemed to cower a little before straightening up and and adopting a tough expression.

“Hey! Gayden!” a low voice called with a snicker. Cyrus spun to find a tall kid with a buzz cut, flanked by two bored-looking boys.

Hayden crossed his arms, rolling his eyes. “Like that joke didn’t get old about a year and a half ago, Mike.”

Mike sneered, ignoring the jibe and instead turning his attention to Cyrus. “Who’s the new kid?”

Hayden turned to Cyrus, saying, “Cyrus, meet Dick- I mean, Mike.” His eyes shone with repressed laughter.

“Cyrus,” Mike repeated, either ignoring the jibe or missing it. “Dumb name.”

“And ‘Mike’ is real original,” Cyrus deadpanned. One glance at Hayden told him that was the right move. One glance at Mike told him it absolutely wasn’t.

His face morphing into a mask of barely restrained anger, Mike took a step forward, clenching the front of Cyrus’s shirt in his fist. “Listen here, buddy. You’re not off to a real good start,” he growled. “Did your new friend tell you about orientation?”

Cyrus blinked, his heart pounding. He’d faced down bullies before and had always come out on the losing end. He sighed mentally. Mike was right about one thing - he sure was off to a great start. “Uh, I didn’t think there was one-“

“Oh, there is one,” Mike said, smiling to show off his perfectly straight, white teeth. It only served to make him more menacing. He leaned forward, hissing in Cyrus’s ear, “And I’m the one who plans it.”

Dear God. What had he gotten himself into? He’s just like all the other bullies. Kill him with confidence, Cyrus told himself. “Sure that’s bound to be a blast,” he found himself saying. “Will there be snacks?”

Mike shoved Cyrus away. “Enjoy your time before the sun goes down,” he said threateningly. With a flick of his wrist, he signaled his two friends to follow him as he stormed down the path.

When Mike was out of earshot, Hayden let out a low whistle. “You know what, man? I think I might have been wrong about you.”

“Yeah?” Cyrus asked flatly.

“Yep,” he said, walking at a slow stroll. “Here I was afraid you’d be one of those guys buried in books who can’t come up with a comeback to save his life. But that… that was kind of badass.”

Cyrus’s lip twitched. “Thanks. I guess I’ve just run into one too many like him before.”

Hayden nodded. “They’re all the same. Think they’re big and scary, but not all that smart.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Though, I’ll warn you, that kid can punch.” He let out a self-deprecating laugh.

Running his hand through his dark hair, Cyrus asked tiredly, “So what’d he mean about orientation? Do I want to know?”

The deep sigh which Hayden let out was definitely not encouraging. “You probably don’t. We don’t get many new kids here. So, when they do come… Well, everyone sees what they’re made of fast, you know?”

“Like hazing.”

“Pretty much,” Hayden agreed.

Cyrus shuffled his feet, kicking a stray rock out of his way with more venom than necessary. He managed to keep his voice calm as he asked, “So what’ll it be?”

“No idea,” came the quiet answer.

They walked the rest of the way to the dining hall in silence. Cyrus would be lying to say he wasn’t nervous, but, in a way, getting this over with early might actually be a blessing. At least everyone could make up their minds about him early on; it would save the pain of having to do it later.

That way, he could be a freak in peace.

Dinner consisted of chicken barbecue and a baked potato for Cyrus and pizza for Hayden. Trays in hand, Hayden led them towards a table in the corner. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to my friends.”

The table was loud, but seemed friendly enough. Nobody even blinked when Cyrus pulled up a chair. “Hey, guys,” Hayden said with a grin. “Meet Cyrus, my new roomie.”

A round of “hello”s and “welcome”s spread around the table. A thin boy sitting next to Cyrus clapped him on the back. “Hey, Cyrus. Welcome. I’m Parker, the coolest kid in this damn place.”

“Self proclaimed,” a slightly heavy set kid said pointedly. He nodded at Cyrus, “I’m Rich.”

“Aren’t we all?” another kid snickered. Laughter coursed around the table.

“Rich as in Richard.”

“Yeah, we know,” the kid replied, waving him off. He was short, asian, and seemed to have trouble keeping his choppy hair out of his eyes. “By the way, I’m Lee. And that’s Tim, Walker, and Fredrick,” he said, pointing at a few of the boys around the table. “I hope you’re taking notes; there’ll be a quiz tomorrow,” he said with a smirk.

“Wow, guys,” Hayden muttered. “Talk about information overload.”

“Eh, he’ll catch on,” Parker said dismissively. He leaned over and whispered to Cyrus, “Just remember, Parker equals the handsome one.” He laughed to himself.

Cyrus gave a general nod to the table. “Nice to meet you all.”

“You guys get your schedules yet?” Lee asked. “I got Thompson for history again. Ugh, kill me now.”

“Done,” Walker retorted, making everyone laugh.

“That reminds me,” Hayden said, digging something out of the inner pocket of his blazer. “They gave me your schedule.”

Cyrus took the piece of paper and unfolded it. None of the classes were surprising to him; they were all AP, just like he’d expected. There was only one class which he hadn’t expected to find. “Drawing?”

“Yep,” Parker said. “They think you need a fine arts to round you out, or whatever. It’s not so bad.”

Trying to hide his excitement, Cyrus took a bite of his food. At least there would be one class to which he’d look forward to going. In a flurry of papers, everyone began swapping schedules, figuring out who they had class with. There were just as many smiles as disappointed faces, Cyrus noticed as he watched, not participating until Hayden slid his paper over. “We’re in a lot of the same classes,” he said. “Even drawing. I think all that’s different is English.”

Cyrus looked surprised. “You’re in Calculus II?” In every other school, Cyrus had been a year ahead in math. Even more surprising was the fact that Hayden would be advanced. There was something about him which made him seem less like the studious type and more like a guy who skipped class on occasion.

“Yeah,” Hayden replied, smiling sheepishly as if he was embarrassed to admit that he was good at math. “There are three or four others who are in it too; it won’t be just us.”

“Huh,” Cyrus muttered. He looked down at his food, but found his appetite had already diminished. Enjoy your time before the sun goes down. The words settled like a pit in the bottom of his stomach. Cyrus turned to Hayden, asking, “Do you mind if we go? I’d just leave myself, but I’m not sure I quite know the way back to the dorms yet.”

Hayden was standing almost before Cyrus finished talking. “Of course.” He glanced at the rest of the guys. “See you later,” he said loudly, nodding at those who reciprocated with goodbyes.

Cyrus gave them an awkward nod before picking up his tray and following Hayden out. On their way back to the dorms, the two fell into an easy silence. Eventually, Hayden broke it by saying, “You look nervous.”

“I’m not,” Cyrus shot back immediately.

Hayden frowned. “Listen, just so you know, I don’t agree with what they do to the new kids. A lot of the others don’t either, but…” he trailed off with a shrug. “What I’m saying is that whatever it is that they want you to do, I’ll help with if I can.”

Instantly suspicious, Cyrus glanced at him sharply as they entered the building and climbed up the stairs towards their room.“Why would you do that?”

Caught off guard, Hayden replied, “Because you’re my friend?”

“I met you three hours ago,” Cyrus scoffed. “I hardly think that makes us friends.”

Shrugging, Hayden responded, “Okay, fine. I’m doing it because I’m a nice guy and we’ll probably be friends someday soon. Why’s it matter anyway?” he asked, pulling a key from his pocket and jamming it in the door.

Cyrus was quiet. He wasn’t going to make friends this year only to be let down like had happened every single time in the past. His “friends” all got bored and left at some point, and there was no reason for a popular guy like Hayden to be any different. For a little while, Cyrus would seem mysterious, interesting, but it wouldn’t last. It never did. “I won’t be needing your help.”

“What?” Hayden asked in surprise, turning to look at him as they stood in the doorway. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t plan on participating in whatever it is that they have ready,” Cyrus said. If he simply refused to go along and was shunned for it, that would be that. Then, he could just fade into the background and disappear.

Hayden’s eyes widened. “No, Cyrus, you don’t want to do that. You don’t know these guys; they’ll-“

Feeling a sudden flash of anger and annoyance, Cyrus cut him off. “Listen, I said I don’t need your help. I don’t need your advice, and I don’t need you to be friends with me. We’re roommates, that’s all. Okay? I can take care of myself.” As soon as the last word left his mouth, Cyrus felt a pang of guilt. Here was someone who was legitimately trying to befriend him, and he had pushed him away. It’s not the first time someone seemed to actually care, then betrayed you,Cyrus reminded himself.

Still, looking at the shock and hurt in Hayden’s green eyes was uncomfortable. Slowly, his face hardened. “Okay, then. Excuse me for trying to be friendly.”

Without another word, Cyrus pushed past him, going into the bedroom and closing the door. He let his heartbeat run rampant for a moment before trying to calm himself. Pulling out a Jim Croce record, Cyrus inserted it in the player and set the needle gently on the edge. His fingers were shaking so badly that it skipped a good thirty seconds into the song.

-don’t tug on Superman’s cape, you don’t spit into the wind. You don’t pull the mask off that old lone ranger, and you don’t mess around with Jim.

Cyrus closed his eyes and lay back on the bed. He let the music wash over him, calm him. This was the song which always provided a mental soundtrack to his confrontations with bullies. There was something about it which emboldened him.