Red Heart Tattoo

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Authors: Lurlene McDaniel
Tags: General Fiction
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felt stifling after the chill of the night.
    “Went for air,” she said breathlessly.
    “Your cheeks are red.”
    “Cold outside.” She smelled beer mingled with spearmint gum on his breath.
    “And your hair’s down. Why’d you take it down?”
    “All those bobby pins were giving me a headache.” She’d never lied to him, had never had any reason to lie tohim, and suddenly she felt guilty, ashamed for lying now. She slid out of his jacket, hung it on the back of a chair.
    “Aw … too bad,” Trent said, looking disappointed. He rolled a long tendril of her hair between his forefinger and thumb. “I really, really like it up, babe.”
    “I’ll remember that,” she said brightly, but what she felt was the weight of Roth’s fingers undoing her hair in the moonlight.

“I ’ve picked D-day,” Apocalypse said.
    Executioner’s stomach did a somersault. “D-day?”
    “Stop looking so stupid. Detonation day. I told you last week, everything was ready to assemble.”
    They were standing in the atrium, their backs to a wall, watching the before-school foot traffic gather at the wall.
    “Right … I just didn’t think … you know, it would be so soon.”
    “Sooner the better. Come over on Saturday. My parents will be out all day.”
    Executioner swallowed hard. “All right.” Voices echoed off the concrete walls. A high laugh from the seniors on the wall broke through the din. Both glanced over.
    “They really annoy me,” Apocalypse said.
    “Yeah, me too.” Executioner bit a chunk from a strawberry toaster pastry and crumbs scattered on the floor. “So what day have you picked?”
    “Next Wednesday morning.”
    The last day of classes before Thanksgiving break. “That’s … really … soon….” Executioner’s appetite vanished.
    “I figured it’ll give the janitors a few days to clean up the mess before we start classes again.”
    “How—um—how much of a mess will there be?” Executioner was foggy on the particulars because Apocalypse had said that all bombs were not created equal. Some had more bang, held more destruction than others.
    “Enough to cause a nice explosion. Flash, noise—bomb stuff. Sort of like a hand grenade, but on a timer.”
    “So where you going to plant it?”
    “I’m not sure yet, but we may not want to meet up in the atrium. And bring an old backpack when you show up on Saturday.”
    Executioner blinked, heart accelerating. “I’ll be there.” Executioner shifted from foot to foot. “Too bad no one will know it’s us.”
    “We’ll know.”
    “I’m just saying—”
    “Well, shut up. No one can ever know. Got that?” Apocalypse drove a finger hard into Executioner’s chest.
    “Well, yeah, sure. I’ll never say anything. You know me. I was just wishing.”
    “Two things.” Apocalypse made a fist, ticked off points on two fingers. “Credit will never be ours. And we’re not going down with the ship like those Columbine dudes. We just walk away. Because I’m smart about this and because we can.”
    •  •  •
    The Wednesday before break, Morgan sat on the half wall in the atrium listening to the chatter all around her. Trent, sitting beside her, was arguing with his friends about upcoming Thanksgiving football games, potential winners and losers, and the girls, mostly cheerleaders, were gossiping. She only half heard both groups, instead mulling over her visit to Kelli’s that past weekend. Kelli wouldn’t even come to the door. Her mother, Jane, had let Morgan into the foyer and said, “Kelli’s sick.”
    “She is?”
    Jane looked pale, her expression strained. “Terrible case of the flu.”
    She had the flu last week
, Morgan had thought, but she’d been too polite to say it out loud. “She’s been sick a lot,” Morgan said.
    “Yes. That’s true.”
    Morgan had seen Kelli at school the Monday after the homecoming dance. She’d looked awful: her hair needed to be cut and she looked frumpy tucked into an oversize

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