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Perspective.

It’s a simple word with three syllables that means nothing to the residents of the small, suburban town of Tranquil Falls. On one side of town, mansions and elegant estates reach up to scratch the sky with their gaudy turrets nestled behind electronic gates and lazy, winding driveways, the grounds covered by manicured lawns, shrubs clipped and shaped within one inch of their lives, and dainty little flowerbeds that were currently buried beneath a foot of snow.

Following the streets away from those stately manors, one can mark their trail by the ridiculously cheerful holiday decorations from three decades before, the creep-factor of those reindeers and snowmen, brightly lit snowflakes, and colored bulbs marking the path until you reached Tranquil Falls High where it sat like a bastion of hope in the center of town, the buildings desperate for a few coats of new paint while the football field was immaculate.

It was on that field that the lumbering brain-dead jocks ran into each other while spirited by the shouts and screams of a town that had nothing better to do on a Friday night, where the darlings daughters wore their practically pornographic cheer costumes beneath the proud, practiced smiles of their mothers who were busy reliving their own glory days.

The wealthy owned that field during the day when the players would practice, and at sundown when the games were held, but I owned it during the midnight hours when I would lay in the center and watch the stars.

Perspective.

I had it. They didn’t.

They were all the same, and when the overhead lights shut down at night to reveal the stars that belonged to me, those wealthy kids would retreat home or to their raucous parties after stopping on the other side of Tranquil Falls where I lived.

You see, by following those gross decorations with their weird eyes and colored lights past the high school that was a dividing line, you’d find the train tracks that cut the town into two unequal halves, the stately mansions holding court on the right while what was referred to as the servants’ quarters plagued the left.

Nothing more than run-down houses that had once belonged to those poor saps who considered themselves middle income, my side of town had fallen hard during economic crashes, the white picket fences crumbling to dust, the reasonably priced SUVs sold and replaced with mid-sized sedans. As more people lost their jobs, my side lost half its residents, the modest, foreclosed homes standing empty except for squatters. Now, you could walk through the center of my side, turn right to score your next fix, or turn left to find my house which still had running water, electric light and a freshly painted white picket fence that did nothing to keep the vagrants out.

And while my parents resented the sixty hour work weeks they slaved and labored to give their children the semblance of a normal life, I had every desire to march over our small manicured lawn and rip out the fence that was a freshly painted lie.

I couldn’t blame my folks for trying to give us something better, even while we studiously ignored the sad truth that our lives scraped the bottom of the barrel. My father was a yes-man to one of the big wig investors who lived on the other side of town, my mother a maid who scrubbed and polished a few of those stately mansions, attempting like hell to be included. And while the wealthy women mostly ignored her and laughed about how far she’d fallen, one woman had thrown her the smallest of bones by sponsoring a shy, delicate dancer who had the face of an angel and the grace of natural born ballerina without the wallet that could afford it.

Delilah, my sister with long legs and a megawatt smile, had a spirit that matched her angelic face. Her long, blond hair was up in a ponytail as she swept through the cafeteria following Michaela Paige around like a puppy.

I hated to see my little sister subvert herself to the whim of the popular crowd. Michaela seemed slightly more human than her bully of a quarterback boyfriend, despite her status as homecoming queen two years running. She always had time to mentor Delilah on the dance team Michaela’s mom owned.

For that, I couldn’t hold Michaela’s perfect smile and brightly polished nails against her, couldn’t hate her for her pompous jerk of no-neck boyfriend, couldn’t seem to stop watching her from my shadowed corner where I held court as the King of Freaks in the lunchroom where we all were now gathered.

Tucked behind a ragged copy of whatever bullshit drivel the teacher assigned me to read by the end of the week, I turned the page and shoved my black hair from my face to glance up and monitor my kid sister. Deli, as I liked to call her, climbed over the bench seat with her long, graceful legs to sit beside Michaela. Michaela, in turn, laughed at something another person said, but flashed Deli a smile.

It made me happy to see my reputation as the freakshow recluse hadn’t polluted the waters for my kid sister. She desired the limelight, the wealth, the esteem, the friendships of the popular kids who’d gathered together in their exclusive group that believed being worshipped had been their birthright. She was also a year younger than Michaela and I, a junior while we were both seniors.

Technically, we’d all grown up together, but while Michaela had the simple life tucked behind the dividing line between wealthy and poor, Delilah and I were two of a handful of students that crossed the train tracks to attend Tranquil Falls High. We’d known each other since we were children, but until Delilah joined the dance team, we were considered outsiders. I was still the outsider among the wealthy and elite, but Deli had managed to find a place among the popular, a fact that concerned me more than it should.

It was the last week of school before the long winter break, and while skimming the pages of a classic novel I’d read too many times already, I glanced up every so often to keep watch over Deli. Although she trusted that group to keep her best interests in mind, I knew at least three of the players seated at her table had been a little too handsy with several girls, and if they even looked at Deli the wrong way, I would destroy them.

And that’s what I mean when I talk about perspective, about points of view and why they matter. Because whereas the majority of the sheep who flood this school look to those bastards like they were royalty in a world full of peasants, I saw the truth of their lives, their roaming hands and rushing fingers, the drugs they purchased from my side of town so they could take advantage of the girls at their parties.

There was one such party tonight at a parentless house that had everyone talking, a party Deli had begged mom and dad to let her attend. It was fortunate my parents still considered her too young to go to a late night shindig and had declined her request. Because if they’d given her permission, I would have had to put my foot down and locked her away, just so I knew she wouldn’t be one of those perverts’ next victims.

Clive Stanton, a particularly questionable running back, was eyeing Deli a little too closely. Every so often, he’d run his meaty palm over his short clipped brown hair, a snide smile tugging his lips while his eyes dipped down to study her shirt. Turning another page, I kept careful watch, pretending to read a line of words that taught some moral lesson about non-violence, while I was actually imagining all the things I would do to Clive should that hand get too close to my sister.

Michaela laughed at something her boyfriend, Jack Thorne, whispered, his hand reaching to slide over the small of her back, the ends of her long brown hair she left loose brushing his fingers. I’d stopped lying to myself about a year ago that I wasn’t jealous he could touch her and I couldn’t.

Shaking away that dangerous train of thought, my eyes crept back to my sister. She had no clue what Clive Stanton was thinking, no idea that he was leaning closer to reach across the table to touch her in ways that I deemed inappropriate. I would have given the guy a pass if something he’d said hadn’t caused her to lean forward just a little too close. And I probably would have stayed in my seat if I hadn’t noticed the way his fingers reached out to brush her breast from over the thin material of her shirt.

Crossing the cafeteria on a long-legged stride, I caught Clive’s gaze before my sister knew I was coming. Scowling my direction, Clive straightened in his seat, the tension in his shoulders rallying the rest of his meathead friends to straighten in theirs and turn to eye me.

It was game on before any of the girls knew what was happening, and I genuinely felt bad that Deli would have to witness this, but I didn’t worry it would dampen her reputation at the table, because to each person sitting beside her, I was just a loser freak with a bad attitude that most considered crazy.

Perspective. I hated them, and they hated me. They thought I was a nut-job, and I thought their faces would look a lot better with some black and blue coloring.

Clive stood from his seat knowing he was the man of the hour, the feet of his chair scraping the floor like an alarm bell alerting the rest of the student body that a fight was about to go down. Rounding the table, he tipped his chin in defiance, purposely ignoring the fact that, in this particular squabble, I was the biggest predator around.

They may have spent their hours in the weight rooms and on the field, but I had a naturally stocked physique, standing two inches taller with shoulders five inches wider than even the largest player on their team.

“Holden!”

My sister’s sweet voice rang out over the low din of the cafeteria, the rush of whispered comments and excited murmurs, the students jostling about trying to get the best view of the scene that was about to explode in front of them.

“Touch her again, asshole! I dare you!”

Clive rounded the table smirking at my taunt, his fists moving into position before we collided, and his friends moving to surround me knowing it would take three of them at least to stop me from shattering his face.

“Holden! Stop! He wasn’t doing anything!”

It was too late, Deli’s complaints falling on deaf ears as Clive and I came within reach of each other. Not that Deli had any clue was was happening at this moment, because whereas she believed Clive was being the utmost of gentlemen, he and I both knew he wasn’t.

We were on the floor within seconds, my fist slamming into his face while he did what he could to block the blows, and by the time I’d helped both the left and the right eyes swell up and water, three sets of hands were latched to my shoulders to drag me off him.

Surging forward as much as I could, I only stopped struggling when Deli was in front of me, her expression serious, her palms pressed to my chest, and her mouth opening on a plea that I reconsider killing the guy.

“Holden, please!”

Tears sprang from her radiant blue eyes that were the same shade as mine, the lower rims stained red by her panic. Where I was naturally tan, Deli was pale, and where I had dark hair, hers was light. I was big and she was pixie sized, but her touch was the only thing powerful enough to stop me from surging forward again, even with the three clowns clinging to me from behind.

I guess that’s where I was different from Jack Thorne. While Deli was doing her best to stop this fiasco, Jack was rounding the table to join in, his face set in an angry mask, Michaela jumping in front of him to stop his forward progress. But whereas I stopped moving to keep from knocking Deli over, he practically shoved Michaela to the ground, not caring that the girl who’d been with him for over three years cried out in pain, her head snapping back as her body went tumbling over. Another rush of anger flooded me, my sights set on that son of a bitch as my hands clenched back into fists, the knuckles already busted from their impact with Clive’s face.

“Deli, move.”

I tried to keep my voice calm with her, tried to move her gently as Jack came barreling at me, but he was moving too quickly, his jaw set in rage. “I mean is, Sis, MOVE!”

A feral grin stretched my cheeks as I picked Deli up and set her aside, she tried to lunge to stop me, but I was already two steps ahead, my feet set in a battle stance, my eyes glued to the only guy in the entire cafeteria that had any chance of standing against me.

Before Jack could reach me, another voice boomed from behind us, a voice that stopped Jack in his tracks, but had absolutely no effect on me.

“This stops NOW!”