All of a sudden, Sam’s expression hardened. He looked Todd square in the eyes. “What?” he asked, coldly.
Todd stiffened. “I didn’t say anything.”
Although Sam registered the response, he seemed to be listening to something further. Something beyond my ears.
“Todd,” he murmured, his face ashen. “How could you have known that?”
Todd took a step backwards. “I didn’t say anything. I didn’t…”
There was a long, tense silence before either of them spoke again.
“No,” Sam mumbled at last. “No, you’re right. You didn’t say anything.” He massaged his temples, composing himself. “I was just messing with you.”
I blinked in shock. What had just happened?
“We should go,” said Sam in a low voice. “Ness might be home by now.”
I grabbed hold of his arm. “What happened?”
He broke free and sidestepped past me. “Nothing. I told you, I was just messing with you.”
Chapter Six
Targets
The rest of the evening passed by uneventfully. Ness returned to the cottage, fraught but relieved to find me there, and none the wiser to our little trip to the apothecary room.
As for Sam, he isolated himself, keeping conversations brief and heading to bed early. He claimed to have a headache, but I couldn’t help but wonder what exactly defined the term ‘headache’ in this case. Was it the standard ‘take a pain killer and you’ll be fine’ sort of thing? Or more the ‘hearing people’s thoughts and can’t shut them off’ diagnosis?
It certainly begged the question: had the spell worked?
I tried not to let my imagination get too carried away. Sure, he’d known about Jaxon, but he could have come across him at school. Spells and potions seemed implausible to me. They defied everything that I believed to be fact. Although I wasn’t so sure I could trust fact anymore. I mean, the hidden room alone defied logic. Try as I might, I couldn’t find any evidence of it from anywhere else inside the cottage. And from the outside, the room simply did not exist. And if, for argument’s sake, the spell had worked, why would Sam deny it? My brother was a lot of things, but coy was not one of them.
No. None of this made sense.
But in spite of my scrambled brain, by the next morning my thoughts had wandered to a much more pressing enigma.
Jaxon.
I couldn’t wait to see him, and this time I was dressed and ready for school in record time—wearing jeans and a white lace top. I plated my hair and added a dab of lip gloss. My nervous excitement had provided me with a handy seven a.m. energy boost.
Sam, on the other hand, was distinctly lacking in energy. He was withdrawn and heavy with lassitude, wandering around in a state that was extremely out of character for him.
“Is everything alright, Sam?” Ness asked him as we made our way to the Academy.
“I’m fine,” Sam replied. “Everything’s fine.”
“Are you sure? Because if you’re worried about anything. School, the other boys—”
He cut Ness off midstream, “I’m not.”
Perhaps wisely, she dropped the subject and surrendered to idle chitchat with Todd instead. I tuned in and out of their conversation as they discussed star formations and planetary alignment.
As Ness and Todd passed through the school’s stone-walled enclosure, I gripped the sleeve of Sam’s jacket.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked, steering him off the path and onto the lawn.
He shook his arm free. “Nothing. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. Why are you acting weird?”
“I’m not. Why are you acting weird?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not,” I hissed. “You are!”
He glanced over at Todd and Ness, who were ambling towards the main entrance, deep in conversation.
“Sam,” I implored, searching his eyes. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”
“Yes,” he said solemnly.
I braced myself.
“You’re short,” he said.
“What?” I frowned.
“You’re too short,” he carried on. “I thought you’d grow. But now, I’m not so sure… I think that’s as big as you’re going to get.”
I glared at him.
“Don’t worry,” he said as he patted me on the head. “I’ll bet there’s surgery you can have for that. I’ll help you raise the money.” He ducked past me and jogged back towards the path.
I rushed after him, struggling to catch up as he ploughed through a small cluster of boys.
“Sam!” I yelled.
He ignored me.
I watched helplessly as he disappeared through the double doors, kicking aside a scattering of autumn leaves as he went.
I knew I’d lost him.
Resigned, I made my way inside. There was no sign of Sam. There was no sign of anyone, actually. All alone, and apparently undersized, I crept along the dark corridor towards my classroom. The layout was beginning to feel familiar to me now. Or at least I knew where my classroom was, which was good enough.
I reached the door and stopped in my tracks. My palms were suddenly clammy.
Don’t be so stupid, I scolded myself. He’s just a boy—
“What’s wrong with it?” a smooth voice whispered into my ear.
Startled, I jumped out of my skin. I spun around to trace the voice.
Jaxon smiled obscurely at me.
“I didn’t realise you were standing there,” I spluttered. And then I hastily added, “So, you’re talking now?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m talking to you.”
His voice was kind of beautiful. It was husky, yet silky at the same time.
“What’s wrong with it?” he asked again.
My stomach gave a flutter. “What’s wrong with what?” I answered in an inferior squeak.
“The door,” said Jaxon, smiling carefully.
“Nothing’s wrong with the door,” I replied. I glanced at it. “I was just about to…um…go through it.”
“You have to open it first,” Jaxon said in a wry murmur. “Like this.” He reached past me and clasped the brass handle.
I snuck a peek at him as he leaned around me. He wore an untucked shirt and a loosely knotted tie. His eyes smouldered grey and his sandy-coloured hair looked windswept. And he smelled incredible.
“See?” he teased. “You open it, and then you can go through it. That’s how doors work.”
“I know,” I mumbled, flustered. “I am a frequent user.”
His eyes glinted playfully and he stepped aside, allowing me to cross through the doorway.
Inside the classroom, most of the other boys were already seated. I noticed Reuben the Magnificent and his clan occupying the entire back row. There were a few surly looking boys in the middle row, but the front row was entirely empty. I was willing to bet that its vacancy had something to do with the alien girl that now inhabited it.
“You don’t have to sit next to me,” I said quietly to Jaxon as he moved to the same seats we’d had the previous day. “I don’t mind if you want to sit with your friends.”
He took his seat and dropped his notebook onto the spacious desktop.
“I’m being a good mentor,” he whispered with a grin.
I sat down beside him in the front row. “Have you done this mentoring thing before?” I asked while we waited for Mr. Garret to show up.
Jaxon shook his head.
“Who was yours?” I prompted.
“I didn’t have one.”
“You didn’t have a mentor? Ness told me it was compulsory.”
Jaxon stared at his hands, knotting his fingers together on the mahogany desk. “I don’t know…” He pursed his lips. “Maybe I did. I came here two years ago… Hardy was my mentor, I think. I can’t remember much about back then.”
Wait, I knew that name. “Mr. Hardy?” I repeated. “The teacher in the upper group?” I was referring t
o the thickset man who had intervened in Sam’s fight the day before.
Jaxon nodded. “Mr. Hardy.”
“My brothers are in his class. He was your mentor?”
“I don’t know. I think so.” Jaxon scratched his head. “What is it that a mentor does, exactly?”
I held up my palms. “I think they’re supposed to show you around and give advice.”
Jaxon laughed. “Do you want me to give you advice, Sophie?”
I smiled. I liked the way he said my name.
“Okay,” I replied. “It is in your job description, after all.”
He returned the smile. “My advice to you is…” He thought about it for a moment. “Always look both ways before crossing a road.”
“There are no roads in Phoenix Holt,” I pointed out. “Have you got anything more relevant?”
I’d been joking, of course, but suddenly Jaxon wasn’t smiling anymore.
He cleared his throat. “You want real advice?” he said. “Watch out for us.”
“Us?” I repeated.
His gaze flickered around the room at our fellow students.
I frowned. “Why?”
“We’re not like you,” he answered roughly.
I stiffened. What was that supposed to mean?
With that, the classroom door swung open and Mr. Garret bounded in.
“Good morning!” he boomed. “I trust you are all well and rested and ready to embark upon a new day of learning.”
There was a murmured response from around the room.
“Excellent!” Mr. Garret declared, stroking the leaves of the potted plant that he kept on his desk. “Then let us begin. Pencils at the ready!”
I shook off the unsettling impact of Jaxon’s tone and picked up my pencil, preparing for another day of inane curriculum.
“Now,” Mr. Garret said, wide-eyed behind his spectacles, “first order of business: throw your pencils at the pin-board, because we’re going outdoors!”
The class, with the exception of myself and perhaps my serene mentor, erupted into cheers and whoops of delight. And if my horror of a unisex P.E. lesson wasn’t traumatic enough, a barrage of javelin-like pencils shot over my head, massacring the pin-board that hung from the wall.
I ducked, covering my head with both hands.
The boys hooted in baritones as the pencils speared towards the pin-board. Several even penetrated the target, jutting out like darts on a bull’s eye.
I heard Jaxon laugh along with the rest of the class.
“Sophie Ballester?” Mr. Garret called. “Jaxon? Don’t you want to throw your pencils today?”
What kind of teacher is he? I wondered in bewilderment. No, I do not want to throw my pencil, lunatic man.
But no sooner had I thought it than someone else’s pencil whizzed past my eyes, so fast that it was hardly visible.
Jaxon’s pencil.
It hit the pin-board and pierced the surface with such force that the entire wall panel trembled.
I sucked in my breath while my classmates burst into applause.
“Jaxon takes it again,” a boy in the row behind me cheered.
Then came a voice I recognised. “It was an easy shot. Anyone could have made that if they’d been sitting in the front.”
Hmm, I thought to myself. Seems like Reuben wants to be the only magnificent one around here.
“Sophie Ballester,” Mr. Garret sang out, jolting my attention back to the front of the class.
Does he have to use my full name every time? I groaned inwardly. It’s not like there are any other Sophies here.
“Yes, sir?” I replied.
“Would you like to throw your pencil? All in good fun.”
Not really, I thought, all too aware that I didn’t exactly have a prize pitching arm. But I gave it my best and tossed my little pencil at the pin-board.
To my mortification, it didn’t fly like the others’ had. Instead, it went straight up and straight down, landing on my desk more or less where it had started.
I must say, I enjoyed the three seconds of silence before the laughter exploded. Figuring that I couldn’t be any more humiliated than I already was, I rose to my feet, pencil in hand and head held high. I marched to the pin-board and stabbed the lead tip into the target.
I turned to Mr. Garret.
“Shall we go outside now?” I said, my chin tilted upwards.
“Uh. Yes,” he agreed, readjusting his glasses. “Right you are. Lead the way, Sophie Ballester!”
#
I stood outside the main entrance. The air was mild, but a light breeze rippled through my hair. I swept the strands away from my face and gazed out at the autumnal trees. The woodland seemed endless, as though no world existed beyond it. Perhaps it didn’t.
Behind me, the manor door opened and Mr. Garret trundled through, followed by the middle group.
I smiled vaguely at my teacher.
He smiled back. “Right-o, boys… and girl,” he added. “Follow me.” He began pacing along the outskirts of the manor.
I quickly realised that we were heading to the back of the building—a territory where I’d not yet dared to venture.
The stone wall encircling the school stretched much farther that I’d imagined, looping around an acre of grassy space at the back. Beyond the wall, lush green hills soared to the sky, their peaks dusted with a sprinkling of snow.
Jaxon appeared at my side. “You like it out here,” he noted.
I laughed under my breath. “Yes.”
“Welcome to our first training exercise of the term,” Mr. Garret announced, standing before the group. “This morning we will be practising aim, technique, and skill. In other words, modus operandi.”
A redheaded boy raised his hand.
“Yes, Lewis?” said Mr. Garret.
“What are our weapons?” the boy asked.
Weapons? I frowned.
Mr. Garret’s gaze drifted towards the school building. “You’re about to find out,” he replied. “Hello there, Mabel!” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth for extra leverage.
I turned to see a doddery-looking lady with blue-rinse hair, a pink shawl, and a string of plastic pearls tottering towards us with a wheelbarrow.
“Hello, lovey!” Mabel yelled back to Mr. Garret.
I immediately recognised her voice from Ness’s intercom. And, although I had envisioned Mabel to be a, shall we say, mature woman, I was surprised to see just how mature she actually was.
I watched her slowly manoeuvre the cumbersome wheelbarrow towards us. The rusted structure screeched with every step.
“Should we help her?” I whispered to Jaxon.
He gawped at me as though I were totally insane. “No!” He shook his head vehemently. “Mabel doesn’t like it when we help.” He paused. “Unless she asks.”
“Pride?” I guessed.
Jaxon smiled. “The missing sin.”
Mabel tipped the wheelbarrow’s contents onto the lawn and dusted off her hands. “Archery today, is it, Mr. Garret?”
I stared down at the heap of wooden archer’s bows on the grass.
“Indeed it is,” Mr. Garret confirmed. “How are you keeping, Mabel?”
“You know me, Mr. Garret,” she said sombrely. “I never grumble. No time for it.”
Mr. Garret nodded his head in earnest. “Ah, well—”
“Although,” Mabel cut him off, her lined face deflating, “I’ve had terrible trouble with the old toes, lately. Terrible trouble.”
Toe trouble? I mused.
There was a chorus of sympathy noises from the boys. I got the feeling they’d had plenty of practice.
“Oh, dear me,” Mr. Garret uttered compassionately. “You shouldn’t have carried that wheelbarrow. One of my boys could have done that—”
“No,” Mabel raised her palm, denying him flatly. “You know my motto, Mr. Garret. If I’m fit enough to come into work, then I’m fit enough to operate heavy machinery.” She lowered her h
and. “Any rate, that being said, I won’t be coming back for the bows. I’ll be going in for my morning coffee now, and I’ll be putting my feet up for the rest of the day. The youngsters can bring the equipment back to my office after they’ve finished.” She beamed, exposing a blinding set of false teeth. “And how are my lovely boys?” She looked fondly amongst the group. “What strapping young lads you are.”
I glanced at my classmates. Actually, Mabel was right. They were strapping young lads. All of them. It hadn’t been so obvious when we’d been seated in class, but now, standing at full height, I could see that all of the boys were stronger and broader than any group of teenagers I’d ever known.
Maybe it’s a product of growing up in Phoenix Holt, I decided. Chopping down trees, eating hearty meals. None of that low-fat, non-fat, non-dairy, frappe latte mochaccino business of city life.
“And who is this?” Mabel’s focus landed on me. She blinked as though she couldn’t quite believe her eyes. “This isn’t…? Is this Wilber’s girl?”
I recoiled from the spotlight. “Yes,” I said meekly. “I’m Sophie.”
“Well, Sophie, come over here and let me take a look at you.”
I groaned internally as I stepped forward.
“Oh, my, you’re a Ballester all right,” Mabel gushed. “Isn’t she, Mr. Garret?”
“Yes, she is,” he agreed.
Mabel took hold of my hands and planted a kiss on my cheek. I heard a few sniggers from the boys behind me.
“How are these boys behaving?” Mabel asked me. “Are they being kind to you?”
“Yes,” I said. “They’re nice.” Well, what else could I have said? The boys in question were all within earshot.
All of a sudden, Mabel released my hands and glowered at the other students.
“You’d better be nice,” she snarled, far more aggressively than I’d imagined possible from such a frail-looking woman. “Or you’ll have me to answer to.”
Some of them flinched at her tone.
Her scowl instantly dissolved into a smile. “Okay,” Mabel chirped, her sweet alter-ego dominant again. “That’ll be all, then.” Leaving us in a stunned silence, she toddled off towards the school.
Mr. Garret called out to her again, “Mabel, don’t you want your wheelbarrow—”
Secrets in Phoenix Page 7
