by Holly Hook
I tell her exactly what happened, struggling not to be dramatic. I wait for Gia to say that my perception was wrong, but when I'm finished, she opens the blinds to the kitchen window and peeks outside. "Well, both of those wolves are gone now. I'll give our two-man police force a call and let them know. I think your stuff will be safe. The mailman always walks up the driveway to deliver, so I don't think anyone will run over your luggage. We'll wait a few minutes and then I'll grab my bear spray and walk out with you."
Gia has bear spray. Relief. I've carried it before so I'm familiar.
"I should have packed some," I grumble. I'm no stranger to hiking and wildlife but this incident was a first. "Did I do something wrong?" I must have. Dad would be livid if he saw how I handled that.
"I doubt it, Beckah. Let's go grab your stuff."
I have no time for shock so I look out the back window. I think of the strange brown and silver wolf standing up to that huge one and I have to give it some respect. And Gia's right. Both wolves are gone from the area behind the house, with no trace of blood. I close the curtains and go back to the kitchen. Gia offers me another glass of water and points me to the bathroom, which thankfully is down the hall and not an outhouse.
The birds have all begun to chirp again. I can hear them through an open window somewhere.
It's safe.
I don't complain as I march down the driveway with Gia, which turns out to curve around to the front of the cabin. We reach the spot where I dropped my luggage and backpack, and she has no trouble rolling my luggage behind her. Like me, Gia is fit, with no signs that the modern lifestyle has ravaged her body. I eye the garden as we walk back to the front of the house. It's full of plant beds and filled trash bags of crops and dirt. "You know, I'll be happy to help with whatever needs to be done around here."
She smiles. "You don't have to slave away. Though it would be helpful for when I'm working my shifts at the Tower Market."
"Really, it would be no problem. Mom taught me how to cook." What else will there be to do in this town? I haven't seen much of it but I already know there will be no movie theaters or shopping malls.
Gia leads me around to the front of the cabin this time, letting me in through that door, and she leads me down the short hall and to my bedroom. It's surprisingly bright, with a big picture window that's set in a cozy alcove where I imagine I can spend rainy afternoons reading. The place is very clean. No cobwebs. No dust. The bed, though it must be old judging from the brass frame, is neatly made with a checkered quilt lying over it. I flop down and look at the ceiling, and as if sensing I need time alone, Gia leaves me be.
I'll like her, all right, but the omen I got just from walking up the driveway doesn't bode well. I'll help her out while I can, but meanwhile, I've got to devote all my energy towards getting perfect grades, letting my parents know I'm all right to come home, and not slipping up. Or I fear I'll end up on the wrong side of teeth.
CHAPTER THREE
"Beckah, why did you leave the lid off the trash can?"
"Dad, I swear, I didn't."
"Well, maybe you need to check your memory. No one else could have done it. Something got into it. And now that I think of it, you probably left the door unlocked too."
I eye the trash can behind Dad. The lid is off. The bag is ripped as if teeth got into it. And we don't have pets. Nothing makes sense. We live on the top floor of the high rise and hardly anyone in here has pets.
"Dad," I dare to say. "You've been on edge every since you two got home. Is everything all right?"
He narrows his thick eyebrows at me. How dare I. Dad plays with the cuff of his white work shirt and then eyes his tie for a second. "You left the door unlocked. Someone or something got in here."
"Dad, I—"
"Clean this up." He moves to the side. "Take it down to the Dumpster. Now. And when you're done, change your clothes. We are going out to dinner."
I blink my eyes open to pale sunlight and greenery on the other side of the cabin window. Faint sunlight streams in, casting a pink glow on the wall. I stretch my sore muscles. My hamstrings cry out from bending over and helping Gia weed her garden over the past couple of days, but I welcome it. At least it's exercise and I did something productive over the weekend.
"Beckah?" she calls, full of energy. Ever since I got here, she's been all smiles. Gia must have been lonely, being stranded here in Tower without any prospects.
"I'm getting up." I've got school today. Tower High is probably going to be a lot different than Averly Private School. I haven't asked Gia about it, not wanting to dwell on that aspect over the weekend.
One thing at a time.
I get up, hoping to leave the nightmare back in my bed, but the strange tension from home follows, reminding me that there's a reason I'm here and it's not just due to my parents' mystery issues or for my well-being. How's Mom doing back home? Are they going to couples' therapy? Counseling? No, Dad would never do therapy.
I've got to call Mom later and see how she's doing.
"Beckah?" Gia calls again. "Do I have come in there and shake you?"
"I'm up." Good. She's giving me a distraction. I step over my backpack and my stack of clothes, still in my rolling luggage, and meet her in the kitchen. It smells of super fresh eggs and herbs. She heaps a whole bunch of scrambled eggs, peppered in oregano and, well, pepper, onto my plate.
"Ah. Protein," I say, sitting down at the crooked table and digging in. "Where do you get these? We never have eggs like this back home. Even the whole foods market never has them this good. And Mom always buys the pasture-raised."
"My mother raises chickens," Gia says. "I don't see her much but she does let me go in and take some eggs when she gets too many."
I haven't asked why Gia doesn't see her mother much, but from the way we've clicked so far, I'm guessing that tension runs in the family. Well, my uncle did leave her with a child before leaving. I figure she'll tell me if she wants to.
"The only stipulation is that I have to leave her some of my lemon cake when I do take some eggs, but hey, they're free," Gia says. "Oh, by the way, the high school is just off Main Street. Walk down towards town for about a half mile, then turn left onto Willager Road. The school will be another three-quarters of a mile. Look for a sign on the right."
"A sign?" Schools are generally easy to recognize, but then again, this is Tower.
Gia gets busy cleaning up the kitchen—she has to go work at the Tower Market today—so I don't pester her. She must walk to work since I've seen no car. So she can't drive me to school. I gather my backpack, change my clothes into my black jeans and a matching shirt, and head out. At least we've seen no signs of the wolves all weekend despite spending most of it outside. But still, I don't want to wear anything loud just in case they're watching.
And I'm glad Gia's lent me a can of bear spray. Apparently, the school system here is lax and kids just leave their hunting rifles in their trucks, right there in the parking lot. If the outside world knew, they'd freak. But at least I shouldn't get in trouble.
And the thought of facing an insular town of other high school kids is just as terrifying. Going in with the designer jeans and Gucci purses Dad thinks I should show off isn't going to go well. At least it feels liberating to not worry about making the family look impressive.
The walk to town, even though it's just over a mile, seems to last forever. Just the trip down Gia's driveway takes a long time and I'm used to walking. Once on Main Street, I pass small houses tucked back into the trees, the faded Tower Market, and the same two guys leaning against the outside of the bar that I saw during my ride in. They stare at me as I pass. Yes. I'm already the weird one.
Right behind the downtown on both sides is woods and hills. Many of the businesses are tucked back in the trees and most have dirt parking lots. There are lots of pickup trucks. Deer and moose antlers on doors. Old, faded Coca-Cola signs.
I spot a couple of high school kids walking far in front of me. They tu
rn down the dirt road that I guess is Willager. Not a single school bus rumbles through the area, though a few cars turn down that road, too. That's weird. Don't they have those yellow buses in places without public transportation?
I follow and the houses clear, giving way to an open meadow on my right side and thick woods on the other. We're heading out of civilization, but the two kids, a guy and girl, keep walking. They're wearing backpacks—the girl a dark purple one, and the guy a faded orange one. I consider walking up to them, but I don't want to look dramatic or desperate. So I stay back.
My hamstrings stretch out as I pass a huge ranch with wooden fences and a near-mansion at the center.
The sight almost makes me stop. It's so out of place and bizarre that I can't stop staring.
Barns and stables stand everywhere, decked out in fresh magenta trim. I eye the lavish, stone brick house, a house that can't be less than ten years old, wondering who could afford something like that in a place like Tower or who would build it here. Then I spot a few majestic horses grazing in the distance and another being led from a barn by a worker in a cowboy hat. Some kind of horse breeder, I think. Maybe even for show horses or those ones people bet on.
A sign at the gated driveway reads Rose Ranch in fancy, golden script. Founded five years ago. So it's new, maybe an effort to jumpstart Tower's economy. Several cars, some of them old, are parked near the barns. Of course a place like that must hire dozens of workers.
I shake my head and keep walking, fearing that I'll be late. And then over the next hill and right on the other side of Rose Ranch is Tower High School.
Whatever money Rose Ranch is bringing in sure isn't going to education.
I stop on the road, unsure I'm even staring at a school or a giant, yellow-painted industrial garage. Oh. Yes. This is the school.
A few old pickups are parked in the dirt parking lot and a single, sun-faded school bus is parked off the side of the lot, near the edge of the grounds, with weeds grown around the tires. All four garage doors near the front of the garage building are closed, but two normal side doors are propped open with trash cans. Students stand gathered in small groups, talking amongst themselves just outside the doors. Behind the building stand a couple of smaller ones, also painted yellow. A basketball court and baseball diamond take up the field behind the bus, and a trail leading into the woods probably leads to another sports field or two.
Then I see the plastic sign. Tower High School. The mascot is a knight in peeling armor. Yes, the sign needs to be replaced. I swallow, glad I left that stupid Gucci purse back home.
Why did Dad want to send me here? He's spent my entire life bashing public school. I get out my phone, tempted to snap a picture and ask why for the millionth time.
Because your mother and I have problems we need to work out, he'd say.
No. I don't want to feel like a rich jerk by photographing this place and including commentary. I put my phone away, determined to make it to the end of the day.
I gulp. Now I have to ask someone for the office. But everyone's huddled in groups. Cliques. Great.
Two people stand aside, though, a guy and a girl, and they don't look threatening. The guy, who's well-built and wearing worn jeans and a T-shirt with a deer on it, is talking to the girl. The girl's got curly, ginger hair and just the shape of her square glasses says she's probably on the more academic side. They're not hanging with the guys in Knights sports jerseys or the big groups of girls with imitation purses. I recognize a potential safety net.
"Hey," I say, walking up to them. "Where's the office?"
The girl looks at me as if I'm a ghost, but gets her composure. "Office?"
"You know, that place for people who get in trouble," the guy says, nudging her.
"Hey!" she says. "Gavin."
The vibe tells me these two are friends and not a couple. "I've got to figure out my classes. I guess I was enrolled here before I even arrived."
"So you're...new?" Gavin asks, eyes popping open. He says new like he's trying out the word for the first time.
"Does that make me a freak?" I ask, trying not to panic. I'll be getting stared at for the next several months.
"Well, we don't get new people, really," Gavin says, stumbling on his words. "I don't think it's happened, ever." Then he extends his hand. "Let me show you around. I'll show you the office, the cafeteria, and where each classroom is."
Wow. Gavin's moving quick as if I'm the first girl to talk to him. Odd, considering there's one standing right next to him. So far, none of the other students seem to have noticed me. The girls all stand in four different circles, probably one for each grade, and the guys do the same.
"We can both show you. I'm Marion," the girl says, biting her lip. "The thing is, school hasn't quite started yet and no one goes inside until the bell rings."
"Almost no one," adds Gavin, motioning me to the door. Clearly he wants to be the hero. "What's your name? We probably should have asked you first."
"Beckah." I shake her hand while Gavin waits.
"Do you think it's safe?" Marion asks Gavin.
"Safe?" I ask, thinking of the lax rules about weapons around here. I'm nervous and I hate it, but so far, no one's killing each other.
"To go into the school this early," Marion says.
I look between them. "Why wouldn't it be?"
Gavin waits for Marion to respond. "Well," she says. "We just don't go into the school until the first bell rings."
That's cryptic and weird. I've heard of weird social norms but not like this. "I'd prefer to go in and look around while things are quiet, so I don't look like an idiot."
"Just stay close to us," Gavin says, playing up the hero role.
I let them lead me inside, and clearly we break some unspoken social rule because two of the girls, probably cheerleaders judging from their skirts that match the gray and white of the guys' jerseys, stop to stare as we enter the school. Just inside the side door, a hallway stretches out, clearly made of painted plywood. Lockers stand against each side, bolted to the floor. The whole school has been constructed inside a giant parking garage.
And Marion's right. No one is inside right now. She sticks close to me, eyeing the short hallways and closed classroom doors.
Gavin takes me on a whirlwind tour of the empty building, showing me the two Lit classrooms, the two math classrooms, and a science lab. The desks are old but still standing, and it's clear that the grades must rotate through the rooms for the entire day. Not many people go to this school.
"So, where do we eat?" I ask, mind spinning with this new reality.
Gavin stops talking and looks to Marion. She shrugs, but then he swallows and regains his composure. "The cafeteria is that bigger building you saw behind the school." Then after thinking, he waves me to a back door and opens it to reveal a trampled lawn. "I do have to warn you about the Rose Gang."
"The Rose Gang?" I echo. Tower is the last place that I imagined to have a gang.
"People stay away from them," Gavin warns, approaching the smaller yellow building. A few glass windows look out on us, and I can see rows of lunch tables within the building. "Sometimes they hang out in the school before it opens, but I saw them go into the cafeteria this morning. That's how I knew a tour would be okay."
"Why didn't you tell me that?" Marion asks.
"Who is this Rose Gang?" I ask.
"They think they're better than everyone else," Marion says as we reach the window. "And we are not going into the cafeteria right now. Something is just...wrong with them." She stands back from the window like she won't be caught dead peeking inside the space where I'll be eating lunch.
"Come on. They're probably just what you'd call a clique," I say, standing on my tiptoes to look in the cafeteria building.
Five people sit inside the cafeteria, sharing a table. I spot a big guy with tattoos and a leather jacket. A total biker looking guy. Two blond skinny girls sit side by side next to him, and both have pointed, skinny faces. T
hey must be sisters. Another, short and stocky guy who might be a freshman sits with them, and in the center sits a tall, muscular guy my age. He has lush dark hair, fancy, baggy jeans, and a golden chain around his neck.
"Tyler Rose is the rich dude. The snob," Gavin says. "And the Rose Gang huddles up to him trying to get some of it. Also, they're just creepy. They give off this bad feeling."
I don't feel any dread, but I swallow, thinking of Dad and his wealth. No. I won't flaunt it here. Not that I plan on it.
"Bad feeling? They're just trying to be the cool kids," I say.
"And something is just off about them. They keep to themselves and make everyone uneasy," Marion adds. "Come on." She tugs on my sleeve, clearly eager to get out of there.
And even though they shouldn't be able to hear us, Tyler Rose snaps his gaze to me, turning his whole body for a better look. Tyler's got pointed, regal features. He has a face that belongs in an anime or a piece of art. Every feature is perfect and his dark eyes are sharp.
For a tense moment, we lock gazes, and I feel as if Tyler Rose is staring into my soul.
CHAPTER FOUR
Marion's right. Something is definitely off about Tyler Rose and his "gang."
But what's off might be how everyone acts around them.
Except for the big guy with tats, nobody in the Rose Gang seems to act like, well, they're in a gang. Gangs usually have ways to identify their own members, like by wearing a certain color or something, and when I bring this up to Marion during our first class, Money Management, she shrugs.
"They just hang together and don't talk to anyone," she whispers. "That's Valerie back there, by the way." One of the blond girls shares this class with us, and must have gotten here first, because she's seated in the back. And no one sits near her. Every desk around her is empty.
And that's not normal for the back of the room in any school.
"I've seen gangs." I lean close to her, speaking low enough to avoid being heard by the other students. "I'm from a really big and famous city where you see everything. We had one at my old school. All the guys wore fancy leather belts and the girls just clung onto the guys as if having a bad boy was a status symbol." I can't believe I'm thinking of Averly as my old school. But I also can't bear to tell Marion that our nameless "gang" was a bunch of rich guys who got away with their drug ring because their parents had high positions on the city council. "The term you're looking for is 'clique.'"
