by Joy Jenkins
“A couple of push-ups. You can even put the calculus book beneath you so you can read. It would just give you leverage. Or an ounce of confidence. Either one at this point would help you.”
Edmond gave a jerky nod that made his glasses dip. Carter shrugged, aware she fought a losing battle. “Alright, I’ll see you in A.P. Calculus,” she said. “Try not to get beaten up until then. You’re the only partner I have in that class. I would hate for that to end because of your untimely demise.”
“Thanks, Carter,” he said, smiling shyly.
“Yeah.”
When she fell back into the current of students, Link rushed to catch up with her, Donovan close behind.
“Bad morning?” he asked. “Or are you the defender of the weak?”
Carter shot him a sideways glance and shrugged noncommittally. “I don’t like Tuesdays. This one in particular.”
“Any reason?”
She stopped but said nothing. To her silence, Link raised his eyebrows, prompting her to go on. A few seconds passed, in which the truth hung in the air between them, the image of her father’s disappearing car and the waiting empty apartment.
“None whatsoever.”
Puzzled, Link looked to Donovan before resuming his spot next to her.
“Alright,” he said. “We’ll stick with that answer.”
At the echo of her statement from earlier that morning, she glanced at him. Link’s joking smile made her own lips curl in response.
“I guess I deserve that,” she said.
When they entered their history classroom, Mr. Philips greeted them.
“Link, might I have a word?” he asked, waving him forward.
At her seat, Carter slid down, observing Mr. Philips as he talked to Link.
“What did he want?” she asked as Link plopped into his spot next to her.
Link widened his eyes, mockingly. “What? You didn’t read his lips and know what he was asking me?”
She rolled her eyes. “I read your lips but not his, genius.”
“Can you do that?”
Carter tilted her head from side to side. “It’s a work in progress. What did he want?”
“It was nothing, just some assignment.”
The shrill clang of the bell acted as a physical force, shoving the late comers inside and to their desks.
“Class, before we get started,” Mr. Philips said. “I want to remind you that this Friday we are visiting the National Museum of American History. The paper you write on the topic of artifacts and their importance will be a big percentage of your grade. Make sure you are there. Now, let’s continue with the Johnson administration.”
Chapter 6
Every time Carter walked through the thick oak doors into the library, she felt like she stepped into another world. The noise of the hallways faded as the doors swung closed, encasing her in a silence that smelled slightly of musty paper. The library was two stories high with endless rows of bookshelves and long rectangle tables. She knew every inch.
“Carter, you haven't been writing your opinions in the margins of my books have you?” The sweet-faced librarian in her forties eyed Carter over the top of her round spectacles.
“Only in pencil,” Carter said.
Books thudded to the desktop as Diana gawked at Carter.
“Kidding,” Carter said, leaning on the counter. “It was in pen.”
Diana let a breath out through her nose, trying to reprimand Carter without saying a word. It didn’t work, mostly because even verbal reprimands had little effect on Carter.
“You know I’m joking, Diana,” Carter said. “I would rather shove my opinions down other people’s throats than put them on paper somewhere they can be ignored.”
Mollified, Diana retrieved the fallen stack of books, adding them to the return cart. “You know you are a strange girl.”
“You say it like it’s a new revelation.”
“No, an old one that is refreshed frequently.”
Carter laughed, garnering a few accusing glares from the already studying students. “Are you going to accept Mr. Rojas’s offer of a date?”
Diana fumbled with a second stack of books. “What makes you think he's going to ask me for a date?”
“Well, for the obvious reasons that he’s taken up running, combed his hair, and kept your note.”
Flushing, Diana methodically neatened a stack of papers. “What note?”
“On his desk is a biography about Edison,” Carter said. “One that you found for him. Despite the bookmark indicating that he is halfway through, a post-it note with a message from you remains on the cover. Why leave it there? The most likely reason is that he likes seeing your name written at the bottom.”
Despite her attempt at seeming unfazed, Carter noted the twitch in Diana’s lips.
“Also, I have a feeling he’s going to ask you out today.”
Diana jerked her head up, flustered. “Today?” She patted her graying black hair. “Why would you say today?”
“Because not only is he wearing cologne but he’s also bought a new tie.”
Trying to hide a smile, Diana bustled about her desk, doing nothing and looking busy at it. “Do you do anything other than observe people, Carter?”
“Is there something else I should be doing here?”
“One might think school is for learning,” Diana said.
“Well, people have been wrong before. About Mr. Rojas: my advice is to say yes but don’t comment about how his tie clashes with his shirt.”
“You know, he could simply want to look nice.” Even as Diana voiced the denial, she tucked in the edge of her shirt into her skirt and pressed out a wrinkle.
“Possibly,” Carter said, seeing Mr. Rojas approaching through the glass panes of the library doors. “But that wouldn’t explain why he’s coming here now.”
With a squeak, Diana spun towards the doors as Mr. Rojas walked through, nervously straightening his tie. The clash of the green with his gray shirt still made Carter wince, but maybe love was color blind.
“Hi, Diana,” he said.
Blushing, Diana fixed her glasses. “Hi, Michael.”
Completely entertained by the awkwardness of the two faculty members, Carter rested her chin in her hand. Mr. Rojas cleared his throat and smoothed down his tie again.
“I was,” he cleared his throat again. “I was looking for a biography on Tesla, do you have one?”
Diana deflated but smiled all the same, though it was strained. “Of course.”
“I believe it’s on the second story,” Carter said. “In the back, where it’s secluded.”
Scarlet, Diana hurried out from behind her desk. “I’ll show you.” She considered his attire as they headed off. “Is that a new tie?”
Mr. Rojas peered down at it, self-conscious. “It is. Do you like it?”
Diana nodded and Mr. Rojas glowed. When they had disappeared, Carter shook her head. That only took two years to finally happen.
At an empty table, she dumped her blazer on a chair and pushed up her shirt sleeves. Tilting back, she draped one leg over the corner of the table, putting the fraying ends of her pants on display. She watched the other students, making mental notes. One table down, a boy was bent over a textbook, scowling. As he ran his pencil along the text, he dragged his hand through his hair. Carter watched him, but the book remained stuck on the same page.
Further down a quartet of girls sat chattering, unaware of the world beyond themselves. On the edge, a dark-haired girl smiled and nodded along. The gossiper beside her tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and her companion mimicked the action unconsciously. Carter studied the girl’s uniform. The edges of the blazer had been trimmed in dark blue velvet, mirroring that of her friend. Even the small necklace that peeked out below her starched collar was the same. Interesting: a girl with wealth, beauty, a high social standing yet insecure. Daddy issues.
Eventually facing she had assignments due, Carter dumped out a me
ss of notebooks onto the table. Picking a subject at random, she left the table to find the corresponding textbook. As she yanked a large tome from the shelf, two voices floated towards her.
“…what can you tell me about him?” a tenor voice asked.
“Left-handed. From a well-to-do family,” a deep masculine voice answered. “See how his collar is ironed but the rest of his shirt is wrinkled? Someone ironed it, but his nervous tendencies ruined the rest of it. Which explains why only one side of his hair is disheveled.”
Intrigued, Carter leaned against the bookcase.
“I would guess he’s about a B average student and that’s only because he studies as much as he does. He struggles with understanding the material.”
“How do you figure that?”
The voice clicked into place: it was Link asking the questions. Logic suggested Donovan was the one analyzing students. It appeared he could talk after all.
“He’s been on the same page for the last ten minutes,” Donovan continued. “He studies but doesn’t know how to do it well. His parents aren’t overly involved in his life or else they would have hired a tutor for him.”
Carter recognized that he was analyzing the boy she’d been watching only minutes before. Following that thought, she realized Donovan drew all the same conclusions.
“What about that group? The dark-haired girl on the end,” Link said.
Carter crept to the end of the row and poked her head around. Both boys faced away from her. Donovan lounged against the barrier of books, his ankles crossed and his hands hidden in his pockets. Even as he appeared at ease, Carter could sense an alert energy about him. Beside him was Link, absentmindedly scratching the back of his leg with his foot, wrinkling his pants.
“Something in her past has caused her to go looking for acceptance in others,” Donovan said. “I would wager this comes from a childhood rejection. She’s attractive, but she can’t see it herself. Look at her mannerisms, they are exact mirrors of girls around her. She even mimics trends of girls around her, becoming copies of them. Besides, she also seeks the approval of guys.”
Carter stared, bemused by how he was echoing her thoughts.
“How-“ Link started.
“She approached me after A.P. Lit.”
“Okay, What do you-“
Unable to hold herself back, Carter left her hideout. Donovan heard her footsteps and shot his hand out, quieting Link with a grip in his arm. As she passed them, she spun around and walked backward.
“Her father is the childhood rejection by the way,” she said. “Ran off with the nanny when the girl was eight.”
Link’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline while Donovan clung to his mask of indifference. Seeing that they weren’t going to comment on the statement, she made a retreat. She returned to her table and opened her textbook, but couldn't focus, mulling over Donovan’s ability to dissect people.
A minute later, she jumped as a stack of books dropped beside her. Grinning, Link flopped into the chair next to hers. Donovan gently placed his books down across the way.
“Again you’re sitting with me,” she said.
“Yup,” Link said, flipping open a notebook.
“And like your glasses, we’re going to ignore what I just overhead?”
“Yup.”
Link never once looked at her, but Carter got the sense he was enjoying himself. Donovan, as always, seemed both completely detached from their conversation and completely aware of what they were saying. When nothing else was forthcoming from her companions, Carter studied them.
Their introduction of how Donovan relied on Link for homework help was disproven as he raced through advanced mathematics like he already knew the answers. Carter twirled a pencil across her fingers, hitting a wall on why Donovan and Link would lie and how they were truly connected.
A group of girls waltzed into the library, their laughter flitted around them like butterflies. The sound drew Link’s attention. Carter watched as he paused on one individual. A girl with thick ebony hair, porcelain skin, and luminous black eyes. He followed her path as she claimed a table with her friends. Feeling Carter’s gaze, Link ducked his head. When he eyed the group again, she spoke. “Link, you can go talk to her, you know.”
He started. “Talk to who?” he asked, tugging on his already loosened tie.
“The girl from our history class. The one you’ve been staring at.”
Link squirmed in his seat. “I wasn’t…She’s not…I’m not…I don’t know anything about her.”
“A problem easily solved.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, hesitant.
In answer, Carter held up her pencil. Link knit his eyebrows together. Donovan remained immune to the topic, but the speed in which he worked slowed. As Carter rose, Link’s eyes widened.
“What are you going to do?” he asked, panicking.
“Getting you information on Amy. The girl you keep looking at.”
Link grabbed her arm. “Carter. Don’t.”
She smacked her pencil against his wrist and he released her. She paced away from their table and made a slow progression towards the cluster of girls. She traversed the perimeter of the girl’s table in a zig-zag pattern, listening.
When she had all she needed, she crouched down behind Amy’s seat and slipped the pencil from her pocket. She stood and the girls fell silent. Most wore the customary looks of distaste Carter had grown to know, only Amy appeared inquisitive.
“Sorry, I lost my pencil,” Carter said.
Dismissing Carter, the group returned to their conversation. Except for Amy.
“I know you,” she murmured.
“We have history together.”
Recognition brightened Amy’s eyes. “You were the one that helped me with Zac when he got…” She flinched at the unwanted memory. “You dislocated his shoulder.”
“Technically, he dislocated his own shoulder.” Amy chuckled. Carter backed up as she pointed to Amy’s notebook. “Good luck with pre-calc. The textbook is in the fifth row, towards the back.”
Amy paused in bewilderment, but Carter continued to walk away. When she dropped back into her seat, Link stared at her, waiting. His leg bounced. When she didn’t speak right away, Link shoved her arm. “Well?”
“So you do want to know about her?” she asked.
Link scowled, his leg picking up speed. Carter stretched, savoring the way Link eagerly wanted to hear what she learned. Donavon continued to write equations, though he angled his head towards her.
“Fine, her name is Amy Howe. Senior. Right-handed. Organized. She’s taking French, A.P. history, A.P. lit, and physics. Smart but struggles with pre-calculus.” She nodded to Link. “That will be your way in.” She rocked her chair back on two legs. “At least one parent is a journalist because she takes notes in shorthand. She prefers cats over dogs. Doodles hearts on the edges of her paper. Doesn’t like being pushed around and puts up a decent fight. Currently does not have a boyfriend.”
Link gaped at Carter as Donovan stilled, his pen hovering above the page. Across the way, Amy shifted, leaning forward about to stand. Carter jabbed Link, snapping him from his shock.
“The pre-calc textbooks are on the top shelf, fifth row, towards the back,” she said. “Go take one down. She’ll come to you.” When Link didn’t move, she pushed him to stand. “You understand calculus, offer to help her. Go.”
Amy slid her chair back and rose, but paused as one of her friends said something. Carter prodded Link again. Finally understanding, he spun around, toppling over his seat and darting away without righting it. As he ducked into an aisle, Amy sauntered towards the lane Carter had indicated. Breathing hard, Link got there and grabbed one of the textbooks. Letting out her breath, Carter slumped in her chair, watching as Amy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and said hello.
“The boyfriend information?”
Only then did Carter realize that Donovan had raised his head.
“They were
making comments about the attractiveness of certain seniors. Amy mentioned that if Bennet Knight were to ask her out she would say yes.”
Donovan had no reaction to the deduction. “Puts up a decent fight?”
Carter draped her crossed ankles on Link’s fallen seat. “I helped her out of a conflict with Zac Warren. She was doing surprisingly alright for herself before I intervened and popped his shoulder out of its socket.”
Donovan nodded and dropped his head, fighting back a smile.
Chapter 7
Jumbled conversations buzzed around Carter as she sat in a booth at the deli. Homework conquered her table, a battlefield of books and papers. The complexity of calculus halted as a cookie plopped down onto her textbook, dusting it with golden crumbs. Blinking herself out of the trench of mathematics, Carter straightened, arching her back.
“Sorry, girly,” Maggie said, sliding into the seat across from her. “Big rush, couldn’t get away. Now I am all yours.”
Maggie’s brown hair had fallen loose from its ponytail and a smudge of mustard dotted her cheek. Picking up the cookie, Carter eased back into the booth.
“What do you want to do tonight?” Maggie asked, tidying up Carter’s mass of notes.
Carter broke her cookie in two and shrugged.
“How about, since it’s just us girls, we do something fun?”
With a chunk halfway to her mouth, Carter hesitated. “Dare I ask what your version of fun entails?”
“Oh, you know,” Maggie said, waving a careless hand. “Painting each other’s nails, braiding our hair, watching a fun romantic movie.”
“Remind me how long you have known me?” Carter said.
Maggie laughed, erasing the strains of work on her face. “Well, I thought this would be something I could do because I haven’t the faintest clue how to clean a gun or assemble a bomb.”
Carter let out a derisive snort. “Please, like my father taught me how to assemble a bomb.” A wide grin covered her face. “I learned that online.”
“Very amusing. But how about just a romantic movie then?”
