by Greg Weisman
“Yes, ma’am.”
Claire Beachum winced; she was only twenty-eight and didn’t particularly like being ma’amed. “‘Mrs. Beachum’ will be fine,” she said. “Normally, we’d start our morning with school announcements, but it’s the first day, and the office is a tad disorganized. So we’ll just move forward and hope for the best. Charlie, Rain, Renée, Carlos. Please distribute these books.”
Charlie and Rain exchanged a look and then rolled their eyes in sync before rising and making their way to the front of the room. There the four summoned teens scooped up piles of hardcover history textbooks and paperback copies of Eduardo Galeano’s Memory of Fire, carrying them along the four columns of desks so every student could take one of each. Some grabbed the books eagerly. Others stared as if the volumes might bite. Since the books were heavy, Rain grew impatient and snapped at Gladys Hernandez, “Just take ’em already.”
“Rain,” Mrs. B said.
Charlie glanced over at his friend in time to see her first bristle at the reprimand and then tamp down her obvious displeasure. Rain reins in her reign, he thought and turned away so she wouldn’t catch his grin.
Rain forced a not-so-pleasant smile onto her face. The whole thing was intolerable. How could the Searcher be reduced to this? If only Mrs. Beachum knew the truth! If only they all knew!
“Now, these History of the Americas textbooks are new, never before used. Same with Memory of Fire. You can highlight passages, but do not write or doodle in the margins. Remember, you’re just borrowing these books for the school year. You’ll give them back in June, undamaged, or you’ll pay for a replacement. And they’re not cheap.”
Considering multiple options, Renée reached Miranda’s desk but decided not to show her cards yet. Smiling, she allowed Miranda to take her books and then sat down again behind her. The distribution complete, Carlos, Rain and Charlie sat too.
Just then, Linda Wheeler, a high school junior, entered and handed Mrs. B a photocopied memo. “Today’s announcements,” Linda said.
Second period.
Miranda followed Rain and Charlie to their next class—but stopped short of entering. She looked down at her schedule. “Um. This isn’t the right room.”
Charlie checked his own schedule. “Algebra One with Coach Brinque. This is it.”
Still focused on her schedule, Miranda shook her head. “I’m in Geometry Honors with Ms. McKellar.” She looked up at her two friends and found them staring at her as if she were some kind of alien. She swallowed hard and shrugged. “I took algebra last year.”
“And where exactly were you last year, Sugar?” a voice dripped from behind them.
Miranda turned to face Renée Jackson and thus missed the appalled looks on Rain and Charlie’s faces. They’d grown up with Renée and knew she only called her worst enemies “Sugar.”
“The American School in Madrid,” Miranda was saying.
“Well, that’s so interesting. I want to hear all about it. I’m Renée. I’m in geometry too. I’ll show you the way.” Renée linked arms with Miranda and escorted her toward the staircase.
Miranda looked back over her shoulder and waved. “Bye, guys. See you at lunch?”
Rain and Charlie nodded dumbly. They both had an impulse to follow, but the bell rang. So, reluctantly, they entered the classroom.
“Miranda looked so happy,” Rain said weakly as she again took a seat by the window in the second-to-last row.
“You don’t think Renée’ll lock her in a closet or anything?”
“Nah. She’s too twisted for something that obvious. Wait for it though.”
“How did Miranda get on Renée’s Sugar List so fast?”
Rain had no idea and no opportunity to formulate a theory before Mr. Brinque called class to order. And asked Rain to help distribute textbooks.
Third period.
Rain caught up with Miranda for P.E. in the girls’ locker room of the gym. The Amazonian Renée stalked nearby, an elegant black jaguar ready to pounce. Whatever she was planning clearly hadn’t happened yet, as Miranda was still smiling and not curled up in a little ball in the corner. Rain wanted to find a way to warn her, but this wasn’t the place or time.
Coach Viki Hernandez (Gladys’ twenty-three-year-old sister) assigned gym lockers to all the eighth-grade girls. Then she distributed towels, gym shorts and T-shirts, which were all to be dumped in bins at the end of class in exchange for clean laundry on a one-for-one basis. As the coach related the school’s widely ignored requirement that students shower after every physical education class, a horrified Miranda whispered to Rain, “Can’t I bring my own gym clothes?”
Rain shook her head, but Renée answered, “I don’t see why not.”
Rain suppressed a groan.
Fourth period.
Charlie moved slowly forward in the lunch line, glancing back over his shoulder. He saw Rain enter the cafeteria with Miranda … and Renée. Ugh. Rain grabbed Miranda’s hand and pulled her forward. Miranda grabbed Renée’s hand and did the same. Double ugh. Charlie opened up a space to let the girls in—and instantly felt a large hand on his shoulder.
“No cuts,” said Jay Ibara, a six-foot-tall senior. “You want to eat with your little friends, you move to the back of the line, scrub.” The four eighth graders stared up at Jay for a second, and even Renée looked slightly cowed. Silently, heads lowered, Charlie, Rain, and Miranda gave way. Renée departed with them, but not before unleashing a sly-voiced “Whatever you say, Sugar,” as she went.
Almost instantly their spots were filled by seniors Ramon Hernandez (Gladys and Viki’s brother) and Hank Dauphin (Charlie’s brother), laughing and taking cuts with Jay’s full approval. Just two days ago, all three had attended ’Bastian’s funeral and had at least made an attempt to be civil and sympathetic toward Rain. Ancient history already. Nor would Hank cut his younger brother any slack. Antislack, Charlie thought. That’s what he cuts me.
“So much for the top of the food chain,” Rain said.
All three schools shared the cafeteria. The seniors ruled, of course, but there was an unspoken commandment among all the high schoolers to be nice to the grammar school kids. Sure enough, Charlie watched as Hank waved over their youngest brother, Phil Dauphin, and his entire fifth-grade computer chess club clan and gave them cuts.
So, inevitably, the junior high kids dwelled at the very bottom of the food chain, below seniors, sophomores, kindergartners, etc. Last in the chain to get any food—with no chocolate pudding left by the time they got to the front of the line either.
Emerging with their trays, Rain, Charlie, Miranda and Renée searched for a table but found no immediate prospects. Here, Renée seemed slightly conflicted. Rain watched her carefully. Strictly speaking, Renée was more intimidating than popular, but she did run with their grade’s popular crowd, which had managed to commandeer one table near the kitchen. But would she abandon her target?
“C’mon, Sugar,” she said to Miranda. “I think there’s room for two over here.”
Now Miranda looked conflicted. Renée had been so sweet, but she felt sure her first loyalty should be to Charlie and Rain. “Couldn’t we find room for four?”
Rain stepped between Miranda and Renée, saying, “I think we’d rather eat outside. Fresh air, you know?”
Renée’s dark eyes hardened. “That sounds great, Sugar. You don’t mind if I join you?”
She glared at Rain so hard, Charlie could practically see the daggers. Great. Now Rain’s on the Sugar List, too. And if Rain’s on it …
Renée turned to Charlie. “C’mon, Sugar. Let’s go eat outside with the bugs.”
Fifth period.
Rain sat in Spanish Two, not really listening to Señor Recino outline the year’s syllabus, shaking her head over the conversation that had just taken place in the hall.
Rain had said, “What do you mean you’re taking French? Aren’t you already fluent in Spanish?”
Miranda had hesitated over what felt like a trick question: �
��Yeah … I’m already fluent in Spanish. So I’m taking French. Aren’t you fluent in Spanish?”
“Yes. Which is why I’m taking it. It’s my one easy A.”
“Oh.”
“‘Oh?’ What is ‘Oh’ supposed to mean?”
“It means, ‘Oh, you’re a disappointment, Sugar,’” Renée volunteered helpfully.
Rain watched Miranda, Charlie and Renée head off to French Two.
Suddenly, a light slap on the back of her head jarred Rain back to the present. She looked over her shoulder, wondering how her large Colombian teacher had managed to get behind her without her noticing.
“Lluvia,” he said. (Armando Recino called Rain Lluvia when he was annoyed with her or feeling particularly clever.) “Los libros, Lluvia. Distribúyelos, por favor.”
Sixth period.
Charlie sat on a stool at a lab table with Rain. Both felt bad for Miranda, currently partnered—cheerfully and ignorantly—with Renée at the next table over. Of course, neither had felt quite bad enough to break up their own partnership in order to assure Miranda wouldn’t get stuck with San Próspero’s one true demon child. But I suppose there are limits to human altruism.
Charlie glanced over. Miranda, eyes bright and wide and innocent, listened attentively to Coach Brinque, who was glorying in the wonders of their eighth-grade science curriculum, subtitled The Natural World. Charlie had the short, stocky, bald and coal-skinned Brinque for algebra, science and P.E., and the thought was just dawning that this one man controlled nearly half Charlie’s G.P.A. I really should pay closer attention.
Instead, he glanced over one more time. Renée was looking right at him. She smiled mirthlessly. Mirthlessly or mercilessly. Either way, Charlie shivered involuntarily.
Seventh period.
For Rain, this endless day was ending where it had started, with almost the exact same group of twenty-four eighth graders back in Mrs. Beachum’s classroom for English C. For the first time, Rain had not been asked to distribute the books. Mr. Brinque asked me twice! But that wasn’t Mrs. B’s style, so Isabel, Juan, Lacey, Josh, Wilma, Matt, Stephanie and Jason passed out the four volumes that comprised the fall semester’s reading list: To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi, The Tempest by William Shakespeare, and Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston. Mrs. B explained that they would be studying the Shakespeare play as a prelude to seeing a live production that the P.K.T.B. (the Prospero Keys Tourist Board) was presenting as part of its annual Shakespeare Festival on Teatro de Fantasmas in November. All her class heard was “Field trip!”
Eighth period.
Rain’s locker and her backpack were both now stuffed with books. She transferred Persepolis, Tempest and Eyes to her locker, replacing them with the math and history texts she’d need to do her homework. (What kind of monster assigns homework on the first day?!) Miranda approached, carrying some kind of small instrument case. Charlie and Renée flanked her, with Charlie tossing the occasional nervous glance Renée’s way.
Somehow, Rain’s day—the first in what should have been this new chapter of her life—had been commandeered by Renée Jackson, despite the fact that Renée hadn’t actually done anything yet. But Rain and Renée had known each other all their lives, and Rain was very aware it was only a matter of time. She glanced up to look into the eyes of the 5'9" beauty. Though only thirteen, Renée already had a knack for standing quite still in poses that emphasized her statuesque height and exaggerated her resemblance to a cast metal sculpture, her bronze skin reflecting the light in myriad interesting ways. On the other hand, her dark eyes and cold smile reflected no light whatsoever.
Over the years, Rain had been on and off Renée’s Sugar List easily a half-dozen times for one perceived slight or another. In fact, the only thing Rain could say in Renée’s favor was that once Renée finished doling out her “revenge” in the form of some brand of devastating humiliation, she almost always wiped the slate clean. For example, since the time Renée had stolen all of Rain’s clothes after a volleyball game on Malas Almas last spring, they hadn’t had a single run-in. (And since fifth grade, Rain had known better than to bother with any attempt at retaliation. It only escalated and extended the conflict and gave Renée more opportunities to work her dark magic.)
“Do you guys want to come over after school?” Miranda was asking.
Rain shook her head. “Actually, I’m leaving now.”
“What about eighth period?”
Rain pulled out her form. “I have an exemption, because I work. For my folks. At least until volleyball starts in the spring.”
Rain stared a challenge at Renée, who was forced to admit with her full begrudge on, “Yeah, me, too.” She recovered quickly, sounding cheery once again. “But I’m not working today. So we could meet up after. Where do you live, Sugar?”
Miranda hesitated, knowing what would come. “On … Sycorax.”
Renée stared at her. “Nobody lives on Sycorax.”
Miranda sighed. “I do. With my dad.”
“Does he work for Sycorax?”
“Y-yeah. Kinda.”
Wheels began turning in Renée’s head. Rain and Charlie’s too.
“Wait a minute,” Renée said. “You’re last name’s Guerrero, right? Are you … Pablo Guerrero’s daughter?”
Miranda shrugged, trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal that her father basically owned Sycorax Inc. and the entire island that came with it.
But this was clearly a mighty revelation to the other three teens, who all exchanged glances. Charlie and Rain felt particularly dense for not having put this together before, even though they had known Miranda lived on Sycorax and had gone water-skiing with her and, what, her chauffer? Her bodyguard?
Renée actually looked shaken. “My mom works for Sycorax.”
Miranda felt like she was about to hyperventilate. “It’s not a big deal,” she said desperately. “I just take the ferry over every morning and back every afternoon. I have a pass, and I can get you on for free. I mean, not that you need that, but—”
Renée pulled herself together. “You know, that sounds fine, Sugar. I’ll meet you at the ferry at, what, three fifteen?”
Miranda brightened. “Great! How about you guys?”
Rain hated to leave Miranda to Renée’s mercies, but ultimately the Search had to take precedence. Placing her right hand over the zemi on her arm, she shot a glance at Charlie, which neither Miranda nor Renée failed to notice.
“Um, how ’bout a rain-check?” Charlie asked guiltily. He really thought they needed to protect Miranda from whatever Renée was planning, but he couldn’t help himself. Following Rain’s lead was practically ingrained in his D.N.A.
“Well, that’s all right,” Renée said. “We can manage without you. Right, Miranda?”
The bell rang. Charlie jumped at the opportunity. He pointed at Miranda’s music case. “Flute, right? I’m percussion. We better get to orchestra. Madame Conduttore hates it when we’re late.”
Rain and Renée watched Charlie drag Miranda away. Then they turned to face each other. Renée smiled her cold smile at Rain and shrugged. Game on.
Rain sighed and shrugged back. Then, backpacks over their shoulders, they took off in opposite directions.
Charlie hesitated outside the door to the orchestra room—another resource shared by all three schools. Miranda watched him look back at the departing Rain. Dios mío, he’s so into her, and she doesn’t even—
Just then, he seemed to notice Miranda’s attention and turned an embarrassed smile toward her, before leading the way inside. Dios mío, she thought, as she followed him. That is one great smile.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE PALE TOURIST
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 8
Jean-Marc Thibideaux cut a striking figure in his dress white uniform as he strode past tense and curious Sycorax employees toward the cave where they had found the body. Forty-five years old, Thibideaux was a fit and slim 5'll" wit
h coffee-and-cream skin, close-cropped black hair and distinguished graying temples. As the top man at the Prospero Keys Constabulary (known locally as the Ghost Patrol), Constable Thibideaux was on his turf and in his element and dreading the job at hand nonetheless.
Thibideaux was based out of San Próspero, but the P.K.C. had jurisdiction over all but one of the Ghost Keys’ eight islands. (Only tourists, the tourist board, various government agencies and official maps referred to these islands as the Prospero Keys. To the native born, like Thibideaux himself, they were the Ghost Keys or simply the Ghosts.) Five other islands—Tío Samuel, Malas Almas, Ile de la Géante (where Jean-Marc was born), Teatro de Fantasmas and “The Pebble”—curved to the northeast of San Próspero in a gentle arc. Tío Sam’s was the one hundred percent domain of the United States Navy, and Teatro and the Pebble were uninhabited rocks (though a single constable was routinely stationed on Teatro during the Shakespeare Festival to discourage rowdiness). The last island in the chain, a storm-tossed jungle known as Isla Soraya, lay some small distance south of the others but was also uninhabited. So most of Constable Thibideaux’s (mostly alcohol-related or theft-oriented) business originated on Próspero, Almas or La Géante. Sycorax Island was to the west of San Próspero, just across the bay, but since 1995—the year Sycorax Inc. finally privatized its island—company security had dealt efficiently with virtually every concern, so it would take something like a corpse to bring Thibideaux here.
Two deputy constables and three Sycorax security guards—including an embarrassed Isaac Naborías—stood in a semicircle near the cave. They made way for Thibideaux, who checked his watch (2:33 P.M.), then checked the sun to confirm the time. The bright orb stared into the entrance, illuminating what to Jean-Marc looked like the World’s Palest Tourist, lying on his back as if asleep in a Hawaiian shirt, Bermuda shorts and Mexican sandals. Dr. Josef Strauss knelt beside the body. The German-born transplant did double duty as an emergency room physician at San Próspero Island Hospital and as the territory’s lone coroner. He glanced up at the constable, nodded, and spoke in slightly accented, staccato sentences: “Male. Caucasian. Age thirty-five to forty. No I.D.”
