“She didn’t bother me last year,” I protested. “She left me alone in chemistry. She never even glanced at me when we passed in the walkways.”
“Could you hear her thoughts?” Nell’s question was quiet.
I flinched. I hadn’t told anyone—not even Michael—that I hadn’t been able to listen to Ms. Lacusta after our final showdown with Nell. Any small echoes I picked up from the teacher had been in her native language, a tongue I couldn’t decipher.
“She wants you,” Nell went on. “She wants your power. Never trust her for a minute.”
“Why are you telling me this? Why would you warn me?” I asked shakily.
Nell was quiet. She frowned and looked away from me. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe... I know what betrayal feels like. She used me. I don’t want to see her succeed. Isn’t that reason enough?”
“I guess it is.” For the space of several seconds, we gazed steadily at each other. For the first time, I looked at Nell without feeling the enmity she had always projected toward me. Her dark hair hung loosely around her pale face, and I noticed fleetingly that it was much longer than it had been last year. Her eyes moved from mine down to the scars on my neck, and her expression turned bleak.
Abruptly she moved as though to cover her face with her hands, and I gasped. What I had assumed was her ritual robe was not. Her hands were hidden beneath the white cotton sleeves, which were crossed behind her. Nell was wearing a strait jacket.
“It’s time for you to go.” Her voice was harsh. “Go. Get out of here. Go through the doors.”
Confused, I turned back to the main entrance and stumbled toward the swinging doors. Before I pushed through them, I braved a final glance back to my table. It was empty.
I awoke gasping and shaking, safe in my own bed. It was just past midnight, and I was alone.
If there was anything good about my nocturnal encounter with Nell, it did take my mind off returning to school the next day. Sleep had been a long time returning; even once I’d settled down and convinced myself that it had been only a dream, I kept the light next to my bed burning.
I was groggy the next morning, slow to rise and nervous about going to school. My mom and I had done our traditional back to school shopping the weekend before, and I had bought a floaty skirt and coordinating tank top for today. Now the idea of putting on anything seemed overwhelming, never mind fussing with makeup and blow drying my hair straight. I was so tired that I only wanted comfortable clothes and as little activity as possible.
But for my mom’s sake, I put on a happy face and dressed quickly. I used the high humidity outside as an excuse not to dry my hair; I let it go curly and full around my lightly made-up face. Scrutinizing my look in the mirror, I decided I’d do. I didn’t have my usual motivation to look good, since Michael was miles away and wouldn’t see me.
My mother had made a full and hearty breakfast, appropriate for the first day of my senior year. She joined me at the table, beaming at me over the pancakes, bacon and orange juice. During the summer and the rest of the school year, my usual breakfast was yogurt and fruit, sometimes adding half a bagel if the urge hit me. But at least once a year, my mom got the guilts and resolved to send me off with a full stomach.
I managed to get down some of the pancakes and nibbled on the bacon, all the while working to tune out her thoughts.
My baby’s last first day of school! I can’t believe she’s a senior. Seems like just yesterday she started kindergarten... I wish she’d eat more. I wonder if those pancakes are all right?
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. Even as slowly as I’d been moving, it was still early. Nevertheless, I pushed back my chair from the table.
“That was great, Mom. Thanks. I’m going to brush my teeth and then head out, okay?”
She frowned. “It’s not time yet, is it? I want to take some pictures.”
I stifled a groan. “Seriously, Mom, do we have to? I just want to get going. I didn’t sleep well, and I’m a little jumpy.”
“Why didn’t you sleep well?” Now anxious vibes were pouring off my mother.
I averted my eyes. “Just some nightmares. I think it was nerves.” I smiled as brightly as I could. “And I want to leave a little early since I’m not used to driving myself. I know I can do it, but the Mustang still kind of worries me sometimes.”
“I can always drive you today if you want,” she offered hopefully. I knew she and my dad had their own reservations about me having temporary custody of Michael’s car.
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I just want to get moving.”
I got out of the house after only a few pictures. My mom stood at the door and watched me as I dumped my bag in the backseat and climbed into the car. I gave her a jaunty wave, took a deep breath and turned the ignition. I needed to get down the street without stalling, and my biggest challenge was always first gear.
Luck was with me, and I gave a breath of thanks as I eased down the road. It was still so odd, driving the Mustang without Michael in the passenger seat. I ran my hand over her smooth hard steering wheel and missed him with a physical pang.
To take my mind off the pain, at the next stop sign I pulled out my MP3 player and plugged it into the radio. This was Michael’s early birthday gift to me: he’d replaced the original AM-only radio with one that would allow me to play my iPod.
“After all,” he’d laughed as I squealed in excitement, “I won’t be around to talk to you on the drives to and from school. You need some distraction.”
Now I flicked my favorite play list to shuffle and continued on my way, keeping the volume to a safe level in the interest of the early hour, not to mention the promise that I’d made to my parents to keep it down. Even so, the music flooding the car went a long way toward calming my nerves and soothing my aching heart.
The ride to school was short, and I pulled into a nearly empty parking lot. I flashed back to my first view of the lot last year, when I was the new girl; I remembered Michael walking me out on my first day at school. So many memories of our early relationship lived here in the school that I knew coming back was going to be painful.
I reached into the backpack to pull out the schedule of classes I’d received last week. My schedule this year was challenging: the morning began with European History, which I knew I’d enjoy, but then it was followed by physics and calculus. Neither was required, but my father and Michael had encouraged me to take the classes. Privately I felt that they both had an inflated sense of my mathematical and scientific abilities.
Since I’d already completed most of my requirements for graduation, I was permitted to take an independent study course before lunch. There was a note on the schedule informing me of a meeting with my advisor today during that class period, during which time we would discuss the nature of my study. I was hoping to use the time for an additional history course, if one of the teachers would agree to work with me then.
My afternoon schedule was easier: English with Mr. Robinson, a new teacher in the school, and French IV with Madame Sill, the same instructor I’d had in French III. I had enjoyed her class during junior year, and I was looking forward to seeing her again.
As I turned to slide the paper back into my bag, I felt a vibration in the pocket of my sweater. I’d already turned my cell phone to silent before starting to drive, fulfilling another promise to my parents. I wondered if my mother was calling to make sure I’d arrived safely.
I glanced at the phone’s window and instantly my heart leaped: it was Michael!
I flipped open the phone and answered quickly. “Michael? Are you all right?”
I heard his soft laughter on the other end. “That was supposed to be my line. Did I catch you before you left home?”
I shook my head, and then wryly rolled my eyes at my own actions. “No, I’m already at school. I’m sitting in the parking lot, listening to music. I think I might be the first one here.”
“How’s my baby?” he questioned, and thi
s time I made a face at him, even though I knew he couldn’t see me.
“She’s just fine. We made it without a single stall. And the music sounds terrific.”
“Top up or top down?”
“Top up. It’s the first day of school and I don’t want to look all wind blown. I’ll probably put it down for the ride home and then out to the nursery, though.”
“Hmmmm... ” I could hear the arch questioning in his tone. “So are you all dressed up for the first day? Tell me what you’re wearing. I want to picture you in school all day.”
“You’ve never seen it. My mom and I bought the outfit this weekend. It’s a pretty skirt, very light, in a flower print, and a light blue cotton tank.”
“Ah,” he answered appreciatively. “Did your mother take pictures?”
“Maybe,” I answered cautiously.
“I know she did. Make sure I get one, okay? Email it to me this afternoon. How are you beyond your wardrobe?”
I wanted to answer breezily and offer him assurance, but, as always, the more overwhelming need was to share my heart with him.
“I’m a little nervous, and kind of tired,” I admitted. “I didn’t sleep well last night. Bad dreams.”
Even across the miles, I could sense the shift in his tone. “About last year? Nell?”
“Kind of... ” I hesitated. “It was more than that. It wasn’t the old nightmares where we don’t get away. It was... I thought I was in the cafeteria, and Nell was there, talking to me. She was warning me.”
Michael’s apprehension was palpable. “About what?”
“Ms. Lacusta. Telling me not to trust her, things like that. I know it was a dream, but Michael, it felt so real. I would have sworn I was really there, and so was Nell. She was... she was wearing a strait jacket.”
He sucked in his breath. “Yeah, I can see how that would freak you out. But you’re right, it was just a nightmare. Probably because you’re nervous about going back to school, and maybe even a little scared about seeing Ms. Lacusta again.”
“She didn’t bother me the rest of last year,” I reminded him.
“I know, but you’ve gone all summer without being around her, and now you’re going back. It would give me bad dreams. But that’s all it is. Try not to worry.”
I was quiet a moment, thinking. Then I frowned. “Why aren’t you in class? I thought you had an early lecture today.”
He laughed again. “I do. I excused myself and slipped out for a minute. Just wanted to check on you and remind you that I’m thinking of you today.”
“Wish I could hear you,” I murmured wistfully.
“Me, too,” he agreed. “Have you tried to listen all the way up here? We really don’t know what the radius of your ability is, after all.”
I sighed, heavily. “Yes, actually I have tried. Sometimes lying in bed at night... but all I get is the noise from the neighbors and then so much sound that I couldn’t find you even if it did stretch that far. Too much interference.” I made a face, frustrated at my own limits.
“Well, good thing we have telephones then,” Michael remarked. “And right now I need to turn mine off again and get back to that lecture. Remember I love you. Have a good first day. I’ll call you tonight.”
“I love you, too,” I returned, but I wasn’t sure he heard me, since there was nothing but emptiness on the other end.
The parking lot was beginning to fill with other cars. Slowly I climbed out and locked the doors. Tossing my bag over my shoulder, I headed for the school.
My locker assignment was the same as last year, and I walked there simply to have a destination. There were some students already on the walkways; most of them seemed very young, and I guessed they were freshmen.
The school is so big... I know we came here for orientation, but I don’t remember anything... I can’t open this locker! Where is my first classroom? Why does everyone but me seem to know the way around?
I hid a smile of sympathy. I had been in that frame of mind so many times during all of our moves. I knew that within a week, most of them would feel as though they’d been here forever.
“Tasmyn!” A voice cut through my musings, and I turned to see Amber hurrying toward me, smiling.
What a difference a year made! When I had met her, Amber had been a rather non-descript quiet girl, fearful of the new friends she’d made (and rightfully so, as it turned out) and cowed by her dread of being alone again. She had dressed to blend, walked with her eyes down and never seemed at ease.
But the young woman approaching me now bore almost no resemblance to that girl of a year ago. Last spring, Amber had put herself into the hands of Anne’s mother, who cut her hair into a becoming new style that shaped her pretty face. Anne and I had taken her on several shopping excursions, mostly in the thrift and consignment shops of nearby towns, and now Amber sported a flattering wardrobe of bright colors.
But the biggest change was in her eyes. No longer did she look at the ground; now she met the gazes of those around her with a confidence that I knew drew admiring glances--and thoughts--of several of the boys near us. Amber didn’t pay much attention to them, as she was beaming at me.
“You look so pretty!” she exclaimed, and I could feel that she was intent on distracting me from missing Michael. “I love that skirt. And you were smart to leave your hair curly. It’s so muggy today.”
I smiled in appreciation of her friendship. “Thanks. You look wonderful yourself.”
Amber giggled and gave a little spin. “Kudos to my personal stylists. Anne helped me pick this out before she left.” As if just now recalling the absence of our friends, she glanced around. “Seems funny not to have them here, doesn’t it?”
I nodded in agreement. “Very lonely.”
Amber bit her lip. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up. I know today has got to be hard for you. Is there anything I can do?”
I reached out to give her a quick hug. “You’re already doing it. You’re a good friend, Amber. Thanks.”
The bell rang, and I turned toward my history classroom. “See you at lunch?”
Amber waved as she moved away from me. “Of course! I’ll save you a seat!”
As I had expected, I loved my first class immediately. Ms. Jones was a tall woman whom I guessed to be in her mid-thirties. She presented her plan for the year in an organized and understandable manner, and she made it clear what she expected from all of us. The only thoughts I picked up from her reinforced what I heard her speak aloud.
Physics and calculus were as torturous as I had feared, although Mr. Stevens, my science teacher, seemed to be reasonable in his expectations of the class. He, too, seemed genuinely excited about his subject matter, and I was relieved to note that he was an unlikely candidate for a coven leader, in contrast to Ms. Lacusta, my junior year science instructor.
After I escaped calculus, I made my way to the office to meet with Ms. Ross, the guidance counselor. The outer room was filled with freshmen, most with scheduling problems or locker difficulties. It was the lunch period for the freshmen and sophomores, and they all seemed very needy. Their thoughts were nearly as loud as their voices, and I concentrated hard on tuning them out.
“Tasmyn! Tasmyn Vaughn! Can you hear me?” A voice cut through my focus, and confused, I looked up into the quizzical brown eyes of the guidance counselor.
“Sorry,” I muttered, flushing. “It’s pretty noisy in here. I guess I just was in my own little world.”
“Come into my office,” she invited, stepping through a small door near the reception desk. I followed her in, and she closed the door.
“Freshmen,” she sighed, dropping into the chair behind her desk. “It’s the same every year. I don’t know why we bother to have orientation if no one is going to listen anyway—well, that’s not your problem. I’m sorry. Let’s see what we have here.”
Ms. Ross flipped open a manila folder in front of her, and I felt her trying to gather her scattered thoughts and focus on me.
<
br /> What’s she here for... oh, yes, independent study assignment. That’s right... where is that other sheet...
Finally she looked up at me and smiled. “We have you scheduled for independent study during this class period. As you know, generally we encourage students who have completed or are in the process of completing their requirements for graduation to take an elective. However, you didn’t want to take woodshop or home ec?”
I shook my head. “Not if I can help it.”
“Well then, the requirements for independent study usually involve you deciding what area of study you’d like to focus on during this time and finding a teacher who is willing to facilitate that study. Generally you’ll spend the class period itself in the library. However... ” She flipped over a piece of paper and then rested her elbows on the desk, scanning the words.
“However, sometimes a teacher will request a particular student. We always send a list of independent study students to the faculty, and if an instructor feels that one of those students would benefit from his or her personal instruction, he or she will volunteer to facilitate. We like to encourage this, since frequently the students themselves may not know what area of study suits them best.”
Presentiment was never my gift, but I was beginning to feel a creeping dread. I could feel that Ms. Ross expected me to be flattered and impressed by the teacher who had chosen me, as one of them obviously had. I could only hope that it was either Mr. Frame or Mrs. Cook, my history and English teachers from last year. Please...
Ms. Ross was continuing. “So when this teacher requested you specifically, I was sure that you’d want to follow this course of study. Apparently it is one in which you have a special interest?”
“Which teacher?” I asked, my voice rough and barely above a whisper. I ran my tongue over my lips and tried to calm myself. “Mrs. Cook?”
“Actually, it’s Ms. Lacusta. She told me that you had a wonderful gift for chemistry and that you had enjoyed her class last year. Ms. Lacusta is fairly new here, and she’s never facilitated an independent study course. I think it’s a wonderful opportunity for you.”
King Series Box Set Page 38
