by Ohlin, Nancy
I wonder if she has a therapist? Maybe I should talk to the girls.
Max is waiting for me on the bench by the fountain. He looks really handsome in a faded gray T-shirt, black jeans, and leather jacket. His hair is slightly damp, like he just showered. My palms are actually sweaty, which never happens to me—except once, when I had to play a solo at the honors band concert because the first clarinet was out sick.
Max’s head is bent low, and he is texting intently. When he sees me, he stands up and tucks his phone into his jacket pocket. It’s the same jacket he was wearing in that photo with Becca, on the school website.
“Hey.” He smiles at me, although his eyes look tired.
“Hi.” I smile back, trying not to feel weird about the jacket. I mean, what’s he supposed to do—not wear it just because he’s on a date with me and not Becca? “I’m psyched about this Corn Roast!” I say in a fake-cheerful voice.
“Don’t be. It’s kind of lame. But I’m glad you’re here, anyway.” He wraps his arm around my waist. “Shall we?”
We start across the quad toward Hunters’ Meadow. He keeps his arm where it is, which is a good sign, I think—physical contact. Then his phone starts buzzing, and he reaches in his jacket and turns it off. Who was he texting? Who is texting him back?
Cut it out, I tell myself. Just relax and have fun.
The entire Thorn Abbey population seems to be gathered at Hunters’ Meadow, including students, teachers, and random employees. There is a massive fire pit in the middle of the sprawling green lawn, and the air is thick with the aroma of roasting corn. A couple of ancient rock-concert-size speakers blast a Journey song that I recognize from my mom’s aerobics playlist. Wow, Yoonie was right about Headmaster Henle’s taste in music. Some of the seniors are playing Ultimate Frisbee in the waning twilight.
I scan the rest of the crowd. I recognize a bunch of girls from Kerrith. There is no sign of Devon, though—or Priscilla or Elinor or Yoonie, for that matter. They drove into town after lunch to shop for the lounge project, and they must not be back yet. Maybe, if I’m lucky, they’ll miss the Corn Roast altogether, and I won’t have to deal with Devon’s weirdness about me being with Max.
Or Max’s weirdness about her. I wish I could ask him about it, but I’m afraid it will put him in a bad mood. He seems distant and distracted as it is.
“Soooo. Where’s Franklin?” I ask.
“What?” His face is pensive, like he’s mulling over a problem. “Yeah, he texted me. I think he’s coming by later.”
“Oh. So what’s next? Do we sit around the fire and eat corn?”
Max nods. “That pretty much covers it. It’s always the same drill. Last year, it rained the whole time, so the bonfire was a fail.”
Last year. I picture him and Becca holding hands and kissing in the rain. Sneaking away for a drunk make-out session. No, no, don’t think about that.
“Tess?” He looks at me with a puzzled expression. “Everything okay?”
“I’m fine. Let’s get some food.”
We wind our way toward the catering tables, where we grab paper plates and utensils and start down the line. The boy in front of us turns around. He’s wearing a T-shirt that says BOLLINGER FOR PRESIDENT.
“Hey, guys! Welcome! Ben Bollinger,” he says, grabbing my hand and shaking it vigorously.
“Hi, Ben. I’m Tess.”
“Nice to meet you, Tess. Listen, Max. I know Ayesha’s already bugged you, but I wanted to make my pitch. You and me. Junior-class president and vice president.”
“Thanks, I’m flattered. But my schedule’s pretty full,” Max says apologetically.
“Yeah, I thought you’d say that. But definitely next year, okay? With your family’s reputation, we’d be unbeatable.”
Max’s family’s reputation. Devon may have been drunk, but she wasn’t kidding about the De Villierses. The other day, I overhead someone in my American History class saying that Max’s great-grandfather used to be secretary of state.
I’ve never known anyone from such a prominent family. The closest I ever came was probably Tiffani Camacho, whose cousin was on American Idol.
At the first station, Mila Kunis is in charge of ladling out coleslaw. When she spots Max and me, she gives us a big smile. “Hi, you two! Tess, I like your sweater! Where did you get it?” she chirps.
Mila Kunis knows my name? And she likes my sweater? This is the first time she has spoken to me, ever. “It was a Christmas present,” I say, which sounds better than “a deep clearance bin at Boscov’s.”
“Cool. That color’s really pretty on you.”
“Thanks.” I’m surprised and pleased that Mila Kunis recognized and complimented me. Huh. Maybe I’m not the school outcast after all.
Except, one of the mean blond Kerrith girls is at the next station, serving the hot dogs. I can feel my shoulders tense up. Is she going to say something nasty?
But shockingly, she smiles at me too. “Do you want a real hot dog or one of these vomitacious vegan ones? Oops, sorry, you’re not a vegan, are you?” she says in a friendly voice.
“Um, no. I’ll take a real one.”
“Excellent choice. My parents are vegans. I like to bring home burgers from the BK Lounge, just to mess with them.”
The BK Lounge?
“Burger King,” Max whispers in my ear. He must have seen the confusion on my face.
“Thanks,” I whisper back gratefully.
“Guys, a little consideration? We’re starving back here,” a girl in the back of the line complains.
“I’m sorry. We’re holding things up,” I apologize to the Kerrith girl.
“No worries. I don’t know why Savannah’s in such a mad rush for food. Seriously, she gained like twenty pounds over the summer.” She plops a hot dog on my plate. “Enjoy!”
“Yo, Max! Tess!” Nate says, passing by.
“Max, that was a sweet goal today!” another boy calls out. “Hey, Tess, right? Welcome to Thorn Abbey!”
Why is everyone being so nice to me all of a sudden? Oh, yeah. I’m with Max. In a school full of privileged, A-list kids, he’s way up there on the social ladder. Which makes me, his date for the Corn Roast, up there too. At least for tonight.
The thing is, Max doesn’t seem to care much about being popular. I guess that’s one of the things I like about him.
He and I take our food and find a spot that’s close but not too close to the bonfire. We sit down on the grass and balance our plates on our laps. I take a bite of my hot dog. Not awful. Actually, pretty yummy, compared to the raw vegetable and broth diet Devon’s forced on me.
“So your family’s pretty involved in politics, huh?” I ask Max. “Your grandfather’s a senator, right?”
“Yup. Jorge Salazar.”
“Oh! Senator Salazar! I’ve seen him on TV.”
Max doesn’t respond. He spears a deviled egg with his fork but doesn’t eat it. He doesn’t seem too interested in eating. Or our conversation, for that matter.
“So are you and your grandfather close?” I persist.
“Yeah, when I was little. He’s pretty busy these days.”
“He must be. I read that he’s working on a bill about tougher penalties for texting while driving.”
“Hmmm.”
He lapses into silence again. He turns and stares intently at the bonfire. Its flames glow orange against the darkening sky.
And then it hits me. He doesn’t want to be here. With me. He’s probably remembering last year’s Corn Roast, when he was with Becca. Miss Sophomore-Class President. They obviously had politics in common, among other things.
The knowledge tears me up inside and makes me want to cry. I curl my fists and try to decide if I should make up an excuse and leave.
“My dad used to build bonfires on the beach,” Max says, out of the blue.
I glance at him in surprise. My hands relax slightly.
“We have this place on the Vineyard. Every Labor Day, my parents have t
his big party and invite everyone we know. My abuelo, my grandfather, never misses it. He’ll fly up from DC for the day if he has to. My dad builds a bonfire, and we have lobsters, clams, corn . . . the whole bit.”
“That sounds amazing,” I say. Is he talking about Martha’s Vineyard? I wonder if he ever brought Becca there.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t go to the Vineyard at all this summer. Dad was in Europe a lot, on business. I could have gone with my mom or my grandparents or Franklin, but . . .” He shakes his head. “I didn’t feel like being at the beach. After what happened. I wanted to stay in the city. The skyscrapers and the noise, they felt safer to me than . . . you know. That’s messed up, right?”
Oh my gosh. Poor Max.
“It’s not messed up at all. It makes perfect sense,” I say softly.
He smiles and slips his hand into mine. His fingers are warm and strong. My heart knocks in my chest. I was wrong about him. He’s opening up to me. He wants to move on.
To hell with Rebecca Rose Winters.
I almost don’t see the bright, tiny spark flying through the air toward me. It arcs neatly, almost deliberately over the cluster of people sitting in front of Max and me and lands directly on my sleeve.
The fabric smolders, then crackles into flame. My sweater is on fire. For a second, I’m too stunned to react. And then I jump to my feet, screaming.
“Tess, get down!” Max yells.
My skin burns as fire rushes up my arm. Max tackles me to the ground. He rolls me over and over on the dewy grass. The flame dies out with an angry, defeated hiss.
“Are you okay?” Max demands breathlessly.
I can barely find my voice. “I think so?”
Trembling, I touch my sweater. The sleeve is perfectly intact. There are no holes or singed threads.
What the hell?
I roll up my sleeve and touch the skin on my arm gingerly. It doesn’t hurt, and there’s no mark whatsoever.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” I say out loud.
“What doesn’t make any sense? Tess, talk to me,” Max pleads.
People gather around us, whispering and buzzing.
“Miss Szekeres, are you all right?” It’s Headmaster Henle.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I reply. Fine but extremely confused.
“I’d like you to see the nurse. Mr. De Villiers, can you escort her to the clinic?”
“Yes, sir.”
Max grasps my hand and gently lifts me to my feet. He takes off his leather jacket and drapes it around my shoulders.
As we walk, I overhear snippets of hushed conversations:
“Who’s that girl with Max?”
“He used to date Becca Winters, right?”
“Did you see what happened?”
“Looked like one of those Molotov cocktails from GTA.”
“She was sitting too close to the fire.”
“No, they were sitting way in back. It must have been the wind.”
But there is no wind.
And my sweater and arm are totally unscathed. It’s like nothing ever happened.
Max holds me tightly and kisses my hair. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m sure.”
That’s when I catch sight of Devon standing at the edge of the crowd. When did she get here?
And why is she smiling at me? Not her dazzling smile, but a different smile, like she’s in crazy mode again.
I shudder and start to turn away.
Then, for a split second, her entire body glows white.
Just like that seagull.
16.
I HAVE TO TALK TO SOMEONE. ANYONE.
When I get back from the clinic, Devon isn’t in our room. Thank God. I need privacy, and besides, I don’t think I can deal with her glow-in-the-dark weirdness right now.
I lie down on my bed and call Kayleigh. Or RYAN GOSLING, as she input herself in my contact list. I honestly don’t know who else to turn to. I don’t feel close enough to anyone at Thorn Abbey. Not even Max, who’d probably think I was delusional if I told him about this stuff.
Kayleigh picks up on the first ring, even though it’s late. “TESSIE!” she practically screams into the phone. “Ohmigod, how are you? Why are you calling me? You never call me. Are you in trouble?”
“Hi, K. No, I’m not in trouble.” I pause. “Well, maybe just a little.”
“I knew it. I was literally thinking about you this second. My psychic abilities always go insane with the full moon.”
“Uh. Okay. Listen. Something strange happened to me tonight. And . . .”
“Spill.”
I tell Kayleigh about the flying ember and how it burned me but didn’t burn me. I also tell her about Devon flashing fluorescent and the seagull, too.
When I’m finished, she says, “Ohmigod. That’s totally Ghost Town.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s only the most awesome TV show ever. Is Thane Abby old? Could it be haunted?”
“No. What I mean is, yes, it’s old, but no, I don’t think it’s haunted.”
“Don’t be so sure. Has anything else happened? Anything supernatural, that is?”
I consider this. My second day here, I imagined that someone snuck up on me from behind on the Kerrith stairs, making me fall. When I was at the library with Max, I imagined that Becca’s signature scorched my fingers. Then there was the tapping.
And Devon’s sleep-talking spells. And the crying from Gita’s room.
I relay all this to Kayleigh.
“If you want my opinion? I think we’re talking serious paranormal activity,” Kayleigh says when I’m finished. “Unless it’s drugs. You haven’t gotten into drugs, have you?”
“No!”
“Don’t be so touchy! I’m just asking. What about your roommate? Is she on something.”
“Maybe?”
“Although that wouldn’t explain the glowing. I don’t know of any drugs that make you glow. I’ll have to Wikipedia that.”
“Okay.”
“Listen, Tess. I’ll research all this for you and get back to you. Do you have any cat’s-eye?”
“Any what?” I picture a dead cat’s eye. Gross.
“Cat’s-eye. Peridot would work too. They’re gemstones that provide protection against evil. Check online. There’s a site called ‘The Magikal Owl’ that has awesome stuff. That’s ‘Magikal’ with a K.”
“I will,” I say, although I doubt I’ll be shopping at The Magikal Owl anytime soon. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Be safe, please? And call me like immediately if anything else happens.”
“I will. Bye, Kayleigh.”
“Bye, Tessie.”
I hang up and start getting ready for bed. I do feel a little better after talking with Kayleigh. It was good to hear a familiar, friendly voice.
Not that I buy any of her ideas about the supernatural. I don’t believe in ghosts or cat’s-eyes or any of this occult stuff.
On the other hand, what other explanation is there?
17.
AT 7:20 ON MONDAY NIGHT, I RUSH INTO CHAPIN, CHOMPING on a breath mint and swiping stray strands of hair out of my face. I’m running late. I was supposed to meet Max in the lobby five minutes ago so we could walk into tonight’s movie together: Double Indemnity, starring Barbara Stanwyck and Fred MacMurray.
I left Devon in our room, studying for a Spanish quiz. She’s been acting normal since the Corn Roast. Normal for Devon, anyway. She didn’t come home that night. Yesterday, she showed up around noon wearing her same clothes. She called me an “accident magnet” and asked me if I was okay after the bonfire incident. She also updated me on the lounge project. But that was all.
Maybe Kayleigh is right. Maybe Devon’s got a drug problem. That would explain so much.
Max is not in the lobby. I reach into my pocket for my phone to text him. It’s not there. It’s not in my backpack, either. Ugh. Did I leave it on the charger again?
“Looking f
or someone?”
An extremely cute blond guy stands in the doorway to the parlors. He has a slight British accent. Something about the way he looks at me—like I’m a fascinating insect or a particularly tasty snack—makes me blush.
“I, uh . . . no. I mean, yes. I’m meeting Max. Max De Villiers.”
He smiles affably. “Oh, you’re waiting for Maxi! You must be the new girlfriend. Lucky guy.”
Now I’m definitely blushing. “I’m Tess.”
He walks up to me and takes my hand. He raises it to his lips and kisses it lightly. “Killian. Killian Montgomery. I’m sure Maxi’s told you all about me.”
His name sounds familiar. “I don’t think so.”
“Really? I’m very offended. Let me keep you company while you wait for him.” Killian leads me by the hand to a blue velvet couch in the corner. Hanging above it is a painting of men on horseback chasing some poor little fox. At the moment, I can kind of relate to the fox. “So! You’re new, aren’t you? Where are you from? What do you think of our quaint little school? I’m sorry, I’m barraging you with questions, aren’t I?”
“Not at all.” Killian is still holding my hand. I gently pull it away and pretend to retie my ponytail. The front door opens and closes as a group of students make their way to the parlors for the movie, but no Max. “I’m from upstate. New York, that is. Thorn Abbey is really nice. It’s—” I pause, trying to figure out what I can say that won’t make me sound like a school brochure.
But before I can go on, Killian cuts in. “It’s full of trust-fund babies and backstabbing bitches? I couldn’t agree with you more. Of course, if I had to be perfectly honest, I probably fall into one or both categories. But don’t hold that against me. I promise you, we’re going to be best friends.”
“We are?”
“We are. Wait, didn’t I hear about a demonic fireball attacking you at the hoedown on Saturday? Have you recovered? You certainly look perky.”
A demonic fireball. Killian’s description is eerily accurate. “I’m fine,” I say. It’s the same thing I’ve been repeating to people for the past two days.
“Well, good! I got to the party late and missed all the drama. And speaking of parties, why weren’t you at mine?”
