“The pancakes are really good,” I said, smiling weakly.
“Thank you,” Bea said, returning to her own food with no further acknowledgment.
Bea and I were eating our breakfast in relative silence again. I was learning to appreciate her cooking but she didn’t seem to be warming up to me any. Though still nervous about going to school - I was only just finishing my first week - I was gaining a small amount of appetite in the mornings, which was for the best. Her disapproval seemed to lessen when I ate her food. It helped that it was actually really good. I’d never had homemade pancakes before - I’d had some decent ones at restaurants, but nothing like this. I sipped on orange juice while she drank black coffee. A plate of bacon sat between us, but I hadn’t touched it. I still couldn’t tell her I was vegetarian.
“Are you making any friends at school?” she asked suddenly, and I nearly choked on a piece of pancake.
“Um...ah...not yet,” I admitted.
“Why not?” she asked bluntly.
“They’re not um...they don’t...”
“Speak up, Juliet.”
“Everyone seems to have groups of friends already,” I said quickly. “It’s, um, not that big a deal.” I mean, I wasn’t in elementary school. But if I was honest with myself, it was a big deal. I had been almost invisible at my old school, and I was so tired of feeling so alone. But what was my other option? Being rejected?
“You need to be more assertive,” Bea stated. “Just introduce yourself to people and start talking. Eventually you’ll find someone with similar interests.”
Easy for you to say, I thought. “I’m...not sure assertive is in my blood,” I laughed weakly.
Bea gave me a strange look. “It is. Just...try to make some nice, normal friends. I know there are some weird kids at that school...what about Hayley Dupree? She’s a normal girl,” she stated, taking a swig of coffee.
Maybe a little too normal for me.
Ms. Miller was late to class. That hadn’t happened before. I had my mother’s blank journal in my bag, and I occupied myself by searching the pages, fiber by fiber, for the hundredth time. It had to mean something. My fingers traced my mother’s imprinted name as the tardy chemistry teacher burst into the door, all smiles and energy. I closed the journal self-consciously.
“End of term science projects,” Ms. Miller declared, grinning from ear to ear. “These are going to be a lot of fun, I promise. I’ve picked out some really interesting ones. They’re a little too complex for just two people, so what we’re going to do is, I’m going to be putting two tables together for these.”
Mac’s hand shot up. “Do we get to pick our own partners?” he asked.
“I’m assigning them,” Ms. Miller stated, “to avoid unfair grouping.” Her eyes flicked briefly to the left side of the room. Was she looking at Hayley’s table, or Kei’s? Or both? “You’ll be working out the kinks of the experiment you’re assigned, and writing a paper on the experiment’s premise and the lessons you learn creating it. And you’ll prepare a booth to showcase your work at the holiday school festival in two weeks to your families and the school board.”
There were a couple of groans from around the room.
“None of that,” Ms. Miller said, folding her arms. “The festival is a big deal. It sounds like a lot of work, I know, but it will be a lot of fun. There’s a party afterwards, after all.” She smiled. “New students may not be aware, but we can put on quite a shindig.”
“Shindig?” I murmured softly, trying out the old-fashioned word.
Next to me, Camille cracked a smile.
“So!” Ms. Miller said. “Assignments. Here we go. Jacques and Holly, you’re with Errol and Raeleene.” She gave them all handouts. “You’ll be looking at supercooling fluids. Brandon and McKenna, you’re with Yu-Tien and Kristoff. You guys get the effects of polarity on a stream of water. Very cool. Juliet and Camille, you’re with Rhys and Kei.”
My heart seized up. What, really? Work on a project with him for the next two weeks? There was no way I was suave enough to get through this...
I blankly accepted the papers from Ms. Miller describing our experiment. Something to do with color changing chemicals. I vaguely noticed that Mac and Destin were paired with Hayley and Amity, and neither Mac nor Hayley looked happy about it. I guess some siblings just didn’t get along.
Kei made a sly little wave in our direction. I flushed. Camille rolled her eyes and focused on the experiment handout, frowning at the list of chemical equations. I tried to do the same. We were making invisible ink? I regarded it with new interest. This could actually be really cool. And it didn’t look too complex, all you had to do was get the ratios right...
“Alright,” Ms. Miller said. “You can group up and start divvying up tasks. You should start working on getting your experiment right - a gorgeous display won’t help you in the least if you fail the basic science.”
Kei pulled over his chair and wedged it between Camille and I. He curled an arm around each of our shoulders. “I love getting to know new people,” he said.
Camille smacked his arm away. Unfazed, he turned his nearly-invisible smile on me. “We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Kei. Your turn,” he said.
“Jul,” I said, certain I was bright red. My skin just wasn’t quite dark enough to hide a blush, to my misfortune.
“There, that wasn’t so bad. We’re a team now, Jul. You, me, Grumpy, and Grumpy.” He looked up at his friend, approaching the table. “This is the illustrious Rhys Ryan; he would murder me in my sleep if he could, but he can’t, so he’s stuck with me.”
“Ignore him, he has no personal boundaries,” Rhys said flatly, eyes on the supply list.
“What?” Kei protested. “Someone has to be friendly, and it’s not going to be you.”
Kei wasn’t kidding; Rhys did not look happy to be here. He really was startlingly handsome, but he was completely devoid of Kei’s easy charm. Rhys scribbled four quick notes on the list. “Here’s how this is going to go,” he stated with authority, brushing dark hair out of the palest blue eyes I’d ever seen. “I’ll write the paper. You two will make the display and run the booth. Kei will get in our way.”
“Not fair,” Camille objected.
“It’s not fair but it’s realistic,” Rhys said flatly, handing me the list. The look on his face would brook no discussion.
“Don’t listen to him, I’ll be very helpful,” Kei said, drawing an ‘x’ over his heart.
I became aware in my periphery that we were getting scrutiny from two directions. Mac, glancing over his shoulder, seemed just as unhappy with Kei as Rhys was, and - I swallowed nervously - Hayley was glaring daggers at me. Well, Kei’s arm was still around my shoulders. Were they a couple or weren’t they?
I stood up abruptly. “I’ll, um, get the materials,” I said by way of excuse. I went up to the front of the room. The supply cabinet was next to Ms. Miller’s desk. She glanced at me apologetically as I picked through the bottles of chemicals.
“Sorry,” she murmured, low enough that only I could hear. “This wasn’t my idea.”
“Wha...” Did she mean the project, or the grouping? I turned to ask her what she meant, but Mac had come up on my other side.
“Is he bothering you?” he asked. “If he is, you should ask to switch groups. Ms. Miller, can she switch groups?”
“No one is switching groups,” she told him, but a small smile marred her mostly-serious decree. “Get your stuff, go back to your table, and worry about your own project.”
I carried a tray of vials and chemicals back to our table, careful this time not to spill anything. I was going to be calmer now, I told myself. I was going to be cool and collected. It didn’t work at all.
Kei was thumbing through my mother’s blank journal. “Hmm? This is a boring book,” he said.
“Ah!” I reached for it, but he evaded me, fanning the pages like a flipbook.
“I was hoping for some juicy secrets.” He
noticed the name embossed inside the cover. “Who’s Kyra?”
“Um, me,” I said, not sure why I was lying.
“Hm, a nom de plume? You’re not very prolific,” he said, handing the journal back. “You might want to work on that.”
“Yes,” I agreed. Anything to return it safe to my bag. I reached for it again, and again he snatched it back.
“Unless...” he mused, picking up one of the vials Camille had mixed.
“Hey!” Camille snapped.
“Kei, please,” I said, “It’s just a blank journal I got.”
“People only defend what’s valuable to them,” he stated, pouring the liquid over the exposed pages. I looked in despair at my mother’s soggy journal. Had he ruined it?
The page color began to change, as if dark ink were bleeding across the paper. For just a second, I thought I saw something. Then the black vanished as the paper dried, back to blank once more.
Kei shrugged. “I guess you were right,” he said, setting the journal in front of me. “Oh well. Hey, I’m hungry. Rhys, have you got any snacks?”
“Do I ever have snacks?” Rhys grumbled.
“Hope never dies,” Kei said. “C’est la vie.” He wandered to the door.
“Class is still in session,” Ms. Miller reprimanded him.
“Snacks,” he shrugged. “I might come back.”
Ms. Miller sat back in her seat, clearly frustrated with him. Mac was looking after him suspiciously.
I slumped back in my seat, depressed at the state of my mother’s journal. The curled pages were tinged with chemical stains. It was ruined. Why would he treat my things so carelessly? Did he think that little of me?
“Oh, calm down,” Rhys said, with a disdainful glance. “He’s only doing it because he’s bored. It has nothing to do with you.”
My heart clenched up. “O-oh...” I said, pretending to resume working on the equation, but I felt numb. His words were like a slap in the face. Even if it was true, it was a cruel thing to say.
Camille spared a glare at Rhys, laid down her pen and pushed out of her chair. She stalked out of the classroom as well.
“Camille...” Ms. Miller warned.
“Bathroom,” she replied tersely, the door clicking loud behind her.
This was just going badly all around. I would at least finish the experiment.
I reached for another vial that Camille had prepared, but my eye caught on the list of instructions. Ammonia. It called for a cotton ball soaked in ammonia to turn the ink visible. I hadn’t smelled anything that strong when Kei had doused the journal. I picked up and sniffed the empty vial, and smelled nothing. I took another from the rack Camille had made - the bitter aroma was strong. Had Kei used the wrong vial?
I glanced at Rhys, but he was preoccupied reading a book. Well, what did I have to lose? I took a cotton ball and dipped it in the ammonia. I opened the journal to a page that was mostly dry, and swiped a corner. Blue-black ink bloomed to life, curling designs across the page. My heart beat fast, and I closed the journal quickly, before anyone else could see.
This was just for me.
Camille
Camille strode down the hallway. Sakamoto was standing in front of another lab door, inspecting the lock. He glanced at her approach and returned his attention to the windowless barrier. “It’s a perfect seal,” he said, running a finger along the door jamb. “Couldn’t squeeze a molecule in there without the ice queen’s permission. What do you think she’s got locked in there?”
She didn’t care about any of his momentary obsessions. “Leave Jul alone,” Camille said. “She hasn’t done anything.”
He whistled. “That was almost a speech, coming from you. Your angst is misplaced, though. I mean no harm, I come in peace,” he said, raising his hands innocently. A tiny smile played on his lips. “I like Jul, I really do. She blushes easily. I like everyone, really. Some people are just more interesting than others. You, for example. Why do you care? She’s a complete stranger to you.”
Because she looks sad, and lost, and alone, and I know what that’s like, Camille thought. But she wasn’t about to go spilling her guts to this idiot. She took a step closer, effortlessly falling into a relaxed stance, just in case.
He noticed, and took interest. “I saw what you did to Hyde the other day,” Sakamoto said.
“You weren’t there.”
“I saw. Poor bastard. Is that your idea of conflict resolution?”
“Yes,” she said simply. What did he mean, he saw? He hadn’t been in the dojo, she was certain of it.
“Dear me,” he said with perfect calm. “That’s too bad. I’m not allowed to fight, you know. I really, really wanted to, but Ikeda just won’t teach me. Said I’m all wrong,” he smiled. “Whatever that means.”
He was being vague on purpose. Camille frowned. “You’re warned,” she said, turning to walk back to the classroom.
“You may have to warn me again,” he called after her.
When she got back to the classroom, Jul was already finishing the experiment. The journal, she’d put away. That was disrespectful, what Sakamoto had done. She bent over her own worksheet and scrawled out a cartoon image of Sakamoto saying ‘I’m an ass,’ and passed it to Jul.
Jul covered a short laugh. “Thanks,” she said, and returned to finishing an equation with a smile.
Kei Sakamoto was the least of her problems. She had remedial English with Tailor at the public library later that day, after school. Gabriel dropped her off in the parking lot. She looked out of the windshield at the giant three-story building. It vaguely reminded her of a European-style castle.
“I’m going to get lost in there,” she complained.
“Oh, Tailor won’t let you get lost,” Gabriel said lightly, leaning over the steering wheel to look at the place as well.
“Why can’t we just do this at school like normal?” Camille asked, slumping back in her seat.
“You do what your teacher asks,” he said. “That’s how it works. However...”
“However what?”
“Well, I know I’m supposed to tell you to listen to everything he says, but...”
“But what?” she demanded, frustrated by his evasion.
“Don’t listen to everything he says,” he shrugged. “Especially not today.”
“More explanation, please.”
“Hmm.” He looked up at the building’s almost-turrets. “Because I can’t go in there.”
“You’re not allowed?” she said, thinking it was strange to be disallowed from a public building.
“No, I can’t. I’m not saying people will be angry if I go in - though they would - I’m saying that I literally can’t enter that building. It would be an embarrassing spectacle to attempt it.”
Camille wasn’t sure how to react. This was new.
“So,” Gabriel continued, “I have a feeling that Tailor will use the opportunity to try to, ah, make me look bad.”
“You always look bad,” Camille said, looking at him askance. “When are you getting a haircut?”
“Speak for yourself, tumbleweed,” he said, tucking his hair behind his ears. “Anyway, just...whatever he says...take it with a grain of salt, alright? He knows a lot of things, and people who know a lot tend to assume they know the things they don’t.”
The sentence twisted around in her head. She thought she knew what he meant. “Awkward phrasing.”
“And please remember to speak English,” Gabriel said.
“They’re English lessons,” she returned, “Of course I speak English.”
“Oh good,” he said. “At least the time’s not wasted. I’ll be back in an hour, kiddo.”
Camille entered the library with trepidation. It wasn’t just the thought of some kind of barrier - whatever kept Gabriel out - possibly blocking her as well. It was also the thought of so many books in English stacked to the ceiling for three stories. It made her think of scuba diving, for some reason. Getting thrown into the ocean, w
ith nothing between you and certain death but some spandex and a tiny air tank, maybe. This was like that. Except instead of an air tank all she had was Tailor. Supposedly. She looked around cautiously. He was nowhere to be seen. He said he’d be here.
Somehow the main floor of the library reminded her a little of a space ship. It had this circular sort of kiosk that served as the main desk in the center, with three main areas branching off. Its roof supported the open curving stairwell up to the second floor. The desk would be the bridge of the ship, she decided, even though she doubted whoever ran the library would be sitting there giving directions to college students who couldn’t find a copy of Beowulf.
She was surprised by how attractive and...large...this library was. She hadn’t expected it from a city this size. Plants trailed down the sides of the stairs and it sounded like there was some kind of fountain on an upper floor. In the children’s section off to the right, two little boys played hide and seek between bookshelves until their mother caught them and scolded them in hushed tones. To the left, it was much quieter. ‘Reference Section’ was imprinted on an overhead sign in bold, blocky letters. That was definitely not where she wanted to be. Maybe Tailor was upstairs...?
An alarm went off, loud and whining. Camille winced, covering her ears, her sensitive ears ringing. She realized she’d just walked through the metal detectors. Of course. This again.
Everyone on the first floor was staring at her. She could feel a flush creeping up her neck. She hoped this wouldn’t be as bad as the airport had been. Explaining to an overzealous American security guard that you couldn’t take off the hunk of metal on your arm, with virtually no English to explain yourself - well, that had been difficult. It had taken all of Gabriel’s charm to get them through customs. But Gabriel couldn’t come in here.
“Excuse me?” said a wiry, elderly woman at the front desk. Her expression was pinched as the alarm ended.
Camille held up her left arm, pointing to it with her right.
“Is that so,” the woman said. “Come here and let me see your bag.”
The Thief Page 9
