Moby Clique

by Cara Lockwood

  I put up my hand in a little wave, but Heathcliff just shoves his hands in his pockets and walks quickly in the other direction.

  It’s official. My life should be declared a national disaster.

  Nine

  The next day, I look for Heathcliff everywhere, but can’t find him. I feel like I need to explain.

  “Have you guys seen Heathcliff?” I ask Blade, Hana, and Samir, who are gathered for what they call dinner in the cafeteria. We’ve just finished eating and we’re piling our trays on the conveyer belts near the exits.

  “Not since fifth period,” Blade says. “And he seemed to be in one of his moods.”

  “I don’t think he has moods. I think he just has one mood,” Hana says.

  “Yeah, royally pissed off,” Samir adds.

  “He’s not surly all the time,” I say, thinking about the afternoon on the commons. He definitely smiled at me then.

  The three of them give me skeptical glances as we push through the doors and head outside. “Oh yeah, he’s only surly when he breathes, that’s all,” Blade says.

  “You think he frowns in his sleep?” Hana asks.

  “If he even sleeps at all,” Samir says. “Do fictional characters need to sleep? He certainly doesn’t seem to need to eat, since he’s skipped most of the cafeteria meals around here.”

  “He does need to eat, and I’m sure he needs to sleep,” I say. “He’s just like us.”

  “Yeah, only he’s actually a figment of somebody’s imagination,” Hana points out.

  “Does that mean I’m a figment, too?” I ask.

  “No, you’re only one-sixteenth a figment,” Blade says.

  “Or is it one-twenty seventh?” Hana asks.

  “Hey, guys, look,” Blade says, pointing to a new bulletin board outside the cafeteria. Over the top, bold letters read: REWARD FOR INFORMATION. Below it, there’s one photograph of a Bard student in a Bard blazer.

  “You think that’s the runaway?” Hana asks.

  “Looks like it,” Samir says. “Or, could be anything. What kind of information are they looking for? I could tell them that this guy needs a haircut. You think that’s good for cash?”

  It’s true that the Bard student in the poster has a shaggy mane of blond hair, like a skater.

  I make a move toward the board, but my forward momentum is stopped by a hand on my wrist. I glance back and see Heathcliff standing there in the dusk.

  “Where the heck did you come from?” Samir asks him, as he and Hana both look startled to find themselves standing next to Heathcliff, who does seem to be able to materialize just about anywhere he wants to. It doesn’t hurt that he seems to know all the secret passageways on campus.

  Heathcliff doesn’t answer them, he just shrugs.

  I always forget how tall he is, and how broad his shoulders are. And his eyes are so dark they’re almost black.

  “Heathcliff! I’ve been looking all over—” I don’t get to finish my sentence because he cuts into it.

  “I’ve got something to show you,” he tells me.

  “Come on, guys,” Blade says. “I think this is our cue to go.”

  Heathcliff ignores my friends as they turn down the path that will take them to the library. He is looking at me expectantly, his dark eyes fixed on mine and his hand still firmly around my wrist.

  I turn away from Blade, Samir, and Hana, even as they are already several steps from me, and let Heathcliff lead me on a path toward the woods.

  His hand slips down, and he laces his fingers through mine.

  I guess he isn’t mad, after all.

  Nervously, I glance around us, but I don’t see any sign of faculty members or Guardians, and it’s nearly dark. Even if someone did see us, we’d look like two average Bard students in uniform, except for the fact that Heathcliff is so tall and broad. His hand nearly entirely covers mine.

  Heathcliff heads straight for the woods.

  “But…” I start. I think about the “dudes” that Blade’s friends saw in the woods. Not to mention, if Guardians catch us, the faculty could have us suspended or worse. They could send the dogs after us.

  Then again, Heathcliff is the last person to worry about rules. He makes his own.

  “Trust me,” Heathcliff whispers, and it’s all the assurance I need as I let him lead me into the dark path between the trees.

  Somehow, being with him, I don’t fear getting caught, by Guardians or by whatever we might find in the woods. In general, being with Heathcliff makes me feel safe, probably because he’s more dangerous than whatever we’re going to run into out here.

  Heathcliff doesn’t say a word, he just keeps his hand closed tightly over mine, leading me deeper into the woods. He walks as if he knows where he’s going, and he even seems to know instinctively where the low-lying tree branches are, and how to avoid walking on tree stumps.

  Above the tree tops, the moon is rising. It’s big and full and sheds a silvery glow on everything.

  I want to say something, ask Heathcliff where we’re going, but it just doesn’t seem right to talk.

  Suddenly, we reach a clearing not too far from where we entered the woods, and there’s a small pond there. Heathcliff stops, and when I look up at him, he just puts a finger to his lips.

  I glance over at the still, mirrored top of the pond, reflecting the trees and the bright moon above our heads and wait. It’s gorgeous, no doubt. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so peaceful.

  While I’m looking at the pond, a few sparks of light appear. And then a few more.

  Fireflies.

  They skid over the lake, flashing their bright yellow lights. It starts with a few, and before I know it, there are not just dozens, but hundreds of them, all dancing over the surface of the pond. Tiny, flashing points of light flying above the water and reflected within.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say in a whisper, leaning closer to Heathcliff.

  This is what makes him so hard to figure out. He’s known for getting into fights and for his merciless seeking of revenge in Wuthering Heights, but he’s also got a sensitive side, too. He’s nothing if not complicated.

  I look up and study Heathcliff’s face as he watches the fireflies. The silver moonlight glints on his dark curly hair. His dark eyes, as usual, are unreadable. He looks down at me, holding my gaze for a long time. He doesn’t seem like a fictional character. He seems very real.

  I remember the last time we were this close. We were in a secret passageway last semester, and Heathcliff kissed me. I remember his lips, warm and sure, and the taste of him. Salty.

  I want him closer. So very much closer.

  Before even thinking about the repercussions, I grab the collar of his Bard blazer and pull him closer, and he turns to me as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and then we’re kissing, and it’s everything I remembered and more.

  Ten

  As Heathcliff pulls me close to him, hard against his chest, faint alarm bells in the back of my head are going off, the ones reminding me that should we be caught kissing, Heathcliff will be banished from Bard forever. While I know I should pull away, I can’t. I’ve literally turned into jelly. Heathcliff puts his hand on the back of my neck, and then trails the other one down my back. My knees buckle a little and then Heathcliff pulls me even closer to his chest and deepens the kiss.

  I know I should stop, but I don’t want to. I want this to last forever. No one should smell and taste this good.

  It’s Heathcliff who pulls away first. I feel a rush of cold air on my face as he pulls away from me, and my eyes flutter open, surprised. Why did he stop?

  I try to read his expression in the dark, but he’s got his head turned away from me. And that’s when I hear it.

  A small branch breaking. Someone or something is walking near us. Maybe ten or twelve feet away.

  I stiffen.

  Heathcliff puts his finger to his lips to tell me to be quiet, and then he pulls me closer to his chest and shifts a
little, so that there’s a large oak tree between us and whatever is moving around. He’s got my back to the tree and is peering over my shoulder.

  I hear another couple of steps, and I can’t help myself, I turn to look. In the moonlight, I see that it’s a person, although I can’t tell if it’s a student or a Guardian. I whip my head back around and flatten myself to the tree. Heathcliff pushes himself against me, his entire body tense.

  I suddenly realize that should we be found out here, it would be mandatory expulsion for Heathcliff. Even if we tried to tell them nothing was happening between us, I doubt they’d believe us.

  We listen as the footsteps fade, and I start to think things are probably fine, and I make a move toward the campus, but Heathcliff restrains me. I glance at him and he shakes his head slowly from side to side.

  That’s when I hear more footsteps. A second person. I peek around the tree and clearly see it’s a man, but he’s no Guardian. Or teacher, either. He looks a lot like a pirate. He’s got a handkerchief tied around his head and he’s wearing threadbare clothes, pants cut off at the knees, and no shoes. Are these the guys Blade’s friends saw? They don’t look like they belong in this century. They look like they’re extras from the set of Pirates of the Caribbean. I suddenly remember Samir talking about pirate treasure on the island. Does that mean there are also pirates?

  Pirate Man is followed by a second, who is carrying something large slung over his shoulder. It looks like another person. In fact, it looks like a Bard student, a boy. I see white socks and the dark blazer, and a shaggy mop of blond hair. Wait…I know that kid from somewhere. I strain to get a closer look. Yep. He’s the guy in the poster on the bulletin board. The one who supposedly ran away. But he looks like he’s not doing any running now. He’s definitely being kidnapped.

  I try to move away from the tree, but Heathcliff holds me fast. We can’t just let crazy men dressed up as pirates take a Bard student.

  I nod my head furiously at the men and then at Heathcliff, trying to tell him that we ought to do something, but Heathcliff just shakes his head. I can’t believe he’s just going to let these guys—whoever they are—kidnap a Bard student. It’s clearly what they’re doing. We can’t just let them.

  I try to wriggle away from Heathcliff, and in my haste to do so, my foot lands on a dried branch and it cracks, loudly, beneath my foot. I let out an involuntary “oh” and the footsteps around us stop. They heard me, clearly.

  Heathcliff throws his body against mine, crushing me to his chest and muffling my face. Behind me, I hear the footsteps stop, and then more rustling around us. Suddenly, the woods around us seem to come alive with footsteps. Apparently the two guys weren’t the only ones in the group. There were more men and they seem to be surrounding us.

  Uh-oh. I didn’t count on that.

  “Run,” Heathcliff hisses in my ear, pushing me away from the tree.

  I don’t need to be told twice.

  I take off through the woods, branches whipping at my face as I blindly run toward campus. I hear Heathcliff behind me, thrashing through the brush. There’s a crashing sound, and I turn to see Heathcliff in a struggle with what look to be two men. One of them has little or no teeth and his mouth is open in a big O as he chases us. The other is the shirtless guy who has no shoes.

  I stop and look around for something heavy to smack one of them with, but even as I do so, Heathcliff quickly gets the upper hand. He smashes the head of one against a nearby tree and then kicks the other in the groin. Both men, dazed and startled, fall to the ground, moaning.

  Heathcliff pushes himself away from them and grabs my hand, leading me back toward Bard Academy. I hear footsteps closing in behind us. I don’t know how many men there are, but it sounds like a lot. Heathcliff tugs hard on my arm. Up ahead, I can see the lights of campus, and I hear the bell tolling, warning us that it’s five minutes until curfew. My legs pump harder, but I still feel like I’m falling behind, and the footsteps behind us are getting closer.

  Heathcliff glances back at me and then behind me, a worried look on his face, as we whip through the trees. And then, just as we’re five feet from the campus green, Heathcliff yanks my arm hard, swinging me around and in front of him. He’s so strong that he catapults me straight through the edge of the trees and onto the landscaped grass. I tumble onto the green, lose my footing, and fall on both knees and my hands, skidding to an ungraceful stop.

  I roll over, thinking Heathcliff is going to emerge any second, but all I see is him being pulled back by two sets of hands.

  “Heathcliff!”

  “Go!” he shouts at me, as he’s dragged back into the forest. “Leave me!”

  I hear grunts and groans, and what sounds like a scuffle. Then, silence.

  “Heathcliff?” I call softly. When he doesn’t answer me, I shout louder. “Heathcliff!”

  I glance at the line of the woods, frozen to the spot. Should I go back in and look for Heathcliff? Or should I run to get help? And why aren’t the men, or whatever they are, coming after me?

  After another second, I decide I can’t just leave him. I take a step into the tree line, right where Heathcliff disappeared, but I don’t see anyone. Everything is quiet. Eerily quiet, as I look from side to side. All I see are tree trunks and tree branches. No sign of Heathcliff or his attackers. And no one is making a sound.

  This is dumb. Oh so very dumb. I am so going to regret this.

  I step over a tree trunk, and suddenly am caught from behind. A strong hand comes tightly over my mouth.

  I squirm and struggle, even as my attacker lifts me easily off the ground, my feet kicking air. In a last-ditch effort, I swing an elbow hard backward, hoping to land in his stomach, which it does, and his grip relaxes a little. I fall forward inches away from the campus lawn and my attacker falls to the ground next to me.

  It turns out to be Heathcliff.

  He groans and rubs his stomach. “What did you do that for?” he says, clutching his side and breathing hard.

  Glad to see him alive, I throw my arms around him and hug him close. He grunts as I nearly tackle him flat.

  “Besides, I thought I told you to go,” he says in my ear.

  “I guess I’m not very good at following directions,” I say, releasing him from my hug. “Are you okay?” I inspect him for damage and notice he’s got a small cut above his left eye, and that his knuckles are bleeding.

  “Fine, until you hit me,” he says, wincing as I help him to his feet. We start walking back to my dorm.

  “Who were those guys?” I ask him. “They looked like pirates.”

  “I don’t know, but I’ve seen them around since school started,” he says.

  “What did they want with a Bard student?”

  Heathcliff shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  The bell tower tolls five more times, signaling the fact that I have less than a minute to get to my dorm before curfew. I remember Ms. W warning me about disobeying any Bard rules and the juvie consequences, and I realize I have to go. Heathcliff senses it, too.

  “You’re safe for now,” he says. “They don’t come onto campus grounds, at least not that I’ve seen. The student must have wandered into the woods.”

  “I should warn Lindsay, though, just in case,” I say. “Make sure she stays clear of the woods.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll do it,” Heathcliff says. “You get back to your dorm. Tell Ms. P what’s going on.”

  Eleven

  Despite running all the way to my dorm, I miss curfew by literally a nanosecond. The last bell tolls as I sprint into the door, and come face-to-face with Ms. P.

  “You’re late,” she says, tapping her watch.

  “By…a…second…” I wheeze, still trying to catch my breath and putting my hands on my knees. Surely, she’s not going to punish me for a second?

  “That means an extra week of toilet duty,” she says curtly.

  “But, Ms. P, that’s not fair,” I say, straightening. “And besides, it w
asn’t my fault.”

  I explain to her about the guys who looked like pirates, and the fact that they were carrying the Bard runaway, and how someone needs to go into the woods after them.

  “Just what were you doing off campus? And who were you with?” Ms. P asks me. These are not the questions I’m expecting. She doesn’t seem too perturbed by the idea of pirates kidnapping Bard students.

  “Is that really important? I mean, the pirates or whatever…”

  “Of course, it’s important. Anytime you break campus rules it’s important.”

  “Ms. P, punish me later, okay? Can we deal with the bigger problems first? Like kidnapped students?”

  Ms. P frowns at me. “Fine,” she says. “I’ll go now to Headmaster B and see if we can get this sorted out.”

  She turns to leave me.

  “Ms. P?” She doesn’t even know how many we saw. She doesn’t know all the specifics. “Wait…” I say, grabbing her skirt reflexively. As I do, a small picture frame falls out of her pocket. It clatters to the ground in front of me. “Sorry,” I say, reaching down to pick it up. I see it’s a picture of two small children. Are they hers? The ones she left behind?

  “I’ll take that,” Ms. P says abruptly, whipping the photograph out of my hand. She scowls at me, and then quickly drops the framed photo into her pocket again.

  “Um, so I don’t have an extra week of toilet duty?” I ask, hopeful.

  “Oh no. You do have toilet duty,” Ms. P says, setting her lips in a thin line. “It doesn’t matter why you were late, you were still late. And I think I’ll add on an extra week since you just admitted to me that you went into the forest. Another Bard rule broken. Now, off to bed! That is, unless you want to add another week?”