“Must be the circuit breaker,” Fraser says. “Everyone stay put. I’ll call maintenance.” He turns to walk toward the phone on the wall.
I hear a loud crack. The huge roll of pull-down maps that hangs over the chalkboard crashes to the floor, right beside Mr. Fraser. Other students gasp along with a few oh my Gods from the girls and holy craps from the boys.
“It’s okay. I’m okay,” Fraser says, grabbing the phone receiver. He looks shaken up despite his words, his face droopy and ashen, his eyes wide.
Stop, I say in my head to Avery. He’s one pissed-off dead dude, but I don’t want him to do something really crazy. So far, his antics can be explained away, but he’s getting dangerously close to the edge of reasonable.
Fraser gets through to someone and has a brief conversation while several boys get up to examine the maps. When I look up again, Fraser’s cheerless eyes are on me. He’s hung up the phone, and he’s staring at me. Two girls glance over at me then back at him. I know by his expression that this isn’t the first time the ghost has messed with him. I guess I forgot to seem scared and surprised by the scene Avery made.
Luckily, Fraser snaps out of his little gawking moment quickly and moves to help the boys with the maps. “Just drag it over there. I’ll deal with it later,” Fraser tells them.
The lights come back on, and the class gets back to normal. I think I’m in the clear until it’s time to go.
“Jade, could I speak with you before you leave?” Fraser asks.
Crap! Having to talk to a teacher after class is never good.
I stop in front of his desk, but he sits fumbling with his laptop, ignoring me until everyone else is gone.
After glancing up at the empty room, he looks back at me and asks, “How’s your first week going?”
I shift on my feet. “Fine. Other than the concussion.”
“Are you making friends? Finding everything okay?” He leans back in his seat, clasping his hands over his stomach.
I shift my eyes to his face and see that he’s scanning my body. I know I have big boobs, but teachers are usually a little more subtle about looking. “Yes. I met Kira before school started, and she’s been helping me.”
“Great. If you ever have any questions, feel free to come and see me. Do you have an advisor yet?”
I nod. “Yes. Mrs. Gibson.” I cross my arms over my chest in a weak attempt to deflect his wandering eyes.
“Okay. Before the first test, I’d like you to come and see me for a study session. My tests are very difficult, and since you weren’t here last year, I’ll need to prep you for it. You don’t want to find yourself in over your head.” He watches me intensely.
I can’t tell if this whole scene is about the test, the ghost incident, or about something else entirely.
He tilts forward. “The test is Tuesday so perhaps on Monday?”
“Okay. But I’m supposed to be resting. You know, because of the concussion.”
“I won’t keep you long. Does Monday work?”
“All right,” I answer weakly, wishing I had a good excuse not to be alone with him.
“Great. Have a good weekend.”
“Bye.” I race out of the room and exhale a huge breath once I’m in the hall. I really hope he’s just being helpful. That could have been slanted either way, depending on the point of view, and I may just be hypersensitive because of all the rumors. The teachers here are supposed to give a lot of individual attention, and he does seem to take his teacher role very seriously.
Dad brings me home right after school and heads back to work. I decide to walk the mile to Starbucks to meet Connie. When I arrive, the scent of rich brewed coffee and sugary treats fills my nose. The trek from my house has both invigorated and exhausted me, I think, because of the concussion. I look around for Connie. I have the luxury of knowing what she looks like, but she’s flying blind when it comes to me. I quickly spot her. She’s dressed in her signature white and seated on a banquette that spans one wall. She has a tablet on the table in front of her. Her website picture must have been professionally touched up or taken a long time ago because the real Connie Mollica looks about ten years farther down the road of life than the website Connie.
I swallow my trepidation and nerves, march over, and stop beside her table. “Hi. I’m Jade.” I nervously reach up and touch my key.
She takes me in as if I’m of great interest. “Nice to meet you, Jade.” She extends a pale, wrinkled hand. We shake, but her hand remains limp in mine. “Are you going to get some coffee?” She bobs her head at the counter.
“No. Not today.” I drop into the seat across from her. “I have a concussion. I’m a little bruised on my cheek, too. It’s hard to see because I’m black, but it’s there.” That was dumb, but my nerves are getting the best of me.
She puts on a concerned adult face. “Goodness. What happened?”
“Oh, just soccer. I got hit by the ball. No biggie really.”
Something about Connie makes me feel sort of comfortable with her. I can tell she’s probably not an evil blackmailer like Martin, and she most likely won’t pull any shady stuff.
“Okay.” She lowers her voice. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about your ghost?”
I glance around to see if our neighbors are eavesdropping. “I think he drowned,” I tell her. “And I think it was recent because of his clothes. He isn’t wearing old-fashion clothes.” I look around again and lower my voice. “He might be a teacher who killed himself.”
Connie leans across the table toward me. “What school do you go to?” she asks softly.
“Layton Academy.”
Connie nods, making her giant hoop earrings shake. “I remember hearing about him.”
“Yeah. Do you think you could help me? I moved one on this summer with my grandmother, but I don’t want to try it alone.”
“Yes, I think I can. You’ve only done this with one spirit?”
“Yeah. At my mom’s house in Nantucket.”
She smiles. “It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. How many have you done?”
“Hmm, probably around fifteen,” she says, wrinkling her forehead. “The last one was in the spring.”
This is good news. Fifteen? That’s a lot of ghosts by my standards.
“Is it always the same? Like you summon the voices from the other side and you talk to the spirit about how it’s safe for them to go now?”
“Yes, more or less. Every seer has their own prayers and methods. I prefer candles and certain crystals, depending on the reason the ghost is still here. If your grandmother was experienced, I’m sure she had her own personal methods. What tradition was she from?”
“Bakongo. She descended from West African slaves who lived in South Carolina.”
Connie nods. “I know this tradition.”
“Great! So you’ll help me? Soon?”
“Yes. I’m thinking that maybe we should spend a bit more time together before we actually perform the ceremony, though.” Connie purses her lips and seems to be thinking hard.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just think I need to do a reading on you. I’m getting very strong waves of emotion. Your aura is all over the place.”
“My aura?”
“Yes. May I see your palm for a moment?” She extends her hand across the table.
I put both my hands in my lap and clench them together. “It’s probably just because I have a lot going on.” I shrug. “Really, I mean, I’m going through a ton of stuff. I miss my boyfriend, and I have this hot guy at school hitting on me, and these rich girls are my new friends. Plus the ghost—”
She interrupts my babbling to say, “Would you be more comfortable coming back to my shop to do it?”
“Shop?”
“Yes, it’s down by the water. Not far. I sell jewelry and new age reading material and crystals. You should have some Blue Jade. I’m getting a very strong feeling about that.”
My mouth drops open slightly, and I have to tell myself to close it. “Um, I don’t think I can today. My dad will be wondering where I am, so I have to get home.”
She leans over again, causing the aroma of incense and lavender to drift over to me. “Come tomorrow or Sunday then, and we’ll talk some more.” She places her business card on the table. “My cell number is on here. Call me if you need to.”
“Um, okay…” Putting it off seems good. It will give me time to think.
“It was nice meeting you.” She drops her tablet into her large hippie satchel, stands with a flourish, and traipses out.
“You too,” I say as she goes.
I decide I sort of like Connie. She’s definitely a flake but not to the point of being intolerable. Since I don’t have Gram right now, I guess she’ll have to do.
Jade
Chapter 9
“I promise it will be fun,” Kira says on the way to the party. “And maybe you can have a beer. I’m sure one beer won’t matter.” She steers her car along the dark, winding streets of Manchester.
“I’m fine. I don’t need to drink to have fun.”
Brittany scoffs, “Well, I do. Did Welly say whether Colin will be home?”
“No, and I didn’t ask,” Kira says.
Brittany looks back at me. “Welly has a brother who goes to BC. Sometimes he comes home for parties and brings friends.”
“College boys are just slightly more grown-up versions of Layton boys, Brit,” Kira says.
“No, they aren’t. They’re way better. Remember that one guy… Tony?”
The girls continue their discussion of college boys versus high school boys as I take in the scenery. I never really thought about where the summer kids in Nantucket lived in the winter. I just imagined they went back to a world full of mansions and Range Rovers, but now I have a visual. Manchester-by-the-Sea is a beautiful little town filled with gorgeous homes, rolling fields, and ocean views. Kyle Wellington’s house is a suburban mansion, new but made to look old, on a large, wooded lot with a winding driveway. As we pull up, the party is already spilling out the front door.
“You told your dad we were going to Brittany’s, right?” Kira asks me while trying to find a place to park the Audi. “We need to have the same story.”
“Yup.”
When we exit the car, Kira gives me a once over. “For a sickie, you sure look good.” She reaches out to touch my curly locks with admiration. “Just stay with me and don’t be nervous.”
“Okay.”
As we walk toward the house, I wonder what other advice I should have gotten before coming to this party. I’m sure there’s an endless rule book of things I don’t know about a Layton Academy party, like “Don’t go down the hall to this room where the drugs are,” and “Don’t take a drink from this guy, that guy, and that other guy.” Fortunately, I’m feeling less concussed today. I’ll need to have all my wits about me for this night.
Once we’re inside, the music blasts my ears—some nasty hip-hop song playing about fifty decibels too loud.
“We should find Welly and say hi!” Kira shouts.
Brittany rolls her eyes. She tends to roll her eyes about a lot of things, so it’s difficult to know how seriously to take this particular ocular circle. The living room area we’ve entered is packed with kids—so many that I’m not sure how they all fit. The air is hot and stale, almost like a sauna but not enjoyable at all. I follow the girls into the kitchen, where a large group of boys have turned the table into a beer pong playing surface.
“Kiiirraaa,” one of the boys says, grabbing her in a hug. He’s wearing only jeans and a royal-blue flat-brimmed baseball hat with a logo I can’t quite place, maybe of a college basketball team. His upper body is trim, hairless, and still tan from the summer. When he releases Kira, his eyes fall on Brittany. “Hey, Brit. How’s it going?”
“Fine.” Brittany’s tone is clipped, and I get the impression she doesn’t like the guy.
Kira gestures at me but keeps her eyes on the guy. “Welly, this is Jade. Have you met her?”
He looks at me and chuckles. “No, but I saw you get hit the other day at soccer. Ouch.”
Yup. That’s me. Soccer ball to the head girl. I roll my eyes—apparently, it’s contagious—and flip him a wave. “Yeah, hi.”
“She just got a concussion,” Kira adds. “She’s fine now.”
Other boys have crowded in around Welly to listen to the exchange, as if his posse needs to help him greet all the new guests. “You must not be used to balls flying around your head,” Welly says, a suggestive sneer on his lips. Some of the other boys snicker.
I narrow my eyes at him. “No. I’ve never played soccer before.”
Welly nods. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll be an old pro in no time. Brittany could probably give you lots of advice on ball management. She’s really good at it.”
“Fuck off!” Brittany snaps.
The boys laugh louder, nodding appreciatively at Welly’s brilliant play on words. Yeah, he’s a regular Jimmy Fallon.
“Keg’s in the garage,” he tells Kira, still smirking at his own joke.
“Vodka?” Kira asks hopefully.
“Freezer. But you gotta ask Ship.” He jerks his thumb toward the living room.
Another odd thing I’ve noticed about the boys at Layton is that none of them have normal names. They all have nicknames or shortened versions of their last names, which are all like the most preppy names imaginable.
I resume my position as tagalong while the girls try to locate the elusive Ship and negotiate for some vodka. I stop to examine a family portrait on the wall, and Mateo appears beside me.
“Hey,” he says, bending down, his breath hot on my ear.
I jump, and when I turn, I bump into him.
He grabs my elbow to steady me. “Whoa! Relax, head case.”
“Shut up,” I mutter.
“Saw you talking to Welly. How’d that go?”
“Great.” I roll my eyes again.
Mateo laughs knowingly. “How’s your melon?” He knocks on his head.
“Better. But this music kind of sucks.”
“Too loud?”
“Yeah.”
“You wanna go outside? It’s quieter by the pool.”
“Okay.”
I follow him to the back door and outside. The relief from the noise is immediate as the door shuts behind us.
“Can you believe this place?” Mateo asks. “They have a pool house and everything.”
A few clusters of kids are scattered around the pool. Their voices are low hums over the faint pulsing beat of the music that still reaches us.
I nod. “It’s pretty nice.”
Mateo leads me over to a bench near the pool house. “How’s this?” he asks, plopping down. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” I sit down beside him. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure. But the answer is yes. Of course, I’d love to kiss you.”
“Mateo…”
He puts on an innocent-looking expression. “What? That wasn’t the question?”
“No. I wanted to ask you about Brittany.”
“Oh no,” Mateo says, dropping his face into his hands. “Please don’t make me talk about Brittany.”
“Why not?”
“Just please don’t.” He peeks out at me from between his fingers.
“What did you do to her? And why do all the boys hate her?”
“Brittany is a complicated case. It may take me many hours and many adje
ctives to express to you what Brittany is like when she likes you… and when she doesn’t get what she wants.”
“What did she want from you?”
“She wanted me to be in love with her. No one will date her because of her reputation, but the thing that she wants most in the world is a boyfriend.”
“Yeah. I’ve known other girls like that.”
“I do feel bad for her, sometimes, when she’s not bad-mouthing me all over school, which is like almost never. I shudder to think what she said to you about me.”
“Not too much. Just that you’re a love ’em and leave ’em kinda guy.”
“Well, I do tend to have a short attention span, but just because I didn’t want to go out with Brit, that doesn’t mean I’m a jerk.”
“I get it,” I answer, because I sort of do. I can tell Mateo isn’t as bad as the girls have made him out to be. I reach up and massage my temples. “I probably shouldn’t have come tonight. I’m starting to get a headache again.”
“I could give you a ride home. If you want.”
I glance at him, skeptical. “Just a ride. Promise?”
He grins. “If you insist, I promise to behave.”
“I thought coming here would help me fit in better, but I feel even more different and weird now. Does everyone at this school just want to party all the time?”
“No, not everyone. But Layton does take some getting used to. I remember feeling the way you do when I came. A lot of these kids went to private elementary school together. They live in their own little rich world.”
“I guess that must be it.”
Mateo touches me on the elbow and stands up. “Come on. I’ll take you home. You shouldn’t be here if you aren’t feeling well.”
I know this is a good idea, the best I’ve heard all night. Even though I shouldn’t want to be alone with Mateo, I do. I want to ride in his car and talk to him about his life and how he ended up at Layton. Despite his joking around, Mateo might be the closest thing to a real friend I have here. We walk back toward the house.
Ever Lost (Secret Affinity Book 2) Page 5
