Oracle

by Alex van Tol

  I wonder if this is too tea-leafy. Or whether the numeric bit is too obvious. But what do I have to lose?

  Try exploring that avenue. Good luck.

  I take a deep breath and hit Publish.

  I turn my attention to the list of waiting questions. Methodically, I work my way through them, check traits against zodiac signs and design my advice to suit. I don’t rush any of them. I even throw in a bit of my own advice when I think it’ll be helpful.

  In between questions, I think about my response to Kamryn. I wonder if it’s going to work.

  I sigh. Whatever. It’s out there now. Time will tell where it leads.

  I should be excited at nailing that long-awaited interaction with her. Or nervous, at least.

  But all I can think of are my last words to Hannah. And the look on her face as I said them.

  Chapter Ten

  Kamryn must have read the Oracle, because she is at math help today. She hangs out for almost half an hour at my table. Never mind that it feels awkward and we have nothing to talk about. That’s to be expected at the start of a relationship. Right?

  We do a little math too. So there.

  I walk home like I’m on a cloud.

  After I fix myself a snack, I head up to my room to check the blog. I’m surprised to already find an entry from Heart Huntress.

  Dear Oracle. I went looking for that number-logical guy today. The helper? I’m not sure if I was looking in the right place. The guy I sat with was nice enough, but we didn’t really have anything in common, and I didn’t exactly feel a spark. I think I might have got the wrong guy. —HH

  Nothing in common?

  No spark?

  I chew my lip for a couple of minutes. How can I make her feel a spark?

  I force myself to read through a few other questions before I write her back. I need to think through my reply.

  The questions people write in with keep getting better and better. A couple of people have written in seeking advice about their friendships. One guy asked me to help him talk his sister out of getting a tattoo of her boyfriend’s name on her arm. Another asked me where he could find cool shirts cheap. I don’t feel like a fraud when I’m advising people on stuff like where to buy clothes or how to handle their parents’ embarrassing social habits.

  Only when I’m deliberately misleading people in love.

  I pick the questions I’ll answer today. I tell one girl that her brother’s friend has no right to pressure her to give him pictures of herself in a bikini. I tell another that since this is the third time she’s caught her boyfriend in a big lie, it’s time to cut him loose, even though it’ll hurt. I explain to one guy that if his current flame doesn’t respond to his texts within a day, then yeah, she’s losing the love.

  Only after I’m finished these do I allow myself to settle into a response to Kamryn.

  Dear Huntress. As I see it—

  I like that part, that “as I see it” bit. Makes the advice sound sort of fortune-telly.

  As I see it, you absolutely had the correct person today.

  Wow, it feels so…so…out there to write that.

  But there aren’t exactly a lot of options. If I’m going to use the Oracle to steer Kamryn into my world, I’ve got to be crazy and direct.

  I decide I’m okay with it.

  But I need something to get us further down this road I’ve started us on.

  I need a ruse. Something to get us talking.

  Today Mr. Winehouse mentioned we’ll be starting our research projects on early civilizations in social studies.

  It’s the perfect setup.

  I see an opportunity to work with this young man in a partnership. You will be reading, or writing, or creating media. It will be about something ancient, but I can’t see exactly what.

  I decide to leave her with some very specific instructions.

  You will need to approach him. If you don’t, he will choose a different partner.

  Then, for the clincher, I add, And the course of your life will be forever changed.

  And then I click Publish.

  On Monday, everybody’s talking about the dance. I had to stay home with my mom, who’d just had a wisdom tooth pulled and was still loopy from the painkillers.

  Kyle sure wasn’t going to miss it.

  So I stayed home.

  It sounded like it was fun. Kyle brought home some other girl, not Kamryn. They stayed up late watching Invasion of the Body Snatchers, and then I didn’t see him for the rest of the weekend.

  So Kamryn is, without a doubt, not on Kyle’s radar.

  A greedy little part of me rubs its hands at the thought, She’s mine, all mine. The rational side of me shrieks with terror—what am I going to do if she takes the Oracle seriously and decides to come after me?

  I find out soon enough. In third period, Mr. Winehouse tells us about our research projects. Ancient civilizations.

  “This project requires partner work, people,” says Mr. Winehouse now. “Two heads are better than one.”

  As soon as the words leave his mouth, there’s the familiar rustle as people turn in their seats to make eye contact. I keep my head down. I focus intently on the Dementor I’m doodling in the side of my page. I hope Morgan doesn’t ask me to work with him. Normally, I’d be happy to, but today…

  A hand taps my shoulder, and I jump, jabbing a thick line of ink through my Dementor’s hood.

  I turn. Kamryn is standing beside my desk. She looks kind of mad.

  “What’s that?” Her eyes are on the Dementor. It’s pretty good, I think. He’s floating in midair, and his cloak is in tatters. It wisps out behind him as he slides along.

  “It’s a Dementor,” I say.

  She pulls her brows together a bit. “A mental what?” she says.

  “A Dementor,” I say. “From Harry Potter?”

  “Oh.” She tosses her head, sounding bored. “So listen, do you have a partner?”

  “Not yet,” I say.

  She looks away. “Do you want to do the Romans or the Mayans?”

  What if I wanted to do the Mesopotamians? Wait. Did she even ask me if I wanted to be her partner? My mind fumbles for protocol.

  “Whichever,” I say. “I’m easy.”

  “Let’s do the Mayans,” she says, sitting in the desk behind me. She pulls out her iPad and sets it on the tabletop. “Tuesdays and Thursdays are the only days I can meet after school, so we need to get a lot done during class.”

  I nod. “Okay.” I want to ask her how the dance went, but I can’t for the life of me figure out how to bring it up.

  I already know enough though. Things didn’t work out with her and Kyle.

  She pushes the iPad toward me. “Look at the outline,” she says, pointing to the black screen. “Wino said it’s on the class web page. We want to make sure we get everything in there.”

  “Wino?” The second the words are out of my mouth, I realize she’s talking about Mr. Winehouse.

  She rolls her eyes.

  “Never mind,” I say. “I get it.” I’m irritated that I asked.

  I touch the screen and bring up our class page.

  Kamryn looks around the room, bored, while I locate our assignment. On her iPad. While she just sits there.

  She squints at me. “Do you read the Oracle?” Her question is sudden.

  My ears grow hot. I am so glad my hair covers them.

  “Nope,” I say, without looking up. “What’s that?”

  “Nothing,” she says. “Just some website.”

  Then she sits forward and looks me up and down. She scrunches her eyes up a little bit. “Do you always wear skater clothes? Or do you ever wear, I don’t know, nice stuff?”

  I’m shocked that she put me down like that, right to my face. She’s kind of fearless.

  I’m kind of embarrassed.

  And now I’m pissed off.

  I speak before I think. Force of habit. “Do you ever say nice things?” I ask. “Or do you only,
I don’t know, say mean stuff?”

  Kamryn stares at me for a couple of seconds, then sits back in her chair. She folds her arms.

  “Just hurry up and find the assignment,” she says, jerking her chin toward the iPad. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Chapter Eleven

  On Tuesday afternoon, Kamryn and I head to my place. Today we’ll finish off our research on Mayan religious systems and start our Museum Box online. I hope this will be less strained than yesterday’s in-class session. We talked so little, I think we managed to blow through nearly all of our research.

  Awkward.

  “This is nice,” Kamryn says as she steps into my house. Her eyes move around the room approvingly. “Your parents have great design sense.”

  “My mom stages homes for realtors,” I say. “She can make a rodent hole look like the Waldorf Astoria.”

  Kamryn’s eyes drift to the trophy on the bookcase. There’s only one on display at any time, even though there are more than twelve tucked away in various closets. Pretty soon we’ll need to build a shed to house all of Kyle’s achievements.

  “Who’s the basketball star?”

  “That’d be my brother.”

  Her eyes cut to me. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

  I shrug. That would be because I intentionally didn’t tell you, I think.

  “How old is he?”

  “Sixteen.” I kick off my shoes and head down the hallway toward my bedroom. Kamryn follows. The door to Kyle’s room is closed.

  “Where does he go to school?”

  “LaMontagne. Senior campus.” For whatever reason, our school is split into two separate buildings—the middle grades and the senior high. It’s a relief not to have to share space with Kyle all day. I get enough of that every evening.

  “What’s his name?”

  I sigh. “Kyle.”

  Here it comes.

  “Kyle…Roberts?” The word comes out as a shriek.

  “Same one.”

  Kamryn’s hands fly up to cover her mouth. “Oh my god, I had no idea he was your brother!” She looks like a kid who’s just spotted Santa Claus filling her stocking with diamonds and PEZ.

  I shrug. “Well. Owen Roberts. Kyle Roberts. You know.”

  “Yeah, but, I…you don’t. I mean, you don’t look…like him at all, you know?”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “No, I mean…” Kamryn flaps her hands. She looks around, as though Kyle might appear from behind a secret door. “Is he home?”

  Why did I bother? What good did I think it would do to use the Oracle to try to force Kamryn to like me?

  “No.”

  “Oh.” She looks disappointed.

  Thankfully, her questions dry up once we enter my room. While she drifts around looking at the sketches on my wall, I open up my laptop. I pop up a new tab and google Mayan religious customs.

  “I didn’t know you were an artist,” Kamryn says, moving from one picture to the next. “These are really good.”

  “Thanks,” I say. A little flicker of hope lights in my belly, and I turn my chair to face her.

  “Does Kyle draw?”

  I rotate back to the computer.

  “Nope.”

  “What does he do? Like, hobby-wise?”

  What was I thinking, anyway? You can’t force someone to like you. Even I know that. Making Kamryn do this project with me seems pathetic now.

  I glance at the clock in the corner of the screen. I’d rather be out at the skate park, blowing off steam. Like Kamryn said yesterday, let’s get this over with.

  “Look, Kamryn,” I say. “I have to be somewhere at four. So we should get going.”

  She looks disappointed. I guess she wanted to talk about Kyle some more. “Okay.” She unzips her backpack and slides out her iPad. “Have you got anything to eat?”

  I’m embarrassed that I haven’t offered. Even rude guests deserve to be offered refreshments. “Of course,” I say. “I’ll go grab something.”

  I push back from my desk and hurry to the kitchen. Now that I think about it, I’m starving.

  I take bread and cheese out of the fridge and turn the oven on to broil. I flip on the kitchen sound system. The room fills with Calm Radio piano solos. My mom’s favorite.

  I change it to skate punk.

  I sigh. Now that Kamryn knows I’m Kyle’s brother, chances are she’s going to want to hang around with me more to be closer to him.

  That should be a good thing, right? That we spend more time together? Except.

  She’ll be doing it because of him, not because of me.

  And Hannah’s right. She’s not very nice.

  Even Kamryn was right. We have almost nothing in common.

  Plus, Kamryn has zero sense of humor.

  I swipe a knife out of the block and shave off thin slices of cheddar. I pile them on two slices of bread. I slide the tray into the oven and grab an apple. I polish it on my jeans, like I’ve seen Hannah do.

  Hannah.

  I’ve lost touch with one of my best friends while getting myself tangled up in a web of dishonesty with someone I’m not sure I want anymore.

  Stupid.

  I wash and slice the apple.

  When I open the oven door a few minutes later, the cheese toast is bubbling. Perfect. I slide the pan out onto the stovetop to cool, and then I grab plates.

  Then I remember.

  I didn’t lock the screen on my computer before I left my room.

  Oh crap.

  My stomach plummets.

  I throw the plates on the counter and pound down the hallway back to my room, my heart slamming.

  I skid to a stop at my doorway. My eyes wheel around the room in panic. “Kamryn?”

  She’s not here.

  “Kamryn?” I yell.

  No answer.

  Her bag’s gone.

  She left. The music must have been too loud for me to hear her leave.

  Crap.

  I bolt toward my computer and slide onto the chair. The wheels roll me sideways, smashing my knees against my bookcase.

  I paw at the trackpad to get rid of the screensaver.

  When the screen fills, I’m not looking at a website on Mayan religious customs. Not at all.

  I’m looking at the Oracle.

  She found it.

  And she wrote about it. In a post. And her post is on the home page, which means she published it too.

  The title screams at me. The Oracle is A LIE!

  I skim the post.

  There it is. Plain as day. Out there in the ether for everyone to see.

  Listen up, people! This isn’t the Oracle writing to you. This is another student at LaMontagne. The Oracle is all made up.

  I feel like puking.

  I’ve just discovered that Owen Roberts writes the posts. “As I see it,” (ha ha), you have been telling your secrets to a grade-eight idiot loser… and he’s been making up answers to try and trick you!

  I bite down on the irony. I wasn’t trying to trick anyone except Kamryn. For everyone else, I did my absolute best to advise them wisely. And now she’s calling me out as a cheat.

  But how do I prove otherwise? I can’t argue with her.

  There’s no fixing this.

  This is going to be the end of my days at school.

  Chapter Twelve

  I don’t want to get out of bed the next day. How do I face a world that thinks my blog is a sham? That I’m a sham?

  The thing is, it doesn’t feel like a sham at all. I was proud of the Oracle. I liked helping people. Or what I thought was helping people.

  I heave my legs over the side of the bed and sit up. I rub my face.

  Today is the first day of the rest of my life at LaMontagne. And is it ever going to look different from this point forward.

  At school, I keep my head down and my feet moving. A lot of people stare at me. People in Kamryn’s posse whisper hissy comments to each other while glaring in my direct
ion.

  I want to talk to Hannah, but I’ve bungled that friendship beyond repair. She’s not coming back.

  There is a lot of whispering. But no one talks to me.

  No one, that is, except Mason.

  He catches up with me on the way to Spanish. “Hey, man,” he says. “Don’t sweat it. It’ll pass. I love the Oracle. Everybody loves the Oracle.”

  “You think?” I ask.

  He nods. “For sure! It’s great reading.” He claps me on the shoulder, then drops his voice. “But I have to ask you, little man. What possessed you to set up a relationship blog?”

  I smile at my nickname. Mason is four inches shorter than me.

  “You really want to know?” I ask.

  “I really want to know.”

  I look around to make sure we’re not overheard. Not like I have anything to hide now. “Did you read the posts by Heart Huntress?”

  Mason nods again.

  “That was Kamryn Holt. I set up the blog as a way to kill her crush on my brother. Try to get her to go out with me instead.”

  Mason looks thoughtful for a moment. That’s rare, so I appreciate it when it happens. He glances toward Kamryn and Dana, who are spitting evil looks at me.

  He looks back at me. “D’it work?”

  I shake my head. “Not a chance. Killed my crush on her though.”

  He grins. “Probably worth it, then.” He looks back at Kamryn and lowers his voice. “I could’ve told you you’re wasting your time, man.”

  He’s not the only one.

  On our way to assembly on Friday, Jon and Ryan catch up to us in the hallway.

  “Hey, man,” says Jon.

  I look over. “Hey.”

  Jon and I don’t hang out, but I’ve known him since grade school. He’s a good guy.

  “So, uh, I was Rubber Duckie.”

  I smile. “No way. Really?” Right away I want to know how his conversation went with the girl on his swim team. “How’d it go? Did you manage to get her alone, without all of her friends around?”

  He grins. “Yeah. I asked Coach to tell her to help me roll up the lane ropes.” He laughs. “It was a great idea. We’re going to see a movie tonight. So thanks.” I shrug. “For what it’s worth.”