Deceived

by Julie Anne Lindsey

  “He wasn’t just hot. He knew all about art deco. I love to find old pieces of milk glass, jade green, not white, and anything reminiscent of Rockwell or the 1940s. It was an awesome time for emerging artists. Art deco is also a huge thrill for me. Sometimes I can hit the jackpot there.”

  The artists nodded in understanding. The rest looked to me. I didn’t know what else to say. Being raised by an insurance man had made me cynical. My dreams had made me paranoid. Brian was cute, but Pixie had covered that already. Besides, I had a hard time making sense of his appearance, his interest in me, and then his complete disappearance. If he had liked me enough to hang all day, why just say goodbye? It didn’t add up.

  Another thing I’d run plenty of miles on the treadmill thinking about was the way Brian’s unfathomably green eyes had roamed continually. I was impressed before he removed the shades. Once he pulled them off and hooked them into the collar of his shirt, I was done. Sunlight glistened over them, highlighting the flecks of brown and gold. As much as I wanted to marvel, my mind was distracted. What was he looking for? Did he feel he was being watched, too? All day I’d looked for something wrong in the smiling faces that greeted us at the flea market. Every shoulder nudge sent tingles down my spine. So far, Ohio had done weird things to my already-overworked imagination.

  Brian also seemed to listen to all the conversations nearby. My dad did that, too. Dad called it a protective instinct. I called it nosy. He urged me to know who was nearby and what was going on around me as often as possible. The lesson had never really stuck. My mind invited distraction, which was probably why I noticed that Brian was able to carry on intricate conversations with Pixie while scanning the larger scene. Was that normal for a kid our age?

  Then there was the moment when he asked what brought me to the flea market because I wasn’t shopping.

  “I just came for the coffee.”

  “It’s a long way to go for coffee.”

  Intuition threw out red flags all over the place. A long way from where? We never said where we were from. Still, Elton was a long way from most places. I let it go, begging myself to be normal for just one day, which was, of course, impossible. My paranoia got the best of me too often, sneaking into play more and more since I had arrived on campus a few weeks back.

  Dad had something going on all month, and we had managed to slip in my move a couple of weeks ahead of most everyone else’s. Lucky for me, Pixie stayed year-round. She had introduced me to a few seniors in our row of dormitories as they moved back to school the previous week.

  “They sat on a bench like half the day making smoosh eyes and smiling.” Pixie’s voice caught my attention. “He was so enormous. Even sitting he towered over her, and his shoulders … ” She moved her arms as wide as the crowd would allow. Her eyes went glassy. I called it her artist face. “She looked like a child seated next to the Hulk. I wanted to paint them so bad.” She wanted to paint everything.

  “Where’s he from?” the brunette asked.

  “She doesn’t know.” Pixie tipped her coffee back. “He had nice legs, too, like a runner’s.”

  They were nice legs. When he stretched them out in front of him, I took notice. The hair had worn thin on his calves, same as my father’s. Dad blamed his military boots. He’d served for years before I was born. Maybe Brian liked to ski. All I knew for sure was that he and Dad shared too many similarities. Maybe I was more homesick than crazy. I preferred this explanation.

  “He said you bartered like a master.” I shifted my gaze from Pixie to Aubrie. “She always got what she wanted, and she extended her hand to seal the deal every time. Very professional.”

  Pixie nodded once, sharply.

  Women adored her, and she caused a reaction in men, too. Even in Ohio, her gothic garb wasn’t much of a turnoff. Her personality shoved everything else into the background. She could’ve worn anything.

  “So, what happened at the end of the day?” Aubrie asked the question I had hoped would never come.

  “We left.” Pixie’s eyes rolled, adding flair.

  The blond stood and walked to the door. My story wasn’t enough to keep her from her guy any longer.

  I was okay with saying goodbye to Brian. It wasn’t right to want more. He was a perfect memory, just the way he was. Since that day, whenever I felt really crappy about myself, I remembered the drop-dead gorgeous guy in the white T-shirt who bought me coffee. Granted, there were few other girls there under forty-five for him to talk with, but still, he didn’t have to want my company either.

  “Do you color your hair? It’s amazing.” The little freckled girl pulled it between her fingertips. My one redeeming quality. I’d inherited Dad’s paranoia, but I had Mom’s hair. I let it grow the way she had and only cut it when I had to for practicality.

  “No.” I returned her easy smile.

  “Do you wash it with something special? A color rinse, maybe? I love it.”

  “Thank you.”

  Emptiness kicked in my chest, and I wiggled free from the crowd. I told Pixie I had forgotten something at the apartment, and she moved on to making plans for after school. I worked my way back to the now-empty counter and grabbed a Smartwater. I couldn’t live on coffee alone. On that note, I slid out. I walked down the stairs and around the corner before sprinting the last four blocks to the pharmacy.

  Adjusting my oversized shades, I shoved open the glass door and headed to the cashier, ignoring the clanging bell over the door that drew eyes my way. A small metal frame with energy supplements stood on the counter waiting for me. I grabbed a handful and paid quickly without making eye contact. I stuffed them into my bag and left before anyone could get in line behind me.

  An engine roared to life as I stepped into the parking lot, and my heart stopped. Lots of cars sounded the same. No reason to think it’s the same car from outside our apartment. Squealing belts happen all the time, and it makes sense if it’s the same car. This is the smallest town in the world. I scanned the street before taking another step. The sixth sense returned, coaxing me to run back to the crowded coffee shop. A bright blue motorcycle parked on the sidewalk caught my attention mid-panic. It looked like the motorcycle Brian had rested against when we’d said goodbye in Elton. Ugh! Love struck and paranoid. A deadly combination of stupid.

  Being on my own had amped up my crazy. I ground my teeth against the building internal tirade and concentrated on breathing. It was a different bike. Cute guys didn’t follow me around. This town wasn’t a creepy freak show. I was, and I needed to get a life.

  Pulling in another full breath, I turned on my toes for Buzz Cup. I needed to really move it to fool Pixie. Our apartment was a block closer to the coffee shop than the pharmacy.

  When Buzz Cup came back into view, I stopped to let my heart rate settle. Then I walked to the building. Pixie sat inside the window laughing with her mouth wide open and her head thrown back. She hadn’t even noticed that I took too long. She stood the moment I walked in and linked her elbow with mine.

  “Let’s go!” She tossed up one arm with gusto.

  I followed less enthusiastically.

  In the distance, a small blue motorcycle zipped through traffic. I took a deep breath.

  Chapter Three

  Francine Frances Academy was beautiful. The lawns and landscaping were immaculate. Groundskeepers were plentiful. I’d scouted out a spot near a short stone wall soon after I arrived in Ohio. The wall was more aesthetic than intended for seating. That meant it was frequently vacant. Solitude was another thing I valued. In a city with a couple million people, I blended. Small-town life was too much like living under a microscope.

  “I saw you looking at Davis.” Pixie kept her eyes forward and bumped into me with one hip and shoulder as we walked.

  Microscope.

  “Who?” I knew who. He was the only boy I had made eye contact with at the coffee shop.

  “Kate’s crushing on him.”

  “The blond.”

  “Kate.” Pi
xie lifted an eyebrow. “The datable seniors are in demand. They’ve had the upper hand for years. Kate’s determined to lure him into her web.”

  “Web?”

  “Web. Pants.” She shrugged.

  I blushed.

  “He’s the one that got away, and she has until May to lay her claim.”

  “So they aren’t a couple? He went to breakfast with her. I figured … ”

  “Yeah, that’s what everyone was talking about when we got there. He never meets anyone anywhere unless it’s a party. The girls caught me up while you ran home.”

  The pills in my backpack felt heavier.

  The closer we got to the building, the more anxiety pricked my skin. Pixie had introduced me to many of my new classmates during the last couple weeks, but I was still the new one. Outside the grand entranceway, dozens of girls chatted and gossiped near the fountain. Boys wearing khakis and ties hanging askew lounged over the wide cement stairs.

  Sweat beaded on my upper lip from heat and nerves. The sun beat strong and hot against the pavement. Everyone had removed their cardigans. I tugged at the hem of mine but opted to suffer until first bell. Girls tied up the bottoms of their blouses and rolled down the waistbands of their skirts. I felt a little like a grandma. In my opinion, the skirt revealed enough. Maybe Pixie was right. Maybe I was a prude.

  I smoothed my skirt, pretending I was back in my favorite jeans, and plastered a smile on my face. Thank goodness for Pixie. I’d be accepted by association. They might not like me, but they wouldn’t hate me either. Or at least they wouldn’t show it.

  When we made it to the giant mahogany doors, Pixie and I parted ways temporarily. Our schedules differed vastly during the couple periods before lunch. After that it was standard coursework for the grade. Most of her morning classes were art related. I stuck with standard college-prep courses. She wanted to travel Europe and see the great cathedrals. I wanted to finish high school and get into a prelaw program somewhere far away from Ohio. I craved crowds and anonymity, smog and crime. I hated always knowing everyone’s business and everyone wanting to know mine.

  Inside the giant doors, a long hall of lockers led to an atrium with murals painted on the ceiling. A set of double doors waited on the other side. I walked through the doors to an exterior corridor with classrooms on both sides and an arching metal roof overhead. A good view of the track and lacrosse field ran down the center. Most of my classes had outside entrances, which I loved. Come winter I might change my mind.

  A bell shrieked overhead and I fought the urge to duck for cover. Such a fancy campus and the bell reminded me of a fire drill. The crowd did a collective wince before dispersing to homeroom. Senior year had officially begun.

  In homeroom we were assigned seats alphabetically. The teacher passed around a plastic basket with a few dozen silver combination locks and blank locker assignment forms. We took one of each and then moved into the hall to choose a locker. I chose a locker outside, beneath the covered walk. Few joined me. We worked the locks a couple times to be sure they were set correctly, according to the paper tagged on the back, and then we recorded our name, locker number, and combination for the school files. I snapped a magnetic mirror onto the inside of my door and left. Others had bags full of colorful magnets, tiny faux fur carpet for the shelves, and photographs. Kate attached a tiny chandelier to the locker ceiling as I passed her. My tiny mirror was shabby in comparison. Lockers were important. I must not have gotten the memo.

  I turned in my form to the teacher and waited through an extended homeroom period while everyone managed the menial task. It took much longer than it should have, but there was some serious interior decorating going on in some of those lockers.

  Everyone looked comfortable and confident. I hoped I didn’t look the way I felt—ridiculous. The uniform didn’t help. I tugged on the skirt. Something about the knee socks was weird. A few girls opted to wear a tie with the button-down shirt. I chose the cardigan. I wouldn’t wear a tie. Girls checked their faces in small mirrors or fidgeted with their nails. The bell rang, and I pretended to write something in my empty notebook. I peeked one last time at the map in my pocket. When necessary, I planned to slip into the restroom to check it again. According to my schedule, first and second period were right next door to one another, so I wouldn’t have to worry long. Once I found the first room, I’d be set. Study hall was in the cafeteria building. I could easily find that. At that point I’d be with Pixie, and I’d follow her from there.

  “Hey, where ya headed?” A husky voice sounded in my ear. He smiled and stretched out a hand. “I’m Davis.” The guy from the coffee shop. I lifted my chin. Up close he stood at least a head taller than me.

  “Elle.” I tried to keep my voice from shaking. “I have Trig now.”

  “I’ll walk you.” He kept pace beside me. People watched as they passed us in the hall. “So, I saw you with Pixie this morning. You’re roommates?”

  “Yeah. She’s great. Are you going to Trig, too?”

  “No. I have Latin first period.”

  “Why … ?” I slowed to look at him again.

  His crooked smile was confident and mischievous. The morning sunlight glinted off his bright blue eyes. He looked like the boy-next-door type my dad would love. The kind of guy who was harmless and happy, and would have me home by nine.

  “Just wanted to say hi.” He turned on his heel and jogged off in the opposite direction, leaving me at the threshold to my next class.

  I shook my head and smiled. Deep breath. Next up: Trigonometry II. What a way to start my day. The teacher was Mrs. Calhoun. She introduced me as the new student. I now had two reasons not to like first period. Worse, my assigned seat was between two girls who looked like starlets. I sank nervously into the seat and tried to blend in. It would’ve been easier to blend into the furniture.

  Their golden-highlighted hair hung in ringlets over their ears and backs. My sandy hair was neither blond nor brown. It wasn’t curly or straight. It was just sort of there, thick and wavy near the ends, stretching loosely over my shoulders. They probably paid stylists a fortune for their precision cuts. I pushed a fingerful of hair behind my ear, thankful at least that my hair held its own. Sort of. I should consider wearing more makeup.

  My eyes ached from lack of sleep. They probably looked it, too. I should’ve snagged some Visine on my trip to the drugstore. There was always after school. Until then, I’d claim allergies. Other than red, my brown eyes were unremarkable, like the rest of me. They were too wide set, making me always look younger than anyone else, like a startled Disney princess. Cute shoes and big leather bags covered in logos and letters lined the floor. Acrylic nails tapped out a rhythm behind me. I deflated a bit more. These girls had brought their A game. I only had a C game. On a good day, I pulled a B-minus game. That was the best I could hope for.

  An hour later, I dragged out of first period wishing I’d been able to concentrate, knowing I’d be sorry when the test came. I had no one to meet between bells and my next class was all of twenty-five feet away, so I made an unnecessary trip to my locker. No one would be there. I could hide. Anything sounded better than getting to class early and waiting for it to begin.

  Second period was English, one of my best subjects. But after the titillating hour I had spent in Trig, I doubted I’d be amazed at the teaching. The tuition to Francine Frances apparently wasn’t spent looking for overly zealous teachers.

  I took my time getting to my locker. The lock released and fell into my hand, but the locker was stuck shut. It was middle school all over again. What senior can’t open her locker? Screams built in my chest. I didn’t need this drama. Being the new kid created enough stress. An approaching groundskeeper slowed and watched me wrestle the locker. If he offered to help, I’d die of humiliation on the spot.

  “How was Trig?” Davis leaned casually against the locker beside mine.

  “Great.” I rolled my eyes and lifted the lever again. If he planned to walk me to all my cl
asses, I could ditch my map.

  I trained my eyes on the locker. Stuck. My head fell forward. Freshman humiliation for a senior.

  “Where you headed?”

  I puffed my cheeks out and turned. Bright blue eyes stared back at me.

  “English.” I couldn’t trust my words further. In a school filled with starlets and about twelve boys, I was certain to make the most-hated list if he kept talking to me. The prickly sensation of being watched crept over me. My eyes automatically scanned left and right for Kate before I turned back to my locker. Irrationally, I hoped that whoever watched us was only a student. Then again, who else would it be?

  “Ah. I’m going to study hall.” Davis clapped me on the back gently and stepped away. Stupidly, I turned. Right on cue, he looked back in my direction. If I could’ve opened my locker, I would’ve climbed inside and stayed there.

  As the second bell announced me officially late, the locker lever broke free. A sigh of relief blew across my lips. A moment later I sucked in air hard. Inside the empty locker lay a length of black satin ribbon. Turning it over in my fingers, I examined the vent on the locker door. The ribbon could easily have been fed in, but who did it belong to? A girl with a locker nearby would probably think it was stolen when she didn’t find it in her locker as she expected. My thumb drew patterns over the soft fabric while I decided what to do. It looked like one of the ribbons my mom used to wear in her hair. As a child, I used to sit on her bed and watch her tie a perfect bow on top of her long sandy brown hair every morning. One gentle tug turned the bow around her head until it disappeared beneath her long, thick waves, looking like little more than an extension of her beautiful hair.

  Panic beat in my head. I moved quickly to class, shoving the painful memory away. I was way beyond late.

  O-for-two.

  Announced as the new kid in my first class and late for the second. I hoped I could break the pattern before it went any further. I also planned to sit in the back from now on. From there, I could observe. Adapting would be trickier than predicted. I was clearly out of place, even in such a small school.