by Ariella Moon
Up ahead, I spotted Salem walking alongside the road, her body bent beneath the weight of her backpack. Her breath formed tiny clouds. A long black sweater billowed beneath her backpack and slate-colored leggings encased her matchstick legs.
“Mom, pull over. It’s Sarah.”
Mom swerved the Volvo to the curb as if she were a police officer cutting off a suspect. If I had been Salem, I would have screamed or had a heart attack. Instead, she froze and reached for the pentacle keychain on her backpack.
I jumped out. “Hey! Want a ride?”
Her face relaxed and she released the five-pointed star. “Sure. Thanks.”
“Sarah, this is my mom,” I said as Salem crawled into the backseat.
“Thanks for stopping,” Salem said. “My mom’s car has a flat tire and we didn’t discover it until after Dad was halfway to San Francisco.”
“Oh no,” Mom said in her most sympathetic voice. “You should have called us.”
“Next time.” Salem opened up her backpack and pulled out a yellow folder with doodles all over the cover. I recognized it from English. “Do you think we’ll have a quiz today?”
I flashed on the less-than-stellar grade Salem had gotten on the last one. “I think we’re going to get the first drafts of our compositions back.”
Salem sighed. “I wish I was as good at English as you are.”
“Trust me, you’re way better at math. Everyone is.”
Mom did a California slowdown at the stop sign and switched on the heat. Warmth kicked out of the dusty vents with a low roar. Four more turns, and we reached Parvani’s wrought iron gate. As it hummed open in a graceful sweep, I said, “Sit by me in English. I’ll be your critique partner.”
Salem’s jaw dropped. Her kohl-rimmed, blue-gray eyes widened a bit. “Awesome. Thanks.”
Mom’s silent approval wrapped around me like a love cloud.
Parvani appeared preoccupied as she emerged from her house and headed for the car. When she opened the door, the soothing sounds of the Tuscan fountain trickled in. Parvani raised her backpack to throw it, stopping at the last moment when she noticed Salem.
“Oh, hey.”
“Guess who we found walking to school,” I said.
“Flat tire,” Salem added.
“Bummer.” Parvani dropped her backpack on the floor mat, settled in, and buckled up.
Salem shoved her yellow folder into her backpack. “Nice mansion.”
“Thanks.” The warmth from the car steamed Parvani’s glasses. She pulled them off and blinked.
“Did you reach Zhù?” I asked.
“No. I didn’t!” Parvani sounded incredulous and worried. She didn’t have much experience with Zhù ignoring her. Just Jordan. Something she might want to consider.
Once we reached school and said good-bye to Mom, we crossed the football field. A pack of senior girls shivering in clingy tops, mini-skirts, and flip flops did a double take when they saw us. A twinge of doubt snaked into my brain. Would hanging out with Salem make me seem like a loser?
I checked to make sure the lump from my film canister necklace wasn’t too obvious. Hmm. Maybe I was the one endangering Salem’s reputation. Parvani, with her perfect ballerina posture and exquisite couture clothes, appeared oblivious. She kept looking around, and for once I didn’t think she was searching for Jordan.
Salem and I exchanged glances.
In English, I repaid Salem for the talisman and makeup by helping her improve her essay on Guy Montag in Fahrenheit 451. I felt sure she’d get an A on it now. My do-gooder endorphin glow carried over into Gym, even though Jordan and I were assigned opposite teams in Capture the Flag.
“I saw Zhù,” Parvani whispered. Behind us, the rest of the yellow team took position. We were caught up front near the border. Prisoner material. Dead meat. “He wouldn’t tell me why he missed Yearbook and Spanish.”
“Maybe he had to go to the doctor for some embarrassing ailment.” You know, like lovesickness.
“Do you think so?” Parvani’s brows knotted.
Deep within Red Flag territory, Jordan angled his head at me. Parvani didn’t notice. I decided to pounce while she was preoccupied with Zhù. “About the love spell…”
Coach’s whistle seared my eardrums. Someone grabbed me from behind and I screamed.
“Evan!” Parvani yelled. “We’re on the same team. Let her go!”
Tommy Deitch barreled toward us. I struggled to break out of Evan’s grasp.
Parvani grabbed Evan’s arm and pulled. “You can’t imprison your own teammate.”
Evan ignored her. He walked me forward, his vile arms still locked around me. Clearly he planned to hand me over to Tommy, who plowed through the red team, his feral gaze locked on me.
I stomped on Evan’s foot so hard I heard a sickening snap. Oh no. I hoped he’d been standing on a twig.
Evan howled and released me. Parvani let go of his arm so fast she stumbled back, just as Tommy crossed the border. A bewildered look passed over Tommy’s face as Evan crumpled to the ground.
I swiped Tommy across the chest. “Tag! You’re captured.” Then I looked down at Evan. All color had drained from his face. Fear rose like bile, burning my throat.
“Man, Evie!” Evan gasped.
The whistle blew. Coach stormed toward us. “What’s going on here?”
Parvani defended me. “Evan accosted Evie.”
Coach Willis glanced at me, then Evan, who rocked back and forth clutching his foot, his teeth clenched.
“Evan, I’m…”
Coach cut me off. “Deitch, help him up and take him to the school nurse.”
Tommy tried, but Evan seemed unable to stand. I bit my thumbnail. A bad case of guilt and worry gnawed at my conscience.
Jordan joined the circle of kids clustered around us. He helped Coach lift Evan, and then he and Tommy clasped forearms to create a makeshift chair. As they carried Evan to the office, I tugged the brim of Dad’s cap low across my forehead. Still, Coach’s gaze burned into me.
My mind flashed on the upcoming yearbook assignments. Weren’t football play-offs coming up? And I’d just wounded one of Coach’s best players. I held my breath, waiting for him to mete out my punishment. Detention? Suspension? Trial by water?
Coach blew the whistle. “Resume sides, people.”
****
At lunch, Jordan caught up with Parvani and me outside Mr. Ross’s room. “Evan just texted me from the hospital. They’re waiting for the doc to read the x-rays, but Evan thinks he’ll be sidelined for the rest of the season.” Jordan raked his fingers through his hair. “The big play-off game is right before Halloween.”
I fought the urge to barf.
“He deserved it,” Parvani said.
“Do you think I’ll get kicked out of school?”
“No,” Parvani said. “I think the freshmen will give you a medal.”
“They sell fake ones at the party store. I say we start a write-in campaign. Evie for School Enforcer.” It was Zhù, grinning and cracking a joke. Reality as I knew it tilted on its axis.
Parvani broke into a huge smile. Zhù and Jordan flanked her. I waited for the hyperventilation to begin.
“You guys want to work on the HG homework?” Zhù asked.
“Sure,” she said.
“Home and Garden?” I asked.
“Honors Geometry,” Jordan explained. “Miss Ravenwood piled it on again.” He nodded to Parvani and Zhù. “You two go ahead. I’ll stay with Evie, like, until the police come for her.”
“Stop!” I swatted his shoulder and then leaned back against the side of the classroom.
“Later, then.” Zhù cast a questioning look at Parvani.
She pushed her designer frames up the bridge of her nose then threw Jordan a coy look. “Text me if she needs bail money.”
Zhù expelled a long breath.
Jordan nodded. “Right after Evie and I prepare for Biology.”
I gaped, which probably wasn
’t too attractive. Since, apparently, I was invisible, it hardly mattered.
Jordan watched them leave, then tipped up my cap brim. He gazed so deeply into my eyes, my stomach fluttered. “Did you find my note?”
With his face so close, my concentration wobbled. “Yes. Thank you.” The memory warmed me all over. I struggled to focus on something other than Jordan’s lips. “I’m so sorry about Evan, and about hurting your chances in the play-offs.”
Jordan raked his fingers through his hair again. “We’ll manage somehow. But if I get creamed out there…”
“I will so never forgive myself.” I wondered if Teen Wytche had a protection spell for JV running backs. “Do we have biology homework?”
“Nah.” He joined me against the wall, standing so close our shoulders touched. All my nerve endings jumped to attention. “I just wanted to have lunch with the most notorious girl in school.”
“So now I have a reputation,” I teased. “You shouldn’t be consorting with the enemy. Evan is kinda your friend.”
Jordan pivoted with athletic grace and faced me again. His eyebrows twitched. He leaned closer, his breath warm upon my cheek. “Consorting, eh?”
I pushed him, his shoulders strong and solid beneath his fleece sweatshirt. A blush heated my throat. “You know what I mean.”
Jordan’s expression grew serious. “Evan’s not so bad when you get him away from Tommy. Even so, he’s more of a teammate than a friend, especially after today. Man, Evie. Once everyone started moving on the field, I, like, couldn’t see you at all. If I had, I would have taken him down.”
My stomach flutter morphed into a delicious full body tingle. “Seriously?”
His brow crinkled. “Of course. But, like, in a way where he could still play football.” He flashed one of his dazzling, I’m-playing-with-you smiles.
Wow. If I don’t get expelled, arrested, or burn for eternity because I broke Evan’s foot, this will go down as one of my best days ever.
Chapter Sixteen
No one in remedial math—okay, Algebra B—liked Evan MacDonald.
I felt wretched. After all, I had caused serious harm. And even though Evan had started it, I still worried about the karmic repercussion. Or worse, what if my name was announced over the school P.A. system? Then I’d have to do the perp walk to the office.
I pulled Dad’s hat low over my eyes.
No sign of Zhù in Yearbook. I had just seen him an hour ago. My heart hip-hopped. If he didn’t show up pronto, I’d have to do the club shots. I kept glancing at the door, half listening while Miss Roberts gave everyone their assignments.
“Evie.” Miss Robert’s voice cut through my spiraling panic. “I’d like to speak with you outside for a sec.”
I reached for the orange topaz in my pocket. Here it comes. I’m expelled. I bet the Volvo is already in the parking lot.
“The first set of pages are due in seven days,” Miss Roberts said when we reached the bottom of the ramp. “As photo editor…”
“I know. I’m on top of it.” Maybe word from the hospital hasn’t reached the principal yet. “Hallie has been taking candids of the teachers, and Zhù should be here any minute to shoot the drama club. They’re rehearsing this period. I’m going to work on cropping the photos from Diversity Overnight…”
“I need you to switch assignments with Zhù for the rest of the semester. You’ll take the photos and download them. Zhù will work from home on cropping. In January you can switch back.”
“But…”
Miss Roberts put her hand on my shoulder. “You’re an A student, Evie.”
“Except for math.” And probably Biology.
“Still. You don’t want to fail Yearbook.” She held up a camera. I began to sweat. Panic overloaded my brain.
“You are an experienced, award-winning photographer. You’re the only freshman to ever be offered an editorship. I took a chance on you.”
Hot tears threatened to breach my eyes. Dad would have been so proud I’d made photo editor. He would be so disappointed if I let down Miss Roberts. I should let Zhù flunk Spanish.
“Tell you what,” Miss Roberts said. “Take Mia with you to the performing arts center. You can start training her to become a photographer.”
“Mia?” The girl who wears three skirts at a time and looks like she just stepped off a gypsy caravan? “But she’s in charge of copy.”
“And she won’t have any captions to write if no one takes pictures.” Miss Roberts pressed the camera into my hand. “Wait here. I’ll go get her.”
My thoughts flew like leaves tossed in the wind. Where’s Zhù, and why will he be working from home? And why give the camera to me if Mia is going to be taking the pictures?
Mia must have been waiting on the other side of the classroom door, because she skipped down the ramp as soon as Miss Roberts disappeared.
“Cool top.” Mia folded a stick of bright green gum into her mouth and stuffed the wrapper in her skirt pocket. “My boyfriend is in the play. The first performance is tonight, you know.”
“I didn’t know. I mean, I forgot. Dress rehearsal, of course.” No wonder I had assigned the photos to be shot today. The actors would be in costume and makeup.
“This will be our one chance to take the pictures,” Mia said. “I’d sure hate to blow it.”
“Yeah, me too.” The top of my scalp began to feel weird.
Mia walked with a quick, bouncy gait, her skirts rustling. I almost broke into a trot trying to keep up. Which was pretty difficult, considering my head had opened up like a can of diced tomatoes and I was about to float out of my body.
Mia chattered on and on about her boyfriend, Nazario, who played the role of Lenny in the school production, Of Mice and Men. Her words buzzed around my overwrought brain, anchoring me, blocking the panic gathering like a storm. Her insider gossip about the cast and crew—no one respects the director—carried us to the double doors of the performing arts center.
Mia spit her gum into the foil wrapper and then tossed it into the trashcan. “How’s my breath?” she asked, making a “hah” sound.
“Fine.” Please! We’re here to work, not hook up.
She reached for the silver door handle and her colorful plastic bangles rocketed toward her wrist with a series of tiny clacks. Before I could stop her, we were inside.
Near darkness cloaked the auditorium, save for the warm glare of yellow-filtered spotlights illuminating the stage. The set designers had transformed it into a barn, complete with rustic-looking wooden walls. A couple of bridles hung on hooks, and someone had leaned a shovel against the side wall. The dusty smell of hay filled the room.
Mia pulled a spiral notepad out of her pocket and took off for the steps leading to the stage.
“Mia, wait!” I held up the digital. “You forgot the camera.”
She never stopped. If anything, the wretched little gypsy sped up. When she reached the black curtain leading to the wings, the light from one of the spots glinted off her gold hoop earring, and then she disappeared.
I contemplated murder. I had already broken bones today. It wasn’t such a long slide to wring Mia’s neck. I pulled the talisman from under my sweater. The milky crystal within the film canister rattled reassuringly. I forced myself to breathe in and out.
A hulking boy dressed in work clothes—Mia’s boyfriend, I presumed—walked onstage carrying a small stuffed dog. A cloud of dust rose as he plopped onto the hay and settled into a kneeling position with the toy dog in front of him.
Where was Mia? This was the pivotal scene. Do or die time.
Keeping an eye on Nazario, I gravitated toward the center of the front row. I can’t breathe. Nazario petted the little dog. I’m not going to take a picture. I’m just walking with a camera.
Nazario’s soft, deep voice washed over me in the darkness. I averted my gaze when he pretended to kill the stuffed dog.
A senior girl, Pilar Somebody, crept onstage, an open script in her hand. Her straight r
aven hair grazed the pale puff sleeves of her costume, a simple housedress. The light caught her red Marilyn Monroe lipstick.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
I placed the camera on the nearest chair and rotated Dad’s hat so the brim faced backwards. Grabbing the camera with one hand and the back of the chair with the other, I climbed up. Dizzy, feet numb, I eyed the stage. Nazario stood and kicked some hay over the “dead” pup. Pilar and Nazario both started talking, each lost in their character’s story. Nazario, as Lenny, said something about liking soft things.
A sense of foreboding shivered down my arms.
Pilar angled toward Nazario and told him to touch her hair. The play of light shadowed Pilar’s thick eyelashes against her flawless, dusky skin. She dropped her script. The pages ruffled. My nerves prickled. The film canister talisman weighed against my too-fast heart.
I gave the wings a furtive glance. Still no Mia.
The topaz pressed against the thin cotton of my pocket. I raised the camera to my eye and pressed the shutter release. Nazario’s hands closed around Pilar’s neck and her Bambi eyes widened with pretend fear.
I held my breath.
Pilar plummeted to the hay in a convincing death drop. Nazario dropped to his knees and I captured his shocked expression. The boy could act. No wonder Mia had raved. I kept shooting.
The scene ended and back in the tech booth, someone killed the lights.
“Excellent,” the director boomed from one of the back rows.
Startled, I almost teetered off the chair.
“Now do it again without your script, please.” The lights came on. “We should be way past open scripts, people.”
A little dizzy, I climbed down.
“They cast a girl as the ranch boss,” Mia whispered, appearing at my side like a gypsy ghost. “Do you want me to take her picture?”
I hesitated. “Sure.” I handed Mia the camera and wiped my sweaty palms on the front of my jeans.
