After we cleaned out the room (who were they going to get to do this when we weren’t around next year?), we dragged in chairs from classrooms they’d migrated to. We still had a couple of minutes to go before seven, and Jeremy wasn’t there yet, so Gillian amused herself at the little spinet while we waited.
Gillian, in case you didn’t know, is at Spencer on a music scholarship. She’s not only brilliant at science and math, but she’s a concert pianist who never gives concerts. Oh, she practices in the music rooms because that’s what music students do, but the girl could fill the auditorium downtown at the Opera House if she wanted. She and Yo-Yo Ma, tearing it up. I could see it now.
So when I say she was amusing herself, it was with some dead German guy’s concerto that involved fingers moving so fast they blurred as they executed intricate runs up and down the keyboard. How she remembers all those notes is a mystery. Probably the same way she remembers chemical formulas and how to start Pascal’s triangle. As Carly would say, it’s a gift.
The door opened and Jeremy came in, looking over his shoulder as he held the door. I smiled at him and then turned to see who else was with him. Usually it’s just us the Tuesday night before term starts, because Gillian doesn’t go around putting up her signs until later in the week, so I wasn’t expecting anyone else.
Which is why, when Lady Lindsay MacPhail walked into the room, sheer disbelief froze my smiling lips to my teeth.
Gillian lost her place in the concerto and came to a crashing halt. Carly said something really high and loud in Spanish and flung herself at Mac. At which point everyone started talking at once.
“I can’t believe it! What are you doing here?”
“This is prayer circle, right?”
“Mac, you look amazing. Tell me that’s not a Dior.”
“Gillian, you got your hair cut!”
“Dude, do these chicks always tweak like this?”
Carly dragged Mac over to a chair, so the rest of us followed to hear what miracle had brought her back. I grinned at the sound of her accent, plummy and posh with just an edge of a burr on her r’s. I suppose you can take the girl out of Scotland, but you can’t take Scotland out of the girl.
“Tell all,” Carly demanded. “Now, before I split a seam.”
“I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad to see you all again,” Mac said. “Mummy and Dad fought it every step of the way, because I’m supposed to be prepping for Oxford, but I asked them, what makes you think I’m going to uni in the U.K.? What if I want to go to Harvard?”
“You do?” Gillian asked. “I didn’t know that.”
“I don’t, but what if I did?” Mac retorted. “I might want to go to Stanford or Princeton or any number of places, and all they can see is stuffy old Oxford because both of them went there. And then there was the David situation. If you don’t think I made the most of that, think again,” she said with a dangerous smile, tossing her red curls over one shoulder. “In the end, since I have to come back for the trial and probably for a—what do you call it? An appeal?” She looked at Gillian, resident CSI expert, who nodded. “They finally concluded I might as well come over for the term. Mummy promised she’d come for the trial, too, for moral support.”
“What about your dad?” I asked.
Mac leaned forward a little. “Just my opinion, of course,” she said, “but I don’t think he can bear to see David. He never has, you know. He’s being typically Dad and hiding from anything that’s unpleasant.” She snorted and sat back. “Like it’ll go away.”
“Well, I’m going to pray for him,” Gillian told her. “Come on, everyone. Let’s get started.”
Mac shook her head. “I’m not the praying sort. You can pass me by. I just came to find you all since Carly wasn’t in her room.”
Gillian and Lissa exchanged a smile, as if they knew something the rest of us didn’t. I couldn’t imagine what, but if Mac could speak up, so could I.
“Me, too,” I said. “Not the praying kind, I mean.” I paused and looked into my friends’ faces. “For now.”
“Cool.” Carly gave me a big grin.
“Wait a second.” Gillian looked at Mac. “How’d you know Carly wasn’t in her room?”
“I went in and had a look ’round, obviously,” Mac said.
I tried to puzzle this out. “You have a key to our room?”
“Oh, were those your things? I thought those orange Dolce & Gabbana pumps looked familiar. The dorms seem to be very crowded this term, and since I came in at the last minute, pulling strings all the way, they’ve put me in with you.”
“Cool squared!” Carly gave this idea the thumbs-up.
I felt like leaping to my feet and heading for the Admin office at a dead run, howling “No!” every step of the way. Since when did they put three people in a room designed for two? Especially when one was Mac, who took up more than the usual person’s amount of space.
“Isn’t that going to be a little tight?” I asked, keeping it light and friendly. “I mean, I know how much you travel with.”
“That was before, when I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t bring my motorbike helmet this time, for instance, since the likelihood of being invited to one of Brett’s wineries is fairly low.”
“I wouldn’t put money on that,” Lissa said with a glance at Carly.
“So I ditched all the suitcases and just came with two trunks. They’re vintage—Dad’s had them in the attic with all the other clobber from the last couple of centuries. They function like closets when they have to.”
“And I’m happy to share my wardrobe with you,” Carly told her. “My side of the bathroom cabinet, too.”
Okay, this was making me sound like I resented her being there and I was some kind of space hog to boot. Both were the last impressions I wanted to give.
“We’ll all share,” I said with a big smile. “It’ll be fun.”
Then, to my relief, Gillian called us to order a second time and they got down to the serious business of praying. When Lissa’s turn came, she gave us a big grin and pulled her MacBook out from under her chair. She flipped it open and pressed Play on a movie that was cued up on the screen.
The video started and the first thing I saw was a close-up of Danyel’s face. I realized my jaw was hanging open and I shut it with a snap. How soon could I get a copy of that video? Then I realized what I was looking at: He’d joined us au virtuel at prayer circle.
“Lord, thanks for bringing all my friends safe back to school without running into anything or the cars stalling out on the hills. I hope You’ll bless them while they hang together at Your feet to pray. Be with my buddy Kaz, because he’s pretty disturbed these days.” He took a deep breath. “Be with my friend Lissa and give her strength to deal with…stuff, and I hope we’ll feel Your presence with us as we go to classes and start the new term. I pray you’ll work in Mac’s heart and Shani’s too, because wow, Father, I can’t imagine getting through a day all by myself. Help them to come to know You. In the name of my big brother Jesus, amen.”
I was so stunned about somebody addressing the Big Guy on my behalf, that Lissa had closed the notebook and begun praying before I could even react.
“Father God, thank You for all my friends who walk beside me while Your angels have my back. Thank You for bringing Danyel here via e-mail, and Mac via British Airways. I know You want me to learn the power of discernment, Lord. I really need it when I deal with my parents. I don’t know what’s going on there, but when You tell me, I hope You’ll give me the strength to do whatever I need to. Maybe You could put it in my mom’s heart to stay around home a little more. She says it’s fund-raising for a good cause, but it can’t be so good when my dad’s so unhappy. I pray for Your spirit on them, Father, and on me, especially when I’m around Vanessa Talbot. Amen.”
Whoa. Lissa’s parents were having troubles? Yuck. That couldn’t be good. I wasn’t really sure about this prayer thing, but I sent up a silent request to the Big Guy
that they’d work it out. Not that I knew whole bunches about parents working things out. I assumed mine did, because they always seemed normal when they were around me, and extended absences were just part of who they were. I’d gotten over wishing they’d stick around and be a family with me years ago.
Maybe that was why I was so determined to be the perfect friend with the people in this room. They were my family now. They seemed to like having me around, and with the possible teensy exception of Mac, I felt the same about them. But Carly liked Mac, and I liked Carly, so for her sake, I’d try.
* * *
To:[email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date:September 25, 2009
Re:Auugghhh
I hope you know how much life stinks right now. I really need my best bud and where are you? Frolicking in the fog without me. Even catching some good waves after school today didn’t help. Dan was with me, but that empty space on the invisible board on my other side just made me miss you more.
I know you’ve got parental problems and yeah, I’d be worried too. Absence does not make the heart grow fonder. It just makes the heart forget what it liked about the other person. Not that I’m forgetting you, girl. It’s different with parents, I guess.
In other news, it’s been four months and counting since that publisher got my manuscript for DEMON BATTLE. I bet it’s holding open the mailroom door. I bet no one’s going to read it because it does a better job with the door than it does at entertaining anybody.
Aw, delete this message. I need to go give my head a shake. Pray for me, wouldja?
(((hug)))
Kaz
* * *
Chapter 5
INEVER PAID much ATTENTION to classes before last year. Like I said, they were just something to get through with the highest grades possible on my way to bigger and better things. But, you know, hanging out with Gillian Chang changes your ideas.
That girl loves learning stuff. Doesn’t matter whether it’s calculus or the best way to letter thought-bubbles on a graphic panel—she’s into it.
Carly, too. On Friday she scampered off to her Fashion Design module like it was Christmas and all the presents under the tree were for her. Of course, since she carried off first prize at Design Your Dreams last June, the presents probably are for her. It’s not every day Stella McCartney offers you an internship in London for the summer.
It’s not every day Stella gets turned down.
Nicely, of course. I can’t imagine Carly being anything but nice about it. But she feels a lot of loyalty to Tori Wu, who has a loft in Chinatown and who designs these amazing dresses, and plus she was going to get paid, and plus she could still see her family on weekends, so it was a no-brainer to stay stateside and get some fabu training—not to mention swag.
And did I tell you about the e-mail she got on Monday, before we left for the opening assembly?
* * *
To:[email protected]
From:[email protected]
Date:September 28, 2009
Re:Senior Life Sciences requirement
Miss Aragon,
In view of your success at the Design Your Dreams event hosted by Spencer Academy last June, and with the glowing reports we have received from Ms. Tori Wu concerning your performance as an intern with her fashion house, I am pleased to tell you that your senior Life Sciences requirement has been waived.
Instead, I am offering you the position of teacher’s assistant. For your help each Friday in the Fashion Design classes, you will receive a monthly stipend and your grade will be transferred to your Work Experience credit, which will of course make you a competitive candidate on your college applications. You will also have unlimited personal use of the Fashion Design resources and equipment, should you choose to use them.
Congratulations on your achievements, and I look forward to your contributions this year.
Orland Webster, M.Ed.
Dean of Students
Spencer Academy
* * *
Brett Loyola noticed the glow on Carly’s face as soon as he located her in the crowd in the assembly hall—aka the ballroom—and came to sit with us. The guys from the rowing team sat behind and around us, including some guy with serious shoulders who got comfortable between Gillian and Lissa. Which wouldn’t make Jeremy happy when he got there. That’s what you get for being late, my friend.
“What’s up?” Brett said to Carly. Even I could tell that he thought she was the best thing since music on a chip, the way he looked down into her face. They’d been a couple since the night Mac was kidnapped last May. I mean, that situation pretty much redlined what Brett called the weird-o-meter, but what was even more amazing to me was that he hadn’t lost interest a month later and moved on.
Don’t get me wrong—that wasn’t a slam. She’s my friend and I love her, but, well, she’s Carly, the Latina scholarship kid. Not Vanessa Talbot or Dani Lavigne or any of the glossy posse who have hung on Brett’s arm ever since his voice changed. She’s an ordinary girl with, okay, a little more talent and sweetness than most, and she’d accomplished what many women before her had not.
She’d made Brett care.
Their heads tilted close together as she told him the happy news, and heads turned and texts flew as he hugged her and gave her a big kiss on the lips in front of everybody within three rows.
Lucky for them, Ms. Tobin and Mr. Milsom, the terrors of the dormitories, were busy with a bunch of confused freshmen at the door and missed the show. I glanced at Lissa and smiled. The corners of her mouth twitched up and fell, and she looked past me at the lovebirds, whispering away in their own little world.
Her face turned bleak.
“Are you okay?”
“Define ‘okay.’”
“The absence of disease, disaster, or midterms.”
“Then I’m okay.”
That still left a huge list of stuff that could be wrong. Ms. Curzon, the headmistress, walked up to the microphone and her image appeared on the projection screens above the stage. I couldn’t say any more, but I promised myself I’d get with Gillian and find out what was going on with Lissa. If it was just her family, there wasn’t much I could do but be sympathetic and supportive and sneak her chocolate between classes. If there was something else going on with her, then it was our job to help.
I mean, even we non-Christians can figure out that much.
“Good morning, everyone,” Ms. Curzon began in her half-American, half-British accent. “Welcome to your first full week at Spencer Academy, and for some of you, may I say, welcome to your first term. I look forward to another class of students learning what our school colors stand for: loyalty, purity, and intellect.”
A video produced by the media classes began to play on the screen, but since it involved rah-rah stuff like the sports teams and winning and all the exciting extracurriculars you could sign up for, I tuned out and admired the workmanship in my Louboutin pumps instead. Since all of us wore the same uniforms, the only place you could get creative during class hours was with hair and shoes. And, as the girls will tell you, I do the most with both.
Gillian slid out of her chair and made her way unobtrusively up the side aisle. I tuned back in and elbowed Lissa. “Where’s she going?” Lissa shook her head as Gillian paused next to the ficus forest that concealed the staircase up to the stage.
“Seniors, your plates will be full this term,” Ms. Curzon went on, and reluctantly I turned my attention back to her. “Not only do you have college applications—and may I remind you that the university acceptance rate of Spencer students is ninety-eight percent—but don’t forget your Community Service requirement. If you don’t have twenty credits by June, you won’t graduate, so make it a point to visit the counseling office sometime before the holiday break to decide on ways in which you may serve.
“Now, it gives me great pleasure to introduce one of our music students, senior Gillian Chang, who will perform
Richard Strauss’s Also Sprach Zarathustra.”
Gillian bounded up the stairs while everyone applauded, and seated herself at the huge antique Steinway on the far side. Within a few bars, even the ignorant mopes who’d been rude enough to chatter during announcements had fallen silent, watching her slender body throw itself into the chords and the emotional buildup of the theme.
She wasn’t amusing herself now. That girl could seriously play.
And when she was done, you could hear a paperclip drop in the big ballroom. Lissa and I looked at each other, and we leaped to our feet, clapping as hard as we could. Our whole row did likewise, and of course when the rowing team got into it, everyone decided a standing ovation was the thing to do.
Gillian grinned as she ran down the steps and came back to her seat on a wave of congratulations and praise. You could barely hear Ms. Curzon dismiss us all, and it was a good thing we didn’t have to do something as anticlimactic as go to class. Instead, we went straight to an early lunch.
Brett and his buds from the rowing team dragged two tables together so we could all sit in a big, noisy bunch. “How lovely,” Mac purred to me as we loaded our plates.
“What, the fish and chips make you feel at home?” Of course, we weren’t talking about limp fries wrapped in newspaper. At Spencer this meant Alaskan halibut in light-as-air tempura batter, with hand-cut potatoes and a tomato-basil salad.
“No,” she said. “I meant the male-to-female ratio at our table. Much improved since last year, I’d say.”
I’d say so, too. There was totally an advantage to having connections with the team captain. “You won’t see me complaining.” We grinned at each other and returned to our seats. I have to admit, the accord between us on this subject, at least, felt pretty good.
Who Made You a Princess? Page 4
