by Marta Acosta
His blue eyes held mine for nerve-racking seconds. “You smell nice.”
I blushed and I kept my eyes on his.
Then he reached for my hand and held it, and a shiver went through me. “I can do the chemistry on my own, but I’ll do better if you keep me on track. I need someone beside me for support, someone I can confide in who won’t judge me. Don’t you want to be that person?”
We both jumped at the sound of someone in the hall. I leaned away from Lucky as Mrs. Radcliffe came in.
“Hope I’m not interrupting. Lucky, would you please unload my car now? I’ve got files in there that I’ve got to review,” she said. “Jane, dinner will be ready in about ten minutes.” Lucky tossed a glance at me as he and his mother left the room.
I stared at the chem book but could only think of Lucky’s hand on mine and the frustrating obscurity of his comments. I was so tense that I needed to move and decided to walk down the hall and see what was up here.
There was a small blue-and-white guest bath, linen closets, and then a spacious and neat black-and-white bedroom with sleek modern furniture. Dozens of sports trophies filled glass cases, and an entertainment center had game systems and a flatscreen. One wall was covered with baseball and ski team photos and photos of Lucky and his friends at parties. I tried to imagine myself in a picture here, but couldn’t.
I left the room and wandered to the end of the hall. A door was ajar, so I pushed it open to see a cluttered, sun-filled room as big as my cottage. Black, gray, and khaki clothes were strewn across the floor, and bicycles hung from hooks on the ceiling. Music equipment and guitars were everywhere, and club flyers covered giant bulletin boards.
Albums were sorted on shelves with handwritten labels: WINTER, SANDSTORM, MELANCHOLY, WILD ANIMAL JAMBOREE, TANTALIZE ME, RUMINATE ON THIS, and more. I tilted my head sideways and ran my fingers over the spines to read all the unfamiliar titles. A bookshelf was crammed from top to bottom with sci-fi and fantasy books and books about music.
On one side of the room, French windows opened onto a wide balcony. I wandered over to see the view but froze when I spotted Jack sitting on an old wooden chair there. He faced out toward the trees while he plucked a guitar. Beside him was a table with a notebook and a pencil. He’d play a few seconds and then write in the notebook.
A soft breeze blew back his bittersweet chocolate hair and when he dropped his head to write, I saw his profile. His lips twitched upward before he replayed an altered version of the tune.
I was unaware of how much I’d edged forward until he stopped playing and turned toward me. I felt like I’d been caught spying as I stood at the open doors and the breeze cooled my skin. We stared at each other too long and then Jack smiled slowly.
“So you came to see me, Halfling. I’ve been hoping you would.”
His expression was so earnest that he almost fooled me, almost made me believe that he’d been waiting for me. “Very funny, Jack. Why would I come to see you? I’m here for Lucky.” I saw the disappointment in his face—I guess since I hadn’t fallen for his teasing.
He played a few notes that gave me a strange sensation, like fingertips softly brushing the back of my neck. “I know that, that you’re here for Lucky.”
“I was, uhm, just seeing what’s on this floor,” I stammered. “Why do you organize your music like that, instead of alphabetically or chronologically?”
“Because that’s what music is to me, an emotional story.” He began playing a slow, intricate song that made me feel melancholy.
“What kind of music is that anyway?”
“Classical modern. The notes would be crisper if I took care of my hands, but people keep crashing me into bushes.”
“Like I said, very funny. Is that song for your band?”
“No, my band’s mostly rock. The song can be for you if you like. It can be ‘Into the Wild with My Brown-Eyed Nymph.’”
Did he mean Hattie in the woods at night? Had he been the one who called her at the slumber party? Had she met him out there? “Hattie has brown eyes.”
“Hazel, actually. Yours are brown as chocolate. Or coffee, a medium but sparky blend.”
He was so weird. “An ‘emotional’ system sounds like a ‘random’ system. I don’t see how you find anything that way.”
“Sometimes I don’t, but that’s what makes things interesting. I find music I forgot I had and hear new things in old songs. The way you experience a song changes with your own experiences. It changes with your moods.”
“It sounds like a way to waste time.”
“It’s not the destination; it’s the journey, Halfling. How would you organize emotions?”
“Well, I’d assign each elemental emotion a code, like the periodic table, arranged by weight, property, and charge. Compound emotions, like sibling rivalry, for example, could be easily broken down into base elements, including competitiveness and envy, and I’d factor in family dynamics.”
Jack sighed loudly and twanged his guitar. “Why do you need to break everything down into boring components? I mean, you could take something amazing like…”
“Pizza.”
“Yes, pizza.” The right corner of Jack’s mouth lifted. “It’s tomato sauce, and the crust has flour in it, and then there are the toppings. None of those ingredients is especially interesting on its own, but together they’re awesome. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.”
“You must have been terrible in math.”
“Maybe you could tutor me.”
“I think you’re beyond help.”
“I’m incorrigible?”
The word startled me. “Why did you use that word?”
He shrugged. “Isn’t it right? You’re the vocabulary genius, not me.”
“It’s fine. Dinner’s ready.”
The peculiar conversation with Jack somehow helped me get my act together enough to sit through dinner, and I had to stop myself from staring at Lucky. I stalled leaving by helping wash the dishes and then Lucky came to my side. “Jane, I’ll walk you home.”
We were silent until we walked into the darkness of the grove. Like Hattie, he had no problem finding his way, but my steps slowed because I didn’t want to stumble. To my amazement, Lucky swung an arm over my shoulders and helped me on the path.
My breathing quickened. “Lucky, what did you mean about using me?”
“I want you to be there for me. To be my friend and my … and more. I want you to be loyal to me and to stay with me through anything.”
“Do you mean as a friend?”
“More.”
My heart raced. “A girlfriend?” I desperately hoped that he wouldn’t sneer.
“Girlfriends are temporary.” His arm over my shoulder tightened. “Will you be loyal to me, Jane?”
I wanted to please him, to make him like me. “I’ll be loyal to you so long as you are deserving of loyalty.”
Lucky’s voice was husky as he said, “I knew I could count on you.” We were at the amphitheater and he paused. “I like this place. Sometimes I come here at night to chill.”
“Lucky, you said girlfriends are temporary, and I was wondering … Are you seeing anyone?”
“Are you asking for yourself or did Mary Violet tell you to snoop? I’d never hook up with such an attention whore.”
I drew away from Lucky so quickly that his arm fell from my shoulder. “That’s really harsh and unjustified. She’s … she’s fabulous.”
“I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I meant, like, she’s an extrovert and I like girls who are quieter, you know, quiet like you.” There was enough light for me to make out his smile. I wanted to believe he’d merely been careless with his words. Then he put his arm over my shoulders again, and we started walking.
At the cottage porch, Lucky faced me and I couldn’t breathe anymore. He pushed my hair back behind my shoulder, and his mouth went to the side of my throat, and my knees went weak with astonishment. He wrapped an arm around my waist, drawing me
close.
I arched my neck back, astounded by his mouth on my skin, thrilled by the feel of his tall body against mine, and I closed my eyes.
When he nipped my throat sharply with his teeth, my first reflex was to jump away.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked anxiously.
“You surprised me.” And made me nervous and excited and confused and unsure.
He put his arms around me so that my body was tight against his. “Jane, don’t tell anyone what I said to you before, about us.”
“Lucky, I don’t go telling everyone my business.”
“No, I know you don’t. But everyone gossips here. Some of the girls would be jealous because they’ve been after me and they’d get nasty and go mean-girl on you. Once people get to know you, we can be more open about our…”
“Our what?”
“About us. I’ll see you soon, Jane.”
So there was an us.
I replayed his words, the press of his body, the kiss—and the nip—obsessively in my head. I wrote down everything that had happened in my composition book. All through the night, I imagined things I could have said, things Lucky could have said, the ways we could have touched each other.
My biggest question was Why me? Why had Lucian Radcliffe chosen Jane Williams, Mousie Girl, as a special friend? And what exactly did he expect?
* * *
On Monday, I asked Hattie if we could talk for a minute. We stepped into an empty hall, near the chapel. I pulled the silver penknife from my blazer pocket. “Hattie, I found this at the amphitheater.”
She took it from me. “Thanks! I must have dropped it when I was out there. It was my great-grandmother’s.”
“There were spots of blood on the bench. If something’s bothering you … if there’s anything I can do to help, just ask.”
“I’m not a cutter.” She rolled up her sleeves, revealing flawless skin so pale that the blue veins showed clearly. “See.” Then she hiked up her skirt, so I could see her slim, perfect legs. “I carried the knife out for protection, which was silly since this is the safest place in the world. I was playing with it and I nicked my finger.” She held up her forefinger. “All better now.”
“Sorry. I had to ask, in case.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad you cared enough to say something.” She smiled. “Hey, I wanted to tell you, there’s a party on Friday at the country club. Jack’s band is playing. Do you want to come?”
“Sure.”
“Great. Constance and MV are coming.” We began to walk back to the main hallway and she added casually, “Lucky will be there, too.”
And those five words made my heart stop. I stole a peek at Hattie, but to her it was merely a comment. Lucky said we had to wait to let others know about us, but maybe he’d change his mind at the party. Maybe he’d put his arm over my shoulders as he introduced me to his friends. Maybe he’d hold me close for a slow jam. I thought of how I’d look up into his perfect face. I imagined Lucky’s golden hair falling over his forehead and his blue eyes meeting mine as he leaned down to kiss me.
I went through the next days trying to act normal, but Lucky was always on my mind, like a favorite song that you play over and over in your head. I had the delirious feeling that the party would be a changing point in my life—and that the headmistress’s son would declare his feelings for me in front of everyone.
By one of those caprices of the mind, which we are perhaps most subject to in early youth, I at once gave up my former occupations … In this mood of mind I betook myself to the mathematics, and the branches of study appertaining to that science, as being built upon secure foundations, and so worthy of my consideration.
Mary Shelley, Frankenstein (1818)
Chapter 16
As I was leaving homeroom on Thursday, Mr. Mason called me over. “Jane, would you come see me after school today? We should touch base to see how things are going.” He removed his glasses, huffed on the lenses, and polished them with a handkerchief.
Every time I saw him, I thought of MV’s description: tragic and valiant. “We have to put the Weekly to bed this afternoon. Ms. Chu said we’d be busy until after five.”
“Come as late as you like. I have papers to grade and I’ll be in the lab.”
When I went to the chem lab a little after six P.M., Mr. Mason was standing at the window staring out to the lush trees beyond. He startled at the sound of my footsteps and then smiled.
On the surface, he seemed fine. A closer inspection showed that his shirt was badly ironed and his graying hair had grown shaggy. His white lab jacket was missing a button. There were bags under his eyes and his complexion was dull.
Mr. Mason set a batch of papers on the ledge under the window. “Will you have an article in this issue of the newspaper?”
“I wrote a piece on the scholarship program.”
“A piece, hmm? You’re already speaking the jargon,” he said warmly. “My wife was an orphan who won Birch Grove’s Belvedere Scholarship, which paid for her tuition and housing. You probably heard that she passed away last year.”
I thought he actually believed that story. “Yes, I’m very sorry, Mr. Mason.”
“Like you, she had an aptitude for science, although her specialty was biology. She decided to return here as a nurse and we met my first year teaching. That’s the wonder of Birch Grove. We all become part of one another’s lives. But I really wanted to know how you’re doing. How do you like Night Terrors?”
“Thanks for helping me transfer in. It’s much better than the other course.”
“But?”
“But I still don’t see the purpose of studying superstitious fiction when we have so many really interesting scientific mysteries that need to be solved.”
“I feel the same way. Let’s not tell anyone though, because people always think something’s wrong with you when you’d rather conduct an experiment than read a novel.”
I grinned. “Deal.”
“If you’d like any assistance, I could set up sessions with tutors or counselors.”
“It’s hard, but I’m keeping up.”
“Terrific. You’re my top student in Honors Chemistry, you know, and that’s quite remarkable for someone who hasn’t had the advantages of good schools.”
“I work hard.” I felt shy about his compliment but really happy, too.
He took a red pencil from his pocket. “I suppose we both better get to our homework. I’ve got to finish grading and then set up for tomorrow’s Frosh Chem.”
“Can I help, sir?”
He smiled gratefully. “If you have time. It’s an easy experiment on chemical changes.” He gave me a printout of the experiment, and I set up each station with test tubes, beakers, reagents like sodium bicarbonate and aluminum chloride, and solutions. I marked off each item after I placed it on the lab tables, and then I checked again.
“All done!” I said.
Mr. Mason, who had been glancing at me from time to time as he graded papers, came to inspect my work. “Very good, Jane! Thank you for your help.”
“Well, if you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the precipitate.”
It was a corny old joke, but he chuckled. “Nerd alert!”
“Nerds unite! If you ever need help, I can come by.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Jane. You better go along now and get to your homework.”
I was still savoring Mr. Mason’s praise as I went down the stairwell. The building seemed so different when it was vacant. A few low-wattage bulbs provided dim circles of light, and each footstep echoed in the empty hall. I began walking softly in the creepy gloom.
As I turned toward the lockers, I saw someone down the hall, a darker shape against the shadows, and the little hairs on the back of my neck went up. She wore jeans and a black sweatshirt with the hood up over her head and she was fiddling with a locker. I stepped forward and realized that she was by my locker.
“Hey!” I shouted.
She duc
ked her head so I couldn’t see her face and dashed off in the other direction. My foster-kid attitude kicked in and I sprinted after her. She turned down the hall with the music practice rooms.
The slick soles of my shoes slowed me down, and when I rounded the corner, the shadowy hallway was empty.
The hall dead-ended at an emergency exit door with a glowing red light still active. My heart pounded and every nerve was alert as I went up and down the hall, searching each practice room. They were empty.
She couldn’t have disappeared, so I checked the rooms again. She must have gone out the emergency exit. Which means that she knew the access code for the exit. I rushed back to the other hallway. My locker was closed and locked. I opened it—everything looked the same.
Was I letting paranoia affect my reasoning? The light here was so faint that she could have been at someone else’s locker or even at her own locker. She might have been freaked out when I surprised her and yelled.
But if she was trying to get in my locker to snoop or steal something of mine, then she might have been snooping around my cottage and broken (on purpose or by accident) the flowerpot.
But this wasn’t Hellsdale. After all, a store manager might watch you without thinking that you were a shoplifter.
I left the building and glanced back. The only lighted room was the chemistry lab. Mr. Mason was still silhouetted against the front window.
* * *
I was eating my dinner of scrambled eggs when Mary Violet called. “What are you wearing tomorrow for the soiree? Don’t answer that because I already inspected your closet and you don’t have any dresses.”
“I don’t know. I guess I’ll wear my cargos and a tee.”
“No, all the girls wear dresses. Did you know that my mother has a room like a museum where she keeps all our evening and special occasion wear? We should have a directory like in department stores, you know, Women’s Intimates, Third Floor.”
“Your clothes wouldn’t fit me, MV.”
“State the obvious, please! You’re about the same size as Agnes and she’s got dozens of dresses that she won’t wear.”
