Book Read Free

Past Midnight

Page 5

by Mara Purnhagen


  “Fine, thanks,” Avery replied brightly. Then she nudged me and we left.

  The girls passed around my schedule, comparing it with their own. “She’s in B lunch!” exclaimed one.

  Avery smiled. “That means we all have lunch together.”

  When we reached the senior hallway, Avery checked my locker number. “Callie, would you mind showing Charlotte to her locker?”

  The tallest girl in the group reached for my schedule. She looked down at the number, then up at Avery. Something passed between them, but I wasn’t sure what it was. “Of course,” she said. “We’ll catch up with you later.”

  Avery and the other girls went in one direction while Callie and I went in the other. “We have the same first period,” Callie said happily. “So we can walk to class together.”

  She stopped at the last locker before the drinking fountain. “Here it is.”

  “Thanks.” I tried the combination, but it didn’t work.

  “Allow me.” Callie twirled the lock. This time, the door popped open. I unzipped my backpack and pulled out a notebook and my purse.

  “We haven’t seen much of Avery this summer,” Callie said. “How’s she doing?”

  I hung my backpack on a hook. “She’s good. She’s been helping me unpack and get settled in and everything.”

  “That’s nice.” Callie looked around, then lowered her voice. “Has she talked to you about, you know, stuff?”

  I looked at her. “What kind of stuff?”

  Callie hesitated. “Nothing, nothing.” She began to lean against the locker next to mine, but as soon as her back touched it, she flinched like she’d been burned.

  “You okay?”

  Callie looked around to see if anyone had noticed her strange reaction. “I’m fine. Sorry—must have lost my balance for a second. You ready?”

  I shut my locker. “Lead the way.”

  Our first class of the day was British Lit with Dr. Larsen, a severe-looking older woman with a passion for Yeats and a strict no-pencil policy.

  “If it is not written in ink, I will not read it,” she announced, handing out the syllabus. “And I do not mean purple ink, or red or glitter-infused chartreuse. Black or blue only. Preferably black.”

  I checked my pen supply. I had brought the ones Annalise put in my care package, and they were all bright, unacceptable colors. Callie was sitting across from me. She saw me looking through my pens and handed me a black one.

  “Thanks,” I whispered.

  “Welcome to Lincoln High,” she whispered back.

  We were opening our textbooks when a guy with shaggy brown hair limped into the room. Dr. Larsen stopped in the middle of warning us about the severe consequences of blemishing the pages of her textbooks with so much as a squiggly line and looked at him.

  “Mr. James. How good of you to join us.”

  He shrugged and handed her a tardy slip. The entire classroom watched as he shuffled to the back of the room and slid into an empty desk. I gave him a quick once-over and decided he was cute but too disheveled, like he’d just rolled out of bed before coming to school. I returned to my book, but when I glanced over at Callie, she was watching the guy intensely. A few other kids were staring, too, but the guy looked straight ahead and didn’t acknowledge anyone.

  The rest of the day was a slow, boring exercise in repetition: we listened to the same lectures about classroom behavior, read the same student handbook pages covering schoolwide rules, and wrote our names over and over on emergency contact cards and book forms and “I understand all the rules as they have been explained to me” contracts. I had lunch with the girls, who shared horror stories about Dr. Larsen (“too strict”), complained about the cafeteria food (“too salty”) and gossiped about the guys (“too immature”).

  At one point, the noise of the cafeteria decreased noticeably, as if most people had stopped talking at the same time. I looked around. The guy from first period had entered, limping slowly past the tables. The sudden silence was soon replaced with loud whispers.

  “Who is that?” I asked.

  The girls exchanged glances. “Jared James,” Callie said finally. “He’s a loser.”

  “I can’t believe they even let him back in here after last year,” said another.

  I wanted to ask about what had happened to make Jared James such an obvious outcast, but Avery cleared her throat. “Let’s not discuss it, okay? He’s not worth it.”

  Callie nodded. “You’re right. We won’t even say his name.”

  Everyone agreed. For a moment, it felt tense, then Avery laughed. “Did I tell you guys about the time Harris Abbott stole all of Doc Larsen’s pens and replaced them with pencils?”

  The conversation returned to lighter, more comfortable ground, and while everyone tried to make me feel as if I was a part of the group, it was odd not knowing what they knew. I looked across the room. Jared was sitting by himself at an empty table. There had been a loud group of people eating there minutes earlier. They must have left when Jared sat down with his lunch, I realized.

  I watched Jared unwrap a sandwich. He wasn’t awkward or grotesque. If anything, he looked athletic, like a football player, maybe. And he was definitely attractive, in a rugged, unkempt kind of way. The only thing off about him was the limp, and I didn’t believe that anyone was ostracizing him because of that, specifically. I hoped that Avery would tell me more later, when there weren’t so many people around.

  Finally it was the last period of the day, which was reserved for electives. Most of the girls had yearbook, including Avery. I had not been so lucky.

  “AV Club?” Callie frowned. “There’s got to be a way to get you out of that.”

  “Yearbook was my first choice,” I said. “Guess it was full.”

  “Charlotte’s parents make documentary films,” Avery said. “So it should be an easy A.” She turned to me. “AV is not ideal, but the teacher’s nice. Just avoid Bliss Reynolds. She’s a senior with a diva complex.”

  “And if she hassles you too much, let us know,” Callie added.

  Avery patted my shoulder. “See you after school. Think about it—freedom is just fifty minutes away.”

  I smiled and followed her directions to the north hallway. The AV room shared a small, dark corner next to the band room. The Nerd Nest, Callie had joked at lunch. I passed a room where someone was lightly tapping a snare drum, and opened the wide door of the AV room, walking right into utter chaos.

  “The lights!” a girl was screeching. “Noah, you have to do something about those lights!”

  “No, Alex has to do something about the lights. I’m supposed to fix the camera.”

  “The camera doesn’t matter if the lights are too dim, brainiac.”

  I spotted a guy bent over a tripod camera, examining the cables.

  “Check the output,” I said.

  He looked up, and I was surprised by how perfectly green his eyes were. I wondered if he wore colored contacts. “Which one is the output?”

  I knelt down next to him and located the cable. “Should be this one.”

  A light came on, and the guy smiled. “It worked! Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  He wiped his hand on his pants and offered it to me. “I’m Noah.”

  I shook his hand. “Charlotte.”

  I looked around the room. A long table was set up at the front, with a white backdrop hanging behind it and bright lights secured above it. Three ancient cameras were pointing toward the table.

  “You’re in the wrong room, sweetheart.”

  A girl dressed in lavender jeans and a matching short-sleeved shirt was standing in front of me, her hands on her hips. “Hello? Did you hear me? I said you’re in the wrong room.”

  I was confused. “This is AV, right?”

  The teacher walked into the room then, clapping his hands together and trying to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, folks! Let’s gather round! Lots to do and not a lot of time!”

&n
bsp; “Mr. Morley, I absolutely refuse to coanchor the school news,” announced the girl. “I’m a senior!”

  “Bliss, calm down. Who said you were coanchoring?”

  A small group of kids had gathered around Mr. Morley. They were all guys, and most of them appeared to be freshmen. Some of them looked so young they could have been middle schoolers.

  Bliss pointed at me, and I noticed that even her nails were painted a light shade of purple. “Who is that?”

  “My name is Charlotte,” I said, ignoring Bliss and looking directly at Mr. Morley. “I’m new here.”

  “Well, welcome, Charlotte. Do you have any experience with camera work?”

  “Yes.” I glanced at Bliss. “My parents make documentary films. I usually help them with sound.”

  Mr. Morley beamed. “Excellent! Just what we need.”

  “As long as she stays behind the camera,” Bliss muttered.

  The goal of the class, Mr. Morley explained, was to produce a five-minute news show each day that would be aired the next morning in homeroom. What it boiled down to was Bliss reading the announcements and game scores for the week. We also had to sign up to film at least two sports events each semester. If we finished early, the class became a study hall. It wasn’t a big deal—except to Bliss Reynolds, apparently. She cornered me just after the final bell rang.

  “If you’re waiting for me to miss a class so you can take over, don’t bother,” she said. “I don’t take sick days.”

  “How about mental health days?” I asked. “I think you could use one.”

  I wasn’t sure what had possessed me to blurt out something so harsh, but my accumulated experiences at six different high schools had taught me one social truth: let someone treat you badly once, and they’ll keep doing it day after day. Show people you’re not a doormat, and they’ll look for someone else to step on. I hoped my comeback would effectively keep Bliss off my back.

  Her eyes widened with what I could only interpret as rage. “If you think that I would allow some no-name newcomer to sweep in here and steal my job—”

  “Hello, Bliss.” Avery and Callie were standing behind me, smiling sweetly. Bliss stood frozen in place, her mouth still open.

  “Charlotte? Ready to go?” Avery was staring hard at Bliss.

  “Absolutely. See you later, Bliss.”

  It felt strangely powerful to turn my back on Bliss and walk away with my new friends.

  “What was her problem?” Callie asked.

  “She thinks I’m after her news-anchoring job,” I said. “Personally, I prefer to stay behind the camera, so she’s got nothing to worry about.”

  “Don’t let her know that,” Avery advised. “Keep her guessing.”

  “She seemed a little intimidated by you guys,” I said, choosing my words carefully.

  Callie laughed. “I doubt it. We’ve known her forever.”

  Avery stopped just before we reached my locker. “Bliss just feels guilty, is all. She wrote a story for the student paper last year, and she got her facts all wrong and upset a lot of people.”

  “Oh. What was the story about?”

  “Something she knew nothing about,” Callie muttered.

  Avery shot Callie a glance. “It was about the cheerleaders,” she said. “I need to stop at my locker. I’ll meet you guys outside.”

  My backpack weighed about a hundred pounds after I filled it with all the books I needed. “I can’t believe I have so much homework,” I complained.

  Callie laughed. “The teachers always start off hard. It’ll get better.”

  As we were walking out to the parking lot, I remembered that I left my English notebook behind.

  “Tell Avery I’ll be there in a minute.” I dropped my backpack to the sidewalk, where it landed with a heavy thump.

  I walked quickly, not wanting to make Avery wait. As I turned the corner into the senior hallway, I spotted a guy at the drinking fountain next to my locker. It was Jared. He looked up as I approached.

  “Hey.”

  I nodded and began turning the lock. I tried opening the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Need help?”

  He’s a loser, the girls had warned me. Nothing about him struck me as all that terrible, though. His voice was soft, and his limp made him seem, well, vulnerable.

  “I can do it,” I said. “It’s been sticking all day.”

  Jared took an awkward step forward. “Make sure you turn it all the way around first,” he said. “That seems to help.”

  “I’ll do that.” I gave him a quick smile and tried again. This time, it opened. “It worked,” I said, pulling my notebook off the shelf. “Thanks.”

  When I shut the door and looked over at the drinking fountain, he was gone. I returned to the parking lot. Avery was in her car and my backpack was already inside.

  “Ready?”

  I thought about telling her that I’d run into Jared, but then decided against it. He’d only spoken a few words to me, so it wasn’t a big deal, and I didn’t want to upset her. We won’t even say his name, Callie had decided at lunch. I had agreed to that. I had also decided that I needed to know more.

  As Avery pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward our neighborhood, I resolved to find a way to get the whole story from her. Whatever Jared had done, it couldn’t be too awful, could it? He was still in school, so it wasn’t like he’d been expelled or arrested or anything. Of course, people got away with terrible things all the time. Maybe that’s why everyone hated him.

  “So what did you think of Lincoln High?” Avery asked as she turned away from the main road.

  “It’s got a lot going on,” I replied.

  six

  It was nighttime and I was standing outside in an unfamiliar place, a slender sliver of moon shining overhead. Tall tomb-stones dotted the ground. There was something strange about them. A light breeze passed, rippling the stones. I realized they weren’t graves at all but homemade tents constructed of pale sheets. This wasn’t a cemetery—it was a park.

  The dark-haired girl emerged from one of the tents. She was wearing a pink dress that flowed to her ankles. Her black hair was pulled into a long braid, and for a second she reminded me of Annalise, dressed in an old-fashioned costume for one of my parents’ films. This wasn’t a costume, though—she was clad in the clothes of her time, which I guessed was at least a hundred years ago.

  I watched as the girl crept past the other tents. Somewhere, a baby cried softly. The girl hesitated. She looked around, then continued walking quickly. When she reached the edge of the park, she turned around. “Goodbye,” she whispered, and I thought her voice sounded exactly like my own. The girl hurried off into the darkness, away from the park, away from the tents, away from everything.

  The dream was still clear in my mind as I walked to Avery’s house. It was the first weekend of September, and my parents had gone to Charleston that morning to visit Annalise. They wouldn’t be back until after dinner, so Avery invited me over to help her brainstorm ideas for Homecoming.

  “I’m leading the committee,” she’d told me the night before. “And I want to present some fantastic ideas before our big meeting next week.”

  “I don’t know how I can help,” I’d told her. “I don’t have a lot of experience with Homecoming.”

  “Perfect,” Avery had replied. “You’ll give me a fresh perspective.”

  My perspective was anything but fresh as I knocked on her door. I was strangely groggy, even though I’d had more than enough sleep. The dream was all I could think about. It had felt so real, like I was standing there with the girl, watching events unfold from just a few steps away.

  Avery opened the door. She was cradling Dante in her arms. As soon as the little dog saw me, he whimpered, but Avery didn’t seem to notice. “You’re here! Excellent. Let’s go up to my room.”

  I had seen Avery’s bedroom before—in the pages of a magazine. Pale pink walls were accented by a black chair rail and patterne
d throw pillows. Everything was coordinated, from the curtains to the framed pictures to the white bowl of rose buds on her nightstand.

  “Wow,” I breathed. The air held the soft scent of roses. My bare, beige room looked like a utility closet in comparison.

  “Do you like it? It’s supposed to be ‘modern tranquil.’ That’s what my mom’s designer said, at least.”

  “It’s gorgeous,” I said, taking it all in.

  I’d known Avery for nearly a month, and it was the first time I’d been inside her house, which was lovely and organized and had a living room that was actually used as, well, a living room.

  Avery gently placed Dante on a pink silk pillow and sat cross-legged on her bed while I walked over to her dresser, where a cluster of pictures sat in identical black frames.

  “Is this Adam?” I held up a picture of her standing close to a tall guy with a wide, toothy smile. He was wearing a tux and Avery was dressed in a sapphire-blue gown.

  “That was from last year’s prom.”

  Some of the pictures were of Avery with Dante and a few were shots of Dante alone, but most of them featured Avery with Adam. I picked up another one of the two of them. She was in her cheerleading uniform while he was dressed in a football uniform. They had their arms around each other and were smiling. Behind them I could see the field and the blurry figures of people wandering around after a game.

  “How long have you dated?” I asked.

  “We met at Homecoming my freshman year. After that we were kind of inseparable.”

  I picked up a picture that appeared to be Adam’s senior photo. He had light brown hair and even lighter brown eyes. “He’s hot.”

  Avery giggled. “I think so.”

  I remembered Callie asking me if Avery had talked to me about “stuff.” This must be what she meant, I thought. Her long-term boyfriend had graduated and gone off to college, leaving her behind.

  “I bet you miss him.”

  “I do.” Her voice was quieter. “I talk to him every day, but still. It’s hard.” She looked down at her hands, and I thought for a moment that she was going to cry. But then she looked up, smiling. “Want to see my yearbooks?”

 

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