“So here’s how it works at Hoover,” said Mr. Ferrell, and he launched into a monologue.
Benjamin tapped Spanish and Art on Maya’s class grid. Oh, good. She sat back, then leaned forward. She had all kinds of questions.
She got her binder out of her backpack. On a fresh piece of paper, she wrote:
What’s cheekoovnee?
After checking to make sure Mr. Ferrell wasn’t looking, she edged the paper over onto Benjamin’s desk.
He looked at the note, then glanced at Gwenda, who was watching them. She leaned forward and scanned the note. She sat back, her eyebrows up.
Benjamin wrote on the paper, showed it to Gwenda, who nodded, and passed it back to Maya.
Chikuvny. It’s a kind of perfume.
This was so not what she expected.
I don’t wear perfume.
You smell good anyway.
She cocked her head sideways to see if she could get a different view of Benjamin. He had to be joking.
She sniffed the back of her hand, still watching him. He shrugged, half smiled. She sniffed her palm.
Carnation and cinnamon.
Fairy dust! Tiny gold glints still gleamed in the lines of her palms, though she had washed her hands before breakfast. Or had she?
Was there really a strong enough scent left to make two different guys accuse her of wearing some perfume she’d never heard of? She stared at Benjamin, and he stared back with dark, serious eyes.
Maybe fairy dust had made her hand tingle when she touched the guy in the hall.
She reached toward Benjamin, wondering what would happen if she touched him. Then she thought, No, this is way too weird.
He held out a hand, though. Her hand moved toward it.
“Miss Andersen!” yelled Mr. Ferrell from the front of the room.
She jerked her hand back.
Everybody turned to stare at her.
FIVE
“Yes, Mr. Ferrell?” Maya said.
“You should know my policy on note passing. When I observe notes being passed, I confiscate them and read them aloud to the whole class. Since this is your first offense, I’ll let you off with a warning, but I want everyone in this room to understand I’m serious about this.”
She felt her face heat. She stared down at her notebook.
The blond guy on her other side grabbed the note off her desk, wadded it up, and stuck it in his mouth.
“Mr. Finnegan!” Mr. Ferrell yelled.
The boy chewed.
Mr. Ferrell sighed. “Welcome back, Mr. Finnegan. It seems you haven’t changed since the last time you were in seventh grade.”
The boy swallowed. “Thanks, dude.” He turned to Maya, raised his eyebrows, and smiled.
She tried to smile back at him, but the truth was, she was mad. She’d been let off with a warning. She could have kept her note. She liked how Benjamin wrote: his letters were spiky and close together, but they were all there. Her first note. If something dire happened and nobody liked her after this morning, it might be her last friendly communication at Hoover.
“One more stunt like that, Mr. Finnegan, and you will visit Principal Clark,” Mr. Ferrell said. “Does anyone have any legitimate questions?”
Maya raised her hand.
“Miss Andersen,” said Mr. Ferrell.
“Is there a map of the school? I got lost trying to find this room.”
“You were supposed to get a map at Orientation,” he said.
“We didn’t move to town in time for Orientation.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Mr. Ferrell riffled through a short stack of papers. “I have a note here from the counselor’s office. You’re to stop by at the end of the day to pick up some paperwork from Mrs. Boleslav. She’ll give you a map.”
Great. She got to spend her first day without a map.
The big blond note-eating kid next to her burped and said, “I’ll show you around.”
“Gee,” she said. “Thanks.”
“No prob, dudette.”
Dudette?
She glanced at Benjamin and Gwenda, wondering if they would save her from the blond kid. Benjamin waggled his eyebrows and shrugged.
“What’s your name, anyway?” she whispered to her new guide. “Or do you want me to call you Mr. Finnegan?”
“Travis,” he whispered back. “Who are you?”
“Maya,” she said.
“Nice to meet you.” Travis smiled, yawned, and slumped in his seat, then closed his eyes and started snoring. It sounded really fake. How could anybody fall asleep that fast? She leaned forward and studied his face. All the muscles had gone slack, so maybe insta-nap was one of his superpowers.
“Come up when I call your name and I’ll give you your locker assignment. You’re responsible for your own locks,” Mr. Ferrell said.
While she waited for Mr. Ferrell to call her name, she doodled in her notebook. A picture of Travis’s sleeping face. Quick sketches of Gwenda and Benjamin—then she flipped the page over so they wouldn’t see. Another of Gwenda and Rowan fighting, drawn from memory. A sketch of Rowan’s face, obscured by hair. She was going to start folders of sketches of the new neighbors when she got home. Sketch them anytime she could, then move on to paint at some point.
She drew the fairy again. If she drew her enough, maybe she’d get her right.
Mr. Ferrell said, “Janus.” Gwenda got up, went to the front of the room, and came back.
The fairy had definitely had arms and wings. Maybe she was more like a bug than a person. Maya had books on human and animal anatomy, but she hadn’t studied bugs yet. If the fairy was just something she’d made up, there weren’t any rules anyway. Why not give her eight limbs?
Because that wasn’t what Maya had seen.
Benjamin poked her shoulder. Startled, she drew a long line across her picture.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “You’re supposed to go up front now.”
She closed her notebook and went up.
At the front desk, Mr. Ferrell said, “What’s your next class? I can give you directions.”
“Language arts block. With Ms. Caras. Room L38.”
He got out a piece of paper and sketched a map that involved lots of squares and some numbers. “Longfellow 38. We’re here in the main building,” he said, making an X. “Ms. Caras’s class is in this building over here, Longfellow.”
“Thanks,” she said.
“You’re welcome. Sorry I came down on you so hard about the notes, but I need to make a few things clear from the start every year, and you presented me with an opportunity.”
She smiled and shrugged, took the map, and went back to her desk.
Her notebook was open to a picture of the fairy.
She knew she hadn’t left it that way.
SIX
She glanced at Benjamin. His nose was buried in a book. Beyond him, Gwenda stared off into space and tapped out a rhythm with her pencil.
Travis still looked asleep, though he wasn’t making overdone snoring noises anymore.
Maya sat and flipped the page over in her notebook. She set her new school map on top of it.
If there was one thing she hated, it was someone snooping in her stuff. They had had lots of arguments about this at home, at least until Peter reached the civilized age of eight. Now Dad made him sit in a corner if he invaded her desk or looked in her journal without asking.
Her stomach churned as Mr. Ferrell finished handing out locker assignments.
“Benjamin Porta.”
Benjamin went up for his locker, came back, and stared at his book some more.
Should she say something, and maybe risk losing a friend? Not say anything, and not be able to trust? The whole day felt sour.
She sighed. She stared at Benjamin until he glanced up. He closed the book he had been reading. It was a fat, navy blue hardback, battered and waterstained. He flipped it so the title faced down.
If he wanted to keep it secret, it didn’t seem fair he
was looking at her secrets.
She wanted Benjamin to confess.
Red touched his cheeks.
“Was it you?” she whispered.
He studied a United States map on the wall, then nodded without looking at her.
“Well, okay. I don’t know you very well yet. I’d appreciate it if you don’t look at my things without asking, okay?”
“All right,” he mumbled.
Gwenda’s eyebrows went up, then down. She wasn’t watching them, but Maya could tell she was listening.
Maya flipped the page back. She stared down at her fairy picture. “You like art?” she whispered to Benjamin.
He nodded. “You’re really good,” he muttered.
“Thanks.” She touched her fairy picture and frowned. Again, she wanted to ask if he believed in fairies or magic, but she didn’t know how.
She turned the page and drew Dwelf, an elf boy she had made up when she was nine. When all else failed and she was dying of boredom, she drew comic strips of Dwelf’s adventures and lost herself in another world. Stephanie had adopted Dwelf, too, and Maya had illustrated the stories Steph made up about him.
This time Dwelf had fan-shaped wings, a first. Often he had no wings, or once in a while, dragonfly wings. She drew glow lines around him.
Benjamin watched. She knew he was watching. Sometimes it made her nervous when people watched her draw, but she didn’t mind Benjamin.
Which made zero sense when she thought about it. He’d already betrayed her trust.
The bell rang. People slammed books shut and jumped up. “See you tomorrow,” Mr. Ferrell said as everyone rushed out of the room.
She shoved out into the hall past tons of other rushing students who seemed to know where they were going. She clutched the map Mr. Ferrell had given her. She couldn’t tell where the door out of the building was.
Someone tapped her arm. She glanced up. Burpmeister and sleepmeister Travis Finnegan smiled at her. “I can show you where your next class is.”
“Oh.” She returned his smile. He was trying to help. “While you were asleep, I got a map from Mr. Ferrell.” She showed him the map, pointed to the Longfellow building.
“You have Ms. Caras for language arts? Ditto. Come on.”
It was easier following him through the halls than getting anywhere on her own. He was as big as an eighth grader, bigger than lots of them, and people moved out of his way.
Besides, who was she to be picky about friends?
Travis had almost the same schedule she did.
He was the first kid she’d met who had actually flunked a grade. They didn’t have time for much conversation between classes; she figured out about the flunking by the way teachers welcomed him back to classes he’d taken before. Maya couldn’t figure out why he’d flunked anything—he seemed plenty smart.
She followed Travis from language arts to math to the cafeteria for first lunch.
They paused on the threshold until incoming students bumped them inside.
The place smelled like overcooked meat and bad tomato sauce. It was a sprawling, yellow-floored room with long, rectangular tables ringed by plastic chairs. At the far end was a wall of windows.
The hot food buffet was against the left wall. Lots of kids stood in line for school lunches. Others had already staked out tables.
“Did you bring your lunch?” Travis asked.
“Yeah. It’s in my pack.”
“Great. Where do you want to sit?”
“Um,” Maya said, “don’t you know anybody else at this school?” She really wanted to find Benjamin and/or Gwenda. She still had lots of questions.
Travis looked at her, eyebrows up.
She could have kicked herself. Here he was being as nice as he could possibly be, and she was trying to get rid of him. What was wrong with her?
“Well, excuuuuuse me,” he said.
“I didn’t mean that. I mean, you’ve been going here longer than I have. Don’t you have friends from last year?” After the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to slap herself. This might be an even worse question.
A flush touched his cheeks. “They’re all in eighth grade now.”
She thought about how weird that must be. Still in the same school, but all your friends had left you behind. You could see them every day, but what if they wouldn’t even talk to you?
“Why don’t we—” she began.
“Hey, Travis!” Someone waved from a table full of bigger guys.
“Hey! Jason!” Travis waved back, then glanced at her. “You coming?”
“I want to find Gwenda.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Thanks for all your help this morning.”
He shrugged. “Whatever. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
“Thanks.”
He headed for the table full of boys. She scanned tables, searching for a head of long, curly, brown hair and a black shawl over a pale peasant blouse.
Gwenda sat by a window at a table way over in a corner. Benjamin sat across from her. Rowan and two other girls sat at the table, too. Once again, it appeared the Janus House kids lived on their own little island away from everyone else.
She glanced around, spotted people she had seen in her morning classes, tried to put names with faces. She could pin summer vacation essays on a few people—that had been the first assignment from Ms. Caras, and it had actually helped her find out about the other people in class, including Travis, who wrote about taking a cooking class. Her own essay had been about moving to Oregon.
Jessie. She had been a movie extra. Sarah. Her cat had died. Alex, Guitar Hero. Helen, Mad Scientist Girl who had reported on what happened when you froze eggs and soda pop and microwaved Marshmallow Peeps.
Mad Scientist Girl nodded to her.
Was that an invite?
She smiled at Helen and walked on.
At the Benjamin-and-Gwenda table, everybody had brought their own lunch—in pewter-colored tins, not bags. They ate with strange utensils out of small silvery containers. She didn’t recognize anything they were eating.
Rowan and the two girls she hadn’t met yet were talking in low voices, but she couldn’t understand a word. They spoke a foreign language.
She paused at the end of the table.
Benjamin glanced up and smiled. “Hey, Maya.”
The other four shut up and turned to stare at her.
“You want to sit with us?” Benjamin asked.
“Is that all right? I don’t know what the cliques are like here yet. If it’s not okay, I’ll go away.”
“Hey. It’s okay. You can join us.” He pushed out a chair for her. She sat down beside him. “We’re not exactly a clique. We’re all family. This is my older sister, Twyla.” He pointed to the dark-haired girl on his left. “She’s in eighth grade. And this is Rowan’s younger sister, Kallie. She’s in sixth grade. Guys, this is Maya Andersen. Her family just moved into the Spring House.”
“Hi,” said Kallie. Like Rowan, she had dark golden skin and straight black hair. Her black eyes weren’t so cold, though. She was beautiful. A perfect fairy-tale princess. Maya’s fingers twitched.
“You moved? ” Twyla said. “You’re so lucky! I wish I could move!” Her hair was a mass of frizzy black curls; she had olive skin and honey brown eyes.
“You want to live somewhere else?” Maya asked.
“Anywhere! As long as it’s away from”—she jumped, then glared at Rowan across the table—“here.”
“Maya moved, and she’ll probably move again soon,” Rowan said in a cold voice.
“No,” Maya said. “I don’t think so. The house is perfect. Dad said we could never afford such a great house if it cost what it was really worth. We’ll never find a better place.”
“Nobody lives in Spring House more than a couple of months, Maya,” Twyla said. “We think it’s haunted.”
“Really? That’s so cool!” Maya smiled, then lost her smile. Could ghosts t
ravel? If she was going to be haunted, why not by Stephanie? She and Stephanie had loved ghost stories. If ghosts existed, Maya was sure Stephanie would have turned into one and come back to visit.
“Have you seen any ghosts yet?” Gwenda asked.
“No,” Maya said. She’d seen a fairy. But she wasn’t ready to talk about that. “Nothing I’d call a ghost.”
“Will you tell us if you see any?” Benjamin asked. “We’re interested in all that supernatural stuff.”
“So am I. Have you ever seen a ghost?”
Benjamin coughed into his hand. People shuffled feet under the table. Nobody answered.
Interesting. They could have just said no.
“Why’s it called Spring House?” she asked.
“There was a spring under that spot a long time ago,” Kallie said.
“When?”
“Maybe a hundred years ago.”
“Huh.” Maya frowned. “Hey. What are you eating?”
“Special food,” Benjamin said. “Our family has a special diet. This is stew, and pudding, and softbread. Apples. You’ve seen apples before.”
“Sure,” she said. The stew steamed and looked brown and green with dark things floating in it. The pudding was caramel colored, and the softbread looked like cornbread pudding—it filled the silver cups like a liquid. The apple was green. She glanced down the table and saw that everybody was eating the same meal. “Is your apartment house a commune?”
“What does that mean?” asked Kallie.
“Like, you guys all know everybody in all the apartments, and maybe you all cook in the same kitchen? Or—” If they had strict rules about food, maybe they were religious. A cult, even? Maybe she shouldn’t be so nosy.
“Of course we know everybody in the building,” Benjamin said. “We’re all related. And we do have one big kitchen, though every apartment has its own kitchen. My mom makes the school lunches for everybody. It’s easier that way.”
Thresholds Page 3
