Chapter Seven
I had faced some of the more horrible things that the world had to offer. Monsters that slithered in the night and haunted dreams. This was just high school.
At least that's what I told myself as the front gate of Pennyworth Academy loomed in front of me. Instead of blood and gore, the monsters here were draped in tennis skirts and Tiffany bracelets.
I refused my mother's offer of the town car for my first day. I'd worried about drawing attention to myself, but looking around the parking lot it was obvious that was a silly concern. Throwaway luxury cars shined bright under the California sun—Mercedes, Lexus, Italian makes I didn't know the names of.
The modest Toyota I'd chosen from the garage—the one my mother intended the housekeeper to use for runs to the grocery store—seemed paltry in comparison. I'd been away for long enough, living on the edge for long enough, that it all seemed so much more disgustingly decadent than I remembered.
I already missed the bike I had to leave behind in Chicago. Why anyone would want to face beautiful open road in a steel cage was beyond me.
My father chose this school specifically, a place for the offspring of moguls and household names. All of my siblings attended Pennyworth before me.
He wanted us to see the best the human world had to offer so we understood it was all ours for the taking.
Paved pathways under arched canopies connected the buildings. Students lounged on the large patches of grass between, exchanging gossip from the holidays.
I felt like an alien stranded in an unfamiliar world. Faces blurred together, foreign and unknowable. A group of guys in rugby jackets pushed past me and I stumbled. The passage of time had only been a dream. I was once again invisible and broken—useless.
A smiling girl that I remembered from sophomore English waved at me. She motioned for me to join a small group clustered underneath a large oak tree. My heart lifted.
Tires screeched on the asphalt as a red convertible barreled towards me at full speed. I leapt back onto the sidewalk as the car made a hairpin turn in the spot where I had just been standing. It came screeching to a halt in the handicapped space next to the gate.
Cynthie pushed open the driver-side door and slid out of the convertible, her blonde hair floated around her head like a wind-tossed halo. Two girls slipped out of the car after her and my eyes narrowed.
Noelle Deville's family owned a Paris fashion house. They could weave an enchantment into a piece of clothing so strong that a woman would blind herself before she considered ever wearing anything else.
Jade Matsumoto came from a quiet family. Quiet in the sense that they kept their business to themselves. My father used to pump me for information until he realized that I was someone Jade barely deigned to speak to. It was unlikely in the extreme that I'd be privy to any juicy family secrets.
She was actually a distant relative of my Great Aunt Kimiko's, but it was a connection neither of us cared to acknowledge.
Cynthie and I were day students, but Noelle and Jade boarded at Pennyworth. Ostensibly it was for an American education, but where the Wayward went, the other families followed. Always.
Cynthie's smile turned feral when she caught me watching them. I turned away, but not fast enough.
She fell into step beside me. Noelle and Jade shadowed us.
"If you want a tour just say the word," Cynthie said with mock cheer. "We'd be happy to reacquaint you."
Noelle giggled. "We used to have so much fun, remember?"
Being at school had never quite been as hard as being at home. Noelle always did her best to tip the balance. Transforming my clothes into a garden snake after gym class. Poisoning my apple cider at homecoming, so I did the chicken dance for two hours straight.
I turned and approached Noelle slowly. She didn't back down but her eyes widened just a touch.
"I remember when you had that awful nose. Looks like the surgery went well." Reaching out, I laid my fingers lightly on Noelle's cheek. The carefully laid illusion that smoothed her profile and turned her wide nostrils into something more generic faded away. Noelle had a face like a pit bull, nose flat as if she'd run headfirst into a brick wall. "Oh, never mind. Maybe next year, right?"
Noelle clapped both hands over her nose with a horrified shriek. She took off running towards the nearest building, probably hoping to fix the problem with a makeup bag and the bathroom mirror. It was going to take a little more than concealer—industrial-grade spackle maybe.
Cynthie snorted as Noelle shoved past a group of curious freshmen. "Too funny."
I realized with a start what I'd done. Such a small bit of magic, practically harmless. It was only a small step—how many more before I fell?
"This might be fun, after all," Cynthie murmured, looking me up and down.
"Said the girl who tried to kill me." We were in public and surrounded by humans but I couldn't keep quiet. Hopefully, any passerby would think it was hyperbole.
"If I'd wanted to kill you, you'd be dead." She examined her perfectly manicured fingernails. "It doesn't matter, anyway. You paid your blood price. It's over." Her lips stretched in a cold smile. "For now."
"And now you have a shiny new car to show for it." I said harshly.
Cynthie mounted the steps to the administration building. Jade followed behind her, a silent shadow.
She glanced back at me, her expression sardonic. "Something like that."
I felt a pang as she walked away—unease or guilt.
It was hard to imagine anyone missing Ceres. Most of me still believed that he deserved what I gave him. Still, he was a cousin, a brother, a son.
What right did I have—did any of us have—to decide another's fate?
"Helena, right?"
The smiling girl from under the oak tree stood next to me. She had wavy brown hair and a sweet smile.
"Call me Hex," I said with honest enthusiasm. "I'm sorry, I don't remember your name."
"Sam Douglas," she responded easily. "I didn't see you around last term. Were you sick, or something?"
"No." I cursed my mother. "I was on safari in Africa."
Sam laughed. "Wow. That's a weird thing to do."
"Yeah."
We started up the steps and Sam hefted a stuffed bag high on her shoulder. "Are you still a junior too, since you missed a term?"
I looked at her in surprise. She'd always seemed pretty studious in the classes we had together freshman and sophomore year. "You got held back?"
"Sort of." She shrugged. "My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer last April. Dad had to work so I missed a ton of class while she was going through chemo. Now, I don't have enough credits for senior standing."
"I'm sorry." Cancer wasn't something I ever needed to worry about. Magic protected us from human sickness, even pathetic witches like me. I'd never had so much as a sniffle.
"Thanks, but she's in remission now." Sam's smile was sad but she quickly brightened. "Maybe we'll have some classes together."
"That would be cool." A buzzer sounded over the loudspeakers discretely planted behind shrubs and bushes along the paths. "Is that the bell?"
"Oh, no." Sam quickened her pace. "Where are you headed?"
"I still need to pick up my schedule."
"Better hurry. You don't want to be late."
"Sure. See you."
Sam hurried off, dripping with nerd desperation for prime seating in class. If the administration wanted me to hurry, they should have hand out roller skates.
I was late to first period US History. Mr. Biggs, his eyes half-blind from cataracts, didn't notice my reluctant arrival as he read the attendance sheet in a dull monotone.
Sam sat in the front row of the classroom with an empty desk on either side of her. She gave me a small wave and I slid into one of the seats just as Mr. Biggs called my name.
"Wayward, Helena."
"Present."
Mr. Biggs bent over the desk like a turtle hunched in its shell as he read the last name on th
e list.
"Yarrow, Zachary."
"Here."
Sam pinched me hard on the arm and I glanced in the direction she pointed.
"So?" I mouthed silently.
She fanned herself dramatically with one hand as if suddenly overcome with feminine vapors. I rolled my eyes, but craned my neck for a decent look.
Zachary was cute, but not typical California, no golden hair or sun-kissed tan. Instead, nut brown skin and dark hair that he kept cropped close to the sides of his head made him seem vaguely exotic.
He wore a black turtleneck and dark jeans, like some art college bohemian or a fledgling member of the trench coat mafia. He stared straight ahead as if the blackboard deserved his undivided attention.
Pass.
I turned my attention to Mr. Biggs, who hobbled painfully slow down each row of desks and handed out stapled worksheets.
"This is a pop quiz," he said.
The class groaned.
"It won't be graded. Your results will focus our studies for the semester."
Only Sam groaned at that.
Class ended quickly and I was out my seat like a shot the moment the bell rang. I'd forgotten how tedious high school could be. Being homeless on the streets seemed more attractive every minute.
Students jostled each other in the hallways and I wove carefully through the throng. I counted down the row of lockers until I came to the bay with the same number as the one printed in bold letters on my schedule. The plan was to stick my history book in my locker and leave it there for the rest of the semester.
Zachary Yarrow leaned against my locker and smiled at me. Sam was walking beside me and gave me a sharp nudge when she caught sight of him. She gave me a thumbs up and, before I could stop her, rushed off to her next class.
"You're in the way." I made a shooing motion with my hand.
"Hi." His smile turned shy. "I'm—"
"Zachary. I heard in class." I stared meaningfully past him to my locker. "Move, please."
"Oh, right." He sidestepped and stumbled a little. "I just transferred. Think you could show me how to get to my next class?"
"Sorry." I spun in the combination written on a piece of paper stapled to my schedule. I threw my history book into the locker with more force than I intended and it came crashing back out to land on the floor. Embarrassed, I picked up the book and placed it back inside, more gently this time. "I'm still finding my own way around. Someone else can probably help you."
I tried to walk away and Zachary slid in front me. "Are you sure? It might be fun to get lost together."
"I think you can get lost all by yourself," I replied pleasantly and strode past him.
He fell into step beside me. "You really like to make guys work for it, huh?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." I stared straight ahead but he didn't seem deterred.
"Helena is a really pretty name." He pushed open the double doors leading outside and held them open for me.
"It's Hex," I said sharply and immediately regretted it. I should have just given him a written invitation to keep bothering me.
"Okay, Hex. Call me Zach." He stuck his hands in his pockets, a reaction against the brisk wind rustling through the trees. "It's nice to meet you."
I resisted the urge to say something unfriendly. The warning bell sounded in the distance. "You're making me late."
"Easy fix." He loped along beside me. Converse sneakers slapped against the sidewalk. "Give me your phone number and we can save this conversation for later."
"Not interested." I stopped so suddenly that Zach bumped into me. I glared at him. This close, I could see that his russet eyes lit with flecks of green. He towered over me, all long legs and sinewy muscle. I pushed rogue thoughts away before they fully formed.
"You seem like a decent guy." I said, ignoring the temptation of his eyes. "But you're wasting your time."
I slipped past him, stumbling down the path towards my next class. I resisted the urge to look back, but an irresistible force turned my head.
Zach stood at the crest of the hill. He was smiling. With a wave, he turned on his heel and mounted the steps leading to the science pavilion.
English, Chemistry and Calculus passed by in a blur. Sam and I only shared first period US History so I spent most of the day in a bubble of self-inflicted isolation. As loath as I was to admit it, even Cynthie's face would have been a welcome sight.
But she, along with Noelle and Jade, had senior standing. I was stuck repeating the classes I never finished last year, alone in a sea of unfamiliar faces.
By the time last period rolled around, I was actually looking forward to going home. At least my mother talked to me.
My schedule didn't list a class, only a room number and the word "elective" handwritten in block letters. This close to the start of term, all of the good classes were full. My guidance counselor made it abundantly clear that I would take what I could get and be happy to have it. I prayed for something easy like art or weightlifting.
The number on my schedule belonged to a music room off the auditorium. I breathed a sigh of relief. The twins, Adrian and Aislynn, took Music Appreciation their senior year for an easy grade. According to them, the whole class consisted of sitting around for half the period listening to music and then talking about how it made you feel.
Not a bad way to spend the last hour of the day.
I walked into the classroom. A cacophony of sounds assaulted my ears—the twang of tuning strings, scales running up and down piano keys and the unsteady beat of a bass drum.
"Can I help you?" A dark-haired teacher stared at me appraisingly from behind a desk next to the door.
I held out the paper in my hand to her. "I think I'm in this class."
"Great. I'm Ms. Tripoli, the music teacher." She made a note in the notebook on her desk. "Where's your instrument?"
"Instrument?"
"This is Advanced Jazz Band." She glanced down at my schedule. "Ms. Wayward. We play music here."
Great. "I don't have an instrument. I don't play anything."
Ms. Tripoli blew air hard out of her nose. She held my schedule with two fingers as if it smelled bad. "Go to Guidance and have your elective switched."
"There aren't any other electives. Everything's full," I said, resigned. "That's why I'm here."
"I wasn't aware my classroom had become a dumping ground. Take a seat in the back until I figure out what to do with you."
Chairs and music stands crowded the small room. I tripped over a trumpet case and almost landed face first in a snare drum. I caught my balance and managed to make it to the back row of chairs without destroying any instruments.
Only one other chair this far back was taken and its occupant sat hidden behind a large piece of sheet music. I plastered on a friendly smile until the sheet music came down and Zachary Yarrow's grinning face was revealed on the other side of the music stand.
"You." I said, unhappily.
"I was all set for you to play hard-to-get. Now you're following me?"
"Get over yourself. I'm stuck here."
"It's not all bad. Ms. Tripoli seems pretty cool." He waggled his eyebrows, forcing a laugh from me. "And you've still got me."
"Joy." My voice was dry but he'd managed to cheer me up, if only a little. I gestured to the large case at his feet. "Is that a cello?"
"This is band, not orchestra." He flipped the catches on the case open with one thumb. The lid tipped open to reveal an acoustic guitar settled gently in velvet lining.
"Guitar? How original."
"What can I say? It makes the girls go wild." He smiled sheepishly. "Actually, I'm a singer. This thing just makes pretty background noise." He closed the lid with his foot.
"You're in a band?" I was being drawn into conversation despite every part of me that screamed a warning. I'd never even had a boyfriend, unless you considered Valentine's twisted obsession with me dating.
If I was a normal girl, Za
ch was the kind of normal guy I'd want to date, but I wasn't normal. I wasn't even human.
"Yeah, actually. We do metal covers of 80's pop songs."
"Wow."
"Glam Banshee. You should check us out sometime."
Ms. Tripoli saved me from answering when she stood up in front of the class. "Welcome to Advanced Jazz Band. Most of you know how we do things here. Right now is independent study for the Senior Showcase this March, in which most of you will be performing. I give you a lot of freedom here, but I expect to see an effort. Get to work."
She disappeared into the storage room and I glanced at Zach, who was hunched over an open composition notebook.
"I guess we dodged a bullet with this showcase thing, huh?" I knew I should be ignoring him but I didn't do well with boredom. It certainly didn't mean I was at all interested in him.
"Not me," he said with a quiet laugh.
"You're a senior?" I asked with surprise.
"Yeah."
My eyes narrowed. "Then why are you in my history class?"
"The credits from my old school didn't transfer." He shrugged. "I have to make it up."
"Oh." It was a lot easier to write him off when I thought Zach was a year younger than me. This wasn't good. "What are you going to perform?"
I'm working on a song, should be done in time." His lips quirked in a smile. "You'll have to come cheer me on."
I looked away to see Ms. Tripoli weaving expertly through the chairs, heading straight towards us. "This is band class and everyone has to play. Here." She held out a thick piece of folded metal.
"The triangle?" I could definitely use it to call the family home for dinner out on the farm. For music, not so much.
"The triangle is a respectable musical instrument. And it's the only thing I could find in the storage closet. Enjoy."
Zach hid a guffaw behind his sheet music. I stared forlornly at my sad excuse for a musical instrument. Maybe Zach's band could use a solid backup triangle.
Wayward Page 12
