The Changeling's Source (Evedon Legacy Book 1)

by Sarah Lynn Gardner

  “I have to thank God for preserving her," the driver’s father said. “She’s a good girl. Someone at the party gave her a drink without her knowing. She’s never drank anything with alcohol in her life. We are all devastated by this news.”

  The girls and boys basketball teams are meeting tonight for a prayer service at the Spalding home.

  “We’re all in a state of shock over this,” boys basketball coach George Maxwell said. “Both were stellar athletes and best friends, always helping the other to excel. No one expected [the passenger] to be alive still, but he is. He’s definitely a fighter.”

  Partway through I stopped when reading the officer’s name. William Scoville.

  That had to be Asher’s brother. How much of the crash did he hear over the phone? He must have booked it straight over to be the first responder

  Tears pooled in my eyes as I kept reading, one slipping down my cheek as I came to the last sentence. Reading through the story—knowing Asher now—was so much more personal than it had been when I printed the article off last year.

  It was hard to come to grips with the image of brokeness on the page and Asher’s current vitality in person.

  But why does he blame himself for the accident? Emma was the one who drank and drove. She ran a red light. Unless he…

  Was he the one who gave her the drink?

  A restless energy came over me, and I sat for a moment, letting the possibility stew. That seemed the obvious answer. I closed my eyes and groaned, leaning back on the bed. I’d beat myself up, too, if I got my best friend paralyzed by some stupid teenage mistake. All their friends must have railed on him.

  This was why he’d wanted to start fresh. Guilty or not, this happened in the past.

  He was obviously trying to reshape his life into something better. Knowing he was flawed shouldn’t change whether I was going to accept Asher in the present.

  I sat back up. Opening the locks in the binder, I took the story out and slid it into my backpack. I’d finally decided what I was going to ask Jack tomorrow.

  Arriving at school the next morning, I approached Jack with caution, the news story about Asher in my hand.

  Jack stood in front of his open locker, staring absent-mindedly into it.

  “Earth to Houston,” I said.

  “I asked Montrose if maybe we could be partners.” Jack shook his head and looked at me. “He said no. Hope you aren’t mad at me for asking.”

  “Why would I be?” I frowned. “Actually, that would have been a lot of fun.”

  Jack was a safe place.

  He smiled crookedly.

  “I wanted to ask you—” I showed him the article. “Why does Asher blame himself?”

  Jack hesitated, flipping the locker door back and forth. Finally, he closed it. “You sure you want to know the answer to that?”

  “I…” It was difficult to put into words why I did. Guilty or not, I’d already decided to stick by my earlier choice to give Asher a chance. Whatever his mistake, he regretted it. That was obvious. I guess it went back to the moment last week when I’d helped drive his sadness away. I wanted to be part of doing that again.“Yes.”

  Jack glanced around, but it was early enough that no one else was around yet. “He got Emma drunk, then let her drive while he was sober.”

  He was sober.

  This painted Asher in a far more sinister light than expected. A heavy feeling wrapped itself around my chest. “Intentionally?” I asked, grasping for an ounce of innocence.

  “That’s the mystery he won’t answer. Three months ago, before charges were filed against him, with whatever statement he was finally able to give, the investigator decided there wasn’t enough cause to press charges against him for spiking her drink.” Jack took the paper from me in a brusque manner. “What is this?” He started reading, mumbling aloud. “At approximately eleven...eleven?” he repeated. His brows furrowed. “That’s not right.”

  His statement sparked hope in me, like he’d just blown on dying embers and made them glow again. “What’s not right?” I asked.

  “The time.” Jack pulled out his smartphone from his back pocket and was soon looking at his messages.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Looking back at Asher’s texts.”

  “You and Asher used to text each other—”

  Jack held his phone out to me.

  “—which means you must have been friends.” I finished, taking the phone.

  “We met when we were like six at one of Emma’s birthday parties, and we were the only boys. Later, my brother Joseph married his sister Becca.”

  “Really?” Asher and Jack were like family once removed. “I thought you knew him because of Emma.”

  He pointed at the screen of his phone. “There. Nine-forty-four. Right? I’m not looking at it wrong.”

  I looked at the conversation.

  September 27 9:39: This is your reminder text that your mom will ground you for a week if you aren’t home by ten.

  Thanks. Left 5 minutes ago. Sept 27 9:42:

  9:43: Manage to stay sober this time?

  Ha. Ha. YES. 100% Both of us. 9:44

  Here was my ounce of innocence. I double-checked the time before answering. “Yes, it says 9:44. It reads like neither one of them drank, but the news story says she at least—”

  Jack took the phone back from me. “Yeah. I’ve thought since then that he’d lied. There were witnesses at the party who said he was drunk. Though, when checked for alcohol, Asher was sober. Emma, on the other hand, was over the legal amount for driving.”

  “That sounds pretty drunk,” I said.

  “And it should have only taken them fifteen minutes to get home. Not over an hour. So either your news article didn’t get the time right...”

  “Or they stopped somewhere? Went back? Never left?”

  Jack frowned, rubbing his jaw. “Asher wouldn’t have risked getting home late.” His eyes narrowed. “Something isn’t adding up.”

  I thought back to Asher’s narrative yesterday. His brother had called right before the accident, saying he was coming to get him. “Why wouldn’t he have risked being late?” I asked.

  “His parents are strict about their curfew. Emma was pretty aware of it, too,” Jack said. “I wonder. What if he’s trying to protect Emma from guilt?”

  Chills stirred up my back. That might explain why he didn’t want to answer questions himself.

  “One way or the other, Tara, he’s a different guy than he was last year.” He let out a shaky sigh.

  Our corner of the locker stretch was met with a sudden influx of students arriving from the stairwell.

  “I’ll see you at lunch. Can you check my math?”

  Absently, I nodded. Was it worth asking Asher if he’s protecting Emma?

  Two periods later, settling into math, I found anxiety and dark source twisting my gut, waiting for Asher to sit in front of me. But he never arrived. Did his schedule get changed? Is he now back under Sam’s thumb in their old classes? Casually asking Mrs. Wabash didn’t happen because I was too anxious.

  Asher wasn’t at lunch either. I kept looking over at Sam’s table to see if he’d joined hers.

  How close of friends were they before I stepped in and distracted him?

  During lit, when the rest of the class was finalizing their decisions on the unit assessment with their partners, I was alone, unable to come to a conclusion, left to stew over Asher’s accident on my own, and now with the added possibility I really was in for trouble from Sam if Asher and I became friends.

  Montrose pulled Asher’s chair out, turned it around backward, and sat down facing me.

  “Did Asher give you his contact information?” he asked.

  “Um, yeah. He gave me his number.”

  “Your assignment this afternoon is to call him to talk over the assessment. Do you feel comfortable doing that?”

  I pulled my hands into the sleeves of my maroon shirt. “What if I did
the project by myself?”

  Montrose lifted an eyebrow at me. “No. Someday, you’ll have a job where you’ll work with other people. This is good practice.” He stood.

  “I do have a job where I work with other people. Remember?”

  He patted the back of the chair. “Call Asher and figure it out.” He replaced the chair and strayed to one of the other pairs.

  With a sigh, I grabbed our lit text and began the first in-class assignment from the packet, reading a couple of Twain’s short stories then drawing connections from the biography of him we’d watched on Monday.

  The only problem with calling Asher was I didn’t have a phone, and I didn’t want Daniel’s help contacting him, because then he’d pry for information.

  At the end of the day, I aimed for my locker, hoping to find Jack. He’d pulled his backpack down from its hook.

  “Jack, do you know where Asher lives?”

  “No—Ouch.” Jack slammed the door on his thumb and now stuck it in his mouth to suck the pain out of it. “Why?” He shook his hand.

  “If he lives close, I was contemplating stopping by to ask him about our project.”

  “Oh.” He swung a limp backpack up onto his shoulder.

  Does he have anything worth taking home in it?

  “You have his phone number,” he said with a teasing smile, “why don’t you call?”

  A couple of Sam’s friends clustered near their lockers across the hall from ours. One seemed to eavesdrop on our conversation. “I don’t have a phone. Remember?” I whispered.

  “Come on.” Jack touched my elbow, pressing it in the direction of the stairs. “I’ve got an idea.”

  13. Lit Partner

  Out in Jack’s car, like the sudden clanging of bells, it dawned on me why Jack was so stringent about putting on a seatbelt. Emma wasn’t wearing hers. I put mine on before he had to ask.

  Holding his phone to his ear, Jack said, “Hey! Are you home? I need to drop off something.” He looked at me.

  “But—” I began.

  He cut his hand across his throat quickly, signaling silence.

  Asher said something, and Jack’s expression grew more irritated than it already was.

  “Dude, text me your address. I’m coming over now.” Jack ended the call and kept staring at the screen, waiting for the response.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Dropping you off at Asher’s. Obviously.”

  “I thought you didn’t like Asher.”

  A cunning light stirred in his auburn eyes as they narrowed. “Did I ever say that?” Jack’s phone vibrated. “Bingo.” He tapped on the address that displayed across his screen.

  “Yeah, well, you weren’t nice to him.”

  “And you haven’t been nice to me for the last semester, so what does that even mean?”

  I rolled my eyes, and Jack turned the key in the ignition, making the engine rev to life. He entered the departing flow of student-driven vehicles.

  “What if I don’t want to get dropped off?” I asked.

  “Your idea. Not mine.” He tapped his fingers on his steering wheel as he stalled in the parking lot traffic.

  “No, I only said I was contemplating stopping by.”

  “I caught your wording. Now, I’m helping you make the decision.”

  “Should’ve walked home,” I muttered.

  Jack handed me his phone so I could see where we were headed. “He actually doesn’t live far from you.”

  No, he didn’t. I could walk into Asher’s backyard from the street I used to get to school. It would actually be faster for Jack to drop me off there than to navigate the complicated series of left and right turns through Asher’s neighborhood.

  As we neared the final turn, Jack pulled to the side of the road, stopping the vehicle. “Move to the back and duck down.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want him to see you’re with me.”

  “You’re being really weird.” I unbuckled.

  “This way you can slip out before he notices you. Outside the car—”

  “Why not let him see me?”

  “His parents are eccentrically strict.”

  “I’m pretty sure eccentrically isn’t a word.”

  “Look, Asher’s parents are weird about him having friends over. He’s less likely to let you stay if you’re still in the car, but if you’re outside already, it’ll send him the message you want to stay—”

  “I’m confused. Why don’t I call?”

  “Just get in the back and sneak out when I tell you to.”

  A few seconds later, we neared the end of Asher’s cul-de-sac. From my ducked-down position, I could see Asher outside, back turned, wearing a red basketball jersey and shorts. There was an obvious scar down his right arm, as well as several down his leg. I raised my brows.

  Jack whistled. “Look at those battle scars.”

  They were grizzly. I could not imagine everything he’d gone through this last year to get to where he was now.

  My heart skipped, thinking about spending time with Asher outside of school. What was I doing?

  Standing in the street, Asher bounced a ball before shooting it straight into the hoop off his driveway. I may have been off, but that was easily a three-point shot.

  “That’s impressive,” I said.

  “He’s been doing those since he was two, no joke,” Jack said.

  Asher walked to pick up the ball, and as he turned, I dropped from view.

  Jack stopped the vehicle and rolled down his window. “Sneak out now,” he whispered to me.

  What was I doing?

  “Tara,” Jack hissed

  Excitement lurked in the secrecy. Opening the back-passenger door by a few inches, I eased my way out, grabbing my backpack as I went. Somehow, Asher didn’t notice as he came up alongside Jack’s side.

  “You don’t look sick,” Jack said.

  “I had a series of doctor appointments today. What did you have for me?” Asher sounded cross. “Make it quick.”

  I chose that moment to pop up. “Hello.”

  Asher looked at me with the ultimate blank expression. Not being able to read him was unsettling. I twisted a strand of hair.

  “Jack and I talked about the accident, like you suggested.” I glanced at Jack. “You know, I’ve made plenty of mistakes I’d hope people wouldn’t hold against me, so I guess what I’m trying to say is, unless you want to talk about what happened, I’m not going to press for details. I’m still fine starting fresh.”

  Jack slapped the side of his car. “You’ll feel my fist if you hurt her.”

  Asher cringed. “Got it.”

  “Montrose wanted me to follow up with you about our project.”

  “Oh, uh.” Asher glanced at his apparel, then over his shoulder at his home, before finally looking at me.

  My stomach turned with negative source. “Is this a bad time?” I asked. “I would have called, but I don’t have a phone.”

  The barest of smiles stole over his face. With a wary glance at Jack, Asher said, “Let me get my assignment, and we can talk out here.” Rolling the ball toward the garage, he loped toward the front steps of his unassuming split-level home.

  I walked around to Jack’s side. “I can walk home from here.”

  Jack studied me for a moment. “I don’t like you not having a phone.” He put the car into drive. “Call me when you get home.”

  I smiled. “Your concern is endearing.” I stepped back and waved as he drove away.

  “Ask your parents for a phone,” he called.

  Anxiety at the thought twisted in my gut. Daniel had a phone for me. But my classmates couldn’t bully me through it if I didn’t have one.

  The hum of the Ford Mustang faded as Jack drove through Asher’s neighborhood. As it disappeared, it felt like someone had taken my security blanket away.

  While waiting, I picked up the ball and shot a few baskets from my “golden” spot: angled to the left o
f the basket about a free throw’s distance back. This was where I almost always made it when playing in freshman PE or against Holden. When we were younger, Holden tried to get me to play competitively, but I hadn't liked the environment, and I didn’t have the natural talent he had. Just this golden spot. Playing one-on-one or other games like Knockout were far more fun.

  It took several minutes before Asher returned, and the temptation to sneak home stole over me more than once. When he came out, he had changed into faded Levis and a plum denim hoodie that really made his green eyes glow.

  Words flew from me as I caught myself staring.

  Mischief brewed in his eyes and smile. He came right up to me, stealing the ball away. “I already know you’d probably beat me at Knockout.”

  Finding my voice, I squeaked out, “That’s debatable.”

  “Would you want to play a game of Horse?”

  “I, uh…didn’t you play for your last school?” I took in his height.

  Stepping back, he tossed the ball to me. “One game won’t hurt. Come on.”

  I stood in my golden spot. “I’m pretty sure this will.” Bouncing the ball a couple of times, I paused, took in the square around the basket, aimed, and shot. It dropped through the basket.

  I sighed in relief. As long as I kept making baskets, I would stay ahead of Asher.

  Asher retrieved the ball and took over where I’d been standing. He posed for a moment and tossed, making it look way too easy.

  “Are you showing off?” I asked.

  “Not in the slightest.” He ran after the ball and threw it over to me. “You’re up again.” The grin filling his face was fresh and thriving. It sent excitement soaring through my heart.

  I went back to the same spot, and his brows rose. As I posed, a mischievous expression lit Asher’s face, and he shifted over.

  I threw.

  He intercepted.

  “Hey!” I exclaimed.

  Asher dribbled a couple of times, then dunked the ball into the basket. He swung off and quickly scooped up the ball.

  “Okay, you are showing off,” I said.

  Chuckling, he came over to me. “And you, my lady...”