Death, and the Girl He Loves

by Darynda Jones

  With disappointment consuming me, I hung up. I really wanted to talk to them. To hear their reassurances that everything would be okay.

  “We need to call the cops. Our state senators.” She pointed her index finger toward the heavens. “The White House!”

  But mostly, I wanted to go home.

  Crystal frowned. “These kinds of things should not be allowed to happen in our schools.”

  I shouldn’t have left my family and friends. I should never have run.

  “We are the future.”

  Apparently, if I die, everyone dies. Cleary my destiny was not something I could outrun. If I could survive the next few days, maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe I could still do what I was supposed to be doing, whatever that entailed, to try to stop the coming war.

  “What time is it?” I asked her for no reason whatsoever as I checked my phone.

  “Our safety should be guaranteed,” she replied.

  Almost four. Crap on a cracker. I’d been sleeping for over two hours. Classes would be over and the halls would be empty. “Do you know any bodyguards who might see us to our room?” I asked her.

  She stared at me, her jaw set, her shoulders square. “Safety is not a privilege. It is our right as law-abiding, taxpaying citizens!”

  AIM HERE

  I was beginning to regret my decision to show Crystal the note as we headed back to the dorm rooms. I had to think. To plan. If someone was going to kill me, I needed to know who. And how to stop him. And Crystal’s ranting about our constitutional rights was not helping, no matter how entertaining.

  A sickly weakness spread throughout my body as though I were a doe in the forest, standing in the crosshairs of a hunter’s rifle, only it was night and I had a neon sign on my back that read AIM HERE. Picasso knew who I was, but I had no clue who he was. The kid who left the note was just that. A kid. Like every other kid who went to Bedford Fields. If he’d been different, if he hadn’t belonged here, wouldn’t others have turned to look at him as he walked past? All I saw was the back of his head, but no one spared him a glance. Then again, I could have been looking at the wrong head.

  Vulnerability washed over me again. A neon target. That was me.

  We’d left the nurse’s office without telling her. Mostly because she’d been in and out all afternoon, and when we left, she was out. But surely she didn’t mean for me to lie there all evening. The halls were empty save for a custodian on the second floor. I almost asked him to escort us back to our dorm but thought better of it. He might have to tell the headmaster. I was a tad intimated by the headmaster and wanted to avoid contact with him as much as possible.

  “Oh, some people came by to see you,” Crystal said, carving some time out of her busy rant schedule to let me know. “A couple.”

  “Really?” I asked, surprised, then realized it must have been the Hamptons, the couple who’d brought me here. Dropped me off at the school. Told me to find their son, Paul. Promised he’d keep an eye out for me, too, but in my entire six weeks at the stuffy institution, I had yet to meet a kid named Paul.

  I hadn’t asked any questions about him, either. At the time, I was numb. In shock. They’d been the last leg of the three-day journey across country that started in New Mexico and ended in Maine. I’d wanted nothing more than to turn around and go back home. But my despair wasn’t their fault. They were part of the Order of Sanctity, a group that followed and believed in the teachings and prophecies of Arabeth and her descendants. They were believers. In me and my part in all of this, the part I was destined to play in the end times.

  When they first laid eyes on me, they seemed starstruck. They’d been hearing about me since my birth, the first female to be born in the line of Arabeth’s descendants in over five centuries. Apparently my birth meant the prophecies were coming true, the end of times was growing near, but their reverence made me uncomfortable. It prickled down my spine. In a way, I felt bad for them. Sorry. And my sorrow was full of resentment and anger. I’d had to leave everything I’d ever known, ever loved, for these people and others like them. Because they believed in me. What a crock.

  But when I looked at things from their vantage point, I could almost understand their reverence in a small, vexatious way. In their world, I was like a rock star, the subject of all those prophecies that had been passed down from generation to generation. I tried to see things from their point of view. And in the day I’d spent with them, I grew to like the Hamptons very much. They were a young couple—too young to have a kid in high school, in my limited opinion—and they were full of ideas on how they were going to change the world. After I saved it, naturally.

  They meant well, and I did my best to stow my doubts and try to appreciate all that they were doing for me. It wasn’t their fault any more than it was mine. We’d all been dragged into a catastrophic chain of events that would either end humanity or restore the balance. If that outcome depended on me, we were all in a world of trouble. I wasn’t nearly so confident in our odds as the Hamptons were.

  After they showed me into the headmaster’s office the night we arrived, Mrs. Hampton pulled me into her arms and hugged me as though I were her own child, and I was beginning to see a pattern. All the people along the journey treated me similarly. As though I were theirs. I realized they probably saw me that way. They’d heard about me for years. Had hoped for me even longer. How could I resent that? How could I throw their hope back at them and rant and scream and pout? Their faith in me was humbling, their faith in God inspirational. I decided to see it as a benefit instead of a burden.

  “Hey, do you know a Paul Hampton?” I asked Crystal. “I was supposed to keep an eye out for him.”

  “Not really. What grade is he in?”

  I tended to forget Crystal was only in the eighth grade. She wouldn’t have any classes with Paul. Then again, I had no idea what grade Paul was in. “You know, I’m not sure. I just assumed he was older, but I never actually asked.”

  “We can ask Wade at dinner,” she offered.

  “Ask Wade what?”

  We turned to see Wade jogging up behind us. He was my only other friend at Bedford Fields. He was a nice kid. One of the few who stayed nice after my shiny newness wore off. His dark hair fell into disarray as he stopped beside us.

  Crystal obliged him. “If you know a Paul Hampton.”

  His forehead crinkled. “Sure I do. Everyone does. He’s been coming to school here forever.”

  “Oh,” she said. “I guess I just missed him.”

  His dark gaze landed on me along with a playful grin. “Where you been? You missed Mr. Parton’s lecture on how not to write a five-page essay.”

  “No way.” I rolled my eyes. “I can’t believe I missed it. I’d been so looking forward to the lecture.”

  “It’s the talk of the town,” he said. He took an apple out of his backpack and took a huge bite. “Okay, I’m out of here. Gotta change out of this crap before dinner.”

  Dinner was one of the few places we could appear at the school out of uniform, but we still had strict guidelines to follow, so even there everyone dressed way too nice for my peace of mind. I just stuck to my uniform. I saw what happened to students who didn’t follow the guidelines. They were immediately singled out and escorted to the headmaster’s office. I’d rather die from a thousand ant bites than be singled out in a room full of rich kids with nothing better to do than laugh at me.

  “I wonder what we’re having tonight,” Crystal said, referring to what awaited us in the dining hall later as Wade jogged off. I fought the urge to call him back. He didn’t need to know about the notes I’d been getting, the death threats. But it would have been nice to have him close.

  “Oh, I hope it’s pizza with shrimp,” she said as we started for our room again. “I love pizza with shrimp.”

  There were two very cool things I was learning about Maine. One, the landscape was incredible. It was gorgeous and had shades of green I’d never seen before. Two, the food was amazin
g. I’d never had so much seafood in my life, and I loved it. Seafood in Riley’s Switch was canned tuna on rye.

  I started to almost feel normal again, talking about food and dreaming about landscapes, when we turned a corner and ran into my newest archnemesis.

  “Hey, Pratt,” Kenya said. She was leaning against a wall, checking out her black nail polish. For the first time since I’d arrived at BFA, her presence was welcome and oddly comforting. At least with two other people around, the odds of someone stabbing me to death diminished.

  I straightened and feigned normalcy as I walked past, praying she’d follow. Praying she’d torment. “Hey, Kenya. It’s too bad about your hair.”

  She didn’t care in the least what I thought about her hair, which had been bleached so many times, it had the same texture as that fake spider webbing they sold at Halloween. She smirked and fell in line behind us.

  I pocketed a relieved smile.

  “You seem pale,” she said, matching our strides.

  Crystal glared over her shoulder and wrapped an arm in mine. I’d veered to the left a little, the ground tilting beneath my feet.

  “I’m fine,” I said when I’d regained my balance. “You’re not worried about me, are you?”

  She snorted. “Not likely. But I have to admit to a certain amount of curiosity about you.”

  “And why would you be curious about someone like me?”

  “Exactly. Which makes it all the more curious.”

  * * *

  The minute I got to my dorm room, I tore through my drawers, looking for a weapon, anything I could use to defend myself. Crystal sat atop her bed and watched me. I reconsidered my refusal to take the note to the headmaster like Crystal said for about five seconds before coming to my senses. That would only draw attention. I was here to be incognito, keep to the shadows, not focus a spotlight on myself.

  I tried my grandparents again, but got the voice mail for the third time. Which was beyond strange. They always carried that phone. At least one of them had it on their person at all times, day and night. Receiving no answer, I gave up on the whole incognito thing and tried their regular cell phones. Nothing. Then the store landline. Nothing again.

  I grew more worried by the minute. Should I try Brooklyn? Glitch? Maybe the church?

  No one but my grandparents knew where I was. How would I explain everything to my best friends if I were to call them? Would they be happy to hear from me? Angry I’d run? I just couldn’t imagine, though I’d enacted our reunion a thousand times in my head. Brooklyn and I would see each other from across a field of green grass. She would run to me with open arms. Glitch would do the same, only he’d trip on something—quite possibly air—and spill his whipped almond toffee cappuccino with nonfat milk all over my flowing white dress, the one I’d bought for running across a field during my homecoming. Cameron would stand to the side and scowl like we were all crazy and he regretted ever meeting us. And Jared …

  Jared would smile. He would cross his arms while waiting for my best friends to get their greetings out of the way, and then he’d walk forward, pull me into his arms, lower his head—

  “Lorraine!”

  I snapped back to the present and blinked at Crystal.

  “I’ve got it!” she said, her wide eyes full of enthusiasm. “We can put the note in the headmaster’s office and pretend like it was sent to him.”

  “Oh, that wouldn’t get us expelled. And, more than likely, arrested.”

  “No, it’s perfect. If there’s a death threat against the headmaster, the authorities will use all their resources to find out who sent it.”

  “Exactly. Jail time. For us.”

  She rolled her eyes right before I dived under my bed for the canvas bag I’d brought with me from home.

  “No, they’ll check the paper for fingerprints and stuff.”

  I grabbed the bag and popped back up to question her. “Fingerprints like ours?”

  “No. Oh, wait. Yes. Never mind.”

  She exhaled, blowing her bangs out of her eyes before falling back in frustration.

  After a thorough check of my bag, I gave up finding a weapon of any kind among my possessions. I just didn’t think Picasso would be intimidated by a hairbrush. Or a toothbrush. Then again, I could sharpen the tip like they did in prison. Make a shank out of it.

  “Do you know how to make a shank?” I asked Crystal. I’d given up on my things and had started rummaging around hers instead.

  She rolled onto her side, propped her head up, and watched me. “Sure, I guess. We’ll need soap, a lighter, and an old comb.”

  I paused. “What movie did you get that from?”

  “Movie?” She frowned in thought. “I used to do it when I was a kid. The trick is getting the mold just right. I can make a wicked shank with a serrated blade and a dragon emblem, given enough time. And, well, soap.”

  My admiration of her just increased tenfold. “You’re kind of amazing,” I said.

  She looked as though she didn’t understand, like I’d spoken a foreign language. “Thank you,” she replied after a solid minute. “No one’s ever said that to me.”

  I bounced up. “That’s a tragedy, because it’s true. I’m going to the dining room early to lift a knife.”

  “Okay. Want me to come?”

  “No, I don’t want to get you in trouble for stealing.”

  She jumped up. “But I can help. I can be your lookout.”

  Crystal had a bright future ahead of her, and as much as I wanted the company, I didn’t want to get her expelled. Or stabbed repeatedly, should Picasso show up. “I’ll be okay. You stay here and try to come up with another plan on how we can figure out who this guy is without garnering prison sentences.”

  “But I think much better on my feet.”

  “Crystal—”

  “And you’re not getting rid of me that easily.” She jammed her fists onto her hips, her mind made up.

  “Okay, but if you miss out on Harvard because of your time in juvie, don’t come crying to me.”

  “Harvard?” she asked, aghast. “I’m shooting for Stanford. San Francisco is calling my name.”

  “Nice. Is it saying, ‘Hey, crazy little girl. Want some candy?’”

  “How did you know?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with humor.

  I laughed as we hurried out of our room. Dinner was not for another hour, but hopefully the doors would be unlocked anyway. Surely they’d have a knife I could carry for self-defense. But the minute I stepped out of my room, I came face-to-face with Kenya. Again. What was with her?

  A niggling of recognition registered in the deepest, darkest corners of my mind. I’d been followed before. And, similarly, it was by someone who was not particularly fond of me at the time. Cameron Lusk.

  Kenya was acting very much like Cameron might. Shady. Secretive. Volatile. Only Cameron, I found out later, had been following me to protect me. Not to kick my ass. Still, she carried a switchblade. She had a weapon and seemed to know how to use it. I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not, but as long as she was dead set on tormenting me anyway, she may as well be of some use.

  While I would normally be encouraging her to find a better use of her time, suggesting she take up belly dancing or parachute-less skydiving, for once I wanted her close. Of course, I couldn’t let her know that, so I played the part of hapless victim.

  “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” I asked, letting a touch of frustration filter into my voice. “I heard there’s some third-graders who still have their milk money. If you hurry…”

  Crystal nodded in agreement, then added, “Or you could go rob a liquor store. I hear there’s a bright future in that.”

  I flashed Crystal a surprised smile. She was pretty good at this stuff.

  “Or,” Kenya said, her voice just as controlled as mine, just as bored, “I could wait until you two are alone and stab you both to death.”

  I stopped and turned to her.

 
She stopped, too, and probed me with a questioning gaze. “What?” she said, but she seemed wary, suspicious.

  Could it have been her? Did she put the note in my pocket? I thought it was that boy, but who knows when the note was deposited? Maybe Kenya put it there earlier and I simply didn’t notice until I was in the bathroom, throwing up my latest meal.

  “Was it you?” I asked, astonished she’d go that far with her idle threats. Then again, maybe they weren’t as idle as I thought.

  She grabbed hold of my arm and pulled me toward her. “Was what me? What happened?”

  I jerked out of her grip. The last thing I wanted to see was her death again, not that I’d ever had the same vision twice. Once usually did the trick. But just in case, I stepped away from her just as Crystal slid in between us.

  “Go away,” she said, standing up to the playground bully with the bravado of an eccentric pirate. “Go find your own kind or something.”

  Kenya’s gaze slid past her and narrowed on me, her thick liner making her look more menacing than she normally would. “It’s a free country. I can hang out here if I want to.”

  “Whatever,” I said, continuing toward the dining room.

  But we didn’t shake her. Kenya stayed right behind us. Surely she wouldn’t stab me in front of a witness, if that was her goal. But why? I wanted to look at the note again, but didn’t dare pull it out in front of Kenya. I’d just assumed it was a boy, but I could’ve been wrong. Maybe the note had a clue that I’d missed, one that would let me know the gender of my attacker. It would have to wait, however, with the switchblade stalker fast on our heels.

  I also wanted to try my grandparents again. Something was wrong. I could feel it. But again, I didn’t dare talk to them in front of Kenya. The less she knew about me, the better.

  We hurried down the stairs and out the front door toward the dining hall. Everyone we passed glanced at me sideways. Smirked a little.

  “Oh, my gosh,” Crystal said, checking her phone.

  “What?” I asked, keeping most of my attention focused on our blond-haired shadow. “Did you solve the mysteries of antimatter?”