Blest Page 2

  “Come on, those kids we met on the bus are cool,” Gunner said. “Let’s sit with them at lunch.”

  Claire followed her brother down the orange-and-sherbert tile hallway, watching his broad shoulders and curly, oak-brown hair turn heads as he passed. A year ago, she would have been right there with him. Gunner was the only real friend she had, and as they’d moved from school to school over the years, they’d made it almost a game: finding the most popular group in the school and climbing to the top. Elementary school, middle school, freshman year, that had been fun. But now Claire was sick of it. What was the point of trying if you had to keep starting over again and again?

  The more schools their mom sent them to, the more suburbs they went to, the more Claire realized just how identical everything really was. She could almost predict what everyone in the hall would do when they saw her. There were the jocks, puffing their chests and trying hard to get her to look at them. The geeks, shying away from her like she was toxic. The kids who dressed in black who tried to act rebellious but cried in the bathroom. The girls who already hated her because of her outfit, or the girls who loved her because of it.

  High school was a jungle, Claire thought. There were a lot of creatures wandering through the undergrowth; she had seen so many at this point that she recognized all the species. Except for that cute blond boy who was afraid of the dark—Jim, she remembered. So afraid of the dark that he had to shine his phone underneath tunnels. He hadn’t seemed to care about what anyone had thought, and instead just buried his head in his seat. “No one has ever liked Jim,” Shane had assured her and Gunner, as if his word was law. But why?

  The hallway opened up into a cafeteria full of blue tables and stale food steaming on styrofoam trays. Food was the other thing that was more or less the same in every school. Meatloaf day, Claire saw on the chalkboard, and almost giggled. She turned toward the salad bar, losing Gunner in the flood of other kids and their heavy backpacks, but she knew where the popular kids would be sitting: in the middle of the cafeteria.

  After she’d gotten her food, she stood for a moment on the edge of the room, watching as the other students laughed, shouted, swore, flirted. No one really looked at her. Finally, she shouldered her way through a group of kids talking about Minecraft and made her way to the center, where Gunner was hunched over the table across from Shane. Better to have friends than to have no one, she figured.

  “I’m telling you, man, you go to enough schools and you get a feel for the system,” Gunner was saying. He stuck out his fingers, counting off. “I can already tell you Mrs. Trill is a flake and she’ll give you extra time to email an assignment if you say you emailed it to her already. Ms. Patterson, she’s young so she has something to prove. You’ve got to be really good at first, and then she’ll like you so much you can do no wrong later. Mr. Webb, he—”

  Claire sat down. “Gunner, tell us more about your clever strategy to learn as little as possible.”

  Gunner turned his radiant grin on her. “Claire, Shane’s dad is the mayor of Pearlton. How cool is that?”

  Shane was a big guy, with broad shoulders, a buzzed head, a ski jump nose, and a mouth that always seemed like it was ready to curl into a sneer. “Mayor Morrisey, you’ve probably seen him on TV or something,” he said.

  “He’s a really big deal,” Maria added, nodding rapidly. Her stick-thin arms wrapped around one of Shane’s biceps, and her thick hair was pulled back with an ivory clip. She blew a few strands away from her beady brown eyes and smiled, her eyes pinched.

  “Awesome,” Claire said flatly. Her eyes skimmed the crowd, weaving between faces.

  “Are you looking for someone?” Maria asked.

  Claire startled. “No, no. Um . . . no. I was just thinking about how cool it would be to meet Mayor Morrisey.”

  “Yeah, he’d love to meet you guys,” Shane said. “Maybe you can meet him on your sixteenth birthdays. That’s soon, right?”

  Claire and Gunner looked at each other, and Gunner shook his head. Claire shrugged. “Yeah, it’s the day after tomorrow, actually. Uh . . . how’d you know?”

  “You’re sophomores. It had to be soon.” Shane grinned and rubbed Maria’s back. “I had the best sixteenth birthday ever last year. It was insane.” He winked at Gunner. “You guys are cool. I promise you’re going to have a really special birthday.”

  Gunner opened his mouth to ask something else, but a girl with unkempt blond hair dropped down next to them and immediately started swearing about a teacher. Claire vaguely listened as Shane introduced her as Julia, and Maria exclaimed over her new bracelet. Claire’s eyes were wandering around the cafeteria again.

  Her eyes locked on a table to their left, where another group of popular-looking kids laughed and joked with one another. Why weren’t these two groups together? All of her experience with High School Hierarchy indicated that they should be at the same table.

  A tall blonde girl from the other table saw her staring and locked Claire in a vicious gaze, her blue eyes as cold as ice. Claire stared back, unblinking. Two can play at this game, she thought.

  “Whoa,” Shane reached over to grab Claire’s wrist. “That’s Sydney Lumen and her group. Don’t look at them, you’ll just encourage their passive aggressive crap.”

  Gunner casually tossed a glance at the other table. Claire could tell that Sydney was still glaring at them. “She’s kind of hot,” he offered.

  “Great insight,” Julia said.

  Shane snorted. “Yeah, well, she’s the worst of them. They’re . . .” He fumbled for words. “They’re teacher’s pets.” He paused, as if coming to a realization. “No, it’s more than that. They’re not just teacher’s pets, they’re like some kind of undercover group that spies on everyone else and reports back.”

  “What do you mean?” Claire asked, curious.

  “Sydney’s mom is . . . is . . .”

  Claire and Gunner leaned closer.

  “The principal.”

  “That’s her big dark secret?” Claire laughed.

  Shane gave her a nasty look. “I don’t think you understand.”

  Gunner rolled his eyes. “Who cares? People aren’t their parents. I’m sure she’s fine.”

  “No way, man. You don’t get it. She’s got it in for us, and now that she sees you guys hanging out with us, she’ll have it in for you, too.”

  “The transitive property, huh?” Claire teased, but her heart wasn’t in it. She’d gotten such a thrill out of all this last year, in Boston and Pittsburgh and then Atlanta—finding out which groups already had a history, playing them off one another. But now it just felt childish, like they were too old to be making truces and alliances behind each other’s backs.

  Gunner leaned in toward Shane, listening to whatever he had to say, and Claire tuned them out, taking a bite of her salad.

  She didn’t want to admit it, but all through lunch, she kept searching for Jim.

  • • •

  After school, Claire and Gunner walked out of the hallway, pushed along by the current of students as everyone fled to their respective buses, cars, and other getaway vehicles. Claire hadn’t caught sight of Jim once. She tried not to let herself wonder about him, and why she couldn’t stop thinking of him.

  Gunner nudged her with his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” he asked over the hollering of a pack of freshmen who were sliding down the railing.

  Claire took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air and shook her head. “Nothing. Whatever. Is Mom picking us up or are we choosing a bus at random again?”

  Gunner laughed. “She’s picking us up in an hour. I joined the cross-country team. You should come, it’ll be fun.”

  “You already joined?” Claire asked incredulously. “When did that happen?”

  He snapped his fingers. “It’s all about connections, sis.”

  “So I have to wait ano
ther hour to get home?” Suddenly she wanted to be far away from Pearlton High School. Maybe she could go to the library and see if she could check out a book or something.

  “You could come,” Gunner said. “See if they have any spots left on the girls’ team. You’re almost as fast as I am.”

  “And have to quit mid-season when Mom makes us move again?”

  Gunner began to say something, but Claire cut him off, suddenly angry. Why wasn’t Gunner as pissed off as her? “I just wish she would stop moving us around for once in our lives. What is this, our fifth school in four years?”

  “Sixth, actually.” Gunner made a face, squinting at the clouds moving slowly across the sky. “Maybe seventh? There’s nothing we can do to change things. Just enjoy the pleasures of being right outside glorious St. Louis, Missouri! Maybe it’ll feel more like home than Pittsburgh or Boston or Atlanta.” He paused. “Besides, we’ll find something out tomorrow. Remember what Mom said after you threw that tantrum when she pulled us out of Boston Prep?”

  “Oh, right.” Claire had finally confronted her mom about their constant moving, and Gloria had promised the twins that on their sixteenth birthday she would tell them more, explain why they had been moving all their lives, never staying in the same place longer than four months.

  “So just wait until tomorrow,” Gunner said, spreading his arms wide like a magician. “And then all will be revealed!”

  She laughed. “Just go run. I’ll spend the next hour trying to plan the worst birthday present of all time for you.” She and Gunner always got each other goofy birthday presents—noisemakers, mismatched socks, an inflatable horse that Gunner sat on and instantly burst. After all, there was no point in them trying to get each other good presents. Their mom already bought them everything they could possibly want.

  “You haven’t seen my present for you! It’s the crappiest yet!” He winked and disappeared toward the track, where Claire saw a bunch of kids already starting to stretch. She smiled a little as she thought of her brother out there. He had been the fastest runner on every team he had ever joined. It was always fun to watch, but Claire had never really gotten into it. She would run and win races just as much as Gunner, but her head was always somewhere else. What was the point?

  She turned to face the lobby again—and almost slammed straight into someone, a boy with burnished blond hair, wearing a blue T-shirt. Jim.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, taking a step backward.

  “No worries.” Claire tried to smile, but he was already leaving. “Wait!” she called out on impulse.

  He turned back and looked at her, waiting. She took in his crystal blue eyes and his sharp, angular features. His face kept changing expressions, like he couldn’t make up his mind about her—like he wasn’t sure whether or not to trust her. Claire looked down at the backpack lying at his feet. The straps had been cut and were fastened together with duct tape. “What happened to your bag?”

  “It got the standard Shane treatment when I went to the bathroom during Geometry.” Jim glanced at her, and she felt an unexpected rush from the brief eye contact. She wasn’t sure she had ever seen eyes so blue, as bright and shining as the cloudless autumn sky above them. “So yeah,” Jim mumbled. “I tried to tape the straps back together. But obviously that didn’t work so well.”

  They both stood over the backpack, looking down at it without speaking. The torn pieces of tape waved in a soft breeze. Somewhere by the track, a flag clanged against a pole. Claire thought about Shane again, and felt a surge of anger.

  “Anyway,” Jim said suddenly, “thanks for having that moment of silence for this poor backpack with me. I’m going.” He scooped the bag up in his arms and hopped down the steps.

  “Where are you going?” Claire asked, running to catch up with him. “The buses all left, you know.”

  “Yeah.” Jim shot her a quick look, but didn’t stop walking. She waited for him to say something else, but the only sound was their shoes padding on the sidewalk. Claire didn’t know why, but she wasn’t ready to let him go. Maybe it was because he was the first boy who had ever actively ignored her—and at a pretty good clip, too.

  “Wait!” she said again, hurrying to catch up. He didn’t slow down, but he didn’t speed up either. They walked for a while next to each other, down the long bend of road leading between the patches of pine trees on either side of the school’s entrance. Jim stopped by the Pearlton High School sign, a big fat block of granite glinting in the afternoon sun. He shielded his eyes with one hand and put his broken backpack on the sign.

  “What’re you doing?” Claire asked as he unzipped his backpack.

  Jim peered up at her through the blond hair hanging over his eyes. Claire’s heart fluttered. “I’m putting my sneakers on.” He rifled through the bag and pulled out a pair of beat-up sneakers with faded orange laces. “I was going to run, but now that my backpack got Shaned and I have to carry it like it’s a baby bird, I can’t. Still, I’m not walking five miles in those things.”

  For the first time, Claire noticed Jim’s shoes. They were a faded gray and black, with frayed laces and a few holes, like some animal had chewed through them. The sole of his left shoe was half-torn, and flapped like a tongue when he lifted his foot to take it off. “They’re not as comfortable as they look,” he muttered.

  Claire laughed. Jim’s head shot up, like he was surprised at the sound. “What?” he asked, a little defensively.

  “That was funny,” she said.

  His eyebrows knitted together. “It was?” He dangled his shoe from his foot, studying it. Slowly, a smile spread on his face, like a ray of sunshine through clouds. “Sorry . . . I just . . . I’m not used to people laughing with me, I guess.”

  Claire leaned against the school sign as Jim put on his beaten-up running shoes. “You know,” she said, “if you like running, you should join the cross-country team. My brother just did.”

  “I do like running,” Jim said, grinding his feet into the heels of his shoes. “But I don’t really like teams. At least, not here.”

  There was a brief silence, filled by the wind rustling the clump of pine trees beside them. Claire wondered if she’d scared Jim away. She remembered that Shane was the captain of the football team, and after all, Jim had seen her hanging out with Shane and Maria today. Jim’s face kept changing, shuffling through emotions like cards. Finally, he smiled at her.

  “So where are you going?” she asked.

  Jim looked down at his feet and shifted his weight from side to side. “I’m heading to the only place where no one can find me.” He ran a hand through his hair, leaving parts of it sticking up, gleaming gold in the fading sunshine. “Anyway, nice meeting you.”

  “What—”

  Jim yanked his backpack from the top of the sign, whipping around like he was late for an appointment, but he didn’t zip the bag all the way. As he turned, a black notebook toppled out of the backpack, clapping facedown onto the sidewalk, pages spread. Claire reached for it—and gasped.

  It was open to a picture of her. An ink sketch that had been drawn in detail, right down to the way she had bound her hair in a low ponytail. The Claire on paper was standing on top of a weird structure, a tall building with a big, round center that had PEARLTON written across it. She blinked. Jim must have drawn this today, after he saw her on the bus.

  “Sorry,” Jim said quietly. They were so close that she could see herself reflected in his eyes. Again, she was mesmerized by how blue they were.

  “Sometimes, I, uh . . . I draw,” he explained. “You were the victim this time.” He stepped aside and pointed to something poking out over the top of the forest on the other side of the street, shining a pale green with the sun behind it. The Pearlton water tower, the building in his sketch. “I was headed there now, actually.”

  Claire’s heart raced. She shakily handed the notebook back to him and tried
to play it cool. “Can you take me there?”

  “You . . . you want to come?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  That slow smile spread across his face again. “Okay then,” Jim said. “Follow me.”

  • • •

  Claire quickly learned why the Pearlton water tower was Jim’s secret getaway. While it was the most visible landmark in town, it was surprisingly difficult to find. As the late afternoon sun painted the clouds and treetops copper, she found herself kicking her way through brambles and overgrown bushes. Jim seemed to slip between the trees, magically dodging every fallen log and ducking under every branch. It was obvious he had taken this path countless time. And even more obvious that he had never taken someone else. In about five minutes, she could barely see him through the mossy, gnarled branches blocking her way.

  “Jim!” she finally hissed. “Come on, wait up. Is this how you treat every girl you take here?”

  He appeared in front of her almost instantly, blushing. “Um . . . I don’t really treat girls like anything. And I’ve never taken anyone here.” He cleared his throat and pushed aside a branch for her.

  She mock-curtsied to him in her jeans. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  He laughed, finally. It was a warm sound that she could tell he didn’t make very often, bubbling from deep within his chest, as if he laughed with every atom in his body. For the rest of their walk, he held more branches for her, and kicked aside logs. At the bottom of a small hill, he even took her hand and helped her hop across a puddle of mud. She could feel his hand in hers even after he quickly took it away and marched up the hill.