The bell rings followed by a chorus of more lockers clanging shut. Zayn snaps a glance at Tristan’s midriff. “It shows, too.”
Tristan laughs—he had a six pack when he was fourteen—glad that at least he’ll like these people. It makes a necessary task enjoyable.
Cassandra flips her hair over her shoulder. “Let’s get going. We don’t want to give Ms. Grotberg an excuse to give out detention.”
“Ms. Grotberg?”
Suki rolls her eyes again and Tristan suspects it’s her thing. “And saying her name like that is the best way to get one. She’s also the vice-principal.”
He follows them down the hall, scanning the students as he goes. He’s found the blonde from his vision, now to find the brunette.
That one who looked at him like he was just there, like he was real…
The curious glances continue, and Tristan makes a point of smiling or saying hi. No one fits the image he saw. He tells himself he needs to connect with his inner Tess.
Patience, Zodiac boy. You’ve found one girl already. You’ll find the second.
Cassandra and Zayn take a left into a classroom and Tristan follows them. Luckily, the tables are grouped in bunches of four, meaning he easily sits beside his newfound friends. Students file in, taking their places.
None of them the brunette.
When Ms. Grotberg enters, the entire room falls into silence. Elderly, with a beak-like nose, she surveys the room. Her gaze falls onto Tristan, not looking pleased to have a new addition.
Tristan stands, smiling as if he’s the one welcoming her. “Good morning, Ms. Grotberg. My name’s Tristan Ayers and I just recently transferred from Twin Buttes.”
There’s a snigger and Ms. Grotberg’s hawkish gaze snaps left, trying to locate it. She’s greeted with silence and blank faces.
“An unusual name, I know,” adds Tristan, widening his smile as he lifts his brows. “But quite unforgettable.”
Ms. Grotberg’s jaw slackens for the briefest of seconds. She shakes her head. “You’re one of those, huh?” She waves a hand dismissively. “Take a seat, young man. Page eighty-four in your textbook.”
Tristan sits back down and Zayn leans in. “Whoa, your head’s still intact,” he whispers, clearly impressed.
Tristan grins. Who knew the name of that place would actually come in handy after showing absolutely no Zodiac Heir potential, no matter what Tess said. “Good thing, too.” He taps his temple. “I need to get up to speed.”
Zayn frowns. “Get up to speed?”
Cassandra leans forward, her twinkling eyes narrowed. “You mean you want the goss.”
Thwump. Another blow lands between Tristan’s shoulder blades. “Then you’ve come to the right place.”
Tristan makes a show of looking curious yet surprised. The Popular Clique are always the ones in the know. “I really have hit the jackpot then,” he murmurs.
Keeping their voices low, Cassandra and Zayn progressively work around the room, describing each student. Cheerleader. Chess champion. Works at Creamy Dreams and will give you a discount if you compliment the purple hair. The longer they talk though, the more intimate the details get. She lost her virginity at camp. He got caught by the principal trying to graffiti the news in the boys’ bathroom.
Throughout, Tristan asks his strategic questions. “What did his parents think about that?”
Zayn chuckles. “They’re hoping to hell his younger brother only follows him in looks.”
So, not adopted. Mentally, Tristan scratches another kid off the list.
He tilts his chin at a girl with ink-black hair slouched in the back corner. “Now, she looks like someone who could lift tables with her mind.”
Cassandra snorts. “The only thing that gets high is her.”
No special abilities then. Scratch another one off.
The period is almost coming to an end when Tristan brings the conversation back to Cassandra. “What about you? What’s your favorite fro-yo flavor?”
Start small and innocuous, a little flirtatiously. Then work your way up.
“You’re kidding right?” Zayn scoffs. “The daughter of the great Mr. Sinclair would never eat fro-yo. She’s too busy getting straight A’s, winning national debates, and getting gold for the track team.” He nudges her shoulder. “And looking slim, trim and terrific, to boot.”
Cassandra scowls at him. “Shut up, Zayn. For the hundredth time, I don’t like fro-yo.”
So, pretty and a high-achiever. They sound like qualities one would want in a Zodiac Heir.
“Your parents are the Sinclairs?” Tristan doesn’t actually know who they are, but he makes a note of doing some research. “Is your mom as pretty as you?”
Cassandra rolls her eyes, no doubt used to compliments. “We’re both blonde, if that counts.”
So, possibly not adopted. Squashing the disappointment, Tristan wishes he could just come out and ask these questions.
It would save a whole lot of time.
He opens his mouth to probe about siblings when the bell rings, sparking a flurry of movement. Cassandra scoops her books up. “Electives next. I’m off to Global Economics, Zayn has Sports Science. You?”
Tristan ignores the second punch of disappointment. It seems the talk with Cassandra is going to have to wait. He makes a show of pulling his schedule out of his back pocket even though he’s already memorized it. “Classic American, whatever that is.”
Cassandra’s smile turns coy as she pauses at the door. “Make me something good.”
Zayn snorts. “She’s not going to eat it, though.”
Eat it?
Classic American is a cooking class?
Without warning, Zayn pitches the ball at Tristan again. He doesn’t blink as he catches it and lobs it back.
Zayn inclines his head with a grin. “Not bad.”
Tristan winks. “Get that ball up the field so you can get more offensive players in the attack zone.”
Zayn throws the ball across the hall, making several people duck, then catches it. “That’s the plan, m’man!”
Cassandra shakes her head. “Your classroom is down the hall and to the left. See you at the cafeteria?”
Tristan lets the happiness those words spark shine from his smile. “Looking forward to it.”
He finds his class easily enough—not only is Mirror Point High too small to get lost in, but Zarius has had Tristan navigate every new house or apartment they’ve been in blindfolded. Tristan could easily follow the smell of cheap cleaning spray and burnt cheese.
Cooking class. How the hell did he end up in cooking class? Tess usually deals with the enrollments and class selection. She knows Tristan’s generally ahead of the curriculum thanks to the home-schooling, and also needs to be in a diverse set of classes so he can connect with as many kids as possible.
But cooking class?
Admittedly, the title Classic American doesn’t really say food technology.
Straightening his spine and telling himself he can’t afford to miss an opportunity, Tristan eyes the teens that pass him on the way down the hall. Any of them could be a Zodiac Heir.
And if they don’t find one soon…
Kids file past, tall ones, short ones, smiling ones, frowning ones. Tristan tries to stay focused even though they start to blur together. How many teens has he scanned, wondering if there’s some way to distinguish a Zodiac just by sight? How many times has he thought he had a lead only to come up empty-handed?