“—I forgot to go through your closet with you. We can still salvage this.” She waved a hand in the air, indicating everything I was wearing. “I should come over again tonight!”
I shook my head. “Sorry, but I have like three hours’ worth of homework to get done,” I said apologetically. “I need this credit since I basically flunked science in ninth.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. I knew that she’d paid people to do her homework for her once or twice, and I could see the suggestion sizzling on the tip of her tongue.
I shook my head at her and went back to my food. She shrugged, effectively dropping the subject which, to be honest, I was thankful for. More thankful than she would care to know.
I glanced back over at the Seymores’ table to see if they had calmed down at all, and was only mildly surprised to see the two youngest ones gone.
Thinking nothing of it, or of the tense looks on the older guys’ faces, I half-listened to Joan and Macy gossip about some cute exchange student in their French class.
And that was when the big bowl of chili crashed in the middle of our table, its Styrofoam sides splitting with the force of the impact, splattering all four of us with pungent red sauce.
“Oops,” Gary said behind us. “My bad. Darn that feral upbringing.”
I hid a smile behind the napkin I was using to wipe my face and inadvertently met Rudy’s eye. Remembering that he was the one to hear those remarks first-hand, shame drove the humor out of me. I dropped my eyes quickly and went about getting as clean as possible.
After dropping my tray off, I made a quick stop by the bathroom. There was only so much a dry napkin could do to get rid of chili. Not that I was drenched in the gunk, just sticky enough that I could feel it on my cheeks every time I forced a smile.
Inside the bathroom, I washed my hands and splashed my face with water cold enough to chill my molars.
For reasons that I didn’t quite try to decipher, I avoided looking myself in the eye.
By the time the first bell rang, I’d washed off most of my makeup, but lacked the time to replace it, not that I was complaining. Every once in a while – despite what Julianne might have thought – pores needed to breathe.
Throwing my backpack over my shoulder, I took the small hike through the hallways and pushed my way into the classroom.
Rudy, Bradley, and Joan were all in my Spanish class. Joan was already seated, next to the free desk that was reserved for me.
For the first few minutes there wasn’t much talking going on. We listened to instructions, jotted down notes before finally being paired up to practice our conjugations. It was hard, though, to focus on what I was meant to be focusing on.
For reasons unbeknownst to me, my focus kept drifting to the Seymore boys.
Rudy spoke the language like a native, his pronunciations as close to spotless as spotless could get. Bradley, on the other hand, couldn’t roll his Rs to save his life.
I expected Rudy to give him shit for it, but all I heard from their side of the room was humor and a whole lot of patience.
“Don’t tell Julianne or Macy I said so,” I said quietly to Joan, indicating the Seymores with a tilt of my head. “But they seem almost human in here.”
Joan’s eyes widened. “I definitely won’t tell her you said that,” she snapped back, her voice serious. “And you probably shouldn’t say anything like it ever again.”
I wanted to push – her buttons, boundaries, my peace, but the teacher called on me then and I had to think fast. I fumbled through the rest of class, distracted.
Joan’s reaction had bothered me. Julianne had always held a grudge when it came to the Seymore boys, but now, it was starting to seem more and more personal. So much so that she was practically driving fear into everyone around us. And I know, Joan’s reaction could have very well been the repercussions of the whole Ouija board thing. Somehow, though, it didn’t seem that way.
Spanish class continued and ended without me mentioning the Seymores again.
My last class of the day was music, which I looked forward to almost as much as track.
I’d been taking voice and guitar lessons for years, and the music was almost as freeing to me as running was. Or it would have been, if Rudy and Julianne hadn’t also been taking that class.
Anxiety clutched at my core and for a second I fervently wished that I was back in a huge, anonymous school with huge, anonymous classrooms again.
Yolinda—the music teacher, who insisted on us calling her by her first name—had flowing lavender hair down to her waist and wore layers of silks and loose knits which swirled and dripped around her as she moved. She was a powerful presence who somehow managed to slip by the parental calls for “professionalism in the workplace.”
“She thinks she’s a witch,” Julianne giggled to me. She might have dropped her voice, but the music room was designed to carry sound.
I saw Yolinda’s shoulders stiffen slightly, but she didn’t turn around to say anything to Julianne.
“Better than being a bitch,” a low, masculine voice rumbled.
Julianne whirled around, eyes blazing, until she spotted Rudy in the corner. He was tuning his guitar, but his flat, menacing gaze was focused on Julianne.
“Oh look at that, Kennedy,” Julianne sneered. “A monkey who knows how to hold a guitar. Do you think they taught him that in the circus?”
The way he was sitting, I would have no choice but to walk past him to get my own guitar, so I didn’t say anything in response. Fortunately it didn’t seem like Julianne needed a response, as she tossed her hair and stalked past him toward the music lockers. Her violin sat in one of the smaller lockers, at the far end of the row, while my guitar was right behind Rudy’s left foot. He couldn’t have known that—could he?
“All right, ladies and gents and everybody in between, let’s get this ball rolling, shall we?” Yolinda said, smiling brightly. Her sky-blue eyes flicked once in Julianne’s direction, but didn’t linger. “If you don’t have your instruments in hand, please get them now. We’ll start things off with a little tune up, and then you’ll each get the chance to show me your skill level.”
Great. There was no way around it. I took a deep breath and strode across the room, my soft shoes making dull thuds on the shining oak floor. My heart picked up as I approached him, but I kept my eyes locked firmly on the locker. Too firmly. I was only a few feet from it when I tripped over his outstretched ankle, stumbled, and landed with a loud bang on the metal locker.
“Watch it,” he growled.
“No roughhousing around the instruments!” Yolinda snapped.
I wondered briefly if she would allow roughhousing away from the instruments, but I wasn’t about to ask. I mumbled a general apology, still without looking at Rudy, and pulled my guitar out of the locker with clumsy fingers.
“Great! That’s everybody. I’m going to organize you by instrument until I have a better feel for you. Oboe, you come over here, cello there, drums…” she kept calling out instruments and grouping their players together, but I stopped listening. I was going to be stuck sitting with Rudy—just Rudy, since we were the only two with guitars.
“…and guitar, there. Good! Now, you, um…Kennedy, why don’t you start? Play something for me, anything you’re comfortable with. The more proficient the better, but don’t be afraid to get a little creative with it.” She grinned and winked at me.