Intrinsical

  My head dropped between my knees with a noncommital shrug.

  Brent took my silence for agreement. “Good. So she might not be crazy but you . . . you have an awfully short temper,” Brent teased with a smile in his voice.

  Despite my current feud with Brent, I laughed. “I usually don’t,” I said honestly.

  He chuckled. “So, what you’re saying is I bring out your book-wielding, short-tempered side?” He hooked his foot through the straps on my backpack and brought it front of him. “Removing temptation.” I gave him a look that communicated he should wither and die.

  “So why did you follow me out here?” I snapped.

  “I told you. I saw what happened in class and I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  My hands immediately flew to my necklace and began twisting it nervously. “I got nervous,” I said. “I felt sick, but I’m feeling better now.” It was an edited version of the truth, but still not a lie.

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said, shaking his head. “I meant during your speech.”

  “I got nervous,” I repeated slowly. “Stage fright.”

  He sighed. “Yara, are you trying to tell me you didn’t astral project in the middle of talking?”

  My jaw dropped.

  He gave me a smug smile as he leaned forward and patted me on the knee. “I knew it. I think I knew it from the start. You’re one of us.”

  I verbally stumbled. “One of who?”

  “You’re a Clutch.”

  “I . . . like in a car?”

  Brent looked amused. “No, like in a Clutch, a person who can astral project.”

  My mind searched through all the fringe science stuff I had read through with Cherie and back toward everything my grandma had ever told me, but I came up empty. “I’ve never heard that term before.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t have— it’s what they called it here at school. It used to be Pendrell’s secret society.” Brent leaned in, his voice lowered. “No one is supposed to know any of this but I . . . know some things.”

  “A secret society?” I bit my lips together to keep from laughing.

  “Yeah.” Brent didn’t notice my mocking of him; his mind was somewhere else. “It sort of disbanded a while ago, but I want to get it running again. If there are two of us, maybe we can.” Brent whistled excitedly, his fingers drumming on his leg. “You didn’t even need training, you did it yourself. I didn’t even know a girl could.”

  The feminist in me bristled. “How very eighteen-hundreds of you. You’re a regular misogynistic chauvinist pig, huh?”

  “Now, now don’t get yourself all riled up. They just never had a girl member before, but we’re going to have to let you in.”

  “Really? I can join your secret club? Do I get to learn the secret handshake and everything?” I clasped my hands together in mock glee. “Of course you’ve never had a female member here, idiot. You’ve never had girls enrolled here before. How did I dance with a guy who’s never heard of feminism?”

  “I’ve heard of it, but that doesn’t mean a woman can do everything a man can do,” he goaded. I went to smack him on the back of his head, but he ducked with a snicker. “I’m learning,” he informed me. “How did I ever consider dating such a violent girl?”

  “We’re both lucky we got out early before we really knew each other.”

  “Oh yes, good thing neither one of is still interested in the other,” Brent said with a playful grin. “You’re not still mad at me, are you?”

  “I may not be angry anymore, but it takes a while to forgive,” I informed him honestly, wiping the flower petals from my black pencil skirt. They rained down over fallen leaves, adding a dash of color to the brown foliage.

  “Makes sense.” Brent nodded as he crossed his arms. “I only said that about girls because I honestly didn’t know girls could do it. I was told it passed down through the male genes.”

  “Oh.” He had me on that one; the Acordera gene only passed down through the maternal side, after all, as far as I knew.

  “That’s it?” He prompted, shocked. “No apology for smacking me?”

  I yawned and studied my nails in reply.

  “Okay then.” Brent stood up and started pacing in front of the bench, kicking leaves as he walked. “Obviously you’re gifted, but you need help to hone your natural ability. There are some things that are essential to know.”

  “Look, Brent. I appreciate what you’re trying to do but I’m not interested.”

  He looked startled and began, “I—”

  I cut him off. “I don’t want any part of this. The whole thing kinda freaked me out. I’m sure girls always do what you tell them because you’re hot, Brent, but I’m just not that interested.”

  His head perked up with a wide smile. “You think I’m hot?”

  I almost growled at him as my cheeks flushed. “I’m not interested in astral projection, so just leave me alone.”

  “Why?”

  “I have some very personal reasons.”

  When I stood up to leave, he reached out to grasp my arm, but I pulled out of his reach.

  “Yara, that isn’t how it works. After the first time, you lose the ability to choose. You need my help.”

  My gut wrenched, like someone was tightening a loose screw. My chest tightened, my hands tingled, and I teetered backward. “I don’t want to fight again, so please drop this.” I picked up my backpack, and sprinted away from him, silencing the part of me that told me he was right.

  Chapter 5

  I had read, studied, written and typed until I could hardly see straight when I finally headed to dinner. I was starving because I had already missed lunch. Cherie hadn’t been to our dorm yet but we ran into each other as I was entering the commons building. “Hey, what happened to you today? You just vanished after Language Arts.”

  I pulled her aside into one of the empty chair groupings on the bottom floor of the bustling building. “Yeah, I really have to talk to you about that.” She gave me a quizzical look, as if questioning what she might have missed while sitting right next to me. I leaned in and motioned to the busy room around us as I told her, “But it’s a long conversation I’d rather have in private. Nothing was really wrong, just strange.”

  “Strange as in my kind of strange?” I inclined my head to let her know it was. Cherie’s eyes glistened with questions but she held them back. “We’ll talk tonight. I’m very intrigued.”

  As we approached the cafeteria, Brent and Steve were waiting for us just outside the doors. Steve’s face lit up when he saw Cherie, but Brent’s face was calculating. A few girls walked by, yelling to Brent to call them later. I unclenched my fingers and followed Cherie to pick up my tray. We must have missed the dinner rush. The room was unusually empty and we had our pick of the tables after getting our food.

  I squeezed lemon into my water as I told Brent, “I don’t want to hear it.”

  His face was wooden. “I know, but I need to talk to you anyway. In private.” He subtly motioned to our friends. “I was afraid you wouldn’t talk to me if I approached you alone.”

  “You’re right, but only because I know what you’re going to

  say,” I admitted. Brent ran his hand across his eyes. “Doesn’t Steve think it’s odd that you’re willing to eat with me?” I asked, swirling my straw through my water. Brent twirled his pasta around his fork. “I didn’t tell him about

  your wicked throwing arm.”

  “Oh.” I took a sip of water.

  “Doesn’t Cherie think it’s weird that I’d want to eat with you? Why would she even want to hang out with me knowing what I said about her?” He asked before taking a bite.

  I didn’t tell her either,” I confessed putting my napkin in my lap and smoothing it down.

  A smile curled on his face. “I see.”

  “You see what?”

  “More than you probably want me to.”

  “You two look cozy,” Cherie said. I hadn’t realized
how close I had moved toward him while we were talking, and I scooted away from him. “What are you two whispering about over there?”

  I’ve always thought fast on my feet and I smoothly lied. “I was asking Brent how Gifted and Talented P.E. went.”

  Brent smiled into his napkin. “Nice,” he muttered under his breath. He raised his voice so our friends could hear as his face drew into a painful grimace. “Torture! How was remedial P.E., Yara?”

  “Um . . . better than torturous. So . . . good, I guess.”

  The conversation was soon filled from all three of them detailing the horror of how Mr. Molter, the cross-country coach, had pushed the runners beyond what they thought possible.

  “So, why don’t you join the team?” Brent asked, only half-joking.

  “Besides the fact you three make it sound like so much fun?” I paused for comedic timing before answering honesty. “I never really thought of it as an option.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not a very fast runner,” I said.

  “Have you ever heard the expression ‘slow and steady wins the race’?”

  I laughed. “I have, but I’ve actually found that statement to be false. I’ve raced a hare.” I motioned toward Cherie. “And the tortoise” I pointed to myself. “Always comes in last.”

  “So are you on any sports teams?” Brent asked, pushing around the vegetables on his plate with a fork.

  “I have found that most teams appreciate my lack of membership. I do love sports, but I’m not a practicing participant

  of organized sports.”

  “Organized sports? Is that similar to organized religion?”

  “Hey, I won’t question your beliefs if you don’t question mine, all right?”

  “Okay,” he laughed, raising his hands in defeat.

  “And it may be totally lame, but I’m actually liking Social Dance.”

  Brent eyed me carefully. “Well, not totally lame, but—”

  I threw my napkin at him. “Shut up!”

  “Temper, temper,” he chided, lifting his eyebrows with a smile.

  I pointedly moved my chair closer to Cherie and talked to her through the rest of dinner.

  ****

  On the way back to our dorm, Brent walked slowly beside me, while Steve and Cherie hurried ahead. The space between Brent and I was almost five feet wide; people probably wouldn’t even guess we were technically together. A tense silence crackled between us and it was clawing angrily at my nerves.

  Brent started to snicker and I turned to see what was so funny. “To think you couldn’t even get through a single meal without throwing something at me.”

  I knew he was baiting me but this time I refused to get tangled in the hook. “So let’s hear the speech I’m sure you’ve prepared.”

  Brent put his thumbs through his belt loops and rocked on his heels. “You need to learn to control your astral projection.”

  I brought my fingers to his lips, enjoying for a split second the feeling of his breath on my skin. “Shh. Not out here, someone might hear.” Grabbing his arm, I dragged him into a dark alcove in the stone wall for some privacy.

  “If you wanted to get me alone, you only had to ask,” he said with a wink.

  “I just couldn’t control myself,” I deadpanned, letting go of his arm. “I just don’t want anyone to overhear this conversation.”

  Brent took a few steps back and rested his shoulder against the wall farthest from me. “I’m sure this is all a little bit startling to you, but you do need some help. It’ll be better than you floundering around alone in this.”

  “Why?” I asked, fidgeting with the buttonhole on my sweater.

  “There is so much to tell you . . .” His voice trailed off, his head cocked to the side, listening. “Someone’s coming.” In two large steps he was very close to me again. His citrusy musk cologne enveloped me, and my spine melted as I inhaled his scent deeper.

  It was a good thing I was against the wall; it was keeping me up.

  “Are you okay?” He asked with a half smile. “You look , almost meek. Is my nearness affecting you?”

  “Hardly,” I scoffed, pushing him away. I turned my head, breathing in non-Brent scented air until my head cleared.

  “Brent, is that you?”

  Brent spun, his body rigid, his arm snaking around me. He made a show of wiping his mouth, trying to look sheepish, like we had just been making out while drawing me close.

  “I didn’t see you swimming laps at practice.”

  “Yeah, I missed tonight.” Brent threw a sly smile my way. “I’ve been busy.”

  “I knew girls coming here would create problems,” Coach Tait grumbled before bidding us good night. Brent kept his arm around me until the swim coach was out of sight, then stepped away from me.

  “What was that about?”

  “I didn’t know it was him. I wanted us to have a good reason to be talking in such a secluded spot.”

  “I doubt people use that alcove to talk,” I pointed out.

  Brent gave me a wicked grin. “Exactly.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “I admit I’d be embarrassed if we got caught having that conversation, but you sort of overreacted back there.”

  Brent’s shoulders slumped and he started chewing on his nails again. “Yeah. I’m just jumpy recently.”

  “Why?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Brent raked his fingers through his hair. “What matters is that I’m officially offering to train you.” Brent shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ll be on your fire escape at one this morning.”

  I dropped onto a stone bench that rested under the branches of an oak tree, my jaw clenched in protest. “Is it really that dangerous?”

  He sat beside me. “It can be. Unless you have training, your spirit can leave without you wanting it to any time you’re scared or angry. There are some foods you have to avoid.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  Brent shook his head. “No. You’re lucky you have me. I had to learn this alone with some old notes. It wasn’t fun.” Brent started in on his nail again. All his fingers had ragged nails chewed down to the skin. “Black licorice, for example—avoid it. Some forms of it can push you out of your body with such force you end up far away from it and can’t return for a while. It’ll actually put up a barrier between your body and any spirit. Peppermint can—”

  I cut him off. “No worries about licorice. I hate the stuff.” I bit my lip trying to absorb the information Brent had spewed out. “It sounds like there is so much to know. Are you sure I have no choice in this anymore?”

  “Once you do it the first time, it’s part of you.” Brent gave me a pitying look.

  “How long have you been able to leave your body?”

  He paused for a beat, loosening his tie. “I developed that talent right before I started school here. How about you?”

  “You saw my first time. Could the other guys in your family do it?”

  He tilted his head. “Yeah.”

  I lifted my necklace out of my shirt and my fingers anxiously grasped the charm that dangled from the chain, rubbing it between my thumb and pinky. Brent stared hard at my necklace, taking a few steps toward me. He lifted his hands, stroking the beads almost lovingly— the amber in them burned a little brighter and warmed from his touch; its heat snuggled into my soul.

  “Wow. It responded to your touch,” I whispered, slightly awed. It was like something out of some fantasy novel, a magic talisman connecting with its master.

  “Where did you get it?” Brent asked, ignoring my statement.

  “My grandmother sent it to me from Brazil. Why?”

  Shaking his head, he shoved his hands into his armpits while stepping back. “No reason. It’s pretty.”

  I didn’t believe him, but I examined my necklace with newfound interest. The amber beads were flecked with tiny preserved blossoms, and the intricately carved wooden flower pendant glowed beautifully in the moonlight. I lift
ed it, watching the way the material picked up the beams of light.

  “It isn’t all bad, you know. Once you can control it, it’s downright sick.”

  It took a few moments for me to remember the conversation we had been having about astral projection. “What’s so great about being able to separate your soul from your body?”

  Bent looked around, making sure we were alone before lifting his arm and running his hand back and forth in the air, creating a gentle breeze that lightly shook the leaves of the tree. I couldn’t help but gape at him open-mouthed. Had he really just made the leaves move? He grinned at my wonder and raising his hand again, waved it around my face, lifting the hair off my shoulders so it floated gently in the air.

  “That was incredible,” I said as my hair fell back around my face and neck. I raised my hand, trying, but nothing happened. “How did you do it?”

  “Meet me tonight and I’ll tell you,” he said, his low voice taking on a husky tone.

  He was pouring on the charm, and it was working. I took a deep breath and refocused my brain. “Can everyone who can astral project do that?”

  Brent paused, uncomfortable for a minute, before answering. “No, but I have this feeling you’ll be able to.”

  “It’s a date then.” Brent gave me an odd look and I realized what I had said. My cheeks burned and I sputtered, “No, I mean . . . not a date, an appointment.”

  He puffed his chest out as he stood. “Gotta watch out for those Freudian slips.” He grinned at me lazily. “See ya tonight.”

  ****

  “So, explain to me one more time how you astral projected,” Cherie demanded.

  I lay across my bed, with my head hanging off the side looking toward Cherie’s bed, my legs stretched up and my feet resting against the shiny white cinder block wall. “Well, when I first got up there, I was a wreck.”

  “Right, I noticed that. But that isn’t out of the ordinary,” Cherie interjected, as she dug through her makeup drawer and pulled out her nail care bag.