Sojourner

  “See that it doesn’t.” Then he turns towards Griffin. “Perhaps you should turn your paper in from last week. I don’t think your parents will appreciate a deficiency slip in the mail.”

  “Yes, sir,” Griffin says.

  “Good.” Mr. Maguire nods, and I slip into the hallway. Griffin follows, something I am not entirely comfortable with, but I can’t exactly exert my supernatural ‘Native’ powers to make him stop. Unfortunately, I’ve no such powers. I’m pretty sure nobody else does either. So, as much as I hate the idea, I will have to endure Griffin. What I really want is to find Lev, not that I have any idea what I will say. Possible scenarios might include “Hey, Blondie, why are you always in my dreams, watching me die?” Or even better, “Do you have a thing for me since you seem to spend every night with me, at least in my dreams?”

  No, distance is better, I sigh. At least until I can figure out how to phrase these insane thoughts into questions he might be able to answer with something besides threats of committing me.

  I try to read my schedule and puzzle out my locker’s location, but my thoughts are still scrambled from the nightmare. Griffin peers over his shoulder and points to the left. “Your locker is that way, in case you’re looking for it.”

  My body stiffens as he leans over my shoulders, his face inches from mine. His chest bumps my back and I nudge forward, trying to regain personal space.

  “So I guess you’ve met our newest addition to Hauser High.”

  I half-turn to find Gail and another dark-haired guy next to her, his grayish eyes look over me, lingering in places he really has no business seeking out.

  “But I haven’t,” the guy says, smiling. “I’m Matt King.”

  I nod. “Hey.”

  Gail looks from me to Griffin, her caustic expression none too pleased with his overt attention to me. I want to tell her I’ll gladly slip away if she can distract him, but Griffin is having none of that. In fact, he steps closer so that our shoulders brush while I read the combination number for my lock and then start twisting the dial. His hot breath whispers across my cheek. My fingers fumble, pushing the dial too far, messing up. Matt and Gail walk down the hall.

  Shaking my head, I reset the lock and try again to open it. After three attempts, the lock finally gives. I’ve only just opened it when the tardy bell rings. Can it get any better?

  A rectangular mirror affixed to the door greets me. I gasp, not at my reflection, but at the words scrawled in red on the glass. “Half-breed.”

  The notebook tumbles from my hands. Bile slithers up my throat, and I wonder if I’m going to be sick. It’s not like this is the first time, but usually takes more than one day for someone to decide they don’t like my skin color. Biting my lip, I keep staring until my face clears and the words fuzz over. The coppery taste of blood tells me my teeth have sunk too deeply.

  Who writes that anymore? I try not to panic, but the fear keeps making my heart race.

  “You might need this.” Something touches my shoulder. I jump and whirl, my hand blocking whatever has made contact.

  Griffin stands there. In one hand he holds my notebook, the pages sticking out from where they’ve come loose from the inner rings. For a moment I just stare, unsure what to say, wondering if he shares the sentiment on my mirror. Who can I trust here?

  “This is yours, isn’t it?” He looks at the notebook.

  “Yeah,” I manage in a breathless voice. “I’m pretty clumsy these days.” I take the notebook. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” He points to my mouth. “Your lip is bleeding.”

  Crap, I think and whirl toward the mirror, trying to ignore the red letters, but they act like a filter, making both our reflections blur in the background. Still, I dab my finger at the torn skin, hoping to stop the bleeding.

  “Who wrote that?” he asks, tugging the door open wider so that he can get a better look.

  “I…I don’t know.” I take the door out of his hand and close it. “I just hope it will wash off the mirror or, if it doesn’t I can yank the mirror out.”

  “Get to class,” Mr. Maguire snaps, watching us from his doorway. The hall is empty, and I feel the weight of the teacher’s gaze resting on me, those piercing blue eyes measuring me somehow. It makes it hard to breathe with my heart doing all this crazy acrobatic stuff. He looks at his watch.

  “We’re going,” Griffin says. He glances at my notebook.

  “Come on. Let’s get to class. We both start walking, and when we get to the classroom, he reaches for the door handle.

  Across from us, I see the janitor, a tall blond guy, sweeping the floor of some crumbled pastries. He senses my gaze and glares back at me. His badge says Roy Henley.

  “How does everyone know who I am?”

  “You’re new and that makes you a hot topic. The girls all see you as their worst nightmare because you are different, exotic, as it were. And to the guys, well, you’re the only new blood they’ve seen in a very long time. Me excluded of course.”

  I stiffen. “Of course.”

  The janitor still glares, and I shudder. I am unsure what to make of Griffin, but there’s no time to figure him out as the door opens, leading me to my worst nightmare besides dying…math.

  By lunchtime, I’ve learned one thing about this town. No matter how hard I try to isolate myself, people find me. Three out of four of my morning classes include Griffin, Gail, or Matt. Not that I really have anything against them. I just don’t know them well enough to trust them, and trust is a big thing for me.

  Unable to face my mirror, I avoid my locker and drift to class with the other students. More than once I spot Lev. Although he is probably much more beautiful than Griffin could ever be, he downplays his appearance. Considering his casual brown long-sleeved button down over a white tee shirt and jeans, he does not have the financial reckoning of Griffin, but there is something about him that both frightens and attracts me. How can I express the familiarity my dreams have given me to a total stranger? In what kind of world would it make sense? Certainly not Hauser’s Landing.

  Although I don’t really feel like eating, I tend to have low blood sugar, and I know that skipping lunch might make it worse. The last thing Jimmie needs is a wake-up call from the school because I’d passed out. So, I grab a tray and steady my gaze on unappealing food to distract me.

  Apparently the novelty still hasn’t worn off as everyone still stares, especially Griffin’s cluster. Griffin aims his ‘devilishly handsome’ smile at me, but I look away before he can wave. As I make my way to find a seat, Shelly appears, a bowl from the salad bar in her hand.

  “Hey, I’m sitting at a table over there. Want to join me?” Her smile seems genuine compared to Gail’s so I figure it will be okay. Until I establish the social clicks, it is going to be trial by fire.

  “Sure.”

  On the way to Shelly’s table, I avoid eye contact with Griffin while scanning the cafeteria for Lev. Considering his height, he should be easy to spot, so it’s safe to guess he’s elsewhere, probably hiding from the weird, clumsy girl.

  We sit by another girl Shelly introduces as Bree Matthews. Bree has her blonde hair cropped into a short pixie haircut. It’s clear from her sweater, nail polish, and lipstick that she’s into pink. Her shirt reads, “Boys are trouble, and I like trouble!”

  “So,” Shelly begins, smoothing the salad dressing around on her lettuce. “So, how is Hauser High so far?”

  Complicated, I think. Instead of voicing that answer, I shrug. “Okay, I guess. My last school was huge so it’s going to take some getting used to.”

  “You’ve definitely got the guys stirred up,” Bree says, grinning at Griffin’s constant stare.

  “It comes with being the new girl, I guess,” I reply, shaking my head.

  “Yeah, well, Gail is having a conniption over there, just so you know.” Shelly nods toward her.

  Gail gives me a dirty look, as if any of this is my fault. “So what’s the connection bet
ween them?”

  “Depends on who you ask,” Shelly says, pulling the tab on her Coke can. “Gail is so sure she’s Ms. Right for Griffin but he’s just not smart enough to appreciate her. If you ask Griffin, he’d tell you Gail just isn’t his type and never will be.”

  “Ouch.” I toy with the spaghetti on my plate. “That’s got to hurt.”

  “Sure, if you actually let it sink in, which Gail doesn’t. Or didn’t until you showed up.”

  Lucky me, I think, shaking my head. “Okay, so how do I get rid of him?”

  Both of them burst out laughing like I’d just said the punch line of a hilarious joke. “What?” I demand.

  “You don’t get rid of Hauser. His parents buy him whatever he wants, and if he wants you, he’s not going to give up, Lizzie. We’ve seen this movie before,” Bree says between fits of giggles that cause tears.

  “I don’t think so!” I snap, wishing they would can their enthusiasm. After all, the sole root of my current discomfort is taking an extreme interest in the conversation, and I wonder how long it will actually take for him to come to our table.

  “So what do you know about Lev Walker?” I ask, taking a bite.

  “He’s weird, all broody and intense,” Shelly says. “Spends lots of time with his nose in a book but sure doesn’t know how to relate to people.” She takes a bite of her carrot stick. “Unlike Griffin Hauser,” she adds, renewing their outburst of giggles.

  “I’m truly glad you find this funny,” I snap, shaking my head. “That makes a grand total of one of us who isn’t amused.”

  “That’s what friends are for,” Bree responds.

  “So what’s wrong with being quiet and keeping to yourself?” I ask.

  “It’s not so much the quiet that seems strange,” Bree says waving her fork. “It’s the lack of attention he pays girls. It’s like we don’t even exist. None of us.”

  Although I understand the implication, I don’t believe it. Maybe Lev just hasn’t found anyone interesting enough to shake up his world. I start to argue my point but then grow silent, hoping by not saying anything I might find out more about Lev.

  “He is really hot, though,” Bree says, toying with her food. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone with that shade of blond hair before. It shimmers in sunlight. So weird.”

  “So where does he usually spend lunch?”

  “Who cares?” Bree spears a bit of lettuce onto her fork and takes a bite. “With all the guys like Griffin fawning all over themselves to get to you and you want Lev.” She shakes her head as though I am completely hopeless, and maybe I am.

  “Besides, we’ve all been down that road with the golden boy, and look where it got us, sitting at a lunch table giggling over Griffin as he makes like you’re the only one for him.” Bree sets the back of her hand against her forehead in a terrible southern belle imitation. “How lucky you are.”

  “Yeah, right,” I mutter, the horrible taste of the spaghetti sitting sweetly on my tongue. Yuck. I push my tray back and sigh. Blood sugar or no blood sugar, I am not eating that. Period.

  “I could’ve told you not to get the spaghetti,” Shelly says, smiling. “It’s awful.”

  “Yeah, friends don’t let friends eat school spaghetti and all that,” I mutter, thinking the food looked better and smelled appetizing. So what had they done to it?

  “Don’t look now,” Bree whispers, leaning toward us, “Golden boy heading to the salad bar.”

  All our gazes turn toward Lev as he grabs a bowl and fills it with salad, his long slender fingers handling the tongs like expensive tools.

  “See,” Shelly smirks. “Even the blond knows better than to eat the hot stuff.”

  I can tell she waits for a response but I can’t help staring at him, feeling my heart leap into my throat as I try to discern cracks between what I’ve witnessed in my dreams and the guy now grabbing the dressing ladle.

  “I’ll be right back,” I manage, rising with my tray. Maybe I’m seeing things, I think. It’s all in his eyes. I’ll know if I can just look into them, I’ll be able to put all this behind me, and the dreams will fall by the wayside.

  As I walk to the salad bar, the world stills and quiets, leaving only the light, Lev, and me. He sets the ladle in the dressing bucket, and in that moment, I notice a silver monogram bracelet glittering in the light

  I dump the tray and then set it amid all the other dirty ones, still watching as Lev sits at a table by himself. He stares ahead, contemplative, then he begins eating, all the while, my gaze lingers on the bracelet.

  I stand there, willing his gaze to meet mine, but he continues eating, oblivious. Look at me, I mentally command, the breath aching inside of me.

  “Excuse me,” a dark-haired girl says, trying to get to the trashcan.

  “Sorry,” I mumble and move so she can get through. He knows I’m here, waiting. Right now I feel like my chest is going to explode and I grip the table nearby. He doesn’t turn.

  I’m finally getting used to small classes in my sixth period, the last one of the day. It’s twenty minutes to go until school is out. Still, I’m trying to get something out of dissecting a frog, something I’m really not so fond of. The only good aspect of this class is that none of Griffin’s triad shares it with me, and I’m grateful. Shelly and Bree, however, sit two seats back. I’m getting used to them.

  I wonder what class Lev has this hour.

  Suddenly the loudspeaker buzzes my name. Apparently someone in the office wants to see me, so Mr. Richards suggests I take my books with me, figuring I won’t have much time before school’s out to come back for them.

  The practically empty halls greet me as I hurry toward the office. As I pass my locker, I see Roy Henley, the janitor, standing in front of my open locker, cleaning the mirror. From the back, his blond hair is grimy. Again, he must sense my stare because he turns toward me and shakes his head.

  “You’re not even here a day and you’ve already made a mess,” he reproaches me gruffly, the rag in his hand a bright red.

  I hurry past him to the office, and this time Ms. Adams waves toward the principal’s office. “Go right in, dear.” Then she turns to her computer. I see Lev at the copier making copies but he doesn’t even look at me, which answers my question about what class he has this hour. I keep staring but nothing. So all that’s left is to go into the office.

  As I reach the doorway, the principal, Arnie Williams, looks at me. Jimmie sits across from him.

  “Please come in, Ms. Moon,” Mr. Williams says. “And close the door behind you.”

  Nodding, I step into the room and close the door, looking from one face to the other, waiting for someone to break the silence.

  “Is this because I fell asleep during first hour?”

  “You fell asleep in class?” Jimmie asks, his irritated gaze snapping to my face. As he sits there, his fingers clench the arm rests of the chair.

  “Guess not,” I mutter, wishing I hadn’t said anything.

  “No, Ms. Moon, you aren’t in trouble.” The two men exchange pointed glances. “I was just informed that your locker has some defacement in it, and I felt obligated to call your guardian.”

  “Oh.” I say, “It’s no big deal.” I shrug my shoulders, trying to pretend it hasn’t upset me. Who would have told the principal? Griffin? He was the only one who saw it.

  “It damn sure bothers me,” Jimmie all but yells. It seems that only his fingers clenching the armrest hold him in place. “What I want to know is what you plan to do to make sure the harassment stops. You don’t have a clue who the idiot is, do you?”

  “Mr. Abram, I assure you that this will be handled satisfactorily, and your charge will be looked after. We do not tolerate this kind of behavior here.” Mr. Williams stiffens and I can tell by his rigid posture he struggles not to lose control.

  “The janitor is cleaning the mirror as we speak, and, if the words cannot be removed, I will replace the mirror,” he says, turning to me. “And then I wi
ll find out who is responsible and deal with them so it won’t happen again.”

  “Yeah, sure. I grew up in this godforsaken town with Lizzie’s mother and father. I saw just how much of this kind of behavior was tolerated, thank you so much, and I won’t stand for it. I never even would have moved back here if I hadn’t had so much trouble selling my mom’s house, and I can tell you that once that happens, we will be leaving because Lizzie deserves better.” He rises and starts to the door before turning back and waving a warning finger. “And one more thing. If this doesn’t stop or if Lizzie gets hurt, I’ll make sure the lawsuit is so big, your school district will shut its doors. Do we understand each other?”

  Jimmie’s talking about the year Mom died in a car wreck, and Dad disappeared a few months later. Jimmie tried to get the law involved, but it’s pretty amazing sometimes what skin color gets in the way of. My father was never found.

  “We understand each other perfectly,” Mr. Williams says in a tightly restrained voice. He, too, stands and shoves his hands in his pockets, probably because he isn’t so sure he can be responsible for them if he doesn’t occupy them. His smoldering eyes glance at me, and I can feel his frustration centering on the half-breed this town would have been much better off without. I always wanted to be like my dad. Guess I got my wish.

  The final bell rings, and I grit my teeth, barely restraining my own frustration. Mr. Maguire enters the office, carrying his plan book. Then I notice Jimmie’s looking at him strangely, and my history teacher is awkwardly meeting his gaze.

  “Jimmie, is that you?” Maguire speaks first, his eyebrows furrowing in a frown.

  “Yeah, Barry. It’s me.” Jimmie extends his hand and they shake.

  “Been here long?”

  “Not very. We just came back.”

  Maguire looks at me. “Is this Anne’s Selby’s little girl?” His gaze seems to center on me in a different way. I’d say with more interest and warmth, but his pleasant expression doesn’t really seem to reach his eyes.

  “Yeah. This is Lizzie.”