The Fifty-Seven Lives of Alex Wayfare

by MG Buehrlen

  I spend the first lap keeping pace. By the second lap, I’m right behind her. By the third, I’m squeezing past. And when I turn the corner on the fourth and final lap, I fly past like she stopped to tie her shoe. It’s not the best time in the class – not by a long shot – but it’s worth it just to see her expression. The flared nostrils and the icy glare. It’s the best thing to happen to me all day.

  While half the class sits on the bleachers on the sidelines to cool down, the other half walks around the track. A few stragglers are still finishing their mile. Tabitha sits on the bleachers, so I choose to walk the track.

  It’s a mistake.

  Halfway through my lap, hands on my hips, elbows out, three guys from Coach Caswell’s class catch up to me. Robbie Duncan, Jake Horner, and Philip Rice. All three saw me give Jensen a ride home.

  “Hey, Wayfare,” Robbie says, falling in step at my side. He’s the type of guy who’s always getting in the middle of things. If there’s a pot to stir, he’s the first to volunteer. It’s like he carries around his own special spoon. “Lotta crap goin’ around about you and Jensen today.”

  I don’t respond. I keep my eyes straight ahead. I watch the traffic going by on Sixth Avenue, out past the school parking lot. A silver Corvette glints by. I daydream about jumping inside and getting as far away from Annapolis as possible.

  “What did you guys do Friday night?” Robbie asks. His glossy gym shorts graze the backs of his knees. His legs are covered in fuzz and freckles. He’s a big dude, but he’s still got quite a bit of baby fat. “Must’ve been real important if he blew off our pickup game.”

  I risk a tiny smile at the edge of my mouth. So Jensen blew off his teammates to go to the library. To check out Pride and Prejudice. I remember how embarrassed he was when I discovered his secret.

  “I just gave him a ride,” I say with a shrug. “That’s all.”

  The other two guys burst out laughing. I can tell Robbie wants to laugh too, but he tries to keep a straight face. His dimpled chin quivers. “Well we heard he gave you a ride.”

  It takes a second before I get what he means. My jaw drops. I stop walking and spin on my heel to face them. “Excuse me?”

  “Must’ve been one hell of a booty call,” Jake says.

  “I know, right?” says Robbie. He makes circles with his fingers around his eyes like he’s wearing glasses. “Who knew losing your virginity could fix your eyesight?”

  They burst out laughing and stumble away, clutching their stomachs, leaving me standing rigid and humiliated in the middle of the track.

  Robbie turns around and walks backwards, making the hand motion for me to “call him.” “Seriously, Wayfare, I’m way better than Jensen,” he calls out. “One night with me and that epilepsy thing is history.”

  Jake punches him in the shoulder and says, “Or maybe it’s better when she has a seizure. It’s like your own personal vibrator.”

  Philip moans Oh, Robbie, oh Robbie! while he pretends to convulse.

  My hands curl into fists. I clench my teeth so hard it sends a piercing pain shooting through my temples. Anger and humiliation wring and writhe inside me, and the need for revenge climbs to the surface of my skin like steam.

  I force myself to make a beeline for the locker room before the Shooter in me does something drastic. Like relieve all three of them of their manhood.

  CHAPTER 27

  PUDDING CUPS, REVELATIONS, AND THE LAST STRAW

  I change into my other clothes, ripped sweater and all, and skip the rest of gym. I’d be shocked if Coach Graves even notices I’m gone. Instead of going to lunch, I head to the AV department to start my shift early. It’s this small room off the main computer lab, stacked full of equipment for teachers to check out for their classrooms. There’s a tall counter to sit behind, which makes it one of my favorite places to hide. Sometimes Mrs Latimer lets me have my lunch there. Mostly because she usually needs my help fixing one of the pieces of equipment.

  Seriously. I’ve probably saved the school a fortune on equipment costs.

  Today, there’s a sticky note attached to one of the projectors telling me it won’t power on. I turn off all the harsh overhead lights in the room and flip on a few desk lamps. The light from the computer lab filters in, giving me enough to work by, but it’s dark enough to calm my nerves. I take the projector apart at the back of the room, losing myself in wires and connectors, troubleshooting whether or not it needs a new fuse or a new power switch. Soon my mind is wrapped in a protective haze. The last few hours no longer exist.

  Halfway through the second lunch period, I hear someone come in. I look up and my blissful fog of solitude vanishes. It’s Jensen, wearing one of his cute, lopsided smiles. My stomach twists in half like it’s a balloon and I’m shaping it into a poodle or giraffe or something. I set my tools down. My hands tremble. I really don’t want to talk to him right now.

  “I’d like to check something out,” he says as I make my way up to the counter.

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “You.”

  I make a face at him. “Seriously? You’re seriously going to take a stab at me too?”

  “It’s not a stab,” he says, looking down, drumming his thumbs on the counter. “I was just trying to be funny.” He peeks back up at me from under his honey blond hair. He quirks a tiny smile.

  “It’s not funny. Not after what your boys said to me on the track.” I flop down at the desk behind the counter. He comes around to my side and flops down in the chair beside me.

  “Ah,” he says. “You heard the rumors.”

  “How could I not? Robbie and his asshole friends practically made a banner and slapped me in the face with it.”

  “They’re jackasses, Wayfare. You just have to ignore them.” He props his white sneakers up on one of the TV carts behind me, blocking me in with his long legs. His Abercrombie jeans are perfectly distressed. His gray Henley clings to his chest. He looks like he belongs on a runway, and it’s kind of distracting.

  “Why doesn’t it bother you?” I ask him.

  He shrugs. “Um, because according to them, I’m a humongous man slut. Apparently I’ve slept with half the varsity volleyball team and most of the cheerleaders. Even the freshmen. And the girls aren’t any better. Not one of them has ever said it isn’t true. So… after a while it just becomes background noise. And besides, all the people who matter to me most know the truth. My parents. My teachers. My church. So who gives a flip what the kids say at school?”

  I stare at him, warily, wondering why he still insists on being nice to me. Is it because he feels responsible for the new rumors now too? On top of the old ones?

  “Here,” he says. “I brought you something.” He drops his feet with a thud and pulls a chocolate pudding cup out of his backpack. He sets it on the desk in front of me, a plastic spoon perched on top. “I noticed you weren’t at lunch.”

  Deep, skeptical lines crease my brow. A pudding cup? Really? He’s being too nice. Too thoughtful. It makes me want to crush the cup in my hand because it’s all an act. He’s all an act. Just like Blue.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I say, pushing the pudding away.

  “Do what?”

  “Be nice to me. Act like you’re my friend. You can stop now. I’m letting you off the hook.”

  I can tell he wasn’t expecting that. He frowns. “Um… OK…”

  “I don’t care about the seizure stuff anymore,” I say. “It was a long time ago. And I don’t really care what they say about me either. I just want things to go back to the way they were. When they didn’t talk to me at all. When I was invisible. If you keep being nice to me and hanging out with me, the rumors aren’t going to stop. They’ll get worse. And I just want to go back to being Wayspaz the loner Fix-it Freak.”

  All this time I thought becoming normal, more like them, would make everything better. Turns out no matter who you are – the follow-the-crowd type or the independent soul – people will always find
something to harass you about. Something shiny to peck at. Something different that sets you apart. So why waste your time being someone you’re not?

  Jensen leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “You really think I’m pretending to be your friend?”

  “I don’t know.” I pick at the flaking laminate edge of the desk. “Tabitha said you felt guilty about the rumor thing and that’s why you’ve been nice to me.”

  He lets out a laugh and leans back in his chair. “Honestly, Wayfare. For being the topic of so many juicy rumors, you sure aren’t up to speed on the rest of them, are you?”

  I frown, not getting the joke.

  “I broke up with her on Friday. After you dropped me off. So… she’s pissed right now. She’ll say anything.”

  He’s not lying. I can tell by the look on his face. “Great,” I say, tossing my hands up. “Now they’re all going to think you broke up with her because of me. I already heard someone say Tabitha ‘caught us together.’” I make air quotes with my fingers.

  Jensen shrugs. “I mean, we’re going to have to endure some rumors if we’re going to be friends, right? And some of them are going to be stupid. It’s just the way it goes. But I’m willing to risk it.” He lifts an eyebrow. “Are you?”

  I bite my bottom lip. I’m honestly not sure if I am. “Can I think about it and get back to you?”

  He kicks my shoe. “No. We’re friends. Deal with it.”

  I finally crack a smile. He smiles too.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I guess I’m just extra cynical today.”

  “Because of the rumors?”

  “That and something else.”

  “What else?”

  I tuck my hair behind my ear, staring down at the vacuum patterns crisscrossed in the carpet. “I found out a friend of mine wasn’t who he said he was. Turns out he was a big fat liar. The biggest and the fattiest.”

  “This dude,” Jensen says, grabbing a pencil off the desk and drumming it on his leg. “Was he your boyfriend?”

  At the mere mention of the word boyfriend, I see a flash of Blue in the moonlight, his cowboy hat casting a shadow over his face. Was that what I thought he was? My boyfriend? I remember the feel of his hands tugging at my hips. His lips touching mine. I shake my head, feeling so stupid. Even after all this, I still want to kiss him again. It was good, you know? The kissing. He was good. Somewhere, deep down, I still wish he could’ve been mine. Even with Jensen, my lifelong crush sitting before me, suddenly free and single.

  The Descender was right. I am an idiot.

  “I guess he was kinda my boyfriend,” I say. “But whatever he was, he’s not anymore.”

  “Did he cheat on you?”

  “No. He just… played me.”

  “How do you know he played you? Did you confront him about it?”

  “Didn’t have to. Just figured it out.”

  Jensen cracks another smile. “Right. Because your deductive skills have been so sharp lately.”

  This time I kick his shoe, and he laughs.

  “All I’m saying is, you should talk to him. Find out what’s really going on. Might not be what you think. It never is, you know?”

  A tiny sliver of hope pricks me. It gets under my skin. Enters my bloodstream. The bell rings for the next period.

  “You should talk to him,” Jensen says again, standing up. He hefts his backpack over one shoulder. “You confronted me. Twice. And look what we got out of it. Pudding cups and revelations.” We share another smile as he heads for the door. “Catch ya later, Wayfare.”

  I lift my hand in farewell, then frown down at my lonely pudding cup. What if Jensen is right? What if Blue isn’t the traitor I think he is?

  Oh, but he has to be. No one else knows what he knows.

  No one else but Porter.

  I pull out my cell phone and send Porter another text. I press the keys so hard the phone creaks under the pressure. Tell me who Levi is RIGHT NOW.

  He writes back right away.

  No.

  I squeeze the phone in my hand. I want to slam it against the wall.

  It’s the last straw. I’m so tired of his stupid lies and his stupid silence. Is he refusing to tell me because he still thinks he’s protecting me? Or because he has something to hide? After all the lies he’s already told, and all the things he’s kept from me, my gut says to place a bet on the latter.

  If I want answers, I’m going to have to get them myself.

  My phone lights up again and I look down, hoping Porter changed his mind, but it’s from a different number.

  Wayfare. 4got 2 tell u. Miss ur specs. Brng em bak, yo.

  A tiny fraction of my anger lifts. I smile and touch my cheekbone where my glasses would be resting if I had worn them. I’ll think about it, yo. I didn’t even know Jensen knew my number.

  So? U talk 2 ur boy yet?

  Um. It’s been like 2 minutes.

  Wut u w8n 4? An invite?

  Finish Pride & Prejudice yet?

  :-P

  Jensen thinks it’s simple. Just call the guy up, right? But it’s not like I can call Blue or shoot him a text. I have no idea where he is, and even if I did, making contact in Base Life would be the stupidest thing I could do. If Blue’s working for Gesh, then Gesh would find out who I am.

  As I’m thinking of a way to reply to text back to Jensen, a brilliant idea hits me. I may not know where Blue is in Base Life, but I know he was at AIDA with me in my most recent past life. We were partners. If I descend back there, I’ll bring his soul along with me. I could confront him. I could find out what Porter’s hiding.

  Before I talk myself out of it, I pull the Polygon stone out of my pocket, close my hands around it, and ascend to my garden. This time I’m doing it without Porter, before he puts a soul block on me and I can’t descend anymore. Before I lose my last chance to confront Blue.

  I know Porter will be furious, but I don’t care. That’s what he gets for treating me like a child. For not trusting me. For lying to me.

  Let him be the one in the dark for once.

  CHAPTER 28

  TRIAL AND ERROR

  My garden feels cold and empty without Porter by my side. Darker than usual.

  I wasn’t expecting that.

  My soulmarks sway before me, eerily and silently. They cast a blue-white glow at my feet. The only sound is my timid breath and the gurgle of the fountain.

  I’m alone, and it’s very unsettling.

  I know I’m safe – I know there isn’t anything hidden in the swaths of shadow, watching me – but I can’t help but feel like there’s something lying in wait, somewhere in the deep expanse of black that surrounds me.

  Like savage gray plumes of smoke.

  A shiver ripples through me. I start to think maybe this was a bad idea. But it’s not like I can go back and tell Porter my plan and ask for his help. He’ll forbid it. He’ll put a soul block on me. I have to confront Blue before that happens or I’ll never know the truth. I’ll never have closure. I’ll just go on wondering, never knowing for sure who played me, Blue or Porter.

  Even if Porter’s right and Blue and I are enemies, and I have to take him down along with Gesh, at least there will be closure. I’ll be able to move on.

  Eventually.

  I make my way toward my soulmarks, dipping my hand in the lukewarm water in my fountain as I walk by. I take a deep breath. I flick the perception of water from my fingers.

  How do I know which is the right soulmark? When I found the right one to take me back to Nick Piasecki in 1927, it drew me in more than the others. Maybe that will happen this time.

  I move slowly through the rows of my own personal forest of lights. The blue-white glow melts across my skin. I can feel the energy radiating from each soulmark, pulling at my edges. The pull is stronger with some than others, but even after pausing beside each individual soulmark, I don’t feel drawn to any one in particular. In the end, I decide to just reach out and try one. I’d do a touchdown. La
nd, look around, then come right back.

  I start with the first soulmark in the center row. It sways gracefully before me, taunting me, tempting me to touch it with its silent siren song. It doesn’t have to try hard – I am willing prey.

  I dip a fingertip into its center. The light swells, then consumes me.

  I landed gently, like a feather on grass. I pulled breath into my lungs, filling them with… dry, warm air? I opened my eyes. I was nowhere near the right time period.

  Sprawling prairie land rolled out before me as far as I could see, dotted with strange, gnarled trees and scraggly bushes. A balmy breeze rustled the dry, golden grass. The sun shone with reckless abandon above me, but in the far distance, a dark thundercloud hovered over a mountain plateau, smudging the horizon with slanted sheets of gray rain.

  I stood on a porch under a thatched roof, barefoot, watching a wagon pulled by two oxen depart down a two track road. One of my hands was raised in mid-wave, the other clutched an old stick broom. I wore a very plain dress and some sort of wide-brimmed hat. A family of giraffes grazed amid a stand of trees far off to the right.

  I was in Africa, I guess? But I had no idea what year. Sometime in the 1800s?

  I was tempted to stay a while longer and explore that past life – I mean, it was Africa after all – but I forced myself to ascend back to Limbo while I still had the willpower to do so.

  I reach for the soulmark directly to the right of the last one before I change my mind. It pulls me in and plunges me into its depths.

  In this life, I was sitting in a rocking chair, my bare toes nestled into the fibers of a thick, warm rug. A fire crackled in a hearth before of me. I was knitting something – I couldn’t tell what – and rocking, listening to some kind of radio theater filtering through the speakers of an old-timey radio. The Forties? Thirties?

  I ascend back to Limbo. I grab the soulmark to the left of the African one.

  I landed at the top of a wintry moor, shivering in heavy, woolen clothes under a dark, cloud-covered sky. A black lace veil hid my face. Snow fell lightly on my shoulders. The flakes lighted upon on my veil, melting the moment the ice met the thread. I stared down at a freshly dug grave. A simple wooden coffin rested at the bottom covered in a thin layer of snow. A small group of people stood gathered beside me, all dressed in thick, black layers. A priest stood at the head of the grave, reciting something in an ancient-sounding language. Gaelic, maybe? There were a dozen headstones scattered across the moor, and a foreboding, fort-like castle resting in the distance.