“Oh.”
“But perhaps it’s the best you can do, given your age and . . . inclinations.”
He was talking about witchcraft again. He knew by now that it was real—in Whitfield, at least—but he still felt that the “gifts” we exhibited were trivial and unimportant, if not downright goofy. Nothing like the real work of analyzing ancient French poetry or tracing the circuits of traveling troubadours.
I heard papers rustling in the background. “Anything else?” he asked, sounding far away.
“No. Thank you.”
“Good luck on your . . . ” I could tell he was reading now.
“Paper,” I finished. “Yes, I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all one can expect, isn’t it?”
I didn’t answer right away. Dad must have gotten absorbed in what he was reading at that point, because during my silence he hung up.
“Yeah, I guess that’s all you can expect,” I said into the dead phone. I closed my eyes, counted to ten, and tried not to think about what a disappointment I was just by being me.
Love you too, Dad.
CHAPTER
•
TWENTY
Three days later Becca and I were in the library, studying for third-period geography. My hand, with its jumbo-size-bandaged thumb, lay on the table like a centerpiece. Actually, it wasn’t as bad as it looked. Gram had taken me over to the hospital for stitches, but after a half hour in the Alternative Healing wing, I hadn’t needed more than a butterfly bandage and some superglue, plus the big poufy gauze wrapping to keep it from splitting open again if I bumped it.
Becca pretended to busy herself with maps of the arctic circle while she leaned close to me. “What would you say if I told you I was falling in love with Bryce?” she whispered.
“I’d say it was a pretty bad idea,” I said.
She gave me a squinty evil look. “Because he’s not from around here?” she shrilled.
I rolled my eyes. “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of him not being human,” I said.
“What?”
Oh. My. God. She didn’t know. This was why Hattie didn’t trust me with secrets. Because blabbing was my middle name. Katy “B for ‘Blab’ ” Ainsworth. “Er . . . I meant that he doesn’t seem to treat you like a human being,” I waffled.
“What are you talking about? He’s the nicest guy I’ve ever dated.”
Mrs. Miller, the librarian, gave us a look like a hawk eyeing mice.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was thinking of someone else.”
“Someone else named Bryce de Crewe?” Becca asked sarcastically.
“Girls!” Mrs. Miller admonished. We both sank deeper into our seats, our maps held in front of our faces.
“As if your boyfriend is so great,” Becca said, and sniffed.
I looked over to her. “You know about Winter Frolic?” I asked. “Of course you do. Everybody knows, don’t they?”
“Uh . . . ” Now Becca had the Oops look on her face. “It doesn’t mean anything,” she said, trying to fix the suddenly awkward vibe between us. “Just because Fabienne—”
“Fabienne? Is that the name of Peter’s date?”
“You didn’t know?”
I sank down even lower. I knew my face was blazing red, but I was hoping no one would see. “She’s only fourteen,” I said. “A freshman.”
“Really? I thought she was one of those exchange students who’s already finished high school in her native country.”
I blinked. “So she doesn’t look like she’s fourteen?”
Becca swallowed. “Well, not really.”
“She’s not covered in zits?”
“Huh?”
“Is she gorgeous?”
“Oh, I don’t know if I’d say . . . Um, well . . . Oh. There she is now.” Becca gestured with her chin toward Mrs. Miller’s desk, where a tall blond girl who looked like a contestant in the Miss Universe pageant was standing.
I heard a sound like a dying antelope escape from me.
“She has a big butt,” Becca said loyally.
The antelope moaned again.
“Miss Ainsworth!” Mrs. Miller hissed.
At the next table Verity was punching Cheswick’s arm. He didn’t seem to notice. He just kept staring openmouthed at the big-butted, underage French bombshell that my boyfriend was taking to Winter Frolic.
“You look weird,” Becca said. “Are you going to puke or something?” She edged her chair away from me.
I crossed my arms on the table and buried my face in them. “It sucks to be me,” I mumbled through my sweater.
“For sure,” Becca said.
There was suddenly a lot of subtle activity in the library. Everyone seemed to be looking either at Fabienne (even her name was gorgeous) or at me. I gathered up my things. “I think I’m going to go jump off a bridge,” I said, just as the door opened and the level of curiosity in the library leaped up about a thousand degrees.
It was Peter and Bryce, looking like models in a Prada ad. Peter was wearing a fleece-lined leather bomber jacket over a Missoni sweater and True Religion jeans. Bryce had on black chinos under a Burberry raincoat with a plaid lining that matched the scarf around his neck.
They were hot. I mean, watching them, you could almost see them moving in slow motion with saxophone music in the background. I guess that’s what a little confidence and a five-thousand-dollar wardrobe can do.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Fabienne suck in her stomach and send a high-voltage smile in Peter’s direction. Peter caught it and sent one back to her. If he’d stopped, I might have slit my wrists with Mrs. Miller’s letter opener right then and there, but the boys kept moving toward us.
“Bryce!” Becca shouted, waving them over.
“My man!” Cheswick said, trying for a high five. God, but he could be embarrassing.
Mrs. Miller was listing from side to side, trying to wobble her way off her seat.
“Where have you been?” Becca squealed.
Peter put his arm around me. “Thailand,” he said, grinning.
I blinked in response.
The librarian had finally pried herself off her chair and was waddling toward us. “This is a library!” she said, coming as near to shouting as she allowed herself. She pointed toward the door. “I’m afraid you people will have to leave.”
“Certainly,” Bryce said, bowing slightly. “Our apologies.”
I let myself sort of float along with the group as we barreled into the hall. Verity and Cheswick ran to catch up with us, even though they hadn’t really been invited. Through the library’s glass panels I noticed that practically everyone inside was looking at us in an admiring way, as if we were the new IN crowd. Even Fabienne, who had probably never felt excluded from anything in her life, looked disappointed.
Nevertheless, I couldn’t help feeling a little cranky. Why was Peter once again spending time with Bryce instead of with me? And why wasn’t Bryce looking for his evil fairy, if finding her was as important as he’d said it was?
“Did you say you went to Thailand?” Verity gushed.
“Affirmative,” Bryce said, evidently trying out his new vocabulary. “Check it out.” Anxiously he turned toward Peter. “Check it out?” he repeated.
Peter nodded. “Perfecto,” he whispered.
Bryce grinned. “Check it out . . . dudes.” He plucked at his shirt. “Thai silk.”
“But how—” I began.
“Oh, didn’t you know?” Verity said, a little too loudly. “Bryce is a Traveler.”
“A . . . ” I narrowed my eyes at Bryce. Who was the blabbermouth around here, exactly? “What’s wrong with you?” I whispered. “I thought you said—”
Peter made a Shut up sign with his hand.
“I told you I could travel,” Bryce said with a wink. “Thailand’s no problem.”
So that was it. It was only Avalon that was the secret.
Becca pouted. “You didn’t take us.”<
br />
“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision,” Peter said. “Coach Levy subbed in gym. He made the whole class go for an eight-mile run.”
“We made it back in time to cross the line,” Bryce said.
“The finish line,” Peter elaborated. “Coach didn’t even notice that we weren’t in sweats.”
“Well, take us now,” Becca said, linking her arm around Bryce’s.
“Where, to Thailand?”
“Anywhere. Katy’s never been. Have you, Katy?”
“No,” I said, trying to stare Peter down. He knew I’d been languishing in my dorm, waiting for him to make some room in his schedule for me.
“It just came up,” Peter said defensively, as if he could read my mind. Although I suppose my face might have given me away.
“Is she angry?” I heard Bryce whisper.
I hated that more than everything else, hearing them talk about me like I wasn’t there. “No, she’s not angry,” I said between clenched teeth. “She has a geography class.” I walked away.
“Hey, so do we!” Cheswick called after me. “It’s not for forty minutes!” I ignored him.
Peter ran after me. When he tried to put his arm around me again, I squirmed away.
“Okay, what’s with you?” he said levelly.
It was hard to keep my tears in check. “Nothing,” I said. “Don’t make a scene.”
“You’re the one making a scene,” he said.
“This isn’t a scene,” I said. “I’m just not in the mood to hear about all your great adventures with Bryce.” I managed to make the name sound like a curse.
“Oh, come on.”
“You come on,” I said inanely. “It’s not enough that you expect me to go to Winter Frolic by myself while you take a date—”
“It’s not like that, Katy. You know that.”
“And now, instead of being with me . . . ”
“We were in gym class. Be reasonable.”
“I do not want to hear that again,” I said, stomping away.
“Hear what?”
“About being reasonable,” I shouted behind me.
He grabbed my arm. “Okay, then be unreasonable. But come with me.” He steered me toward the exit.
“I don’t want to go to Thailand,” I said as he propelled me into the parking lot.
“I’ve got her,” Peter called. The others swarmed out from behind an SUV, moving quickly so as not to be seen by Miss P or anyone else who might wonder what we were doing there.
Becca signaled behind her. “Hurry up, Bryce.”
“Katy doesn’t want to go to Thailand,” Peter said.
“No problem.” Bryce took my hand, careful of my bandaged thumb. “Very well, my friends. You must hold hands now, because you definitely do not want to get lost during this trip. Believe me.”
Peter squeezed my other hand.
“Are you ready? Everybody got a coat on?”
“Hurry up,” Becca said.
Bryce laughed. “Okay, then. We’re off.” He looked to Peter for reassurance. “Is that the right phrase? ‘We’re off’?”
“That’s it, bro.”
In the next second we were standing on an ice floe somewhere in the middle of a gray ocean. Freezing, blinding wind was blowing so hard that it threatened to sweep us off into the water. I could feel my eyelashes turning into icicles.
“What the—” Cheswick said. “Where are we?”
“Did you not complete your geography homework?” Bryce asked.
“It’s the north pole!” Becca screeched.
“Very good,” Bryce said approvingly.
“N-n-not really so good, babe,” Becca said, her teeth chattering.
“Don’t be so negative,” Verity piped. “My allergies are gone.”
“Seriously, dude,” Peter said, cocking his head toward me. “Think about the ladies.”
Bryce looked puzzled. “Very well. But we will probably be asked about the Arctic in our geography midterm examination.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Becca said. “Get us out of here, Bryce.”
Bryce checked our little circle. “Still holding hands?” he asked.
And then, just like that, all six of us were standing at the base of a sand dune, our shadows pooled like little puddles beside us. Overhead the sun beat down oppressively.
“Oh, come on,” Becca complained.
“Sorry,” Bryce said. “I overshot. Please forgive me.”
“Oh, no. We’re lost,” Verity wailed.
I closed my eyes, imagining how depressing it would be to be trapped on a desert island with Verity.
“And we’ll never . . . Oh.”
In that instant we were standing in front of a beautiful church in a beautiful city.
“Notre Dame,” I said. I recognized it from a picture in my French book.
“Alors.” Bryce extended one hand, as if he were a stage magician drinking in applause. “Welcome to Paris, mes amis,” he said.
• • •
A couple of passersby looked at us strangely, but I didn’t know if it was because we’d suddenly appeared out of nowhere, or because Becca, Verity, and I were wearing heavy snow parkas and boots in a place that never got so cold that women had to abandon their high heels.
Becca actually screamed before throwing her arms around Bryce. Verity and Cheswick just sort of melted together until their heads touched.
“Feel better?” Peter said, squeezing my hand.
I didn’t really know if I did or not. I mean, I still thought that Bryce was wasting precious time showing off for his friends, and that Peter’s priorities weren’t so right either. On the other hand, I was in Paris with the person I loved most in the world, a person who was looking at me with his beautiful gray eyes through his honey-gold hair.
“I guess,” I said, and I couldn’t help smiling a little.
“Shall we go somewhere for a café au lait?” Bryce suggested. Becca was hanging on to him so tightly that I didn’t think it would have mattered to her if we’d gone on a tour of the Paris sewers, but before long we did find a place.
The French must have not been nearly as hardy as folks in Massachusetts, because we were the only people sitting outside at the café. After waiting for nearly twenty minutes for service, Peter finally went inside and persuaded a waiter to bring us coffee. When the waiter arrived, Peter gave him an American fifty-dollar bill and told him to keep the change.
“This is some pretty expensive coffee,” I observed, reaching into my handbag to pay for my share.
Peter put his hand over mine. “My treat,” he said.
“But—”
“It was worth it,” he said. “Besides, we’re only young once.”
“And he has many dollars,” Bryce said, slapping Peter on the back.
The two of them were making me sick. “Oh, right,” I said. “Silly me. Who says that money can’t buy happiness? Especially when it’s someone else’s money.”
Cheswick started to laugh, then thought better of it. The others were just staring.
“Bryce is right,” I went on. “There’s always more where that came from, isn’t there? As long as you suck up to the guy with the cash, that is. Then you can dress like a king and get all your friends to think you’re some kind of—”
“Stop it.” Peter set down his coffee cup with a clatter, spilling most of it in the saucer. “That was my money, Katy,” he said. “It’s money I earned at my job.”
I looked away.
“I’m not my uncle’s lapdog, whatever you may think.”
It was a horrible moment. “All right. I’m sorry,” I said, feeling as if I hadn’t breathed in the past ten minutes. I wished there weren’t so many other people around. “Let’s drop it.”
No one moved. The horrible moment didn’t dissipate but hung in the air like a dark cloud for what seemed like forever.
“Ooo-kay,” Bryce said finally, breaking the morbid silence. “Time to get back.”
&n
bsp; “But we just got here,” Becca complained.
“Alas, world geography awaits,” Bryce said, tapping his watch. “Library period is over.”
We all moved to the side of the building so that our disappearance wouldn’t seem so obvious. “Why’d she have to pick a fight here, of all places?” Verity whispered to Cheswick. He shushed her and smiled politely at me as he took my hand. Becca held my other hand. Peter had moved.
When we got back, the bell was ringing and the hall was packed. Once I got my bearings I tried to say something to Peter, but he was already walking away into the crowd.
“Wasn’t that amazing?” Becca gushed, as if she hadn’t noticed that I’d ruined everything.
I turned away and ran to my class.
CHAPTER
•
TWENTY-ONE
By the time I got back from dinner, it was already pitch-dark outside. Some of the dorm rooms were open, spilling light and music into the hallway, but most were closed and silent, their occupants studying for midterms. I’d done all right in world geography, but that was a cake course. The chemistry exam, which was coming up at eight o’clock the next morning, was another matter.
I was mentally going through the steps in Krebs cycle when I turned on the light to my room and saw an enormous black dog sitting on my bed. The remnants of a box of Cheez-Its lay around him in pieces, and my bedspread was stained orange. I recognized him: He was the same ugly mutt who’d bombed into the cafeteria the day my lunch had sprouted digits.
“How’d you get in here?” I griped. I was griping to myself, but the dog answered me with a loud “Woof!” and then leaped off the bed, knocking me to the ground. His big muddy paws were planted squarely on the middle of my chest, and there was a folded-up piece of paper in his mouth. His breath smelled of nondairy cheese product.
Gasping for air, I took the piece of paper away from him, wiping onto my rug the orange drool that coated it.
Come to the store. We’ll play.
—M.
“I can’t,” I said out loud. I was practically failing chemistry as it was. Plus, after she’d taken off for six weeks without sending so much as a postcard, I didn’t feel a tremendous obligation toward Morgan. I was looking up the Emporium of Remarkable Goods on the Internet so that I could get the phone number and tell her I was busy, but the dog knocked my laptop away with his huge tail. Diving across the room in a slide worthy of the World Series, I managed to catch it before it splintered against the floor in a fountain of sparks and plastic.
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