Oops, gotta go. Study group starts in ten and I have to hustle all the way across campus.
Love you a million times—
Jolie
To:[email protected]
From:[email protected]
Date:September 22, 2008
Re:How ya doin’?
Hey. I keep hoping I’m gonna wake up and find out that your transfer up north was a bad dream. So far the nightmare continues.
Got some good classes. Honors English and Spanish. We could have done that together, huh? And Horton for Bio. At least he won’t kick me out for asking questions—but first roll he called me “Charles.” Like anyone has done that since first grade. Didn’t take long to educate him :)
What about you? You probably have 17 boyfriends by now. Haha. Check in when you can.
Kaz
Chapter 5
THE NEXT MORNING, as I was putting my contacts in, Gillian pointed her toothbrush at me. Fortunately, she hadn’t started using it yet.
“We should start a prayer circle.”
I blinked and my lens slid into place. This meant that I could see half of her clearly. “Okay. But don’t you mean a prayer pair? It’s kinda hard to form a circle with just the two of us.”
“No, no. That’s the point. We need to invite people. There must be more Christians at Spencer than just you and me.”
I blinked the second lens in and glanced at her as I screwed the top on its little container that looked like a fat lipstick. “I wouldn’t count on it.”
She spat out a mouthful of toothpaste and rinsed her mouth. “Why?”
“You’ve only been here for a day. I’ve been here since last week, and I haven’t seen a single sign of it. No posters, no notices, no praise music coming from behind a door, nothing.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. We can do stuff like that. I can make a notice on my laptop in about ten seconds. And I must have a gig of praise music on my iPod. Maybe two, if you include videos.”
“And you think that’ll make the Christians come sneaking out of the undergrowth?”
She looked at me a little oddly. “Why would they need to sneak?” She held up her uniform skirt on its hanger. “Do we really have to wear this every single day?”
“Yes. And outside of classes, no tops showing the midriff, no thongs, and your skirts have to meet the finger test.”
“How would they know if I was wearing a thong? The rest I get.”
I ignored her. “Also, no T-shirts with slogans or pictures.”
“Now, that is just wrong.”
“You can wear them off-campus, just not at school.”
“Why, for Pete’s sake?”
I shrugged. “It violates our First Amendment rights, if you ask me.”
Her eyes lit up. “We should protest! This is California, after all. I’ve never protested before. It could be fun.”
I finished dressing and checked myself out in the full-length mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door. “You’re going to be busy, between class and advertising a prayer circle and protesting. When are you going to do your homework?”
Shrugging on her cardigan, she gave me another look. “What’s this ‘you’ stuff? Aren’t you in on it with me?”
I sighed and closed the wardrobe door. “Gillian, it’s not my style to go around advertising my faith. If someone approaches me to ask about it, that’s one thing, but I’m not putting my name on a poster and deliberately inviting—” I stopped.
“Inviting who?”
I hesitated. “People.”
“That’s not what you were about to say. Come on. Spill.”
“Inviting more grief. I already feel like a moving target. If I put up posters for a prayer circle, it’ll just give Vanessa and Emily and Dani more ammunition.”
“So? Why do you care what they think?”
She wasn’t getting it. “I already told you last night. I want them to be my friends.”
“Well, I don’t.” Gillian grabbed a backpack that looked as though it had been through a war. Maybe it had—it was army surplus, by the look of it, and covered in patches from places like Egypt and Hong Kong. I, on the other hand, used a Kate Spade tote instead of a backpack. It was so pretty, I was sure I’d cry when I got the first scuff mark on it.
You’re probably thinking, Oh, quit whining and get something practical that you don’t care about, but that’s not the way I’m made. I like nice things. There’s no sin in that, and my mom can afford it.
“I think you’re hiding your light under a bushel.” We clattered down the grand staircase, heading for the dining room and breakfast. “And you know what Jesus said about that.”
“Jesus never went to school with Vanessa Talbot,” I pointed out, a little acidly.
“Yeah, but think about it. He didn’t just talk to people about a prayer circle. He told them He was the Son of God. That’s, like, orders of magnitude harder. But He still did it.”
You’ll notice that it’s nearly impossible to win an argument with Gillian. She has no fear of pulling out the big guns and blasting you until you beg for mercy.
“Nobody is stopping you from doing whatever you want,” I said as we walked into the dining room. “I’m happy to be in the prayer circle. But I’m not going to go around collaring people and asking them if they want to join.”
“But that’s not what I—”
“Oh, look, oatmeal for breakfast. Again.”
Gillian isn’t dumb. She’ll let you change the subject. But you can bet she’ll circle back around to it later, like a shark. Just when you thought it was safe.
She just told me to tell you that’s called persistence, but I think it’s more than that. Part of it has to do with the fact that she’s totally in love with Jesus and she’ll do whatever it takes so that you feel the same way. I love this about her, but right then, I couldn’t see it. All I saw was the look of evil delight on Vanessa Talbot’s face as she latched onto yet one more reason to laugh at me.
After breakfast, Gillian and I went our separate ways, she to her core class and me to my free period. You’d think the administration would schedule these at the end of the day, but no. Mine started at eight forty-five, twice a week. At least I could have a second cup of coffee if I wanted to, or take a tray up to our room, but as it turned out, I passed the library on the ground floor and spotted Callum McCloud all by his yummy self at a table by the window.
I took about three seconds to wonder (a) what it was about this guy that made my breathing speed up and the nape of my neck tingle, and (b) whether I actually had the guts to walk in and sit down across from him.
I didn’t have an answer to (a), but by the fourth second, I sure had one for (b).
He looked up from whatever he was writing in his notebook as I dropped my tote on the floor and slid into the empty chair.
“Hey.”
His voice was perfect. Not too much bass, and no tenor. (Tenors are fine for Italian opera, but not on hot guys with green eyes and lashes to die for.)
“Hi,” I said. “Okay if I sit here?”
He shrugged, but the half smile made it an invitation. “If you want.”
Come on, brain, engage. An opportunity like this wasn’t going to come along very often and I couldn’t afford to blow it. If he was going to choose me over Vanessa, I had to be witty and charming and original.
“So, how long have you been going to Spencer?”
So much for original. All my insides cringed at once, but I kept the smile on my face.
And, miracle of miracles, he answered me as though I hadn’t just asked him the lamest question in the world.
“Since ninth grade. Everyone in my mom’s family has always gone here. My mom, my aunts and uncles, my grandma, her dad. You know.”
“But did you want to? What if you’d wanted to go somewhere else?” I couldn’t imagine my mom taking it for granted what school I went to and not even talking it over with me.
He shrugged.
“I didn’t.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the school’s front façade, which faced south. “I’m a day student. We live over there a couple of blocks. The family’s been there since dirt was invented. I never thought about it much.”
“Wow. I can’t imagine one family living in one house for all those years. My dad is such a nomad, we’ve lived all over the place. He’s a director,” I added, in case he thought Dad was a traveling salesman or something.
Callum lifted an eyebrow. “Mansfield? Your dad is Gabe Mansfield?”
While my heart said, He knows your name!, my brain said, He knows your dad’s name!
Give the man an A on both counts.
I nodded modestly, as though I had anything to do with it.
I swear, that smile had to have been designed by God to slay the female heart. It was a delicious triangle, with the kind of full lower lip you wanted to lean across and kiss, and the warmth in his eyes just added to it.
Bliss.
“Wow,” he said. “He’s one of the best directors in the business.”
“Most people don’t follow directors’ careers,” I said. I needed to focus. “Stars, yes, but not producers and directors, unless they’re Spielberg or Bruckheimer.”
“They do if they’re planning on it for a career.”
Aha. “Maybe I can introduce you to my dad sometime,” I offered, oh-so-casually. “He’s working in Marin for at least the next year.”
“Marin? You mean at the Ranch?”
I nodded. My estimation of him rose another notch, even though there’s nothing else out in Marin except cows and houses, so it was a pretty easy guess. “He and George are doing a joint project. So Dad will probably drop in here for events and stuff.”
“Yeah?” Again the smile flashed, and again I went down for the count. I’d make my dad adopt him if that’s what it took to produce that smile.
Ew, rewind. That would make him my adoptive brother, and totally not what I had in mind. Maybe I could ask Dad to hire Callum as an intern.
“Benefactors’ Day is in October,” he told me. “It’s a big hoo-hah where we all show off, and in the evening there’s a charity ball in the assembly hall. It used to be a ballroom. People shell out a thousand a plate, and the proceeds go to whatever charity or foundation is kissing up to Curzon that week.”
He’d lost me at “charity ball.” In my imagination, I saw myself in the absolute knockout dress of the century (note to self: find first weekend available for shopping trip to L.A.), dancing with Callum McCloud in front of an envious crowd, at the front of which was an abandoned and jealous Vanessa Talbot. All around me, teachers and parents wondered who the beautiful creature was, and every boy in tenth grade and up wished he could date me. But I was oblivious to it all, looking up into Callum’s eyes and—
“—go to before?”
Callum’s voice penetrated the oohs and ahhs of the imaginary crowd. I came back to earth with a thump and a red face.
“Sorry, Callum. I spaced for a second there. What did you say?”
“I just asked you what school you went to before.”
I told him, leaving out the part about Aidan Mitchell and my former best friend, the homecoming queen. Mo guai nuer that she was.
My first week at a new school and I was already speaking Mandarin. Mom would be so proud. She’s big into diversity.
Callum gestured, and I realized that once again I’d zoned out on him. How was that possible? We were getting to know each other. If I was going to be the one in his arms at the Benefactors’ Day charity ball, I needed to pay attention to everything he said. Make him feel he was important to me, in a non-stalkerish way. And that would make me important to him.
I made some innocuous comment, which seemed to kill the conversation. Now that we’d exhausted what Dad called the “tombstone information” about ourselves, I wanted more.
I wanted to get personal. To make him open up a little about the things that mattered to him. After that e-mail from my sister, I wanted to be able to give her the right answer to her question.
I opened my mouth to say something witty and charming and original, when something whacked my shoulder. Something large and heavy and knobby.
“Oops,” Vanessa said, rounding the corner of the table and sitting in the chair next to Callum. She set her large, heavy, knobby backpack on the floor and turned her brown eyes with their sixties retro mascara on him. Perfectly smooth hair swung. “Sorry I’m late. Ready?”
“Sure.” He gathered up his notebook and textbooks and slid them into his own backpack. “Nice talking to you, Melissa.”
“It’s Lissa,” I said automatically.
Two facts had detonated in my head. One was that, while I had been thinking we were developing the first levels of a soul connection, he had just been killing time until Vanessa showed up.
And two, now she knew that I was interested.
DLavignePoacher alert! Melissa moving in on C RIGHT NOW. Library.
VTalbotAlready handled.
DLavigneI can’t believe her.
VTalbotI can. Only a blonde wouldn’t figure out he’s not available.
DLavigneSupper looks vomit-inducing. TouTou’s 7pm?
VTalbotLucy & Lily custom-made capris came today. Perfect timing :) Tell Emily.
DLavigneOK. Photogs at the gate. Go out by the field house.
VTalbotOK, tx.
Chapter 6
I’M CONVINCED THAT humiliation is visible. I stayed in the library, pretending to look for a book, waiting for my hot face to cool, until the gong sounded and it was time for my next class. On my way down the hall, I passed a bulletin board and there it was. Already.
Christian Prayer Circle
Tuesday nights at 7:00 p.m.
Room 216
Bibles not necessary, but bring yours if you want.
First circle forms tonight!
Gillian hadn’t wasted any time. When had she made that poster, found the neon-pink paper, and printed it? And starting tonight? Couldn’t she have given me a couple of days to get used to the idea?
Because of course I was going. I could do that without advertising to the whole world that I was a Christian. Spencer was thick with associations and groups and societies, so one more wouldn’t even be a blip on the radar. Besides, it wasn’t like Vanessa and the crew were going to be there. It hadn’t been me in the halls, putting up bright pink notices. I was safe.
When I walked into the dining room for lunch, the first thing I saw was Gillian at a table on one side, holding court with some kind of story. I didn’t know her as well as I was going to, but even then I knew that her stories were true. A girl as committed to Christ as Gillian was simply didn’t make things up. This time the soundtrack on her CD player was Rebecca St. James’s brand-new album. Whether the other students knew it or not, Christian music was filtering into their subconscious.
Ah, the subtlety of the east. As in New York. What did you think I meant?
Between chowing down our lunch and the story (which turned out to be the one about the elevator in the Eiffel Tower, minus the music by the Jangle person), I didn’t get a chance to talk to Gillian alone until we were heading back to our room to get our books for the afternoon.
“I see the posters are up,” I said. “How’d you do it so fast? You only came up with the idea this morning.”
“Did you know we have our own print shop?” she asked by way of a reply. “I asked at the office where I could print them, and they told me to go to the basement, where they print the school paper. They have computers and scanners and everything there. And with two classroom wings times three floors times two bulletin boards each, I was only late for AP Chem by ten minutes.” She paused. “I got detention, but it was worth it.”
Harsh. “You? Who gives detention for being late?”
She shot me a rueful glance. “Milsom. Some of the kids at lunch told me he’s Mr. Anal when it comes to starting class on time.”
�
��I’m so not looking forward to Chem next year. Apparently he’s Mr. Anal about everything, like wiping down the lab and neutralizing all the surfaces at the end of every class.”
Out of all our classes, we only had Global Studies together. English is pretty fun, but Gillian is a math and science girl. I help her with her essays, and she helps me with the mental agony that is sine and cosine and the cellular makeup of, well, anything.
“I like my lab partner, though,” Gillian went on. “Her name’s Carly Aragon and she seems really nice.”
“Aragon.” I remembered the name from roll call, only because that was the name of Henry the Eighth’s first queen. “She’s in U.S. History with me, I think. Same height as you, long curly brown hair?”
“That’s her. I invited her to the prayer circle.”
“Of course you did.”
“Who’d you invite?”
“Well, considering I didn’t know it was starting tonight until after free period, no one.”
I opened my mouth to tell her about Callum, and then closed it again. She’d been pretty blasé about him last night, and I didn’t feel like inviting any more of it while I was still feeling flattened over him and Vanessa. Chances were she’d hear about them being a couple before the end of the day, and I could just let the whole subject die a quiet death.
I’d do my mourning in private.
Supper turned out to be broiled salmon and haricots verts. Clearly the administration was no slouch in the nutrition department. That’s one thing about Spencer—with the exception of the oatmeal in the morning, the food here is really good. Of course, for the tuition, I guess it ought to be. So I downed my omega-threes and went upstairs to get ready for prayer circle.
“How are you going to organize this?” I asked Gillian as I pulled a handmade Aran cable-knit sweater over my T-shirt (empty of slogans, per the aforementioned rule) and my faded-to-a-sigh Citizens of Humanity jeans. Outside of class hours, we could throw on pretty much whatever we wanted, thank goodness. You can only go so many hours in a day in a plaid skirt and a buttoned-up white blouse.
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