Keeper

by Jessica L. Randall

  How had he heard that? “Yeah. Where are you from, again?” I asked, finally looking at his face again.

  “A-hmmm.” I jumped as someone with a deep voice cleared his throat.

  I peered around the lunch tray. Mr. Archibald stood with his arms crossed over his chest. His signature large, square glasses and dark mustache stared us in the face.

  The noise in the lunchroom was dying down as teachers shouted to the offending students, and people started scraping food off the floors.

  “A little bird told me you were the cause of this upheaval,” he said, squinting his eyes at me.

  My stomach dropped. “I didn’t, I—” What could I say without ratting out Hank and Ethan? On my first day back I could take the fall for this, the consequences of which I couldn’t even imagine, or rat out the people who had given me a break. Either way I was in trouble.

  Anyway, I wasn’t exactly innocent. I’d thrown the milk. I had to take the blame.

  Suddenly Mr. Archibald’s head turned one way, then the other, like a bird’s. “You need to come—I want you to—”

  I glanced at Micah. He was lost in deep concentration as he stared at Mr. Archibald.

  Archibald’s brows tilted inward, and his mustache twitched. “Everyone—” He sounded like a short-circuited robot. Then he just walked away. I watched him wander the cafeteria, pointing vaguely as if he didn’t quite know what he wanted.

  “That was weird.” I breathed with relief, but I still felt tense, certain that Mr. Archibald wouldn’t let me off this easily. “We should probably get out of here fast.”

  “Too late.” Mrs. Martinez stood in front of us, blocking our exit. “Maybe Mr. Archibald let you off the hook but I won’t.” She turned to me, her face pinched with concern. “I care about you too much, Lexi. You need to understand that your actions have consequences. I’ll see the two of you in detention after school.” She turned to leave, but paused, pointing at me. “And you’re welcome. This could have been a lot worse for you.”

  Chapter 5

  I slumped down into a chair, sticking my earbuds in and leaning over the desk. I hoped Mom would be home late from work so I wouldn’t have to explain what had kept me after school. Detention was textbook troubled teen behavior.

  Mrs. Martinez wandered over, holding her hand out. “Hand ’em over.”

  I sighed, giving her my earbuds. It seemed it would just be me and my thoughts for a full half-an-hour.

  Micah walked in. He nodded and took the seat next to me.

  Okay, my thoughts and Micah, both of which I could do without today. I stiffened, keeping my eyes on the whiteboard as I fought the urge to look at him.

  I’d had a few hours to calm down after my weird reaction to Micah. I didn’t know why my brain had connected last night’s dream to the complete stranger that showed up in my speech class. But at least it had jogged my memory loose. Now that I’d remembered parts of the dream, maybe I could make sense of it. I tried to tell myself it was a good thing, even though having vivid flashbacks that affected my behavior sounded like something concerned loved ones might want to know about.

  “The whole point of detention is to think about your choices, Lexi,” Mrs. Martinez said, dropping my earbuds on her desk. “No music, just thinking. You haven’t exactly been yourself lately, and if it doesn’t stop there could be serious consequences.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry about what happened, in class and at lunch.”

  “Don’t be sorry about class,” Mrs. Martinez said. “You have passion. Use it. But keep it under control. Let it work for you, not the other way around.”

  I nodded. I already knew about the consequences. I could break my mom’s heart, and lose my brother’s trust. I could get kicked out of school and say goodbye to any hope of getting a scholarship and going to college. Maybe, if I didn’t get my imagination under control, I could even end up in a mental facility, where everyone had said my father belonged before he disappeared.

  The thought brought to mind that moment in the cafeteria, when I was sure Micah had worked some mind mojo on Principal Archibald. Talk about an imagination running wild. I shook my head as if it would rattle the ridiculous out of my brain. There was no way Micah had had anything to do with Archibald’s strange behavior any more than he’d had anything to do with the dream I’d had. And yet, it had definitely been a strange moment.

  I stole a glance at Micah. He was starting at me like he didn’t know it was impolite. I widened my eyes, warning him to back off. But he still sat there staring, his face full of curiosity, like I was a puzzle he wanted to figure out. Finally, I gave up and turned to watch the clock. Maybe if I focused really hard, I could avoid thinking about what I’d done, the disturbing dream I’d had, my fascination with Micah, and the way Mr. Archibald had momentarily lost his mind earlier.

  Mrs. Martinez shuffled some papers on her desk. Her eyes darted to me, and then to Micah, as if she was making a difficult decision. Then she stood. “I have to leave early. You two still have six minutes. Since I’ve inspired you to turn over a new leaf, I expect you’ll stay put.”

  She grabbed her things and left the room.

  Six minutes. The thought of not being in the same room as Micah sent a jolt of panic through my chest. Apparently there was still a residue of weirdness from this morning’s episode. I jumped out of my seat and hurried toward Mrs. Martinez’s desk. I needed something to distract me.

  “Are you leaving?” Micah asked, his voice full of surprise.

  “No.” I grabbed my earbuds and went back to my seat. “Who do you think I am?”

  He tipped his head. “That is something I would like to learn more about.”

  “Join the club,” I said without enthusiasm. “Everyone’s trying to figure me out. But believe it or not, I’m not actually trying to get thrown out of school.”

  “I am glad to hear it.”

  I put my earbuds in.

  “You love music?” he asked, before I could push play.

  “Don’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Where I am from, it is not valued by the professional class.”

  I smirked. “Just the peasants?”

  He looked confused. “I suppose you might say that. Respectable people feel it is a waste of time, the foolishness of past generations and those who are unmotivated to succeed.”

  “Wow,” I stiffened, my impression of one of the respectable people he spoke of. “Sounds really boring where you come from.”

  “You would probably find it boring.”

  “Unless I was a peasant, which I’m sure I would be.”

  He smiled slightly. “I have listened to some of your music, including the popular genre.”

  “Be careful with that.”

  “Why?”

  “I just mean—that’s not really the good stuff. Now I sound like the snob.”

  “And where would I find the good stuff?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. This guy was totally clueless. He needed someone to show him around. I needed to deal with whatever was going on in my head. If I spent some time with him, I might be able to remember the rest of my dream and deal with it privately—which would be a lot better than dealing with it in front of the whole school. Or I might freak out and bludgeon him to death. Either way, it was going to be dealt with.

  I told myself my decision had nothing to do with my irrational desire not to let him go home yet.

  I shoved my iPod and earbuds back in my pocket, grabbing my bag. “That’s it. We’re getting out of here.”

  “But we have one minute and thirty-two seconds left.”

  I rolled my eyes and grabbed his hand to tug him out of his seat. He jumped, staring at his hand in mine, and his face flushed. I dropped it quickly. Maybe that kind of thing was improper where he came from.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  “Don’t be sorry,” he said, echoing Mrs. Martinez. He stood up slowly. “I like your passion as well. And your somewhat impulsive beha
vior. Where are we going?”

  “We could both use a pick-me-up after today.”

  He gave me a confused look, but followed me out of the classroom, out of the school, and to my van without saying a word. I unlocked the doors and jerked my head toward the passenger’s side. “Get in.”

  After I started the car, I glanced over at Micah. For some reason he looked so out of place in my raggedy old van. He looked nervous, too. What did he think I was going to do? Abduct him? I chuckled.

  I remembered the flash from my dream, when I’d been drugged and bound. My abductor had been in full control. There was definitely a side of Micah that was strong and opinionated. I remembered his sense of superiority as he debated, and how he’d told me he was always in control of his actions. But looking at this vulnerable Micah who was anxious about leaving detention a minute early, it all seemed so absurd.

  Then again, I’d heard somewhere that you couldn’t make up a face in your dreams. If that was true, I must have seen Micah somewhere before, or else someone that looked enough like him that my mind associated the two.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing. It’s just—I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

  He stiffened, twisting his fingers together in his lap.

  “I know how that sounds, it’s just—I had this dream. Never mind.” I looked away, quickly starting the car. That sounded either really creepy or like the worst pick-up line ever. Maybe both.

  “I understand,” he said quietly. “I feel as if I know you as well.”

  “Okay.” His response didn’t exactly put me at ease.

  “Where are you taking me?” he asked.

  I squinted my eyes as I pulled out of the parking lot, wondering where to start. Then I remembered Micah’s face when he’d eaten that packaged vanilla pudding, and I couldn’t help smiling. That couldn’t be hard to beat.

  A few minutes later we pulled into the parking lot of my favorite bakery. Micah followed me in and we stood in front of the huge glass display case, staring wide-eyed at the edible works of art before us.

  “Pick something,” I said, my hand sweeping across the selection of hand-made chocolates, cakes, and pastries.

  “How?” Micah placed his hands on the glass like a kid. His large eyes practically doubled in size.

  “Are you a fan of chocolate?” I asked.

  “Of course.” His eyes travelled over the confections. “Which one is that again?”

  My eyes narrowed. “Seriously. Where are you from?”

  “Norway,” he said.

  A cave in Norway? I stared at him a moment longer, challenging him, but he was too distracted by baked goods to notice.

  “Never mind. I know what we have to do.” I pointed to a flourless chocolate torte, smooth and perfect, with delicate chocolate roses on top. “The whole thing, please. And a couple little bottles of milk.”

  The guy behind the counter smiled as he put it in a plain white box. “It’s been that kind of day, huh?”

  “You have no idea. And could we have a couple of plastic forks?”

  I paid the man, wincing a little at the hefty price. Then I handed Micah the box, along with a bag full of napkins, forks, and two milks, and we headed back to the van.

  “There’s not a lot going on Twin Falls right now, as far as music is concerned,” I said, checking the time, “but I have an idea.”

  I texted my mom, letting her know I was showing a new student around. I imagined explaining to her how I’d freaked out at him in debate, and telling her about the food fight in the cafeteria that I absolutely did not instigate, but that may or may not have been started for what the whole student body now defined as my cause, and that I’d landed myself in detention for participating in it. Hopefully, she wouldn’t ask a lot of questions when I got home.

  I drove downtown and pulled into the parking lot of our church. It was an old brick building with a tall white steeple and rows of rounded windows on either side. Micah stared at it as I twisted around to pull a ratty flannel blanket from between the middle seats.

  “We’re here,” I said, getting out. “You ever been to church?”

  Micah continued to stare at it with fascination. “No. But I have studied the subject in great depth.”

  I chuckled. “You do a lot of studying and not a lot of living.”

  His lips turned down slightly.

  “I’m sorry, I just mean some things you can study all you want, but you’ll never really get it until you experience them. I think religion is one of those things. It’s more about feelings and the people around you than facts and figures.”

  He nodded, brightening a little.

  I laid the blanket out over the slightly brown grass, and we sat down beneath one of the windows. The bottom section was open to let in fresh air, and I could hear the choir director giving out orders.

  “Let’s go through it again, with more feeling this time.” Her voice echoed around the large room full of empty wooden pews.

  The choir started singing. Their harmonies, mingled with the warmth of the organ, drifted out the window. I leaned back on my elbows, letting the sound relax the tension in my chest, and forgetting for a moment the stress of my day.

  I glanced at Micah. His eyes were closed, as if he was totally lost in the music. For once he didn’t look like he was calculating. He actually seemed to be enjoying it. I couldn’t help studying the angles of his face, and how sweet he looked with his eyes closed.

  When the choir stopped, he opened his eyes. “Was that the good stuff?” he asked, with awe in his voice.

  “Yeah, it was some of the good stuff. There are so many kinds of great music that I couldn’t pick just one kind. Do you have an iPod?”

  “No. Our technology is ... different.”

  “Like better different? And yet you don’t have access to chocolate? Never mind, I’ll lend you my iPod so you can hear all my favorite stuff. But there’s nothing like hearing music live, right?”

  His face practically shone as he nodded. “I remember when I was very small, I had a care-taker. She used to sing sometimes, before she was ... dismissed.” He looked down, his brow creasing. “That is only time I can remember hearing music—except for recordings, in preparation for my visit.” His voice was suddenly distant and stiff.

  My jaw dropped. I wanted to ask him more, but I could tell the conversation had taken a direction he didn’t want to go. “I’m sorry. I think that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  He chuckled quietly, and without humor. “Then I should not talk any more about my culture. It is very different from yours.” He looked toward the window, his lips lifting again slightly. “Thank you for that.”

  “Sure. For as much as Twin Falls lacks in diversity, I like to think our little choir has some soul.”

  His eyes brightened. “Soul. That is a concept I like to explore. Can you tell me what it means to you?”

  “Well, I guess I’d define it as a person’s life force. The part of you that is eternal, from forever to forever.”

  “You make it sound so simple.”

  “But it’s not, right?”

  He nodded. “I have to admit, it is a little overwhelming. And I assume you believe everyone has one of these, not only the choir?”

  I smiled. “I think every living thing has one of these. It’s what makes you you. I don’t know about your culture, but here there’s another way we use the word soul. It’s a little harder to define. Like with the choir, I meant that the way they sang was very spirited, it had a lot of life and feeling.”

  I opened the white box and took one of the plastic forks from Micah’s hand. “If you think that music was intense, get ready for a truly spiritual experience. You go first.”

  I watched carefully as Micah stuck the fork into the chocolate and brought it to his mouth. I was actually a little concerned. If he’d responded so passionately to the vanilla pudding, what was semi-sweet chocolate going to do to him? He might explode.r />
  He closed his eyes, just like with the music, experiencing it. Then he opened them wide, and they lit up like gigantic stars. He looked like he was trying to form words, but couldn’t. He quickly dug his fork in for another bite as if he was afraid someone might come and try to take it away from him.

  “Right?” I said.

  “That is the most amazing thing I have ever experienced.”

  “Ever?” I asked, sadness creeping into my voice.

  He thought for a moment. “I have had many successes, and they were fulfilling, but nothing you would describe as soulful. People here do things simply for the purpose of pleasure, and that is new.” He took another bite. “What about you? I want to know what could have been better than this.”

  “I won’t lie, this is pretty high up on the list. But my first kiss comes to mind.”

  He looked at me curiously, no doubt wanting details.

  “My first ride on a roller coaster at Lagoon,” I said, quickly moving on. “Christmas morning when I was a kid, dreaming about what might have been in all those wrapped packages, and we were all together, so ...”

  His expression was still curious as he took in and processed the information, but nothing seemed to make a connection.

  “I have to admit,” I said, taking a bite of cake. “I’m not sure if I’m doing all this for me or for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean—it’s fun to watch you experience new things. You just get so excited.”

  His face turned slightly pink. “Miriam—my cousin—does not like the food here. Our food at home is much blander, and the change is too much for her.”

  “You don’t seem all that fond of home.”

  His eyes got a distant look, and he looked toward the dimming sky. “There are a lot of things I miss about home. At night, the sky is like nothing you could imagine. The moons are—”

  “Wow, you even have extra moons over there?” I asked, laughing.

  “Sorry, my English is not perfect. The moon is incredible. I miss the color of the earth, the scent of the air, strange things like that.”