He’s not telling me something.
My stomach lurches. I can’t draw a breath and my vision spins. Before me, the room shakes and turns vibrant shades of red.
Somebody screams. A shrill, heart-wrenching scream, over and over again. I slam my hands over my ears trying to block the noise but it won’t go away. Instead, it grows louder. Surprised, I lower my hands.
It’s coming from me. From inside me.
But no one else seems to hear it. The other students pass me, talking amongst themselves, lost in their own little words of worry or excitement.
The noise disappears and my mind clears. But my heart feels like something is missing. Like a piece has been stolen.
I race to the coat room, frantic to get home. The other students mill about, exchanging speculations. They prevent me from moving quickly. I shove and elbow my way to my belongings, not caring if I hurt someone.
As I tug on my coat, Kyra grabs my arm. She’s smiling.
“Kyra, what’s happening? What do you know?”
She moves her head from side to side, her finger on her lips. “Shhh! Not here,” she whispers. “It’s starting.”
She stops short, her eyes wide. Mr. Trevern stands beside me.
“Kyra, will you please join me? The Headmaster would like to see you.”
Kyra? For a brief second, I imagine this is all about Kyra and Maz being inappropriate with each other. But that’s ridiculous. No one sent students home when Ryker and Lina were caught. But then I notice Mr. Trevern’s eyes. They are full of pity as he tries to avoid my questioning gaze.
His face confirms my suspicions and the emptiness in my heart grows. Something happened to Beck.
As if paralyzed, I stand and stare. At my friend. At my teacher.
“Lark, you may return home with your group.” I can hear Mr. Trevern’s gentle voice, but his face blurs again. Is this a side-effect of yesterday’s headache? As I rub my eyes and try to bring his features into focus, a cool breeze blows through the room and I shiver.
Mr. Trevern places one hand across Kyra’s back and takes her wristlet with the other. Whatever she did, she’s in trouble.
I press the locator button for Beck again. This time, it shows him in the Headmaster’s office. My stomach drops.
What did they do? What the hell did they do?
Mr. Trevern guides Kyra through the door. She looks completely unfazed. A sharp gust of wind howls through the opening and I pull my coat tighter. The blast of cold air brings Mr. Trevern back into focus.
Before the door swings shut, I catch one last glimpse of Kyra. She reaches up and rips the hair elastic from her ponytail, letting her curls beat against her face. Maybe it’s the confusion of the room, but I swear she almost looks excited.
My legs shake and I force the suffocating air in and out of my constricting lungs. I need to be outside. I need fresh air.
I shove my way out the door, my mind racing to catch up to my actions. It wouldn’t be the first time Beck or Kyra got into a bit of trouble, but they’ve been at each other non-stop. Arguing. Snide comments. They wouldn’t do anything together. Maybe they had a fight? But when? And where was I?
I pause, waiting for the rest of my housemates to catch up. In the silence of the outdoors, Kyra’s strange parting smile bothers me. She also knows something. Something she’s happy about. I’m sure of it. What did she say—“It’s starting?” What’s starting?
Someone calling my name interrupts my thoughts. My housemates gather around me as we walk toward the path.
Our progress is slow as we plod near the barricade and the armed guards. The snow is about a foot deep now, much deeper than the dusting we had earlier. The wind whips around me and lashes at my small group. My housemates’ conversations range from excitement at being sent home early to confusion. I don’t say anything, just silently battle my way down the path.
As we trudge along, I can’t remember the walk home ever taking so long. Each passing minute is excruciating. I want to run, to find Bethina, to find out what’s happened, but the snow and wind keep pushing me back. They don’t want me to go home.
Finally, our house comes into view. The last on a block with just three others. I slip and slide over the icy sidewalk. The wind knocks snow from the trees down onto us. With no concern of falling, I sprint up the walkway to our blue two-story home.
I heave open the wood door, the cold clinging to me, and stomp inside. Other than the muffled noises of the others with me, the house holds no sound. The familiar scent of cinnamon wafts around us, but Bethina’s not at her normal post, waiting to greet us with a boisterous, “Welcome home!”
“B?” I call. A deafening silence answers. My heart races and fear courses through my veins. The sick feeling intensifies and I grab at my stomach. Please, please Bethina, please be here. Hunched forward, I run ahead of my housemates, toward the kitchen.
The fully lit kitchen is abandoned. A pot of water boils on the burner. A cookie sheet of biscuits has been flung haphazardly on the counter.
Terrified, I march through the throng of students in front of me. Their scared whispers fill the air. Once past them, I sprint from room to room searching. “Bethina!” I yell. “Bethina! Where are you?”
Room after room, empty. I begin to believe the unbelievable—that Bethina is gone—when I see her sitting in the oversized striped chair in the living room, not moving. So still she looks almost asleep, except her eyes are open. Open but not really seeing. She’s just staring.
“B?” I ask softly, but she doesn’t answer. I grab her shoulders and shake her.
“Bethina! Are you okay?”
All the others have joined us. The confused group looks to me, as if I should know what’s going on.
The melting snow from our shoes and hats puddles onto the wood floor. I force myself to calm down and take a deep breath. I step back from Bethina into the semi-circle my housemates have formed in front of the chair and survey the scene. Not knowing what to do, I raise my hand and slap Bethina sharply across the face.
Someone gasps.
“Bethina!” I scream, becoming more frightened. “Wake up! Do you know what’s happened?”
The outline of my hand on her cheek turns into an ugly red print.
She moves her head from side to side as if making a mental checklist. I’ve seen her do this many times on our outings—making sure she’s left no one behind, counting and identifying each of us.
“Kyra?” she whispers.
I kneel in front of her and take her hand. “Mr. Trevern took her to see the Headmaster.”
Bethina groans and balls her hand under mine. “But no one else?”
“Not from our group.” I swivel around to scan the group of boys who just entered. My eyes dart over each face, searching.
“Where’s Beck?” I ask.
Bethina makes a weird choking sound. Her tear-stained face contorts. A small movement of her head to the side. The world spins. I know before she says it.
“Beck’s not coming back.”
I hear nothing else because the world goes black.
Need to know what happens next? Get Larkstorm now.
Table of Contents
BEFORE
BEFORE
BEFORE
BEFORE
BEFORE
BEFORE
BEFORE
BEFORE
BEFORE
Before (The Sensitives) Page 9