“I don’t know. I didn’t think anything. He looked surprised, to be honest. He even pointed at himself and went, ‘Me? You sure?’ And here’s where it gets weird,” Cisco added, leaning forward, his fingers nervously curling around the base of his black tie.
“Brendan stands up to get his bag, and Casey tells him to leave it. Brendan says, ‘All my stuff is in there.’ And she sends a cop in to take his bag and they escort him out.”
I gasped, almost choking on my own breath.
“A cop? What the… Why would they even… I don’t even…” I stammered, not sure what to say.
Jenn popped her head up, checking out the students who were sitting around us. I didn’t have to look to know they were all probably gawking at us as if we were giant talking chickens. I was suddenly glad for the loud engine, even if it did reek of diesel fuel. “They would only have cops there if they thought Brendan did something illegal.” She paused. “Did he?”
“Like what?” I asked. Apart from some minor trespassing and graffiti offenses, and a few fistfights, Brendan wasn’t really bad. Okay, maybe he is a little bad.
“Let me finish,” Cisco continued, running his hands through his dark brown hair. “Brendan just looks at me and shrugs in this, ‘Well, this should be interesting’ kind of way. I mean, he didn’t look nervous or worried or anything, Emma. He didn’t do anything, that I’m sure of,” he added reassuringly.
“I know he didn’t,” I said loyally. However, you didn’t do anything to protect him. You should have told him…should have said something…’cause he’s so clearly being set up by someone.
“Anyway, I go to my next class, and it’s Latin, which I have with Frank, who had a free period that morning.” Cisco stopped, his head snapping up as Dr. McNelly came around to take attendance.
“Everyone’s accounted for,” she announced. Everyone except Brendan. And it’s your fault.
The bus kicked into gear as McNelly began her lecture on what we were going to see at the museum.
“So anyway,” Cisco continued, “Frank says—”
“Everyone needs to listen,” Dr. McNelly announced loudly, steadying herself by holding on to the backs of the red pleather seats as she walked closer to the rear. “And that includes the back of the bus.”
I fidgeted as we sat there with our mouths shut, my stomach twisting and turning like double Dutch jump rope as she droned on and on about the key pieces we would see, including the famed Unicorn Tapestries. Originally I had been excited to see them: maybe it was because a unicorn had been the centerpiece of the silver medallion I used to wear. Or maybe it was because, hey, I’m a girl. I’m genetically hardwired to like unicorns and kittens and hearts and all that crap. But right now, all I could think about was that Brendan was in trouble and getting farther and farther away from me with each spin of the bus’s wheels.
Finally, after what seemed like a millennium, McNelly’s lecture ended, and Cisco jumped right back into the story.
“So Frank had a free first period, and he asks me what happened in chem that morning. I tell him, and he tells me he got to school late, and when he went to his locker, there were two cops standing with Brendan by his locker, going through it with rubber gloves and everything.”
“What the hell did they think he had in there, some kind of super-flu?” I asked, and then it dawned on me. They thought he had drugs in his locker. And the school had a zero-tolerance policy.
“Emma, does he…?” Jenn asked, trailing off.
“Hell, no!” I practically cried, and a few people turned their heads. I didn’t care if they heard me.
“Brendan’s not like that,” I stated emphatically. A few of the other students at Vince A, well that was another story. Some of my classmates had blown through more powder than the Olympic skiing team, but Brendan was clean.
“Sorry,” Jenn said guiltily. “I mean, he’s a DJ, he hangs in clubs…how would I know?”
“Anyway,” Cisco interrupted, getting back to the story, “Frank couldn’t see what was going on, just that when they were leaving, Casey was hauling Brendan out of the hallway by the back of his collar and down the stairs. I guess to Casey’s office.”
“Then what?” I asked.
“Then Frank had to go to class,” Cisco said. “I just don’t get it—why they would think Brendan, of all people, was on drugs? I mean, the guy looks as healthy as they come.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Jenn murmured, more to herself than me. Incredulous, I elbowed her, and Jenn blushed. “Yeah, sorry. I mean, he doesn’t look cracked out or anything.”
“That’s because he’s not,” I insisted. I pulled my phone out of my backpack to text Brendan. If he even has his phone with him. I didn’t know what else to do. I felt powerless.
“This really sucks,” I moaned, dropping against the uncomfortable, upright back of the seat. I kept the phone in my hand, ready to open it as soon as it vibrated.
“I’m sure it’s fine, and it’s just Casey taking full advantage of the whole zero-tolerance policy. Besides, I bet she’d love for you or Brendan to look a little at fault after the whole Anthony thing gave the school’s image such a black eye,” Cisco mused, and Jenn nodded in agreement.
“Look, there’s nothing you can do now,” Cisco advised me. “Just put it out of your mind until you talk to him, and maybe you guys can laugh about this later when you’re at his house, counting his mother’s diamonds or, I don’t know, planning a trip to Bulgaria or whatever it is that you do when you’re at his megapalace downtown,” he teased.
“I don’t think they do much talking,” Jenn said, combing her fingers through her hair as her eyes drifted off to the ceiling of the bus. “I wouldn’t.”
I smiled—even in light of Jenn’s blatant fantasies about my boyfriend—and threw my arms around both of them.
“Thanks, guys,” I whispered. They continued to reassure me that this was just a prank—or revenge. Jenn even theorized that it was an attempt from a rival school to take the star basketball player out of commission, but my thoughts kept going back to the spell with Angelique.
It’s got more hate than you two have love.
This seemed pretty hateful to me.
We arrived at the Cloisters, and I kept surreptitiously checking my phone, waiting for Brendan to text me…once they gave him back his bag and cell phone, that is. If they gave it back to him. All I could think about was that he was going to get kicked out…suspended…arrested. The words kept ringing in my ears, louder than anything McNelly said: It’s got more hate than you two have love.
And that hate was directed at Brendan, not me.
As we walked through the halls, I ran my fingers along the stone architecture, a brief thought flitting through my mind that I might have walked through these very halls in a past life. The Cloisters were the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s medieval branch, with parts of the structure actually dating as far back as the twelfth century. I scribbled meticulous notes, trying to keep track of what she was saying to share with Brendan later, for the inevitable test that he might fail since he missed the trip. That is, if he’s still a student at Vince A.
I was surprised that my number-one nemesis at school, Kristin Thorn, and her little horde of hangers-on stayed as far away from me as possible—I had imagined myself being tripped down one of the several uneven, stone staircases in the Cloisters. Then I noticed that Kristin had her phone’s browser open to the Cloisters webpage, and periodically brought up points as if they were her own. No wonder she’s avoiding you—she doesn’t want you to witness her shameless kiss-assery.
I should have known she wouldn’t keep her distance for long—Brendan’s little scandal provided her with the fodder she needed to jab at me. Just as we were breaking for lunch, I fell behind Cisco and Jenn, kneeling down to fix the t
wisted strap on my Mary Janes when Kristin sidled up to me. She stomped her red-soled Christian Louboutin heel an inch from my right pinky.
“Watch it!” I gave her a dirty look, snapping my hand back and briefly wondering if she’d missed her intended target. I bet she had planned to impale my finger with her heel like a shish kebab. I wouldn’t put it past her.
“Where’s your boyfriend, Emma? Did he have a bad day? I mean, a worse day than usual. Since he’s wasting his time with you, I figure his days usually suck,” she cooed in a baby voice that dropped with false concern. Her fake tan had persisted through the winter—the girl looked like a grilled cheese sandwich in a push-up bra.
I usually try my best to ignore Kristin—going back at her only made things worse. The school’s resident rich bitch had had it in for me since the second I started school. She’d had a thing for Anthony, and it had been Kristin who had facilitated Anthony’s attack on me last December. Her little role in the ordeal had earned her a week’s suspension. I had thought (hoped?) that Anthony’s brutal treatment of her would soften her cruel streak—and it did, for a little while. But recently, she’d started up with me again. I guess somehow, in her overprivileged, spoiled little brain, she had managed to twist things around to the point of where it was my fault that she had gotten in trouble. That I was the reason Anthony was a psycho. In the past few weeks, her cutthroat behavior was worse than ever—and, of course, her sycophants followed suit. Her much unrequited crush on Brendan just fueled her attacks, even though he’d done everything short of doing an interview in the Vincent Academy Observer proclaiming how uninterested in her he was. I used to wonder why she hadn’t gotten expelled, but realized all too soon that her lax punishment coincided with the purchase of twenty new laptops for the library. Whatever daddy’s little girl wanted, she got—except for Brendan.
I continued ignoring Kristin as I followed Jenn and Cisco out of the museum—we’d decided to eat lunch in Fort Tryon Park since it was nice out—but she wouldn’t let up.
“So, the cops came, right? I guess hanging out with your low-class ass is finally rubbing off on him,” she snapped, her overly made-up-for-school-are-you-kidding-me-with-those-false-eyelashes eyes narrowing as she looked me up and down. And then we walked right past Kendall, one of Brendan’s discouragingly pretty, strawberry-blonde ex-flings. Oh, joy.
“So what’s the story with Brendan, Emma?” Kendall asked, lounging against the banister and crossing her legs—legs so long only the ground stopped them from going on forever. I ignored her and quickened my walk.
“I know how to make him feel better—better than you could, at least,” Kendall purred as I hurried past. “He had a lot of fun last time,” she called after me, Kristin joining in on her cackling as I tried to push the mental picture of Brendan kissing Kendall, holding her close as those mile-long legs wrapped around him—No!—out of my mind, but it was like an alien invaded my head and was forcing me to think of different scenarios with them. Unrealistic scenarios, too. No one is that bendy.
I kept my pace level and my head high, not wanting the Bitch Twins to see that they’d gotten to me. After what felt like an eternity, I finally met up with Jenn and Cisco where they had set up camp on a low stone wall that had dried enough from the previous night’s storm.
“You look pissed,” Cisco observed, unwrapping a massive pastrami sandwich.
“Kristin.” I just had to growl the one word, and both Jenn and Cisco wore identical expressions of sympathy as I pulled my sandwich out of my bag.
“If you make it through this year without punching that girl in the face, you owe me five bucks—or maybe even a pony,” Cisco said as I squirted a packet of mayo onto my turkey-and-cheese hero. I bit into the sandwich angrily, even though guilt, worry and plain old annoyance had vanquished my appetite.
“It will never stop amazing me how Kristin was in a few commercials as a kid, so now she thinks she’s better than everyone.” Jenn frowned, glancing over to where Kristin was lounging on a bench with Kendall, who effortlessly looked glamorous. Hell, even Kristin managed to look effortlessly chic.
“So, any word from Brendan?” Cisco asked, and I pulled my phone out of my sweatshirt pocket to check it for the billionth time that afternoon.
“Nothing.” I shook my head bitterly as a fresh new wave of guilt slammed into me. “So, Jenn, what’s up with Austin? You guys haven’t seemed…friendly…lately,” I said, changing the subject without any tact or grace. But Jenn’s on-and-off romance with the very enthusiastic junior Student Council rep had always been a source of amusement for Cisco and me.
“He kept trying to force me to try out for the spring choral performance,” she snorted, picking apart her BLT and flinging an anemic-looking T into a garbage can.
“Do you even sing?” I asked, and she emphatically shook her head. Austin took his role in student government way too seriously. The guy lived and breathed for Vince A. He probably wept every time there was a snow day, drying his tears with the school handbook.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Austin was going to get a tramp stamp of the school insignia,” Cisco cracked, and I nearly choked on my sandwich, laughing.
“Oh, he’s talked about getting a tattoo of the school insignia. Over his heart. You guys don’t even know. Anyway, enough about Austin.” Jenn waved her hands impatiently. “There are plenty of cute guys at my sister’s dorm. You know, if you two weren’t so settled in relationships, you could come and wing me. Or you could come and pretend to be single and wing me. The dorm parties are awesome. Em, you could bring Ashley. And Cisco, I bet Gabe won’t mind.” She smiled, hoping to entice him with the offer, but Cisco shook his head.
“I’m quite happy with Gabe, thank you very much.” Cisco smiled. He was out everywhere except Vince A, where people wore judgey pants as if they were part of the school uniform.
“But speaking of Gabe—” Cisco paused, taking out his cell phone and showing me a bright orange flyer “—I’m sending you this even though I know you’re probably a lost cause. Gabe’s new band is playing the Battle of the Bands tomorrow night at Magel. They’re awesome. They used to be called Duck Duck Goose, but some band at Collegiate had that name. So now they’re Freeze Tag. Anyway, Em, it would be nice if you saw him actually sound good. They do punk covers of pop songs, it’s hysterical.”
“His old band wasn’t that terrible,” I lied, and Cisco just raised his eyebrow at me. It was true—Cisco’s boyfriend, Gabe, played drums in one of the worst bands in history (with one of the worst names).
“So, Broken Echo is no more…no more…no more… .” I called, letting my voice fade out like an echo as I pretended to wipe a tear from my eye.
“Kenny decided he wanted to go solo as a rapper. You should hear him try to rap about life on the street. Like life on Central Park West is really hard. ‘Soy milk in my latte, who’s ready to par-tay.’” Cisco’s brown eyes twinkled devilishly as he mocked the band’s grandstanding guitarist.
We busied ourselves coming up with some non-PG raps for Kenny as we finished our lunch. As we were trying to find something that rhymed with “foie gras,” Jenn jumped up, wiping the last of the bacon from her mouth. She hopped off the stone wall and skidded on the wet grass a little, grabbing the wall to steady herself.
“I’m still hungry,” she announced. “Wanna come with me to the café, buy some overpriced cookies or something for the ride home?”
The ride home…when I’d find out what happened to Brendan. And suddenly I felt horribly, terribly, soul-crushingly guilty for the levity I’d enjoyed for the past ten minutes.
“I’ll come,” Cisco said, standing up more carefully than Jenn had, crumpling the remains of his sandwich into a ball. “Emma, are you coming?”
“No, I think I want to walk around, take some pics,” I said, finally finding my new camera—a Ch
ristmas present from Aunt Christine—in my backpack. Brendan had told me how much he liked Fort Tryon Park, but he hadn’t been there since he was a little kid. I wanted to take a few pictures of the grounds for him. But the truth was I really just wanted to be alone in case I started crying. Between my little breakdown last night—and the crushing flood of guilt I was drowning in—my emotions were bubbling right under the surface. Angelique would be proud of how in-touch with my inner emogirl I was. Meet the worst superhero ever! Emogirl, whose superpower is crying on command.
They headed toward the café as I took a deep breath and tried to calm my stripped nerves. I started walking along a path on the grounds, taking pictures of the impressive Cloisters. It was pretty here. Quiet—much more relaxing than Central Park. The birds were louder than the minimal traffic noises from the nearby parking lot.
I wanted to get a full shot of the museum, so I walked several yards away, farther into the park as I toyed with the panoramic setting on my camera.
I turned to my left, taking a shot of the trees, bright green with new leaves.
I turned west, snapping a pic of the beige stone structure. It looked like a knight should come barreling through those doors instead the group of tourists who emerged, cameras in hand as they piled into their tour bus.
I continued walking, into an area more densely packed with trees, trying to play with the nature settings on my camera. There were too many shadows.
“Like I know what white balance even is,” I muttered aloud, playing with the buttons. I looked at the digital screen again—there was a bigger shadow.
I put the camera down and squinted my eyes in the distance.
There’s no way I was mistaken. A person—at least, I think it was a person—in all black with a black hood covering the face—was standing amidst the trees, the figure obscured by the shade.
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