by Melissa Grey
“ChapStick.”
Chase reached into his own pocket and retrieved a tube of strawberry-flavored ChapStick. He offered it to her, and she accepted it.
“Strawberry? Really?”
“My other choices were original and cherry. Strawberry is clearly the superior flavor.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
Bex rubbed the ChapStick over her lips, trying not to think about how the same ChapStick had, at one point or even several points, touched Chase’s lips.
“I hate saying this, but I don’t know what to do. I recognize the quote, but I don’t know what good that does us.”
“So we go to the library and check out the book,” Chase said. “See what’s what.”
Bex shook her head. “I doubt they’ll have a copy. Like I said, it’s banned in most school districts. It’s really hard to find. As far as I know, it’s been out of print for years.”
“Yeah, but Maplethorpe’s not most schools. It’s worth looking, isn’t it?”
There was a gleam in Chase’s eyes she’d never seen before. She thought maybe that same gleam was reflected in her own eyes.
It wasn’t just a message left in someone’s locker. It wasn’t just a bit of spray-painted rebellion. It was starting to feel like something.
She didn’t know what that something was, but she was going to find out.
“Meet me after school,” she said. “I have an idea.”
* * *
Rebecca Lee Johnson had never skipped class. Not once. She’d never even considered doing it. Not even in sophomore year when she’d contracted some kind of terrible virus that had her regurgitating everything she’d ever eaten in her life. (Her teacher had dismissed her when it looked like Bex might actually spew all over the whiteboard as she rose to solve for x.) Not even when she’d screwed up her timetable freshman year, gotten the date of a test wrong, and shown up entirely unprepared. (She got an eighty-nine and had yet to live it down with her parents.) Not even when she and Melody had gotten into a vicious fight about something so stupid neither one of them could remember it, and Melody had convinced the rest of the class to literally turn their backs on Bex when she walked in the door. (That was in sixth grade.)
But today … today she skipped first period.
It took a little extra time for her smartwatch to buzz against her wrist.
Her comparative literature professor, Mr. Hutchins (or Hutch, as he insisted they call him, though no one ever did), had probably given her the benefit of the doubt. Reputation mattered when it came to ratings. But the minutes ticked by and Bex was still in the library, combing the shelves for a book she didn’t have much hope of finding.
She didn’t look at her watch. She didn’t feel that same sense of immediate, breath-stealing panic she did whenever she thought her number was sliding. She didn’t feel that same powerlessness that had plagued her every day of her life until she’d cracked 90.
Something had changed in her. It could be that she’d finally reached her limit, that her mind had decided to reject her constant pursuit of perfection in order to save her from herself. Or maybe it was more than that. Seeing that graffiti on the first day of school had triggered a change so subtle she hadn’t noticed it at first. It had surfaced when she’d stood up to her parents during family dinner. It was surfacing again now, as she flagrantly broke the same school rules she’d followed so slavishly her entire life.
And it felt good. Really, really good.
Her fingers skimmed the spines of books tucked into a dismal, dusty corner of the library. The shelves were tidy, but there was a fine layer of dust on top of books no one had checked out in years. Maplethorpe prided itself in its library as much as every other state-of-the-art amenity it provided for its students, but no one had seen fit to update the oldest collection they had. It felt forgotten, this faraway shelf. It wasn’t visible from the librarian’s desk or from any of the tables or chairs in the main reading room.
The odds of Maplethorpe’s library carrying the book were so small, they were infinitesimal. Nonexistent.
Except …
Bex’s hand stopped as her fingers landed on a slim leather-bound tome.
“Du contrat social,” Bex whispered to the books, “ou Principes du droit politique.”
The title in its original French. The Social Contract, or Principles of Political Rights.
Of course Maplethorpe didn’t carry the book in English. It was on too many banned lists. But no one ever looked closely at the foreign texts. Who had the time?
Bex slid the book off the shelf. It was thin; the reddish-brown cover was pockmarked with water stains. Not even a hundred pages in total.
Easy to slip something so small into a pocket.
Easier to walk right out the door, past the librarian who offered Bex a smile and a good morning.
Easiest thing Bex had ever done.
Bex had never cut a class before, had never stolen anything before, had never realized just how simple it could be doing all the things one really shouldn’t do. It should have worried her how quickly, how readily, she took to a life of crime. It didn’t. And that was perhaps the most worrisome thing of all.
Tamsin hated the cafeteria of Maplethorpe Academy. She hated the way it always smelled like stale french fry grease, no matter how thoroughly it was cleaned. She hated the round tables the Maplethorpe board had insisted upon to make it look more welcoming and less cafeteria-esque. They each seated only about six students, so space was tight. And sitting at a round table made it harder to eat by yourself while ignoring everyone around you. Round tables forced eye contact upon the unwilling, something Tamsin could not forgive.
Normally, she would take her lunch in her music building hideout, but she’d promised Hana she would meet her in the cafeteria. Tamsin would just have to swallow her distaste and be there. She’d been surprised when Hana had texted her earlier that day, in the scant minutes between second and third period.
Thoughts on lunch today? I’m free during fifth.
Tamsin also happened to have a free period then. That Hana had offered to meet someplace where food was sold seemed like a big step for the girl. Tamsin wasn’t going to let her down. It was obvious that Hana was struggling with some kind of disordered eating. The way she’d rebuffed Tamsin so staunchly the other day made it seem like she wasn’t interested in the “admitting you have a problem” part of recovery. Maybe now she was ready.
The possibility was worth braving the uncomfortably intimate Maplethorpe cafeteria. Tamsin didn’t know Hana that well, but she was already the closest thing Tamsin had to a friend at their godforsaken school. She would try to be a good one.
Tamsin got to the cafeteria early to find a table. Most students had lunch during fourth or fifth period. Some unlucky souls had to wait until sixth, when they had to engage in gladiator-style combat for the last order of onion rings on the rare days they were served. Maplethorpe never ran out of healthy food—the school’s brochure boasted of their wholesome, nutritious offerings—but they did run out of anything fried.
So when someone slammed a pile of heavy textbooks on the table, Tamsin wasn’t entirely surprised. She was, after all, expecting company. But when she looked up, it wasn’t Hana standing by the table. It was a much less welcome visitor.
“Hello, Summer,” Tamsin said, injecting as much frost into her voice as possible. “To what do I owe the displeasure?”
Summer sneered. “How did you know?”
Tamsin glanced toward the doors leading into the cafeteria, willing Hana to walk through them. “How did I know what?”
“About my boyfriend, stupid.”
Tamsin narrowed her eyes at the girl. To Summer’s credit, she didn’t flinch from what Tamsin knew to be a highly effective glare. “Is there really a need for name-calling?”
“How did you know?” Summer asked again.
At first glance, the girl looked as put together as she always did, but the more Tamsin studied her, the more obvious her
frayed seams became. Her ponytail wasn’t as perky as it usually was. Her cardigan was slightly askew. Her lips were chapped, as if she’d been chewing on them. And the liner around her eyes was just a hair too thick, like she’d applied it, removed it, and applied it again.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Summer,” said Tamsin. “And I don’t appreciate being ambushed. Just say whatever it is you came to say and put us both out of our misery.”
Summer’s nostrils flared, making her look briefly like an angry bull. “Steve. He was cheating on me with Sasha.”
Summer. Steve. Sasha. It was like a bad alliterative soap opera.
“I don’t even know who that is.”
“Sasha!” Summer exclaimed, as if it explained anything.
Tamsin merely shrugged in response.
“Who told you?” Summer asked. “I know you’re not some kind of witch. Magic isn’t real. But somebody had to have told you and I want to know who.”
And that was when it clicked.
The reading. The Ten of Swords and the Lovers.
Oops.
Tamsin had only been trying to be mean. She hadn’t been trying to be prescient.
Maybe magic was real. Maybe Tamsin really could read the future in the cards.
Or maybe Steve was just a terrible human being.
“Look, I’m sorry your boyfriend’s a jerk,” Tamsin said, “but I didn’t need anyone to tell me that. Anyone with eyes and two working brain cells could have told you.” She wiggled her fingers at Summer, whose frown deepened. “He’s always had wandering eyes and grabby hands. Not my fault you picked him.”
It was perhaps not the most sympathetic thing Tamsin could have said, but her sympathy was a finite resource. The well ran dry with Summer’s rotten attitude.
Summer leaned over the table, looking like she was ready to spit in Tamsin’s face. “Listen, you rotten b—”
“Hey, guys.” Hana’s voice was a touch too loud, but it was a welcome interruption.
“Hey, Hana. Have a seat. Join the fun.” Tamsin patted the chair beside her. Hana dumped her bag onto it but did not sit.
Hana looked between Summer and Tamsin, eyes wary at the pairing. Already she must have known it meant nothing good. “What’s going on here?”
“Oh, nothing,” Summer said.
“Really? Because it looks like something,” Hana said, crossing her arms over her stomach. It made her look even smaller, and Tamsin had thought that was impossible.
“What do you care? Are you friends with her?” Summer asked. Her tone implied that being friends with Tamsin was some kind of mortal sin, just below murder and adultery.
Hana shrugged. “So what if I am?”
Summer made a disgusted little noise in the back of her throat. “Ugh. I thought you had better taste than that.”
“We’ve never had a real conversation, Summer,” Hana said. “You don’t know me at all. And I’m kind of okay with that, if this is how you talk to people.”
No one had ever come to Tamsin’s defense quite like that. She’d been a loner since the first day of school, so she hadn’t exactly spent her time collecting a defense squad of friends and allies. It felt nice to have someone take her side. She felt oddly warm. Not in a bad way. Just in a way she’d never really felt before.
But Hana’s words seemed to have little impact on Summer. That hard glare returned to Tamsin.
“You know, it’s a good thing Maplethorpe has standards,” Summer sneered. “Trash like you won’t linger around long enough to stink up the place.” She turned her gaze to Hana. “You might want to watch yourself, Hana. You don’t wanna get caught in Tamsin’s blast radius.”
“Okay, now that’s a bit much.” A dawning realization tickled at the corners of Tamsin’s mind, but she didn’t want to entertain it just yet. Not with Summer looking at her like that. “How about we pump the brakes and go back to existing in our own spheres of influence? Yours as far away from mine as possible.”
“Gladly,” Summer said. “Not that it’ll make much of a difference for you.”
“Okay, honestly, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tamsin said. Though she thought maybe she did.
“Hope you’ve been enjoying your ratings.” A poisonous smile spread across Summer’s face. It was too unpleasant to be anything but a baring of fangs. “The best is yet to come.”
With that, she sauntered away, a spring in her step that hadn’t been there when she’d first confronted Tamsin. It was like ruining someone else’s day made Summer’s.
“Well, that was pleasant.” Hana moved her backpack off the seat beside Tamsin and plopped down. She propped her elbows on the table and dropped her chin into her hand.
“Yeah, about as pleasant as a warm jar of mayonnaise on a hot summer’s day.” A buzz against her wrist made Tamsin look down at her smartwatch.
19.
Her rating. It had ticked down another point. And then, immediately, another.
“What the fudge?” Tamsin asked, though she had her answer.
“It’s Summer, isn’t it?” Hana leaned over to peer at Tamsin’s number. “She’s doing this. Or at least orchestrating it.”
A loud burst of laughter sounded from the other side of the cafeteria. Tamsin raised her eyes from that abysmal number and caught Summer’s gaze from across the room. Vicious mirth danced in them, visible even from a distance. The girl bowed her head as she whispered something to the others at her table. Another round of laughter pealed like bells at a funeral. Steve approached their table, unperturbed by the withering glare Summer shot him. He leaned down to whisper something in Summer’s ear. Whatever it was wiped the frown off Summer’s face. She beamed up at him as he pulled up a chair to sit next to her, his arm draped around the back of her chair.
Tamsin couldn’t see who contributed to her ratings, positively or negatively, but she knew who’d just dinged hers. Steve, to win points with his jilted girlfriend.
“Yeah,” Tamsin said. “Summer’s behind it.”
“Why, though?” Hana asked. “I mean, I get that you don’t like each other, but it seems extreme.”
Another vibration. Another negative. Another round of venomous laughter. Tamsin’s gut churned. This must be what foreboding felt like.
“She’s trying to get me kicked out of Maplethorpe.”
Chase didn’t share a single class with Bex. Their lunch periods didn’t even line up, and he doubted she took hers, anyway. She probably spent it trying to find the cure for cancer or solving Fermat’s last theorem or doing something else equally intellectually dazzling. He’d gotten two tests back that day. Both failing grades. His rating had dipped, putting him right on the cusp. Again. He tried not to think about it. He didn’t want Bex to know how much of a lost cause he was.
He waited for her by her locker, ignoring the incessant buzzing from his phone. He’d already told Coach Jenkins that he wasn’t going to make practice that afternoon. Tutoring made for a wonderful excuse, one not even Coach could argue with. The rest of the team still tried, though. The group chat was a litany of complaints, all directed at him.
A smack to his back made Chase jump. He turned to see Steve grinning at him, with a few of the other guys from the team in tow. “Hey, buddy. Waiting for your girlfriend? Coach said you had tutoring.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Chase said. He spotted Bex rounding the corner and coming toward them. “And yeah, I do. Shouldn’t you guys be at practice?”
“I figured you weren’t checking your messages,” Steve said, “but I thought maybe I was more convincing in person. Ditch her and come to practice. Your tutor’s cute and all, but the team needs you, buddy.”
“Shut up, Steve,” Chase hissed just as Bex got close enough to hear. Her eyes darted from Chase to Steve as a frown pulled at her lips.
“Hi,” Chase said, hoping Steve would go away.
Steve did not go away.
He tossed his arm around Chase’s shoulders, his g
aze raking up from Bex’s shoes to the top of her head. “Anything we can do to convince you not to steal our best pitcher for the day?”
“Nope.” Chase knocked Steve’s arm off his shoulder. “Bye.”
Steve and the others took the hint—not that it was subtle—that their presence was undesired and left, their voices low enough to make their words indistinguishable. The tone of their laughter was anything but. He could imagine the sorts of things they were saying about Bex, because he’d heard them say things about girls before. None of it was fit for polite company.
Bex watched them go, a little wrinkle forming between her brows. “Are you ashamed to be seen with me?”
Oh god.
“No, no way, absolutely not,” Chase said in a rush. “I’m ashamed to be seen with them. They’re Neanderthals. Honestly.” He liked the way she smiled at that. “What’s up?”
An uncharacteristically mischievous grin spread across Bex’s face. “I found it.”
“Found what?” Chase asked.
Bex rolled her eyes. He got the feeling she did that a lot when engaging with lesser beings such as himself.
“The book,” Bex said. She slipped her backpack off one shoulder so she could sling it in front of her. She opened the zipper just enough to grant him a glance of a slender book sandwiched between her tablet and a frighteningly thick binder.
“Oh,” Chase said. The book. With the quote. “The library had it? You checked it out.”
She zipped her backpack shut quickly, her eyes darting around to see if anyone had noticed their illicit exchange. No one had.
“Yes, the library had it,” Bex said. “But no, I didn’t check it out.”
“What do you … ?”
Oh. Oh. She didn’t check it out. She stole it.
Chase clucked his tongue at her, thoroughly delighted. “Bex Johnson, you naughty girl.”
Her face contorted in disgust. “Okay, first of all, never say that again.”
“Sorry,” Chase said with a laugh, “but I’m just so proud. Look at you, a baby delinquent. Didn’t think you had it in you.”
It could have been his imagination, but he was pretty sure Bex was actually flattered.