The Untimely Deaths of Alex Wayfare

by M. G. Buehrlen

  1) Eat in the cafeteria. Sit with people. TALK TO THEM.

  2)

  And…that’s all I can come up with for now. But this is good. One task to work on. No distractions. I can do this.

  When my lunch period rolls around, I forgo the safety of my bag lunch and the computer lab and slip into the pizza line, wielding my very own tray of semi-edible fare for the first time in years.

  “A truly remarkable sight.” Jensen cuts into line beside me, sliding his tray next to mine on the ledge in front of us. He lifts his hands and frames me with his fingers, like he’s shooting a movie. “In search of food, the elusive creature emerges from her den and tries her luck at the watering hole.”

  I shake my head, smiling, moving down the line. “Wow, Peters. I never knew you were such a huge Animal Planet fan.”

  “I’m a fan of all things nature. Birds. Bees. The like.” He grabs two pudding cups and drops one on my tray.

  “Pandas?” I say.

  “How did you know? The panda is my spirit animal.”

  “Oh, good, because Gran has this great pattern for an embroidered panda cardigan. It would look amazing on you.”

  “Um, yeah, I know. It was on my Christmas list, but Santa totally stiffed me.”

  I laugh as I grab a carton of milk. So does he.

  He leans in closer. “Come sit with me.”

  “At the jock table? Are you kidding?” I hand the cashier my lunch card.

  Jensen squints his eyes in the direction of his friends. “We’re skinny-ass basketball players, Wayfare. We don’t really scream jock.”

  “Meatheads, then?”

  “I believe the correct term is Athletic Types.” We step out from the line and scan the room. “So where were you planning on sitting?”

  “I was thinking Grady and Marco were my safest bet.”

  “The nerd table?”

  I gesture to myself, especially my glasses. “I figure my natural camouflage will help me blend, yo.”

  He laughs, his honey-blond hair falling in front of his eyes.

  “And hey,” I say, nudging him with my elbow, “last I heard, Peters was cool with nerdy.”

  He claps me gently on the back. “Good luck, Wayfare. I’m pulling for ya.”

  He heads to his table and I look around for the only two kids I’ve spoken to on a semiregular basis in my Advanced CAD class. But I never make it over to them.

  “Alex, oh, thank God you’re back.” Mrs. Latimer, head of the AV department, rushes up to me, two granola bars and a can of Coke in her hands. “We had an outage last week and now I’ve got a whole stack of DVD players that won’t power on. Totally fried.” She turns in the direction of the lab, then looks back at me when I don’t join her, confused. “Aren’t you coming?”

  “Yeah,” I say, letting out a sigh. “I’m coming.”

  I guess making amends will have to wait.

  Mr. Sorenson, Can I Use the Bathroom?

  By last period, I still haven’t added a second item to the bucket list. Between Camilla Denison, one of Tabitha’s friends, “accidentally” knocking my books off my desk in English, and Robbie Duncan, the douchebag Jensen got in a fight with a few months ago, snapping my bra strap in the hall, I wonder if having only a few people at my funeral is such a bad thing after all.

  The Camilla thing isn’t so bad. I’d like to tell her to grow up, to get a life, but whatever. It’s the Robbie thing that really gets to me. First Gesh, running his hand up my thigh while his thug held me down, then Decoy Boy groping me in Grant Park, now this. All of them dickheads who think they can have whatever they want just by sticking their hands out.

  The next time one of them reaches for me, I’m cutting his hand clean off.

  With something dull and rusty.

  I walk into my history class, scowling, expecting to see Vice-Principal Rodrigues standing in for Mr. Lipscomb like he was before winter break. Expecting him to tell me to smile once in a while, like he usually does.

  Instead, I stop in my tracks.

  Levi stands at the whiteboard where Vice-Principal Rodrigues should be. Dark gray slacks, mustard V-neck sweater. Half the class is already in their seats, whispering and giggling about the new teacher. Everyone is abuzz. There’s an electric feel about the room.

  Levi pretends not to notice me as he fills up the board with today’s lesson notes in black dry-erase marker.

  “Hey,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

  He glances at me and nods politely. “Hello. I’m Mr. Sorenson. I’ll be filling in for the rest of the year.”

  A manic giggle threatens to bubble in my throat. “You’ll be filling in for the rest of the year. Here. In this class.”

  “Yes.” He lowers his hand from the board. “And your name is?”

  “Alex,” I say, fighting the urge to roll my eyes at him. Must. Keep. Secret. Identity. Secret. “Alex Wayfare. I sit over there. In the middle.”

  “Well, Miss Wayfare, I suggest you take your seat, over there, in the middle, before the bell rings.”

  Surreal. Too surreal for Base Life. Couldn’t he have given me some warning?

  Jensen squeezes past me, smiling, and grabs his assigned seat in the back beside Tabitha. I slide into mine and trace the wood grain on the top of my desk with my pencil, leaving behind thick graphite marks. Mr. Lipscomb hated it when I did that.

  But he isn’t here.

  Levi is.

  I glance at Mr. Lipscomb’s old desk. Levi has already moved in. Stacked on it are leather-bound books by Nietzsche and Kierkegaard, moleskin notebooks, a cup of black pens, an agenda, and our history textbook, which, I want to tell him, belongs in the trash.

  He’d agree with me.

  Maybe having him as a teacher won’t be such a bad thing. Maybe I’ll actually learn something and get a passing grade. Maybe I won’t feel so much like prey, but more like my big brother is here, looking out for me.

  “Good afternoon,” Levi says after the bell sounds. “I’m Mr. Sorenson.” He marks his name across the whiteboard, writing in all caps like my dad does. Like an anal, perfectionist engineer. I realize this is the first time I’ve ever heard him use a last name, or seen his handwriting. Just like everything else about him, his handwriting is cool, and I kind of hate him for it.

  “God, he’s gorgeous,” I hear Tabitha whisper behind me, off to my left. Camilla, who sits in front of her, giggles.

  I want to turn around and say, yeah, if you have a thing for thirty-six-year-olds, but then I’d be talking to Tabitha, and I’d break my Not Talking to Tabitha streak.

  “He looks like Charlie Hunnam,” Camilla whispers back.

  “Better than Charlie Hunnam. Like a Charlie Hunnam and Joshua Jackson sandwich.”

  God, whoever they are. I roll my eyes and try to ignore them.

  “And his ass,” Camilla says. “Fiiiiiine.”

  I can hear Tabitha press her lips together. “Mmmm. I might ask if I can move to the front row. Get a better view.”

  They both laugh, and I’m about to lose my lunch. They’re talking about Levi. My Levi. I want to tell them to shut up, like he’s mine or something, because he was mine once, a whole lifetime ago. Which is stupid. I know it’s so stupid, but it’s there nonetheless, a splinter of jealousy in my gut.

  As for the rest of the class, looking up at Levi with wide eyes because he’s the new, shiny thing, I want to stand up and say I knew him first, that he’s my friend.

  Sort of.

  And that we hang out.

  Sort of.

  And I feel childish for all of it, and antsy, and wound up inside with a secret I can’t tell anyone. It’s different from my other secrets. This one is out in the open, standing in front of the class for the whole school to see, and I have to keep my mouth shut. Keep my distance. Endure what other kids say about him. Act like we’ve never met.

  Thanks, Mr. Sorenson. Thank you. This makes school sooo much easier.

  Chapter 16

  Wha
t Was It Heidegger Said?

  After school, I catch up with Levi outside in the parking lot. Black fedora. Black scarf. Black double-breasted pea coat. Reeking of cool. Kids filter past him, weaving between parked cars, glancing at him and whispering behind cupped hands. As he opens the driver’s door of a white-and-chrome vintage Mercedes coupe—yet another car I’ve most likely bankrolled—I say, “You made quite the impression today.”

  He stops, a black-gloved hand still on the door handle.

  I hug my books to my chest and glance around, making sure no one’s close enough to hear.

  “I’m not here to make an impression,” he says, keeping his voice down, his back to me. “I’m here to give you moral support. Make you feel at ease.”

  “Yeah, and I’m here for the food.”

  He tosses a canvas messenger bag onto the backseat and turns to face me. “You’re doing that sarcasm thing again.”

  “Get used to it.” I grin so he knows I’m teasing, and squint as the sun glints off a layer of fresh snow. “Come on, admit it. You enjoyed it. Up there spouting all that philosophy stuff. You were loving it.”

  “I’m good at playing a part, that’s all. I’ve been doing it my whole life. I was acting. It’s all part of the long con.”

  “Well, you’re good at it. Almost fooled me. Especially that part about living a life with focused authenticity. Who was it who said it? Heidegger? That we should choose our own path, not the one prescribed for us?” I direct my squinting at him. “A bit misleading, don’t you think, especially for me?”

  “Is this how it’s going to be? You’re going to criticize my lessons every day after class?” He folds his arms and squints his eyes, but there isn’t any venom behind it. I can tell by his tone that he’s amused. If he were normal, he’d be grinning back at me.

  Robbie Duncan walks by with his friends, gaping like an idiot at Levi and me. “Ooooo, Alex. Already in trouble with the new teacher? Or did you want to check him out up close? Maybe let him give you a ride like Peters?” He cackles like a hyena, and so do his friends.

  I raise my middle finger in his direction. A salute to his douchebagness.

  Levi frowns, and I think he’s going to scold me. Instead he says, “I’d like to punch that kid in the face, but I feel like that would be frowned upon.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll help hold him down.”

  Levi pulls his keys from his coat pocket, his eyes sparkling a bit when he looks at me. “It was nice meeting you, Miss Wayfare. See you tomorrow.”

  Yeah, or tonight for our China mission. Whatever, Mr. Sorenson.

  As Levi pulls out of his parking space, Jensen appears at my side. “So, new teacher,” he says. “Making a better impression than you did on Mr. Lipscomb?”

  “What are you talking about?” I turn to look at him. “I always make a good impression. Mr. Lipscomb loved me.”

  Jensen laughs and whips his hair from his eyes. “This new guy’s pretty popular with the ladies. Honestly? I don’t see it. Do you think he’s hot?”

  “Hot? He’s a teacher. I don’t think the two words go together.”

  “Way to avoid the question, Wayfare.”

  I shrug. “He’s all right, I guess. Better than Lipscomb, at least.”

  “Ha, yeah, way better than Lipscomb.” Jensen glances at three yellow school buses lined up in front of the school, and shifts his duffle bag on his shoulder. “I gotta jet. Game tonight.”

  I clap him on the back like he did to me in the cafeteria. “Good luck, Peters. I’m pulling for ya.”

  He walks backwards toward the buses. “You tuning in?”

  “I’ll try.” Truth is, Pops always listens to the local game broadcasts streaming online. Sometimes I join him, but not tonight. Tonight, I’ll be on the other side of the world.

  Jensen smiles at the hope I’ve given him, then jogs away. I turn away too, and flip my hood up. Not because of the cold, but because of the tears in my eyes.

  I’m dying, Jensen.

  God, I’m going to miss that boy.

  Through These Eyes

  “Did you know about the Levi thing?” I ask Porter when I get to the yacht later that night. I drop my backpack at my feet and fall onto one of the white leather sofas.

  Porter looks up from lighting a pipe in the kitchen, and waves his match until the flame goes out. Tendrils of smoke curl toward the ceiling. “About him being your teacher?” He puffs on the bit, pulling the smoke into his lungs. “I thought you’d think it was a good idea.”

  “Porter, it’s the worst idea. The absolute worst idea in the history of ideas.”

  “Because?”

  “Because he’s cool.”

  “He’s cool?”

  “He’s cool, and already super popular, and all the girls think he’s gorgeous and talk about his ass and how he’s a sandwich, and I’m Wayspaz the Fix-It Freak, and I don’t want him seeing me like that.”

  Porter sits down beside me, both arms stretched out across the back of the couch, clenching the pipe between his teeth. “Like what?”

  “Like how all the other kids see me.”

  A freaky nerd. The girl who hides out in the computer lab at lunch because she has no friends and has seizures during class and pukes on cute boys.

  Porter lays an age-spotted hand on my shoulder. He holds his pipe with the other. The smoke envelops us, woodsy and deep. I’ve grown to like his particular brand of tobacco. It’s comforting, like one of Gran’s afghans. “Levi has an enormous amount of respect for you. No amount of teasing at your school is going to sway him of that.”

  I know Porter’s right. I know Levi isn’t susceptible to high school rumor mills and popularity contests, but I can’t help feeling uneasy. Like I’m under a microscope now, worrying that his respect for me will slip a few notches each day. Just like I fear him being there with me on this mission, watching my every move.

  “Can we change the subject?” I reach into my bag and pull out a new book about Beijing that I got from the library. “What will Beijing look like in 1770? I can’t find any drawings or paintings, only recent photographs. What will I be up against? And what was my name?”

  “It will be much more sparse than the modern photos you’ve seen. More trees, more hills within the city. Canals. Bridges. More wooden buildings and homes than stone. I’m not sure where you’ll be when you land, but you’ll most likely be sleeping on the streets. You’ll be dressed as a boy, and you won’t have much money, if any.”

  “Why will I be dressed as a boy?”

  “It was easier, I suppose. Safer for an orphan girl at that time. Your name was Lo Jie. Micki says you worked for a man called Wei. He trained at the Shaolin temple when he was young, but fell out of favor with the abbot and left as a young man. After that he built up a crime syndicate in Beijing, outsourcing orphans like you to do his dirty work for him, sending them out on missions.”

  “Great. I’m a thief.” The thought is disappointing, but I suppose it’s not much different from what I do here, with Porter. We run an underground crime syndicate, don’t we?

  “Don’t look so disappointed. Being a thief will work to your advantage. If you need money, you’ll need to steal something to sell. Your muscle memory and training should make that easy for you.”

  “You’re saying that after I land, I have to scope out the city, find something to steal, steal it, and sell it without getting caught, all before I can take the trip to see the healer? How will I have enough time for all of that? The Black always kicks me out. Sends me back to Limbo. The longest I’ve ever stayed in the past is a day and a half.”

  “Not this time. We’ll be with you, connected to your soulmark. The more souls that are combined, the more energy you have, the more power you have over the Black.”

  “Is that why I always stay longer when I’m with Blue?”

  Porter nods. “Your combined energy helps you remain in the past. This time, our energy should be so strong that you’ll be able to decide whe
n you come and go. Possibly even strong enough to break a soulblock.”

  “Are you serious?” I say, remembering the suffocating, drowning feeling of a soulblock, when Gesh or his Descenders tried to trap me in the past.

  Porter nods. Exhales smoke. “Should be. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  I take a deep breath and ask what I’ve been meaning to ask for a while. “What happens if I run into Blue? What if he wants to be my partner, help me with my mission?” Like he said he wanted when we met in the Black.

  “I was going to talk to you about that. Micki says he also worked for Wei. It’s likely you will run into him there. If so, I would use extreme caution. Don’t divulge anything, not one thing, about your life here as Alex Wayfare.”

  Despite Porter’s warning, I can’t help but smile at the possibility of seeing Blue again, but I don’t let Porter see it. “The thing is, I’ve already divulged a secret to him, in Chicago, before I knew the rules. I told him I was from Annapolis. That my name was Alex. If he were working for Gesh, wouldn’t he have used that against me already? To bring Gesh to my front door?” I shake my head. “I trust him, Porter. More than I trust Micki. And I know him better than Levi. I don’t believe he’s working for Gesh. I can’t believe it.”

  Because that would mean I’ve been wrong about him. Blind. Stupid.

  Porter is quiet, contemplative. He puffs on his pipe, and after a long while says, “Well then, I say trust your gut.”

  I give him a look, because I don’t believe the sudden change in his tune. “I don’t think Levi and Micki will approve of that advice.”

  “No, but I trust you, Alex. I have no reason not to. You’ve been a fine pupil. You have good instincts. You’re ready for this. And you’re right, you know Tre better than we do. Maybe we are missing something. We know Gesh has the ability to track you, we just aren’t sure how. The most logical hypothesis is that he’s using Tre to spy on you, but it’s possible he may be using a different method. I have a few theories; I just need some time to test them out. Until then, all I know is that I believe you can do this mission. I believe if anyone can save your sister, you can.” He leans forward, his pale blue, watery eyes on mine. “I believe in you.”