GHOST CROWN: THE TRACKS TRILOGY - Book Two

by J. Gabriel Gates

  “This is wrong,” she said.

  “What?” Raphael looked stunned, like someone had hit him. “I mean . . . if you’ve changed your mind, Aimee, it’s okay. We’ll find a way to hang out another time.”

  “Dalton,” Aimee said over her shoulder, “You guys go ahead. I need to talk to Raphael.”

  Dalton looked at her, puzzled, and Ignacio cast a quick, worried glance at Raphael.

  “Really,” Aimee said. “It’s okay.”

  She knew they all thought she had changed her mind and that she was going to break up with him—she knew Raphael thought that, too. He looked down at his shoes, resigned, as his friends walked away.

  “I’m not going to sneak around all evening like we’re doing something wrong,” she said.

  “Yeah. I can understand that,” he responded, resigned. He was already turning away. She put her hand on his arm to stop him.

  “I want to walk in with you,” she told him. “You asked me to this dance, Raphael. I’m your date. Why shouldn’t we just go in there together and have a good time, like everyone else?”

  “You know why,” he said.

  “Yeah—well, I don’t care anymore. What’s my dad gonna do? Ground me forever? I can still see you at school, which is all we have now. And it will be totally worth it.”

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

  “Unless . . . you don’t want to.”

  “I want to—more than anything.”

  “Okay, then,” she said softly. “I’m with you, Raphael, and I’m proud to be with you. I want everyone to know it.”

  “What about Rick? He’ll start something if he sees us walk in together.”

  “Probably,” she agreed. “If he does, we’ll leave. I’ve spent way too much time worrying about what he and Dad think about us. I’ve tiptoed around them long enough. It’s time I stand up to them and choose my own destiny. And that’s what you are.” It was a liberating thought, and the moment the words left her lips, Aimee knew they were true—and right.

  Raphael just stood there for a moment, looking at her.

  “Well,” she said, smiling up at him. “Say something.”

  But he didn’t. Instead he gently kissed her, took her hand, and led her toward the school. They walked through the doors together.

  The Middleburg High gymnasium didn’t look anything like it did during the zillions of mind-numbing basketball games Aimee had watched Rick play there. Now, it was festooned with streamers and balloons and filled with flashing lights and romantic shadows. A bank of refreshments lined one wall, and a bunch of round tables stood nearby. On the far side of the room, a DJ had set up near the large, open space where a lot of kids were already dancing. The bleachers were folded back into the wall and covered with a huge, time-worn paper sign emblazoned with pictures of corn and wheat and an overflowing cornucopia. In letters a previous generation of students had painted it read, “Welcome to Middleburg High’s Homecoming & Harvest Ball.”

  Other schools may have had a different theme for every homecoming dance, but at Middleburg High it was always the same: the harvest. It was pretty lame, but it had been that way ever since the school was founded—probably, Aimee thought, because Middleburg was in the middle of some of the best farmland in the United States. Even though there weren’t many farms left and the community was no longer dependent on the harvest for survival, no one had ever thought to change it. Usually the decorating committee just taped up some cheesy pictures of various crops growing in fields, but this year, Dalton had made it special.

  Aimee knew how hard she’d worked to stretch the small budget so there was enough for tons of balloons, flowers, streamers and lots of glitter, which Dalton had used in abundance. She’d rummaged around in their drama teacher’s props department and found some fake haystacks, pumpkins and even a scarecrow from a long-ago production of Jack and the Beanstalk. She had procured a fog machine somehow, and the dance floor was shrouded in mist and sparkling lights. The place had an ethereal, almost magical quality.

  Aimee looked up at Raphael, and found him already staring at her.

  “You sure you want to do this?” he asked. “It’s not too late. Nobody’s seen us yet.”

  From the look in his eyes and the way he was smiling at her, she could tell the last thing he wanted was to leave her side.

  “I’m sure.”

  Their timing couldn’t have been better. As they stepped onto the dance floor, the beat changed from a bass-thumping dance track to a slow song. As Raphael pulled her close and enfolded her in his arms, an involuntary sigh escaped her lips, and she leaned her head against his shoulder as they swayed together, letting the music carry them. His cinnamon-spicy scent, his strong arms, his warm, loving energy was all around her now, as she was blissfully, beautifully encompassed by his presence and his love.

  Aimee was vaguely aware of the other dancers pulling back, stopping to watch them in a mixture of shock and horror. She could only imagine what they must be thinking, seeing the king of the Flatliners and the princess of the Toppers there, dancing together for everyone to see. But she didn’t care; it didn’t matter what anyone thought. Let the whole world burn up around them, for all she cared. With Raphael holding her close, she was in heaven already.

  

  The rest of the Flatliners had already found their way to the area where the tables and chairs were set up. Beet and Josh headed for the snack bar, while Emory and the girls grabbed tables where they could sit together. Benji was the first to notice Raphael and Aimee out on the dance floor. He stared for a moment, and then raised one arm and pointed. Nass turned to see what was going on and Dalton and Clarisse followed his gaze. A collective hush fell over them as they all turned to watch Raphael and Aimee moving together, looking into each other’s eyes. The Flatliners exchanged looks, and Nass knew what they were all thinking.

  Sure, it’s cool that a girl from Hilltop Haven has selected one of our own and decided to go public—but it’s going to make trouble and we’d all better get ready for it.

  Nass looked around, relieved to see that none of the Toppers were there yet. If only they wouldn’t show up, that would be amazing, he thought. But that was way too much to hope for, and God only knew what was going to happen when they arrived.

  In the meantime, he had his own problems to worry about.

  He tore his gaze from Raph and Aimee to look for Dalton, hoping to ask her to dance, but instead, Clarisse was there. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the dance floor.

  “Come on, mijo,” she said softly, with a little pout that was meant to be sexy. “It’s a slow one.”

  Nass looked over his shoulder at Dalton, who stood alone near the refreshment table. She looked away immediately, but the expression on her face was unmistakable. A mix of emotions swept her features—at first she was surprised, then hurt, then angry, and then resigned.

  And he knew she’d suddenly gotten it. She’d realized there was something between him and Clarisse—something more than just an old friend from back home—or there had been. Nass decided it was time to put on the brakes. He pulled Clarisse to a halt. She turned back to him, confused.

  “What?” she asked. “Why you look so serious?”

  “I promised Dalton the first dance,” he said.

  Her countenance darkened. “What do you mean?”

  “Look—Clarisse. I’ve been trying to tell you,” Ignacio said. “I like Dalton. I like her, okay?”

  “Before you left L.A., you said you loved me. We said we love each other.”

  “We also said we both had to move on, since I was moving away. We never expected to see each other again.”

  The pretty little pout turned into an angry frown. “Well, I’m here now,” she said. “So what is it? You love me and you like her? You like us both? Or maybe you love her and you like me?” she finis
hed with cold finality.

  Clarisse’s eyes flashed with indignation. Ignacio sighed. He had to tell her the truth, but first he had to talk to Dalton.

  “We can talk about this later,” he said. “But now I’m going to dance with Dalton—my date.”

  “You do that,” she snapped and headed for the exit.

  “Clarisse, come on!”

  She flipped him off and stormed out the doors. He looked over to find the whole Flatliners crew watching him, grinning like a bunch of idiots. He decided to ignore them. Dalton was standing near the punch bowl watching him, but as he approached, she averted her face. He hurried to her with a hopeful smile.

  “Hey, you want to dance?” he asked.

  She finally looked at him, and he could see the pain in her eyes.

  “Clarisse is mad at you so now you come back to me?”

  “No—it’s not like that,” Nass began.

  “I’m not going to be anybody’s second choice,” she told him quietly, and she turned and walked away.

  “Dalton, come on!” He hung his head in frustration. Somehow, his dream night had turned into a nightmare.

  He heard booming, boisterous voices behind him, and the gym doors screeched open. Great, he thought. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse.

  The Toppers had arrived.

  

  Before Zhai stepped into the gym, he knew what he was going to find there. The power of Shen he’d felt stirring within him was growing stronger by the day, by the minute, and it warned him of what was coming. He was not surprised, therefore, when Rick, Bran, and Maggie came to a full stop in front of him and stared at the dance floor, transfixed.

  “I told you,” Maggie whispered to Rick.

  “Shut up,” Rick ordered, his voice tight with anger.

  Bran looked down at the corsage in his hand and then chucked it into a nearby trash can. “I’m outta here,” he said, turning to leave.

  “The hell you are,” Rick said and stepped in front of him. “You’re going to let that Flats rat punk make you look like an idiot?” he exclaimed.

  Bran looked uncertain. “Hey—you know. If that’s Aimee’s choice—”

  “That’s not the point,” Rick cut him off. Then he lowered his voice and moved closer to Bran. Zhai moved closer too. “If he makes you look like an idiot, that makes all the Toppers look like idiots,” Rick said, keeping his voice muted, strange, almost hypnotic, like Zhai had never heard it before. “It makes me look like an idiot, Bran. That’s not acceptable.”

  Rick was clutching the back of Bran’s neck with one big, meaty paw, and looking dead into his eyes. Bran straightened up, took off his jacket and tossed it over a chair.

  “Nobody makes me look like an idiot,” he said in a strange monotone, and started toward the dance floor.

  Rick took off his coat and followed Bran. The other Toppers were crowding through the doorway now. As one, they marched forward, past Zhai, heading for Raphael and Aimee.

  “Wait, guys!” Zhai shouted. “It’s just one dance. I’ll talk to them—”

  But it was too late. The Toppers were streaming across the dance floor, toward Raphael. Students, faculty, and chaperones parted before them, moving out of the way as quickly as possible. Maggie and the other Topper girls stood together near the doorway, looking on in eager anticipation.

  Zhai glanced over his shoulder, hoping to find Master Chin, but he wasn’t there. Zhai was on his own.

  

  Maggie watched breathlessly as, across the room, the phalanx of Toppers approached Raphael and Aimee—who were so engrossed in each other they didn’t notice Rick and Bran striding over, with Dax and the other Toppers backing them up, until the last moment,

  Raphael stepped in front of Aimee, shielding her from whatever was about to happen. The sight made Maggie ache with envy.

  Bran didn’t stop until he was standing nose-to-nose with Raphael, and without saying a word, Bran shoved him. Raphael fell back a step and then raised his hands, ready to fight. Maggie thought he was going to strike back, but he waited, perfectly still, for Bran’s next move.

  The Flatliners, at tables in the far corner of the gym, rose and started making their way to the dance floor. Maggie didn’t think they could get to Raphael in time to help—but maybe she shouldn’t worry about that. It could work to her advantage. She would hate to see Raph get hurt but if he got beat up for taking Aimee to the dance, maybe he would break up with her. And that, as far as Maggie was concerned, would be wonderful.

  Rick stepped forward, now shoulder-to-shoulder with Bran and getting ready to launch an attack, when the microphone shrieked as the DJ cut the music. Principal Innis, red-faced and grinning, walked out on the little stage to stand next to the DJ.

  “Hello, Middleburg High!” he exclaimed.

  Grudgingly, Bran and Rick stepped away from Raphael. With the head of the school just fifteen feet away, looking right at them, there was nothing they could do. They would have to wait for another opportunity. Bran cursed and stormed off, pushing his way through the crowd. Rick took out his cell phone and started texting someone.

  “All right guys,” Innis announced exuberantly. “It’s time! The moment you’ve all been waiting for! I’m going to name this year’s homecoming king and queen!”

  There was some applause, and a few excited shouts. Some joker mooed like a cow and everyone laughed, except Maggie. She felt a flush of anger and vowed to get even with that person if she ever found out who it was. This was her moment, and she wouldn’t stand for anyone messing it up. She felt a gentle hand touch her shoulder. It was her mother, with Mr. Chin at her side.

  “Here it is, Maggie,” Violet said, and Maggie was surprised at how calm, how serene she sounded. “Your time is here. Are you ready?”

  “I guess so,” she answered. It was so weird to see her mom out of the house, interacting with other people, behaving so normally.

  Violet put her arms around Maggie for a moment, in a clumsy hug. Over her mother’s shoulder, Maggie saw Mr. Chin smiling pleasantly, his eyes scanning the room, until his gaze came to rest on Raphael, Rick, and Aimee.

  Maggie glanced at the encroaching battalion of Flatliners. They’d made their way to the edge of the dance floor and were waiting there, maybe for a signal from Raphael.

  She tore her gaze from them and looked back up at the stage, feeling strangely serene. A month ago, Maggie had thought the homecoming queen title was one she absolutely had to win. Not only because the thought of living with her mom if she didn’t was unbearable, but also because she’d hoped it would finally make Rick appreciate her. She no longer had any such illusion. If she won today, she realized, it wouldn’t be for either of them. It would be for herself.

  Mr. Innis took an index card from the pocket of his ugly brown sports coat and cleared his throat—right into the microphone.

  “All right then!” he proclaimed. “Without further ado, your homecoming king is . . .”

  Innis paused and there was actually a drum roll and a trumpet fanfare from some band members stationed near the stage.

  “ . . . in a landslide vote, and the hero of yesterday’s epic win over St. Phil,” the principal continued, “Rick Banfield!”

  The crowd broke into loud applause. Whistles, shouts, and a chant of “Rick! Rick! Rick!” went up from the Topper crowd as he bounded up onto the stage. He shook the principal’s hand and then stooped down a couple of inches so Innis could put the crown on his head. A couple of girls from the homecoming elections committee put a purple, faux-fur mantle over his shoulders and handed him a gold-colored plastic scepter. But Rick wasn’t smiling. His mind, Maggie guessed, was exactly where hers was—on his sister and Raphael Kain.

  Maggie’s mom grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around so they were facing each other. Her eyes glowing with satisf
action, Violet said, “You look perfect, Maggie. Perfect.” She took Lily Rose’s flower out of Maggie’s hair. “To make room for the crown,” she explained. “Now go on. Don’t make them wait once he’s called your name!”

  Then she gave Maggie a little shove toward the stage, and Maggie felt a surge of power rushing into her, sharp and crackling hot. She suddenly felt like she could run the world.

  She was going to win.

  She slipped across the crowded dance floor and moved quickly toward the stage. Principal Innis was holding another index card. Maggie watched, walking in what seemed like slow motion, as he brought the microphone to his mouth.

  “Now, for your Middleburgh High Homecoming Queen. I have to tell you, this year it was the closest vote I can remember. Okay—here we go. This year’s homecoming queen is. . .”

  Maggie felt like her heart had frozen in her chest. For an instant, everything stopped. Time was suspended. The earth quit spinning and the universe screeched to a halt.

  Aimee Banfield, Maggie thought with horror. He’s going to say Aimee Banfield.

  Principal Innis smiled and finished: “. . . Maggie Anderson!”

  Again, the crowd cheered. As Maggie moved, almost floating, up the steps and onto the stage, she listened closely for the dreaded boos or stupid animal sounds, but she heard none. She was next to Principal Innis now, and the faces in the crowd had become black shadows, silhouetted by the lights shining on the stage.

  Bobbi Jean and Lisa Marie, as her attendants, brought out a purple satin and faux-fur cape and draped it over Maggie’s shoulders as Innis declared grandly, “And tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we have a former Middleburg High Homecoming Queen with us to do the honors.”

  Violet came out on stage, carrying the crown on a red velvet pillow. As she brought it forward, Maggie stared at the crown. The light glinting off its deep, golden surface seemed to draw her in. Her mother used to talk about that crown all the time—about how it wasn’t some fake, rhinestone-studded tiara like the homecoming crowns at most schools. And it wasn’t like the plastic crown for the Middleburg High Homecoming King, either. In the trophy case in front of the principal’s office, where it was displayed year round (except for this one night) it seemed pretty ordinary. But tonight, Maggie could see why it was so special.