I look around to see what the bell means. The other students are taking their seats. It must signal the beginning of instruction.
“Please, take a seat Rebecca. Any empty seat is fine.” Mr. Mansfield turns to face the chalkboard.
There’s only one empty seat, and it’s on the very back row. I walk toward it slowly. I’m accustomed to being in a room with evians. We work to keep our heart rates steady around 20 to 25 beats per minute, our body temperature around our standard 97 degrees, and we try to give away as little as possible of what we’re feeling. The average human has a resting heart rate between 60 and 100 beats per minute, and a temperature above 98 degrees. These kids might as well shout their feelings from the rooftop with the staccato beat of their hearts, and the volume with which they whisper. Two girls in the back are discussing whether my chest is made of silicone, two guys near the front right are daring each other to ask me out, and the rest are unabashedly staring.
I glance back at the seat I’m approaching and recognize the boy sitting to my right. Noah Wen, the guy who showed me to the front desk. He’s smiling when I glance his way. I smile back at him before sliding into the empty chair and slinging my bag over the back.
New students in the middle of the year naturally generate attention, and I’m prepared for the other students’ scrutiny. What surprises me most isn’t the subdued conversations, the elevated heart rates, or the dares. What I was unprepared for are the heartbeats of two of the twenty students. One of them is a tall, lanky boy sitting next to Noah, and one of them is a girl with a riot of black curls sitting on the front left side of the classroom. They look similar to the other students, and my guess is no one else knows. If I hadn’t just uncovered Lark, I might not be as sensitive, but I did, and I am. Their resting heart rates and body temperatures are too low, and their features are a little too perfect.
They’re half-evian, like Lark.
Mr. Mansfield acts as though I don’t exist for the next half hour. I pull out my calculus book and start reading. I’m seven months late for this class, so I need to catch up. I plow through the first two hundred pages while he writes figures on the board, including both numbers and letters, and asks questions about them. Kids raise their hands and answer, or sometimes no one does and Mr. Mansfield calls on someone.
I look at the clock and offer up a silent prayer that class is almost over. Thirty-five minutes of calculus is enough to last me for a long time. I only have a week to make my decision, and studying calculus isn’t exactly how I thought I’d spend it.
“Psst, new girl,” Noah hisses. He points at the chalkboard.
“Excuse me?”
Mr. Mansfield clears his throat. “I beg your pardon Rebecca, but I called your name twice and you didn’t answer.”
Of course I didn’t, because I don’t think of myself as Rebecca. “I apologize, Mr. Mansfield. It’s been a busy few days.”
“No problem. Do you know the answer to my question?”
At my blank look, he elaborates. “What’s the derivative?”
“I’m sorry, but I—”
“I’m not trying to put you on the spot on your first day, but I am supposed to assess your knowledge level to make sure you’re in the right place.” He points at the board. “Do you know the derivative?”
“Uhh,” I glance at the figure and then back down to my book. Nope. I have no idea. “I guess not.”
“That’s okay. We have a test in here tomorrow. Depending on how you do, I’ll make a recommendation to Mrs. Nelson about your placement.” Mr. Mansfield glances to my right. “How about you, Mr. Wen?”
Noah nods. “Sure.” He glances my way. “The derivative of a curve at a point is in the slope of the line tangent to that curve at that point. Therefore, the slope is determined by considering the limiting value of the slopes of secant lines.”
“I didn’t ask that,” Mr. Mansfield says. “I asked what the slope is on this problem.” He taps the blackboard.
Noah winks at me. He was helping me figure out what was going on. “The tangent line that passes through your function has a slope of twenty-three over four.”
“That’s correct, Mr. Wen. Nice work. You run your mouth too much, but at least what eventually pours out is typically correct.” Mr. Mansfield looks at the clock. “Alright, class dismissed for the day. Homework for chapter nine is due tomorrow. And don’t forget to show your work—that’s the point in here, after all. Remember that on tomorrow’s exam.”
I stand up and head for the door. When I pass Mr. Mansfield’s desk, I can barely make out his whisper. “Welcome, Your Majesty.”
I whip my head back around, but Mr. Mansfield is looking over papers as though he never said a word. Frederick’s standing guard conspicuously just outside the door. I start toward him, but Noah grabs my arm before I make it two steps. One of the guards, Titus, strides my way, looking ready to eviscerate Noah, presumably for touching me without my permission. I shake my head and he pulls up short.
I yank my arm back from Noah before any of the other guards chop off his hand. I try to ignore the hurt look in his eyes.
“Thanks for your help in there,” I say to soften the blow of reacting to his touch like he’s carrying the plague.
“Mr. Mansfield’s actually a great teacher,” Noah says. “He really is probably just trying to figure out where you should be. The tenure board is giving him a hard time because he didn’t go Ivy League for his graduate degree, so he’s a little cranky with anyone he perceives as entitled. Which is pretty much all of us.”
“Well, I appreciate your help. Calculus isn’t exactly my strength.”
“What is?” he asks.
“I’m not sure if I have one,” I say.
Noah snorts. “I doubt that very much. Where are you headed next?”
I glance down at the paper Mrs. Nelson gave me. “I have physical education next, and I hear the gym is quite a hike from here.”
“Oh, I have PE next, too,” Noah says. “We can walk down together.”
“Great,” I say, “thanks.”
“Should be a fun day. I hear we have a new PE coach today.” Noah lifts his eyebrows. “The last one was caught with one of the students.”
“Caught doing what?” I ask. “Was it bad?”
Noah laughs. “You’re cute.”
The half-evian male from class catches up to us. He’s a little taller than Noah, with shaggy blond hair.
“This is Logan,” Noah says. “He tries too hard, but he’s actually a pretty good guy.”
“Nice to meet you,” Logan says. He holds out his hand, but instead of shaking mine when I put mine in his, he lifts it to his lips and kisses my fingers. “Welcome to Trinity.”
I yank my hand away and roll my eyes. “Thanks.” I wonder if he knows who he is, and by extension, who I am.
We exit the main campus and walk with a half dozen other students behind the school. I notice one of the guards headed our way and glare at him until he stops.
“So what do you like to do in your free time?” Logan asks.
“Oh heck no,” Noah says. “First, don’t pain us with your attempts at flirting. And second, I already called dibs.”
“You can’t call dibs on a person,” Logan says. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“Standard shotgun rules still apply among friends.” Noah smiles, but I notice several guards are now following us, and I’m not sure where they came from.
Under my breath, I whisper to the guards, “Back off. You’re starting to stand out.”
“Did you say something?” Logan asks.
“Oh no, just talking to myself.” I blush, and I’m not faking. I shouldn’t have spoken quite so loudly. I know Logan’s half-evian, so I need to be more careful. “But maybe a little less talk about weapons, with all the new guards around.” I listen for Noah’s heartbeat as he walks along, but it’s normal. Much faster than an evian beat, and less steady. He might have some evian blood somewhere along his line, but
not near as much as Logan. His hair’s too straight and his heart’s too weak.
“Weapons?” Logan asks. He looks confused.
“I said shotgun rules apply,” Noah says. “That’s what you say when you want the front seat and someone else is driving. You don’t say that in Hawaii? You can call shotgun as soon as you see the car.”
I raise one eyebrow. “So I’m the car in this scenario?”
Noah opens his mouth to respond, but then closes it with a click. Smart kid. We stop in front of heavy, solid wood doors set in a tall building with a stone façade.
“So is this it?” I gesture at the entrance.
Noah pushes the doors open with an exhalation of air. “Yeah, but you’re on your own getting to the track.”
I follow him through the doorway into a wide hallway that opens up to the left and right.
“You’ll head right,” Noah says.
“Why?” I ask.
“Uh.” Logan clears his throat. “That’s the girl’s side. We change clothes for PE here, unless you were planning on going for a jog in those boots.”
I glance down at my feet and shake my head.
“Good call.” Noah points left. “Logan and I go this way to the boys’ locker room and we’ll meet you in the gym.” He gestures toward the wall.
I head for the girls locker room alone, missing Lark, and Ni’ihau, and my mom. Noah turns back and waves at me before I duck inside. If he were evian, I’d be worried he heard my heart do a tiny cartwheel.
I’m smiling like an idiot when I turn a quick corner and almost run into the half-evian girl from calculus with her shirt off.
“Oh,” I say as I avert my eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize the lockers are right through the doorway.”
I glance up at her face and see she’s smiling when she says, “It’s no problem.” She pulls a t-shirt over her head and sits down on a bench to tie her shoes. “Do you know what locker was assigned to you? If you need to borrow a shirt, I have a spare.”
“Mrs. Nelson told me my number and combination, but I’m not sure what may be in there.” I walk a few lockers down and spin the combination lock until it opens. I pull out a shirt and a pair of shorts. Alora must have told the school my size. I glance around the small cube of space. No sneakers or socks.
I glance up to see the half-evian with dark curls and chocolate eyes looking down at me. “You must have a good memory. You didn’t even look up your number.”
“Photographic,” I say before it occurs to me I might not want to walk around broadcasting how perfect I am.
She frowns. “Me too. There are a few other kids with that kind of memory here at Trinity, but I think it’s pretty rare.”
Does she know about her heritage? I don’t dare ask. I change quickly into my Trinity t-shirt and shorts, but I’m a little stymied when other girls start to filter out. The girl with dark curls turns back as if to ascertain why I’m lagging behind. “You coming?”
“Uh, I guess I don’t have any sneakers.”
“You should have told me. What’s your shoe size?” she asks.
“Size seven. Do you have a spare pair?”
“Not running shoes, but I have a pair I use for tennis. They’ll be better than boots. I’m a seven and a half, but I bet they’re okay. I’m Raven, by the way.”
“That’s a perfect name for your hair. Your parents got lucky. My name’s Rebecca.”
“It was jet black when I was born, so they gambled.” She smiles. “I heard your name earlier. Nice to meet you. You could’ve been named Raven too, you know. You don’t see many people with completely black hair.”
“No,” I say. “You don’t.”
“Big change from Hawaii to here.” She frowns. “The weather sucks, for one thing.”
I follow Raven out the door and walk into the gym. Noah and Logan are leaning against the side wall, backs against one of the huge windows surrounding the black asphalt track. Three guards are stationed around the track, but no one seems to be paying them any attention. Raven introduces me to a few of the other girls. Madison, Faith, Alyssa and Isabelle. The last two were the ones debating the authenticity of my chest. I can’t quite help myself.
“Nice to meet you,” I say. “And Isabelle was right. They’re real.”
I spin on my heel and walk across the room to where Noah and Logan are stretching. I lean down and flex my calves because they’re doing it. I don’t really need to stretch my muscles because, evian. We don’t get tight tendons or strained muscles or pulled ligaments. I doubt Logan needs to stretch either, but if he can pretend, so can I. When I glance over my shoulder, I notice Raven’s also stretching.
Our PE class is larger than calculus, but still no Lark. I listen for a moment and other than the guards, Raven and Logan, I don’t make out any evian heartbeats.
I’m listening closely enough that I immediately notice when the heart rates of nearly every female in the room elevate and Raven’s group bursts into giggles. I turn toward the back of the room to see what’s causing it, and I groan.
“Good morning,” a gorgeous man in a white shirt and blue gym shorts says. He has long, slightly curly blonde hair pulled back into a low ponytail. They’re obviously tittering over his chiseled features and piercing cerulean eyes. “I’m your new physical education coach, and I’m delighted to be here. I’m told we’re about to start a new section on running.”
“Come on.” Noah rolls his eyes. “Coach Fimmel hooks up with Courtney Vanderbilt and gets fired, so they replace him with Adonis, here? Who’s their consultant on these decisions? Homer Simpson?”
“Adonis?” the new coach says. “Hardly. Call me Coach Renfro. I can’t wait to mold young minds and teach you all how to be physically fit for life.”
I really wish I could punch our new PE coach. Luckily, I’ll be able to later when we’re training. I have half a mind to slug Alora too, because Edam as a PE coach is an absolute joke. He grins at me and I glare right back.
“That’s the spirit,” Noah says to me. “Don’t let the other girls pressure you into flirting with the hunky new PE coach. Buck the trend.”
Logan laughs.
Edam ignores them. “Today we’ll start by working on proper breathing. We’ll cover more of the general techniques and posture as well as pacing later this week, but breathing is often overlooked. You need to be breathing in and out of your mouth in short, shallow breaths if you’re going to run effectively.”
Edam walks up to me and says. “What’s your name?”
I frown harder. “Rebecca Adair.”
“Would you mind helping me demonstrate, Rebecca?” He smirks.
“I guess not.”
Edam is standing less than a foot away from me when he says, “Thanks. We need to learn to breathe into our bellies and not our chests. Now, breathe in and out for me, Rebecca.”
I take a deep breath.
“Place your hand here.” Edam reaches over and places his hand over mine and guides my hand to my stomach before he lets go. “Now, watch her stomach when she breathes.” I breathe again. My hand rises and falls. “See?” he says. “Her stomach goes in and out because she’s breathing in and out from her belly. Most of you probably breathe through your chest. Don’t. I don’t care what you do when you’re not in PE, but if you’re running in here, I want you breathing in and out of your belly. Now I want you to all run at least four laps. Walk along the outside of the track until time is up after you run your laps, or you can keep running if you’d like.”
“Very motivational lecture, Coach,” I mutter. I lean over and pretend to stretch my hamstrings. Then I squat down and stretch my thighs. Edam stares at me the entire time.
“What?” I ask.
“You’ll never be normal, no matter how hard you pretend,” he whispers, his breath brushing my ear. A shiver slides up my spine.
“Do you two know each other?” Noah asks.
I glare at Edam. “I’ve never met Coach Renfro in my life.” I tu
rn to Noah. “You ready to run?”
Noah shrugs. “Sure.”
Noah and I start our first lap and Logan tags along, too. Noah’s the first non-evian I’ve ever been around for more than a few minutes, excluding people like the President of the United States or Britain’s Prime Minister. He seems nice so far, and I should be trying to make friends if I want to figure out whether I could live with them. In fact, Logan should be better looking than Noah by all rights, and he kind of is. But Logan’s like a very watered-down version of Edam. Noah looks... different. Edam could have walked off the cover of any designer ad. His face is the perfect balance of beauty and masculinity.
Noah, on the other hand, looks less beautiful, but more broody. He has strong features, broad cheekbones, and an aquiline nose, but his eyes are almost too large for his face. If I had to compare him to something, it would be an anime character. Logan matches me, pace for pace, which doesn’t surprise me. There isn’t much difference between evians and half-evians until I push things beyond the limits of a school ordered jog. Logan’s heartrate and mine are both barely elevated. Twenty-five beats per minute for mine instead of the typical twenty. Noah’s heart has consistently hovered around sixty or sixty-five beats per minute. He’s wheezing and his face is starting to flush, but his heart hasn’t gone much over seventy-five or eighty beats per minute. That’s impressive for keeping up with two evians for more than a mile.
“You winded?” I ask Noah.
“I come from a family of runners,” Noah says after our fourth lap. None of us show signs of dropping back to a walk. “And Logan’s the captain of Trinity’s cross country team. My question is, why aren’t you dying trying to keep up with us?”
“I run a lot,” I say. “It’s kind of my thing.” True on several levels.
Edam joins us a moment later. “You three paid attention. You’re clearly my strongest runners.”
“I’ve been breathing from my stomach for years, pretty boy,” Logan says.
I notice that once Edam joins us, our pace accelerates. As we begin our sixth lap, Edam runs faster still.
Displaced (The Birthright Series Book 1) Page 21