After the adults spoke alone in the hallway for a few minutes, Principal Ferris and Dr. Logan left to continue their tour of the school, and Ms. Benitez reentered the classroom without them. She seemed to have put any lingering doubts about the exhibit behind her for the moment.
“Class, we have been given a wonderful opportunity to participate in the exhibit being planned. We will be putting together a display about the Anasazi and their way of life. I will divide you into groups. Decide among yourselves what aspect of Anasazi culture you choose to highlight.” Usually, when we were divided in groups to work, she had us turn to the girls immediately surrounding us. But not this time.
“I will call out names at random,” she said, but we all knew there was nothing random about the fact that Lin, Shani, Doli, and I were all in the same group. Lin moaned, whining that her ambassador father felt strongly that she could make her own decisions about whom she chose to work with, and her actress mother blah blah blah . . . but Ms. Benitez cut her off. “Time is of the essence, Lin. So let’s table this for now. You’re all dismissed to the library for the remainder of the period. Meet with your groups and get to work.”
As soon as the four of us were huddled in one corner of the library, Lin let out a wistful sigh. I noticed her usual clique, which included Nicole, whispering excitedly at the next table and figured she probably wished she were working with her friends. But since that couldn’t happen, Lin looked at each of us in turn and said, “So, I call this first meeting of the Ancient Civilization Superpowers to order.” She brought her fist down on the table like a gavel. The librarian shushed her.
The tension was broken and we all laughed as quietly as we could.
“ACS for short,” added Doli.
Shani whispered, “Could she have been any more obvious about wanting us to work together?”
“I feel like she’s some kind of cultural groupie,” said Doli.
“Ew,” Lin added sagely.
While they talked, I opened my newly revamped laptop in front of me. I had volunteered to search for facts about the Anasazi so we could choose a topic. I did genuinely want to learn more about the Anasazi, but I also wanted Nicole to see that my laptop was alive and well, no thanks to her. After I clicked on the Internet icon on my desktop, the school’s log-in page automatically popped up, requesting a Wi-Fi password. I typed it in, and the Temple Academy website came on the screen with a flourish. Along the top of the page were pictures of the campus and students raising their hands in class. Beneath that were links to access class schedules, articles about Temple, a link to the museum collection, and faculty contact information. I was just about to go to Google when a link at the very bottom of the page caught my eye. “Temple Academy Archives.”
Of course. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? The school had records and photos of the previous classes of students, which meant somewhere in here there might be information about my mom and dad. Maybe even photos.
Doli, Lin, and Shani were still riffing about the Ancient Civilization Superpowers, so I figured I had a couple of minutes. I clicked on a photo link that said “Temple Academy 1985–1990.” I did the math in my head—my parents would have been here at the time. I did my best to tune out Shani’s jokes about us making matching spandex ACS superhero uniforms, and Lin’s complaints about how dusty the table was and whom could she call about that? It was harder to drown out the sound of someone at Nicole’s table whining that the money in her wallet had disappeared.
Nicole scoffed. “Just have your parents send you some more,” she suggested. “And stop carrying so much cash. Ew. Cash is over.”
The girl groaned. “But my parents are already mad at me for spending my book money on that vintage Chanel jacket. . . .”
My skin pricked with annoyance, and I was pretty sure Nicole’s Flowerbomb bath gel was giving me a headache. But when a list of photos from different classes popped up, I focused in on the archive, clicking through as quickly as I could, hoping to catch a glimpse of my parents as teenagers. Finally I came across a picture that looked incredibly familiar. It wasn’t of my parents, though. . . . I gasped. Brown hair, kind eyes, glasses hanging from a chain . . . Ms. Benitez? But that was impossible! I mean, not that she showed up in the school’s archived photos. That wasn’t the weird thing. The strange part was that in the photo, she looked exactly the same as she did now.
According to the caption, the photo had been taken in 1985, nearly three decades ago. From her current appearance, I’d estimated her to be around forty years old—max. Was the woman in the photo her, or someone who just looked exactly like her? I didn’t know what to make of it. But one thing was absolutely clear—
“I LIKE BIG BUTTS AND I CANNOT LIE. . . .”
The blaring music snapped me out of my thoughts. Where was it coming from? I looked over and saw Nicole fumbling in her purse. She pulled out the offending cell phone and looked at it in horror as Sir Mix-a-Lot yelled out, “YOU OTHER BROTHERS CAN’T DENY. . . .”
The librarian who had shushed Lin now stomped over to the table just as Nicole was finally able to shut the phone off. But it was too late. The librarian held out her hand. Nicole slid the phone onto her palm as she turned twelve different shades of red. “You’ll get it back when you leave,” said the woman, clearly not amused.
When she was gone, Lin turned in her chair and said, “Ugh. That song is gross. Is that really your ringtone?”
“No!” Nicole whispered desperately. “I’ve never even heard it before. Someone must have hacked my phone.”
My eyes immediately slid over to Shani, who gave me a knowing smile. I grinned back. This was the payback for the laptop. I fist-bumped her under the table, making a mental note to tell her later her new motto would have to be Hacks and apps, not tatts. She’d love it.
“Hey, how’s that research coming?” Doli said, nudging my arm.
“Right,” I said. “I’m on it.” Reluctantly, I closed the photo archive. The mystery of the Ms. Benitez look-alike would have to wait.
chapter 11
IT’S AMAZING HOW QUICKLY A place becomes familiar—even one I’d thought was basically a different planet not so long ago. I was proud of myself for getting to know the campus so well in such a short amount of time. I’d been there for only five days and I’d already learned some of the shortcuts. For example, I found out that if I left the academic building from the east exit, I could cut through a section of the hiking trails and come out near the athletic field. Going that way also gave me a much-needed break from the other girls, most of whom cared too much about their shoes to follow me through the woods.
After my last class of the day, I took the shortcut again, only this time the trees were alive with sounds I’d never heard this clearly before. Had the birds always been that loud? Looking up at them through the bright green leaves, I saw an image from my dream flash before my eyes. The thick jungle vines, the hyena’s frightened stare as my jaws closed in on its neck. . . .
I shook the image away, blinking my eyes. It was just a dream, I reminded myself. Just a terrible dream.
I refocused my attention on the beautiful, clear day and the birds with their colorful wings. Beneath their excited chirping, I could have sworn I heard a boy’s voice—and it sounded like he was cheering himself on. Sure enough, when I emerged onto the field, I was rewarded with the sight of Jason Ferris practicing lacrosse all by himself. He had a bucket of balls next to him and was using the lacrosse stick to shoot them into the net one by one. I smiled as I approached.
“Nice job!” I called. “But then I guess it’s not hard to score when the goal isn’t even guarded.”
Jason wiped sweat from his face and smirked at me. “Sounds like a challenge,” he said.
“You got that right.” I dropped my bag and pounded my chest like an ape. “I even have my gym clothes with me, so I’m ready for you. There’s only one little problem.”
“What?”
“I don’t actually know how to play.�
��
Jason laughed. “All right. We can fix that. First let’s get you suited up.”
He led me into the clubhouse where all the sports equipment was stored. When I came out, in addition to my running shorts and T-shirt, I had protective pads on my elbows and knees, and a helmet over my head that was one size too big.
“Is all this really necessary?” I asked.
“Only for first timers like you,” Jason answered. “Lacrosse can be brutal. Are you sure you want to play?”
“Bring it on.”
After he showed me how to hold the lacrosse stick, he gave me a quick tutorial in the game. It sounded a little bit like soccer, except instead of kicking the ball with your feet, you catch it with the mesh at the end of the stick and fling it into the goal any way you can. Easy. That is, if you can get it past the goalie.
Since we didn’t have a full team, we couldn’t really work on defending or attacking, so we boiled it down to the essentials.
“I’ll be goalie first,” Jason said, “and you just try to get it past me. Then we’ll switch, okay?”
I nodded, getting into position. I slid my right hand up a few inches from the top of the shaft and clamped my left hand a few inches from the bottom. I picked up one of the balls from the bucket and ran at Jason, zigzagging back and forth to psyche him out. I feinted left and when he mirrored me, I shot to my right, whirled, and sent the ball flying past his ear and into the net. Jason looked at me in disbelief. “Nice!” he exclaimed.
“Beginner’s luck,” I said. But we both knew it wasn’t. I was good at this. I didn’t make every goal, because Jason was a strong player. But I had speed, and my aim was dead on. When we switched, it turned out I wasn’t a bad goalie, either. Jason had played for years, so a few shots took me by surprise and got by me. But eight times out of ten, I seemed to sense where the ball would go and was right there to bat it away or block it with my body. I reacted to shifts in the ball’s position with lightning-fast reflexes that surprised even me.
“Wow,” Jason said when we had finished and were putting the equipment away. “You’re really good. I mean, really good. Are you sure you’ve never played before?”
“Never, I swear.” The truth was, my prowess at lacrosse came as a shock. I had been okay in sports back home, but something felt like it had shifted in my body over the past week. I felt more coordinated, more agile.
“I guess you’re just a natural,” Jason said, giving me a look of genuine admiration. “This is the best practice I’ve had in years! So thank you.”
“Anytime,” I replied, feeling proud of my newfound abilities.
We started walking back toward the dorm when he stopped suddenly and said, “Hey, I found something I wanted to show you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a copper coin that looked centuries old. “I found it at the Anasazi temple.”
“What?” I exclaimed. “Jason, you can’t do that! This coin is part of an official archaeological dig. You shouldn’t be taking things from there.”
“Would you just look at it?” he pleaded. “Once you do, you’ll see why I took it.”
I hesitated, not wanting to touch the stolen goods, but my curiosity got the better of me. I held out my hand and he dropped the coin into my palm. It was a small copper coin, about an inch wide, the edges worn away like the heel of an old shoe.
“See here?” Jason said, pointing to some writing on the back. “I can’t make out what it says, but I’m almost positive that’s Latin. And see the face on the other side? The man has some kind of wreath on his head. I think this coin is from Ancient Rome!”
I took it between my thumb and index finger and held it up to the light. Jason was right. It did look like a Roman coin. “But that doesn’t make any sense,” I told him. “The Anasazi didn’t know the Romans existed, or vice versa. The only way this coin could have ended up at the Anasazi temple is if . . . Oh, wow. Maybe they did know about each other.”
Jason nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe. But there is another possibility.” After a pause he said, “What if the Anasazi temple isn’t really Anasazi at all?”
The thought blew my mind. “But . . . but they were so sure.”
“People make mistakes,” Jason said.
I handed him back the coin. “We have to go talk to Dr. Logan about this. He’ll know what it means.” When I noticed Jason bristle at the mention of the archaeologist’s name, I paused. “What’s the problem?”
Jason shuffled his feet. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I get a weird vibe from the guy. I think we should ask someone else. . . .”
“Like whom?” I said, baffled by his response. “Dr. Logan’s a world-renowned archaeologist who knows a lot about ancient civilizations, and you found the coin on the site his team is excavating. If he can’t help us, who can?”
Jason slipped the coin back into his pocket. “Fine. But I want it on the record that I think the guy is a little weird.”
I sighed. “Noted. But, Jason, we don’t have a lot of options here. I think Dr. Logan is a nice guy who can help us figure this out. Now let’s go!”
It took us a while to track Dr. Logan down at his temporary office in the History Department. And once we got there, Jason seemed even more unnerved.
“Relax, Jason. I talked to him just a couple of days ago. He’s really nice. You’ll see.”
I knocked on the door.
“Enter!” Dr. Logan called from inside.
I twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. Dr. Logan was sitting at a large oak desk with papers and markers strewn all over it. He had a pen nested behind his ear and was busily tagging points on a large map with thumbtacks.
“Hi, Dr. Logan. I hope we aren’t bothering you,” I said.
He looked up and smiled pleasantly, flashing those extra-white teeth. “Miss Cetzal. What a nice surprise. And Mr. Ferris, always a pleasure.”
“Mm,” Jason grunted.
“Please, excuse the mess. I’m tracing the origins of various artifacts to study migration patterns of ancient peoples and how it has affected lifestyle and language development across different hemispheres. It’s a fascinating study. I hope to incorporate my findings into the work being done on the Anasazi temple. But never mind all that. What brings you to my office today?”
When Jason remained silent, I took the lead. “Well, it’s about the temple, actually. We—I mean, Jason found something, and we were hoping you could tell us what it is.”
“Of course,” Dr. Logan said. “What did you find?”
I nudged Jason’s arm and wagged my head at Dr. Logan. “Go on. Show him the coin,” I said.
Jason sighed and pulled the coin out of his pocket once more. He handed it over to Dr. Logan, who seemed taken aback. “Remarkable!” he said, turning the coin over in his hand. “Where did you say you found this?”
“We didn’t say,” Jason muttered.
“He found it near the Anasazi temple, which seemed weird since the coin looks like it’s Roman, and—”
“Oh, thank goodness you found my coin!” Dr. Logan interrupted.
Jason knitted his brows. “Your coin?”
Dr. Logan rose from his desk and shoved the coin into his own pocket. He then walked over to us, put one hand on each of our shoulders and guided us toward the door. “Yes, my coin,” he repeated. “I must have dropped it while I was working at the site. I’m always carrying small items like that around with me in my pockets—coins, keys, et cetera—and sometimes one of them escapes.” He laughed, but it sounded wooden and forced.
“You carry ancient Roman coins around in your pockets?” I asked, finding that hard to believe.
A hint of annoyance flashed across his face, but it was gone in an instant. “It’s actually not that rare,” he offered. “I carry it for luck—it’s silly but we all have our little superstitions! Anyway, thank you so much for stopping by to return it. But I really should be getting back to work now. Good day.”
With that, he practically shoved
us into the hallway. As soon as we left the building, Jason turned to me. “Weird, right? Now do you see why I didn’t want to come to him? Did you notice how surprised he looked when we first showed him the coin?”
I nodded slowly, thinking this over. Jason’s eyes widened. “Then as soon as I say where I found it, suddenly he claims it’s his? If it was such a prized possession, how come he didn’t recognize it? And could he have pushed us out of his office any faster? I knew there was something super weird about that guy; I just couldn’t put my finger on it. But now I think I know what it is: He’s a liar.”
“If he’s lying about the coin being his, then he’s a thief, too,” I added. I started up the path toward the dorms, and Jason fell into step beside me. “I’m sorry for insisting on going to him. You were right. Something’s definitely fishy about him. Maybe we should tell your mom what happened.”
Jason gave his head a quick shake. “I don’t think so. She’s been spending all this time with him, and when he’s not around, she talks about him nonstop. Dr. Logan this, Dr. Logan that. I think she’s half in love with him.”
Ah, I thought. No wonder Jason seemed to dislike Dr. Logan even before we found out he was a liar and a thief. “What about your dad?” I asked.
“What about him?” Jason shrugged. “My parents got divorced three years ago. He’s already remarried and living in Colorado.”
“Wow. That must be hard on you.”
“It’s not so bad. I visit, especially over the summer, and his new wife is okay. I mostly worry about my mom, you know? I don’t want her to be lonely. That’s why I chose to go to Temple instead of some other school. If my dad wasn’t going to be around to look out for Mom, I figured I should. Are your mom and dad still together?” he asked.
I debated telling him. Once you tell people you’re an orphan, that becomes your whole story. And I wanted Jason to know there was more to me than that. But he had told me some pretty personal stuff, and it seemed only fair that I share something with him too. “Technically, yes, they’re together,” I said. “But only because they both passed away when I was little.”
Hunters of Chaos Page 9