Moon Shadow (Mount Henley Trilogy Book 1)

by Kat Zaccard

  As I took in my surroundings, I couldn’t help being pleased with the room. It was a suite! There was a kitchenette that boasted marble counters, a mini-stove, and a small fridge stocked with water, coconut milk, fresh fruit, and what appeared to be assorted deli meats, but the really fancy kind. No Oscar Meyer here. The cupboards held nuts and my favorite kind of cereal. I guess they got the memo that I was lactose intolerant. Beyond the small kitchenette was a table with four chairs, followed by a living room area that held a small love seat and plush chairs, a desk by the window, and even a small, flat-screen TV and DVD player. I flicked the remote, but apparently we didn’t get cable in the boonies, just snow and ash.

  An adjoining room proved to be the bedroom with a four-poster queen-size bed on an honest-to-goodness raised dais near a window with a balcony that stretched across to the living room windows. There was a solid oak dresser and a matching old-fashioned mirror, the kind that flips around to whack the unsuspecting or witless in old movies. And the closet was huge! The bathroom held a claw-foot tub and a vanity table and chair. For a prison, it was awfully fancy. I couldn’t help wondering if all of the rooms were like this. I mean, I didn’t even have to share with a roommate!

  I came from modest means; my family and I lived in a three-bedroom ranch in a newer part of our small, Midwest town. It was nice and comfortable, but my new “bedroom” was practically half the size of my entire house back in Greenville.

  I grew up in Wisconsin in a small town near Madison, the capitol. I went to a really small school from kindergarten to eighth grade, so public high school was scary and awesome. I wasn’t really sure where I was born, which was a constant source of embarrassment when it was time for school projects on family trees and whatnot. Everyone knew I was adopted, and I was pretty sure I was the only kid in my whole town who was.

  My parents told me the truth about my adoption when we were learning about family trees in fifth-grade science class. I asked my dad how I could have dark eyes and auburn hair when he and Mom were both fair-haired and blue-eyed. They took me to my favorite restaurant that night, and told me I was adopted. Dad told me my middle name was actually my birth mother’s last name. They said other than that, they didn’t know much else about them. They did know I was the only one left. Apparently my birth parents had died and there was no one else alive to raise me.

  I remembered feeling betrayed and hurt that they had to tell me in a public place. I guess they wanted to avoid a scene, or at least have a wide variety of desserts available, depending on how I took the news.

  Honestly, it bothered me, but not as much as I thought it maybe should have. I had always felt a little different—I know, I know … what kid doesn’t think they’re adopted at some point?—but at least I had an explanation for why my mother was a violinist and I could barely carry a tune. My dad is of average height, and at five-feet eight-inches, I was already an inch taller than him. I could play volleyball well, and my mother joked that I was the only jock in the family. I used to roll my eyes at that. “It’s just volleyball, Mom.”

  She would tell me, “Sure, but it’s also an Olympic sport, and I’m proud of you.” I like that about her—always encouraging me. She was my mom, and I couldn’t imagine another. She’s the one who tucked me in and told me I was the light of her life.

  If I’m her freaking light, then why did she snuff me out and send me away? My emotions seemed to jostle me about like the patrons had boarding the bus. I guess I blamed Dad a little more than her. She was sobbing buckets at the airport in Madison, but Dad had just looked stony. I know that’s how he copes, but I didn’t care. His only daughter was leaving home for who knew how long, and he couldn’t shed a single tear? Part of me was embarrassed for crying in public; I wasn’t usually so weepy. But I’d been feeling moody since turning sixteen and finding out my entire world was shifting. Whatever. I didn’t regret not hugging them goodbye. Okay, maybe I was lying to myself. I did miss them. I regretted the lack of hugs, but it was hard to shake feeling more than a little abandoned.

  Was this really just to keep me from Nick? Thinking of Nick turned my anger into despair. It was so unfair! So what if I’d just turned sixteen and was only a sophomore in high school? Isn’t that when most kids have their first love? Okay, I wouldn’t go so far as to say I was in love with him. I liked him a lot. He was cute and funny, a little shorter than me, with light brown hair and deep blue eyes. We liked the same books, and he made me laugh. After a year of flirting at our lockers last year, then a summer of separation, he had finally gotten the nerve to ask me out for Homecoming. The dance fell on my sixteenth birthday, and I thought the universe had delivered the perfect present.

  Looking back, I was so elated in that moment. If only things had been different. My parents were totally bent about me having a date. They didn’t want me to spend my sweet sixteen without them and had needed a ton of assurances to let me go. I’d thought convincing them to let me go was bad enough. But from there, it had only gotten worse. No, worse than worse. It had become a disaster.

  My dad had insisted he volunteer to chaperone, and I had agreed on the condition he pretended he didn’t know me. We had arrived separately, and at first, everything was going great. Nick and I danced to a fast song that turned into a slow dance. We were shy, but began to sway to the music. Just before the song ended, there was a moment when I knew he would kiss me; he had looked at me in a way I’d never been looked at before. I felt a pull in my belly as the world slowed down around us. He leaned in, and just when I was about to get my very first kiss ever, my dad shoved Nick aside and dragged me home. I was totally mortified.

  That’s when he told me they had enrolled me in a prestigious private school somewhere in Canada. He said he didn’t want to see me getting attached to a boy in town when they’d already decided I would be going. He had the nerve to say he was so proud that my application had been accepted! I was astonished that he’d kept another secret from me for so long.

  The next thing I knew, I was packing my bags and heading to the Madison airport. Talk about overprotective! Did someone forget to tell him there were also boys in Canada? But there was no Nick, so basically, it’s the same difference.

  Thinking of home, I checked my phone. By some miracle, I had full bars. Perhaps there was a satellite dish or cell phone tower on campus; it was big enough. But I just couldn’t bring myself to call my parents. I missed them, but I wasn’t ready to forgive them yet. And a call home could only end in anger or tears. I unpacked instead. I had plenty of room to spare after I was done filling the drawers with T-shirts, long johns, and jeans. The closet held my jacket, the two summer dresses I’d brought on a whim, and the massive down coat I’d been lugging around in my backpack. I realized I didn’t have any school supplies other than a single pen and my journal. No way was I taking my journal to class. That was asking for theft and humiliation. I rummaged around and found the desk neatly stocked with paper, a few notebooks, pencils, and pens. There was even a drawing pad and a set of graphite and colored pencils, much to my delight.

  I figured my mom must have told the school to sign me up for an art class. I was just about to look at the previously forgotten schedule still sitting on the counter where I’d tossed it, when my cell rang. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I’d grown used to the silence. Hoping it was Nick, I glanced at the screen with a smile. Ugh! My smile fell. It was Mom and Dad.

  Well, the silent treatment wasn’t going to stick anyway when I was half a country away. I answered just before it went to voicemail. Hey, I can make them sweat a little, too.

  “Hello?” I asked in my perfected, angst-ridden teen voice.

  “Alice! Honey, I’m so glad to get through to you. Your phone has gone straight to voicemail each time I called.” She didn’t mean to accuse me, but it was implied.

  “I’m in the middle of nowhere, Mom. This is the first time I’ve had a signal.”

  “Well, of course,” she conceded. “How is your new room?” I could
hear her worry, begging me to like it here.

  “It’s, well, actually … it’s beautiful.” My frostiness thawed as I described the room in detail, and I could tell she was pleased to hear I was on the top floor.

  “Oh, I was hoping you’d be entitled to a suite!” she exclaimed. “When we looked through brochures, I wasn’t sure how they would view your pedigree, given that you’re adopted.”

  “God, Mom, I’m not a dog you picked up at the pound.” I hated when they talked about my adoption all casually, as if I hadn’t just figured it out a couple years ago. I love my parents and everything, and it’s cool they adopted me, but it’s not like saying “Oh, Alice has twenty-/fifteen vision, so no need for glasses.” It’s like being adopted was a good thing to them, and I should count my blessings.

  My comment takes Mom aback for a moment, and I feel pleased. She is chatty in general and rambling when nervous, so to bring her up short was a small victory for me who is always more cautious with my words.

  “Oh, honey, of course that’s not what I meant. Some people at your new school are honest-to-goodness royalty, and some are middle class, or even previously homeless. I was worried how they’d rank you. They seemed impressed by your birth family when we applied.” If I hadn’t been nervous about my first day before, I certainly was now.

  “Royalty? Are you kidding me?” I demanded. “Who the heck is a royal?” I could only think of the Queen of England, and even she let her grandson marry a commoner. Albeit, an obnoxiously rich one, but still. Royals were in decline, as far as I knew.

  Mom laughed her nervous laugh that was meant to put me at ease, but I knew her better than that. She was worried about me, too. “Oh, Alcee, language, please! And forget I mentioned it. Everyone gets treated the same at Mount Henley.”

  “Except for room assignments?” I said, reminding her that she’d just told me the opposite.

  “Well, that’s based on the rate of tuition you pay. They have scholarships for the less fortunate, and well, those who can pay generally get a nicer room, that’s all.” I rolled my eyes, grateful to be on the phone and not in person for her to witness.

  “Since you brought it up, how did you guys pay for this?” I couldn’t help asking. My parents do okay—my mom’s a violinist with the Madison Symphony Orchestra, and my dad is the VP of marketing at Xarof Industries, some lab equipment manufacturing place in town—but they are by no means wealthy, let alone royal.

  “Well dear, you know you’re adopted.” She’d said it like the unpleasant truth was: Well dear, you know you have a bunion. “And while we don’t really know anything about your birth parents beyond the fact that they died… it turns out they had tuition for Mount Henley paid in full as part of their estate planning. As far as we know, there is a small inheritance you will receive on your eighteenth birthday, as well.”

  “It turns out! It turns out you’ve known about this place since I was a baby? You were always going to send me here, even before Nick? What else are you keeping from me?” I was furious, but my need for more information kept me from hanging up the phone, although I wished for an old-fashioned telephone receiver to slam down like in old movies. Hanging up on someone is just not as satisfying when it’s an icon to press.

  “Alcee, honey, please.” My mom was placating me, almost pleading. “That’s it, that’s all we know. We weren’t going to send you there, that’s why you started at Crane High last fall, we wanted to keep you home…” This was encroaching on dangerous territory and we both knew it.

  “But you didn’t. You shipped me off—” And as usual, when life became more than Mom could handle, she deferred to Dad.

  “Hang on, honey, your Dad wants a word—”

  “Mom!”

  “Alice? Hi sweetie, it’s Dad.” Well, duh! “Honey, listen, we had to do what we thought was best, and in a way, we are honoring the memory of your birth parents, so try to understand—”

  “Understand!” I cut him off, and I hated the whine I could plainly hear in my voice. “I understand you can’t handle a hormonal teenager, so you ship me off to a penitentiary. Now you’re telling me it’s to honor the memory of people I never knew and don’t remember. That about right?”

  I heard my father sigh, defeated. Why couldn’t he fight back? Why couldn’t he try harder to explain? But that wasn’t his nature. “Sweetie, we only wanted what’s best for you, and after speaking with the admissions office, we really felt this was the right place for you. Honestly, we miss you terribly. We wish you could have stayed here…”

  He trailed off. My father was not one to lie, either, yet I could hear a lie approaching.

  “Just forget it, Dad. I got to go.”

  “Love you, honey.” His voice was small, and I softened a little.

  “You, too, and Mom. I’ll call ya later.” I hung up, but all my rage had fizzled out. Would they have shipped me off if I hadn’t been adopted? Aside from the tuition thing, did they just not love me enough to deal with the teen years? Okay, that’s stupid, I know they love me, I told myself. I know they’re doing what they think is best. I was trying really hard to forgive them. After all, they were all I had, and now they were so far away.

  I tried to call Nick, and got his voicemail. “Hi, I made it to the boonies. Call me.” I hung up, feeling more depressed than ever. I didn’t know what my father had said to him the night of Homecoming, but he hadn’t returned my calls since. I couldn’t believe he was ghosting me. I did not want to play the desperate ex. That’s how I had to think of him now: my ex. Good, that’s a grown-up thing to have: an ex. It’s mysterious and … aww, crap. Who am I kidding? He was barely even my boyfriend. We’d had one date … that my dad had cut short. At least here, no one will know about that moment of mortification.

  I crawled into my plush new bed, and feeling sorry for myself, cried myself to sleep.

  Chapter 2

  The next morning, I woke up determined to put my best foot forward. I didn’t want my first impression at a new school to come off as sulky and depressed, and my parents weren’t around to feel guilty about it anyway. The good thing about my being mad at my parents was that it was easier not to miss them. I didn’t miss my old school, either. Frankly, I was happy to escape it. I had embarrassed myself with the boy I liked, and my former friend-turned-nemesis, Carianne, would have loved to rub that in my face. Instead, I went about my morning routine, grateful I didn’t have to see anyone from my old school, wondering how the kids in Canada would treat the new girl.

  I showered and dressed in jeans and a tee. I tended to always be warm, but I grabbed a light hoodie, since I wasn’t sure just how cold Canada would be in late September, and shoved it into my bag, along with a notebook and a pen. I also wasn’t sure about what kind of breakfast they’d offer, so I ate a quick bowl of cereal. That small bit of familiarity made me feel a little less nervous about my first day here at Mt. Henley.

  I left my room at five to seven and headed down the hallway to the elevator we rode up last night. I hoped I could find the stupid common room. I got off on the first floor and knew I’d made a mistake. The sound of cutlery and laughter came from the second floor Mezzanine. I walked slowly up the wide staircase, trying my best not to look like a deer in the headlights. For crying out loud, I’m not walking the green mile, I scolded myself and tried to arrange my features in the confident and almost bored look I had seen on so many cheerleaders the year before. When I got to the top of the stairs, there was a definite hush over the room, and the swivel of many heads turned to stare at me. Okaaaay....

  I smiled shyly and walked to the buffet set up to the right. I grabbed a plate and loaded a bit of fresh fruit and a couple pieces of bacon. The scrambled eggs looked good but I wasn’t sure if there was milk in them, so I steered clear. When I turned toward the tables, I realized I had my first crucial decision to make: where to sit. In high school, the table you eat at will determine your social rank ’til the end of time. I didn’t know anyone, and I wasn’t sure wha
t clique, if any, I wanted to be a part of. With a silent sigh, I walked to an empty table to sit alone. Yeah, I had pariah written all over me.

  I nibbled on a piece of bacon and covertly surveyed the room around me. These girls were not worried about eating disorders, I decided, as I noticed their plates were piled high, and several went back to the buffet for seconds. Maybe that was the benefit of no boys allowed. One girl with curly strawberry blonde hair approached my table on her way back from the buffet.

  “God, is that all you’re going to eat?” she asked. I looked up and saw a smile and bright blue eyes. I decided she didn’t mean anything cruel by the comment.

  “Umm,” I said. Yep, super cool Alice, that’s me.

  She laughed a little. “Can I sit with you?”

  “Sure, I’m Alice,” I said as she swept into a chair in one fluid motion. She had a dancer’s posture, but then she leaned in as if conspiring.

  “I’m Shea, sophomore, like you. You’re Alice Luna right? Nice to meet you!” The girl was rambling like my mom would when she met new people. It made me smile, despite her knowing my middle name. For crying out loud, was there a memo about it?

  “Alice Nacht.” I purposely left out Luna.

  “Oh, right. You were adopted, yeah?”

  “Uh, yeah, that’s true.” Shea was blunt and direct, but I didn’t mind for some reason. Usually, I’d be put off by that kind of familiarity so soon after meeting someone, but she seemed genuinely curious, not maliciously looking for gossip. There was something else about Shea, I didn’t know how to describe exactly, but she had a good vibe. Comfortable.

  She was digging into her plate of eggs. Between bites, she said, “Really, aren’t you hungrier than that? We encourage a healthy appetite around here.” She giggled like it was some sort of joke.

  I smiled, realizing I was still hungry. “Do you know if there is any dairy in the eggs?” I asked.