Deceived (3 page)

“Who?” I knew who. He was the only boy I had made eye contact with at the coffee shop.

“Kate’s crushing on him.”

“The blond.”

“Kate.” Pixie lifted an eyebrow. “The datable seniors are in demand. They’ve had the upper hand for years. Kate’s determined to lure him into her web.”

“Web?”

“Web. Pants.” She shrugged.

I blushed.

“He’s the one that got away, and she has until May to lay her claim.”

“So they aren’t a couple? He went to breakfast with her. I figured … ”

“Yeah, that’s what everyone was talking about when we got there. He never meets anyone anywhere unless it’s a party. The girls caught me up while you ran home.”

The pills in my backpack felt heavier.

The closer we got to the building, the more anxiety pricked my skin. Pixie had introduced me to many of my new classmates during the last couple weeks, but I was still the new one. Outside the grand entranceway, dozens of girls chatted and gossiped near the fountain. Boys wearing khakis and ties hanging askew lounged over the wide cement stairs.

Sweat beaded on my upper lip from heat and nerves. The sun beat strong and hot against the pavement. Everyone had removed their cardigans. I tugged at the hem of mine but opted to suffer until first bell. Girls tied up the bottoms of their blouses and rolled down the waistbands of their skirts. I felt a little like a grandma. In my opinion, the skirt revealed enough. Maybe Pixie was right. Maybe I was a prude.

I smoothed my skirt, pretending I was back in my favorite jeans, and plastered a smile on my face. Thank goodness for Pixie. I’d be accepted by association. They might not like me, but they wouldn’t hate me either. Or at least they wouldn’t show it.

When we made it to the giant mahogany doors, Pixie and I parted ways temporarily. Our schedules differed vastly during the couple periods before lunch. After that it was standard coursework for the grade. Most of her morning classes were art related. I stuck with standard college-prep courses. She wanted to travel Europe and see the great cathedrals. I wanted to finish high school and get into a prelaw program somewhere far away from Ohio. I craved crowds and anonymity, smog and crime. I hated always knowing everyone’s business and everyone wanting to know mine.

Inside the giant doors, a long hall of lockers led to an atrium with murals painted on the ceiling. A set of double doors waited on the other side. I walked through the doors to an exterior corridor with classrooms on both sides and an arching metal roof overhead. A good view of the track and lacrosse field ran down the center. Most of my classes had outside entrances, which I loved. Come winter I might change my mind.

A bell shrieked overhead and I fought the urge to duck for cover. Such a fancy campus and the bell reminded me of a fire drill. The crowd did a collective wince before dispersing to homeroom. Senior year had officially begun.

In homeroom we were assigned seats alphabetically. The teacher passed around a plastic basket with a few dozen silver combination locks and blank locker assignment forms. We took one of each and then moved into the hall to choose a locker. I chose a locker outside, beneath the covered walk. Few joined me. We worked the locks a couple times to be sure they were set correctly, according to the paper tagged on the back, and then we recorded our name, locker number, and combination for the school files. I snapped a magnetic mirror onto the inside of my door and left. Others had bags full of colorful magnets, tiny faux fur carpet for the shelves, and photographs. Kate attached a tiny chandelier to the locker ceiling as I passed her. My tiny mirror was shabby in comparison. Lockers were important. I must not have gotten the memo.

I turned in my form to the teacher and waited through an extended homeroom period while everyone managed the menial task. It took much longer than it should have, but there was some serious interior decorating going on in some of those lockers.

Everyone looked comfortable and confident. I hoped I didn’t look the way I felt—ridiculous. The uniform didn’t help. I tugged on the skirt. Something about the knee socks was weird. A few girls opted to wear a tie with the button-down shirt. I chose the cardigan. I wouldn’t wear a tie. Girls checked their faces in small mirrors or fidgeted with their nails. The bell rang, and I pretended to write something in my empty notebook. I peeked one last time at the map in my pocket. When necessary, I planned to slip into the restroom to check it again. According to my schedule, first and second period were right next door to one another, so I wouldn’t have to worry long. Once I found the first room, I’d be set. Study hall was in the cafeteria building. I could easily find that. At that point I’d be with Pixie, and I’d follow her from there.

“Hey, where ya headed?” A husky voice sounded in my ear. He smiled and stretched out a hand. “I’m Davis.” The guy from the coffee shop. I lifted my chin. Up close he stood at least a head taller than me.

“Elle.” I tried to keep my voice from shaking. “I have Trig now.”

“I’ll walk you.” He kept pace beside me. People watched as they passed us in the hall. “So, I saw you with Pixie this morning. You’re roommates?”

“Yeah. She’s great. Are you going to Trig, too?”

“No. I have Latin first period.”

“Why … ?” I slowed to look at him again.

His crooked smile was confident and mischievous. The morning sunlight glinted off his bright blue eyes. He looked like the boy-next-door type my dad would love. The kind of guy who was harmless and happy, and would have me home by nine.

“Just wanted to say hi.” He turned on his heel and jogged off in the opposite direction, leaving me at the threshold to my next class.

I shook my head and smiled. Deep breath. Next up: Trigonometry II. What a way to start my day. The teacher was Mrs. Calhoun. She introduced me as the new student. I now had two reasons not to like first period. Worse, my assigned seat was between two girls who looked like starlets. I sank nervously into the seat and tried to blend in. It would’ve been easier to blend into the furniture.

Their golden-highlighted hair hung in ringlets over their ears and backs. My sandy hair was neither blond nor brown. It wasn’t curly or straight. It was just sort of there, thick and wavy near the ends, stretching loosely over my shoulders. They probably paid stylists a fortune for their precision cuts. I pushed a fingerful of hair behind my ear, thankful at least that my hair held its own. Sort of.
I should consider wearing more makeup.

My eyes ached from lack of sleep. They probably looked it, too. I should’ve snagged some Visine on my trip to the drugstore. There was always after school. Until then, I’d claim allergies. Other than red, my brown eyes were unremarkable, like the rest of me. They were too wide set, making me always look younger than anyone else, like a startled Disney princess. Cute shoes and big leather bags covered in logos and letters lined the floor. Acrylic nails tapped out a rhythm behind me. I deflated a bit more. These girls had brought their A game. I only had a C game. On a good day, I pulled a B-minus game. That was the best I could hope for.

An hour later, I dragged out of first period wishing I’d been able to concentrate, knowing I’d be sorry when the test came. I had no one to meet between bells and my next class was all of twenty-five feet away, so I made an unnecessary trip to my locker. No one would be there. I could hide. Anything sounded better than getting to class early and waiting for it to begin.

Second period was English, one of my best subjects. But after the titillating hour I had spent in Trig, I doubted I’d be amazed at the teaching. The tuition to Francine Frances apparently wasn’t spent looking for overly zealous teachers.

I took my time getting to my locker. The lock released and fell into my hand, but the locker was stuck shut. It was middle school all over again. What senior can’t open her locker? Screams built in my chest. I didn’t need this drama. Being the new kid created enough stress. An approaching groundskeeper slowed and watched me wrestle the locker. If he offered to help, I’d die of humiliation on the spot.

“How was Trig?” Davis leaned casually against the locker beside mine.

“Great.” I rolled my eyes and lifted the lever again. If he planned to walk me to all my classes, I could ditch my map.

I trained my eyes on the locker. Stuck. My head fell forward. Freshman humiliation for a senior.

“Where you headed?”

I puffed my cheeks out and turned. Bright blue eyes stared back at me.

“English.” I couldn’t trust my words further. In a school filled with starlets and about twelve boys, I was certain to make the most-hated list if he kept talking to me. The prickly sensation of being watched crept over me. My eyes automatically scanned left and right for Kate before I turned back to my locker. Irrationally, I hoped that whoever watched us was only a student. Then again, who else would it be?

“Ah. I’m going to study hall.” Davis clapped me on the back gently and stepped away. Stupidly, I turned. Right on cue, he looked back in my direction. If I could’ve opened my locker, I would’ve climbed inside and stayed there.

As the second bell announced me officially late, the locker lever broke free. A sigh of relief blew across my lips. A moment later I sucked in air hard. Inside the empty locker lay a length of black satin ribbon. Turning it over in my fingers, I examined the vent on the locker door. The ribbon could easily have been fed in, but who did it belong to? A girl with a locker nearby would probably think it was stolen when she didn’t find it in her locker as she expected. My thumb drew patterns over the soft fabric while I decided what to do. It looked like one of the ribbons my mom used to wear in her hair. As a child, I used to sit on her bed and watch her tie a perfect bow on top of her long sandy brown hair every morning. One gentle tug turned the bow around her head until it disappeared beneath her long, thick waves, looking like little more than an extension of her beautiful hair.

Panic beat in my head. I moved quickly to class, shoving the painful memory away. I was way beyond late.

O-for-two
.

Announced as the new kid in my first class and late for the second. I hoped I could break the pattern before it went any further. I also planned to sit in the back from now on. From there, I could observe. Adapting would be trickier than predicted. I was clearly out of place, even in such a small school.

“Elle!” Pixie’s voice rang out across the lawn. I turned toward her but kept moving. With any luck, this teacher wouldn’t make a big deal out of me being late.

Pixie was supposed to be in gym. Her entire class was on the outdoor track in the distance, but she had apparently broken free when she saw me. She had absolutely no boundaries, and her self-control was minimal at best. This was a prime example. She waved her arms frantically overhead. I shot up one hand, smiled, and pulled myself through the classroom door. I’d see her soon enough in study hall.

“Miss Smith, I presume?” the teacher asked.

I gave Pixie one last look over my shoulder. Through the rectangular window in the door, her crazy smile made me grin. She gave up and bent over, hands on her knees to catch her breath. That was probably the farthest she’d ever run. She was so utterly bizarre.

“Miss Smith?”

I turned, guessing the other students were probably all staring at me. They weren’t. They were all staring at him. I gasped and a few girls giggled.

My eyes shot around the room and landed on the first empty chair. I practically ran to go sit. The teacher motioned to Brian, who sat at a desk in the front corner, and back to me. “As I was saying, we have two new students with us this semester.”

Miss Smith and Mr. Austin.

Chapter Four

“Welcome to English Lit.” Mrs. Willows began pacing before the chalkboard.

I stifled a shiver. My chest constricted until it hurt. Heat rose up the back of my neck. Panic raised my heart rate to frenzy level. I didn’t know where to look. Every fiber of my being refused the existence of coincidence, but my life in Ohio brimmed with it. Brian enrolling at my new school had forced my mind into overdrive. In true cowardice form, I leaned into my desk and let my hair fall over my face. The squealing engine. The blue motorcycle. I peeked through the thick wavy strands. He’d shifted in his seat and was looking at me.

Holy crap.

I held perfectly still for so long that my throat burned.
Breathe
. I managed eye contact with the teacher as often as possible but continued to check on Brian through my hair. So far he hadn’t turned into the shadowy image from my nightmare. Of course not. He also hadn’t vanished as part of my imagination. Confusion scrambled my brain. I had to concentrate to control my expression. My eyes had widened to the size of golf balls when I walked in, and they still tried to bulge from their sockets. I must’ve looked like one of those black fish they always kept in the tank with the goldfish at the pet store. I blinked and looked at the teacher again. She’d already moved on to reading from a hardbound copy of something with a well-worn cover.

All around me girls whispered and passed notes. Everyone had noticed Mr. Austin. No one seemed to notice Miss Smith. A twinge of jealousy swept through me, whether at the thought of being noticed for a change or because of some ridiculous unfounded possession over him, I wasn’t sure. The “I saw him first” logic wouldn’t get me far. Throughout class his demeanor remained calm, like we’d never met. He didn’t look my way again. Meeting him couldn’t have been a coincidence. What else could it mean? The bell screeched forty-five minutes later, and I bolted out the door.

“Miss Smith?” He was too near for me to pretend not to hear.

I slowed, and he passed me by a step before he stopped. He leaned his head downward and spoke softly.

“I’m sorry about this. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay.” I shrugged. “No big deal, right?” I forced myself to look at him with confidence, or at least as much confidence as I could pull off.

“Listen.” The word sounded urgent, but, of course, it wasn’t. Why would it be?