First Impression (A Shadow Maven Paranormal) (2 page)

I nod but can’t help but get a feeling that I shouldn’t.

“That’s great.” A small smile plays on her lips as she scribbles on a hall pass. “Here’s your pass, but I want you to do something for me, as well.”

I sniffle, even though I don’t want to. But it was either that or let the snot dribble from my nose. Which is worse? I try to smile. “What can I do for you?”

She rips my hall pass from her pad and points it toward the young man sitting across from her desk. “Chira
Kelly, meet Ben Oscuro. He’s new here and needs someone to show him around. It just so happens he’s also a member of class 18B.”

I finally focus on the boy. He doesn’t look up at me, and his disheveled dark hair is just long enough that it hides his eyes. But he pushes himself up from his chair, and his slim form towers over me. He’s at least six-feet-two and his uniform is almost as crumpled as his hair. He swings his backpack onto a strong, square shoulder and nibbles his full bottom lip. His smooth olive skin and dark hair make him look like a foreign rocker, and there’s something about him that seems vaguely familiar.

“Here’s a copy of his class schedule. When you’re not in the same class, I want you to leave a few minutes early and help him find the next class room. That’s your job for today. Got it?”

I swallow back and resist sniffling again. Taking the hall pass and the copy of the schedule from her, I say, “Um…sure.”

“Excellent. Robin, you’re off the hook.”

The office aide pumps a fist in the air before returning to file more papers in the cabinet. The secretary’s chair squeals a dismissal, and Mrs. Campbell picks up her phone, returning to her duties without another word.

Ben pulls open the office door and stands to the side to allow me to go first. The hallway that was empty only a short while ago is now full of students and their continuous conversations. With a shrug, I eye his class schedule quickly. Except for second and sixth period, we have exactly the same schedule. He’s in all of the advanced classes, too. Only he has gym for second period and Latin for sixth – opposite of my schedule, except I take French.

Piece of cake.

I glance up at him again, and his eyes meet mine. My breath hitches. His intense gaze makes me feel like he’s measuring me. The dark pools of his eyes seem deep and bottomless, but there’s something strange about them. They’re brown, but he has colored contacts. Why would anyone color their eyes brown?

My heart flutters. A sniffle escapes me before I can stop it. Ugh. I clear my throat and start in the direction of first period. “Follow me.”

We elbow our way down the freshman hall toward the second floor, but before we start up I point down the way. “Do you know what your locker number is?”

Ben nods and pushes his backpack on his shoulder farther.

I wait for a second and then smile. “What is it?”

“706.” He has a slight accent, and his voice is deeper than I expect. I suppress a shiver at the jolt the musical timbre of his voice sends through my body. I’m resonating like a tuning fork. I really want him to speak again with every fiber of my being. What’s with me?

“Uh…okay.” I swallow, trying to regain composure. I take him to the general area of the locker. “Here it is.”

He looks at it, nods, and returns his hard gaze to me. Is he always so stiff? Probably just nerves from being new.

“I know you don’t have any books to put in it, but do you want to try out the combination?”

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug and spins the combo quickly through the three numbers. I purposefully avert my eyes so he knows I’m not peeking. He opens the locker wide, nods toward me, and then closes it again.

“Great. We have first period over here.”

“You and I have the same first period?”

My body vibrates again, and I blink hard. So glad my back was to him so he couldn’t see the effect his voice has on me. I swallow and face him. “Actually, yeah. Our schedules are very similar. It’s a smallish school, so there’re only a few tracks that juniors can be on.”

He nods, and his eyes are half lidded as if he’s bored already.

I lead him toward our classroom. “We don’t really have assigned seats, so you can pretty much sit anywhere you want. I’ll show you to the gym at the end of class. I have French next, but it’s not too far from there.” 

I lead him to the front of the class, and my friend Tasha gives me a wan smile and raises her eyebrows, looking back and forth between me and Ben. She mouths,
Who’s that?

I roll my eyes and put up one finger toward her to let her know I’ll tell her in a minute. Then I turn to the teacher. I hand him the schedule from the office. “Hi, Mr. Scott, this is Ben Oscuro, a transfer.”

Mr. Scott’s kind blue eyes smile at us both. He sets down the Mountain Dew he was drinking and offers Ben a wide grin. He puts a hand out for him to shake. Ben hesitates but takes the hand in what looks like a firm grip. Mr. Scott shakes his hand afterward. “That’s some grip you’ve got there.” He laughs and leans down to the bottom drawer of his desk and hands Ben a geography text book.

With a nod, I return to Tasha and squeeze into the desk next to hers. I’m at Jackson Hall partially on my father’s insurance money partially on scholarship because my stepdad works at the school. What he does, I don’t know, because I’ve never seen him. Because of all this, I’m somewhat of a social pariah. My only real friend is Tasha Brown, a pariah herself, being one of the few African-American kids in the school. Still she tends to be more popular than me, because at least her family has the money they’ve made in the night club and music business. But then there’s that rumor…

“So who is the new hottie?” Tasha hops up and down in her seat.

I shake my head at her. “You are one big hormone, you know that? Sure, he’s cute, but is there any guy in the room you don’t consider a hottie?”

Tasha scans the room with her hand on her chin and a very serious expression on her face. Her hair is in the typical pigtail braids she usually uses to play up the uniform. She has on no sweater, and her shirt is one size too small, the buttonholes at the front stretch to expose part of her red bra. Finally she returns her gaze to me. “There’s only one guy in here that doesn’t rank hottie.”

“Really? Who?”

She leans in conspiratorially and whispers, “Mr. Scott.”

I nearly choke on a laugh as I eye the middle-aged, balding teacher at the front of the room. But I have to admit, Jackson Hall is a prep school. And there's no one who can afford to make their children look their best more than the wealthy. I guess if I take my father’s words to heart, it’s better to be the poor kid in the rich kids’ school…than the other way around. Right?

Tasha’s smile returns, and I follow her gaze to figure out why. Ben Oscuro walks down the aisle between us and takes the desk right behind mine. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. He smells like pine and mint, and it reminds me of the outdoors. When I open them again, Tasha’s smile has grown impossibly wider. She leans towards me and whispers, “What was that you said about hormones again?”

I shove my elbow toward her, but she dodges me with a giggle.

The day drags in places
and races in others. You know, the typical school day. By lunch time, I’m starving, but my sniffles have returned with a vengeance, so I stop in at the nurse’s office for two more pills. The halls are basically empty. Those in second block lunch are in the cafeteria or the courtyard. The rest of the miserable students are off in their classrooms.

“All right, Ms. Sniffles, see me again at the end of the day for a take home baggie. Got it?” Nurse Kellogg says.

I nod and start out the door. When I get to the hallway, I hear the squeak of shoes against the polished tile. Ben Oscuro is darting up the stairwell at the end of the hall. I look around but don’t see anyone else. My stomach growls, but curiosity gets the better of me, and I follow him. When I reach the second floor landing, the door at the top of the stairs clicks shut. There’s only one door in the stairwell. He’s on the roof?

Blinking hard, I dart up the rest of the staircase to the top as well. I stop at the door and catch my breath after running up the four flights of stairs. I doubt myself for a minute. Could he be smoking up there? There’s no smoking for students anywhere on school grounds, but lots of kids hide it out in the courtyard. But remembering the pine and mint scent from before, I doubt that’s the reason.

What if he was lost? What could he be doing? I steel myself. There’s only one way to find out. I open the door to the roof. Overhead the azure sky is swirled and streaked with cirrus clouds pulled apart by the wind like cotton candy. Gravel crunches beneath my feet. I hold the door and force it to close slowly and as it clicks shut, I fear for a moment that it might be locked. I sniff.

“Hey, Sniffles, are you following me?”

I stiffen, even while my body rejoices at hearing him string together more words than I’d heard him say thus far. “What? No…I mean…Yes. What are you doing up here? Lunch is half over.”

I spin toward him, and my stomach growls in betrayal. My arms cross over me in an attempt to hide it.

He leans back and smirks down at my midsection. Over his shoulder, an owl—no,
the
owl—sits on the top of the chain-link fence that surrounds the rooftop. And suddenly it dawns on me where I’d seen this guy before. And butterflies begin in my stomach. My mind flies in all sorts of directions, and my rational side says that I need to get hold of myself. An owl is just a bird. Probably a pet. And this boy who goes to my school is just Ben. Not a wizard,
right
? Although his voice does seem to have some sort of magical quality to it.

He steps into my line of sig
ht, blocking me from the owl, and shoves a brown bag toward me. “Here.”

I frown while my hands reach for the bag of their own accord. “What’s this?”

Ben has already turned toward the owl when he says, “It’s a sandwich and a granola bar. Eat it.”

Part of me wants to throw the bag at his face. I don’t need his charity, and the way he just commanded me to do something makes me want to rebel. But then his arm rises in a welcoming gesture toward the bird, and the owl leaps from the top of the fence and lands on Ben’s shoulder. He hands the owl something with his other hand.

“What’s that?” I ask, because I can’t tell what he’s feeding it.

Ben doesn’t stop but says, “It’s beef jerky.”

The sounds of the city are more distant from up here, and through the diamonds in the chain link fence, I can see all the way to the Potomac River. The land and the woods surrounding the backside of Jackson Hall seem farther away than when I’m out on the track during gym class. Sunlight has warmed the asphalt on the roof, and the place smells of tar, but it’s not too strong.

“How did it know you’d be here?” I ask.

Ben looks at me with furrowed brows. “He follows me.”

“What’s his name?”

Ben shakes his head and does a half shrug, causing the bird to take off again and land once more on the chain link. “Steve.”

I laugh. “Seriously? His name is Steve?”

It’s then I notice that even though his facial expression seemed at peace while here on the roof with his owl, he hasn’t smiled. He’d lost a little of the edge he’d carried in school all day, but at my last question, the edge returns. “What sort of name did you expect? Grimwald? Rumplestiltskin? ”

I shrug and sniffle, the wind making my nose run harder. “I don’t know. I guess it just seems like such an ordinary name. And he’s far from an ordinary bird.”

His expression softens. Ben returns his gaze toward the owl and says, “Well, you’re right about that.”

Either my body is getting used to the sound of his voice or used to resonating to the tune of it. Which is the case? I’m not sure. My stomach gurgles again, and my gaze is drawn to the sack in my hand.

“Go ahead. I packed two sandwiches.”

I meet his gaze, nod again, reach my hand in, and pull out the sandwich. When I see that it’s peanut butter and jelly, my shoulders finally relax. At least it's nothing strange. I take a quick bite, but after half a sandwich, my mouth is completely dry. I stuff the remainder back in the sack but put the granola bar in my sweater pocket. The bell below us rings a warning.

“The second lunch block is over. Time for us to head to biology.”

He nods and tosses another piece of beef jerky high toward the sky. The owl leaps again from the chain link and catches it midair. Sunlight plays off the gold-colored feathers across the bird’s back. The sight of it brings a smile to my face.

“I thought owls sleep during the day.”

“They sleep when they are inactive. Like cats, they nap.” Ben shoulders his back pack, opens the door, and steps aside again to let me through.

“Oh.” I nod and head into the stairwell.

Immediately, we’re overcome by the hustle and bustle of everyone heading to their next class. The kids on the fourth floor don’t even look our direction, and I’m amazed.

With a reassuring smile toward Ben, I lead him to the third floor, and bio.

“What are you doing tonight?”
Tasha asks, excited energy flying off her in sparks. She assails me the minute I reach the locker room for sixth period Gym class.

I shrug and pull the strap of my messenger bag over my head. Usually I stay after school in the library and do my homework until five. Then I head over to the diner to eat a quick bite of dinner before attempting to sneak past my stepfather and hole up in my room for the rest of the night. Finally I answer. “Nothing much.”

Tasha’s grin is contagious. “Well, you’re going to be my plus one then.”

I lift an eyebrow. “For what?”

She leans toward me and scans the locker room, obviously making sure no one is close enough to hear. “Jacob Sloane and Stacy Brine have invited a couple of people to go check out the Old Schoolhouse. Supposedly, one of them palmed the key off of Mr. Scott and made a copy.”

I shiver and stiffen. “Isn’t that place supposed to be haunted?”

She shushes me. “Keep it on the down low. We don’t want word getting back to Mr. S about the key. We’re just scoping it out for now. Jacob says he’s thinking about having a Halloween party at the place next week. The electricity is cut to the building, so it would be all candles and lanterns and stuff. Talk about a killer place to have the party, if it really is haunted.”

“Seniors, though? How did you get in on that?”

She shrugs into her gym shirt. “Since my dad owns the hottest DJ rentals in town, and it’s super short notice, they’re hoping I can hook them up. When I heard the plan, I had to go check it out for myself.”

“And you’re dragging me along because…”

“Duh, girl! This is setting up to be the party of the year.”

I roll my eyes. Like I care. “Whatever.”

“Whatever—meaning you’ll come?”

I nod and shove all my stuff into my locker while Tasha squeals.

The other girls in the locker room grow quiet and glare at us. I shrug and say, “What? Can’t a girl get excited with her girlfriend without everyone trying to get in on the action?”

I know that I just perpetuated the rumor that Tasha and I are a couple, but it really does wonders to keep most of them off our backs. I do my best to put on an oblivious, tough-girl persona, and because, at five-feet-eight, I am taller than most of them, potential bullies leave us alone. Tasha and I met when she was being picked on my first day at Jackson Hall.

Because Tasha is also so boy crazy, it keeps her from being the outcast that I am. People think she’s bi, while they are certain that I’m just straight-up gay. So instead of getting picked on to my face about being poor, I get picked on behind my back for being something I’m not. Win-win. My world is small, and I prefer it that way.

Tasha covers her mouth, and her eyes grow wide with mirth. She elbows me. “You’re the coolest, you know that?”

“Shhh,” I say. “Let’s not spread that around, or my grades could drop due to all the girls who’ll want to date me, and I could lose my scholarship.”

It’s her turn to roll her eyes. “Yeah, like that’ll happen. You know more about the textbooks than the teachers at this school do. Seriously, girl, do you do anything but study?”

I shrug and finish putting on my gym clothes. We link arms and head toward the gym amid a bunch of stares and whispers. This week we’re working on volleyball. Although my wrists still hurt from the practice yesterday, I jump in and play with vigor. Participation is part of my grade in gym, and if I’m going to have a shot at valedictorian, when everything’s said and done, I need an ‘A’ in gym, too.

At the end of class, my muscles are relaxed and sore. It’s a good feeling. The endorphins are still running through my system, and I’m pretty happy. Tasha decides to come with me to the nurse’s office to pick up my meds. I text my mom to let her know that we’re going spend the afternoon at her house, and I’ll eat there.

“So when are we supposed to meet up at the Old Schoolhouse? And how many people are coming?”

Tasha shrugs. “Six o’clock. I don’t know how many are coming, but I’m sure it won’t be too many.”

I sigh, wishing I could get out of this now. “I guess it’s not like the party is tonight, right?”

“Yeah, besides, Jacob
pick-pocketed Mr. S’s keys. If he got suspended or something, he’d have missed too many days of school to graduate this year. That’s what you get for skipping all the time.”

I shrug and point to myself. “Wouldn’t know. Nerd with perfect attendance here, remember?”

She laughs and bumps me with her shoulder. I hop into the back seat of her mom’s black Beamer and she jumps in shotgun. My walk to school is six blocks, and in reality, Tasha’s would be closer to five. But like most of the kids at Jackson Hall, she gets driven in. Tasha’s three-year-old brother, Kevin, sits in his booster seat. I offer him my fist to bump and ask him, “What’s up, killa’ Kevin?”

He giggles and kicks his feet but returns my fist bump with a huge smile.

“How was school today, sweetie?” Tasha’s mother asks.

“School was average to stellar. Chira and I got invited to a party planning meeting at six o’clock here at the school, so we need to come back then, okay?”

Tasha’s mom has set the ground rule that she was never allowed to say “fine” or “good” when describing her day at school, and her answer has to be at least five words in length. Tasha’s answer was always in a range to help her mother have an idea of what the day was like and to use up more of her word limit. But party planning meeting? Well, at least it was a half-truth anyway.

“Not a prob,” Mrs. Brown answers. She eyes me in her rearview mirror. “How about you, Chira? How was your day?”

This was the reason Tasha had explained the rules to me four years ago when we became friends. The first time Mrs. Brown asked that question, “fine” had been my answer. “Not too shabby, Mrs. B. I got appointed tour guide for the new kid today.”

“You should have seen him, Mom. He’s pretty hot. But a little shy or something—the kid hardly ever talks.”

“Does this kid have a name?”

“Ben Oscuro,” I answer.

“Ah,” Mrs. Brown nods knowingly. As a member of the Parent-Teacher Association, she helps on both advisory boards for admission and scholarship selection. “That must be Matt Benson’s nephew. I heard he was transferring in soon. Be a friend to him, Tasha. It’s no wonder he’s a bit shy. He’s been tossed around between family members since he was young.”