Hunters of Chaos (9 page)

I ignored her and tore open the envelope. Inside, I found a plain white card with a neatly printed note in blue ink.

Ana,

I hope you have enjoyed your time on campus so far. This evening I am holding a small reception for a select group of students to be held at the school's private museum. As the museum curator, I would like to acknowledge certain exceptional individuals who have much to contribute to the school. I would love for you to attend and allow me to properly welcome you to Temple Academy. Please join us at the museum at 8:00 p.m. I look forward to seeing you then.

Sincerely,

Ms. Benitez

This is weird,
I thought. Why would Ms. Benitez invite me to a special reception? What made her think I was so exceptional? I hadn't done anything yet, unless you counted winning a relay race in gym class. But since, according to my roommate, I was on the verge of becoming the new campus outcast, I figured it might be a good opportunity to make some friends besides Nicole. At this point, what did I have to lose? I tucked the card into my book bag and left for class without saying another word.

T
HE PRIVATE MUSEUM, LOCATED RIGHT
next to the tennis courts, was smaller than I'd imagined. Maybe because I'd been to the Cleveland Museum of Art so many times, I'd been expecting a massive entryway facing an even larger pool of water. But compared to the rest of the buildings on campus, this one was modest, except for the tall black steel gate that blocked the entrance. The gate was twice my height and had sharp spires at the top of each bar.

I peeked at my phone to check the time. I was ten minutes early. I hadn't wanted to wait around in my room with Nicole for one more minute. Besides, I was grateful to have something to distract me from the fact that I still hadn't heard back from my aunt and uncle.

I rang the buzzer outside and waited patiently. A few seconds later Ms. Benitez came out of the glass double doors and unlatched the gate.

“Ana! I'm so pleased you could make it,” she said, and this time she did give me a quick hug. “Right this way.”

She walked me back through the entrance into a dimly lit lobby with hard marble floors. Already I could hear the clink of glasses and the low hum of voices coming from an adjoining room. I looked up to find Ms. Benitez staring at my necklace. “That is a stunning jaguar carving,” she said.

“Thanks. My aunt gave it to me.” And just like that, a surge of homesickness hit me so hard that I teared up. How embarrassing. It was the last thing I wanted to do in front of this teacher who seemed to think I was exceptional, but I couldn't help it.

Ms. Benitez furrowed her brow in concern. She laid a comforting hand on my back. “Ana? Is something wrong?”

I swiped away a tear. “I'm sorry,” I said, getting ahold of myself. “It's just . . . I e-mailed my aunt and uncle days ago and I still haven't heard back from them. I don't get it, because Aunt Teppy is good about checking her e-mail. I'm sure she got my message.”

Ms. Benitez's dark eyes warmed with sympathy. “You know, Ana, many families don't contact students here during the first week because they know how busy you'll all be settling in.”

“Yeah, not my family. Back home they checked on me all the time, even when I was sleeping. You've heard the term ‘helicopter parents,' right? Well, it was invented for my aunt and uncle.” Ms. Benitez laughed, but I couldn't join in. To me, nothing about this was funny. “It's like they've forgotten all about me,” I said, feeling the tears threatening to spring up again.

“Oh, I'm sure that isn't true,” Ms. Benitez replied, putting her arm around my shoulders and walking me toward the sounds of the party. “Anyone who would give you such a precious Mayan artifact to wear must love you very much indeed.”

I glanced up at her in surprise. “You know something about Mayan art?”

“Quite a bit, actually,” she answered with a smile. “I also know the Navarro family, especially your uncle Mecatl and your aunt Tepin.”

I jerked my head back, rocked by this revelation. “You do? How?”

“We share a common interest in Mayan heritage. They have outbid me at more than one auction for priceless Mayan pieces like the one you're wearing around your neck. The fact that your aunt trusted you with such a special item means you must be very special to her too.”

“If I'm so special to her, why hasn't she at least texted me to see how I'm doing?”

“Well, maybe she's just trying to give you room to thrive on your own.”

I grunted, unconvinced. “If this is her tough-love way of making me miss them less, it isn't working.”

Ms. Benitez squeezed me closer to her. “It's perfectly normal to be homesick, Ana. But you'll see. In time, Temple will feel like home. You
belong
here.”

She said it with such confidence, I almost believed her.

“Now, please help yourself to refreshments and mingle with the other students. I'll be right back.”

She gave my back a final pat, and smiled in a way that did make me feel like I belonged. But as I entered the reception room, all my doubts came flooding back. Hovering by the snack table, nibbling on chips and looking unbelievably bored, was Lin Yang, dressed to the nines, of course. When she saw me, her mouth fell open, and she eyed me with obvious distaste. I hadn't been able to bear asking Nicole to let me borrow her clothes again, not after the argument we'd had. So I was wearing my own jeans, a plain, red long-sleeved T-shirt, and a belt. I had brushed my hair for the occasion, but that was as fancy as I could get. The look on Lin's face said that it wasn't good enough.

Thankfully, on the other side of the room I spotted Doli, talking to a girl I didn't know. They both had on jeans, too. I made a beeline for them right away. “Am I relieved to see you!” I cried. “Is this everybody? I thought there would be more people here.”

“Me too,” said Doli. “It's good to know Shani and I weren't the only ones who got this bizarre invite, though. Oh, you guys haven't met yet, have you? Ana Cetzal, this is my roommate, Shani Massri.”

I said hi, and Shani nodded and gave me a big smile. She had skin the color of red shale and a hank of blue hair hanging over her left eye. Tiny hoop earrings climbed all the way up the edge of her right ear. When she said, “What's up?” and waved, I noticed that she had a drawing of a complicated tangle of flowers on the top of her hand, one of the leafy vines traveling up her index finger all the way to the nail.

“Whoa, cool flower. Your parents actually let you get a tattoo?”

Shani's smile turned sly. “They insisted.”

At my look of disbelief, she licked her thumb and rubbed the edge of her hand. Part of a vine disappeared. “It's temporary,” she explained. “A henna tattoo. My mom did it for me the night before I came here and said it would last about a month. I just think it looks awesome, but she says henna on top of a person's hand is supposed to protect them or whatever.”

“It's an Egyptian thing,” Doli added with a smile. “I've been begging her to do one for me. Maybe a bluebird.”

“Why a bluebird?” I asked.

“Doli means bluebird in Navajo,” she answered. “I keep telling Shani how cool it would be to have a tattoo of one on my shoulder, but she claims she doesn't know how.”

“And I keep telling you that I'm all about apps, not tatts,” Shani said. “You're looking at the next Mark Zuckerberg, not an Egyptian Kat Von D. Besides, if you're going to get a tattoo that represents your name, you should go with your last name.” She looked at me. “Haskie means warrior in Navajo. Now
that
would be sick.”

“Not to change the subject,” I cut in, “but what are we really doing here?” I lowered my voice. “And why is Lin here?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Doli said.

Shani leaned in. “I hear she's been giving you grief. She's been torturing us for at least a year. So maybe this is some kind of intervention. About time!”

We all laughed. But when I glanced over at Lin, standing by herself, I felt like we were treating her just as badly as she'd treated us. Slowly I made my way to the snack table and grabbed a chip and a can of soda. Doli and Shani reluctantly followed and did the same.

“Hey, Lin,” I forced myself to say.

She took a few seconds before saying, “Hello.” Afterward we just stood, crunching in silence. It was the definition of awkward. Ms. Benitez came back in then, and she could not have reappeared at a better time.

“Ladies, I'm so glad to see you all here tonight,” she began. “I've recently acquired some new pieces that I'm excited to show you.” With that she waved us into the next room, which had copper plates in glass cases, oil paintings on the wall, and different-colored vases on freestanding podiums. She told us a little about each one, beaming with pride at having secured some of the harder to find pieces. “Many of these were gifted to the museum by former students,” she explained. “We're very lucky to have them. In fact, our collection is so sought after that while we do display most of the items, we keep the most valuable ones in a large safe in the basement. As a special treat, I'm going to show them to you four now. Oh! I forgot. One of the lights has blown down there. I'll get a flashlight. Just give me one moment.”

With that she ducked into an office at the end of the hallway and started rifling through a set of desk drawers. Meanwhile, the rest of us turned to one another, exchanging looks of total confusion.

“The basement?” Shani said. “Um, am I the only one who's afraid Ms. Benitez is a crazy ax murderer who's about to kill us and stuff us in the safe?”

Doli clutched my arm. “Oh my God, we didn't even tell anyone where we were going tonight. We're going to be on that show
Vanished
about people who just up and disappear.”

“You guys are overreacting,” I whispered. “Ms. Benitez is no ax murderer. She's just . . . trying to be nice. She likes us.” Even I could hear the uncertainty in my voice.

Lin huffed. “So she drags us to a creepy museum basement in the middle of the night for a tour we didn't ask for? If that's what she does for people she likes, I wish she hated me.”

“Give her time,” Shani blurted.

We heard Ms. Benitez close the door to the office. “Found one,” she called, holding up a flashlight. She waved us forward. “Come along, ladies.”

Despite our hesitation, we boarded the freight elevator and rode down in uncomfortable silence. Only when we exited into the basement did Ms. Benitez speak.

“I'm sure you're all wondering why I chose the four of you, what you have in common.”

“Other than the fact that we've been kidnapped?” cracked Lin under her breath.

“What was that?” Ms. Benitez asked.

“Nothing,” Lin said, and bit back a nervous laugh.

Ms. Benitez walked farther into the basement and turned a corner, where we found a huge fireproof door. She turned to face us. “You are each fortunate to be descendants of important ancient civilizations. We are thrilled to have representatives from your fascinating cultures enrolled here at Temple.”

“Oh brother,” Lin mumbled, and rolled her eyes.

Lin was being a pill, as usual, but for once I sort of knew how she felt. Here I thought Ms. Benitez had seen something unique in our characters, but I should've known better. I was proud of my heritage, but why did I always have to be the representative for the entire Mayan civilization when all I wanted to be was myself?

“Each of your families,” Ms. Benitez continued, “has donated a highly valuable item to the museum. I thought you might like to see how very special they are.”

Baffled, I glanced at the other girls. Had they known about this? Judging by the confused looks on their faces, no. I racked my brain, but I couldn't remember Aunt Teppy or Uncle Mec mentioning anything about donating an artifact to the school. Why hadn't they told me?

Ms. Benitez turned to the door and typed in a long, numbered code. There was a high-pitched beep and the door creaked open. Ms. Benitez entered and gestured for us to follow.

“Good-bye, cruel world,” Shani whispered so only we could hear.

We found ourselves in a small room within the safe. Ms. Benitez pointed to a golden fan spread open on a black metal stand. Covering the silk folds were pictures of mountaintops and bonsai trees. “This authentic Chinese fan was donated by your family, Lin. And this . . .” She walked to the opposite side of the room, where a beautiful woven rug hung from the wall. “This rug was donated by your parents, Doli.”

“What?” she cried. “That makes no sense.” She sped to the rug and examined it closely. “Why would they donate this? This rug is a family heirloom! And if it's worth any money . . .” She cast a glance at Lin, as if she knew what she was about to say would be held against her later. “My family can't afford to give it away. They're struggling. Why would they have given it to you?”

Ms. Benitez hurried to explain that the rug was just a loan. “It will be here at the school as long as you're here.”

Doli frowned, clearly still puzzled. But she stayed quiet. To her credit, so did Lin.

“Shani, if you look in the corner behind you, you'll see your family's donation.”

We all turned around. There to the left of the door we'd entered through was a six-foot-high statue of a sphinx on a thick onyx platform. Shani, always quick with a joke, was rendered speechless.

“Like all sphinxes, it has the head of a man and the body of a lion. But usually the lion is lying down. A sphinx that is in a standing position, like this one, is quite rare.”

I looked around the rest of the room but didn't see any more art pieces. “What about mine?” I asked. “What did my family donate?”