The Grimm Chronicles, Vol. 2 (3 page)

“Oh.” I pulled my hair back behind my ears. “Um …”

“Hit the showers, Goodenough. And next time you attack one of the boys, you’d better have your footwork down. And I want to see a counter-riposte.”

“Counter-riposte,” I muttered after my shower. “Counter-riposte.”

“What does that even mean?” Margaret asked from the next locker. All three of us had to stick together in the large locker room so we could share makeup. The locker room was part of the oldest section of the school building, and all of the lockers were painted a dull green color. The old dusty fans didn’t suck up all the steam from the showers, either, making putting on makeup a nightmare.

“It’s a counter-parry,” I said. “So when you’re attacking the other person and they parry, you attack again.”

Margaret shook her head, applying dark lipstick. She puckered for the little mirror in her locker. “I really thought this was going to be more like
Lord of the Rings
.”

“Shut up, me too!” said Jasmine. “Not that I don’t like it. You know what they’re doing in gym this semester? Badminton and roller skating! So gross.”

I laughed. “Where are the gym teachers going to get thirty pairs of roller skates?”

Jasmine rolled her dark eyes. “Oh, they have plenty of old pairs lying around. Rusty ones with wobbly wheels that are probably going to break off and end up killing someone. Then we’ll have a real scandal here.”

“Do either of you know someone who would join the team?” I asked. “We need one more if we want to compete.”

Margaret laughed. “Alice,
you’re
the most popular out of the three of us. Neither of us belongs to a clique. I mean, geez, weren’t you dating that stud Edward last year? He had about a million friends you could ask.”

“I don’t belong to a clique either. I don’t really know those people.” I said defensively. “And I, uh, broke up with Edward.”

Jasmine looked surprised. “Are you nuts? Guys like Edward don’t come around very often.”

“No … they definitely don’t.” I sighed, tucking my hair back. There was no point in getting annoyed with Jasmine or Margaret—they didn’t know about Edward’s secret, and there’s no way I could possibly explain it. And they were both nice girls. Not very popular, and they sometimes texted during class, but friendly enough. Margaret ran with a crowd of dedicated video game fans and sometimes crossed paths with Seth. Jasmine stuck close to two other girls of Indian descent, all of them art majors who specialized in the abstract. Apparently they were darned good, but it kept them on the fourth floor most of the day. The art students were isolated and seemed to prefer it that way.

“Well, I guess I could try and get Rachel,” I said.

Jasmine’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”

“Um … Tina. You know Tina.”

“Oh, right.” She nodded, giving Margaret a look. “
Tina Hyena
. The girl who wears the weird chain wallet.”

“She’s G-A-Y, you know,” Margaret said, spelling out the word. Her voice had lowered.

“Then I don’t know if I want her in the locker room with us,” Jasmine said. “It would be...”

I shut my locker a little harder than necessary. “It would be
what
? She’s nice. And a decent fencer. Who cares if she’s gay?”

Margaret held up her hands in mock defeat. “Ask her if you want.
I
don’t have a problem with it. But the boys might pick on her.”

“Not if I can help it,” I said quietly.

At lunch, I found Seth and Trish sitting near the front with some of the track kids and a couple of the football guys and their girlfriends. Trish was eating a salad, laughing at a story being told by one of the big sandy-haired jocks on the other side of the table. Seth ate one of his French fries covered in ketchup, looking on with a bored expression.

“Hey, butthead,” I said, plopping into the seat next to him.

He turned, eyeing my ham-and-cheese sandwich and milk box. “Nice lunch.”

“It’s healthier than a lake of ketchup. What’s up?”

He made a choking sound as the sandy-haired jock told another bad joke about his nether regions. “Save me.”

“Alice!” Trish said, leaning around Seth. She put her arm around him. “Alice, please tell Seth he can never wear this shirt again.”

I looked at his shirt. It was black—of course—with a terrifying image of some kind of mutant deer with multiple mouths staring back at me. “Yikes! What the heck is
Mastodon
?”

“It’s a heavy metal band,” Seth said defensively. “An awesome heavy metal band.”

“Can you believe I bought him a forty-dollar button-down shirt before school started and he
still
hasn’t worn it?” Trish asked with a sour face.

“Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if he burned it,” I said with a smile.

Trish looked put off for a second. Then her face warmed again. “Alice! Alice, this is Ted.” She reached out, grabbing one of the track boys sitting at the table behind us. He nearly fell back, turning and sticking out a foot before he could slip out of his chair. He was a pretty cute guy: blonde spiky hair, narrow jaw, little nose, and a very respectable blue striped shirt with short sleeves to show off his muscles.

“Hi,” he said with a warm smile.

“Hi,” I said.

“You guys should totally go out,” Trish said. “Like, this weekend.”

My eyebrows shot up.

When the bell rang, I held Trish back, giving Ted a polite smile when he waved goodbye before joining his track buddies in the hustle to their next class.

“Careful!” Trish whined. “This is silk.” She nodded to her bright blue shirt. It was cute, with a ruffle trim and front button placket.

“Sorry,” I said, letting go of the soft fabric. “But seriously, what are you doing?”

“I’m getting you back in the game,” Trish said. She shrugged, smiling at a handful of football players walking by. They were all the same: big shoulders, no necks, and short haircuts that made them look especially mean. It seemed as if they had one big closet they all shared, switching out between blue striped shirts, jerseys, and t-shirts with pictures of skulls on them.

Yes
I’m being a bit harsh here.
No
I don’t care.

“I don’t need to get back into the game,” I said.

“Yeah,” Seth piped up. “She’s got way more important things to do.”

I shot him a glare, satisfied when he shrank back a bit. We walked toward the front of the cafeteria, the last to leave.

“Listen,” Trish said in the same voice my mom used to scold me, “you’re quickly losing your popularity. Ditching Edward was tough, I totally understand that, but this is
senior year
we’re talking about, baby! You need a boyfriend who’s going to keep you in the right groups.”

“Unlike me,” Seth added.

“Awwww!” Trish wrapped her arm in his, giving his hand a squeeze. “You have me. I’m the popular one now. Look.” She stopped us, holding out one leg. On her back pocket was a gold embroidered B. “These are Berrywise jeans. The newest trend. Totally impossible to find, like, anywhere.”

“Ooooookay,” I said. “As much as I’d love to compare jeans, I need to get to History class.”

“Don’t forget!” Trish called out after me. “Your date is Friday night!”

I gave a wave, heading to the south stairwell. I hurried my way up to the second floor, taking the steps two at a time and feeling a good burn in my legs. As I slipped into room 245, I gave Mr. Feinman a nod, finding my place in the middle row. Mr. Feinman was standing at the podium in the front of the room, reading from our textbook as he always did before class. Some of the students thought Mr. Feinman was reading up because he didn’t know U.S. history very well. But given how much Mr. Feinman taught us that
wasn’t
in our textbooks, I had a sneaking suspicion my classmates were wrong.

The bell rang. The quiet conversations stopped.

“All right,” Mr. Feinman announced. He was a tall man with short dark red hair that was retreating from his forehead. He wore long-sleeve collar shirts—always some variation on the theme of plaid—and khakis. His boots were brown, tough, and made clomping noises on the tile floor as he stepped out from behind the podium.

The classroom itself didn’t look so much like a classroom as it did an art room. There were posters along the walls everywhere, even along the front of his old wooden desk in the corner of the room. They were posters drawn by students, which was one of his favorite class activities for some reason. Already after not quite a week of class, the unused blackboard in the back of the room was nearly full. What was this place going to look like at the end of the semester?

“Today, we’re going to learn about Thomas Jefferson,” Mr. Feinman said. “Specifically, his founding of the University of Virginia.”

“He was the president, though,” said one of the students in the back.

Mr. Feinman snapped his fingers, which seemed to be a quirk of his. “That he was, Bryce. That he was. But he also founded a university. Jefferson loved the idea of educating people on a variety of things—including science. He also let the students choose their own courses. It was a remarkable achievement that wasn’t easy to accomplish.”

“Why did he do it then?” asked Margaret, who was sitting near the front. It looked like she was taking a lot of notes, despite the fact that Mr. Feinman had said during the first day of class that it wasn’t necessary.

“Because he loved education!” Mr. Feinman exclaimed. “It was a passion of his. Let me read you this quote.” He closed his copy of the school history book and pulled out a much smaller book from underneath. He cleared his throat. “
Health, time, labor, on what in the single life which nature has given us, can be better bestowed than on this immortal boon to our country? The exertions and the mortifications are temporary; the benefit eternal
.”

I sighed. A dead president after my own heart.

Mr. Feinman looked up. The class was strangely silent. Even the couple of jocks in the back seemed temporarily focused. “After his friend in the Virginia Congress read those words, he said, ‘Well! That does it. We’ll get you the funds for this university. But you’d better stop asking us for money for a while!’ ”

The class laughed a bit, more at Mr. Feinman’s impression of a stuffy old man than the actual story.

Mr. Feinman continued, “You see, Jefferson believed that education was the best tool to fight tyranny. And he didn’t believe it should only be a privilege for the wealthy who could afford it. He wanted
everyone
to have the right to an education, even if they came from a poor family. Knowledge is power.”

Knowledge is power. Oh, you have no idea, Mr. Feinman.

After History, I left and took the bus to the library. Fran was working, and she gave me a mildly pleasant smile as I set my purse under the checkout desk. She still had her house. Sam Grayle was sticking to his end of the deal. Fran and Mary both seemed to have a newfound zest for the library, and now whenever I arrived I was just as likely to stay at the checkout desk as I was to put away books. Fran and Mary both wanted the extra exercise of wandering around putting away books because, in their words, they were “drinking a lot of lattes and mochas lately.”

“Fran, do we have any good books on Thomas Jefferson?” I asked.

Fran wrinkled her little nose. “This is a library, young lady. I should
hope
we have at least a handful of good books on Thomas Jefferson.”

“Right,” I said. “Of course. Do you want me to put away the returns?”

Fran smiled and shook her head. “This stack is mine. You can have the next one.”

And off she went, grabbing the stack of books and making her way upstairs. She was so much more full of life now that it was unreal.

I spent an hour cleaning off the area around the checkout desk. Both Fran and Mary had a tendency to leave empty soda bottles and candy wrappers sitting around the computer, not to mention any paperwork that needed to be done whenever there was spare time. I stacked the paperwork and threw away all the garbage, then grabbed the bottle of glass cleaner from the cabinet in their office and wiped everything down, including the computer’s keyboard.

“What’s up?”

I glanced up, surprised to see both Seth and Briar standing on the other side of the counter. I glanced around—the only people in the library were either down by the computer table or tucked away between the tall shelves.

“I’m cleaning the keyboard,” I said. “It’s a breeding ground for germs.”

“That’s gross,” Seth said. He glanced at Briar. “Do
you
have germs?”

The rabbit grabbed his vest in a defensive posture. “I think not. Even if I were—ahem!—
real
, I’m in pristine shape. Never been sick.”

“So lucky,” Seth said. “I’ve got, like, a dozen allergies. Trees, grass, cockroaches …”

I made a gagging noise. “OK, stop. What are you doing here? School’s not over yet.”

Seth shrugged. “My last period is study hall. No one even takes attendance. I’m trying to get into the Work Release program, too. I’d rather work an hour vacuuming carpets than sit in study hall.”