The Scarlet Letterman (9 page)

“Sounds like you got her good,” Blade agrees, a little smile on her face. “I only wish I was there to see it.”

“You realize that you’ve now declared war on Parker,” Hana says. “I don’t think anyone who’s ever dared insult her actually lived to tell about it for long.”

“Maybe you should go into the witness protection program,” Samir suggests.

“She’s not going to kill you,” Blade scoffs, then hesitates. “At least, probably not until after midterms.”

“Thanks, guys. You are totally filling me with confidence here.”

“Don’t listen to them,” Blade says. “I think it’s great. You finally stood up for the rest of us.”

“I don’t feel so great,” I say. “My day has gone from bad to worse. First, my boyfriend is Parker’s permanent sidekick, and now I have to worry about Blake in theology. He’s nuttier than a fruitcake.”

“I told you guys,” Blade says, “he once taught one of our entire classes while speaking in tongues.”

“It doesn’t surprise me. When he was alive, Blake claimed to see angels all the time,” Hana explains. “He was, and I guess is, even after death, a deeply religious man. His two major books of poetry,
Songs of
Innocence
and
Songs of Experience
, deal directly with God and Christianity.”

“Then why wasn’t he teaching theology instead of Coach H? Coach H isn’t even religious,” Samir says.

“Maybe that’s the point,” Blade says. “Isn’t that why Mary Shelley is teaching chemistry? Which, by the way, she is
terrible
at? You know, because God has a sense of irony?”

“You think God is making the teaching assignments around here?” Hana asks, skeptical. “I think that’s the headmaster’s job. Anyway, do you even believe in God?”

“Well, duh, of course,” Blade says. “I mean, isn’t this purgatory proof that He exists? We’re walking with ghosts here — literally.”

A Goth girl who walks by gives Blade a strange look.

“Keep your voice down,” Hana whispers. “We don’t want the whole school to know.”

“More importantly,” Blade says, lowering her voice, “what are we going to do about finding Coach H?”

“What if there’s nothing to find?” I ask.

“And why do
we
have to be the detectives?” Samir whines. “Why can’t we just let Ms. W figure it out?”

“Because we’re the LITs,” Blade says. “That’s our
job
.”

“I don’t remember actually agreeing to be part of the LITs,” Hana says.

Blade shrugs, as if that’s a minor technicality. “The important thing is that Coach H needs our help.”

Hana sighs. “Well, if we’re going to take this seriously, we ought to start by looking for the book. If we find that, I bet we find him.”

Looking for a book that someone doesn’t want us to find is not as easy as it sounds. In other words, it’s impossible. It’s not like it’s going to be filed under H for Hemingway in the school library.

Samir and Hana decide to go interview people who may have seen Coach H the day he disappeared to see if they can come up with any clues. Blade wants to go into the vault, which I think is a bad idea on a number of counts, namely because the last time we were there, Emily Brontë’s ghost tried to use me to open a portal to the fictional world, which would destroy this one. Plus, digging around in the vault wouldn’t be a good idea given that I’m under a cloud of suspicion with the faculty as it is. Besides, I promised Ms. W I wouldn’t go near the vault, and I don’t plan on breaking that promise.

“Earth to Miranda,” says Ryan over dinner that night. Clearly I seem a bit distracted.

“Sorry, I’m just…” I try to think about what to tell Ryan. As far as he knows, Coach H is just on a simple leave of absence. I can’t exactly tell him otherwise without cluing him into the real state of affairs around here. “Is it, uh, true? Is today the anniversary of your…accident?”

Ryan’s eyes grow guarded. “Who told you that?”

“Parker,” I say. “She said that you and she knew each other before Bard. And you talk to her about Rebecca.”

Ryan blanches. It’s probably because I rarely say Rebecca’s name. His reaction, however, seems to prove what Parker said is true. He
does
talk about Rebecca with her.

“Parker talks about her,” Ryan says, not actually saying the name “Rebecca.” “I just listen.”

“Why don’t you talk about her, or the accident, with me?”

Now Ryan looks
very
uncomfortable. “It’s just not something I want to talk about, okay?”

“But Parker makes it sound like…” I stop short before I actually say that I don’t measure up to Rebecca. “Like you aren’t over Rebecca.”

“I am,” Ryan says, sounding firm.

“But…she thinks that I…” I just can’t seem to stop playing with this scab.

“That you don’t compare to Rebecca?” Ryan finishes.

“Yeah. I mean, that’s what Parker says.”

“Well, don’t listen to her,” Ryan says, sounding grumpy. “And you are
nothing
like Rebecca, and did it ever occur to you that’s a good thing?”

No, it didn’t. Since when is being gorgeous a bad thing? And what does he mean “
nothing
like Rebecca”? Rebecca was pretty, popular, and apparently rich. I mean, I’m not rich or particularly popular, but is he saying I’m ugly?

“Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?”

“Yes. Now can we talk about something else?” Ryan’s lips form a thin line.

“But…”

“Miranda,” Ryan says, in a tone leaving no room for argument. “I don’t want to talk about Rebecca. Ever. Okay?”

“Fine,” I say, throwing my hands up to show surrender. Still, I feel a bit uneasy. I can’t help but wonder if the rumors
are
true. Was he drunk driving, even though he passed a Breathalyzer test? And then I stop myself. I’m the victim of the gossip mill, and now suddenly I believe some rumors might be true?

“So why don’t we talk about why you told Parker about what I saw in the woods?”

Ryan’s eyes get bigger.

“I didn’t mean to, I swear. It was an accident. It just popped out. She was asking about you, and it just kind of came out.”

“Great,” I say. “And do you
really
think it’s necessary to follow her around all day? She sees you more than I do.”

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry,” Ryan says. “But…” Before he can finish his sentence, a freshman comes running into the cafeteria, slamming open the doors and grabbing everyone’s attention.

“Monster!” the freshman shouts, and it’s then that I realize his Bard uniform is missing a sleeve, like it was torn straight off, and he seems to have cuts on his face, like he was running through the forest. “There’s something out there. And it nearly killed me. We’ve go to get out of here, before it gets us all!”

Thirteen

The entire cafeteria
goes stock-still and quiet. This is saying something for a school of delinquents, where most of them have been arrested at least once. But there’s something about the wild-eyed look of the freshman. He doesn’t appear like he’s drugged or drunk. He seems like he’s telling the truth.

“You’ve got to help me!” he shouts, even as he goes from table to table. “There is
something
out there!”

My stomach jumps. Is he talking about the thing I saw in the woods? The red eyes? Did he see it, too?

“It was horrible…it was going to eat me. I swear. You have to believe me!” he rants, even as two beefy Guardians stalk toward him. The two of them grab his arms easily and lift him away from the crowd. He keeps shouting, even as the Guardians drag him through the doors of the cafeteria.

“Help me! You have to help me! There’s something out there. There’s something —” The cafeteria doors clang shut on his words.

For a second there’s silence, and then slowly, whispers start at each of the tables, and then, almost as if on cue, the voices get louder, as if everyone is trying to compensate for the creepiness of the freshman’s rant by talking at high volumes. There’s laughter, almost forced laughter, from some of the tables. No matter how everyone tries to act normally, I know that most of the people are shaken. Just like me.

“Wow, what was that about?” Ryan says finally.

“I don’t know,” I say, watching the doors where the freshman was taken, wondering if he’s all right.

“Do you think…?” Ryan starts, then trails off.

“Think what?” I ask him.

“No, it’s stupid,” Ryan says.

“No, what?” I ask him.

“Well, maybe he saw what you saw. That night…the red eyes or whatever?” I can tell that Ryan feels dumb even bringing this up as a serious answer, but I don’t.

“Maybe,” I say. “It could’ve been what killed that bear, too.”

“No way,” Ryan scoffs. “I think it’s got to be just a really big cougar, or a pack of wolves or something.”

“I know what I saw out there,” I say. “It wasn’t a wolf, and besides, that kid said ‘monster.’ Didn’t you hear him?”

“Yeah, but I mean, come on, monsters don’t exist.”

I feel annoyance bubble up in me. Ryan is always so practical. He never thinks outside the box. I suppose this is what I should expect from Mr. Popular, and yet, I can’t help but find it seriously irritating. Why doesn’t he just believe me? Heathcliff would believe me, I think. He’d believe me, unconditionally. He wouldn’t assume I was an idiot. Unlike Ryan, who is giving me a look like he thinks I belong in a remedial class.

“Don’t you see that this place isn’t normal?” I ask him, teetering very close to blurting out the school secret. “I mean, your basketball coach disappears. We’re stuck on an island known for causing shipwrecks,
and
people think they see monsters? Don’t you think that something isn’t right here?”

“Miranda — come on.” Ryan sighs, rolling his eyes. “You can’t honestly believe that. It sounds like you’ve been listening to one too many campus legends. Next you’re going to tell me that you see ghosts or something.”

“Oh, forget it.” I sigh, stabbing at my dinner in frustration. Ryan can be so thick-headed sometimes. I just want to shake him. Suddenly I feel a great space between us. I really, really wish Heathcliff were here. I wouldn’t have to explain myself to Heathcliff.

“You’re just letting your imagination run wild,” Ryan says, giving my hand a little patronizing pat. I only just manage not to stab his hand with my fork. I wonder how calm he’d be if he faced down Dracula. I have a sudden desire to take him into the vault. I would love to see the look on his face when characters started popping out of books. Let’s see how patronizing he’d be then. But I know I can’t do that…

I sigh.

“Let’s just talk about something else,” I say.

Outside the cafeteria, we bump into Blade, Hana, and Samir. Hana sees me first, and starts with, “Hey, we’ve got news…” but then abruptly trails off when she sees Ryan.

“What news?” Ryan asks, looking between Hana, Samir, and me.

“Um, we, uh…” Hana starts, but then trails off, not sure she wants to finish in Ryan’s presence. It must be LIT business.

“Some kid saw a monster,” Blade says, not blinking. “We think it was your monster. The one you saw.”

“Oh, not you guys, too.” Ryan sighs again, exasperated. “Next you’re going to say you got kidnapped by a UFO, or we’re all already dead and don’t know it. I mean, don’t tell me you believe in Santa Claus, too.”

Blade quirks an eyebrow and shoots me a look. I roll my eyes. I mean, what can I say? When it comes to the paranormal, my boyfriend is totally clueless.

“Um,
okay
,” Blade says. “I think somebody needs a time-out.”

“Ryan!
There
you are,” Parker calls, walking up to my boyfriend and putting her arm through his. “You promised you’d walk me to the gym. With that maniac on the loose, and now who knows what — a cougar? I just don’t feel safe.”

Hana scoffs and Blade makes gagging noises, like she’s going to vomit. Parker sends her a sharp look. Blade just wrinkles her nose at Parker, and sticks out her studded tongue.

“Miranda…” Ryan says, sending me a sheepish, apologetic look.

“Whatever! Go, I don’t care,” I say, waving my hand. I’m tired of fighting Parker for Ryan. And frankly, after dinner, I’m a little tired of Ryan, too.

When the two of them leave, Hana grabs my arm. “You’re just going to
let
them go?” she asks me.

“I can’t
make
him stay if he doesn’t want to stay,” I say. “Besides, I’ve had my fill of Ryan for the moment. For one thing, he doesn’t believe in ghosts.”

“He’s in the wrong place then,” Samir says.

“Forget him,” Blade says. “Jocks never have any imagination. Besides, we have more news. We talked to at least five students, and they all agree on the last person to see Coach H. And it’s a guy in a hooded sweatshirt. We think it’s the stalker. He was talking to Coach H, apparently, before Coach H disappeared.”

“What does the stalker want with Coach H?”

“Maybe Coach H had caught him, and was going to call the cops,” Hana says.

“Maybe, or maybe he’s someone else,” I say, wondering if the stalker is Heathcliff; then he’d have a different motive altogether for silencing Coach H.