Wander Dust (5 page)

I ponder her statement for a moment. Ray has been through quite a lot, but I was too young to remember the life altering events: a tragic car accident took Eliza’s life, then not much later, a house fire claimed all their memories. His consolation prize for a life turned upside down—me.

•

Ray disowning me between semesters works to my advantage. I can now make a fresh, second semester start at the prestigious, Washington Square Academy. More importantly, it’s the same high school my mom attended.

I suspect the establishment will be about as boring as their navy blue and plaid uniforms, which, if I might add, don’t look too horrible with some vintage costume jewelry, courtesy of an early morning raid on Mona’s jewelry box.

After a short, body numbing walk with Mona through the winterized city streets, we turn the street corner, and I see the campus in the distance. Before I can take another breath, I solidify with shock.

For some reason, I hadn’t thought too much about what the school would actually look like, but I should’ve known. Simply connecting the dots would’ve allowed me to mentally prepare because this is now the
second
time I’ve laid eyes on the golden obelisk, its courtyard, and surrounding buildings.

Mona doesn’t notice my hesitation, and I quickly catch up with her. Inwardly I want to cry, but on the outside, I force the acceptance of another ludicrous occurrence.

As we walk into the campus, I compare it to my memory—which is surprisingly hazy. I dismiss this fact because, with a supposed knock to my head, I hardly had a chance to take in my surroundings clearly.
Wasn’t this part, at least, a dream?

Contrary to the first encounter, a heavy layer of wind swept snow nestles around each structure. Two large, French inspired, identical buildings mirror each other. The golden obelisk stands between them, pointing upward into the heavens. The configuration, minus the snow, reminds me of a piazza in Rome. Curious students peek out at us through the ornate, arched windows of the east building as we approach.

“It’s a beautiful campus, is it not?” Mona asks, misinterpreting my awe-struck face.

“Beautiful—and huge!” I look between both buildings. “There must be tons of students.”

“I believe it’s the grand architecture that makes the school appear larger than it really is. Fortunately, all your classes are in the west building. So, it will be quite easy for you navigate,” she says.

I follow Mona up the overwhelming front staircase, under the columns, and through the ornate entrance doors. The interior is even more exquisite. It feels more like a five star hotel than a school.

An intricately woven, royal blue and gold rug extends the length of the building. It abruptly ends at a roaring fireplace. Heat radiates from one hundred feet away. I slip off my coat as I walk around, taking in the murals and the marble columns lining the hall.

Mona delivers me to the first, glass-etched door on the right. She hands over my schedule, a photocopied map, and then wishes me good luck with a hug. She leaves, heading to her office in the library. She’s the head librarian for the Academy.

I take a deep breath and turn to open the door. When it creaks open, I stop in my tracks, taking a moment to soak in the room. Its decor challenges any preconceived notions I’ve ever had about what a classroom should look like. There is a fireplace on the far wall, smaller than the previous, but with more intricate stone designs. Large wingback chairs with fold-down desktops wrap around the room. A Victorian style chandelier hangs from the vaulted ceiling. If there’s a chalkboard, or anything else that resembles a classroom here, I can’t find it.

“Hello, you must be Miss Parrish.” A bug-eyed teacher with wiry hair, scurries to greet me. He’s short, like me.

“Yes.” I nod.

“Welcome, Seraphina. I’m Señor Belmont. Why don’t you take the empty seat in the corner?”

Nodding in acceptance, I walk toward my new seat. The other students’ eyes are on me because I’m the new girl. My face flushes, but it shouldn’t. I’ve walked this path a thousand times before, so I do what I always do: I stand up straight and look ahead. After I gingerly take my seat, I let me eyes drift out the nearby window until everyone’s attention returns to their previous activities.

The girl next to me struggles to inch her chair closer to mine. She leans into my personal space and introduces herself.

“Heya, I’m Macey DuBois.” She makes the statement more with her huge, expressive chocolate eyes than with the actual words.

“Sera Parrish.” I lean back. Her large dark curls touch my arm. With my chair pinned against the wall, I can’t move back any farther to escape her.

“So—tell me—where do you hail from, Sera?” she asks and bites on her pencil.

“All over, really.” I try to lean another direction, to hide my unease. “But most recently, Miami Beach,” I add.

“Oh—my—gosh—Miami? That is sooo much better than this Arctic freezer! You have to tell me all—about—it! Is it true that all the celebrities have mansions there?” she rambles.

Before I answer, Mr. Belmont begins Spanish class. Still, this doesn’t stop Macey from making me promise to tell her every single, “oh-my-gosh,” detail at lunch.

•

The school week goes by, but not as I expect. The elegant decor of the Academy still shocks me, but the fact that I almost feel as though I fit in scares me more. Until now, the feeling of belonging has eluded me in every place Ray and I have tried to call home.

This place, it’s different. The school, the people, and the city—they draw me in as though I’m on the cusp of something important, and I’m here for a reason. However, I can’t completely explain this emotion to myself. Something skims past me daily. I feel it. What it is, I don’t know. I just know I’ll find it soon.

The new feeling of belonging is further aided by a sense of permanence because Ray has agreed to let me stay here until I graduate. I no longer look at my situation as temporary.

With the winter weather so hideous, I even find the will to stop skipping class. For now, at least, sitting and listening to lectures while soaking up the warmth of a toasty fireplace is much more preferable. There’s one in every classroom.

Macey, despite her personal space issues, turns out to be pretty cool. Her sunny and energetic personality attracts lots of friends, which I benefit from. Through her I’ve already met Xavier Blackburn, Agnes Lane, and Scarlett Thierry. The three play in a band and have invited me to jam with them.

For two weeks, my craziness seems to subside. I find myself completely content with my new surroundings—happy even. In fact, everything’s great until I see
him
again.

::7::
My Stalker

It’s Monday. Señor Belmont is standing in front of the class conjugating verbs. When I glance out the window,
he
stands in a brown, corduroy pea coat, staring up at me from the courtyard. A black beanie covers his head, while his warm breath exhales silvery clouds that swirl around his face—his very beautiful face.

The thought of him outside my window should put me on edge because I’m still unsure whether he falls into the category of friend or foe. However, I’m completely calm with him here. I realize this is a completely irrational, irresponsible thought. There are still so many unexplained questions. How has he found me? Who is he? Who sent me his photo? And why is he here?

When I sink into my chair, heat rushes into my cheeks. I lean into my schoolwork and try to concentrate. Before I realize it, my eyes drift back to the frost-rimmed window, and I’m staring back at him. His face isn’t unreadable as it was at our first meeting. In fact, he smiles back at me in a crooked way, the same charming way he did in his photo, and I melt back into my seat like lava.

When Mr. Belmont walks past, I pretend I’m working, but really I’m thinking of the boy, wondering about him. Something pulls me toward him, and even when I look away from the window, I see him in my mind. Here, while I sit in class, his perfect image blocks any attempt of studiousness on my part.

Now that I can inspect him from afar, he doesn’t really appear to be dangerous. I decide that when he grabbed my sweater that day at the L, he must have been trying to conceal me from the Grungy Gang. He really meant to help me.

•

On Wednesday, he’s back again. He’s visited every morning since the first. I try to ignore him. Despite his good looks, his daily appearance is starting to creep me out a little. It should be, anyway.
Why can’t I get him out of my head?

The thing is, every morning, he just stares at me like he’s trying to communicate with his eyes. He waves this morning, and I’m so sure his gesture is not for me, I crouch back into my seat, mortified. When I get up enough nerve to look back out, he’s still there, digging his hands into his pockets, looking back up at me with those eyes. Even from this far, they leave me unhinged and giddy. Quietly, they ask me to join him, and I decide that tomorrow, I might.

•

It’s Thursday, and I’m standing in front of Mona, trying to convince her I’m sick. I double over with a fake cramp, grab my side, and fall into my bed. For a moment, I think I’ve gone too far, but when she leans over and rubs my forehead, I can tell she feels bad for ever doubting me. With my track record, I can’t blame her. Behind a frown and a few moans of pain, I hide my happiness.

She agrees to let me go to school late. Which is exactly what I need to confront my Stalker Boy.

As soon as I hear her slam the front door, I jump out of bed and run to get dressed. I’m excited, but mostly nervous, so I start to second-guess myself. My stomach does a flip as I walk out the front door. Because I’ve worked myself into a frenzy, I really am feeling sick now. Maybe I never expected part one of my plan to work, but now I have to decide part two: What will I say to him? How will I confront him?

I’m ready to run back inside and throw myself into my bed. That would be so much easier because when I think about talking to Stalker Boy my body goes numb, and all I can feel is my fluttering heart, pounding out of my chest. This is stupid. I don’t even know him, but I wish I did.

I’m a block from the school when the morning bell rings in the distance. Timing is essential, so I slow my steps until they quietly crunch the salted sidewalk. Maybe this is a mistake. He seems friendly, but what do I know? I do call him Stalker Boy for a reason. What if he is dangerous, like a real stalker? Or he really is part of the Grungy Gang? There’s no way for me to be completely sure.

My brain is off in a new direction. Now, I’m positive this is a stupid idea. I’ll confront him, and he’ll kill me, or I’ll go and find he’s really been staring at someone else every day. That would be extremely embarrassing.

When I finally step into the courtyard, my nerves are wound so tight I might explode. I decide to let the meeting play out. Whatever happens, happens. This is the best I can do. The thought helps to calm my nerves. He’s just a boy, and I’m just a girl.
A very stupid one.

I stop in my tracks and scan the snow-covered courtyard. He’s not here, anywhere. Walking up the school steps, I look over my shoulder several times, thinking he’ll be behind me when I turn around, but he isn’t. I realize that I’m an idiot.

After hanging my coat, I step into the classroom. I’m only a few minutes late. Mr. Belmont barely glances in my direction when I interrupt his lecture. Deflated, I walk to the corner and throw myself into my armchair.

Next to me, Macey plays with her phone, pretending to take notes. She looks up at me and gives me a smile.

I glance around. Most everyone else is taking notes, but the class is emptier. We started with a packed house, but students are disappearing left and right. Maybe they find Mr. Belmont’s class too difficult? I’m not sure.

I take out my textbook and open it to the correct page. I lean back into the cushion and listen to Mr. Belmont’s voice. I don’t ever take notes. I’ve never had to.

Since I can’t help myself, I peek out the window to verify my earlier findings. Nope, no one there, but then I do a double take.

Wait.

Is something written in the snow?

Pushing my forehead into the freezing glass, I squint. My breath fogs the window, and I quickly wipe it away with my palm and look again. Words are imprinted in the snow. They would have been impossible to see from the ground.

What does it say?

Where were u

Stalker Boy left me a message in the snow!

I gasp out loud and jump, knocking my textbook to the floor. Every head in the class turns to stare at me. My face is white hot. Macey’s eyes open wide with curiosity. She leans into me, looking me over.

“Is there something wrong, Señorita Parrish?” Mr. Belmont scurries over to my corner.

“Are you okay?” Macey asks concerned, placing her hand on the arm of my chair. Her eyes search me, analyzing.

I quickly wrangle my composure, not wanting to make a scene. “Um—a spider—um, I just saw a huge spider!” I say and cringe away from the wall, acting scared.

The girls around me jump up on their chairs. Screams pierce the room. And now, I’ve created a scene.

“Ah!” Mr. Belmont’s eyes grow wide with understanding. He takes his shoe off, waves the loafer around his head, then jumps, ready to attack. He crouches down and scours the floor for several minutes. He’s surprisingly spry for an old guy. Of course, he won’t find anything to kill.

Finally, he gives up and regains his composure. He assures the students the insect is gone as he brushes his wiry hair back into place with his palms. When he’s done, he uses the spider as a learning exercise for the class.

“¡Ah, una araña inmensa y espantosa! Repita por favor, he says and prances across the room, holding out his arms, crunching his fingers into claws, pretending to be a very large, very scary spider.

Embarrassed, I drop my hands into my palms and ignore
him. The class is laughing so loud now, I want to die.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. All I can think about is stupid Stalker Boy. I believe, from his message, he might really be a stalker.

I mentally catalog my list of weird:

Lady in Black

Chicago premonition

Grungy Gang

Stalker Boy

•

No fake illnesses this morning. I leave on time; I’m just not going to be in class on time. This is my first official act of rebellion in Chicago, but I have a reason. I always have one.

I lean against the school building, crouched behind the bushes. I’m freezing, but from this vantage point, I can get a clear view of Stalker Boy without him knowing. After last night’s dream, in which he tried to kill me, I decide it may not be in my best interest to approach him.

Something small scurries into the bushes at my feet. I jump a few times. I imagine a city rodent crawling up my leg. The thought makes me want to hurl out of my skin. When I think it’s gone, I bend down to investigate and make sure.

Snow crunches nearby. I hear one step and then another. Someone is walking up behind me, and I know I’m busted.

Crap!
What will it be? Detention? Expulsion? A teacher? The principal? Mona will be so ticked.

I refuse to look up right away because I’m trying to formulate an excuse in my head.
Quick, I need something!
But it’s too late. A strong presence stands over me. The towering person forms a shadow around my feet.

Whatever the penalty is, I can take it. I look up as though I have nothing to hide, and Stalker Boy is only two inches from my face. His ocean green eyes peer at me with such intensity, I’m not sure if I should be scared or mesmerized. The two, green jewels sit gently on the brim of dark, thick-fringed lashes. Little shards of milk chocolate hair peek out from under his beanie cap. From this close, I realize he’s much taller than I, and his features are mature.

His perfect, square jaw moves to say something. His words roll through the cold air in silvery clouds and land on my face like a soft, warm kiss. Everything is in slow motion. I blink. He’s even more beautiful up close, but there’s no sound where his words should be. I’ve tuned out everything around me completely to focus on his sublime face.

The pulling force toward him is like a magnet. I realize it’s scrambled my mind, altering my attention span.

Wait. What? What did he say?

“Huh?” I ask, stupidly. I refocus on his words. My brow furrows.

He enunciates the words slowly this time, “
I said
, what the bloody hell are you doing here? Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

“What? Huh?” Is he serious? Strange for him to accuse me of getting
him
in trouble! I’m the one skipping class. I stand speechless and keep staring. I think he might start explaining himself and his stalking ways. He doesn’t. Instead, he grabs my arm and yanks me around the corner of the school, shoving me into an exit alcove.

“Don’t move!” he says, pointing at me. By this time, I’m in too much shock to do anything else but stand here. I realize he is dangerous, and no one will see me if he kills me now.