Forbidden (5 page)

If the plan was going to work, however, he was going to have to try harder to fit in.

You need to smile more and stare less
, he reminded himself.
And your reaction time in conversation was too slow
. These things had never mattered before, but they did now.

Setting these concerns aside for the moment, Alec entered his first-floor studio apartment and closed the front door behind him, all senses on hyperalert. He flipped the three locks in quick succession, set down his backpack, and withdrew a black metal knife from his boot, whirling to search for any sign of intruders. Without opening the blackout curtains, he carefully cased the dark, starkly furnished space. Nothing behind the couch. No one in the shower. Kitchen: empty. Weapons cabinet: undisturbed.

With a relieved sigh, Alec glanced at the light switch. It blinked on.

He sank down on the couch, resheathed his knife, and removed his boots. Unable to relax, he unzipped his backpack and dumped everything out onto the coffee table. One by one, he began scanning the contents of each textbook, curious to see what juniors in high school would be learning this year, to understand what he was—and wasn’t—supposed to know.

The academics would be easy to handle. Other than socialization, he had only one real worry. He’d spent decades planning his escape and had taken every precaution to cover his tracks—but even so, there was still a chance he could be found. He wondered who they’d assigned to search for him.

He would never—
could
never
—go back. He was committed to making this work, no matter what. Not that they’d take him back even if they did find him. If he was lucky, he’d be tried and imprisoned for life at a mountaintop monastery in Tibet.

If he was unlucky?

The penalty was death.

five

“A
re you kidding?”

“No, I’m serious.” Claire leaned forward on the table, cupping her grande soy vanilla latte in her hands. “I felt nauseous and light-headed, and suddenly it was like
I
was the one in the car, like I
was
your mom, reaching out to hold Henry back and everything.”

Erica stared at her. “Oh my God.”

“I know, right?”

The aroma of brewing coffee wafted out to the coffee shop’s shady garden patio where they sat. It was that quiet period after the Sunday morning crowd had left and the afternoon rush had not yet begun.

“So … what?” Erica’s eyes narrowed. “Are you, like, psychic or something?”

“If I am, it’s news to me. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”

“Never? Are you sure?”

“Yes.” But then Claire remembered something. “Oh, wait. There was this one other thing, Friday morning.”

“The same day as the accident?”

“Yeah. My mom was all worried about some document she couldn’t find for work, and as I was hugging her goodbye in the car, the same weird feeling came over me—and suddenly I knew exactly where it was. It was like the image popped into my head. I saw my mom’s hand putting the page into her bag.”

“You
saw
it? Like you were watching your mom doing it?”

“No, it’s like I
was
her, seeing it from her perspective.”

“Wow. Trippy.”

“I didn’t think much about it at the time. After your mom’s accident, I thought the thing I saw had something to do with her bracelet. Like it was cursed or magical somehow.”

“It’s just a bracelet, Claire. I’ve worn it a dozen times, and I’ve never gotten any visions. No, this is all about
you
.”

Claire tried to shrug off the suggestion. “I did some research on the internet last night about psychic abilities and phenomena. There are ten million sites about ESP, clairvoyance, telepathy, telekinesis, and all kinds of weird bullshit from ghosts to Atlantis and killer fog. It all looks so cheesy, I couldn’t take any of it seriously.”

“Maybe you should.” Erica sipped her coffee, then looked up with an eager expression. “What am I thinking right now?”

“I have no idea. That I’m a lunatic?”

“No, no, no. What am I
thinking
? Use your new mojo.”

“I can’t read minds, Erica.”

“How do you know? Try it.”

Claire stared at her friend for a moment. “This is stupid.”

“Oh, wait, wait, wait! Maybe it’s not a telepathy thing. What if it’s a touch thing? You hugged your mom and got a vision through her eyes, right? Then you touched my mom’s bracelet and saw something about her.”

“Huh. Okay, so?”

Erica grabbed Claire’s hand and plunked it against her arm. “Tell me what you feel. Are you getting any vibes about me?”

“Yeah. I’m rethinking which one of us is the lunatic.”

Erica sighed and sat back on her stool. “You’re such a disappointment. It would be so awesome to have a best friend who’s psychic. You’d be able to tell me who my next boyfriend’s going to be, where I can find a pair of anklewrap, blue suede, Jimmy Choo sandals in size eight, what questions are going to be on my pre-calc tests, even which colleges to apply to.”

Claire shook her head. “No, the stuff I saw had already happened. I think.”

“Good point. Well then, you’re definitely useless.”

They sat in silence for a long moment.

“Maybe I was just suffering from an iron deficiency that day,” Claire mused.

“Maybe you’re having hallucinations induced by your mom’s drug-taking days, a brain defect passed on at birth.”

“As far as I know, my mom never took drugs. She’s a free spirit, yes. But she’s devoted to clean living.”

“Okay. If you’re not psychic, then how else would you explain it?”

“It defies explanation.”

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see if it happens to you again.”

“God, I hope it doesn’t.” Claire let out a nervous breath, then finished her coffee. “In the meantime, promise not to tell anyone, okay? Especially my mom. We had a fight on Friday. I apologized, and I think she forgave me. But I don’t want to give her any more fuel for liftoff.”

Erica gave her a two-finger salute. “Copy that. Don’t tip off the crazy hippie lady.”

Crap
, Claire thought, as she stood before her locker early the next morning. She’d forgotten that it was busted. She’d have to report it to the office later so they could assign her a new one.
What a great way to start the year
.

She stepped over to Alec’s locker, got out the combination, and opened it. She stopped short. A shiny, brand-new LockerMate had been installed. Her books were neatly arranged on the shelves, but none of Alec’s books were in sight. Instead, a bulky, black metal lockbox took up the entire bottom space.

What the hell?
Claire thought. She stared at the box. What on earth was he keeping in there? Blackmail photos? A rare comic book collection? His mother’s haggis recipe? Porn?

The first bell rang. She had ten minutes to get to class. Claire grabbed her honors history book, slammed the locker shut, and raced to the farthest end of the school. She joined the small herd of students filing into class, then paused just inside the door. The desk you chose on the first day of school was important. It usually ended up being the seat you were in for the whole year, and it gave the teacher an impression of who you were. Claire didn’t want to sit in back with the slackers or in front with the brownnosers. The only spot left in the zone she wanted was right next to Alec, who was settling into the secondrow seat against the wall.

Alec glanced at her with an awkward grin. Claire briefly returned his smile as she sat down next to him. She studied the walls of the room. They were hung with maps of the United States during various historical periods, an American flag, and a large poster that read:

NO CELL PHONES

NO TALKING

NO FOOD

NO GUM

NO DISRUPTION

NO DISRESPECT

NO WHINING

The sign did nothing to soothe Claire’s fears about her new history teacher. Her gaze fell on the backpack at Alec’s feet. It was bursting at the seams. “Do you have all your books in there?”

He nodded. “I wanted to make sure you had enough room in the locker.”

That was chivalrous of him
, Claire thought. His bag must weigh a million pounds. She’d forgotten how charming his accent was. The way he rolled his
R
s was actually quite enchanting. “Thanks for setting up those shelves,” she said gratefully, with a genuine smile this time. “It was really nice of you.”

Alec started to respond when the eight a.m. bell rang, announcing the start of first track. Mr. Patterson strode in, slamming and locking the door behind him. He dropped his briefcase beside the mahogany desk at the front of the room, and without even a cursory glance at the students, he turned and began writing his name on the whiteboard.

“Good morning. As you may notice, that door is now closed. And locked. As it will be at the start of every class period.” He whirled to face them, focusing his attention on cleaning his eyeglasses. “If you are late, don’t bother to knock. Our session will have already begun, and those who care about this class will be busy learning. You may spend your new free period in the library or doing whatever you wish, but you will receive a zero in participation for the day.”

Well
, Claire thought.
He certainly lives up to his reputation
. She glanced at Alec, who silently acknowledged their mutual doom.

Mr. Patterson finally raised his gaze. “Before we begin, does anyone have any questions?”

A hand shot up. “What does that sign mean?” The student pointed to a wooden plaque above the door that read
ESCHEW PROLIXITY
.

“Any honors English students in the room?” Mr. Patterson responded. A third of the class raised their hands. “Any of you know what it means?”

Claire saw every hand return meekly to its place, including her own—save one. Alec’s.

Mr. Patterson gave Alec a nod. “Enlighten us, young man.”

“Avoid boring verbosity,” Alec replied.

Of course Alec knows that one
, Claire thought, impressed.

The teacher seemed surprised, but said nothing whatsoever to acknowledge Alec’s answer, immediately pressing on. “This phrase will be your guiding star when writing papers in this class. Which you are going to start doing tonight. I want a five-page paper on my desk Wednesday morning, detailing your impression of any single event in our country’s history, and how it has affected you as an individual.” Over the chorus of groans, he continued, “If I assigned it for Friday, you’d just put it off until the last minute anyway. So I’m making
now
the last minute.”

Without missing a beat, he launched into his opening lecture. Claire began scribbling notes furiously. It was all she could do to keep up. She was relieved when the class ended. Her next three classes—honors Spanish, AP bio, and honors calculus—had teachers who were less strict than Mr. Patterson, and passed by in a blur.