Forbidden (8 page)

In the staticky section, the only words Claire had been able to understand were “danger,” “gift,” and “help.” Who or what was in danger? What gift? Was she supposed to help someone? Then there was the kicker:
Don’t tell anyone
.

Don’t tell anyone
what
?

Claire sighed. How was she supposed to figure this out on her own?

“I can’t wait to hear the voice that bowled Mr. Lang over,” Erica said a few minutes later.

“Yeah, why’ve you been holding out on us all this time, CB?” Brian asked.

“I wasn’t holding out,” Claire insisted. “I never used to be able to sing. I’m just as surprised as you are.”

Claire followed her friends into the music room, past the grand piano toward a semicircular row of chairs, each of which had a music stand in front of it. She’d been so excited about this class. But how was she supposed to relax and enjoy herself after that bizarre mental episode in the restroom?

“Bass section sits on that end,” Erica explained, before leading Claire toward their own seats. “Then tenors and altos. Last but not least, sopranos—that’s us.”

“I told you you’d make it, Brennan,” Neil said, striding up with a smile. “Congrats and welcome.” He placed his hand on Claire’s bare shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

The instant Neil’s hand made contact, a dizzy heat began to engulf her. Claire had a fleeting thought:
How pathetic are you? The guy barely touches you and you swoon?
But as her head began pounding and her knees trembled, that thought was immediately replaced by another:
Oh no. Not again! Not now!!
I just barely got over the last one!
And then—

WHAM
.

She was in her Spanish classroom. The person sitting next to her was … her
.

Señora Guiterez laid a corrected quiz facedown on her desk
.

Nervous, Claire flipped over the paper with hands that were not her own—hands that were larger and more masculine. She saw three things. First, the date on the paper. Second, a big red F. Third, the name scrawled at the top of the page:

Neil Mitchum
.

Claire blinked and found Neil still standing in the flesh before her, eyeing her with concern. “Brennan? You okay?”

“Fine!” Claire manufactured a smile as she quickly wiped sweat from her brow. “Shouldn’t have had that latte at break, I guess.” She hurried off to the soprano section and sat down next to Erica, heart pounding.

Erica shot Claire an intensely curious look. “You just
saw
something, didn’t you?” Erica whispered urgently. “When Neil touched your shoulder?”

Claire nodded as she lowered her eyes. Thankfully, no one else seemed to have noticed anything.

“See! I
told
you it was a touch thing. Was it a vision about Neil?”

Claire nodded again and leaned in to Erica’s ear. “It was a vision of the
future
!”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“I saw Neil get an F on a Spanish quiz. It was dated next Wednesday.”

“An F? But Neil’s a good student.”

“Apparently not in Spanish.”

Claire’s brain was going a mile a minute. Was all this somehow connected to the garbled message she’d gotten just before class?
Danger … gift … help
. Suddenly, the whole thing made sense.
She was supposed to help Neil—who was in danger of flunking Spanish
. For some reason, she was supposed to keep it a secret. But Erica already knew everything that was going on with her. Surely, she could tell Erica about it.

“And guess what?” Claire went on softly. “I had a separate vision a few minutes ago. I think I’ve just been charged with a mission: to help Neil pass that Spanish quiz.”

Erica raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “Who would send you on a mission?”

“I have no idea. What should I do? Is it okay to meddle with the future?”

“Of course it is!”

“But if I help Neil get an A, it might change the course of history. There’s a cause and effect for everything. If Hitler had gotten into art school, there might have been no World War II.”

“Did you just liken Neil to Hitler?”

“They’re both vegetarians.”

Erica rolled her eyes. “Claire, come on. How can you sit back and do nothing? If you’d known about my mom’s accident beforehand, I would’ve totally wanted you to warn me.”

Before they could continue, Mr. Lang breezed into the room, sat down at the piano, and began playing scales with a flourish. An elegant man with a neatly trimmed auburn goatee, Mr. Lang’s no-nonsense, down-to-business attitude was complemented by an upbeat, positive inner energy. Everyone began to warm up, singing along with the piano. Claire tentatively joined her voice to the chorus of sopranos. She had no clear idea what she was doing, but somehow it all seemed to come naturally to her—and thank God, since she was finding it impossible to concentrate. Her thoughts were consumed by the task ahead of her.

Claire would have to initiate a conversation with the guy she’d had a major crush on for the past two years—the guy every girl in school had a crush on—and the one person she’d always been too shy speaking
around
, let alone
to
. And of all things, she had to somehow convince him that he needed
her
help. Could she do it?

She had to at least try.

As they exited class, Claire strode quickly after Neil.
You can do this
, she told herself.

When she caught up to him, she put on her most cheerful smile.
“Señor Mitchum.”
Her voice cracked, her mouth had gone dry, and her heart was pounding so hard it threatened to leap out of her chest.

“Brennan.” Neil casually returned her grin. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” The single word came out like a squeak. Claire cleared her throat. “You know,” she said slowly, straining for calm, “you did me a huge favor by getting me into Concert Singers. I’d like to perform a service for you in return.”

Neil looked at her. “I’m not quite sure I get your meaning,” he said hesitantly.

Claire was suddenly aware of the innuendo in what she’d said, and felt her face grow hot. “I meant … that is, I was just wondering … if … you might like some help with Spanish.”

His smile faded. “What makes you think I need help with Spanish? Just ’cause I don’t get soap operas?”

“No, that’s not it,” Claire replied quickly. “
I
didn’t know how to answer that question either, even though I saw the episode last year. But… I couldn’t help noticing that you were struggling with verb tenses, which are super hard. I finally understand all that stuff, and I just thought…” Her voice trailed off.

Neil glanced aside, clearly uncomfortable and reluctant.

Before he could openly refuse, Claire blurted, “Neil. The thing is, after what you did for me, I’m beholden to you.”

His eyes returned to hers, and he shrugged, his grin back. “All right, Brennan, you’re on. We’ll try it and see how it goes. But only because you said beholden.”

At lunch, Claire finally had a chance to talk to Alec. They were sitting at their usual table on the upper terrace with Brian and Erica. Alec was tense and quiet, concentrating on his chicken stir-fry.

“Alec,” Claire said apologetically, “when I was telling you earlier about getting into Concert Singers, I didn’t get a chance to say the most important part. It never would have happened if you hadn’t encouraged me to sing with you yesterday. I’m really grateful to you for that. I really enjoyed it. Singing with you, I mean. And I’m sorry if I abandoned you afterward when we got interrupted. I didn’t mean to.”

Alec looked at her in surprise and seemed to relax a notch. “Don’t worry about it,” he intoned softly.

“Claire said you have a great voice, Alec,” Erica put in. “I hope you try out for the Homecoming assembly.”

“What? They’re having musical acts this year?” Brian asked. “How do you know?”

“Because … drum roll, please?” Erica said with a dramatic pause. “I have just signed up to be on the Homecoming Committee.”

“You?” Claire retorted. “On a committee? Are you on crack?”

“College admissions people place a great deal of emphasis on extracurricular activities,” Erica said. “And it sounds fun. Homecoming is only a month away, and we just had our first meeting. We decided to have performances at the assembly, along with the usual carnival, football game, and … dance. Which—might I add—I insist we attend this year.”

“Go to a
dance
?” Brian made a face. “But we’ve avoided those so successfully thus far.”

“Brian, you only hate dances because you don’t have the nerve to ask anyone,” Claire said.

“Oh, like you’re the expert,” he retorted. “How many have you been to?”

“Zero,” Claire admitted, blushing a little. “But only because no one ever asked
me
.”

“Wait. Could someone please explain this to the foreigner?” Alec inserted. “Isn’t Homecoming supposed to be for visiting alumni? What’s this dance about?”

“The dance is the one thing that’s for
us
,” Erica explained. “It’s our first opportunity of the year to agonize about getting a date, buy an expensive dress, cheer as the most popular kids get crowned king and queen, and dance to ridiculously loud music in a gym filled with helium balloons and crepe paper.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to miss
that
,” Alec said with a smile.

It was the first time Claire had seen Alec smile all day, and she realized he was suddenly gazing at her. The look in his eyes was so warm, it made her stomach flutter, as if a rush of a hundred butterflies had taken wing. She smiled back, wondering what she should say to get Alec talking more. Just then, she heard a voice over her shoulder.

“Brennan? So this is where you four hide out for lunch. Nice spot. Great view.”

Claire sprang out of her seat. “Neil! Good timing. I just finished eating.” To the others she said, “Excuse me, guys. I’ll catch up with you later. Neil and I are going to work on Spanish. Where do you want to sit, Neil?”

“You’re the boss. Would you prefer a cubicle in the house of knowledge?” Neil gestured to the library. “Or as they say in Spain, tutoring alfresco
?
”

“Over there will do just fine,” Claire replied, pointing to a nearby bench on the terrace, “and alfresco is Italian, actually.”

Neil shrugged with a light, self-effacing chuckle. As he and Claire walked off, she thought she caught a look of frustration and disappointment on Alec’s face—or did she imagine it?

The tutoring session went well. Claire coached Neil on all the things the teacher had promised would be on next week’s quiz. By the time they finished, he seemed to have a better grasp of the material.

“Thanks, Brennan,” Neil said as they put their notebooks away. “I’m glad you twisted my arm about this. It pisses me off that I suck at Spanish, since I’m halfway decent at everything else.”

“Aw,” Claire responded lightly as she zipped up her backpack. “He’s as modest as he is pretty.” The moment the words left her mouth, Claire thought she’d melt into the ground with embarrassment. Had she actually said that out loud? She felt a tug on the end of her ponytail, and glanced up to find Neil grinning at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. She’d seen that look before with people he was close to and was thrilled that he was using it with her now.

“Pretty, eh?” He chuckled.

“Well,
studly
seemed a bit over the top.” She couldn’t believe she was talking to him like this, as if they’d been friends for years.

“Fair enough,” he said with an approving nod. “I’ll take pretty.
You
can be studly.”

Had Neil just implied that he thought she was
pretty
? As Claire struggled for some kind of witty reply, the bell rang, ending the lunch period. They both stood up from the bench.

“What do you say we do this again tomorrow—
after
school?” Neil added. “Maybe in the Student Life Center?”

“Sure. I usually have to wait about an hour for my mom to pick me up, anyway.”

“Cool. See you later.” Neil waved as he headed off.