Stranger (8 page)

Mia stared intently at the slate, then whirled to face Ross. He slid backward, his left hand coming up in a block and his right hand going to his hip for a weapon that wasn't there.

“It's okay!” she exclaimed.

Ross dropped his hands, his brown skin darkening with a deep blush. “Sorry.”

“I was going to say, I never get to talk to anyone like this,” she continued. “I mean, other than Dad and Jennie.”

Jennie barely caught Ross's mumbled, “I don't either.”

Jennie had been writing out math problems while Mia and Ross had been talking. Now she set the slate and abacus on a desk. She was sure he would be relieved to take a break. “Ross, can you try these?”

The haste with which he did so proved her right. He handled the abacus so awkwardly that she was puzzled—surely he didn't only use a slide rule?—until she remembered that he'd been injured. Finally, he gave up trying to use the abacus with his left hand, and began switching between it and the chalk with his right.

“What did you give him?” Mia asked softly.

“I have no idea how he'll do with non-practical math,” murmured Jennie. “So I started with arithmetic and finished with some calculus and physics from our last academic decathlon.”

“Those were so fun,” said Mia wistfully.

Jennie laughed. “They were fun because we always won.”

Mia looked disappointed. “Was that why you liked them? I liked them because it was you and me against the world.”

“You and Me Against the World.” That had been their motto, back when all it took to be best friends was being the two smartest kids in their age group. Jennie had forgotten.

Mia was only a year younger than Jennie, but in a lot of ways she still seemed like a kid. She'd moved into Mr. Rodriguez's old cottage right across from her father, and Dr. Lee still cooked all her meals. She still blushed and talked too much when she got nervous, and social situations made her nervous even though she'd known everyone her entire life. She'd never had a boyfriend or girlfriend, or even wanted one, though she had confessed to Jennie that she wanted to want one.

Jennie wished none of that mattered. But recently she'd found herself talking about certain subjects with Indra or Meredith, not Mia. Without Jennie even noticing it, they'd drifted apart.

A burst of cheers rose up from outside. Glad for a distraction, she looked out the window. Yuki Nakamura, bow in hand, stood before a target with an arrow in the exact center of the bull's-eye.

It was too bad Yuki didn't want to be a Ranger. He shot as well as his sister Meredith, and he was the best of the guys his age with a sword or hand-to-hand. But he tolerated rather than enjoyed working in a team, and the Rangers relied upon teamwork. She remembered Sera commenting, “Anyone who'd want to be a prospector wouldn't make a good Ranger.”

Ross's glossy black hair hid his face as he worked. Mia was hovering anxiously, as if it were her test. From the way he twitched every time she moved, he didn't like people lurking in his peripheral vision.

What turned someone into a prospector, traveling alone in the dangerous world? Trading, she could understand. Traders were usually families, people you'd trust to have your back. Like your fellow Rangers . . .

Ross put down his chalk. “I'm done.”

“Already?” Jennie hoped he hadn't given up halfway through.

Mia snatched up the slate. “I knew it,” she exclaimed in glee. “If this was a decathlon, he'd be a real challenge for us.”

“Mia's right.” Jennie examined the awkwardly written numbers. “When it comes to math and physics, you could teach the class yourself.”

Ross gave her a doubtful glance.

“Seriously. And if you're handling explosives, you have a head start on chemistry. I'll help you catch up on reading, writing, history, and literature. Maybe biology, depending on what you already know.”

She had to lean forward to catch his muttered, “But reading. Aren't I too old?”

Jennie shook her head. “Absolutely not. You watch. By the end of tomorrow, I'll have you reading entire sentences.”

“You can do that?”

“
You
can do it,” she said firmly.

Ross took a deep breath, those amazing lashes lifting. He touched the line of writing on her teacher's slate as if the words themselves were precious. For the first time since she'd begun Ranger training, Jennie remembered the joy that had first drawn her to apprentice to Grandma Wolfe—the joy of teaching someone who loved learning as much as she always had.

“Welcome to school, Ross,” Jennie said. “Now, let's go outside. We always start the day with drill. Ever done any fighting?”

Ross

THOUGH MIA HAD SAID JENNIE WAS HER FRIEND, ROSS
had assumed the teacher would be an adult who would make him feel ashamed of how much he didn't know—or worse, laugh. He hadn't expected another teenage girl, let alone a nice one. Let alone a pretty, nice one.

And they were as different as two people could be. Mia's skin was light, while Jennie's was nearly true black. Mia's hair was clipped into a raggedy bowl cut, while Jennie wore hers in a lot of little braids decorated with colored beads. Jennie was taller than Ross, Mia shorter. And Jennie was much, much curvier. But he liked how they both smiled: Mia in sudden wide grins, and Jennie with her lips barely parted, and the left side a little higher than the right. They kept smiling at him.

Like everything in Las Anclas, Jennie had been a surprise. A pleasant one, this time, but Ross was unnerved by how hard it was to predict what would happen in this town. At least with the scavenger gangs that roamed the desert, he always knew where he stood.

The students outside had split up according to age and size. The younger kids wore padding and masks.

Jennie called out, “Ten-and-unders, follow Laura.” Ross noticed the girl's cat claws as she beckoned to the kids. “Mia? Want to practice with us?”

“I have to get back to work,” Mia said hastily. “Pick you up at lunch!”

He joined the warm-ups, though he had to sit out the ones that required the use of both hands. The others eyed him curiously, and the guy with the ponytail gave him a suspicious stare. Ross had seen that look when he had accidentally wandered onto another prospector's claim. He wondered what he'd done to annoy him.

“Seniors, line up by height and fold around,” Jennie ordered. They formed two lines facing each other, and she partnered with him. “I can see from your stance that you've trained before. Good! We'll go easy on your left side.”

He was unfamiliar with some of the moves, and others had different names from those he'd learned. But it was basic stuff: kicks and punches, slides and blocks.

“Free sparring,” Jennie announced.

The tall boy headed straight for Ross, who put up his hands and kept himself light on his feet.

Jennie swept the guy's arm aside with an open-handed block. “Yuki, I want you to spar with Henry. He's been dropping his fists. Pop him on the nose if he doesn't get those blocks up in time.”

A boy with sand-colored hair and freckles clutched his nose in mock agony.

Jennie smiled at Ross. “We'll start slow and light, okay?”

They began to circle. Ross watched her for an opening. She didn't have any obvious weaknesses. Her balance was excellent. She bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, one muscular arm forward and one held back. He snapped out a jab to test her defenses. Rather than blocking, she slid back, braids swinging, leaving him fully extended with his fist one inch short of her face. She was teasing him.

Then she threw a jab, careful of his left side. Unlike his testing move, hers was a fake. Her thigh muscles bunched under her pants, signaling a sweep, and Ross leaped up. Her foot swung through the empty space where his ankles had been.

He grinned at her, and she grinned back, on the verge of laughter. He could feel as well as see that she loved sparring as much as he did.

“Okay, maybe not so slow and light,” she said.

And she lunged. Ross knew he was good. He had to be, or he'd have been dead a long time ago. But Jennie was right there with him. She knew moves he'd never even seen—spinning kicks, leaping kicks, deceptive moves to lure an attacker off balance, joint locks, throws. He clipped her cheek with an open-handed strike, and when he paused to see if he'd hit her too hard, she grabbed his right wrist and threw him down, then waited for him to roll and leap to his feet. He stopped worrying about hurting her. He wasn't sure he could, anyway.

At least he was making her sweat. Her skin gleamed like obsidian. He blinked salt out of his own eyes. She seemed to be laughing at him.

He lifted his right hand in challenge. “Come on! That all you got?”

Then she did laugh. Whether she took his bait or didn't believe that he was her match, he didn't know, but she charged exactly as he'd hoped she would, coming in fast with her arms twisting to grab. Rather than dodging, Ross dropped low and tackled her.

They hit the ground rolling, each struggling to gain control. Strong legs clamped around his and flipped him over on his back. He pinned her left arm with his right. Inches above him, her deep brown eyes gazed into his. Warm breath brushed his cheek. It smelled like peaches. A drop of her sweat fell into the hollow of his throat.

Neither moved. A flash of light drew his gaze upward, past Jennie's face. The entire school had circled up to watch them.

“That's what I call a good match,” she said breathlessly, and leaped to her feet.

Mia

MIA WAS IN THE HALLWAY WHEN SHE HEARD A
MUFfled explosion, followed by swearing. She scooped up the sand bucket and burst into the kitchen, where she found her dad slapping a wet dishcloth at a pillar of green flame rising from a frying pan. Mia tossed the sand onto the fire and watched in satisfaction as the flames died. An acrid smell rose up from the pan, making her eyes water.

She wrinkled her nose. “What were you making this time?”

Her father gave a rueful sigh. “You know the seaweed that gels liquids, the one I use to make pills? I used it to solidify some chicken broth, and then I cut it into noodles, coated them in flour, and tried to fry them. I was hoping they'd be crispy on the outside and liquid on the inside.”

“That is disgusting, Dad. Who'd eat that?”

“I would.” Ross appeared at the door. “Sounds interesting.” Mia could actually see when the fumes reached him—he rocked backward and rubbed his eyes. “Unless it tastes like the smell in here. What happened?”

“An unfortunate chemical reaction when chicken gelatin made contact with hot oil.”

“Let's all go to Jack's,” Mia said, knowing how happy the suggestion would make her father. “We can invite Anna-Lucia.”

“Excellent idea.” He picked up a piece of chalk. “I'll leave a note for Becky to join us. She's checking on Grandpa Wells. And I'll take along some of my latest kimchi for Anna-Lucia. She has good taste.”

“Who's Anna-Lucia?” Ross sounded distinctly alarmed.

“My girlfriend,” Mia's dad explained. “She manages the saloon and she's the best baker in town. Luckily, I have the wherewithal for all of us—and even dessert.” Mia fished some scrip from the basket while he wrote a note on the slate by the office.

As they walked out, Ross asked, “Those strips of colored paper are scrip, right? What's it based on?” He sounded more suspicious than curious.

“You earn it at your job,” she explained. “The guilds and the council decide how much an hour of your particular skill is worth. Or you can trade. What's scrip based on where you've been?”

“Silver's the most common. Ore. I heard of a town up north where it's gold. But there's worse things.” Ross said the last under his breath, scanning the square as if it might conceal some predatory animal.

“Like what?” Mia remembered a story that had given her nightmares when she was small. “Like . . . human heads?”

“What?” Ross exclaimed.

“What?” Her dad turned to stare at her.

“A trader told us King Voske keeps human heads on pikes. I figured if he had them already—”

“Those are a deterrent.” Her dad smothered a laugh. “Not a form of currency. They don't keep well.”

Mia eyed Ross. “So . . . like what?”

“Some places, they hand a trader or traveler some scrip and make it easy to buy on credit. Before you know it, you're in debt. Then you have to earn your keep, but your earnings are never as much as the scrip is worth. So you end up working your whole life, and you never pay it off.”

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” Mia's father said.

“It's all right for me. I can always run. But some people . . .” Ross's voice trailed off unhappily.

“The guilds and the council balance each other here, to make sure things are fair,” Mia assured him. “No one will rip you off.”

She knew he didn't believe her.

“I'm not trying to say things are perfect.” Her father waved the scrip emphatically. “The other day, I thought the entire council was about to challenge each other to duels.”

“Mr. Preston thinks we should be making more weapons and ammunition,” Mia explained. “But I'd like better electricity. And so would Dad, for the surgery.”

Ross did not look reassured. She couldn't figure out what was still bothering him. It was an ordinary day. People streamed in through the back gate, returning from the fields. The smiths were closing up the north forge. Sentries paced unhurriedly along the wall; Mia spotted Meredith's red curls. These were everyday patterns, comforting in their lack of danger, but the way Ross was acting, Mia thought that if she dropped her abacus, he'd bolt for the hills. Or reach for the empty sheath on his belt.

“We haven't talked about a trade yet,” he said abruptly. “For my bed. My food. Most of my goods got stolen, but I can show you what I have. Or I could take it out in work. Though I don't know how useful I'll be with one hand.”

Mia opened her mouth to say that he was a guest, not a boarder. She was about to explain guest privilege when her father caught her eye and shook his head.

“I'd like to take a look at your trade goods,” he said. “But you could also help Mia. Our generators run on used vegetable oil, and you could collect it for her. Also, I have some little jobs around the house: leaky faucets, sticky door handles, squeaky floorboards . . .”

Mia again opened her mouth. That was her department.

But Ross nodded, looking a lot less worried. “Sure. I can do that.”

She had begun collecting oil for Mr. Rodriguez when she was ten. She'd meant to find and begin training a helper—some kid who loved mechanics—but since Ross wanted to work, or didn't want to be beholden, she could use him instead.

He straightened, sniffing at the air. “What's that smell?”

“That,” Mia's dad said, “is Jack's Saloon. The best food in town.”

Mia hoped the prospect of good food would help Ross relax. If he liked Las Anclas, maybe he and his book would both stay. “No, Luc's has the best.” To Ross, she added, “And Luc's has music and dancing.” To her disappointment, that didn't seem to enthuse him.

Her dad opened the back door, releasing a burst of chatter and laughter. Ross backed away, shoulders tense. Mia was puzzled. The smell of spices, roasting meat, and baking bread was even stronger with the doors open. Then she remembered his wariness at the schoolyard and wondered if the problem was large groups. Mia didn't care for them herself.

“There won't be a crowd in the back,” she said.

Ross squared his shoulders and stepped inside.

Jack Lowell came up with a steaming basket of bread. His cheeks were flushed and his blond hair was damp from the heat of the kitchen. “Welcome to my saloon,” he said to Ross. “And welcome to Las Anclas. Here, have a piece of garlic bread. On the house.”

Ross took a bite, and his eyes widened appreciatively.

Mia looked hopefully at Jack until he gave her a piece too. “Last year we voted Jack's garlic bread one of the ten best foods in town,” she said. “Though Luc's has four of those places. I can take you there.”

Ross swallowed his huge bite, his eyes watering slightly. “Thank you,” he said to Jack.

“Anna-Lucia can join you, if you like,” Jack said. “I'm about to turn it over to the evening shift.”

“In that case, why don't you join us too?” Mia's dad held out the scrip.

“Thank you, Dante. Don't mind if I do.” Jack put it in his pocket. “We have sweet-corn tamales tonight,” he added.

At a quiet corner table, Mia watched Ross watch the tamale platter as Anna-Lucia brought it out of the kitchen and over to them. She tried not to laugh; it was as if it might leap off the tray and run out the door. Anna-Lucia sat beside Mia's dad. Beads of sweat gleamed on her high forehead and on the dark skin visible between the short twists of her hair. Mia turned her attention to the flower vase in the center of the table when they leaned into each other. She was glad he had somebody to kiss, but it was embarrassing when it was your father, and it went on right across from you.

In the meantime, Jack had joined them. “Ross, I understand you went to the school,” he said. “How did your first day go?”

“Fine.” Mia watched Ross's gaze switch back and forth between Anna-Lucia, who had one hand on the platter, and her dad, who had picked up the serving spatula.

“What's going on in the outside world?” Jack asked with a friendly smile.

“Been traveling alone.” Ross pressed his back hard into his chair.

Mia wished she could signal
Drop it,
but Jack got the message. “I hope you'll enjoy our town.”

Her father had been smart to avoid the front of the saloon; Ross would have been mobbed for sure. Jack's questions had made it clear that the adults were as interested in Ross as the students had been.

Jack served Mia's dad first, as he was the oldest at the table. Then he took pity on Ross and heaped his plate with sweet corn tamales, refried beans topped with goat cheese crumbles, cactus sautéed with tomatoes and onions, steamed mussels with chorizo and chilies, and her dad's own extra-spicy zucchini and pumpkin kimchi.

Ross fingered his fork and spoon like a horse at the gate. Jack picked up his own silverware and began to eat, a typically kindhearted gesture. Mia hoped meeting Jack would make a good enough impression on Ross to overcome that dose of Mr. Preston.

“Dante, do you need any supplies for your guest?” asked Anna-Lucia.

Everyone gazed at Ross, who was oblivious to everything except tamales.

Mia's dad shook his head. “Ross can probably fit into some of my old clothes.”

Ross froze with fork poised and mouth open. When he saw everyone watching him, he ducked back down and returned to eating.

“We can work out a trade later,” Mia said, and was rewarded by a mumbled “Yeah.”

Anna-Lucia tried again. “How are the kimchi experiments? Do you think you'll ever go back to turnips now that you've discovered the joys of . . .”

Mia whispered to Ross, “Everything that doesn't taste good in vinegar.” She scowled at the latest experiment as the adults began discussing avocados and squash blossoms.

Ross whispered, “I love this stuff.” At her dubious look, he added, “Shouldn't I?”

“If you like Dad's cooking, he'll chain you to the kitchen.”

The back door opened, and Sheriff Crow entered. Ross's fork clattered to the table.

“Come in, Elizabe—Sheriff,” Jack said.

Mia stared down at her plate; her dad and Anna-Lucia were also carefully not looking at Jack. It had been the talk of the town, behind closed doors, when Elizabeth Crow had broken off their engagement after she Changed. It wasn't uncommon for relationships to end if one person Changed, but it was nearly always the Norm who ended it.

Jack set a chair beside his own. “Have you eaten? We have tamales.”

“For those, I always have room.” She sat down and leaned toward Ross. “When we first met, you warned me that you were being chased. Who was chasing you?”

His tension made Mia's own body constrict in sympathy.

“Sheriff Crow, might these questions wait for the end of our meal?” her dad asked gently.

“Perhaps a bit after the end of the meal?” Jack suggested. “I have apple crumble waiting.”

The sheriff turned her brown eye toward him. Neither spoke, but a message passed between them. Then she sat back, saying, “My favorite.” She helped herself as everyone resumed eating. Ross did too, but he kept sneaking peeks at the sheriff.

“Do you want to ask her something?” Mia whispered. “Go ahead. She won't bite.”

“No.” Though Mia had barely heard his reply, everyone else turned. Ross set down his fork. “Sheriff Crow. I wanted to thank you. For saving my life.”

She gave a little nod. “Just doing my job.” But her voice was friendly.

The meal continued in a lighter atmosphere. But as Jack brought out the apple crumble, the door between the saloon and the back room flew open. Becky Callahan dashed in, blonde hair clinging sweatily to her face. “Dr. Lee, it's the mayor! She's looking for you.”

She turned to flee but nearly collided with Mayor Wolfe. Becky spun around, almost tripping over her own feet, and stumbled farther into the room, trapped like a rat between the mayor and the sheriff. Her blue eyes went wild with alarm.

“Becky, please join—” Mia's dad began, but Becky remembered the back door and ran out, letting it bang behind her.

Though Mayor Wolfe wasn't much bigger than Mia, sometimes—and this was one of those times—she seemed taller than the town hall. Maybe it was her upswept hair, or the extravagant arch of her brows above her dark, tilted eyes. Or the high-necked formal dress with a hundred polished stone buttons down the perfectly fitted front. Mayor Wolfe only brought out the Button Dress when she was on the attack.

“Good evening, Sheriff Crow.” The mayor didn't sound happy. She gave Mia's dad a look of equal disapproval. “I did not think it would be necessary to remind you, Dr. Lee, that it is customary to bring visitors to us first.”

“‘Us'?” echoed the sheriff.

The mayor shrank to a mere twelve feet. “To me.”

“Are you here as mayor or as citizen?” Sheriff Crow asked.

“I'm here to question the newcomer.” Mayor Wolfe looked from Ross to the sheriff, who tilted her head to regard the mayor with her yellow snake eye. Some people flinched when that happened. Mayor Wolfe's lips twitched.

“That's the sheriff's job,” said Sheriff Crow.

“Tom and I always performed this task together,” the mayor replied. “Perhaps this would be more appropriate in private.”

Sheriff Crow said agreeably, “I don't mind doing it here.”

Mia considered fleeing the polite battle being waged across the table, but then she'd be abandoning Ross, whose dark eyes flicked back and forth nervously. Anna-Lucia broke into the duel by aggressively serving the apple crumble—without setting a plate for the mayor. Mia's father picked up his fork. He was controlling his expression, but Mia knew he was annoyed.

Ross reluctantly pushed away his plate. “Go ahead and ask your questions.”

The noise from the saloon seemed be getting louder. Mia wondered if that was her imagination, but Jack tipped his head, listening. “I'll go get the coffee.”