The Dead and Buried (3 page)

T
he next morning, the sun in my eyes woke me up well before my alarm. I must have forgotten to pull down the shade, though I thought I’d remembered doing it.

I sat up and stretched, looking around. I still had a few boxes left to unpack, but my new room was so huge they didn’t even get in the way. I had the same furniture, the same blue bedding, the same Interpol poster on similarly colored cream walls, but everything had changed. Now I could keep a desk and my computer in here, rather than the living room, giving me more than a place just to sleep. It was a place to
be
. A place that was all mine and private.

I laid an outfit — jeans and a purple V-neck — on the bed, then dug through my jewelry box for something to spice it up with. Despite knowing the history and meaning behind every identifiable gemstone, I still couldn’t color coordinate. I liked the garnet pendant, but did red go with purple? I closed the lid, shrugged, and headed into the bathroom to shower. In our old house, if someone had showered right before me, I’d have nothing but cold water left. Not here, though. The water was so hot and relaxing, I almost hated to get out, and my fingers were pruned by the time I did.

I opened the door and steam trailed along as I slipped into my room, a towel wrapped around me. I returned to the clothes I’d laid on my bed when my eyes registered something. Something wrong. Out of place.

My long gold necklace with the black onyx pendant lay placed over the shirt. I hadn’t put it there. And I’d closed my jewelry box, though it now stood open atop my dresser.

I padded down the hall to Colby’s room where he was playing with his train table. I held the necklace up. “Did you take this out of my jewelry box and put it on the outfit I had on my bed?”

“Nope,” he said, smashing two trains together.

“Did Mar — Mom do it?”

He shook his head. “Nuh-uh. She’s downstairs.”

I furrowed my brow in confusion, staring at the onyx dangling from my hand. It was a good choice, actually. The color matched my purple shirt. And onyx protects against negativity. That would be helpful if I ran into that fruity-smelling girl again today.

“It must have been her,” Colby said.

“Who?”

His eyes panned the room like he was looking to see who else was there. “You know,” he whispered. “The glimmering girl.”

Goose bumps rose on my skin and I held the towel tighter. Despite the steam still flowing out of the bathroom … I wasn’t hot anymore.

“What does she look like?” I asked, thinking maybe if I prodded him for details he’d admit the girl was an imaginary friend.

He turned the toy train over and over in his hand. “She’s a big kid.”

“A teenager like me?” I clarified. “Big kid” to Colby could mean anyone older than him.

“Yeah, but she doesn’t have your hair. Hers is black.”

“What’s her name?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. She moves her mouth, but she can’t talk.”

I drove my ten-year-old clunker to school and parked it between two shiny new luxury cars. As I walked toward the open doors of the school, I wondered why Colby was doing this. He’d never lied to me before. Maybe moving and starting school was taking a toll on him. He
had
to have been the one to put the onyx on my bed. He had to be making up the stories about the glimmering girl. Because otherwise …

I
wanted
to concentrate in my classes. It was only the second day, but already the teachers had kicked it up a notch and my hand was aching from all the note taking. But I had trouble focusing. I couldn’t shake the feeling that a secret was being passed around. And it involved me.

When all eyes were on me as I walked down the hallway, I chalked it up to being the new girl. When I caught a boy staring in Science, I figured it was curiosity. When two girls whispered behind their hands in English, then looked at me in unison, I hoped for a coincidence. But when I walked into the cafeteria for lunch and heard one gasp, followed by a quick, “There she is,” I knew for sure something was up.

I got into line, quickly chose a prepackaged salad, and wandered into the seating area. I glanced around, looking for a friendly face. But everyone regarded me with a kind of hungry suspicion. A bead of sweat slipped down my back.

An outburst of laughter came from my right and I turned to see what was going on. Alexa was seated by herself, in the same spot as yesterday, a textbook open beside her tray. A tall, skinny boy stood behind her, doing some sort of robot dance with his arms. A group of girls giggled and the words “Robot Girl” floated through the air. Clearly a mean-spirited nickname for Alexa. She didn’t turn around, didn’t react in any way. But she had to know what was going on behind her. Had to hear it.

My face flushed hot with anger. I marched over to her table, glaring daggers at the boy the whole way. He stopped his dance and moved on, his fun over.

I slid into a seat across from Alexa and opened my salad. She looked up from her book. “You’re sitting with me again?” she asked. She didn’t seem disappointed, just surprised. And maybe happy. I couldn’t quite tell with her.

“Yeah, sure,” I said. Sitting with Alexa seemed like my best bet. She was apparently the only one
not
whispering behind my back.

I moved the salad around the container with my fork, too worked up to feel hungry. When I glanced up, I saw Fruity-Smelling Girl at a nearby table. She sat next to a guy who looked like he’d been clipped out of a hotness catalog. Tall and broad shouldered? Check. Perfectly ruffled blond hair?
Check. A smile that was obviously making every girl at the table swoon? Check.

Fruity leaned in close to him and whispered something in his ear. Something that made him stop smiling. And then he looked over at me.

My eyes darted down to my plate. “What’s going on?” I asked, not even bothering to keep my voice level.

“Chemistry,” Alexa replied, looking up from her book.

“People are talking about me,” I explained. “But I don’t know why. Do you?”

Alexa eyed Fruity-Smelling Girl and Perfect Boy, who was looking at me with a mixture of sadness and interest.

“I’m not in that crowd,” she replied. “Or any crowd. I don’t get the gossip. Sorry.”

I let out a long breath. Alexa wasn’t going to be much help in finding answers, but at least I could talk to her and try to get my mind off being the sudden center of attention.

“So is that AP Chemistry?” I asked, motioning to her book with my fork.

“Yeah.”

“You’re taking two AP courses, huh?”

“I take as many as the school offers. And I’m forty points from a perfect score on the SAT.”

“Oh.” Holy canola oil. She was a genius.

“So … you still want to sit with me?” she said softly.

“What do you mean?” I asked, honestly confused.

“Now that you know what a nerd I am.”

Her voice was bitter, and that one line told stories. She’d probably put herself out there before, only to get hurt. Maybe she helped other Newcomers Club Buddies only to get shunned as soon as they latched on to more popular people.

“I don’t care about that.” I shrugged. “I think it’s cool you’re so smart.”

“Really?” Her brow furrowed.

“Yeah,” I said, and I meant it. Alexa was a little bit different, but I liked that. She seemed honest, anyway, and what more could you want in a friend than that?

Alexa looked at me sideways. “You’re not … playing a joke on the weird girl?”

“No.” I tried to think of how I could prove it to her. “Hey, we both have seventh period free, right? Come with me to my house and I’ll show you how
I’m
weird.”

“I can’t,” she said. “I have too much work. I’m going to be in the school library all period.”

I nodded. “Okay, then. I’ll bring the weird to you.”

I clutched the box tightly in my hands and scanned the tables in the school library, looking for Alexa’s face. Then I felt a light tap on my shoulder, and a boy’s voice asked, “Are you Jade Kelley?”

I turned and was surprised to see Perfect Boy standing there with a cute, petite blond girl beside him. Not Fruity-Smelling Girl, thank goodness. Someone else. She gave me a small, almost-welcoming smile.

Perfect Boy towered over me, giving me the opportunity to let my eyes graze as they traveled up to meet his. He wore scuffed sneakers, faded jeans, and a Woodbridge Lacrosse windbreaker. It wasn’t really cold enough for a jacket yet, but it was probably a matter of pride to him.

I finally found my voice. “I am.”

“I’m Kane Woodward,” he said. “And this is my sister, Ellie.”

“I’m only a sophomore,” she said softly, like she wasn’t worthy of speaking to me because I was a senior.

“Very nice to meet you.” I extended a hand and smiled to put her at ease.

“Do you play any sports?” Ellie asked.

“No.” I squinted at Kane’s jacket, pretending I hadn’t already noticed it before. “So you play … lacrosse?”

“Yeah,” he beamed. “You a fan?”

“I honestly don’t know much about it. My old high school didn’t have a lacrosse team.”

He held a hand over his heart in mock distress. “How tragic!” Ellie laughed, but not in a mean way. Not at me. She nudged her brother with her elbow, then said she was off to meet some friends.

As she walked off, I gave a shrug and looked back up at Kane. “It was a small school.”

“Well, welcome to Woodbridge, Jade. If there’s anything I can help you with …” Kane paused a little too long and was staring a little too much. What for, I didn’t know, but I felt a familiar prickly sensation on my neck.

Most people have the ability to hide it when they are embarrassed or feeling a particularly strong emotion. At worst, a little pink may rise into their cheeks. I, on the other hand, have been struck with this problem where my neck turns bright red and splotchy. There’s no hiding it. Unless I wear a turtleneck every day. And I could feel it happening right now. My hand involuntarily rose to the pendant on my neck and fiddled with it in an attempt to cover up my red Neck of Shame.

“Um, I need to find Alexa Palmer,” I said.

“Yeah, I know her. She’s in a few of my classes.”

“AP classes?” I must have creased my forehead or made some sort of surprised look because he raised one eyebrow and tsked at me with his finger.

“You assumed I was a dumb jock.”

“No, I didn’t!” The splotches started tickling my neck again.

“Yeah, you did,” he said, smiling. “Just admit it.”

“Well, not dumb,” I bumbled. “But I didn’t expect you to be …” I stopped and couldn’t find any way to put this into words that didn’t make me out to be a big jerk.

“It’s okay,” he said, smiling. “I’m only messing with you. I don’t mind. I make assumptions about people all the time. It’s human nature.”

I really wanted to know what assumptions he’d made about me, but he pointed over my left shoulder. “There she is, in the corner.”

I looked and saw Alexa hunched and scowling over a laptop.

“Thanks,” I said to Kane. “See you around.”

I made my way past a cluster of tables. Had Perfect Boy … ahem … Kane been flirting with me? Or was he just being nice and welcoming? I was like a traveler without a map in this place.

I passed by Fruity-Smelling Girl and a friend of hers sitting at a table. They seemed to be arguing about something. Fruity-Smelling Girl made a point to stop, midconversation, and give me the hairy eyeball as I passed. She hadn’t exactly been scrambling to be my friend before, but there hadn’t been hate in her eyes until now. Something had changed.

But before I could ponder that, I reached Alexa’s table. I sat down and placed the box in front of me.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “I’m tearing my hair out on this and need a two-minute break.”

“Wow, two whole minutes?” I said, laughing. “What’s got you so frazzled?”

She groaned. “My application essay to MIT.”

“Wow, MIT, huh? Impressive.” Schools like that weren’t even on my radar. In fact, I hadn’t even started my college applications. That was number five on my top ten list of Stuff That Was Giving Me Anxiety this week.

“Both my parents went there,” Alexa said. “So it’s sort of expected for me to go. No pressure,” she snorted.

“Well, you’re a double legacy, then. Plus, you have perfect scores and perfect grades. You have nothing to worry about.”

“They don’t take legacy into consideration.” Alexa wrung her hands as she talked. “And even with my numbers, it’s no guarantee. I think I came across as cold in my interview. And I don’t play sports or have much for extracurriculars. And this essay is super important.”

“What do you have so far?” I turned her screen toward me. It was blank.

“Nothing,” she said, throwing her hands into the air. “A big fat nothing. This essay is going to be the death of me. It’s all I think about lately. And I’m just blocked. It counts for so much and I can’t even write one word.”

“Just relax,” I said, though those words to Alexa were about as useful as spit on a forest fire. “There’s no right or wrong answer in an essay.”

“That’s why I hate it!” she yelled, drawing two dirty looks and one shush from the other tables. “I like things to be black-and-white. Right and wrong. That’s why I love math and science. There are concrete answers. Things that can be tested and proven.”

“Okay,” I told her. “Sounds like you do need a break.” I opened the top of the box I brought and grinned at her. “Want to see my collection?”

She dragged her hands through her hair. “Please tell me it’s not rodent skulls or something because I don’t want it to be
that
weird.”

I looked through until I found one of my favorites. I held up the sliced crystal. It was one of my loose gems, not set into a jewelry piece.

“This is watermelon tourmaline.” I turned it around in the palm of my hand so she could see the contrast of pink enfolded in green. “It’s supposed to help you see the silver lining in every situation.” I replaced that one and pulled out my red ruby earrings. “Rubies are useful against psychic attack. They’re supposed to darken when danger lurks.” I gave a little smile at her raised eyebrows.