Touching Smoke (4 page)

I didn’t respond. I let her pull out of the motel parking lot and start down the gravel road.

Like any other town in the world, Rettop County had an elementary school, a high school and a community college, but it was also home to Lady Clare’s Academy, an exclusive boarding school for the very gifted and very rich — I was neither.

The polished marble building sat at the very top of a winding hill, overlooking the industrial community below the way the Grinch did Whoville — with arrogant distaste and an upturned, snooty demeanor. Everything about the four stories of the pristine establishment oozed smug egotism. I could tell right away that I was going to fit in like a hole in the head.

The high, wrought-iron gates sat open in what I guessed was supposed to be a welcoming gesture. The white gravel crunched like money being tossed around all the way up to the looming set of doors at the top of a wide and graceful set of marble stairs.

Children, anywhere from five to eighteen, separated by gender, marched in two precise, military lines across the courtyard. All the girls were dressed immaculately in gray skirts, white blouses, gray vests and a gray blazer with knee high socks and black shoes. The boys were in gray slacks, white dress shirts, gray vests, gray blazers and black shoes. They all had a black satchel held firmly at their left side and an emotionless expression on their faces. I felt horribly out of place in my grunge black jeans, black Guns ‘N Roses t-shirt, braided bracelets and high tops.

“What
is
this place?” Even if I
had
tried subtlety, the absolute horror rang loud and clearly in my question.

“Your new school,” Mom answered, the cheerfulness greatly forced. “I’ve already spoken with the front desk and they’re awaiting your arrival.”

Anything I really wanted to say would only ensure an argument, so I wisely bite my lip and pushed the door open, but made no effort to leave.

“It’s not so bad!”

“Really?” So much for biting my tongue. “Are you
seeing
what I’m seeing?”

“Just make it work!”

I snorted, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, sure, why not. I’ve always wanted to be brainwashed into a zombie.”

Her fake smile vanished and her expression became deprecating. “I hate that you got my sense of humor.”

My grin was genuine as I climbed out of the car, saying, “Yes, well, sucks to be you!”

Mom scowled. “Get going!”

I grabbed my duffle bag from the backseat and turned to the gates. They loomed before me like gaping jaws of death. I could have sworn they were leering with malicious glee at the prospect of fresh meat. Stepping through could very well be the last thing I ever did.

I gulped.

Raindrops clung to my hair and trailed down my face in icy ribbons the longer I stood there chewing on my thumbnail, deciding between running and taking the first step. Being a mindless zombie didn’t hurt, did it?

“It’ll be okay,” Mom murmured through the open window of my door. “You got your snacks?”

I managed to pull myself together long enough to offer her a comforting smile — because she needed it, needed to know I was okay. For her, I had to be strong, even if it felt like I was walking to my own execution.

I patted my duffle bag, weighed down drastically by the insane amount of chocolate and oatmeal granola bars stuffed inside. They would have to suffice for in-between snacks, or when I couldn’t get my hands on anything and needed a quick fix. I knew from past experiences that the amount I had on me was just enough for three months — that’s assuming I only indulged in one a day. That was roughly the number of times the cravings hit, when I was weakened by the inhumanity that nailed my control to the wall. The problem was that I needed something in my stomach every few hours; otherwise, I was crippled by migraines and cramps. Stocking up on non-perishable items was the only way to keep the prowling demon at bay.

“Yeah, I’m all set.” I slammed the door closed and tossed my duffle bag strap over my shoulder. “I’ll call you the second I can.”

She seemed to hesitate, which made me hesitate, and the knot tightened. “Fallon, listen…” she faltered, sucked in a breath, closed her eyes, then shook her head, giving a weak chuckle. “You know what… Never mind. Call me the second you get settled.”

I took the hotel key she held out through the window. The scuffed and faded keychain with the hotel name and number stamped on the back felt hefty in my grasp and warm from being inside her pocket. I dropped it into the side pocket of my duffle.

With a last glance at my mother, I made my way through the gates and started up the front steps. The two single files of students continued their brisk pace on either side of me, and their footsteps sounding more and more like a steady heartbeat against the wet stone. I felt oddly trapped between them, like I was being herded. I actually stopped and waited to see if they would grab me and drag me forcibly inside.

No one touched me, with their hands, but eyes followed my movement like camera lenses. Most of the attention came from the boys, the ones between thirteen-to-eighteen. They gave me the once over, interest dark in their eyes. I nervously stowed away a coil of escaped hair behind my ear, anxiously staring down at my high tops. Maybe if I didn’t take notice, they’d stop, even if past experiences warned me that wouldn’t happen. I knew from history that boys liked new things. I was new, thus a novelty. I knew that if I remained in one place long enough and people got to know me, I would be no more interesting than the chain link fence caging us all in. But I
was
new and I was different — the equivalent of a circus freak.

More desperate than before to flee, I glanced back over the wave of bodies blocking my view to my mother’s car, surprised to find her already gone. She could have waited until I was inside before just deserting me, I thought, expelling a sigh as I started forward again.

The flash of light spiking off gleaming metal caught the corner of my eye. My attention was swiveling even before my feet shuffled to clumsy a halt. My heart rate raised in volume between my ears, a loud drum of noise that drowned out the clap of feet on stone. A lock slammed down on my breath, trapping the air in my lungs as I stared, dizzy, at the figure bathed beneath the shadows of an oak tree, clad entirely in black.

The motorcyclist from the other night raised a gloved hand and saluted.

I didn’t recall running, but my sneakers slipped as I scrambled down the stairs, duffle bag abandoned in my haste. The robot-children eyed me as I shouldered my way through their perfect assembly. But he was gone when I broke free at last.

The spot he’d occupied beneath the giant tree lay vacant. There was no sign of him or his bike. It was as though he’d vanished into thin air. But people didn’t vanish. People didn’t just appear and then disappear mysteriously. I must have been seeing things. A trick of the light? Guilt? It was either that or his ghost had decided to haunt me.

Inwardly, I snorted.
Stand in line!
I wanted to tell him. Amalie already had dibs.

“Fallon Braeden?” The woman that appeared at the top of the stairs was rail thin with a long face, almond-shaped eyes and a severe expression. She wore a gray dress suit with black, sensible shoes and thin-rimmed glasses that made her features seem even thinner. “Come with me.”

She spun on her two inch pumps and stomped back into the looming darkness on the other side of the open doorway. She didn’t even glance back to see if I was following. She walked with the determination of a person on a mission. This was clearly not a woman who liked her time wasted, so I didn’t.

I grabbed my duffle bag off the courtyard floor and ran after her, not caring if I killed myself trying to maneuver slippery stairs at a run.

The foyer was pure marble, sleek, glossy and white, matching the vaulted ceilings with its crown molding. At the end of the oval room, there was a set of wide, arched stairs draped in a blood-red carpet. At the bottom was an arched doorway that matched the three at the top. The place was bright, disturbingly clean and smelt nauseatingly of floral air freshener and rain.

“My name is Ms. Wonnacott and you shall address me as such,” her voice echoed through the narrow corridor, reverberating along with the clicking of her heels. “I am Headmaster Pardun’s Deputy Headmistress and the one you will be dealing with should there be any nonsense conducted within the school grounds. We generally don’t allow such late admission, but your mother was… insistent so we will expect a great deal more from you than the others. Lady Clare’s Academy will not accept slacking. You will be prompt for each class and your assignments will be up to par and on time each day. You will keep your uniform clean, pressed and presentable. No outside clothing is allowed here and you will do well to remember that.”

“I don’t have a uniform,” I told her.

“I am aware,” Ms. Wonnacott replied sharply, as if I had just broken one of the cardinal rules by speaking. “Due to the… circumstances, you will be measured this afternoon and your uniform will be ready by the end of the week. In the meantime, you will wear appropriate attire, preferably in gray colors.”

I wasn’t sure I was allowed to speak again, so I said nothing, but I could tell I was going to just love it here. Nothing said relaxed atmosphere like everyone dressed in gray.

I was taken to a lavishly furnished office and told to sit in one of the two seats facing an enormous mahogany desk. Ms. Wonnacott took the seat behind the desk with absolute grace and folded her hands over the folders resting there neatly.

“I have gone over your records,” she tapped a red-tipped finger against the folder. “I have to say I am more than a little apprehensive about accepting your application. Usually when a person transfers as many schools as you have it means something, either you will be a problem, or something else.”

I really hated the way she said
something else
as if I were a criminal guilty of something heinous. How could she judge me so easily without even getting to know me? She jumped to the assumption that I was bad news when in fact I’d never been in trouble my entire life.

“Why
have
you changed so many schools, Miss. Braeden?”

What could I say? I never had an answer to that question because I had no idea myself. Besides, at that point, it didn’t really even matter. I’d been to enough interviews like that one to know they didn’t really care. Anything I said at that point would result in one of two things: they would deem my mother unfit and possibly a danger to me, or that I was a problem student.

“Are you lazy?” She tipped her head to the side slightly, her eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “Or just easily distracted? Will you even be with us for very long?”

No. But that wasn’t something she would take kindly to hearing.

“Other schools have failed to capture my rapid learning abilities,” I replied, reciting the same speech I’d given every other school. “I believe Lady Clare’s Academy has what I need to better myself.”

What a lie. I knew already that this place had nothing the other schools didn’t. They were all the same, mindless drones marching to the beat of someone else’s drum. A building full of rich, snobby brats who could barely wipe their own noses yet somehow still managed to grow up to rule the world one day. My whole existence fit inside a duffle bag and they couldn’t leave their mommies and daddies without a nanny tagging along.

“And what exactly are you hoping to accomplish?” Ms. Wonnacott asked, leaning back in her chair.

I replied instantly, “A brighter future.”

It was hard to tell if she bought it, but I guessed I was in the clear when she removed a stack of papers from inside the folder beneath her hand and dropped them down in front of me.

“I will be watching you very closely, Miss. Braeden.”

Fantastic.

Lady Clare’s Academy turned out to be exactly what I pegged it would be. The clique factor was so tight that I would have had better luck breaking into Fort Knox than make friends with anyone there. Everyone moved in packs and no one ever talked to anyone else that wasn’t in their circle. It was as if the entire school was broken up into small groups. If I were a follower of politics, I would label each group as a country for the amount of animosity that ran thick amongst them. Being new, I could have had leprosy for the distance everyone put between them and me. One boy even refused to touch my history paper during grading period, which the teacher found completely acceptable.