Chapter THREE
“There’s the bell. You’d better get going.” Jamison’s mom gave him a subtle squeeze and turned toward the parking lot.
He hoped she wouldn’t look back because he wasn’t moving an inch until Ray showed up. Screw first period.
Mom didn’t look back, but before her car pulled onto the street a green BMW screamed into the space she’d just left.
Okay, actor boy. Act cool. You saw nothing. She knows nothing. I was never there.
The door opened and a ball of white and gray unfurled. He watched like someone had commanded him not to take his eyes off her. So much for cool.
She must be cold. More layers than usual. A leather book bag dug into her shoulder. A white glove pushed the door shut and she turned. Sunglasses. Clever.
Were they allowed to wear sunglasses? Plastic, black sunglasses?
“Hey.” She smiled as she walked toward him, but she revealed nothing. “You’re Kenneth’s grandson.” She held out a gloved hand and stopped two feet away. Guess she forgot she was in a hurry.
“That’s me.”
“You’re wondering if I’m allowed to wear sunglasses.”
Holy shit, he thought, but he kept his face blank, except for his raised eyebrow. Granddad had taught him that, years ago.
“I’m teasing. Don’t imagine I can read minds. I just get asked that every time I wear them.” She started to take them off, took one look into his eyes, then replaced them.
“Hungover?” He couldn’t believe he just asked, but he covered the slip with a friendly smile.
“That’s not allowed.” She laughed. “But I am allowed to shake hands.”
Stupid! Her hand was still out there, hanging!
He grabbed it a little fast, a little hard, but she just laughed again. It wasn’t a silly Tickle-Me-Elmo laugh like most girls. It was a real laugh, like...the kind of laugh that made you think a person got you. And he wished there was a stupid red button on her palm he could push to hear it again.
Push here.
He still held her hand, not looking up as a kid ran past even though he felt the guy staring. Her gloves were the softest he’d ever felt, like the angel hair his mother always laid under the nativity scene at Christmas time.
“Lamb’s wool. Nice, huh?”
“Yeah.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, still holding firm. She’d given him the excuse. Not his fault. “Like angel hair.”
She snatched back her hand, biting her bottom lip.
“Nope. Just wool.” She cleared her throat. “I’m Skye.”
“Skye what?”
What an idiot. He’d let a little bit of small talk make him forget all about Ray and Burke, about what the Somerleds may have done to them to keep them from making it to school that morning. Ray knew how Jamison dreaded that first day. If somewhere, deep down, there was any trace of the best friend he’d grown up with, Ray wouldn’t let him down today. Not if he had a choice.
“Somerled.”
“Skye Somerled?” Skepticism snarled out around his tongue. “Do they make you change your name when you join up?”
Her lips pursed like an old woman’s, but with less wrinkles, pushing the tip of her nose up slightly. Cute nose.
“I’ve always been Skye Somerled, thanks. And no one joins up; you’re either a Somerled, or you’re not.”
“And what if you start craving hamburgers?”
She smiled and folded her arms. Ray’d been right about the vegetarian stuff.
Jamison guessed she’d be blowing off the whole first period too, and the thing he’d dreaded all day—running into her—was the last thing he wanted to end.
“Or what if you fell in love with...blue jeans?”
“Ha!” She tossed her head back and put her hands on her hips, holding back all those layers of sweater, coat, and scarf. Actually, the white jeans looked pretty hot.
“Or if you got caught wearing black sunglasses?”
He didn’t want to let the chance pass to learn more about her cult rules. The thought of them punishing her for misbehaving made him want to retch.
She bit her bottom lip again and looked down, adjusted her bag, preparing to walk away. “I found them in the car.”
She’d mumbled, but he’d heard her. It was his turn to laugh. She didn’t sound like she was afraid of punishment. She was just embarrassed to get busted. Sunglasses weren’t allowed, after all.
When he could speak again, he meant to say something smooth, but what came out was, “I’ll keep your secret.”
Her head snapped up. Damn it!
“You’d better be careful, though. Don’t forget you’re wearing them and drive home like that.” He gave her a teasing smile to distract her from the smell of fear in the air—his fear. It blew in and out his nose with each breath. He hoped she had a cold so she’d miss it. Surely girls who helped blow up people in mid-air knew what fear smelled like.
Jamison struggled to keep a straight face and block the image of Ray and Burke being lifted off the ground, knowing they were seconds away from being blown to smithereens.
Okay. He needed to get away from her. This couldn’t end well.
“Fine,” she said. “You keep my secret, and I’ll keep yours.”
He couldn’t have walked away if his shoes were on fire.
Would she slap his hand away if he reached for her glasses? If he could just see her eyes, he’d know just how busted he was. No one was as good an actor as he was. No one.
“And do I have a secret?” Innocent. Think innocent.
“Don’t you?” She lowered the sunglasses and smiled a smile that bore into his soul.
He suddenly saw nothing wrong with confessing every secret he’d ever kept. Thankfully she winked and that stupid urge disappeared. He stuck his tongue between his teeth and clamped down, just in case.
“It looks like you’re all registered for classes and you’re skipping out on your first day.”
“Oh.” He looked at the schedule in his hand. “No. I’m just waiting for my friend, Ray. Said he’d meet me here before classes started.” He should get an Oscar for the morning’s performance. Honestly. “You know Ray Peters?”
Skye smiled and pushed her glasses back up, but not before he saw something flash across her face. Regret? Pity? He sure as hell hoped it wasn’t guilt.
“Sure I know Ray. And I know him well enough to not be surprised he’s late for school.”
“Yeah?” Jamison stiffened. “I know him pretty well myself. We’ve been best friends all our lives, and he’d rather die than let me down.”
She frowned, though he could barely see the pucker in her brow over the glasses. “And he’s letting you down by not showing up to school on time?”
“Yeah, he is.” Jamison looked down at the sidewalk, no longer wanting to explain. She’d think he was so stupid for wanting someone to have his back when he walked through those halls the first day. Then something else came to him; he was more worried about his first day at school than he was about what had happened to his friend. “Loser!”
“What?”
“Sorry. Not you. I’m the loser. I shouldn’t be pissed that he’s not here. I should be worried...worried about why he’s not here.”
She smiled. That was a good sign. Either she didn’t know what they’d done to Ray and Burke, or she wasn’t concerned about it. Then again, she could be a cold brainwashed zombie who didn’t care what had happened to them.
“You’re a good friend to have, I think.” She walked around him and called over her shoulder, “I wouldn’t worry about Ray and Burke if I were you. They’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
He tried not to lean into her as her bulky coat brushed his arm. The fact that he was tempted to do so blew him away. It was like there was a rubber-band stretched between them and he automatically relaxed when they were close. As she entered the main doors, he could feel the tension, the stretching, and he knew he’d be spending the rest of the day thinking of a way to stand near her again.
Then her parting words replayed in his head.
He’d never said anything about Burke!
***
Jamison entered just in time to catch his name on the PA. Morning announcements must have been running late, too.
“And we have the perfect start to Homecoming week. Jamison Shaw, whom many of you will remember from elementary school and Bowman Jr., has moved back to town. Welcome home, Mr. Shaw!”
So much for invisibility.
Jamison ignored the list of homecoming activities planned for the week like so much rain beating on his head. He would have preferred to make a fresh start with second period, but there was nowhere to hide. It might be days before his car arrived with the rest of their stuff from Texas. Until then, he’d have no haven or escape plan at his disposal. But it was all good; he wouldn’t be interrupting since his first teacher couldn’t start until the announcements were over.
He walked into Mr. Evans’ College Prep English just as the PA system dinged, signaling the end of far-too-cheerful class officers wielding what little power they were granted.
Mr. Evans lifted his head and smiled. “Welcome home, Mr. Shaw.” The drawl was a little much. How did Mr. Evans know where he’d moved from?
“Thank you, sir.” Jamison looked for a seat along the perimeter, where he might blend into the wall.
“Right up front here. Unless you’d rather stand.”
No one else was standing. If he chose to lean against the back wall, he might as well be standing on a desk waving his arms.
Jamison nodded and walked to the empty seat, but his eye caught a blur of white at the back of the room. He wanted to see if it was Skye, but his butt was already lowering into the chair. He’d look stupid if he dropped a pencil, wouldn’t he?
“We’re reading Lost Horizon. It shouldn’t take you too long to catch up to the rest of the class since I’m sure they’re all behind schedule.”
“I’ve already read it.” Jamison realized too late that he should have kept his mouth shut. What was it about having that chick around that made him so chatty?
Mr. Evan’s rolled his eyes above his bifocals. “It’s rare to find such a well-read football player, Mr. Shaw—”
“I don’t play football. Sir.”
Already? He was used to the questions, knew exactly what was coming, but he thought Coloradoans wouldn’t be nearly as obsessed with the sport as Texans were. He hadn’t expected to be cornered until gym class.
“But you’re from—”
“Texas, sir. Yes, I know.”
A student snorted.
“But you’re so—”
“Built for it, sir? Yes, I am.” He went on while Mr. Evans concentrated very hard on holding his mouth open. “And tall. Yes, I know that too. No, I don’t play basketball either. No soccer. No wrestling. No track. Did the coaches at my last high school try to get me to play? Now that you mention it, they did.”
The class erupted. Unfortunately Class Clown was not what he was going for. Class Ghost was his official title. They just didn’t know it yet.
Mr. Evans looked a little more amused than insulted, but just barely.
“And Lost Horizon is one of my mom’s favorites.” Jamison wasn’t sure the man could hear that last part.
While Mr. Evans beat on his desk with a yardstick to regain control, Jamison turned around to find Skye grinning at him. That giant rubber-band relaxed, in spite of what he knew—that she knew he knew, and that he knew she knew—just what had happened under that tree house the night before.
Unfortunately the kid behind him wanted to know what he was looking at. The guy looked at Skye, then his attention shot right back to Jamison.
“James,” the kid whispered.
“It’s Jamison.” He tried to turn forward again, but the kid was poking him in the back.
“She’s a Somerled, dude. You know. A Somerled?”
“So?” He really needed to face forward. The banging yardstick sounded like it was going to break.
“So, I think they only date their own kind, bro.”
Jamison sat forward and gave Mr. Evans his best impression of undivided attention. The class settled behind him.
“Since Mr. Shaw requires no extra time to catch up, we’ll test on the first half of the book tomorrow.”
Unhappy classmates groaned around Jamison. Some of them, he thought, were groaning specifically in his direction. But even all the complaining didn’t drown out one girl’s forced whisper.
“Jake saw them holding hands in the parking lot this morning.”
Into his mind popped the image of an incredibly soft white glove, in the center of which was a large red sticker that read, “Push here.” And he was holding it.
Holy crap. He’d never be invisible again.