Even though she’s referring to my past fears of being bound and helpless in an asylum, I think about the destruction Morpheus showed me in Wonderland while I was unconscious, and the spider-webs winding through my sedative-enhanced dreams. She has no idea how spot-on she is about nightmares coming true.
“I’m okay now.” I pat her wrist.
She brushes a strand of hair off my forehead. “Just don’t do anything like that again, yeah?”
“Yeah, yeah.” I grin. “You sound just like your brother. By the way, did he say anything about his appointment with that heiress chick yet? He was so quiet last night on the phone.”
Jen’s black-lined eyes narrow, seeing right through me. “Stop worrying. You’re his world … his muse. Right, Corbin?”
“Huh?” Corbin lifts his mouth off the straw sticking out of his Coke’s lid. “Oh, sure,” he says in his deep southern drawl. “He’s only got eyes for you.” He smirks encouragingly, and the freckles around his nose line up like a pigmented constellation.
The ten-minute warning bell rings, and we pile out of the truck. Jen twists a tendril of pink hair around her finger and secures it over her ear with a pearl barrette that matches the ivory netted skirt layered over her skinny jeans. She hands off her backpack to Corbin. We follow a crowd of students, the three of us locked in our own private conversation.
“So, did Jeb tell you two about the guy who helped him get the ambulance?” I ask. “He said he was enrolling here …”
“Yep,” Corbin responds after another sip of Coke. “He registered yesterday. A senior from Cheshire, England.”
From Cheshire.
“Of course,” I say under my breath. Time to find out whose life and identity he borrowed to pull off this charade. “What’s his name?” I press.
“M,” Jenara answers.
“What? Like Em, short for Emmett?”
“Nope. Like the letter in the alphabet.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or gag.
We step into the breezeway, the tiles slick under our feet compared to the asphalt outside. Our small trio gets hemmed in by other students, and I’m bombarded with questions: What was it like, almost dying? Did you see any ghosts when you were in the coma? Is heaven like the movies say it is?
It’s weird, but for once, being the center of attention isn’t so bad. Being noticed for something other than the way I dress or who I’m descended from makes me feel almost normal … accepted.
After our curious classmates get their fill of my guarded answers and move on, Jenara resumes our conversation. “The exchange guy’s last name is Rethen.”
I frown, feeling out the word in my mind. Rethen. It uses the same letters as nether. It’s an anagram. There’s nothing subtle about Morpheus.
“You should see his amazing sports car,” Corbin adds. “Lets anyone drive it who wants to. I drove us to lunch in it yesterday.”
I clench my teeth. The jerk isn’t even trying to lie low. He’s flaunting how close he can get to everyone I care about, how easy it is for him to blend into my world, as a warning to me.
I want to tell them both to stay away from him, but how do I justify the request, since technically I haven’t met him yet?
“And Al”—Jen practically beams—“you’ll love his style. Dead-bug chic.”
“Here we go.” Corbin rolls his eyes.
Jen elbows him. “Shut up. Al will totally get this.” She loops an arm through my elbow. “He wants to be a lepidopterist or entomologist or something. He’s inspired a whole new line for me. Faded jeans, rattlesnake boots, and a cowboy hat with a string of—”
“Moths around the brim,” I finish for her, my heart skipping a beat or two.
Jen and Corbin both stare at me in awe.
“How’d you know that?” Corbin asks.
“Jeb mentioned it,” I lie, and clear my throat for effect.
“Ah.” Jenara’s eyes—the same green hue of her brother’s—sparkle under their veil of gray eye shadow. “Well, I designed some dead-bug fashions during sixth period yesterday. You’re hitching a ride with us after school, right?”
I nod.
“I’ll show you the sketches later. I used M for the model. He’s got this whole hot-androgynous thing going on.”
“That’s my cue.” Corbin taps Jen’s butt with her backpack before handing it off. With a practiced arm, he tosses his empty Coke cup into a trash can a few feet away. It lands neatly inside. “Like to see your limey unisex cowboy do that. It’s all in the hands.” He wiggles his fingers in Jen’s direction. “I got man skills, babe. That’s why I’m starting quarterback.”
She huffs. “Really? Looks more like janitorial skills,” she teases back.
Corbin laughs and disappears around the corner. Jen gives me a hug and we part for first period.
I settle at my desk. Morpheus is nowhere in sight, although he is the topic of almost every girl’s conversation and passed note. I manage to read one over someone’s shoulder:
I heard he got in trouble with his rich English family and was sent here to see how regular people live. Viva American peasants! The M comes from his dad, Mort, but he’s rebelling. drools