Forbidden

Forbidden by James, Syrie


one

It had been a really crappy morning.
Things can only get better, Claire Brennan thought as she flipped on her turn signal, struggling to concentrate on the road despite the throbbing ache in her head.
“Claire! Get over, you’re going to miss the exit.”
Claire sighed and cast a sidelong glance at her mother, Lynn, in the passenger seat. “I’m trying to, but that Beamer needs to move its ass.”
The car in question finally zoomed forward. Claire pressed hard on the gas and yanked the wheel, lurching their aging white Toyota Camry into the exit lane of the 405 freeway. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mom’s right foot stomp on the floor.
“Stop pressing the imaginary brake, Mom! I’ve done this at least three hundred times, okay? I know how to drive.”
“Sorry, honey. I was just … reacting instinctively.”
Claire merged onto Sunset Boulevard and joined the morning lineup of BMWs, Lexuses, Volvos, and flashy SUVs waiting at the light to turn left toward her high school. She could feel her mom’s gaze on her and suddenly felt a little self-conscious. Her mom had a way of looking at her sometimes that was really intense, as if she was inspecting her for some imperfection, or seeking something that wasn’t there.
Claire often wondered if it was because she didn’t look anything like her mother. Her mom was blond, blue-eyed, and beautiful—and way younger than any of her classmates’ parents. Claire had long, dark brown (translation: boring) hair, and hazel eyes. She was of medium height and somewhat curvy, while her mother was paler, shorter, and slighter. Clearly, Claire thought, she must take after her father—a man she had never met. A man her mother never spoke about.
“Why are you staring at me?” Claire asked.
“I’m not staring.” A brief silence ensued as her mother quickly glanced away. “Honey, are you sure you feel all right?”
So that’s it, Claire mused. “Mom: You’ve been hovering over me ever since breakfast. You’re blowing things way out of proportion! To be honest, I don’t feel so great, but sooner or later every girl goes through this, okay? I’ll survive.”
“I just… I want to make sure you have everything you need today—”
“Mom, I’ll be fine. You should be relieved. I am. It means I’m not a freak of nature after all. Now I can be normal like everyone else.”
“Is that what you want, honey?” her mom said with a loving look. “To be just like everyone else?”
“Of course.” Privately, Claire added, That’s not the only thing I want. She wanted a home. To stay in one place for more than a year or two. To put down some roots. For her mom to finally settle down and be happy, maybe even remarry. With that kind of stability, Claire might be lucky enough to find a boyfriend herself. But what were the odds of that happening, with a restless, paranoid free spirit for a mother?
“Now that I have my license,” Claire teased, “the only other thing I need to be like everyone else is my own car.”
Her mom immediately went on the defensive. “Just because all the other kids at this school got a shiny new car for their sixteenth birthday, it doesn’t mean we can afford one. Even with your partial scholarship, the cost of tuition alone—”
“I know, Mom. I was just kidding.”
Claire shot her mom a reassuring smile and then focused on navigating the steep, curving driveway that led down the hill toward Emerson Academy. It was Book Day, the Friday in early September before the school year officially began. Claire felt her spirits lift, as they always did when she arrived on campus. She knew how lucky she was to go here.
Emerson Academy was a prestigious private school, grades seven through twelve, with only one hundred students per grade. The campus—located in Brentwood, an upscale neighborhood at the base of the Santa Monica Mountains—was beautiful, with Spanish-style redbrick-and-stucco buildings nestled into the side of a steep hill landscaped with shrubs, palms, and eucalyptus trees. The gymnasium, Middle School, and state-of-the-art aquatic center, football field, and baseball field sprawled across the valley floor below. A series of concrete ramps and railroad-tie staircases snaked their way up through the manicured hillside to the Upper Campus classrooms, creating nooks and terraces where students could hang out in the Southern California sunshine year-round.
Claire loved everything about the school: the beauty of the campus, the rotating weekly schedule that kept things from getting stale, and the challenging classes. At this school, you either respected your teachers and peers, or you were kicked out. Grades were everything. Claire was one of the top students in her class, but only because she worked really hard to keep her scholarship. After two years at a place as special as Emerson, she couldn’t bear the thought of going anywhere else.
Claire passed the junior parking lot and pulled to the curb of the drop-off circle, shifting the car into park. “All I have to do is get my picture taken and pick up my books. I should be done by noon.”
Her mom checked her watch with a frown. “I have a really busy day. I don’t know what time I’ll be able to come get you.”
“Okay, no problem.” Claire grabbed her backpack from the backseat. “I’ll ask Erica or Brian to bring me home.”
Her mom was about to protest when Claire cut her off. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll make sure I wear my seat belt, that they don’t go over the speed limit, play loud music, or text while driving, and that they aren’t under the influence of alcohol or narcotics.”
“Thank you. Call me when you get home, so I’ll know you’re safe.” Her mom thumbed through her laptop bag, seemingly unaware of the good-humored sarcasm behind Claire’s words. “Oh God. I forgot the disclosure form for the Redman account. Where the hell did I put it?” Claire’s mom had become a Realtor shortly after they moved to Los Angeles and seemed to be pretty good at it.
As Claire wedged her way in between the bag and her mom for a good-bye hug, something strange happened. A shudder passed through Claire’s body—like an electric shock in her veins—followed by a woozy feeling. Then a crystal clear image flashed into her mind: her mother’s hand stowing a page in her bag. Without thinking, Claire blurted out, “It’s in the outside zipper pocket.”
Her mom stared at her. “What? What are you talking about?”
Claire blinked twice. “That form you’re looking for. Check the pocket of your laptop bag.”
Claire’s mom slipped her hand into the pocket and pulled out a printed form, looking confused. “I must have put this in there yesterday at the office. How did you know that?”
“Just a lucky guess. You squirrel things away there all the time, Mom.” Weird, Claire thought, as she exited the car and her mom slid into the driver’s seat. Where did that thought come from? Was it déjà vu? And why do I feel so dizzy? Claire’s knees were wobbling, and sweat beaded on her brow. She turned away quickly, readjusting her fitted white top and short floral skirt. “Gotta go, Mom. See you tonight. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
The Camry entered the stream of departing parents. Claire cut over to the steps leading up the hill, grateful that her mom hadn’t noticed Claire’s light-headedness or the flush she could feel heating her face. The symptoms must come with the territory, Claire decided—but it was better not to mention them. You could never tell what would set Lynn Brennan off. The least little oddity in Claire’s health or behavior, the tiniest hint of a problem at school, even a wrong-number phone call in the middle of the night, could send her spazzing. Before Claire knew it, they’d be packed up and moving. It’ll be safer here, her mom always promised. Safe from what? Claire could never figure that out.
“Claire Bear! Wait up!”
She knew that voice. Claire turned, happily returning her best friend’s hug. “Hey, gorgeous! When did you get back?”
“At two a.m. I am so jet-lagged.” Erica Fischer was tall and willowy, with stunning, shoulder-length red hair. Claire always felt like Erica’s clothes—today it was an embossed aqua-blue spaghetti top, pencil-thin designer jeans, and an assortment of funky jewelry—cost three times as much as her own. They probably did. “You look pale, Claire. Did you ralph this morning or something?”
“No.” She darted Erica a meaningful look as they started up the central stairs toward the Upper School. “It started today.”
Erica’s eyes widened. “It? Are you serious? Wow, finally!”
“I know, right? I was starting to think I was a space alien.”
“Do you need any Midol?” Erica shoved her hand into her purse and held up a packet, smiling like a spokesperson in a TV commercial. “It’s one of the only sanctioned drugs on campus. Guaranteed to relieve cramps and bloating!”
Claire grinned. “Thanks, but my mom already gave me some. She totally freaked when I told her. For some reason, she seemed really upset.”
“My mom was the opposite when it happened to me: über jazzed. She was all”—Erica adopted her most annoying, sunshiny voice—“‘Welcome to womanhood, sweetheart! This is so wonderful! Someday when you have children, it will all be worth it!’”
Claire cringed. “I don’t know which reaction is worse.” They passed the central landing, where two crisscrossing stairways met, and continued up toward the South Quad. “So tell me about the South of France, and how desperately you missed me.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t have wanted to be there,” Erica insisted melodramatically. “There were long stretches of sand-and-pebble beaches, endless supplies of chocolate éclairs, and lots of tall, dark men hitting on me who didn’t know the meaning of the word statutory.”
“Did your dad beat them off with a stick?”
“Sadly, yes. I drowned my sorrows in wine. No one in Europe seems to care about your age.” Erica thrust out her wrist, exhibiting a dangly silver charm bracelet. “My mom bought this from a flea-market gypsy in Aix-en-Provence. What do you think?”
“I think she’s gonna hunt you down for swiping it.”
“She’ll never notice it’s gone. She’s too busy shuttling my brother around today.”
They reached the top of the hill and headed into the quad, where two lines of juniors were waiting outside classroom doorways to have their photos taken. “Let’s get this picture over with, shall we?” Claire said with a nervous sigh. She never liked any of her school pictures and found the whole experience somewhat demoralizing.
A hand waved to them from near the end of a line, and they moved to join Brian Yao—a cute, short boy with spiky black hair and a ready smile—whom Erica had known since seventh grade. Even though Brian’s parents had plenty of money, he always wore the same ancient pair of sneakers, held together at this point by willpower and duct tape. The duo had welcomed Claire when she’d arrived at Emerson two years ago, and they’d been close ever since.
“Hey, Bri!” Erica scampered over to give him a hug. “Good to see the evil summer internship didn’t sap your good looks.”
“Oh, they tried. My dad’s a taskmaster! I had to wear a suit and tie, even though I spent most of my time filing. But everyone was nice.” Brian hugged Claire. “Sorry I’ve been MIA all summer, CB. Did you end up slaving at Peet’s again?”
“And two summer school courses. Try not to be jealous.” Claire’s eyes were drawn to the guy standing in line behind Brian. She’d never seen him before, but he was staring at her—and not, she thought, in a friendly way. “Don’t worry, we’re just saying hello,” she said quickly. “We’re not cutting, I promise.”
The guy instantly ducked his head and busied himself fiddling with an antique-looking gold pocket watch that he pulled from his Levi’s. “You’re already here. Might as well stay.”
He spoke with a charming Scottish accent that was more Braveheart than Trainspotting (i.e., you could actually understand what he was saying). He was pale but very attractive, with a lean, muscular build, messy, dirty-blond hair, and dark green eyes. His jeans and black T-shirt were complemented by battered army surplus combat boots, while his backpack was casually slung over one of his broad shoulders.
“Nice watch,” Claire said. “You’re new, aren’t you? Are you from Scotland?”
He seemed to consider his words before answering, “Aye.”
“Cool.” Brian grinned. “Are you an exchange student or something?”
The Scottish guy shook his head, his handsome face unreadable as he put the watch back in his pocket. Claire couldn’t tell whether he was stuck-up, rude, or just uncomfortable being the center of attention. “No. Just moved here.”
They all stepped forward as the line advanced. Erica shot Claire a silent, wide-eyed look that conveyed exactly how hot she thought the new guy was. Whirling back to stare at him, as if she’d just found a shiny new toy, Erica gasped, “Say something else!”
“Something else?” he said tentatively.
Erica giggled and clapped her hands with delight.
Claire rolled her eyes and grinned apologetically. “Ignore her. She’s always been a sucker for anyone with a foreign accent.”
Rather than return Claire’s smile, the guy glanced away again. His eyes scanned the quad as if determined to look anywhere but at her. Well, Claire thought, so much for trying to be polite.
Brian, unruffled, stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Brian. These two harpies are Claire and Erica. Allow me to personally welcome you to the City of Angels.”
“Alec. MacKenzie.” He shook Brian’s hand and cracked a stiff smile.
Claire wondered how much longer they were going to have to endure this one-sided conversation. Despite how good-looking he was and his cool Scottish accent, he seemed like a pain in the ass. Thankfully, the line had moved quickly and they were next. “Bri, get in there. You’re holding us up.” Claire shoved him playfully toward the open classroom door.
Brian turned back to them and bowed. “Reflect, ladies and gentleman, on the seriousness of this moment. This picture is no mere ID photo. It will hang all year long on the Student Life Center wall for everyone to see, trapped in the class collage. And it will last for time immemorial in the yearbook, to embarrass us and entertain our grandchildren.”
Erica looked at Alec with a laugh as Brian strode into the classroom. “I know what you’re thinking, and no, he’s not crazy. Brian and I are both … theater people.” She whispered theater people mischievously, as if it were something delightfully sinful.
“I figured,” Alec said, still doing his best impression of a statue.
Claire hoped they were done with him. But Erica had other plans.
“Mr. MacKenzie,” Erica continued with a melodramatic, mock English accent, “you simply must join our little group after your photograph. Books are distributed in the gymnasium down the hill, and we would not wish you to become lost on your first day here.”
Alec paused again, as if taking great pains to weigh the decision. Finally, he answered quietly, “Sure.”
Great, Claire thought with an inward sigh. Won’t this be fun.