Forbidden

five

“Are you kidding?”
“No, I’m serious.” Claire leaned forward on the table, cupping her grande soy vanilla latte in her hands. “I felt nauseous and light-headed, and suddenly it was like I was the one in the car, like I was your mom, reaching out to hold Henry back and everything.”
Erica stared at her. “Oh my God.”
“I know, right?”
The aroma of brewing coffee wafted out to the coffee shop’s shady garden patio where they sat. It was that quiet period after the Sunday morning crowd had left and the afternoon rush had not yet begun.
“So … what?” Erica’s eyes narrowed. “Are you, like, psychic or something?”
“If I am, it’s news to me. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”
“Never? Are you sure?”
“Yes.” But then Claire remembered something. “Oh, wait. There was this one other thing, Friday morning.”
“The same day as the accident?”
“Yeah. My mom was all worried about some document she couldn’t find for work, and as I was hugging her goodbye in the car, the same weird feeling came over me—and suddenly I knew exactly where it was. It was like the image popped into my head. I saw my mom’s hand putting the page into her bag.”
“You saw it? Like you were watching your mom doing it?”
“No, it’s like I was her, seeing it from her perspective.”
“Wow. Trippy.”
“I didn’t think much about it at the time. After your mom’s accident, I thought the thing I saw had something to do with her bracelet. Like it was cursed or magical somehow.”
“It’s just a bracelet, Claire. I’ve worn it a dozen times, and I’ve never gotten any visions. No, this is all about you.”
Claire tried to shrug off the suggestion. “I did some research on the internet last night about psychic abilities and phenomena. There are ten million sites about ESP, clairvoyance, telepathy, telekinesis, and all kinds of weird bullshit from ghosts to Atlantis and killer fog. It all looks so cheesy, I couldn’t take any of it seriously.”
“Maybe you should.” Erica sipped her coffee, then looked up with an eager expression. “What am I thinking right now?”
“I have no idea. That I’m a lunatic?”
“No, no, no. What am I thinking? Use your new mojo.”
“I can’t read minds, Erica.”
“How do you know? Try it.”
Claire stared at her friend for a moment. “This is stupid.”
“Oh, wait, wait, wait! Maybe it’s not a telepathy thing. What if it’s a touch thing? You hugged your mom and got a vision through her eyes, right? Then you touched my mom’s bracelet and saw something about her.”
“Huh. Okay, so?”
Erica grabbed Claire’s hand and plunked it against her arm. “Tell me what you feel. Are you getting any vibes about me?”
“Yeah. I’m rethinking which one of us is the lunatic.”
Erica sighed and sat back on her stool. “You’re such a disappointment. It would be so awesome to have a best friend who’s psychic. You’d be able to tell me who my next boyfriend’s going to be, where I can find a pair of anklewrap, blue suede, Jimmy Choo sandals in size eight, what questions are going to be on my pre-calc tests, even which colleges to apply to.”
Claire shook her head. “No, the stuff I saw had already happened. I think.”
“Good point. Well then, you’re definitely useless.”
They sat in silence for a long moment.
“Maybe I was just suffering from an iron deficiency that day,” Claire mused.
“Maybe you’re having hallucinations induced by your mom’s drug-taking days, a brain defect passed on at birth.”
“As far as I know, my mom never took drugs. She’s a free spirit, yes. But she’s devoted to clean living.”
“Okay. If you’re not psychic, then how else would you explain it?”
“It defies explanation.”
“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see if it happens to you again.”
“God, I hope it doesn’t.” Claire let out a nervous breath, then finished her coffee. “In the meantime, promise not to tell anyone, okay? Especially my mom. We had a fight on Friday. I apologized, and I think she forgave me. But I don’t want to give her any more fuel for liftoff.”
Erica gave her a two-finger salute. “Copy that. Don’t tip off the crazy hippie lady.”
Crap, Claire thought, as she stood before her locker early the next morning. She’d forgotten that it was busted. She’d have to report it to the office later so they could assign her a new one. What a great way to start the year.
She stepped over to Alec’s locker, got out the combination, and opened it. She stopped short. A shiny, brand-new LockerMate had been installed. Her books were neatly arranged on the shelves, but none of Alec’s books were in sight. Instead, a bulky, black metal lockbox took up the entire bottom space.
What the hell? Claire thought. She stared at the box. What on earth was he keeping in there? Blackmail photos? A rare comic book collection? His mother’s haggis recipe? Porn?
The first bell rang. She had ten minutes to get to class. Claire grabbed her honors history book, slammed the locker shut, and raced to the farthest end of the school. She joined the small herd of students filing into class, then paused just inside the door. The desk you chose on the first day of school was important. It usually ended up being the seat you were in for the whole year, and it gave the teacher an impression of who you were. Claire didn’t want to sit in back with the slackers or in front with the brownnosers. The only spot left in the zone she wanted was right next to Alec, who was settling into the secondrow seat against the wall.
Alec glanced at her with an awkward grin. Claire briefly returned his smile as she sat down next to him. She studied the walls of the room. They were hung with maps of the United States during various historical periods, an American flag, and a large poster that read:
NO CELL PHONES
NO TALKING
NO FOOD
NO GUM
NO DISRUPTION
NO DISRESPECT
NO WHINING
The sign did nothing to soothe Claire’s fears about her new history teacher. Her gaze fell on the backpack at Alec’s feet. It was bursting at the seams. “Do you have all your books in there?”
He nodded. “I wanted to make sure you had enough room in the locker.”
That was chivalrous of him, Claire thought. His bag must weigh a million pounds. She’d forgotten how charming his accent was. The way he rolled his Rs was actually quite enchanting. “Thanks for setting up those shelves,” she said gratefully, with a genuine smile this time. “It was really nice of you.”
Alec started to respond when the eight a.m. bell rang, announcing the start of first track. Mr. Patterson strode in, slamming and locking the door behind him. He dropped his briefcase beside the mahogany desk at the front of the room, and without even a cursory glance at the students, he turned and began writing his name on the whiteboard.
“Good morning. As you may notice, that door is now closed. And locked. As it will be at the start of every class period.” He whirled to face them, focusing his attention on cleaning his eyeglasses. “If you are late, don’t bother to knock. Our session will have already begun, and those who care about this class will be busy learning. You may spend your new free period in the library or doing whatever you wish, but you will receive a zero in participation for the day.”
Well, Claire thought. He certainly lives up to his reputation. She glanced at Alec, who silently acknowledged their mutual doom.
Mr. Patterson finally raised his gaze. “Before we begin, does anyone have any questions?”
A hand shot up. “What does that sign mean?” The student pointed to a wooden plaque above the door that read ESCHEW PROLIXITY.
“Any honors English students in the room?” Mr. Patterson responded. A third of the class raised their hands. “Any of you know what it means?”
Claire saw every hand return meekly to its place, including her own—save one. Alec’s.
Mr. Patterson gave Alec a nod. “Enlighten us, young man.”
“Avoid boring verbosity,” Alec replied.
Of course Alec knows that one, Claire thought, impressed.
The teacher seemed surprised, but said nothing whatsoever to acknowledge Alec’s answer, immediately pressing on. “This phrase will be your guiding star when writing papers in this class. Which you are going to start doing tonight. I want a five-page paper on my desk Wednesday morning, detailing your impression of any single event in our country’s history, and how it has affected you as an individual.” Over the chorus of groans, he continued, “If I assigned it for Friday, you’d just put it off until the last minute anyway. So I’m making now the last minute.”
Without missing a beat, he launched into his opening lecture. Claire began scribbling notes furiously. It was all she could do to keep up. She was relieved when the class ended. Her next three classes—honors Spanish, AP bio, and honors calculus—had teachers who were less strict than Mr. Patterson, and passed by in a blur.
At lunch, Claire stopped by the administration office to explain about her locker before working her way through the crowd of students to the bustling cafeteria. As she entered the room, the delectable, mingled aromas of baking pizza and chocolate chip cookies enveloped her, making her mouth water.
Erica, Brian, and Alec were just getting into line together. As Claire joined them, she noticed a pair of freshman girls in the next line over eyeing Alec appreciatively and whispering among themselves—but he didn’t seem to be aware of it.
“Hey, CB!” Brian greeted her. “Alec said Patterson assigned you a paper already. Due on Wednesday!” He laughed mockingly.
“Are you still sorry you’re not in the honors track?” Claire responded dryly.
“Only because it means I’ll probably never make it into Harvard,” Brian sighed.
“Alec,” Claire said, “I didn’t want you to get in trouble, so I reported that my locker was broken when I found it.”
“Thanks.”
“They’re going to assign me another one by the end of the day. So I’ll be out of your hair before you know it.”
Alec looked disappointed. “All right.” Now at the front of the line, he turned and studied the food on offer.
The hairnetted man behind the counter smiled patiently. “Pepperoni pizza or the works, take your pick. Otherwise, it’s salad bar.”
Alec hesitated. “I’ll take salad bar.”
Claire stared at him. “Are you nuts, or just a vegetarian?”
“Neither.”
Claire waited, but he didn’t elaborate further. “Eschew prolixity. Your personal motto, right?” she teased.
Alec grinned and gave her a nod. Claire caught Erica eyeing them intensely with that Aren’t you two cute? look. Was she jealous or amused? Claire couldn’t tell.
Brian brashly inserted himself in front of Alec before the counter. “Ignore this man, he’s new and hasn’t had his meds today. He’ll take a slice of each, please.”
“Wait—” Alec began.
“You can have rabbit food any day,” Erica agreed, “but trust us: Pizza is the best thing this cafeteria has going. They bring it in from a New York–style restaurant in Brentwood Village, just off campus.”
Alec didn’t offer up any more arguments. After they all got two slices and their cartons of milk, Claire paused before the snack bar, where an assortment of goodies were for sale. She saw that Erica and Brian had already each bought a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie, but Alec had not, so she grabbed two.
The foursome made their way across the South Quad, past the tables crowded with the popular, athletic kids. Claire spotted Neil standing by one of the tables. A gaggle of seated girls stared at him dreamily while he chatted with Gabrielle Miller—the star of the girls’ volleyball and tennis teams, and one of the prettiest girls at school. As usual, Gabrielle was wearing an outfit that was worth more than everything in Claire’s closet combined—and looked absolutely great with her olive skin and long, perfectly highlighted chestnut hair.
As they left the quad, Claire felt a stab of envy. Not for Gabrielle’s money or beauty, but because of the way Neil had been looking at her while they talked. It wasn’t outwardly romantic, but he did seem to be hanging on her every word. What would it feel like, Claire wondered, to have a guy interested in her like that?
She shook her head, determined not to think about it as she and her friends tromped down the stairs to the small outdoor terrace beyond the library. At the far corner, a lone wooden picnic table with attached benches overlooked the landscaped hills and Middle School below and the football field beyond.
“Nice spot,” Alec said, admiring the view as they all sat down.
“This table was handed down to me at the end of eighth grade by my senior drama friends after we did Peter Pan,” Erica explained. “I was one of the Lost Boys. See? Here’s where we carved our initials.”
“Hooligans. Shameful of you. Defacing school property!” Brian said through a mouthful of pizza.
“Brian’s initials are right here,” Claire added, tapping the spot on the table with a pointed look.
Alec laughed.
Score! Claire thought. She had actually made the guy laugh! As she dug into her pizza, however, she noticed Alec staring at the slices on his plate, looking a bit uncomfortable. “Something wrong?”
“No.”
“Then why aren’t you eating?”
“I will. It’s just … this may sound strange, but I’ve… I’ve been on a kind of strict diet for a really long time. And I haven’t—”
Claire exchanged a look with her friends. “Don’t tell me that pizza is against your religion or something.”
He grinned. “No, nothing like that.”
“Why in hell would you be on a diet?” Brian asked. “Did you used to be fat?” As Erica swatted him forcefully, he cried, “Ow! What?”
“I was raised to eat healthfully, and pizza has always been off-limits.”
“Are you serious?” Claire gasped. A bite of her own pizza caught in her throat and she coughed, her eyes watering.
“Are you saying you’ve never tasted pizza?” Brian cried, pounding Claire on the back until she could breathe again.
Alec shook his head.
“Holy shit!” Erica dug into her backpack and withdrew her cell phone, glancing about to make sure no one was watching. “Screw the rules. I have to document this moment for posterity.” Placing the phone in camera mode, she aimed it at Alec with a grin. “What are you waiting for? Bon appétit.”
Alec took a deep breath, picked up his large slice of the works, and deliberately folded it in half. He paused, glancing at them, then took a bite and began to chew. The look that crossed his face—If there’s an expression that mirrors attaining nirvana, Claire thought, this is it.
“I think he likes it,” Brian decreed with satisfaction, as Erica proudly displayed the photo.
Alec was mostly silent through the rest of lunch. When it came to dessert, it was the same thing all over again—he practically devoured the cookie Claire gave him. She was beginning to change her opinion of him. It seemed that Alec wasn’t rude or totally introverted after all. He was just quirky, and … new.
After school, Claire picked up her new locker assignment.
“It’s the last one available,” the lady from the administration office explained as she wrote down the new locker number and combination on a card. “You’re lucky we even have this one.”
Claire thanked her and hurried up to Alec’s locker, where she removed all her books and folders, stuffed them into her backpack, and then lugged them up the hill to her new locker. Passing through an arched brick entryway, Claire found herself in a narrow, dark corridor that culminated in a dead end. To her dismay, the locker they’d given her was at the very end of the passage, in the bottom corner, where a pile of dead leaves and filth had accumulated. She hesitantly entered the combination, opened the door, and shuddered in dismay. Every surface inside was caked black with dust, grime, and cobwebs. She slammed the door in disgust and heaved a sigh.
Better to share with a food-impaired Scotsman than be stuck with The Locker That Time Forgot, she thought.
Moments later, she was back at Alec’s pristine locker, returning her books to their shelves. She hoped he didn’t mind sharing. He did break her locker, after all.
She was headed for the stairs nearby when she heard the music. Someone down below was playing the guitar. The melody was gentle. Haunting. And beautiful.
For as long as Claire could remember, she’d always been drawn to guitar music, although she couldn’t quite explain why. She especially loved anything acoustic. She followed the sound to an enclosed space at the bottom of the stairwell, just outside the rear entrance to the theater, where she was stunned to find the music’s source—Alec. He sat on one of the small wooden boxes left over from former stage productions, strumming a guitar with his eyes closed. His dirty-blond hair was brushed back off his forehead in smooth waves, framing his handsome face. Claire couldn’t help but notice his muscular arms as his long fingers moved along the guitar’s strings. She stopped and leaned against the wall, closing her own eyes. For a long while, she stood there listening in wonder, transported to another time and place.
The music stopped. Ripped back to the present, she opened her eyes to find Alec looking at her.
“Please don’t stop,” Claire said quickly. “You’re amazing.”
He shrugged modestly. “What would you like to hear?”
“Anything. What was that?”
“A flamenco lament.”
“Then more of the same! Or—whatever you feel like playing.” She grabbed a wooden box and sat down across from him.
“Ladies’ choice.”
“I don’t know the names of anything classical like that. Can you … do something by the Beatles?”
Without missing a beat, he began playing “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away”—one of Claire’s favorites. As Alec began to sing, Claire’s heart leapt. He had the voice of an angel, far more beautiful than Neil’s, which she had thought impossible.
After the first verse, the singing stopped, but Alec went on playing.
“Keep singing,” she prodded.
“Only if you sing with me.”
A knot formed in Claire’s stomach. “No. I don’t—”
“—sing, aye, so you said. But how about if we both try something new today?”
Claire shook her head, horrified. “Trust me. You don’t want to go there.”
“Come on. There’s no one else around. What have you got to lose?”
“My dignity?”
“Dignity’s overrated.”
There he went, rolling those Rs again. It was charming but so distracting. Alec began strumming again, his eyes holding hers as he launched into the second verse.
As Claire listened to him sing, she felt mortified by the notion of mingling her sorry excuse for a voice with his. It was akin to Rembrandt inviting a kindergartner to paint on the same canvas. But embarrassed as she was, she couldn’t ignore the playful challenge in his eyes. She inhaled deeply and tentatively forced herself to join in.
Claire sang a line, then froze in astonishment. Was that really her voice?
Alec smiled with his eyes and kept going, silently urging her on. Claire continued singing, amazed to find that—for the first time in her life—she was not only perfectly in tune, but she actually sounded good. Great, in fact. How was that possible?
They finished the duet. Claire couldn’t stop grinning. “Wow. Wow. Wow.”
“You’re right,” Alec teased. “You’re terrible. Like fingernails on a chalkboard.”
“I don’t get it. I’ve never been able to sing like that before.”
“Maybe you never really gave yourself a chance. Or maybe your voice is like a fine wine: It just needed time to mature.”
“Maybe.” She smiled, still overwhelmed by what had just happened. Glancing at his guitar, she said, “Where do you keep that all day? It wouldn’t fit in our locker.”
“Our locker?” he asked with a grin.
“Yeah. I hope you don’t mind. The one they assigned me was filthy and in Siberia.”
Before Alec could respond, the backstage door swung open and Neil peered at them eagerly. “Was that you guys singing?”
Claire sprang to her feet. Her heart skipped a beat as she nodded wordlessly.
A slow smile curved the edges of Neil’s handsome mouth, and there was a twinkle in his eyes. “I could hear you all the way from the lobby. You’re both awesome.”
“Thanks,” Alec replied, abruptly packing up his guitar.
Claire’s voice was still firmly lodged in her feet.
“What a drag that we don’t have a guy’s spot left in Concert Singers this year,” Neil said, before turning his gaze toward Claire, “but Brennan, guess what? We’re short a soprano.”
Claire could hardly believe he was talking to her, or that he knew her name. She struggled to unearth some words in response. “I—”
“Do you know how to read music?” he asked.
Claire nodded.
“Great! We need you. I’m sure if you audition for Mr. Lang, he could petition to squeeze you in. We meet B track. Do you have a free period at all?”
“Um, yes. But—” Damn it! She sounded as uncommunicative as Alec.
“You might have to shuffle your schedule a bit, but please say you’ll do it?”
Claire paused, dumbfounded. Was this really happening? Was Neil actually insisting that she join Concert Singers? Or was this another hallucination? “When … could I audition?”
“You’re already warmed up. Why wait? Lang’s in the music room right now.”
“Okay. Well—” Her heart racing, Claire turned back to Alec to make her apologies and say good-bye.
But Alec was gone.
“I’ll tell Mr. Lang not to leave yet.” With that, Neil raced off.
Claire felt a sudden stab of guilt. Why had Alec left? She hadn’t been talking to Neil that long. But in that brief interval, she’d completely forgotten Alec was there. Did he notice how she’d been drooling over Neil? God, how embarrassing.
But there was no time to think about it now. Mr. Lang—and Neil—were waiting for her.