They all wear a lot of eyeliner during performances, but most of them wash it off afterward. Stacey doesn’t wash hers off. She has no problem attracting guys—any guys. All the guys. Jocks, preps, burnouts. Sometimes, it seems as though she’s dated half the junior class. But mostly Stacey likes the guys with long hair and trench coats. They’ve got the weed, after all.
I know that Dooney loves to smoke out. Maybe that’s how the party got moved to the basement after I left. Stacey had weed and Dooney wanted to smoke, so everybody went downstairs. There have been plenty of rumors that Stacey and Dooney have been talking to each other, even though Phoebe has been Dooney’s girlfriend since last summer.
Having a girlfriend has never stopped Dooney from flirting with other girls. A random kiss at a couple parties, an ass grab in the hallway; then Dooney and Phoebe fight and get back together a week later. I don’t know how Stacey ended up in that picture with Dooney and Deacon, but I have a hunch that her access to the best pot in Coral Sands was a factor.
I glance over at Lindsey’s desk. A page in her binder is already covered with notes I’ll have to borrow later. As I tune back in, Mr. Johnston clicks through some slides on his laptop.
“We’ll be taking a field trip to the Devonian Fossil Gorge in a couple weeks,” he announces. There are groans and moans as Mr. Johnston holds up his hands and waits for things to quiet down, pausing at a shot of the reservoir spillway just outside of Iowa City.
“The floods of 1993 and 2008 stripped away fifteen feet of sediment left by glaciers in the last ice age,” he explains. “I know you all find this thrilling, but it finally gave us a horizontal plane where we could observe fossils. It’s actually pretty cool. I’ll have permission slips for you on Friday.”
He clicks to a close-up of the bare limestone at the base of the reservoir. I catch my breath as the outlines of a hundred different fossilized organisms pop into sharp focus on the screen. It’s beautiful. The floodwaters that carried away Miss Candy’s studio and my dad’s job left behind the outline of an ancient world, evidence of the way things used to be.
“Remember,” Mr. Johnston says, “nothing is exactly as it appears. The closer you look, the more you see.”
There are still ten minutes of class to go, but something outside the window catches my eye. A hawk circles the trees at the back of the parking lot. She soars out of sight over the school, then appears again and perches on a nest lodged at the highest branches of the tallest oak. Is that what Stacey is always staring at?
Nothing is exactly as it appears.
The closer you look, the more you see.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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nine
IT WOULD SEEM there’s an epidemic in our cafeteria today, and its only cure is interaction with a smartphone. Everyone is staring at their screens, strangely muted, eyes open, mouths closed, like the whole student populace decided it was a good idea to take it down a few decibels.
Usually this place requires earplugs, especially at the farthest tables by the big glass doors where the Buccaneers gather to graze. Leave it to our landlocked alumni association to come up with a pirate-themed mascot. Maybe it was a subconscious connection to our ancient history—the same reason our French class got such a kick out of conjugating all of the verbs a la plage (“to the beach”) with Ms. Speck last year:
Iowa was once an ocean.
Most days the varsity Buccaneers live up to their name—swashbuckling through lunch at full volume, but there’s an eerie, quiet urgency about their table today. Dooney and Deacon exchange terse whispers with Greg Watts. Randy Coontz is trying to convince them all of something, but seems to be failing.
I leave the food line with a tray but before I walk down the three stairs to the level with the tables, I pause to scan the decks from this crow’s-nest view. Not too long—or everyone might stare at me—but enough time to chart my course.
Lately, I’ve been hoping I’ll catch Ben’s eye from this top step and see that he has saved a seat for me right next to him, across from Phoebe and Dooney. This hasn’t happened yet. It’s one thing to talk to somebody. It’s another thing to eat lunch with them. The basketball Buccs keep tight ranks.
Today, I don’t see Ben at all—or Phoebe for that matter. Ben may have snuck off campus with a couple of the seniors. Juniors aren’t supposed to leave for lunch, but the varsity players get a free pass on most of the little rules like that.