Leaning forward, she gave him a soft little kiss on the cheek. Max simply stood there, registering briefly that she smelled like perfumed soap. Stepping back, Sarah smiled at him before stepping out into the clearing. He lagged behind, conscious of his reddening cheeks and thankful for the darkness.
Nick was already pacing about his stall, gnawing at the base of its small tree. Sarah helped deflect his anger; the prospect of having someone new to chase seemed sufficient to appease him. Sarah laughed as she tried to outdistance Nick, who would crouch low, flicking his tail from side to side, before suddenly bolting after her. She shrieked as he quickly closed the gap, his pelt glinting red as he streaked across the clearing. Meanwhile, Max cleaned out Nick’s stall and loaded up the wheelbarrow with his dinner.
Setting the crates near the lagoon, Max called Nick, who abandoned an opportunity to ambush Sarah and came hurtling out of the darkness. Sarah came trotting back, holding her side and panting.
“Oh, I love Nick!” she exclaimed. “He’s adorable!”
“Hmmm. See if you find this adorable,” Max said, opening a crate teeming with foot-long rats. The rats scattered in every direction and Nick was after them. His tail fluttered and his claws were a blur as he chased them down and eviscerated each with a swipe of his paws or a violent shake of his head. Sarah groaned as half a rat landed near her shoe. Nick trotted over and nuzzled it closer to her with his bloody snout.
“He likes you!” offered Max from where he crouched, sorting metal bars into small stacks. “He didn’t offer me anything the first couple of times.”
“Wonderful,” Sarah said before gagging.
After wolfing down the rats, Nick waddled over and spent the next half hour alternating between the miniature ingots and the gallons of wriggling night crawlers. The lymrill then took a flying leap into the lagoon, frightening away several herons that had been sleeping among the reeds. A few minutes later, Nick emerged from the water, looking very sleek and sleepy. Climbing up on the wheelbarrow, he collapsed on the jumble of crates, claws extended and snoring, as Max labored to push it all uphill.
Sarah peeked in on her charge, the beautifully plumed peacock, before strolling over to where Max slung the comatose lymrill over a low branch in his stall.
“Hey,” said Sarah, grabbing his hand, “let’s try something!”
Sarah pulled Max over to the feeding bin and cleared her throat.
“Food for Max McDaniels: twelve-year-old boy with a sweet tooth.”
The bin shook, its lid rattling against the latch as golden light streamed out.
“Sarah, I don’t want to eat anything that comes out of that thing!”
“Oh, hush!” said Sarah, smiling as she watched the bin. “Let’s see what it offers!”
The bin stopped rattling and the golden light subsided. Sarah flipped the latch and lifted the lid. Suddenly, three heads emerged from the bin, belonging to three very angry little imps in spattered chef ’s uniforms. They shook their fists at Sarah and Max.
“Not for students! Not for students!” they chimed as they flung small handfuls of garbage and rotten vegetables. Sarah burst into laughter and shouted apologies over her shoulder as they ran down the hall and out the door.
They closed the Sanctuary gate and continued toward the Manse. Max was conscious of the fact that her hand had a way of brushing his occasionally as they walked along. Old Tom chimed eleven o’clock, the notes rolling across the campus while they walked through autumn leaves that drifted down in shaky little spirals.
“I like this season,” said Sarah suddenly, stooping to inspect a golden maple leaf. “We don’t have anything so dramatic where I’m from. It’s like the earth is climbing into bed and getting ready to sleep.”
“Just wait until winter,” said Max.
“I can’t wait for winter! I’ve never seen snow before.”
“Really?” asked Max, incredulous. He was well acquainted with Chicago’s long, cold winter months.
“No, Max,” said Sarah sarcastically. “Nigeria gets lots of snow.”
Max said nothing and walked along, kicking aside little piles of leaves as he went. As they passed the last row of Class Trees, Sarah stopped.
“Are you planning to take anyone to the All Hallows’ Eve festival?” she asked hastily.
Max stopped, too. He cast a longing glance at the Manse.
“Er, not really,” he said. “I mean, don’t we all have to be there anyway?”
“Well, yes, I suppose…. But it might be nice to go with someone, don’t you think? I heard Rolf is taking someone…and Lucia was asked by a Second Year.”
“You’re kidding,” said Max, horrified.
“Not at all,” said Sarah. “Miss Boon said that most of the students take a date.”
“Even First Years?”
“Even First Years,” Sarah laughed, before glancing at her shoes. “I heard John Buckley might ask me.”
Max heaved a sigh of relief. John Buckley was a Second Year whom Max heard was their best Euclidean soccer player.
“That’s great, Sarah,” said Max in an upbeat tone. “He seems nice.”
“Yes, well, I’m hoping someone else will ask me first,” she said, adjusting her bracelets and looking away. Her smooth black skin looked almost blue in the moonlight filtering through the thin clouds.
“Oh, well, I hope he does,” said Max lamely. “Um, it’s getting pretty late and I need to get to bed. Thanks a lot for helping me with Nick.”
“Sure,” she said quietly. “Good night.”
Sarah hugged her windbreaker closer and jogged into the Manse, disappearing up the girls’ stairway with quick, quiet steps.
Saturday morning arrived, windy and wet. Max pulled on a woolly sweater and went downstairs to the dining hall. Several of his classmates were already there, finishing breakfast and talking excitedly about the upcoming trip to the Course. Located below the Smithy, the Course was normally reserved for older students, but Ms. Richter had decreed that circumstances required all students to begin immediately. Max had been unable to pry any information out of the older students; Jason Barrett had simply laughed and said, “It’s made grown men weep. You’ll learn a lot about yourself.” Since hearing of Ms. Richter’s decision, Bob had been heaping extra food on the First Years’ plates and ignoring their full-bellied protests.
This morning, however, Max managed to ignore the ogre’s pleas and emerged from the kitchen with a small bowl of cereal. He took a seat in the dining room next to Lucia, who made a face.
“What’s your problem?” Max sighed.
Lucia gave him a frank look before pointedly resuming her conversation with Jesse. Since he had failed to ask Sarah to the dance, many First Year girls breezed by him without so much as a word. Sarah herself was still friendly, but less talkative and outgoing than before.
Max rolled his eyes, put down his spoon, and pushed up from the table. Sarah was sitting at the other end, nibbling a piece of toast and talking with Cynthia. She put her half-eaten toast on her plate as he walked toward her.
“Sarah?” said Max, coming to a stop.
She nodded, a small smile on her face. Everyone at the table had stopped talking and watched the two intently.
“Would you go to the All Hallows’ Eve dance with me?” asked Max simply.
The table burst into a chorus of whistles and cheers. Sarah kept her cool and lifted her chin.
“Thank you for the invitation, Max. I will consider it.”
“Okay,” he mumbled, and walked back to his seat, mortified to see Julie Teller sitting several tables over, giving him the thumbs-up and giggling with her girlfriends. When Connor launched into a Sir Wesley–inspired play-by-play titled Scenario Thirty-Nine: Awkward Request for Fall Dance Companion, Max laughed along with the others before catching Connor hard in the forehead with a bit of muffin. Still snickering, Connor retreated to the kitchen to clean the butter and blueberry splotches off of his face.
“So,” said Max, turning to Lucia, “am I out of everyone’s doghouse now?”
“Maybe theirs,” she sniffed, “but not mine. If anything, that is even worse—asking a girl just to prove a point. In front of everyone, too!” She shook her head and got up from the table.