Beautiful Creatures (19 page)

“Doubtful.” I heard the notebook open again and her pen moving across the page. I stared at my chemistry book, rehearsing
the phrase I’d gone over a hundred times in my head. We were alone. The sun was slipping away; she was writing poetry. If
I was going to do it, now was the time.

“So, do you want to, you know, hang out?” I tried to sound casual.

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

I chewed on the end of an old plastic spoon I had found in my backpack, probably from a pudding cup. “Yeah. No. I mean, do
you want to, I don’t know, go somewhere?”

“Now?” She took a bite out of an open granola bar, and swung her legs around so she was next to me, holding it out toward
me. I shook my head.

“Not now. Friday, or something. We could see a movie.” I stuck the spoon in my chemistry book, closing it.

“That’s gross.” She made a face, and turned the page.

“What do you mean?” I could feel my face turning red.

I was only talking about a movie.

You idiot.

She pointed at my dirty spoon bookmark. “I meant that.”

I smiled, relieved. “Yeah. Bad habit I picked up from my mom.”

“She had a thing for cutlery?”

“No, books. She would have maybe twenty going at a time, lying all over our house—on the kitchen table, by her bed, the bathroom,
our car, her bags, a little stack at the edge of each stair. And she’d use anything she could find for a bookmark. My missing
sock, an apple core, her reading glasses, another book, a fork.”

“A dirty old spoon?”

“Exactly.”

“Bet that drove Amma crazy.”

“It drove her nuts. No, wait for it—she was—” I dug deep. “P. E. R. T. U. R. B. E. D.”

“Nine down?” She laughed.

“Probably.”

“This was my mom’s.” She held out one of the charms suspended from the long silver chain she never seemed to take off. It
was a tiny gold bird. “It’s a raven.”

“For Ravenwood?”

“No. Ravens are the most powerful birds in the Caster world. Legend has it that they can draw energy into themselves and release
it in other forms. Sometimes they’re even feared because of their power.” I watched as she let go of the raven and it fell
back into place between a disc with strange writing etched into it and a black glass bead.

“You’ve got a lot of charms.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked down at the necklace. “They aren’t really charms, just things that mean
something to me.” She held out the tab of the soda can. “This is from the first can of orange soda I ever drank, sitting on
the porch of our house in Savannah. My gramma bought it for me when I came home from school crying because no one put anything
in my valentine shoebox at school.”

“That’s cute.”

“If by cute you mean tragic.”

“I mean, that you kept it.”

“I keep everything.”

“What’s this one?” I pointed to the black bead.

“My Aunt Twyla gave it to me. They’re made from these rocks in a really remote area of Barbados. She said it would bring me
luck.”

“It’s a cool necklace.” I could see how much it meant to her, the way she held each thing on it so carefully.

“I know it just looks like a bunch of junk. But I’ve never lived anywhere very long. I’ve never had the same house, or the
same room for more than a few years, and sometimes I feel like the little pieces of me on this chain are all I have.”

I sighed and pulled a blade of grass. “Wish I’d lived in one of those places.”

“But you have roots here. A best friend you’ve had your whole life, a house with a bedroom that’s always been yours. You probably
even have one of those doorjambs with your height written on it.” I did.

You do, don’t you?

I nudged her with my shoulder. “I can measure you on my doorjamb if you want. You can be immortalized for all time at Wate’s
Landing.” She smiled into her notebook and pushed her shoulder against mine. From the corner of my eye, I could see the afternoon
sunlight hitting one side of her face, a single page of her notebook, the curling edge of her black hair, the tip of one black
Converse.

About the movies. Friday works.

Then she slid her granola bar into the middle of her notebook, and closed it.

The toes of our ratty black sneakers touched.

The more I thought about Friday night, the more nervous I got. It wasn’t a date, not officially—I knew that. But that was
part of the problem. I wanted it to be. What do you do when you realize you might have feelings for a girl who will barely
admit to being your friend? A girl whose uncle kicked you out of their house, and who isn’t all that welcome in yours, either?
A girl who almost everyone you know hates? A girl who shares your dreams, but maybe not your feelings?

I had no idea, which is why I didn’t do anything. But it didn’t stop me from thinking about Lena, and almost driving by her
house on Thursday night—if her house wasn’t outside of town, if I had my own car. If her uncle wasn’t Macon Ravenwood. Those
were the “ifs” that kept me from making a fool of myself.

Every day was like a day out of someone else’s life. Nothing had ever happened to me, and now everything was happening to
me—and by everything, I really meant Lena. An hour was both faster and slower. I felt like I had sucked the air out of a giant
balloon, like my brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen. Clouds were more interesting, the lunchroom less disgusting, music sounded
better, the same old jokes were funnier, and Jackson went from being a clump of grayish-green industrial buildings to a map
of times and places where I might run into her. I found myself smiling for no reason, keeping my earphones in and replaying
our conversations in my head, just so I could listen to them again. I had seen this kind of thing before.

I had just never felt it.

By Friday night, I had been in a great mood all day, which meant I’d done worse than everyone in class, and better than everyone
at practice. I had to put all that energy somewhere. Even Coach noticed, and kept me late to talk. “Keep it up, Wate, an’
you just might get yourself scouted next year.”

Link gave me a ride to Summerville after practice. The guys were planning on catching a movie, too, which I probably should
have considered since the Cineplex only had one screen. But it was too late for that, and I was past the point of caring.

When we pulled up in the Beater, Lena was standing outside in the darkness, in front of the brightly lit theater. She was
wearing a purple T-shirt, with a skinny black dress over it that made you remember how much of a girl she was, and trashed
black boots that made you forget.

Inside the door, aside from the usual crowd of Summerville Community College students, the cheer squad was assembled in formation,
hanging out in the lobby arcade with guys from the team. My mood started to evaporate.

“Hi.”

“You’re late. I got the tickets.” Lena’s eyes were unreadable in the darkness. I followed her inside. We were off to a great
start.

“Wate! Get over here!” Emory’s voice boomed over the arcade and the crowd and the eighties music playing in the lobby.

“Wate, you got a date?” Now Billy was riding me. Earl didn’t say anything, but only because Earl hardly ever said anything.

Lena ignored them. She rubbed her head, walking ahead of me like she didn’t want to look at me.

“It’s called a life.” I shouted back over the crowd. I would hear about this on Monday. I caught up to Lena. “Hey, sorry about
that.”

She whirled around to look at me. “This isn’t going to work if you’re the kind of person who doesn’t want to watch the previews.”

I waited for you.

I grinned. “Previews and credits, and the dancing popcorn guy.”

She looked past me, back to my friends, or at least, the people who had historically functioned that way.

Ignore them.

“Butter or no butter?” She was annoyed. I had been late, and she had faced the Jackson High social stockade alone. Now it
was my turn.

“Butter,” I confessed, knowing this would be the wrong answer. Lena made a face.

“But I’ll trade you butter for extra salt,” I said. Her eyes looked past me, then back. I could hear Emily’s laughter getting
closer. I didn’t care.

Say the word and we’ll go, Lena.

“No butter, salt, tossed with Milk Duds. You’ll like it,” she said, her shoulders relaxing just a little.

I already like it.

The squad and the guys walked past us. Emily made a point of not looking at me, while Savannah stepped around Lena like she
was infected with some kind of airborne virus. I could just imagine what they would tell their mothers when they got home.

I grabbed Lena’s hand. A current ran through my body, but this time, it wasn’t the shock I had felt that night in the rain.
It was more like a confusion of the senses. Like being hit by a wave at the beach and climbing under an electric blanket on
a rainy night, all at the same time. I let it wash over me. Savannah noticed and elbowed Emily.

You don’t have to do this.

I squeezed her hand.

Do what?

“Hey, kids. Did you see the guys?” Link tapped me on the shoulder, carrying a monster-size buttered popcorn and a giant blue
slush.

The Cineplex was showing some kind of murder mystery, which Amma would have liked, given her penchant for mysteries and dead
bodies. Link had gone to sit up front with the guys, scoping the aisles for college girls on his way. Not because he didn’t
want to sit with Lena, but because he assumed we wanted to be alone. We did—at least, I did.

“Where do you want to sit? Up close, in the middle?” I waited for her to decide.

“Back here.” I followed her down the aisle of the last row.

Hooking up was the main reason kids from Gatlin went to the Cineplex, considering any movie showing there was already on DVD.
But it was the only reason you sat in the last three rows. The Cineplex, the water tower, and in the summer, the lake. Aside
from that, there were a few bathrooms and basements, but not many other options. I knew we wouldn’t be doing any hooking up,
but even if it was like that between us I wouldn’t have brought her here to do it. Lena wasn’t just some girl you took to
the last three rows of the Cineplex. She was more than that.

Still, it was her choice, and I knew why she chose it. You couldn’t get farther away from Emily Asher than the last row.

Maybe I should have warned her. Before the opening credits, people were already starting to go at it. We both stared at the
popcorn, since there was nowhere else safe to look.

Why didn’t you say anything?

I didn’t know.

Liar.

I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Honest.

I pushed it all to the back of my mind, thinking about anything, the weather, basketball, and reached into the popcorn tub.
Lena reached in at the same time, and our hands touched for a second, sending a chill up my arm, hot and cold all mixed up
together. Pick ’n’ Roll. Picket Fences. Down the Lane. There were only so many plays in the Jackson basketball playbook. This
was going to be harder than I thought.

The movie was terrible. Ten minutes in, I already knew the ending.

“He did it,” I whispered.

“What?”

“That guy. He’s the murderer. I don’t know who he kills, but he did it.” That was the other reason Link didn’t want to sit
by me: I always knew the ending at the beginning and I couldn’t keep it to myself. It was my version of doing the crossword.
It was the reason I was so good at video games, carnival games, checkers with my dad. I could figure things out, right from
the first move.

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

How does this end?

I knew what she meant. But for the first time, I just didn’t know the answer.

Happy. Very, very happy.

Liar. Now hand over the Milk Duds.

She pushed her hand into the pocket of my sweatshirt, looking for them. Only it was the wrong side, and instead she found
the last thing she was expecting. There it was, the little pouch, the hard lump that we both knew was the locket. Lena sat
up with a start, pulling it out and holding it up like it was some kind of dead mouse. “Why are you still carrying that around
in your pocket?”