Hell Week (14 page)

Mr. Offensive Trainer snapped his eyes up to my face. "Yeah?"

Holy crap. He'd been checking out my butt.

"I, um . . ." I actually blathered, a blush heating my face. "Er . . . Can you point me to the defensive coordinator?" He blinked, as if he'd expected something different. "Sure. Over there. Tall, skinny guy."

"Great." I was reluctant to leave until he did. Just in case the checking out hadn't been positive. "See you around."

"Yeah." A smile this time, and he turned away.

Okay. Maybe I did check him out just a little bit. Fair is fair, after all.

F F F

I showed off my photo in the paper at lunch on Friday. Holly and I were falling into a Monday-Wednesday-Friday habit, and often Jenna and Devon joined us. Brittany and Ashley did, too, which was less pleasant. Ashley, I'd discov- ered, was fine on her own, but tended to take on the other girl's most annoying characteristics when they were together.

"With your name under it and everything." Holly stopped devouring her chicken salad sandwich long enough to grin at me. "Awesome."

"I don't see what's the big deal," said Brittany, peering at the newspaper spread out on the table. "It's on the back page."

Devon came to my defense. "Anywhere on the outside of the paper is better than the inside."

Art majors often took a layout class, which overlapped with print journalism majors. I wondered if that was where she met Cole.

"Not only that," I said, "Mike said I could take pictures of the game this weekend."

"Maggie, that's huge!" Devon hugged me, nearly pulling me out of my chair. "And you're only a freshman!"

"Cool," said Brittany, finally impressed. "Football play- ers are hot." "No, they're not." Ashley did not defer to her on the sub- ject of hotness. "They're all fat and stuff."

"That's the padding."

"I know the difference between padding and padding." She grabbed a nonexistent beer belly.

"Okay," Brittany conceded. "But the quarterback and the running guys are hot, especially in those white pants."

I stared at them in bemusement. Moments like this, I wondered if I had imagined the vibe I'd gotten from Victo- ria. No way were these girls tapped into some kind of sorcer- ous contract for power and world domination.

"Are you coming out with us tonight, Maggie?" Jenna had obviously decided to ignore the other pledges.

"No. I have a family thing."

"On a Friday?"

"Yeah." I didn't want to tell them that my thing involved parking my brain in neutral and watching the Sci-Fi Chan- nel with Dad. I seriously needed some downtime. It was hard juggling homework, undercover investigating, and do- ing your editor's job for him, too.

"Come on," Holly said, with a glint of mischief. "Tell them it's a required activity."

"I'm saving that for when it actually is."

"Speaking of," said Jenna, "are you two keeping up with your pledge books and things?"

"Well, I am," said Brittany, even though Jenna hadn't really been talking to her. "I have to set an example, since I'm pledge president." She hadn't reminded us of that yet today.

"I'm good," Holly said between potato chips.

Jenna uncapped her Snapple. "Homecoming is in a couple of weeks, and we've got to work on the float. You really need to make time for that, Maggie."

"Me?" I already felt like I was spending all my time with the Sigmas.

"Yes. We hardly ever see you at the house, except for pledge class and meetings."

"Blame Devon," I said breezily. "She asked Cole if there was a place for me on the Report staff. How's his book com- ing, by the way?"

I'd only meant to change the subject, but the two actives reacted as if I'd asked about the thermonuclear bomb Cole was building in the basement. Jenna gave her sorority sister a look of blistering intensity and Devon paled, the blood draining from her face, leaving her freckles standing out like raisins in a bowl of oatmeal.

"I don't know what you mean, Maggie. Cole isn't writing a book."

"Oh. My mistake." I brazened it out the best I could. "I must have misunderstood."

What was the big deal about the man's literary ambi- tions? He was already a journalist. How big a stretch could it be? Yet I could feel waves of sick worry coming off Devon.

I glanced at Jenna and found her watching not her sister, but me, and I wondered what I had given away. 18

"I don't know why you're so surprised, Mags." I hadn't given Jenna's roommate permission to call me Mags--only Lisa was allowed to do that--but she was driving the car, and I didn't want to correct her. "You'd be cute even if you weren't a SAXi."

"Gee, thanks." I was in the backseat, keeping my eyes on the road so that I wouldn't get carsick. Jenna had called shotgun, and Holly was beside me laughing just a little too loudly at that. Not because she was mean, but because she'd started the party early--I could smell it on her breath.

"I'm so glad you decided to come," she told me. "You can sleep when you're dead." "Great. Something to look forward to."

Alexa found an empty spot down the street from the Underground and I tried not to flash the world as I climbed out of the BMW. When I'd shown up at the SAXi house to get a ride with the other girls, Jenna and Alexa had pronounced my jeans and cutest T-shirt unacceptable, then proceeded to go up and down the halls until they'd found an outfit that wouldn't shame the Sigma Alpha Xis' reputation for hotness.

"Stop that." Jenna slapped my hand as I tugged down the skirt. "It covers everything. Do you think we don't know the difference between hot and tacky?"

I had no doubt they did. My eye was less trained, and had widened at the amount of leg showing in the mirror.

"Here." She handed me a Maryland driver's license. "Tonight you're Mavis Bucknell. At least long enough to get in the door."

"I don't need this. It's an eighteen-and-up club, right?"

She wouldn't take the card back. "Just in case you want to have a drink."

Mavis and I looked nothing alike. At least I hoped we didn't. "This is never going to pass for me."

"Just trust me."

The music grew louder as we neared the club. When we reached the door, I could feel the bass beat against my ster- num like an extra heart. An enormous guy, his bald head as shiny as an egg, sat on a stool outside. Elbowed by Jenna, I handed him Mavis's license. He stared at it, stared at me, then handed it back, along with a wristband that identified me as legal.

"It worked!" I shouted this at Jenna once we were inside, where the lights throbbed against my retinas the way the music did against my ears.

"Of course it did!" She winked at me. "Like a charm."

Lisa and I had come here this summer, shortly after my birthday. We'd danced, guys had flirted with me to get intro- duced to my friend, and I'd had a good time--not everyone could dance with Lisa at the same time, so I had plenty of partners. But techno-pop wasn't my thing.

The dance floor was writhing with college kids. I didn't see anyone who looked even close to thirty--though with the strobes and dim light, it was hard to tell.

I looked around, but didn't see Jenna until she appeared in front of me and pushed a drink into my hand. "Here."

"What is this?" I took a wary sip. The drink was sweet and fruity and didn't taste like alcohol at all. The club was hot with pulsating music and sweaty bodies, and I took a deeper gulp.

"Sex on the beach." Jenna laughed at my grimace. "You're such a prude."

"It's not that." It was because even I knew it was a total sorority-girl drink. I was standing in a club, dressed in a trendy hot outfit, and drinking a sex on the beach. I had be- come what I most feared: a clich�.

"Hey!" someone yelled in my ear, the only way to get suf- ficient decibels over the music. I looked up and saw Will from history class. "You decided to come."

"Yeah!" He bent down so that he could hear me. "Jenna talked me into it."

"Excellent!" He pointed to the dance floor, his lips mov- ing, but no sound reaching me through the din. "Sure!" I looked around for Jenna, to get her to hold my drink, but she had disappeared again. I finished the last sip and stuck it on a passing waiter's tray.

Will grabbed my hand and we threaded through the gyrating bodies until a space opened up. The pulse of the music filled my head, drove out spare thoughts, criticism, and commentary. In the small pocket of air, we danced close together, and I didn't worry about looking like a dork, or if my legs were so pale they glowed in the blacklight. No talk- ing, just motion and instinct.

The beat was primal, spoke to parts of me that weren't used to being included in the conversation. One song bled into another. I glimpsed the other SAXis on the dance floor. In groups and pairs, we came together for one song, then back into the mix and out the other side for the next.

I lost track of partners, until suddenly I was facing Will again. He grinned down, and I smiled up in answer. My skin was damp and hot, and when Will put his hands on my waist the temperature spiked again. Add friction and stir. His jeans brushed my bare legs, my chest brushed his shirt. He smelled of a subtle, spicy cologne and sweat; this was good. But it wasn't right.

I stepped back, bumped into the girl behind me. "I need some air."

"Sure." He blinked, seemed disoriented by the abrupt shift in mood, but let one hand fall from my waist. The other stayed there and steered me through the overheated crowd. The bouncer didn't give us a second glance as we emerged into the cold night and relative quiet.

The clean air swept through my brain and I felt immedi- ately better. Leaning against the wall, I could feel the music pounding, muted, through my back and hips, and I closed my eyes.

"You okay?" asked Will. "You're not going to hurl or any- thing, are you?"

"From one drink? God, no." At least, I hoped not. My main exposure to alcohol up to this point was wine with Christmas dinner and a mostly-soda-and-not-much-whiskey Dad had let me try from his birthday bottle of Glenlivet.

"Tell me something about yourself," he said, leaning a shoulder against the wall.

I turned my head, brows knitting in confusion. "Like what?"

"I don't know." He shrugged a shoulder, looked at me with that charming smile. "Anything."

"I think the second Aliens movie, the James Cameron one, may be my favorite movie ever. Definite top five." Not sure why that was the "anything" that popped out. Maybe it was a test.

"Is that the one with the space marines?" I nodded, and he grinned. "You're a geek, but at least you like kick-ass movies."

I'm not sure if that qualified as a pass or not. While I was thinking about it, he bent his head and kissed me.

Deflector shields! I put up my mental defenses as quickly as I could. I didn't want any Dead Zone flashes now, while my head was fuzzy from drinking and dancing. And I didn't want him to know that, as nice a kiss as it was . . . I really, really wished he was someone else. 19

When I dragged myself home after the game on Saturday, Mom and Dad were on the couch watching a movie. "Look, dear," said my mother, elbowing Dad in the ribs and point- ing at me. "Doesn't that girl look like our daughter?"

"I couldn't say, Laura. It's been so long since I've seen her."

"Very funny." I slumped in the recliner, too tired to even put up the leg rest. "And untrue. I saw you on Thursday in class."

"Was that you? I didn't recognize you, sitting in the group of Greeks." I groaned. "Not you, too. Justin gave me grief about that already, so no need to add to it."

"Is that what you two were arguing about?" Dad asked.

"We weren't arguing. Just sort of . . . discussing in really intense voices. Why don't you guys realize, I'm just doing it for the paper."

"Ah." He used his Father Knows Best voice. "And it has nothing to do with Mr. Alphabet sitting behind you?"

"Wait." Mom grabbed the remote and paused the movie. "I thought you and Justin were just friends now. And what's this about a cute guy? Why don't I know about this?"

"Possibly because you have more important things to think about than my quasi-social life?"

"I'm feeling great." She laid a hand on her belly, where the bump seemed to have grown substantially all of a sud- den. Just how long had it been since we'd done more than pass each other in the kitchen?

"When am I going to find out if I'm getting a brother or a sister?" I asked.

"Maybe you can read my palm and tell me."

I looked at her sharply. For Mom to even refer to my ability was huge. I guess she figured that if she didn't ac- knowledge it, the weirdness would somehow just go back to being science fiction. So this was Mount Rushmore big.

"Do you really want to know?" I spoke cautiously, afraid to break the fragile moment.

She seemed tentative, but intrigued. Dad, too, had picked up on the change, and he glanced between us. "You've always said you couldn't see the future."

"It's not the future. XX or XY--it's already set." Mom and Dad exchanged a look, and I picked up the DVD rental box, pretending I didn't care what they decided. "I probably couldn't tell anything anyway."

"What the heck." Mom gave an embarrassed laugh. "Give it a try."

Grinning, I moved to the couch, nervous and excited-- like a kind of stage fright. This was the first time I'd used my new superpower on purpose, but I'd been studying Gran's meditation book diligently. Mostly I'd been concerned with keeping up my defenses, but there were other chapters, too. Breathing deeply, I visualized my deflector shields powering down. After weeks of putting them up, it felt weird and naked.

Mom gave an anxious laugh, almost a giggle, and I shushed her sternly. "You are blocking the flow of positive energy."

"Really?"

"No, not really. You're just making me nervous."

I placed my hand on Mom's gently rounded stomach. A flutter, not under my fingers, but in my heart.

What a strange feeling--alone in the dark, but sur- rounded, buoyed, and loved. Our pulses meshed--Mom's slow, the rhythm of the universe; mine, the steady pulse of a star; the baby's quick, the turn of a day. A perfect ratio, di- vinely in proportion--infinitely big, and infinitely small.