Natural Selection (4 page)

“
Did you seriously just
quote Grease? I think I’m gonna have to revoke your man
card.”

Xander winked and gave me the double
guns as he headed out the back door. It wasn’t long until I heard
the distinctive thud of him shooting hoops in the driveway. I
washed the empty Tupperware and our glasses, folded up the Doritos
bag and put a chip clip on it, and wiped down the counter. I
couldn’t help a wry smile as I collected my book bag off the bottom
step and headed upstairs to do my homework.

I couldn’t believe teachers gave
homework on the first day, but I had a sample test for algebra to
“establish what we already know”, a five hundred word essay on what
writing means to me, and a conjugation worksheet for Spanish. No
matter how hard I tried to focus, my mind kept wandering back to
the gymnasium this morning. Finally deciding I wouldn’t be able to
focus unless I tried to figure something out, I grabbed my laptop
off the top of my dresser and sat on my bed Indian style. I ran my
hands over it admiring the pretty green skin with a tribal
butterfly on it. My parents gave it to me as the traditional eighth
grade graduation gift, and I absolutely loved it. Placing it on my
knees, I opened it and clicked on the browser. Since I had no other
ideas, I started by Googling electricity. After scrolling through a
page of scientific explanations, I tried several other phrases,
like “people who generate electricity”, “electrocuting people”, and
“electric power”, but the closest I got was an article about people
generating massive amounts of static electricity and I knew this
was so much more. I remembered Nate referring to it as “getting hit
by lightning” so I searched that. I tried several combinations
until the phrase ‘lightning man’ brought up a comic about a
superhero who could generate electricity after being struck by
lightning. It reminded me of a movie I’d seen a long time ago about
a boy who was struck by lightning and got strange abilities, but
also remember blowing it off as a bunch of hogwash. I let my mind
linger on the idea for a moment before pushing it aside.
Realistically, people can’t generate electricity and that’s all
there was to it. I decided I must have fainted for some unknown
reason, since that was the only rational explanation. It didn’t
explain the pain or the way my body was immobilized, but what did I
know?

I thought about what I knew of Nate,
which wasn’t much. His parents died when he was pretty young. He
lived with his Mom’s best friend—who he called his aunt. She was a
stewardess for an airline and would sometimes be gone for weeks at
a time. Nate stayed with us during her absences until about four
years ago when he was allowed to stay by himself. He started coming
over less, seeming to prefer to have Xander hang out at his house.
I always assumed it was because they preferred the privacy, but now
I wondered if Xander knew something I didn’t. Should I talk to him
and find out what he knew, or would he go after Nate? The questions
swirled in my mind until I came to the conclusion I trusted my
brother. He wouldn’t be friends with someone who was dangerous—at
least I didn’t think he would.

Whatever happened, I wasn’t going to
figure it out today. I tossed my laptop to the end of the bed then
picked up my homework and started on those conjugations.

TIME PASSED IN a blur, and before I
knew it, September was past. Nathanial got a different partner in
gym and refused to talk to me, so I blew it off. I had told myself
enough times that I just fainted that first day of school I was
kind of starting to believe it. All in all, life was returning to
normal. The month barely mussed my hair in its passing. My
fifteenth birthday came with a small barbeque attended by my family
and a few friends. Sariah went through about eight boyfriends—a
slow month for her. Xander dated and dumped a couple of girls, but
that was hardly noteworthy. Evelyn dropped soccer and talked me
into trying out for cheerleading. She made the team but I did not,
which I didn’t have the heart to tell her was a good thing in my
opinion. I swore to her I didn’t mind, but she still considered
quitting. I kept telling her to stick it out because she was just
the cheering type, so she did.

I spent a lot of time by myself, but
I’d always been a solitary person. I loved to sit in the low
branches of the cherry tree in our side yard with a good book in my
hands. I didn’t hear anything more from my parents about adoption
or changing schools, and I decided I misunderstood what they’d been
talking about. All in all the month passed without any significant
place markers other than my own denial.

Before I knew it, Homecoming was upon
us. After much nagging by Evelyn, I gave in to an entire weekend
spent tracking down all the perfect elements. That was how I found
myself in a white, Gunne Sax peasant dress with a blue quilted
front panel, a wide embroidered belt, and the sleeves trimmed with
matching edging. My hair was loose except for three braids—one on
either side of my face and one pulled back in the middle. I sat
impatiently in Algebra with my chin in my hand as Mr. Orson
blathered on about quadratic equations. I listlessly kicked one
fringed ankle boot and gazed dreamily out the window at the rain
drenched baseball diamond.

I noticed Sariah running across the
field in tight, white bell bottoms with pink embroidered flowers,
and a matching pink fringed crochet halter top that didn’t really
meet the school dress code. Her artfully mussed curls beneath her
braided headband didn’t seem to flatten even in the persistent
drizzle. Behind her ran Scott Ferguson in a tie-dyed t-shirt. I saw
my sister turn to him with a smile, then jump and wrap her legs
around his waist as he shoved his tongue down her throat. His hand
fumbled between them at their waists and I colored realizing what
they were doing. I must have made some sort of noise, because all
of a sudden I was the center of attention in a very unpleasant
way.

“
I’m sorry, Miss Hoffman.
Am I disturbing you with my silly class? Why don’t you go tell the
principal all about it?”

I scoffed. I didn’t understand how one
simple outburst warranted such a harsh banishment. I never caused
any sort of disturbance in any class, let alone this one. Blinking
tears from my eyes, I meekly gathered my things. With slumped
shoulders I slowly walked to grab the discipline slip Mr. Orson was
holding out with a huffy impatience. Taking my pass, I walked as
slowly as possible to the principal’s office. Mrs. Soberlo had a
reputation as being very strict and impatient; she was one of those
former teachers who rose through the ranks and wanted revenge for
all the punks who had made her life miserable over the years.
Handing my slip to the secretary, I sat glumly by the door waiting
for my suspension—or worse expulsion. I was lost in thought when
the young police officer entered and began to speak in hushed
tones. The office was fairly small, and she had a loud voice. I
couldn’t help but overhear what they were saying.

“
Did the station call to
report the death of Mariah Carter? I believe she was a freshman
from Mt. Pulaski?”

The secretary nodded her head sadly
and handed a manila folder to the officer. I struggled to contain
my shock. I’d known Mariah since junior high when we’d been in the
same Constitution class. Something about her appealed to me, and we
clicked like I’d found a kindred spirit. She was one of the few
junior high friends I still spoke with. I noticed her sudden
absence, but it had only been a two days—not unusual for a high
school student. I couldn’t stop the soft gasp from coming out, or
the tears that stung my eyes. I knew if a cop was asking questions,
it was bad. I wondered if she was in some sort of horrible
accident. Cops don’t investigate simple things.

The officer turned to me and smiled.
She was a pretty black woman that reminded me of Regina King, with
short purposely messy hair and a metallic pink-gold eye shadow that
made her eyes stand out. “Did you know the victim?” she asked in
that cold off-hand way you only hear in cop shows.

My sluggish brain couldn’t make it
past that one word. My thoughts came to a screeching halt.
“Victim?” I couldn’t speak more than that single word. A thick
feeling appeared in the back of my throat, and my stomach knotted
as tears threatened to spill over my eyelids.

“
Mariah Carter. Did you
know her?” the officer said, glancing at the secretary as if
expecting the indifferent woman to jump in and help. “What’s your
name, miss?”

“
Amelia.” I could barely
whisper. “Hoffman. Mariah has been my friend for a few years. We’re
lab partners in Biology,” I added weakly. I was having trouble
breathing, and the room seemed to be spinning. I glanced at the
secretary, hoping for some sort of rescue, but she just watched me
impassively.

The female officer knelt in front of
me placing her hand over mine. Her eyes widened a little and I knew
it had to be cold to the touch. All my extremities felt chilled.
She gave me an apologetic smile and stood, pulling me to my feet.
She turned to the secretary. “Do you have a quiet room where I can
speak with Miss Hoffman in privacy?”

The secretary shook her head and put
on her best superior face. “I’m sorry, officer, but we don’t allow
the police to question students without a parent present.” Her grin
was rather sickening. The policewoman let out an exasperated sigh
and stepped out of the office to make a call. The secretary picked
up her handset and waited a moment before speaking in clipped
phrases I didn’t bother to try to understand.

It wasn’t long before Mrs. Soberlo
came out of her office. She put her hand on my shoulder, and I
looked up, feeling like I was moving through molasses. “We can
discuss what brought you here another time, Miss Hoffman. I’ve
spoken to your mother, and she says if you are willing to talk the
police, you can. I can call her to come in if you’d rather wait for
her, but I will sit with you to make sure someone is looking after
your rights.” I nodded numbly, and she stepped out into the hall,
returning a moment later with the policewoman in tow.

“
Come along, Miss Hoffman,”
the principal barked. I hopped to my feet and obeyed. That wasn’t a
tone to be argued with.

Mrs. Soberlo led us down a carpeted
hall in the office to a small room where staff meetings were held.
As I numbly followed, I heard the cop behind me still talking on
her cell phone. From the little I could overhear mixed with what I
knew from every cop show I’d ever seen, I figured she was calling
in her partner. I knew he had to be some old guy who would be able
to retire if he could just solve this one last case. Inside, Mrs.
Soberlo sat in one of the fabric covered office chairs and had me
sit next to her. The policewoman introduced herself as Regina
Simms. I swallowed nervously, and it went down wrong making me
cough. Officer Simms went to fetch me a glass of water. She
returned with a Dixie cup and a young man in a dark suit. I could
tell by the badge clipped to his belt he was probably a detective.
So TV let me down again.

“
I’m Detective Laurent,” he
said, setting a manila folder on the table opposite me. His
immaculately groomed dark hair and youthful face seemed at odds. He
was rather bulbous with a large nose and a fleshy face. He shook
hands with the principal, then me. His palm was hot and damp, and
his grip was loose and timid. “I understand you knew Mariah
Carter?”

I numbly nodded, unable to speak
through the shock. The whole situation seemed unreal like it had
been staged by some poor author trying to hurry a plot along. I
took the water and attempted to swallow a sip, but my throat felt
swollen.

“
Were you
close?”

“
Kind of. Things have been
different since we got to high school, but we used to be really
close.”

“
How would you describe
her?”

“
She was just kind of
average, like me.” I watched him eye me up and down, and I
remembered my Goodwill finds. I flushed, my lips compressing as I
looked away.

“
Average? This is average?
Isn’t this more what the kids are calling New Age?” I let my eyes
flick to his face briefly, but the look on his face reminded me of
a predator stalking prey. I swallowed, my gaze darting away
again.

Mrs. Soberlo came to my rescue. “It’s
Spirit Week, detective. Most of the student body is dressed
similarly to Miss Hoffman. Don’t they train you to do this kind of
stuff? What does Miss Hoffman’s appearance have to do with
anything? Her friend died, and I would appreciate a little decorum.
She doesn’t need a cocky detective getting snarky with
her!”