Seers (6 page)

I walk the winding brick path to the academy doors. I take it all in. The beauty of this place. It’s a brownstone that looks more like a church or a palace than a school. It has a slate roof with peaks and turrets. It’s the most romantic building I have ever been expected to enter. The front doors are intricately carved walnut, curved, with brass hardware and lion’s head knockers. I pull the right door toward me and enter the grand hall. Glass cases and gold-framed pictures of the academy founders greet me.

I do feel good here. In spite of myself I allow the grandness to reel me in. I want to belong here. If I knew myself, where I came from, would I be worthy of this place? Would I fit in here if Tobias hadn’t created my résumé to fit the requirements?

I don’t have time for self-discovery. I have to find Eri. And now that I know Eri’s group, I will have to decide what to do about Ryan. I knew I needed someone the first week. I needed to get around the school, and I needed to not be seen as antisocial or a loner. He initiated our acquaintance, and he was a welcome friend. But now that I know the small circle that Eri surrounds herself with, I may have to drop him. Circles are fickle like that. You can join one if you’re new, but you can’t bring in an “old” student with you. Maybe if he’s a floater—someone who transcends groups because of his usefulness or many activities or school political involvement—he can come with me. I kind of hope he can. I like him. And he’s so freaking smart.

“Morning, Leesie.”

I was expecting Ryan. I was not expecting him.

“I’m Luke. Luke Brewer.” He smiles. I had seen pictures in the files Tobias provided and had seen him in the hallway, but the images and faraway glimpses had done him no justice. This boy is attractive. Fan-yourself attractive.

“I know. I mean … hi. Um, morning,” I say as I shift my books and send one over the top and onto the floor.

Smooth, Leesie. Great work.

“Right.” He seems amused by my fumble. He’s still smirking when he rights himself after retrieving my fallen book. “Yeah, I guess you’re getting to know some names around here. Listen, I was just going to invite you to sit with us at lunch today. Eri has told us a little about you, so I figured we all might as well know a little about you. Bring Ryan. He’s welcome.” He broadens his smile. God, his eyes are dark.

“Great. Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you then.” I continue down the hallway, leaving him there. I like to exit first. End the conversation first. Leave them wanting more, maybe. Never leave a guy wishing I’d just shut up already. I wasn’t doing too well in the conversation department just now anyway. I have until lunch to get it together. I am supposed to come off as calm, collected, confident,
intriguing.

Well, one question is answered and can be off my mind: I guess Ryan is a floater. He’s welcome at their lunch table. Good. Great. This is perfect. Then why does it feel so weird? Why don’t I feel good about the way things are working out? Because it’s too perfect. Too easy. Why is Luke approaching me when my only contact has been with Eri? Shouldn’t Eri have done the inviting? And why does he need to know what Eri knows? What does he want with me?

I go through my morning distracted and anxious. I see them all in the hallway at various times. Senior wing is a horseshoe of three hallways, so running into them is inevitable. Daisy and Eri glance at me and offer polite half smiles. They show cautious interest, but not over-excitement. Frances seems to see no one but her instructors. Her focus is amazing. She has almost no interaction with her peers in the hallway. It’s like an expert dancer coming on the dance floor during a song. The amateurs part and watch her work. Seeing Patrick is like seeing someone famous. Patrick sees all and is sure that all see him. He is Mr. Hollywood. When he sees me, he gives me a broad, dentist’s dream of a smile. If the Ken doll where a real boy, his name would be Patrick Crown.

The members of Eri’s group all seem to fit easily into a category. It’s only Luke’s category that bothers me. I see Daisy and Patrick talk to Luke between classes. He listens, glances their way, nods, but I only see him actually
speak
to Eri. He watches her so protectively. Like a guardian. Like a boyfriend. Tobias said they were not together, but it’s hard to tell that by watching him watch her. Only he’s not just watching her. He’s watching me, too.

When I catch him, he makes no attempt to cover it up. He doesn’t look away quickly or offer a smile. He simply continues to
watch
me. It’s not staring. He’s not looking me up and down or checking me out. He’s watching my moves, my face, my eyes. Last week I saw only the back of him in the hallway and once at the drinking fountain. Today I see him at every turn. He always seems to know exactly where I am.

I know where to look when I enter the dining hall. They sit at a table in the center of the room. I had been sitting to their right with Ryan and a few others. Ryan hadn’t seemed to react when I asked him to join me at Eri and her friends’ table for lunch. He politely declined, saying he liked where he was. And there he was in his usual seat. I don’t seem to be missed. I guess he was just the welcoming committee, and, with the invite for me to join a group removing my “displaced new girl” label, his job is done.

Patrick flashes me another award-winning grin and waves me over.

As I walk toward them, I take them all in. Patrick is flawless. He’s muscled without being too bulky, has elegant features without appearing too polished, his blond hair is tousled and sun-streaked, and he’s funny and easy-going. He would make it hard for me to be a boy in this school. Too fierce a competition. Eri’s the smallest. Very petite. But her olive complexion, dark, shiny hair, and interesting features ensure that she’s not overlooked. Daisy is cute. She’s a dark blonde with light-green eyes. She’s tan, though still paler than Eri. She’s tall and athletically built. She’s curvy but looks strong. She is the all-around teenage girl. Money, looks, great personality, and she actually seems like a decent person. And why wouldn’t she be? She’s got everybody beat anyway. Frances reminds me of Velma from
Scooby-Doo.
Not physically, but because of the seriousness she brings to the group. Could you imagine Scooby-Doo without Velma? All you’d have is the antics of Scooby, the voracious hunger and fumbling of Shaggy, the dumb-jockness of Fred, and the who-cares-about-the-brains-when-there’s-a-short-dress-and-a-shock-of-hot-red-hair? of Daphne. Velma gives validity to the group, enough for them to call themselves mystery solvers. This good-looking group is smart on its own, but with Frances, it is a coveted group for its brains,
despite
its looks. I rest my eyes on Luke, last but not least.

I am inches from the table now. His body and chin are straight, facing Patrick, who sits opposite him, but his eyes are focused to his left. On me. My lips part as I inhale at … at what? Being caught checking all of them out? Analyzing them? Or at his face? That perfect face.

“Hey, Leesie! Welcome! I’m Patrick. You’ve met Eri and Luke. This is Frances, and this is Daisy.” He gestures to each of his friends as he goes around the table. “So, Eri says you seem okay. We figured we’d find out for ourselves. How do you like it here so far?”

I snap out of it and focus on the task at hand, which I’m sure will be a series of questions. The first of which is a trick question.
How do I like it here so far?
I have to be positive or else I am a whiner. But if I’m too positive, I defy the laws of normal teenage angst. “It’s an adjustment, but I like it okay.”

I answer some more expected questions:
What was your old school like? Why did you transfer?
I answer according to my created backstory.

“I lived with my aunt in New Hampshire before I moved here. She had me set up with tutors, and I took classes at a school nearby. It was a nice place, lots of land. She ran a stable, so there was always something to do. I loved spending time with the horses.”

“Ooh, do you ride?” Daisy asks. “You’ll have to come riding with me if you do. I have two horses boarded nearby.”

“I did ride. And thanks. I’d love to get back on a horse.”

That part’s true. I see images of horses in the foggy mess of a memory I have.

“Let her continue, Daisy,” Luke says, bringing us back to what I guess is important to him: my bio.

“About a year ago my aunt got sick. Cancer. When she found out, she began to make arrangements for me to attend Alsinboro. She had talked before about it being the best on the East Coast. My education, even to her death, was her top priority.”

“So, she …” Frances hesitates.

“Yes. She died two months ago.” I drop my eyes instinctively. Even if I didn’t really lose “my aunt,” I’ve lost everyone I knew. Considering I have no past, no clear non-Seer memories, and no family, this fake loss pales in comparison to my real one. So I really don’t feel like watching them pity me.

“We’re so sorry, Leesie,” Patrick offers.

“Thank you.” I glance around the table at the concerned faces, hoping they feel as if they have looked appropriately concerned long enough and are ready to go back to being just plain curious. I stop at Luke’s. He’s frowning.

“So who do you live with now?” His voice borders the line of casual interview and inquisition.

“I live with my legal guardian, I guess until my eighteenth birthday.” Mostly true. I live above him. Alone.

“Legal guardian? You have no parents?” Eri, who had until now remained silent, is wide-eyed and somewhere between shock and awe. I can understand her reaction, knowing what I do about her. She swims in the middle of the pool—at the shallow end is the safety net of her family’s love, and in the deep end is the imminent drowning she feels as they weigh their expectations on her shoulders.

“Nope. No parents.” We lock eyes. She purses her lips, turns the corners down, and nods slightly as if to say,
Well, okay, then.
She says more in that nonverbal gesture than she could have aloud. She says she doesn’t know what to say, so she isn’t going to try. I like that. Besides, she doesn’t need to say anything. What is there to say?

Around the table there is a tag team exhale as we all take a break from my heavy sharing. Daisy is the first to attempt to lighten the mood. “Hey, we’re all going to watch Patrick and his crew team annihilate the competition this afternoon. Want to come along?”

“Sure. Sounds like fun. You’re all going?”

“We’re
all
going,” Luke says with emphasis. I still can’t tell if he is interested in me because he is simply selective about who can join the group or because he wants to make sure I
don’t
join the group. I hate to break it to him, though: no matter how he feels about it … I’m in.

I have studio art with Eri after lunch, but we don’t walk there together. Luke hustles immediately after Eri and sets their quick pace. I’m behind, with Daisy and Patrick. Frances is already back in work mode and has moved off on her own. Daisy and Patrick chat about the arrangements for the afternoon. They’ll take two cars. Eri will drive Daisy and Luke in her car, and Frances and I will ride with Patrick in his. Someone will drop me off at my truck afterward. Obviously my goal is to be as close to Eri as I can get, but, because I cannot be obvious, I can’t attempt to change the car situation. Besides, getting close to her friends is a step closer to her at this point.

There’s more to it than that, though. I want to get close to her for the success of my mission, of course. I am committed to my mission and to achieving my goal for myself and for Tobias. But what is it? Why does it already feel like more? I get attached to my mission subjects. Tobias is working with me on that. But it usually happens later as a result of spending so much time invested in someone’s life. Why, then, do I feel such a strong connection to her now? Not an attachment. A connection. Why does this mission already feel so different? As I weave through the halls, I make a mental note to address this creeping connection with Tobias, though I can imagine the lecture that will follow.

Eri and I have eased into a comfortable arrangement in art. We usually chat for the first fifteen minutes of the period while we set up, and then we settle down to work. We comment on each other’s progress and artistic genius halfway through, and with ten minutes remaining, we help each other clean up. We’ve become easy partners. The conversations aren’t forced, and the silences aren’t awkward. It’s become my favorite part of the day, which used to be my lone commutes here and back in my truck.

However, when I walk into art today, Eri is already getting to work.

“Hey.” I put my books down and look over at her, smiling, expecting to see her smiling back at me. Instead her eyes are on her painting. She’s even frowning as if to ensure that she looks super into it, a true frustrated artist. There’s only one problem. She just got here. She and Luke were pretty fast in the hallway, but what, did they strap on jetpacks and sail down here? She just slapped that painting down a second ago—I know it. Why is she trying to appear so busy?

“Hey,” she answers. She doesn’t look up. She doesn’t smile. “I’m so behind on this.”