Shifting (4 page)

6

Saturday afternoon, six days since I'd moved to Silver City, Mrs. Carpenter had me out in her future vegetable garden, hard at work tilling the dry earth, with her dogs keeping me company. A cool breeze blew, forming a halo of gold pollen around the ponderosa pines, and milky clouds hid the sky. Even with the breeze, sweat glistened on my skin, making my threadbare T-shirt cling to my back.

The rumble of an engine broke the afternoon silence. Shash and Duke's ears perked up. I looked toward the driveway, expecting to see Ollie's sedan. Instead a shiny black SUV with extra-high ground clearance bounded up to the house and stopped a few feet in front of the porch. The engine cut off.

I sank the tip of the shovel into the loose dirt and stared at the vehicle. When he stepped from the SUV, my stomach dropped into my hips. Shash and Duke went ballistic. I grabbed both dogs' collars and started dragging them toward the barn before they had the chance to attack.

Footsteps thudded on the ground behind me.

“Maggie Mae.”

I stopped and peered over my shoulder. The dogs growled and struggled against me, nearly yanking me off my feet to get at Bridger O'Connell. He held his hand out and stared at the dogs. “
Beh-gha
,” he said, his voice deep and quiet. Shash and Duke whimpered and sat. “Um … hi,” Bridger said, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his fashionably worn jeans and looking at me. Duke's tail thumped on the dirt.

“What did you say to them?” I asked, looking between Bridger and the calm dogs.

“I told them that was enough. And they listened.”

“Enough? In what language?”

Bridger smiled. “Navajo.” He scanned the dirt I'd been working. “You're tilling a garden?”

I nodded.

“Want some help?”

I looked at his leather shoes, his expensive jeans, and short-sleeve button-up shirt. Without a word he turned from me and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a white V-neck T-shirt beneath. Just above the neckline of his shirt, a necklace hung on a leather strap against his golden chest—a glossy black claw of some sort, mounted in silver, with a turquoise stone embedded in it.

Bridger tossed his button-up shirt onto the hood of his SUV, walked to my upright shovel, and dug it into the ground, flipping the dirt over on itself. Leave it to Bridger O'Connell to make me feel underdressed to do gardening—even if he was wearing a plain T-shirt.

Shash broke away from me and wagged his way over to Bridger. Bridger grinned and scratched the dog's ears, then dug the shovel back into the hard earth. I watched him work for a full minute, absolutely shocked that he was seriously going to help me dig, before going to the shed on the side of Mrs. Carpenter's house for a second shovel.

We tilled the garden side by side, the dogs our silent companions. I stole glances at Bridger when he wasn't looking, watching the way his broad shoulders moved and his biceps flexed as he lifted and turned shovels full of dirt.

More than once, I caught him staring at me, too.

With Bridger's help it didn't take long to till the entire garden. When the last scoop of dirt was turned, Bridger and I leaned on our shovels and stared at each other. When neither of us said a word, Bridger took the shovel from my hands and carried it to the shed. I dragged the dogs to the barn and locked them in.

We met back at the edge of the tilled earth and Bridger wiped a hand over his brow. I stared at him for a long, awkward moment, wondering why he was here.

“That was hard work. I'm thirsty,” he said.

Yeah, I could take a hint. “You want something to drink?”

“That would be nice.”

I nodded and walked to the house. On the front porch, Bridger and I removed our dusty shoes.

“Do you want juice or …,” I asked as I stepped into the house. I stopped walking and turned. Bridger stood framed in the doorway, watching me. “Do you want a drink or not?”

“You didn't invite me in,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.

“Come in,” I said.

“Thanks. Can I get a glass of water?”

I filled two glasses with ice and tap water and sat down at the dining room table. Bridger sat in the chair beside me and our knees bumped.

“So, why are you here? Do you need to see Mrs. Carpenter? Or do you typically drive around on Saturday looking for gardens to till with girls you hardly know?”

“I wanted to talk to you, Maggie Mae, so I called your house. Mrs. Carpenter answered and said if I had something to say to you, I could come over and say it while I helped you till the garden.” A slow smile spread over his face. I couldn't help but smile back.

“So, what do you want?” I asked with a laugh.

“A rematch. Fifty-yard dash.”

I stopped laughing. “If I win, are you going to turn the entire school against me as payback? Oh, wait. You already
did
that.”

He leaned closer and I stared into his dark eyes. “I might have been mad that you beat me, but
I
didn't turn the school against you. Danni Williams did. You're a faster runner and she can't stand it,” he said. He moved a strand of hair from my cheek and tucked it behind my ear. I prayed he couldn't see the pulse pounding out of control beneath my neck.

He grinned and leaned back in his chair. “So?” he asked quietly.

“If I beat you again, will you tell the school?”

“If you win, I'll do better than that. I'll take you to prom to prove to the entire student body that there are no hard feelings between us.”

“And if
you
win?”

“I'll have my dignity back.”

I rolled my eyes. Like I could take away his dignity. He was overflowing with dignity.

“So?” he asked.

“I can't go to prom. I don't own a dress.”

He leaned toward me. “Wait, did I hear you right? We're talking prom dresses. So you'll race me?”

I studied his midnight eyes. He knew as well as I did that I'd beat him. The real question was: if I owned a dress, would I go with him? Yeah—in a heartbeat. Any girl in her right mind would. He was smart, athletic, and totally hot. “Sure,” I said before I realized the word was out of my mouth. I couldn't help it. He was the first decent guy that had ever asked me out, even if the date depended on me beating him in a race.

Bridger opened his mouth to speak, but the doorbell chimed.

Floorboards groaned overhead.

“I'll get it, Mrs. Carpenter,” I called toward the stairs. She'd gone to her quilting circle the night before and been out until midnight, so had gone upstairs with the excuse of an afternoon nap. And besides, it was for me. Ollie was right on time.

I glanced at Bridger as I stood. “You should probably go.”

Bridger downed his water and followed me to the front door.

Ollie stood on the threshold, my file tucked under his arm. Without a word, he turned and spat a glob of black tobacco into the bushes.

“Hello, Magdalene Mae.” He pushed past me and into the house. “Why, hello, Bridger!” A chill raced up my spine. “What in the wide world are you doing
here
of all places?”

“Hanging out with Maggie Mae,” Bridger replied as if he thought it was pretty obvious.

“Oh. I see,” Ollie said. “Tell me, how's your dad doing?”

“He's fine. He and my mom and sister moved to France in January,” Bridger replied.

“They left you here alone?”

“They moved the day I turned eighteen,” Bridger said with a shrug. “But they're probably coming home to see me graduate. What are
you
doing here?”

I tried not to cringe as I waited for Ollie's response.

“I've come to visit with Ms. Mortensen, too,” Ollie explained, holding my file up. My shoulders slumped.

“You mean Maggie Mae? But I thought you were a social worker. That you dealt with foster chil …” Bridger's voice trailed off as his eyes met mine. “Oh.”

“Ms. Mortensen's been in the fostering program since she was five,” Ollie said.

I wanted to punch Ollie. Wasn't my life, contained in the file under his arm, supposed to be private?

“Oh,” Bridger said again, studying me as if we had just met. “I'll see you later, Maggie Mae.” He shook Ollie's hand before practically running from the house. Seeing Bridger's hand clasped in the hand of my new social worker made me physically ill. They knew each other. And Ollie knew details about my past, about the indecent exposure. What if he let something slip? What if Bridger learned the truth about me?

“Seems you moved away from Albuquerque just in time,” Ollie said, pulling me from my thoughts. He spread my paperwork on the dining table. “A pack of wild dogs has been attacking bums and killing pets in your old neighborhood. The authorities have never seen anything like it.” He shivered and pulled an envelope from his breast pocket. “This is for you.”

I took the envelope. It was from Jenny Sue and had been mailed to Mr. Petersen's office. I tucked the letter into my back pocket.

Ollie removed his glasses and cleaned them with his white button-up shirt before scanning my paperwork. He asked basic questions about how Mrs. Carpenter was treating me, how I liked school, if I was fitting in with the students.

When we finished, he asked to see Mrs. Carpenter. I ran upstairs and tapped on her door. “Ollie's here,” I called through the wood, and ran back downstairs.

After a long moment, she came ambling downstairs.

“Why are you pulling an old woman from her bed, Oliver? I was trying to take a nap,” Mrs. Carpenter grumbled, squinting at him from bleary eyes.

“I need to interview you about Maggie Mae,” he said.

“Well, she's the best kid I've ever met. I wish John had been half as good as her! And I already told him that. He called this morning just to see how she's doing,” Mrs. Carpenter retorted, turning back toward the stairs.

Ollie and I stared at each other for a long, awkward moment after she'd gone. He cleared his throat, took off his glasses, and began cleaning them on his shirt again.

“Well, Miss Mortensen, you turn eighteen in a week and graduate in a month. Are you making the necessary arrangements to live on your own?”

“I applied for a job. I mean, I
have
a job.”

“Good. Well, I'll let Mr. Petersen know that things are acceptable here. And don't worry about seeing me to the door. I'll show myself out. Take care of yourself.”

As I walked to my bedroom, I heard the front door close. I pulled Jenny Sue's letter from my pocket and tore it open.

Dear Maggie Mae,

I hope life is going good. Mr. Petersen told me he found a real good home for you. Paul and I miss you and hope that you get the help that you need. You're a real sweetheart.

The reason I'm writing this letter is because some guy has been by the house looking for you, but he won't say why he wants you. He came the very day you were taken from my custody, and he has been coming almost every day since, even though I told him that you don't live here no more. He's been hanging around the house and neighborhood a lot, too, usually in a real fancy car. He gives me the heebie-jeebies. I am worried that he'll follow you to your new house. That's why I mailed this to your counselor. So please be real careful.

—Jenny Sue

I read the letter five times. Who'd be looking for me? And in a nice car? Some pervert who saw me naked and wanted to see more? I got a pen and piece of paper from my backpack and wrote a quick note.

Jenny Sue,

Stop worrying. I'm good. I live with a sweet older woman in the southern part of the state. I got a job at a restaurant called the Navajo Mexican. Totally weird name, I know, but the food rocks.

Thanks for warning me about Mr. Creepy. I'll keep an eye out, but don't worry. I can take care of myself.

—MM

I stuck the letter in an envelope and wrote her address on it, but hesitated. Just to be safe, I left the return address blank.

I got a stamp from Mrs. Carpenter's desk and walked the letter out to the mailbox.

7

On Monday morning, when the bus pulled into the school parking lot, the energy level in the air doubled. The sophomore and freshmen girls started jabbering and pressing their noses against the windows facing the school.

The words “totally hot,” “prom,” and “staring right at this bus” carried over the low rumble of the engine.

I stayed in my seat as the freshmen and sophomores filed out. When the bus was empty, I stood and choked my way through the fog of diesel exhaust that had filled the bus. As I stepped into the cold morning air, I knew what had gotten the girls so excited. Bridger O'Connell stood leaning against the school, staring at the bus. He looked picture-perfect wearing expensive jeans and a tan leather jacket, with the wind tousling his black hair. But there was something more about him. He seemed different than other guys—always still, always aware of everything around him.

He waved. I looked over my shoulder to see who he was waving at, but the only thing behind me was the bus.

“I'm waving at you, Maggie,” he called, striding toward me. Though it was nearing the end of April, the morning still held a hint of winter. Then Bridger smiled and the air seemed to warm ten degrees. He fell into step beside me.

“How do you know Ollie?” I asked as we walked.

“Ollie Williams? He's Mike and Danni Williams's uncle. You know—Danni who runs hurdles, with legs like a moose. Ollie comes to our track meets every now and then,” he explained.

A wave of panic made it hard to breathe. What if Ollie mentioned my past to Danni, his niece? Danni, who already hated me without knowing my past? Or her brother, Mike?

A hand clasped mine and pulled me to a gentle stop. Panic was replaced with warmth.

“Maggie? Are you okay?” Bridger asked.

“I'm fine,” I said, my voice disbelieving. I looked at our clasped hands, marveling how something so simple could send a wave of warmth through my body. “So, why were you waiting for me?” I eased my hand from his.

“You think I was waiting for you?”

I smiled. “Weren't you? It was pretty obvious, Bridger.” He returned my smile and took my hand again, pulling me past the stairs leading to the front entrance to the school.

“It's time to race,” he said.

“Right now?” I looked down at his feet. He wore running shoes.

“Yeah. Prom's in five days. I figure
if
you win, you'll need time to shop for a dress.”

Something clicked in my head. Five days … Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday. Saturday night. I thought of the moon, a waxing gibbous, and my heart started pounding. The full moon was five days away. My birthday was on the eve of the full moon.

I stopped walking and yanked my hand from Bridger's.

“Maggie?”

“What?” I snapped. Speechless, I stared at him. I couldn't go to prom. It was absolutely, ridiculously impossible. Saturday night was a bad night for me. Really, really bad. I wiped my damp palms on my jeans and shook my head. “I can't go to prom.”

Bridger lifted an eyebrow and studied me. “You haven't won yet.”

We walked to the rear of the school in silence. The track was empty. Bridger and I took our backpacks off and set them on the bleachers and then moved to the fifty-yard dash start line.

We lined up side by side, each of us in a pre-sprint lunge, and stared at each other. His face was so close I could see his pupil surrounded by the coal-dark iris.

“You ready?” he asked, studying my eyes just like I was studying his.

I nodded and looked forward.

“Just so you know, I've been practicing. On your mark, get set … go!” he yelled. I dug my toes into the track and felt my muscles respond. Wind rushed through my loose hair, my pulse sped up, and my feet hardly touched the ground. I knew he couldn't beat me.

Until I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye and almost tripped. Bridger was keeping up with me. I focused straight ahead and pushed myself. So did Bridger. The finish line sped into view and we both crossed it and continued on, sprinting around the bend in the track before our legs were able to slow.

I gasped the dry morning air and looked at Bridger.

“You beat me.” He panted.

I shook my head. “It was a tie.”

“Nope, you were one pace ahead. You won. And I'm okay with that. You're the first girl I don't mind losing to,” he said with a gleam of satisfaction in his eye. “I'm man enough to admit when someone's better than me at something, which rarely happens. So it looks like we're going to prom.”

“No, thanks. You don't have to feel obligated to take me,” I said, thinking of the full moon. No way I could go!

“Maggie?” I looked at him. “I want to take you. I knew all along you'd win.”

“Whatever! You are so full of crap!”

“Okay, maybe I thought I stood a chance at beating you. But even if I won, I was still going to ask you. And you already agreed to go. So what time should I pick you up?”

My mind came alive with options. Maybe I could go to the dance and be back before ten. Maybe I was wrong about the moon. Maybe I was freaking insane and nothing bad was going to happen on Saturday night.

But maybe not.

With the word “no” on the tip of my tongue I looked up into Bridger's eyes. He put his fingers against my cheek. The newly risen sun gleamed off his dark hair and silhouetted him in light.

“Please?” he whispered. I melted beneath that touch.

“Fine.
If
you promise to get me home by ten.” Insane or not, I was crazy to go along with this. But when he touched me like that, I couldn't think straight. I stepped away from him and dug my hands deep into my jeans pockets. The tardy bell rang and I turned toward the bleachers.

“There's one more thing,” Bridger said, walking beside me. “I was wondering if we could be friends. You know, say hi to each other in the hall, you could actually smile at me during track, sit by me at lunch …” His eyes got a wicked gleam. “Unless you're still worried about your reputation.”

I frowned and slung my backpack over my shoulder. “Whatever,” I said. But inside I was smiling. “Except I sit with Yana at lunch. So you're on your own there.”

“What's up with you and Bridger O'Connell?” Yana asked.

We sat side by side, our backs against the brick wall by the girls' bathroom. She took a bite of pizza.

“We're friends, I guess.” I washed down my PBJ with a swig of milk.

“Friends? I overheard some girls talking in the bathroom. They said he's taking you to prom?”

I glanced at the prom flyer on the wall. “Yeah. He's taking me to prom.” Saying the words seemed surreal. Even though I was only going with him because I won a race, a smile jumped to my face. I looked at Yana and it fell off. “What? Is he a juvenile delinquent or something?”

“Juvenile delinquent? Aside from streaking last year's graduation ceremony totally nude, not that I know of. But he's a jerk. He's got some rich girlfriend from France that he's practically engaged to. Well, there's a problem. France is on another continent. So when Bridger's hormones rage, he finds someone local to use as a temporary replacement. And then he tosses her aside.”

I sagged against the wall. Bricks dug into my shoulder blades through my T-shirt. “Are you serious?”

Yana nodded. “Danni was his last victim. And just a heads-up, but he was originally going to take her to prom. So watch out. That girl's got claws.”

“What happened with him and Danni?”

“She's had a crush on him since junior high, even joined the track team to get him to notice her. And he finally did notice her when she beat him at hurdles,” Yana said. I cringed—this was starting to sound all too familiar. “They dated for a little bit,” she continued, “and when he dumped her, she stopped eating and didn't come to school for a week. When I told Naalyehe about it, he said Bridger's parents want him to marry someone in their
social class
. Therefore, he only gets serious with girls in his
social class
.”

“What social class is that?”

“The über-rich, world-traveling, university-graduate social class.”

“Wow.”

“Sorry to have to tell you, but that's what friends are for.”

“Yeah. Friends. Thanks for letting me know.” I looked at my T-shirt, purchased from a thrift store in Albuquerque, and felt as if I'd been punched in the stomach. If Bridger's social class had an opposite, I would be it.

Yet a little part of me hoped Yana was wrong. Okay, a big part of me hoped. Mrs. Carpenter's dogs liked him, after all.

Even though I had been warned, my heart beat like a galloping horse every time Bridger said hi to me in the hall. When he smiled at me, or talked to me during track, I couldn't stop grinning. The few times we walked the same direction to class, he took my hand and interlaced his fingers with mine, and my blood raced through my veins.

I started counting the hours until prom.

On Thursday, when I got to third period, Senior English, I noticed the female half of the class was staring at me, as if noticing the new girl for the first time—again. Their eyes and whispers clung to me. When I sat down at my desk, a loud snickering filled the classroom. Danni, who sat directly behind me, was in full hysterics.

I turned around to see what everyone was laughing at, and they laughed harder. The girls did anyway. The guys were studying the walls or ceiling.

Class passed normally, with me struggling to hold my eyes open. We were discussing
The Scarlet Letter
by Nathaniel Hawthorne, a novel about a woman who had to wear a red
A
on her dress so that everyone knew she'd had sex out of wedlock. It was one of my least favorite books and, to make matters worse, I'd read and dissected it junior year. The urge to let my eyelids sag shut was almost overwhelming. The rest of the class seemed just as bored, antsy for class to end. Yet when the dismissal bell rang, no one made the usual mad dash for the lunchroom. They all stared at me.

My palms became clammy and my stomach started to churn, the same feeling I got when I knew the girls at my old school were planning on jumping me in the hall. My eyes met Danni's. She grinned from ear to ear. Did Ollie tell her about me?

I stood to leave.

The class burst into raucous laughter. I reached between my shoulder blades, expecting to find a paper with
Kick me
taped there, but felt nothing. The class laughed harder. I clenched my teeth and left.

Laughter followed me down the hall. Every person I passed exploded with it when they looked at me. They pointed at my back and whispered, told other people to look, and they laughed, too.

Panic clawed at me. I started to run toward the girls' bathroom. It felt a mile away. By the time I reached it, tears were filling my eyes and I was gasping for air.

When I looked in the mirror, though, nothing was wrong. It was just plain old red-faced me staring back. I don't know what I had expected—a clown nose, maybe? Footsteps echoed in the empty stalls and Yana walked into the bathroom.

Her eyes met mine, and then wandered down my neck, over my red sweater, and to my jeans. She cringed.

“You riding the crimson wave?” she asked delicately.

I didn't know what she meant. Crimson wave?

“You've bled through your pants,” she croaked, as if the words hurt her throat.

I turned around and looked at my butt in the mirror. Crimson smeared the seat of my jeans. I touched the stain and brought my fingers to my nose. Nail polish. I had sat in bright, blood-red nail polish.

My hands balled into fists and my blood started to boil. I saw the pink-and-gray-tiled bathroom through a fog of red. As I ran from the bathroom to the crowded lunchroom, I told myself what I was about to do was worth the consequences I would face.

Danni was watching for me, perched atop a table surrounded by her friends. Bridger was there, too, talking to Danni and smiling. My heart sank. He was in on it. I didn't know who to hit first—him or Danni.

But then Bridger saw me and frowned. He met me halfway across the lunchroom and grabbed my fist. I kept walking, pulling him with me.

“What's wrong?” he asked, trying to uncurl my fingers. I glared at him and stopped.

“Tell me we're friends,” I growled, clenching my fists tighter. “Tell me you wouldn't do anything to hurt me.”

He studied me. “We're friends. I
wouldn't
do anything to hurt you.”

“Good.” I yanked my hand from his and strode over to Danni. She was gloating, laughing as I approached. When she opened her mouth to say something, I shoved my balled fist into it as hard as I could, knocking her backward off the table. She lay frozen on the grimy lunchroom floor, staring up at me. But when I started for her again, she scrambled to her feet and hid behind a couple of big senior guys. I pushed and shoved them out of my way and grabbed the back of Danni's shirt as she tried to run away.

She whirled around to face me and the fight was on.

She didn't know how to fight—just sort of hugged me, pulled my hair, and buried her face in my shoulder—making it impossible for me to punch it again. I started punching her in the ribs and pulling her cropped brown hair. She tried to kick my shins and bite me, but in the middle of a fight, you don't feel little things like that.

When she was suddenly yanked away, I swung hard and fast and my fist clipped her just below the eye. Arms came around me. I could smell Bridger and knew he was the one restraining me, but I wasn't done beating the crap out of Danni Williams. I struggled against his iron embrace, but couldn't break free.

Then I saw Danni wrapped in a backward hug by the school nurse. Danni wasn't struggling to get free, like me. She was struggling to put Ms. Opp in front of her. Danni was terrified. Of me. I froze.