Sojourner (2 page)

“Thanks.”  I step toward it, wondering if she will follow there, too, but her feet stay put.  Biting my lip, I resist asking how she knows my name.  It’s irrelevant because if she knows, then so does everyone else.

As the tardy bell has yet to ring, I watch a flurry of parents and students demanding various things, like appointments for the upcoming parent-teacher conferences and complaints about an unfair teacher.  Sensing things will ease at the start of first period, I stand back and let the chaos happen, figuring the secretaries will eventually see me.  It delays the inevitable.

“May I help you?” a woman asks, sitting behind a desk with a nameplate that reads “Beth Adams.”  I can tell by her nervous frown she is trying to place me, and she figures it should be easy, but I’m not familiar.  I’m not white enough.

“I’m Elizabeth Moon.  Jimmie Abram called last week.”

“Just a second,” Ms. Adams finally says, consulting her computer.  “Yeah, we did get your schedule worked up.  Did you bring your shot record and birth certificate?”  I can tell she thinks I’ve forgotten.  Then again, she doesn’t know how seriously Jimmie takes school. 

“Yeah, I’ve got them,” I say, tugging them from my binder and handing them to her.  I am weirded out by the way she reads over my birth certificate.  Her index finger scans like she’s reading Braille.  The smooth pace abruptly stops when she comes to my father’s name.  An uncomfortable frown contorts her features.  Just another brick in the wall. 

“I’ll be right back,” she manages, walking to the copier.  On the way back, she stops by the printer and pulls a single sheet off the top, scans it, and then hands all three items to me.

“Here’s your schedule, hon.”  She turns and calls, “Gail?  Come here.”  A short brunette steps into the room, eyeing me as she goes to Ms. Adams.

“Gail, this is Elizabeth Moon.  Can you show her to Mr. Maguire’s room?”   Ms. Adams glances at the clock above her desk.  “At least she won’t be too late.”  She grabs a pad of slips from her desk and quickly fills one out before handing it to me.  “Give this to your teacher.”

“Thank you.”  I take the slip and follow Gail down the hall.

“So, you’re the new girl,” Gail says, sizing me up.  As we walk, we pass a few students.  Most have the same reaction, staring openly at me.  I’m used to having guys stare.  While they don’t especially care for the fact I’m not like them, they do appreciate what the difference does for my face.  And I know to stay away.

“How did you know there was a new girl?” I ask, trying not to seem suspicious.

“It’s a small town.” 

Before I can edge out a response, she stops in front of a closed classroom door.  “This is Mr. Maguire’s room.  American History.”

I look down the hall to where it appears a makeshift wall cuts off part of the wing.  “What’s down there?”

Gail turns.  “More classrooms being added on, a few old rooms being converted.  It’s been like that for months so there’s no telling how much longer we’re going to deal with the hammering and stuff.”  Gail turns back to the door and knocks.  She waits for the teacher to acknowledge us before opening the door.

“Yes, Ms. Bellows.”  He stands at the chalkboard, his back to the notes he’s been neatly printing.

“This is Elizabeth Moon.  She just transferred.”

Sensing this is as good a time as any, I try not to think about all the people staring at me and hand Mr. Maguire the slip.  I’ve had enough of being on display.

“There’s only one empty seat, Ms. Moon.”  He gestures to the back of the room, and in order to get to it, I have to pass every aisle.  I bite my bottom lip and head that way.  Gail’s gaze is fixed on a boy in the last row, in the seat next to mine.  His long hair appears slightly wild in a sensual way, as though he’s just gotten out of bed.  While he’s not particularly attractive, he definitely has money, which tends to make everyone think he looks better than he really does.  While most everyone else appears to be wearing casual clothing, his sweater hints at GQ rather Walmart. 

Even as he takes in my face, his eyes widen, his full lips purse, and I can almost hear the whistle he’s barely holding back.  A seductive smile lights his face, and I force myself to look away as I take the seat.  My heart races, and I half stumble.  Laughter erupts, and I tell myself it doesn’t matter.  They’ll forget I’m the new girl soon enough.  Amid the laughter, Gail slips out.

Mr. Maguire steps to the lectern.   “Okay, yesterday we talked about The Sand Creek Massacre; now let’s follow the trail of the Cheyenne another four years.  By this time, where were Black Kettle and his people living?”  He peers through thick glasses at the students, looking for volunteers.  Me, I’m cringing because even though I’m only half-Cheyenne, people assume I know all things Indian.  It’s like expecting all the people who live in China to be on a first-name basis.

No one holds up a hand.  He’s still looking.  Then he turns to me.  “What about it, Ms. Moon?  This topic probably has a lot of significance to you.”

“The Washita River in Oklahoma.”  I guess it’s a good thing I know my history because I sure don’t know nearly so much about my heritage.  It’s not that I haven’t tried, but in the eyes of the full Cheyenne, I’m only part complete, and where the traditionalists are concerned, that’s not enough.  Besides, even a lot of full bloods are raised white.  Despite the ancestry, they know about as much as I do, which isn’t much.  It’s one thing to act the part—the braids and shades Indian.  But it’s another to know, to really, really know.  No matter how hard I try, I never fit in.  I look enough like a Native American to whites, but to Indians I’ll never be accepted so pretty much what I know of my heritage comes from a lot of books.  I just wonder how different things might have been if my dad were still around.  I wonder what kind of things he would have taught me.

“And what was the significance of November 27, 1868?”

My whole body stiffens, and I don’t want to think about this.  If I close my eyes, the residue of the nightmares surfaces.  I open my book, trying to distract myself.

“Ms. Moon, do you know why that day is important?”

“Yes,” I snap.  “Custer attacked the camp, killing Black Kettle and many of the others there—mostly women and children.”

“Very good.”  He turns to the board to point out the notes he wants us to remember, but I block it out, hating the way everyone is staring, like I’m some kind of museum exhibit.   I pull out some paper and a pen, hoping to focus on what he’s saying, but his voice is so monotone I find myself drifting, eyelids fluttering and finally snapping shut as I merge into sleep.

“Wake up!” a voice hisses.

I jerk upright.  Panic seizes me as I realize I’m not at home.  All eyes are on me, especially the brown irises of the guy next to me, his mouth still twisted into a smirk that flashes his white but uneven teeth. 

I wipe my face and sit up as Mr. Maguire stares at me.  I can tell he’s debating on whether or not to call attention to my behavior or let it slide.  The bell rings before he can decide, and mostly everyone is out of their seats, heading for the next period. 

“Hey, dream girl.  Time to move on.”  Griffin gently pushes my arm from atop my binder so he can read my schedule.  “We’ve even got the same class next.”

I stand, wondering if I can find the next period by myself.  Then he thrusts his hand toward me.

“I’m Griffin Hauser.”

I stiffen.  “As in Hauser’s Landing Hauser?”  I feel panicked, as though I can’t breathe.

“One and the same.”

We’ve almost made it to the front of the room when I spot him—the blond from my dream.  He’about 6’4.  His black sweater accentuates his pale blond hair and golden skin.  Even in this florescent light, he is beautiful.  My throat catches, and I flash back to the dream, unsettled.  My knees buckle.  Griffin’s quick wrist pulls me upright.

Chapter Two

“You’re strange one, Elizabeth Moon.  You light-headed or something?”

“No,” I say, my voice breathless and trembling.  “Who is that?”  I point to the guy from my dream.   The world is spinning, and I feel woozy like the first time I gave blood.

“Nobody.  Lev Walker.  A weird guy who lives on the grounds of the cemetery.”

As we head to the door, Mr. Maguire steps in front of me, frowning. “Are you all right, Ms. Moon?”

“I’ve just been up late, unpacking,” I manage, swallowing hard.  “I’m sorry I fell asleep.  It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.”  Then he turns towards Griffin.  “Perhaps you should turn your paper in from last week.  I don’t think your parents will appreciate a deficiency slip in the mail.”

“Yes, sir,” Griffin says.

“Good.”  Mr. Maguire nods, and I slip into the hallway.  Griffin follows, something I am not entirely comfortable with, but I can’t exactly exert my supernatural ‘Native’ powers to make him stop.  Unfortunately, I’ve no such powers.  I’m pretty sure nobody else does either.  So, as much as I hate the idea, I will have to endure Griffin.  What I really want is to find Lev, not that I have any idea what I will say.  Possible scenarios might include “Hey, Blondie, why are you always in my dreams, watching me die?” Or even better, “Do you have a thing for me since you seem to spend every night with  me, at least in my dreams?”

No, distance is better, I sigh.  At least until I can figure out how to phrase these insane thoughts into questions he might be able to answer with something besides threats of committing me.

I try to read my schedule and puzzle out my locker’s location, but my thoughts are still scrambled from the nightmare.  Griffin peers over his shoulder and points to the left.  “Your locker is that way, in case you’re looking for it.”

My body stiffens as he leans over my shoulders, his face inches from mine.  His chest bumps my back and I nudge forward, trying to regain personal space.

“So I guess you’ve met our newest addition to Hauser High.”

I half-turn to find Gail and another dark-haired guy next to her, his grayish eyes look over me, lingering in places he really has no business seeking out.

“But I haven’t,” the guy says, smiling.  “I’m Matt King.”

I nod.  “Hey.”

Gail looks from me to Griffin, her caustic expression none too pleased with his overt attention to me.  I want to tell her I’ll gladly slip away if she can distract him, but Griffin is having none of that.  In fact, he steps closer so that our shoulders brush while I read the combination number for my lock and then start twisting the dial.  His hot breath whispers across my cheek.  My fingers fumble, pushing the dial too far, messing up.  Matt and Gail walk down the hall.

Shaking my head, I reset the lock and try again to open it.  After three attempts, the lock finally gives.  I’ve only just opened it when the tardy bell rings.  Can it get any better?

A rectangular mirror affixed to the door greets me.  I gasp, not at my reflection, but at the  words scrawled in red on the glass.   “Half-breed.”

The notebook tumbles from my hands.  Bile slithers up my throat, and I wonder if I’m going to be sick.  It’s not like this is the first time, but usually takes more than one day for someone to decide they don’t like my skin color.  Biting my lip, I keep staring until my face clears and the words fuzz over.  The coppery taste of blood tells me my teeth have sunk too deeply.

Who writes that anymore?
  I try not to panic, but the fear keeps making my heart race.