The Blood Between Us (9 page)

I was greeted with a warm hug. It seemed that Josh was the only person I had known before I left who was happy to see me. Other than Viktor and Julian, of course.

“Good, good. How are you?” I patted him on the back as we parted from our embrace. For some reason, that’s what men did. They could hug, but they had to pat each other on the back when they did so. It was kind of the this-is-not-a-romantic-thing signal. I was pretty sure that Viktor and Julian didn’t pat each other on the back when they hugged.

I couldn’t stop smiling.

He said, “Let’s see, the last time I saw you, you’d singed your eyebrows off trying to create water with a balloon filled with helium, a balloon filled with oxygen, and an open
flame.” Josh rubbed his eyebrows for emphasis. He was smiling, too.

“I’m still pretty sure it worked. But the fireball kinda evaporated it.”

“They grew back in okay. So what are you doing here? I thought you’d be spending your entire senior year lounging on a beach.”

A chuckle escaped me. “What? Give up snow and gray skies for a year-round tan and palm trees? It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

“Smartass. You haven’t changed a bit.” He held up a finger and put his headphones back on. I took a seat in the chair next to him. Flipping a switch, Josh spoke into the microphone. “That was Panic! at the Disco on WILS radio. This is Josh Davies. Just give me a call or shoot me a text message if there’s anything you want to hear. You know the number, people. This next one was requested by Stacie over there in Vandercook Hall.”

He flipped another switch and took off his headphones. He started talking again like there hadn’t been a break in our conversation. “If you must know, I’m still kinda pissed at you for bailing on me.”

My chest ached some with the weight of the guilt. “Look, I’m sorry about ditchin’ out. I just—”

“Dude. I’m totally screwing with ya.” Josh grinned and smacked me playfully on the knee. “It’s good to have you home again.”

“Did I miss anything exciting?”

“Just the usual—I’m currently skating through high school on a C average and keeping the parental fury at bay while I prepare for what I really wanna do.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. The last thing I knew, Josh had wanted to be a rock star. A shame he couldn’t play guitar or sing. “Which is?”

“You’re looking at it, dude. I wanna be a DJ. Like a radio DJ. Professionally.”

Watching the man work, I could tell that he was serious. “That’s . . . cool.”

“You say it like I’ve decided to willingly contract some horrible disease or something.” Josh was moving all around the studio checking the text messages on the computer, looking up songs, readying commercials for the next set. There was no denying it—he was good at what he did.

“That’s not it. I’m just . . . I dunno . . . surprised.”

“I love doing it. Sure, it won’t make me a lot of money. But there are more important things than cash, y’know?”

All I could do was sit back and watch in amazement. “I guess I’m just wondering why you still bother with a school
like Wills if that’s what you wanna do. It’s so much tougher here.”

Josh rolled his eyes as he pulled an LP out of its dust jacket. “My dad wants me to be a district attorney. My mom wants me to go into medicine. I’m seventeen. Which means that my life doesn’t even belong to me for another six months. So if my parents say I go to Wills, and they daydream about me being a doctor or some other ridiculously out-there crap despite my grades, then I just ride the ride until I board the freedom train.”

The presence of an actual vinyl album took me aback for a second. “Dude, do you still use those? I thought everything was digital now.”

Josh gingerly placed the LP onto the turntable and placed the needle onto one of the grooves. “Most everything is, but every now and then we DJs get nostalgic.”

“What the hell do you mean,
nostalgic
?” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes a little bit. “You’re seventeen, dude. You were born in the era of CDs and MP3s.”

He nodded. “Yeah, but these have a really great sound to them. And when one of the teachers requests a song from Journey, you gotta give them what they want. Don’t stop believin’, Adrien.”

With the flip of another switch, the turntable started spinning. “What about you? Still planning to be a chemist?”

I was pretty impressed he remembered. “I have no idea what I’m doing. Other than getting out of here as soon as possible.”

“What are you doing here, man?” Josh had known me better than anyone else at Wills. He knew why I’d left. “Why the hell did you come back? You were out. You were free.”

“Not my choice, really. I was kind of backed into a corner that I couldn’t avoid. So. I’m here.” I could have brought up Viktor, but for one brief moment, I just wanted to forget about the bad in my life. And Josh had always been great for that. I leaned back in my chair and sighed. “For a place that looks so much like it did four years ago, things sure seem to have changed, eh?”

“Yeah.” His voice was suddenly serious. “I can’t imagine people are being very nice to you, huh?”

I thought about Gregg slamming his shoulder into mine and Sherry obviously brushing me off—not to mention Penelope’s lecture. “Not exactly.”

“It’s because of Grace.” He flipped another switch, but didn’t bother to pick up the headphones. In the background I could hear advertisements for the bookstore and an announcement about the first school dance of the year. “After . . . what happened . . . with your parents, I mean . . . the whole school was in mourning for you guys. And then Grace came back, and you didn’t. And everyone saw Grace
dealing with the loss of your parents on her own. To them, it looked like you just stepped out on your only family. To some, it looked like maybe you had something to do with it. And your sister didn’t do anything to stop those rumors. If anything, she fueled them.”

I closed my eyes in frustration. “Fantastic. So everyone hates me.”

“Not everyone.” He gave me a wink. “I mean, I still think you’re okay.”

“You hittin’ on me?” A daring smile crossed my lips.

“Maybe. I am pretty desperate. Who got stuck with you as a roommate, anyway?”

“Some new guy named Quinn. Seems okay. A little excited, maybe. But the noobs always are.”

Josh held out a hand and helped me stand up. “You comin’ to First Night?”

I let out a small groan. “From what you just told me, I’m the school pariah. Why on earth would I subject myself to that?”

“Because it’s tradition. Besides, if you don’t go, then people will just despise you more.” His attention was back on his work. The commercial messages were almost over and more requests had come through on his phone.

“I’m not sure I care.” I thought that if I kept telling myself that, sooner or later I might start to believe it.

“Yeah, you do. And PS, you’re a shitty liar.” He typed a song title into the computer and added it to the queue.

I sighed. If I couldn’t even fool myself, how was I supposed to fool anyone else? “Same time? Same place?”

“Tomorrow at midnight on the riverbank clearing just off campus. Bring something. Or someone.”

“I don’t have anyone.” I’d been out of town for four years and back in town for three days. Where, exactly, was I supposed to meet anyone in that time frame?

“I can introduce you to some people.”

It was clear that Josh and I were going to have to get to know each other all over again. “What if I don’t want to meet any girls?”

He shrugged. “I never said girls. I can introduce you to some boys, too. Hey man, I don’t judge.”

“I appreciate that.” I stood and made my way toward the door. It was getting late, and I was getting tired. “I still don’t know if I’m going.”

“Like I said, you’re a shitty liar. See you tomorrow night.” Josh flipped the switch and spoke into the microphone again. He was back in his element. I slowly and quietly opened the door, then made my way down the stairs and out the library door. If what Josh said was true, this month back at Wills was going to be a lot harder than I had thought.

The elastic tendency of liquids, which makes them acquire the least surface area possible

The science lab at Wills was probably the most recently renovated of all the classrooms. The eight tables were made of shiny, flawless steel, with a sink at each station and two drawers on either side, stuffed with various supplies like gloves and masks. At the front of the classroom was a smart board that must have cost a pretty penny. To the right of the door was an eyewash station. Lining the back wall were several tall lockable cabinets containing various chemicals in jars. At the end of the row of cabinets was the door to the supply closet, where the more caustic chemicals were stored.

I’d always loved labs. Just standing in one transported
me back several years to my father’s side. He would wear his crisp white lab coat and direct me to stir different chemicals together. I could almost see him now, could almost feel his hand patting me gently on the back as he said,
“Adrien, you have to make your measurements exact, and be careful to watch what chemicals you mix. Chemistry is magical, but also dangerous.”

I shook my head, bringing myself back to the present. I tried not to think of my parents too often. The pain was too much to bear.

Mr. Meadows stood at the front of the classroom. He looked very young to be a teacher at Wills. In fact, if it weren’t for the fact that he wore a full beard, he probably would have been able to blend in with the students in the halls. As we filed in and took our seats, he watched us suspiciously, as if sorting us into categories of “good student” and “poor student” before he’d even gotten to know us as individuals. I walked in second to last, and as I made my way past the few remaining open seats, I was greeted with bitter glances. One girl went so far as to set her purse in the chair next to her to prevent me from joining her. Finally, I reached the back of the room and sat beside a quiet, withdrawn girl who seemed more interested in whatever thoughts were occupying her mind at the time than who might sit beside her.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my pack rat of a stepfather
recently passed from here to the great beyond. To listen to him tell it, he was the owner and purveyor of a rather successful reclamation company. But whatever description you choose to believe, I am now the unfortunate recipient of all of his rusted, dusty belongings. Among those, I have in my possession six cast-iron bathtubs. I have no need of one cast-iron bathtub, let alone six. Therefore, our first project will be to destroy them however you see fit, using chemistry as your guide.”

Mr. Meadows stood at the front of our class. He wasn’t dressed the way that most Wills teachers dressed. No suits or ties for him. His hair was long and wild—I seemed to recall him wearing it in a braid or a ponytail, but not today. He wore jeans and motorcycle boots, and to top off his ensemble, he wore a Grateful Dead shirt that looked as if he’d purchased it back when the Grateful Dead had first hit the music scene. If any other teacher had dressed the way Mr. Meadows did, or taught the way Mr. Meadows did, they would have been fired in a heartbeat.

But Mr. Meadows had a reputation for being extremely generous to the school with his vast inheritance, and also for being completely mad. “In short, you will pair up, compute which chemical or chemicals to use and in what measurements, perform small tests to prove your theories to yourselves, and then, with the blessing of our very
open-minded headmaster . . . we are going to blow shit up.”

He paused as we all exchanged uncertain glances, and then threw up an impatient arm. “Well? Acquaint yourselves.”

The willowy girl next to me was thin, with straight, long blond hair so light that it almost matched her pale skin. Her eyes were light blue, and something about her reminded me of a watercolor painting. There were no hard lines, no definite edges. She was who she was, a softly blended vision of a teenage girl.

I turned toward her and smiled. “Hey. I’m Adrien.”

“Looks like you got stuck with the leftovers.” She didn’t look sad or mad or anything that might indicate that she wasn’t happy about me being her partner. It was just a strange statement of what she believed to be factual.

“Funny, I thought you were the one who got stuck with me.” It was clear that we both knew exactly where we stood on the social ladder of the student body. “So, do you have a lot of experience with alkali metals?”

“Some. But if you’re looking for coattails to ride, you got stuck with the wrong girl. I only barely skated into this class and don’t have high hopes for my survival, if you want to know the truth.” She met my eyes, her tone even and calm. It was as if she had no volume button, no passion. She was logical, literal, and apparently lived in a world defined by her
observations. “I’m just saying, don’t look for me to carry you, because if that’s what you’re counting on, you’re screwed. Royally, as it were.”

Even though I got the impression that I should be insulted, I was more intrigued than anything. Not to mention more than a little relieved that she seemed to have no idea who I was, or didn’t care. “Don’t worry, I think I have a pretty steady grasp on the subject.”

“Yeah. That’s what they all think. And then, blammo.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ll do okay.” Okay. I didn’t want to brag, but chemistry was the one class I did better than okay in. I’d started assisting my dad in the lab when I was only eight, and for fun at home, my family had discussed the chemical compositions of various items around the house. To say I’d do okay was a gross understatement. But I didn’t want to brag, considering I’d just met her. “Chemistry is pretty easy to understand once you grasp the basics. I may be crap at every other class, but I’ve got this.”

To my amazement, she laughed. Loudly. Attracting the attention of everyone in the room, including Mr. Meadows. “Something amusing going on at table five?”

Her laughter ceased as quickly as it had started. “I think my partner is a robot. Or deluded into thinking he’s Alfred Nobel or something.”

Mr. Meadows crossed his arms in front of him, eyeing me with a faint sense of recognition. “You look familiar, boy, but I suspect you’re not Alfred Nobel. What’s your name?”

“Adrien.” I hesitated before saying my last name. I wasn’t sure why. “Dane.”

“Oh.” In a single moment, it all came flooding back to him. He knew very well who I was, who my parents were, and what had happened. “I was sorry to hear of your father’s passing. He was a brilliant chemist and an accomplished instructor here at Wills. And your mother was the most talented botanist I have ever had the fortune of knowing. You’re quite lucky to have Adrien as a partner, Ms. . . .”

“Caroline Stanton.” Her voice was quiet—just a touch above a whisper—and she seemed angry about something, but I couldn’t be certain what. Maybe she was just embarrassed.

“Ms. Stanton. If Adrien is even half as bright as his parents, you should have no trouble getting a respectable grade on this project.”

Now it was my turn to be angry. “Excuse me. Her name is Caroline. If you’re going to address me by my first name, it seems only polite you call her by hers. And she’ll get the grade because she’ll earn it. Now, I believe you owe her an apology.”

Mr. Meadows stared at me in shock. His cheeks turned
a shade of pink as the truth of what I’d said flooded through him.

“I apologize, Ms. . . .” He caught himself and said, “Caroline.”

As Mr. Meadows returned to the front of the class, she said, “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

She met my eyes, and I could see the blue in hers had deepened in anger. “Now I’m marked for the rest of the semester. As if this class wasn’t going to be hard enough without the teacher hating me.”

“Hey.” I couldn’t believe she was chastising me for helping her. What was wrong with this girl? “I meant what I said. You were smart enough to get into this class, right? You’re gonna do just fine. And what you can’t figure out . . . well . . . maybe I can.”

“I don’t need help from a guy like you, and I certainly don’t need your pity.” She sat back in her chair, folding her arms in front of her. “And I don’t put out, either.”

My jaw hit the ground. What the hell was she talking about? I pulled out a notebook and flipped it open, picking up a pen so I could get to work on some notes for this ridiculous project—with or without her help. Under my breath, I muttered, “Screw me for trying to be nice.”

“I said I don’t put out.” I looked at her, ready to explain
it was a figure of speech, but was met with a small smile. “Thanks. For real this time. I can stick up for myself, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

I blushed and shrugged. I could tell this girl was going to keep me on my toes. We pulled out books and both started looking up things and making a few notes. It seemed like the other lab pairs didn’t really know where to begin, but I had a few ideas. “So,” I said. “Alkali metals. How do you feel about sodium, Caroline?”

“It’s okay. But nothing gets me hotter than magnesium.” She raised an eyebrow at me. “Get it? Oh come on, that’s funny.”

It
was
funny. She was funny. In a strange, where-the-hell-did-this-girl-come-from sort of way. Her moods seemed to shift like the clouds on a windy day. Unpredictable. Unstable. There was something about that that appealed to me. Most people were naturally attracted to sweet or sour, to light or dark, to self-preservation or throwing caution to the wind. I liked the fact that she might be both, or all, or none at once.

Shaking my head, I said, “Seriously, though. Sodium—”

“Magnesium burns at 3,600 degrees Fahrenheit and at close distance is brighter than the sun. I mean, that crap can burn a hole through a car’s engine block. It can certainly take care of some old guy’s bathtub.” She looked
at me with a challenge in her eyes. One that sent a rather pleasant chill through my bones. To be honest, I enjoyed a good argument.

“Magnesium is hot, yes, but if my understanding of the project is correct, our goal isn’t to melt the tub. It’s to decimate it.”

Inside my mind, I could see my father mixing one liquid with another in his lab. The combined chemicals began to smoke, and the smoke was sucked up into the chemical hood. He shook his head, disappointed, and said to me,
“What did I say? Dangerous.”

“What about thermite? It certainly did a number on the
Hindenburg
.”

That it did. Once it caught fire, the
Hindenburg
dirigible burned from back to front in under thirty-eight seconds. Thermite was certainly nothing to mess with—unless you knew what you were doing. Even so, I shook my head. “You’re still thinking hot, not reactive. We need something that will explode. Which is why I suggested sod—”

“What about potassium?” A light switch flipped on inside my mind when she said the word, illuminating all sorts of wonderful ideas. The results would be spectacular. “I mean . . . like sodium, it’s so reactive with water that it has to be stored in oil because it will react with the moisture in the air. But it has a bit more . . . I dunno . . . punch, I think.
We could give old Mr. Meadows quite a show with enough potassium. Don’t you think?”

I smiled. “Potassium it is.”

“Plus, potassium is way prettier to watch react. All those blues and purples.” She looked kind of daydreamy when she spoke of the chemical. If I was drawn to her before, I really liked her now.

“So . . . listen. Are you busy tonight?”

“I’m not going to First Night, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Furrowing my brow, I asked, “Why not?”

“Because it’s a stupid tradition and I have better things to do. Don’t you?”

The bell rang and, without another word or even waiting for my response, Caroline picked up her books and headed out the door with the rest of the class. I took a deep breath and released it, speaking into the air what I’d been about to say to her. “Apparently not.”

I headed back to my dorm room around three thirty. Quinn looked up from his desk as I walked in the door. He said, “How was day one?”

I wanted to say something about how it had been blissfully Grace-free, but instead just shrugged. That was none of his business. And as for how my classes had been . . . it was only the first day. Which meant that they weren’t anything yet.

I didn’t mention Caroline, but I was thinking about her. Even though I was trying not to.

Quinn groaned. “I just slogged through an hour of calculus. Ugh. It may kill me. It may literally kill me by the end of the semester.”

“I doubt anyone has actually died because of a complex mathematics system.” I set my books on my desk and nodded thoughtfully. “But if they have, it was probably calculus that killed them.”

“It’s like learning to speak a different language from another planet or something. I’m great at math. Why is this so damn intimidating? Arrrgh.” He laid his head on his calculus book and groaned some more.

“You’ll live.”

“Yeah, but my GPA may not make it out alive. And it’s teetering on the brink of the college-acceptance threshold as it is.”

“It’s the first day. Cut yourself some slack.” In a moment that I was certain I’d come to regret, I said, “Hey, Quinn? You busy tonight?”

“No, why?”

“Well, it’s just that there’s a tradition at Wills called First Night. The staff knows about it, but turn their heads as long as we keep it off campus. It’s a big party with a bonfire on the riverbank. There’s music and everybody just kinda cuts
loose before school really gets heavy. I thought maybe you’d wanna check it out. It’s a good way to make friends, meet people. Y’know.”

He sat up, looking a little more than eager. Something told me he didn’t get out much. I could only hope he wouldn’t talk my ear off all night. “Yeah, man. That sounds great.”

It occurred to me that I wasn’t inviting Quinn out of kindness or friendship. The air at Wills had changed since I’d last been here. I’d never exactly been Mr. Popularity, but I had used to be greeted by smiles at least. Now I was either invisible or a thorn in several sides. There was no way I wanted to show up to First Night on my own. So yeah, maybe I was using Quinn. But I had my reasons.