The Gifting (5 page)

“Why?”

“Because they both want Luka.”

I swallow, thinking back to the note-writing in first period and the clay-throwing in second. “Who does Luka want?”

“Neither.”

“Neither?”

“They’ve given him plenty of opportunities, but he doesn’t ever take them.”

Summer is gorgeous. Jennalee is well above average. Surely he’s at least somewhat interested. I pluck my apple off my tray and twist the stem, counting each revolution until it snaps off. Four spins.

Leela leans over the table, as if Luka might be able to hear us over the clamor of cafeteria chatter. “Everybody worships him, even the teachers. But he’s not cocky about it, like most of the guys on the football team. Sometimes I get the impression that the popularity embarrasses him.”

“Who’s he bringing to the homecoming dance?”

“I don’t think he’s going. He’s kind of mysterious like that. Nobody ever really knows when he’s going to show up for things.”

I brave another look at his table. Jennalee and Summer talk and joke and laugh with the others, but they keep one eye on Luka, as if waiting for the slightest opportunity to claim his attention while he peels his orange. I’m caught up by the effortless movement of his fingers when it happens. In the middle of his peeling, his eyes snap up, just like in ceramics, and for the second time in one day, he catches me watching him. I duck my head. Ugh. Could I be any more of a creeper?

“So … are you and your brother close?”

I spend the remainder of lunch fielding Leela’s questions about Pete, thankful for the distraction. I’m not very hungry, but I make myself eat my apple and half of my sandwich. I don’t let myself look at Luka again, which requires significantly more self-control than I care to admit.

My Study Hall teacher—an old man with a hooked nose and a massive comb-over—not only makes me introduce myself, but interrupts halfway through, demanding that I speak up. I immediately fall in love with my Honors English teacher, who doesn’t introduce me at all, but hands me a weathered copy of
Wuthering Heights
and tells me to get reading. By the time I get to my final class—World History—I’m feeling a bit checked out. Until I step inside and spot Luka Williams sitting at one of the tables. Three classes. We have three classes together. My nerves jump into overdrive, especially when Mr. Lotsam motions to the empty spot next to the boy who’s caught me staring twice.

I slip into the seat as quietly as possible and try to pay attention as Mr. Lotsam jabbers about some war in France, but I’m much too distracted by my neighbor’s presence—the fresh, clean smell of his clothes, the warmth that radiates off his body, the way he sits with his chin in his hand while everybody else frantically scribbles notes in their notebooks. By the time the final bell rings, I don’t think I’ve learned a thing about the French war, but I have committed to memory the bored way in which Luka twirls his pencil around the tip of his thumb.

Everyone hurries to their feet—a mob of red and gray moving toward the gymnasium. Luka doesn’t rush out with the rest of his classmates. He lingers beside me, which does funny things to my heart rate. I pretend to rummage through my bag until he scoots back his chair and leaves. My breath swooshes past my lips. I let myself be swept into the crowd, hoping Leela will be at our meeting place before me so I’m not standing all by myself.

Pep rallies make me nervous. Whenever Jude had them, each class would chant their graduating year as loud as possible while I stood there like an idiot, mouthing the words, clapping self-consciously, wondering what it would be like to let myself go and scream with the crowd. When I come around the corner and spot Leela standing by the drinking fountains, I almost melt into a puddle of relief. It’s been a good first day. The best, actually.

No headaches. No weird feelings. No unexplained cold or warm presences. Just school and a friendly girl and a much-too-noticeable boy. All I have to do is get through this pep rally and I can officially categorize the day away as a success. My mom will be thrilled.

“How’d the rest of your classes go?” Leela asks as soon as I reach her.

“Pretty good.” I consider telling her I have not just two, but three classes with Luka—it seems like the sort of thing girlfriends would tell each other—but I’m not sure how to get the words out. So we stand off to the side while students rush past, catcalling and shouting and whistling at each other. The sounds echo off the high walls. When the swell has passed, we become the caboose and filter into the gymnasium. It’s the size of three basketball courts. Bleachers are set up on the far court and students sit in groups according to graduating class. The gym floor is empty except for a giant poster that says “Go Dragons!” A group of cheerleaders gather off to the side and the principal—a middle-aged man named Mr. Jolly—stands behind a podium, chatting with a gentleman wearing athletic shorts, a baseball hat, and a whistle around his neck.

Smaller pockets of students and faculty dot the court where Leela and I stand. One wall is covered by huge windows that showcase a view of the swimming pool below. It’s dark down there, but something flashes in the water and my pulse hiccups. I squeeze my eyelids shut and tell myself it was nothing. A trick of the light. A reflection off the water. I will not let this day be ruined, which is why I don’t double check to make sure.

“I told Bobbi we’d go say hi before we sit down. I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

Leela wraps her arm around my elbow and drags me through the crowd, away from the pool. It’s not until we do a bit of weaving that I realize we’re approaching the cheerleaders.

“Hey, Bobbi!” Leela calls.

Much to my surprise, Bobbi is a girl. A long auburn braid hangs over her shoulder and she holds a pair of pom-poms. She stands next to Summer—whose tan legs go on for an eternity in her cheerleader outfit. And between the two is none other than the boy who smells like fabric softener and wintergreen. He stands with one hand tucked into the pocket of his well-worn jeans and chews the thumb nail on his other. Our eyes meet, and I quickly look away, a swarm of butterflies unleashing in my stomach.

“Hey, Leels!” Bobbi has creamy skin and delicate features and an air of popularity that has me wondering how she and Leela are such good friends, but the thought feels mean so I bat it away. Why shouldn’t Leela be popular?

Bobbi turns her cheerful attention to me. “You’re Tess, right?”

I nod dumbly.

“Welcome to Thornsdale,” she says. “Leela and I are cousins.”

Ah. Cousins.

“Bobbi’s a senior. She’s on the homecoming court.” Leela has that star-struck, idol-worship look in her eyes. Not all too different from the look she gave my brother in the office this morning. I can tell she is proud to be Bobbi’s cousin.

“You coming to the game tonight?” Bobbi asks me.

I feel Luka’s attention on me too, but I refuse to look at him. “Leela and I are going.”

“I told her we’re going to lose,” Leela says. “I want her to have realistic expectations.”

Bobbi gives Luka’s shoulder a playful shove. “If this guy would join the team already, we wouldn’t have a problem.”

“That would mean your boyfriend would be out of a position,” Luka says in a voice that comes out smooth and confident. Teasing, too. It’s the kind of voice that gets listened to.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

I glance then, and the butterflies bat their wings in unison, because he isn’t just looking at me, he’s studying me. Intently. I resist the urge to wipe at my nose or suck my teeth. Surely I have something on my face that is distracting him.

“Are you having a good first day?” he asks.

I nod, my voice box out of commission.

He cocks his head. “Where did you move from?”

“Jude.” I clear my throat. “It’s in Florida.”

“Never heard of it.” Summer picks at one of her nails, looking bored, and I notice with a twinge of satisfaction that her tan has a distinct orange hue to it.

“Not many people have. It’s a small town.”

“Can’t be much smaller than Thornsdale. This place is so
boring
.” She pins her sultry pout on Luka, as if he holds the solution to her boredom. “If somebody would teach me to surf, then it wouldn’t be so bad.”

I examine my shoes while Leela and Bobbi and Summer take over the conversation. Somewhere in the middle of homecoming dresses, a cold clamminess crawls over my skin. It’s as if the entire gymnasium has dropped twenty degrees. I wrap my arms around myself, hoping the tightness of my grip will anchor me in place. Because what I want to do is run. Sprint far away from the gym and all these students and this feeling that is far too similar to the one I had that night three weeks ago. A shiver moves its way into my jaw.

This cannot be happening. Not here. Not now.

“Is California very different from Florida?”

I open my mouth to answer Bobbi’s question, but past her, across the court, my brother stands apart from the crowd, outside the restroom doors. Only he’s not alone. There is a hulking figure nearby—a man so pale he doesn’t look human, his greasy hair hanging like curtains on either side of his emaciated face. “Who is …?”

Before the question takes shape, the hulking figure looks up and his eyes. The whiteness of them has me sucking in a sharp breath and taking a step back. He has no irises. No pupils.

“Tess?”

The man steps closer to my brother.

A scream builds in my lungs, but before it can tear up my throat, there’s a blinding flash of light, so incredibly bright that I move my hand to shield my eyes.

I blink, expecting the gym to break out in screams, or at the very least, astonished gasps. Only nobody does anything. The students carry on as if nothing happened at all and when I look, Pete is alone. The man is gone.

Leela touches my forearm. “Tess?”

My heart beats in my throat. Nausea grips my stomach. I am going to be sick, all over the gym floor on my first day of school in front of my new friend and the most gorgeous boy I’ve ever laid eyes on. I swallow and try to tell Bobbi that California isn’t as humid as Florida. I try to spit out something that will erase the suspicion I’ve aroused, but my eyes will not leave Pete. They refuse to stop searching for that man, as if at any second he will return and grab my brother and I will really have to scream this time.

A throat clears. It’s a strong, attention-getting sound. “Can I get a picture?” Luka grabs his cell phone from his pocket, pulling everybody’s attention away from me—a perfectly timed distraction.

The three girls gather, giving me a moment to collect myself. I blink and I breathe and I blink and I breathe and I wipe the sweat from my palms. I look at Summer with her long legs and Bobbi with her pretty face and Leela with her warm smile, their arms slung around each other as Luka snaps a few pictures with his phone.

A woman with teased, unmoving hair dressed in a pink velour track suit calls Bobbi and Summer over to the rest of the cheerleaders. My knees begin to shake. I am dizzy and weak, as if I’ve sprinted the 1500 meter. Leela talks to somebody off to her left, and Luka? He scrutinizes me beneath knitted dark eyebrows, his green eyes unfathomable.

*

Leela takes my arm and pulls me toward the bleachers. “Luka is staring at you.”

“He is?” I’d give anything for a big glass of ice water. All these bodies make the gym sweltering.

She looks over her shoulder. “Oh my goodness, he is
totally
staring.”

I grab her elbow. “Don’t look at him!”

She makes big eyes at me.

I tell myself it isn’t true, but Luka’s stare is like a beam of hot sun against my back. Did he notice my mini spaz attack moments ago? Does he think I’m a freak show? My temples throb as I follow Leela up the bleachers and Principal Jolly starts talking into the microphone. We find a seat with the rest of the juniors. I try to pay attention but my mind keeps replaying what happened. That strange man with the white eyes, the bright flash of light, Luka’s photo session, as if he intentionally created a diversion so I could collect myself. I scan the gymnasium, searching for Luka or that man while Principal Jolly finishes his short speech and the cheerleaders rile up the crowd.

The football team crashes through the big paper poster. The students’ cheers reach an unheard-of pitch and I resist the urge to plug my ears. Seriously, you’d think the San Francisco 49ers entered the gym. Somebody dressed in a red dragon suit does cartwheels across the court while the students count each one in unison. The higher the number, the louder the counting, until the dragon finally falls and Leela and the rest of the crowd erupts in laughter and whistles.

A lump builds in my throat because how will I ever be a part of this? A girl who is hospitalized after a séance, a girl who can’t stand the dark, a girl whose parents want her to talk to a shrink at the Edward Brooks facility? A vision from
that night
flashes in my mind—all those people wrapped in straitjackets—and I wonder if my freak out at the séance was some sort of prophecy. Is that what my future holds—me cut off from society, locked up in a cell? I swallow the lump down and focus on getting through the rest of the rally so I can find Pete and get to the car and hide in my bedroom.