Wuthering high: a bard academy novel (23 page)

I watch the last letters on the spine of
Wuthering Heights
dissolve in blackened ash.

Ms. W comes up behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Um, guys? Can somebody untie us?” Samir asks.

“Yeah — hello — my arms are numb,” Hana says.

“Does this mean we aren’t going to have the apocalypse?” Blade asks, sounding disappointed.

Thirty

Among the faculty,
the general consensus is that there’s no way Heathcliff could’ve survived the burning of
Wuthering Heights
and that it was only a matter of time before he’d simply fade into oblivion. Without the book to hold him in this world, he’d be adrift, without form or powers to hurt anyone.

“But Emily said he was trapped here,” I say to Charlotte, but she waves her hand.

“It’s impossible,” she says. “It cannot be. No character can survive without his creator. No character has ever outlasted its prose.”

“And why didn’t you tell me? About my ancestors?” I ask, feeling more than a little manipulated.

“We didn’t know how you would take it,” Ms. W says gently. “It’s not an easy thing to hear.”

“And face it, you probably wouldn’t have believed us,” Coach H says. “Next thing, you’d be asking if your grandfather is Mickey Mouse.”

“We were only trying to protect you,” Charlotte says.

Hana, Samir, Blade, and I return to our dorms and eventually to our classes. Things manage to go back to normal. There are no more fictional character sightings and after a month goes by without any sign of Heathcliff, I am beginning to believe that Charlotte was right: he’s faded into oblivion.

This makes me very sad, because despite that everyone else thought of him as a bad guy — including Samir, Hana, and Blade, who were kidnapped by him — he did do the right thing in the end. In short, he gave his life for mine, and for that I’ll always be grateful.

I try to talk to Ryan Kent, but he’s still giving me the cold shoulder. And after another week, I hear he’s dating Parker Rodham. Or at least she was spotted wearing his varsity basketball jacket from our old high school, which is the equivalent of a public declaration of going together. But it’s my fault, really. I’m the one who blew it. Ryan goes out on a date with me and nearly dies and then I pretty much blow him off in favor of chasing after Heathcliff. I mean, he’s got to think I’m not that into him.

I write Ryan a letter, apologizing, but I don’t have enough guts to actually give it to him, so I give it to Samir to give to him — that is, once Samir starts talking to me again for nearly getting him killed. I also write a long letter to Dad telling him how disappointed I am in him and his neglect. I do feel better about the whole situation once I’m done. I realize that facing down death has given me a new perspective on life. This school has definitely changed me.

If I stay on here, I realize, there’s a good chance I might land a scholarship. It’s a lot better than my old school and I’ve made friends here (Hana, Samir, and even Blade) that I have to admit are a better influence than Liz and Cass. There aren’t any keggers here, and no temptations to sneak out or go joyriding. There aren’t any distractions. I can get serious about studying and I realize that I
like
being serious about studying. At least I know that if I work hard, I’m going to get somewhere. And let’s face it, having Virginia Woolf for a teacher can only improve my chances of getting into the college of my choice.

By Thanksgiving, I’ve gotten the results of midterms back and I’ve managed to make three As and two Bs, my best report card since third grade. Things are definitely looking up.

Because of my good grades and extra credit for helping to save the school, Ms. W gives me the all clear to go home for Thanksgiving.

Mom and Lindsay pick me up from the airport, holding up a big sign that says
WELCOME HOME, MIRANDA
. Just seeing them again makes me get more choked up than Mom gets during an episode of the
Gilmore Girls.
I knew I missed them, but I didn’t know how much. In fact, instead of avoiding Mom’s menopausal hug, I run right into her arms and give her the biggest, longest squeeze of my entire life. It’s Mom that tries to pull back first.

”Oh my…Miranda!” she exclaims, when I won’t let her go. Lindsay, to her left, makes a weird face at me, so I just grab her and pull her into the bear hug. I swear, I never want to let them go.

I suppose a near-death experience with supernatural forces makes a person sentimental.

My room is (almost) as I’ve left it, except that Lindsay has cleaned out the remaining clothes in my closet (the thief!), but I remain calm and don’t even raise my voice when I find out she’s taken my softest pair of pajamas and used it to line the cage of her hamster, Fred.

“Fred missed you, I guess” is how Lindsay puts it. Which in some ways I take to mean that
she
missed me, which is sweet, I guess, except that my Paul Frank pajama bottoms are now covered in hamster poop.

I also discover that Lindsay doesn’t seem to mind Mom’s menopause hugs and, furthermore, that she actually
likes
hanging out with Mom and watching TV. I mean, this is how sad things are. Lindsay doesn’t have any friends and she’s fine with Mom being her best friend. But still, I have to admit it’s nice sitting on the couch and eating pizza and listening to Mom talk about what the cast of
Everwood
is wearing. But this is okay. At this point, I’m glad even for the simple things. This includes Mom’s running commentary.

It occurs to me suddenly that Mom hasn’t mentioned Dad since I got home. “When do I get to see Dad?” I ask.

Lindsay looks at Mom and Mom looks back at Lindsay. Mom’s Botox is wearing off so she makes a worried face, which creases a line in her forehead between her eyebrows.

“Your father and Carmen are in Tahiti,” Mom says. “They’re spending the holidays there and won’t be back until next week.”

“But I go back to school on Sunday!” I cry, unable to contain my disappointment. I can’t believe Dad is letting me down — again.

“I know, honey, and I am so sorry,” Mom says. “They say they’re trying to work on their marriage or some such nonsense. Can you believe it? I mean, I
told
him his daughter was coming home, but did he care? No, he didn’t. This is the problem with your father…”

I have inadvertently sent Mom on a Deadbeat Dad Diatribe, which means that for the next solid hour we’re going to hear about what a jerk Dad is and how he doesn’t care for us, and how he cares only for himself. Ugh. I shouldn’t have asked!

Lindsay gives me a dirty look. She’s probably heard this speech a million times and now she has to hear it a million more times. Well, I’m not going to feel too guilty. Lindsay didn’t spend three months on Shipwreck Island eating gruel and fighting ghosts, okay? I think I definitely have had it worse.

The next day, I wake up to the smell of burning pumpkin bread, which is Mom’s signature dish on Thanksgiving. When I wander into the kitchen, Lindsay is helping Mom “cook” (which in Mom’s case means opening up all the prepackaged dishes from Whole Foods).

The doorbell rings and I jump a little, wondering if maybe Dad decided to make an appearance after all. It
is
Thanksgiving.

“Miranda!” shouts Lindsay from the door. “It’s a
boy
and he says he’s here for
you.
”

I’m embarrassed already, but I’m triply embarrassed when I get to the door and I see Ryan Kent standing there.

“Miranda? Miranda, who is it?” Mom calls.

Lindsay shouts back to Mom that it’s a boy and starts making kissing sounds and before I nearly die of embarrassment, I step outside and close the door, even though I don’t have my coat on and it’s freezing out.

“Hey,” Ryan says, smiling at me.

“Hey,” I say. “Sorry about that. It’s my little sister. She’s, well, got the mental maturity of a toddler.”

“No apology necessary. I have a younger brother, Jacob. I
completely
understand.”

I smile at Ryan and he smiles back, and even though a few early snow flurries start to fall around us, I feel all warm inside. This is the power of Ryan Kent. Forget cold fusion. Ryan Kent can be the world’s next renewable energy source.

“How did you know where I live?” I ask him, amazed that he’s found me.

“I asked around,” Ryan says. “I was, uh, in the neighborhood, sort of. I wanted to stop by to tell you I got your note. Actually, I
just
got it.”

“What? Samir was supposed to give that to you weeks ago,” I say, suddenly thinking of the many ways I’m going to kill him. He told me he delivered it the day I gave it to him. That was more than a month ago.

“Actually, it’s not Samir’s fault,” Ryan says. “It’s my roommate. He’s a total loser, and he just stuck it in a drawer and forgot to tell me it was there.”

“Oh,” I say. Samir just got a reprieve from a very painful death.

“I thought you and that guy Heathcliff were dating. What I saw, and what Parker said…well, anyway, after I got your note, I realized I was wrong,” Ryan says. “I’m really sorry that I ignored you. I just felt, well, a little rejected.”

“I am so sorry,” I say.

“Me, too,” he says. “Do you think we can start over?”

“Absolutely,” I say, and then suddenly think about Parker. “That is, if Parker doesn’t mind.”

“Parker?” he asks, not understanding.

“Parker Rodham? Your girlfriend?”

“Oh, no, no, no. She’s not my girlfriend,” Ryan says. “I let her borrow my jacket once, but it was purely platonic. She likes me, I know, but the feeling isn’t mutual.”

My heart skips a little beat. He
never
liked Parker!

“So what are all these questions about Parker? You jealous?” he asks, teasing me a little.

“What are all these questions about Heathcliff? Are
you
jealous?”

“Yes — isn’t it obvious?” he asks me, leaning in a little closer.

“No,” I say, leaning in closer to him.

“Well, maybe this will prove it to you,” he says, and then he puts his hands on my face, guiding it straight to his. Before I know it, his lips are on mine.

That’s right.

He is
kissing
me.
On the lips.

And it is nothing at all like Tyler’s drunken, slobbery kiss or Gregory Mason’s lizardlike tongue.

It’s nice and warm and soft and pretty much perfect.

And all I can think is: Ryan Kent is kissing me. He’s kissing me! What do I do? Okay, I stared down Emily Brontë, but when it comes to kissing, I’m lost. I’m trying to recall that ever-important “Top Things You Should Know About Kissing”
YM
article I once read, but none of the things come to mind. It doesn’t matter, because my body just seems to sort of know what to do. At least, it’s pretty good at winging it. My lips respond to his. Slowly, and after a long, sweet while, he draws back.

“That was really nice,” he says, his big brown eyes fixed on mine.

“Y-y-yeah,” I stutter, because I am well under the Influence of Ryan, which equals about four shots of Everclear and Red Bull.

“I wasn’t sure you liked me,” he says.

As if this is even possible. He wasn’t sure? I’ve been praying for this moment since I first laid eyes on him, and he wasn’t sure?

“And now?” I ask him.

“You definitely like me,” he says. He smiles and puts his forehead against mine, gently resting his hand on the back of my neck, which makes my whole body shiver. I’m convinced that there’s a good possibility I might not be able to form complete sentences again in my life.

“If you don’t have a boyfriend,” Ryan says, “are you taking auditions for one?”

“Er…” I stutter. Because I am so articulate at times like these.

“Well, how was that? For my audition?”

“You are definitely in the top five finalists,” I manage to joke.

“Well, if I am boyfriend material, I’d like to give you this,” he says, handing me a shiny red bag.

“But I didn’t get you anything,” I say.

“Don’t worry. It’s not something I bought,” he says, smiling at me.

I pull out his old basketball letterman’s jacket from our old high school.

“Does this mean what I think it means?” I ask him.

“Would you, uh, you know…” He pauses and shifts his weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. “…wear it?”

Is he kidding? I’m going to sleep in it.

“Yes! Yes, of course!” I put it on now, in fact, and then I throw my arms around his neck and give him a kiss. It’s only about two seconds before the porch light starts flickering on and off. I see Lindsay through the window by the door. She’s the one behind the light show. God, how embarrassing. Mom is also there. She taps on the window, a look of disapproval on her face.

“Uh, I guess I should go,” Ryan says, “But maybe we could grab a movie or something? You know, before we have to go back.”

“Yes, definitely. And maybe even more Pop-Tarts?”

Ryan’s smile gets bigger. “Absolutely,” he says.

I watch him as he walks back to his car. I was already kind of looking forward to going back to Bard, as crazy as that sounds — and now here’s another reason. Ryan Kent. Dad, after all, paid for a full year of tuition, with no refunds. I’m in for
at least
a year at Bard, so I might as well get used to it.

A UPS truck pulls up just as Ryan jumps into his car (his mom’s sedan) and drives off. The delivery guy hops out in front of our house and brings up a package. It’s wrapped in brown paper and tied with a white string.

“Miranda Tate?” he asks.

I nod and he hands the package over to me.

I walk inside the house, to the curious stares of Mom and Lindsay, wearing Ryan’s letterman jacket and holding the UPS package.

“If it’s from Dad, it’s mine! Mine!” Lindsay cries, taking the package out of my hand and ripping it open. “What’s this?” Lindsay says, holding up a round locket on a gold chain.

“It’s mine; give it back,” I snap, taking it out of her hands. It’s a gold locket and inside there’s a tiny scrap of paper folded over. I take it out and unfold it. It looks like…a piece of a page of
Wuthering Heights
. It’s slightly charred, but the letters are distinct on the page. The only word I see intact is: “Heathcliff.”