Flock (2 page)

I narrowed my eyes. “I think so.”

“Testing. Testing,” the going-about-his-business janitor called out.

“Unlike the one who would jeopardize everything for revenge, Queen Safira is your ally and a voice of reason among the other realms.”

No need to specify who he meant by “the one.” Having foiled Brigid’s domination plans, I had left her purpling with rage.

“And Jinky’s presence here —”

“About that.” It was my turn to interrupt. “What does
she
have to do with any of this?”

“Jinky and her grandmother, perceptive individuals, proved useful in my transition between the two worlds. Instrumental, you might say.”

It occurred to me that Marik had first appeared during last spring’s vision quest, my spiritual journey presided over by Jinky and her shaman grandmother.

“Jinky coming into her own intermediary skills has since been my envoy to all things earthly,” Marik continued. “In seeking to understand her calling, she has agreed to continue in this capacity, understanding only as much as I deem necessary. Again, I remind you that the essentials of our pact are protected by powerful magic. Jinky’s role falls outside of the spell binding your powers to my task and Leira’s future.” He paused, staring at me for an intensity-soaked moment. “I must ask you again if you understand the solemnity of our agreement. Of the the secrecy concerning its true nature. To enlighten anyone is to endanger that individual. Queen Safira will not hesitate in the face of interference.”

While Marik’s words were steeped in threats, his delivery was even-keeled and smooth. I understood immediately that he embodied the worst kind of danger, beguiling at the surface but with a nasty undertow.

“Yes, I understand.” I modulated my own tone in harmony with his because Marik wasn’t the only one who could pour it on.

“Good,” he said, cupping my shoulder with his hand.

So Jinky was some kind of shaman apprentice. So Marik was a messenger-turned-collector. So Leira was currency. And I was on my own. The one-minute warning bell sounded, marking the beginning of more than another school year.

Even knowing that Marik and I had the same second-period class, I was nervous to leave him at the science lab. I still didn’t know who or even what he was at heart. Nor did I understand what he was capable of. Complicating these fears were my memories of being the new kid just one short year ago. No one had cut me any slack. They’d walked all over me and then just scraped their boots at the door. How would Marik, new to the planet, handle the looks and whispers and outright rudeness? Was he prepared for teen culture, a brand of human interaction that explained our ancestral need for clubs and extra-thick skulls? Had he ever been to school? Would he know to sit down, shut up, and let the teacher do the talking? Marik had described Jinky as “useful in the transition between the two worlds.” Would that include basic societal norms and etiquette? And it was not lost on me that learning social skills from Jinky was like getting sensitivity training from Sue Sylvester. I was distracted by such worries all hour, as if, on its own, AP Econ wasn’t enough of a brain fry.

Second period was Design, a class I was looking forward to. I was one of the first to arrive and grabbed a seat in the middle of the room, saving the two on either side of me with my satchel and a notebook. Penny walked in, and I called her over. She took the chair to my right. Marik entered next, flanked on one side by an all-smiles, blushing Abby Mills and on the other by the chatty, also flushed Shauna Jones.
Huh?
These two girls had given me the full-body shutout this time last year. And now that they were seniors —
top o’ the mountain
as I’d seen it referred to on Facebook — it was clear that certain groups were scrambling for first-flag bragging rights. At any rate, the way Abby, class president, and Shauna, a track star, were pink-cheeked and giddy indicated some kind of thin air.

Marik paused just inside the doorway, pulling his schedule out as if checking whether he was in the right place. Both Abby and Shauna peered over his shoulder, pointing at the paper and nodding with big hair-plumping, you-belong-here-with-us shakes of their heads.
What the heck?

I flared my eyes. It was, I knew, a gender thing. The girls were eyeing him as fresh meat. The guys, on the other hand, were sure to put him — the outsider elbowing in at what was already a small drinking hole — in his place.

John Gilbert walked in and braked, taking in the two girls panting over Marik. Uh-oh. John was a state-champion wrestler: big, brawny, and packing attitude. He rolled his head in their direction. I held my breath.

“Dude,” John said, lifting his fist.

Marik turned, readying his own. And then they fist-bumped like best buds. I almost fell out of my chair. Marik knew those two stuck-up girls? Marik knew John Gilbert? Marik knew how to fist-bump? All by second period?

Their small party yukked it up to a cozy four-square of desks at the back of the room. I dropped my book bag onto the floor, catching a glimpse of Penny as I did so. Judging by her glum expression, I wasn’t the only one who had expected Marik to join us.

Just as the bell rang, none other than Jinky came clomping into the room. She breezily surveyed the open spots, eyes fixing on the one next to me. Her graceless collapse into the seat was loud, and she reeked of cigarettes. A smoker; I should have known. Luckily, the arrival of Ms. Bryant spared me the chore of conversing with her. Ms. Bryant was my favorite teacher ever, because she was young and smart and hip. It didn’t hurt that she was into art and design and could rock a belted sweaterdress and a pair of boots like nobody’s business.

“If I could have your attention.” Holding a single sheet of paper in front of her, Ms. Bryant took a seat at her desk. “Good morning, everyone. To begin, I’d like to welcome two exchange students from Iceland to Norse Falls High.” She stabbed at the paper with her index finger. “Jinky Birksdottir and Marik Galdursson, welcome. Would you introduce yourselves and maybe tell us what you hope to take home from your study-abroad experience?”

Jinky folded her arms over her chest, while Marik popped to a stand.

“I am Marik. I’m from Hafmeyjafjörður in Iceland. My cousin Jinky and I are very happy for the opportunity to study here in America.”

It wasn’t so much that he spoke slowly, it was, rather, that his voice pitched at unexpected words and syllables. My classmates surely attributed it to an accent. I, however, felt something more physical at work. I was aware of my shoulders rocking from side to side, and my hands grasped the sides of the desk for balance.

“And I’m hoping,” Marik continued, “that my time here will reward me with much more than just language and culture.”

That last remark was meant for me, and I dug my nails into the underside of the desk in reaction. The girls in the room, on the other hand, purred their approval of the handsome foreigner. Even Ms. Bryant’s reaction was strong. While Marik was speaking, she pulled her hand to her throat and her eyes widened. She seemed to stammer, even, when next calling on Jinky.

Jinky, for her part, kept it short and to the point. Like the way her choppy black bangs came to a sharp V at the center of her forehead.

“My name is Jinky. I’m looking forward to studying here at your school.” Her still-crossed arms didn’t sell the message, nor did her scowl.

Next, Ms. Bryant, lover of all things collaborative, explained our first project. Working in pairs, we were to prepare a design package for an imaginary start-up business, including company name, logo, a website landing page, and promotional materials. The rub was it had to be a business for which we saw a need in either Norse Falls or Pinewood. That last detail got a few “Huhs” and “Why them?”s from the class.

Dating way back, the two towns were rivals. Penny once told me that the tensions began with two feuding families. Whatever its roots, the fact that our two schools, due to budget constraints and falling enrollments, were considering a merge did nothing to improve relations.

“Because,” Ms. Bryant said, “the projects are to be displayed at a joint By Student Design Show that our class and their high school Design class will plan together. Seven weeks from Friday, all projects will be displayed at Pinewood as a partnership. No matter what comes of the consolidation proposal between the two schools, it’s time the two communities focused on something cooperative, not just a football rivalry.”

A few more grumbles floated in from the back of the room, but Ms. Bryant ignored them, continuing with a description of the assignment.

“This semester, I think I’ll let you pick your own partners.” Ms. Bryant paused, consulting her notes.

Penny and I locked eyes and gave each other a small nod. No deliberation required; Penny and I had the term-project thing down to a science.

When she glanced up and resumed, a strange look passed over Ms. Bryant’s face. “Sorry. I don’t think we will do it that way. Not this semester, anyway.” Again, her finger trailed down the page of her lesson plan. “Katla Leblanc . . .”

Funny, Ms. Bryant knew I preferred Kat. Not so funny was my foreboding that I’d get Jinky.

“. . . will team with Marik Galdursson,” Ms. Bryant continued. I gave Penny a small shoulder lift before turning to receive Marik’s broad smile. Just a few names later, Penny was saddled with Jinky. I couldn’t help but notice Penny’s slump; even her lobes hung lower. Though, guessing by her glances to the back of the room, I wasn’t her first choice of partner, after all.

Once all the groups were assigned, Ms. Bryant distributed handouts and talked us through the entire semester’s coursework and timeline. For the last five minutes of class, she suggested we sit with our partner and look over the list of sample businesses. It was clear Jinky was not going to budge from the chair she was in. Penny, therefore, eyed my seat expectantly. I gathered my things and headed to the back of the room and a spot that had opened up next to Marik.

Abby and John, another assigned team, occupied the seats in front of us. Abby, who I thought was dating a basketball player, spent the bulk of the remaining class time turning and addressing Marik.

“So where does your host family live?” she asked.

“On Spruce Street.”

“That’s nice and close,” Abby said, “and walkable to school and downtown.”

“Good thing,” Marik said. “We don’t have a car.”

“We . . . meaning?” Abby asked.

“My cousin Jinky and I are staying with the same host family,” Marik said, pointing to where Jinky sat stone-faced and an ambitious Penny chatted away.

“Your first cousin?” Abby leaned in closer.

“Yes.”

“If you ever need a ride anywhere, just let me know,” Abby said.

John, a buddy of taxicab Abby’s basketball-player boyfriend, had been busy texting during their little gabfest. No doubt sending his friend a heads-up on the potential situation.

“No wheels is a serious problem around here, dude,” John said, dropping his phone into his backpack. “Don’t worry, though, we got you covered.”

Got you covered? Seriously?
Already two of the school’s finest were open-arming Marik, whereas one year ago I was Leper City.

“Should we take a look at this list?” I asked Marik, fully aware of the glare Abby shot me before turning in her seat. Because Marik on his own wasn’t enough of a handful. And like I needed a situation in which he had more friends than me.

Third period was an all-school assembly. Penny and I entered together. Marik, I noticed, was already camped out with Abby, John, Shauna, and their kind. Spotting a group of our fellow school-paper writers, Penny pointed and led us to the front of the auditorium. Jinky arrived a few minutes later and sat by herself in the back. I wondered at her aloofness. Why had she come if she wasn’t going to make an effort?

Following the principal’s annual welcome, the senior-class officers were called to the stage. Abby, our president, delivered a by-the-cue-card speech. What it lacked in spontaneity, it went for in dramatics. The save-our-school message revisited last year’s rumors and Ms. Bryant’s mention of a merger between our school and Pinewood. With a year’s worth of attachments to the place — and to a guy named Jack — I, too, was now in the SOS camp, but I couldn’t help think that Abby’s remarks were all hype, no content. Plus, I imagined it was the school board that needed convincing, not the student body. Finally, lowering her voice from its helium-sucking heights, she dropped her note cards onto the podium. “Finally, I’d like to take a moment to welcome our new kids, especially our two exchange students.”