Coldhearted (9781311888433) (3 page)

“
Thanks,” Edie said. “I can
never seem to get warm enough.”

“
Well, the winter won’t last
long. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“
Thanks,” Edie said,
again.

He seemed confused. “For what?”

Edie blushed and felt a bit warmer. “For
being so nice.”

Smiling, he reached out to clasp her hand
again, but then he jerked his hand back, smile gone. He held his
hand in his other, massaging an invisible wound.

Edie gasped. “Are you okay?”

He seemed embarrassed. “I, uh, I don’t know
what happened. It was like…static electricity or something, a
shock.” He flexed his fingers. “I’m fine now, but I could’ve
sworn…”

“
Sworn what?” she
prodded.

He hesitated, and then said, “I could’ve
sworn someone struck me. I felt…fingers…grabbing my hand, violent,
trying to push me away.” He shook his head, dismissive. “That’s too
weird, right? If there’s one thing about Grimsby, nothing weird
ever happens here.”

Edie opened her mouth to speak, to dispute
his belief, but she was speechless, her tongue frozen.

You’re wrong. You’re so very wrong,
Mason.

Chapter 4

Halfway through their journey to Grimsby High
School, Edie’s tongue thawed, and she was able to speak again.

She tried to get him to admit that yes, in
fact, weird things, strange things, unexplainable things do happen.
He conceded her point, but shook off any suggestion that
fingers—unseen fingers—had touched him.

“
I must’ve imagined it,
that’s all,” he said, and flashed his dimpled smile, persuading her
to give it a rest.

And she did. She didn’t want to push Mason
away with her conspiracy theories. Perhaps he was right. He’d
imagined being touched, just as she’d imagined being locked inside
Lockhart Manor. It seemed as if their imaginations were running
wild. Edie just hoped their demented minds were the only wild
things in Grimsby.

They finally arrived and Edie parked in the
student lot.

Grimsby High School wasn’t much to boast
about: a two-story, charcoal-colored building that looked like it’d
been built in the fifties.

“
It looks better on the
inside,” Mason said, reading her face.

“
Oh, yeah?” She believed
him, but need more proof.

“
Yeah, fresh coat of paint,”
he informed. “It used to be white. Now it’s cloud white,” he said
dramatically.

Edie was confused. “What’s the
difference?”

Mason chuckled and shook his head. “Nothing.
It looks exactly the same. But it probably cost ten times more,” he
added.

They walked side by side, as they entered the
school through the front door. Mason had offered to carry her
backpack, and she’d let him, even though it was light as a
feather.

He handed it back to her when they arrived at
the main office. She could still smell the paint fumes,
overwhelming her senses. He’d been right. The walls were white,
almost snowy-looking, and a bit depressing, but Edie was biased
against any representation of cold weather.

“
Well, this is where I leave
you,” he said, focusing her attention back on him.

Edie tried not to let her depression show and
forced a smile. “Thanks.”

He smiled back, genuine. “There you go again,
thanking me, and I haven’t done anything.”

Edie shrugged. “It’s a southern thing.”

Mason smiled again, flashing his dimples. “I
like it. I’m glad you’re here, Edie.” He walked away, then stopped,
and turned around to face her, waving his cell phone in the air.
“Call me.”

Edie gave him a promising smile. “I
will.”

****

Principal Jennings had cranked up the heat
inside her office, and Edie had been able to remove her gloves,
scarf, and cap without dying of frostbite.

“
Welcome,” she said, again,
for the umpteenth time.

Edie just smiled back.

“
So…do you want be a writer
like your uncle?”

Edie stifled a grimace, finding the
occupation dull. “Not really.”

Principal Jennings raised a black eyebrow. It
was sharp like her bob and didn’t suit her cheerful personality.
“Oh? Well, you’re a senior, Edie. College will be here before you
know it. Have you given any thought to what you want to do after
graduation?”

“
I want to go to college,
but I don’t know what I want to major in.”

“
What are your
interests?”

“
Well, I like history, I
think, and psychology too.”

Principal Jennings smiled. “Essentially, a
study of people, I love it!” Then she frowned. “But you might want
to consider math and computers. That’s where all the jobs are,” she
whispered, as if she’d turned traitor and chosen one side of the
curriculum over the other. She smiled again and raised her voice to
a normal level, continuing, “We’re advancing, Edie, and if we
aren’t one step ahead, we’ll fall two steps behind.”

“
Yes, ma’am.”

Edie wasn’t going to argue with her. She
hated math as much as the next person. Computers were good for
playing games and surfing the web, but Edie didn’t want to know the
code that it’d taken to accomplish all that. Edie preferred to be
kept in the dark about some things—things she didn’t
understand—things like what’d happened to her and Mason back at
Lockhart Manor. Edie reckoned that considering neither of them
could explain what’d happened, it was just best to forget about the
whole thing.

And this feeling that she wasn’t alone?
Paranoia. Hallucinations, even. She was just going through a lot
right now. It was understandable that she’d imagine things.

But…what was Mason’s excuse?

“
Edie?”

Edie focused on Principal Jennings.
“Huh?”

She smiled. “I said: would you like a
tour?”

Edie glanced at the clock. It was well past
ten, and Edie had probably missed two classes already.

“
No, thanks, ma’am, I’d like
to go on to class now. Can I have my schedule?”

Principal Jennings slumped into her seat,
obviously disappointed that she couldn’t show Edie off to the
school. “I understand.” She forced a smile that gradually became
sincere. “It’s great knowing that students these days want to go to
their classes.” She searched her desk and exclaimed “Ah-ha!” when
she found a manila folder with Edie’s name on it. She opened it,
retrieved a piece of paper, and then handed it to Edie. “There you
go.”

Edie scanned it and noticed that she’d only
missed math.

Yay! This day was starting to turn
around.

“
Thanks, ma’am.”

“
Do you need a map,
Edie?”

Edie smiled politely. “I think I can manage.
Thanks, anyway.”

Edie felt better once she’d
left the main office, despite the chill inside the student
lobby.
Jeez, do they only have heating in
the principal’s office?
She resisted the
urge to bundle up again. She didn’t want the students to think she
was weird, walking around in gloves, a scarf, and a wool
cap.

She didn’t need a tour. Grimsby High wasn’t
that big and everything was clearly labeled. She made her way
upstairs to second period English and was greeted by Mrs.
Featherstone when she opened the door.

“
Welcome,
Edwina!”

Everyone turned around in their seats to look
at her, wide-eyed, as if she were an alien—and not a welcomed one
at that. Edie heard a few girls chuckle, whispering “Edwina?”

“
It’s Edie,” a familiar
voice corrected Mrs. Featherstone.

Mason.

He was smiling, waving Edie over to sit in a
vacant desk in front of him. Edie looked at Mrs. Featherstone for
approval, and when the teacher gave her a nod, Edie took her
seat.

“
Hey,” Mason
greeted.

“
Hey,” Edie greeted back,
grinning like an idiot.

Mrs. Featherstone handed her a heavy
textbook. “It’s brand new,” she whispered.

“
Okay,” Edie whispered back,
confused.

Then louder, she said, “How’s your uncle,
Landon St. John?”

The students behind Edie were whispering,
recognizing who she was.

“
Good,” Edie told Mrs.
Featherstone.

If he weren’t, Edie would’ve said the same
thing. She wasn’t going to give anyone dirt on her uncle. Not that
she knew any, and as far as what she did know, drinking coffee and
smoking cigarettes wasn’t illegal—at least not in Grimsby.

“
That’s great,” Mrs.
Featherstone said, beaming. “Maybe he can come by one morning? Talk
to the class? Share his wisdom?”

Uncle Landon didn’t seem the sharing type,
but Edie said, “I’ll ask him.” Her tone implied that she wasn’t
making any promises.

“
That’s great,” Mrs.
Featherstone said again, as if it were a done deal. Then she
clapped her hands together. “We’re discussing Shakespeare this
morning, but you can just sit and relax, if you wish.”

Edie shook her head, not wanting any special
treatment. “No, I’m fine, really.”

A guy next to her with wavy, brown hair
raised his hand. “Can I sit and relax too?”

Mrs. Featherstone turned toward him,
scowling, and put her hands on her hips. “You’ve been sitting and
relaxing ever since school’s started, Quinn. Now start paying
attention, or it’s no more football for you.”

Quinn—who was built like a football player,
muscular and broad-shouldered—just grunted and lowered his head
over his textbook. It seemed that Edie was the only one receiving
the red-carpet treatment, but she just wanted to be treated like
everyone else.

Edie mentally sighed.
Guess that’s never going to happen.

****

Mrs. Featherstone was talking and Edie was
trying to listen and participate. She’d told the teacher that she
would, but Edie couldn’t pay attention. She was shivering, but
she’d refused to bundle up, not wanting to draw any more attention
to herself.

Edie’s hand closed around her pendant, as
she’d done in Lockhart Manor when she’d wanted to feel safe. She
should feel safe, in school, and especially near Mason, but she
felt this horrible chill, this recognition of something or someone
following her, hiding in the shadows, and she was never alone.

She let go of her pendant and rested her hand
on the desk. She barely had time to enjoy her rest when she felt
cold fingertips, trailing across her palm. She clenched her hand
tight, denying whoever was touching her, the chance to do it again.
Yet…she knew this presence wouldn’t leave her on its own. It clung
to her like a lifeline, and she didn’t know how to cut it
loose.

Suddenly, a burst of laughter snapped her
head up.

“
Oh, no,” Mason said,
sounding worried from behind her.

Mrs. Featherstone was wearing a shocked look
on her face, as she held a piece of chalk in midair. “I…I…I…” She
trailed off, not knowing how to explain what she’d written over and
over on the blackboard:

Fat Girl
.

The bell rang and everyone escaped, laughing
as they went. Edie and Mason stayed behind—and for some reason,
Quinn, the football player. He hesitated, staring among the three
of them, and then he finally left. Edie was confused by his
behavior, but glad that he hadn’t laughed at Mrs. Featherstone’s
trauma.

Mason approached her. She was crying and
trembling.

“
Mrs. Featherstone?” His
voice was soft and gentle.

Encouraged, she took a step forward, and then
wobbled, as if she were going to fall, but Mason quickly came to
her rescue. Edie joined in and helped Mason gently guide Mrs.
Featherstone toward her desk chair, where she sat comfortably
against the leather.

Edie noticed for the first time that Mrs.
Featherstone was thin, frail-looking, even.

Mrs. Featherstone grabbed a tissue and dabbed
her tears away. “I’m all right,” she said, forcing a smile, and
then patted Mason’s strong, but gentle hand on her skinny arm.

Edie crouched in front of her. “Mrs.
Featherstone? What happened?”

She hesitated, and then said, “That’s what
they used to call me, in school. I was…overweight. I just kept
eating and eating, depressed, and they kept making fun of me.” She
dabbed at her tear-filled eyes again. “After graduation, I went on
a diet, and it took me awhile, but I lost a lot of weight. I’ve
been keeping it off. I’m very strict with what I eat. I…don’t want
to be that girl again—that girl who was teased so much.”

Edie could see that Mrs. Featherstone was
taking her diet too far. She was unhealthily thin, but now was not
the time for a lecture. Instead Edie stood up and went to the
blackboard. Holding the eraser firmly and with quick strikes, Edie
made all those hurtful words disappear.

“
What’s going on?” a
familiar voice inquired.

Edie turned to see Principal Jennings,
standing at the threshold of the classroom.

“
Nothing,” Edie said, trying
to defend Mrs. Featherstone from any sort of punishment.

Edie had erased the evidence from the
blackboard. The only other evidence was the eyewitnesses’ accounts
of the students. That couldn’t be so easily erased. No doubt, the
entire school knew by now what’d happened, and probably, the next
county over.

Sometimes, technology was a bad thing. And a
cell phone in the hands of an attention-seeking, unconscionable
teenager was a very bad thing.