Rebel Belle (10 page)

I drove past Ryan’s house on the way home that afternoon. His car was there, but I didn’t have the guts to go up to the house. Instead, I went to the library. Maybe I could find out some of this stuff on my own, and then I wouldn’t need any more alone time with David.

Except you’re supposed to protect him
, I reminded myself as I searched the shelves.
That will probably require plenty of alone time.
Unless there was some way out of this whole thing. With that thought in mind, I grabbed two different biographies of Charlemagne. Between those and
They Saw The Future!
, maybe I’d figure
something
out
.
Mom and Dad were both at work when I got home from the library, and aside from Bee texting me a few times, my phone was depressingly quiet, and I was, well . . . depressed. It seemed almost impossible to believe that yesterday, I was driving to school, happy and excited about my newfound superpowers. And now, after only a few days, I’d already killed a man (possibly more than one, actually, if the pool thing had worked), jujitsued my boyfriend, and made Saylor Stark, the one woman I lived to impress, think I was some kind of hot-rodding skank. And now David knew about them. David, who practically made a habit of ruining my life, knew the biggest secret I’d ever had.
To keep my mind off of all of that, I paged through the books. Unfortunately, they were about as helpful as the internet had been. The Charlemagne book mentioned Paladins, naming them as some kind of elite bodyguard force for the king. There was even a picture of them, looking entirely too skinny to be badass killers. As I studied the reproduced painting, I was at least grateful that their lame burgundy suits no longer seemed to be the official uniform. Burgundy washed me out, and velvet made me itch.
Other than that, there wasn’t much there. The book referenced the Paladins guarding the king, but it never mentioned noble causes or superpowers, so it seemed kind of useless. After all, I was pretty sure David Stark wasn’t a king.
But that thing with the debate club, no matter how stupid he thought it was, had to be important. It wasn’t like whether or not the debate club cheated was a major, world-changing event, but still. If David could see the future, no matter how small or insignificant those visions seemed to be . . . yeah, that might be something people would kill for.
Tossing that book aside, I picked up
They Saw the Future!
It was one of those Time-Life books they used to sell on TV. I was pretty sure my Aunt Jewel had a few, but I’d never seen this one before. I opened it up, scanning the chapters, muttering their titles aloud. “‘Visions Of Doom,’ ‘Seen Too Late,’ ‘Dreams of Destiny’ . . .”
David had put a little Post-it flag beside that chapter in the table of contents.
He’d marked another one, too. “Oracles.” I flipped the book to the page listed, snorting with laughter when I saw the picture taking up most of the page. It was a scantily clad girl, wearing what appeared to be a large, transparent handkerchief, her head thrown back, her eyes closed. “Okay, you weren’t marking this one for the information,” I murmured, but when I turned the page, I saw that David had actually put more flags on the pages not featuring half-naked ladies.
“‘Historically, Oracles came into their power in their teen years,’” I read next to one marker. “‘The visions often did not reach full potency until the Oracle was between eighteen to twenty years of age.’”
I turned another page, and found more little paper flags. “‘The original Oracles at Delphi were controlled by five men known as the “Ephors,” elected men who served as a sort of Parliament. Oracles were strictly female.’”
“Well, there you go then,” I said quietly. Unless David had a secret bigger than the debate club thing, it was looking like we could dismiss any chance of him being an Oracle.
But then another flag caught my eye. “Oracles were greatly prized commodities, and it was rumored that most of the great leaders of the world—Ghengis Khan, Elizabeth I, Charlemagne— all had Oracles at their disposal.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. David wasn’t a girl, that was for sure, but I knew Paladins were connected to Charlemagne. And if Oracles were, too . . .
I reached out for the Charlemagne book, flipping it back to the page on Paladins, my eyes scanning for anything about Oracles. There was nothing, but once again, I found myself staring at the illustration of the Paladins in their fancy little uniforms. Their fancy, burgundy uniforms embroidered with gold thread in the shape of—
I grabbed the psychic book again. There, over the picture of the half-naked Oracle, was a little symbol, like a skinny figure eight, turned on its side. It was the same shape embroidered on the Paladins uniforms.
“Holy crap,” I muttered under my breath.
“Harper?”
Startled, I looked up from the book. Ryan was there. Standing in my doorway. And he was smiling at me.
Okay, so the smile was kind of tentative, and he seemed a little . . . wary, hovering there by the door, but still. He was
here
.
I immediately pushed myself into a sitting position, shoving the books away and wishing I was wearing something a little more flattering than my sweats and one of his old basketball T-shirts. But his expression softened when he saw “Grove Academy Raiders” scrawled across my chest. “I wondered where that shirt ended up,” he said, lips lifting. There were shadows underneath his eyes, and his wavy hair seemed a little poofier than normal. It was the closest I’d ever seen Ryan to looking “rough” since the time he’d had the flu sophomore year.
“Oh my God, Ryan, I am so sorry about yesterday,” I blurted out. “I was afraid you were going to hit David, and I don’t know, get suspended or something, and I  .  .  . freaked out. Did I hurt you?”
Sighing, Ryan came in and sat on the edge of my bed. “I really wish I could say no, because it kind of hurts my masculinity to admit my tiny girlfriend kicked my ass.”
“I didn’t kick it so much as
throw
it,” I said, wanting him to laugh.
Needing
him to laugh.
And he did. Kind of. It was more a huff of breath than his normal laugh, but I would take it. “Where did you learn how to do that anyway?” he asked. His eyes searched my face, and I twisted my fingers in the bedspread.
“Self-defense class. I guess I took it a little more seriously than I thought.” Lifting my head, I tentatively moved my fingers closer to his. “Is that why you weren’t at school today? Because I hurt you?”
Ryan shook his head. “I was a little sore, yeah, but I  .  .  . I needed some time to think.” Hesitantly, he reached out and took my hands between his. His hands were warm and big, dwarfing mine. “Harper, believe it or not, the kung fu isn’t really what I wanted to talk about. I mean, it’s part of it, but . . .” He paused, looking down at our joined hands. “I just . . . things are weird with us.”
“No, they’re not,” I said immediately, and when he quirked an eyebrow, I sighed and rolled my shoulders. “Okay, yes, the past few days have been a little intense, with Homecoming and all, and Cotillion coming up, and the, uh, flipping you bit.”
Ryan shook his head, a tiny crease appearing between his brows. “No, it’s been going on a lot longer than the past few days.”
Okay, now I was confused. Sure, my superpowers had been throwing things off since Friday, but before that, everything with me and Ryan had been fine. Better than fine. We were happy.
“I’m not blaming you,” Ryan was saying. “You had a really rough year with—with your sister and everything, and I know getting college stuff together is freaking you out—”
“No, it’s not,” I said, and the corners of Ryan’s mouth turned down.
“And that’s another thing. Lately, it’s like I can’t say anything without you contradicting it.”
“I don’t—oh. Sorry.”
Ryan ran a hand over his hair, ruffling it. “I love you,” he said at last. “You know that. But it’s . . . it’s like we’re speaking two different languages most of the time. Harper.” He tugged on my hand. “If there’s something going on with you, you can tell me, okay?”
For a second, I really thought about telling him. I wasn’t sure how I was going to spin it, exactly, but there had to be something I could say. Some way of letting him know it definitely wasn’t
him
, it was me. And then a funny expression crossed his face. “Is it David Stark?”
Maybe it was because the question was so unexpected, or maybe because it
was
David Stark—in a way—but whatever the reason, my reaction was . . . not great.
I made this kind of spluttering sound that was kind of like a laugh, but mostly involved me nearly spitting all over Ryan. “W-what? What would David Stark have to do with anything?”
“You guys seemed pretty . . . intense yesterday,” Ryan said, dropping my hand.
“Yeah, we were
intensely arguing
over him writing that stupid article,” I said even as I had a sudden vision of me and David, laughing in his car. Hugging. God, we had
hugged.
Now Ryan was frowning. “But you’re always arguing with him. Or talking about him. Or competing with him. And sometimes I wonder how you can be so obsessed with someone you supposedly hate.”
“I’m not obsessed,” I corrected before I could stop myself, and his mouth tightened. “Forget it,” I said quickly, rising up on my knees to scoot closer to him. “I promise you, David Stark is . . . nothing to me.” And he wasn’t. I mean, he may have been some future-telling guy I was supposed to protect, possibly unto
death
, but other than that . . .
Ryan seemed less than convinced, so I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. He hesitated for a second, but then, finally, he kissed me back. As his hand slid up to tangle in my hair, I moved forward, still on my knees. Ryan’s other arm tightened around my waist, and I sank into the kiss, trying for a few seconds to turn my mind off.
It was nice. I know you’re probably supposed to use words like “hot” or “amazing” to describe your boyfriend kissing you, and we’ve had plenty of make-outs I could describe that way, but “nice” was good, too. Comforting. Stable.
When we pulled apart, Ryan had that happy, glazed look that told me all thoughts of David Stark and my ninja moves and basically anything else had been obliterated.
Smiling, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to mine. “So we’re good?” he said, and I realized we hadn’t really talked about anything. He’d brought up stuff, I’d denied it, and then we’d made out for a little while. It was becoming something of a pattern.
But that probably means we’re good at conflict resolution, I thought.
“We’re better than good,” I told him, smiling back.
Still rubbing one of my hands, Ryan glanced down. “So what were you reading so intently it made you use a four-letter word?”
Before I could stop him, he picked up
They Saw the Future!
Both of his eyebrows went up as he studied the Oracle. “Whoa.”
I snatched the book back, half shoving it under my bed. “Doing some research. Essay on ancient Greece for a college application thingie.”
I’d been so happy to see Ryan that for a few minutes, all thoughts of Paladins and Oracles and whatever the heck was going on with me and David Stark had fled my brain. But looking at the picture reminded me that while things may have been better in Boyfriend Land, the rest of my life was only getting twistier.

Thanks to a little more making out, Ryan seemed willing to let the subject drop, and I think he’d totally forgotten about it by the time we heard the garage door opening. “Your mom,” he said, moving back.

“Yeah, we better get downstairs.” Mom loved Ryan and I think she already thought of him as her son-in-law, but that still didn’t mean she’d be okay with the two of us alone in my bedroom.

We made it to the living room before she came in, both of us striking nonchalant poses, me on the couch, him in my dad’s chair. “Har—oh, you have company,” Mom said as she came in the living room. She glanced back and forth between us and decided no rules were being violated. “Excellent!” she said. “Four hands to help me with groceries.”

Once we’d helped Mom unload the car, Ryan decided to head home. After one last kiss, he drove away, and I went back into the kitchen. As I did, I spotted the space where David’s car had been yesterday. He’d gotten it this morning, apparently—the gate unlatched easily enough, and my parents never locked it—but I hadn’t seen him. Still, it reminded me that while things with my boyfriend might be okay for the time being, things with the Starks definitely were not.

But I had an idea. While Mom put groceries away, I rummaged around in the pantry, grabbing flour, some spices, and a can of crushed pineapple. Dumping those on the counter, I fished out a mixing bowl and some measuring cups and went to work.

“What are you doing?” Mom asked, setting the paper bags of food on the counter.
“Making a cake,” I replied. I measured out a tablespoon of vanilla as Mom walked over to the bowl, taking in the assembled ingredients. “Hummingbird cake? Fancy. Who’s the lucky recipient?”
“Miss Saylor.” Reaching in one of the drawers, I pulled out the biggest spoon I could find.
Mom gave me a careful look. She knew what hummingbird cake meant. “And what did you do that requires a ‘sorry I screwed up’ cake?”
I was already lucky the school hadn’t called Mom and told her about me skipping class, so I decided to keep it as simple as possible. “David and I had a thing the other day.”
Mom heaved a sigh. “Harper . . .”
“We weren’t fighting,” I quickly added, earning me a snort of laughter.
“That’s a first, then.”
“We had a disagreement, that’s all. Miss Saylor saw us, and I thought a cake would smooth things over a little bit.” Which it would, hopefully. And it would give me a good excuse to go tell David about the connection I’d made between Paladins and Oracles.
With a rueful smile, Mom walked over to the fridge and pulled out the eggs and sugar for me. “Well, in that case, let me help. You’re a good baker, but you’re not the best one in this family.”
Mom cracked the eggs in a separate bowl while I lifted two bananas out of the fruit basket on the counter. We fell into a comfortable silence as she whisked and I mashed. And then, when I leaned over to scrape the bananas into her eggs and sugar mixture, Mom gave a little chuckle. “Do you remember how bad Leigh-Anne was at baking?”
I watched her out of the corner of my eye as I started to stir. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk about my sister, but I never knew how it would go. Sometimes, Mom could look at pictures of her and tell stories, and it was fine. We’d smile or laugh, and then move on to some other topic.
Other times, her voice would get tight, and her lip would tremble, and then the tears would come. And even though I knew it was awful of me, when she got like that, all I wanted to do was run away. To ignore it.
But there were no tears in Mom’s voice now. “Yeah,” I said carefully. “The baking soda brownies.”
Mom’s chuckle turned into a real laugh. “Yes! Oh, God, I knew I should’ve tasted them before we started wrapping them up for the bake sale.”
Now I smiled, too. “Yeah, but even though they were terrible, Leigh-Anne sold all of them, remember? Said they were special ‘vitamin brownies’ and that’s why they tasted so bad.”
“And then you told her she shouldn’t lie at a church bake sale,” Mom added, holding the mixing bowl as I dumped the wet ingredients into the dry.
“Right,” I nodded. “But she said the more brownies she sold, the better it was for the church, so God would understand.”
We both laughed again, and then that silence fell, this time a little heavier than before.
“That’s the Leigh-Anne I wish people would remember,” Mom finally said. Her voice wasn’t tight, and her lips were steady, but sadness clung to every word. “I wish people could focus on her, not . . . not how she died.”
I wanted that, too. More than anything. But Leigh-Anne’s death hadn’t only been a nuclear bomb going off in the middle of my family. It had been a scandal. A source of gossip. The pretty and popular Homecoming Queen getting drunk on prom night, wrecking her car, killing herself and nearly killing her boyfriend? It wasn’t something people would easily forget.
They wouldn’t forget no matter how much Mom wished, or how hard I tried to make up for my sister’s one stupid decision. Not that I thought running SGA or organizing charity bake sales could wipe out the memory of that night. But maybe I could . . . I don’t know, reset the balance.
Clearing my throat, I turned away and grabbed a few cake pans from the cabinets. I focused on pouring the batter, waiting  for Mom to leave the kitchen and go up to her bedroom, the  way she almost always did when we started talking about Leigh-Anne.
But to my surprise, she started unwrapping the packages of cream cheese for the icing. “I hope Saylor appreciates all the trouble you’re going through.”
“It’s not that much trouble,” I insisted, sliding the cake pans into the oven. “I’ve been meaning to make hummingbird cake for The Aunts for awhile now.”
At the mention of The Aunts, Mom rolled her eyes affectionately. “Well, don’t let them know you gave their cake away to Saylor.”
The Aunts were actually my great-aunts, but since my grandmother—their sister—had died when I was a baby, they’d kind of adopted me as a granddaughter by proxy. They got together at my Aunt Jewel’s house every Friday afternoon to play cards, and I usually tried to stop by, but between school and Cotillion, I’d been too busy lately. It had probably been nearly a month since—
Suddenly, what Mom said registered. “What do you mean? Don’t The Aunts like Saylor?” They’d never said anything to me about her, and trust me, if The Aunts weren’t crazy about someone, they didn’t exactly keep it a secret.
Mom shrugged as she started to whip the cream cheese and sugar together. “Saylor’s monopoly on all major town events has never sat well with them. Especially since she’s still a relative newcomer and a Yankee.”
Now I rolled my eyes. “She’s been here for nearly eighteen years, and she’s from
Virginia
.”
“You know The Aunts don’t consider Virginia the South.” Triumphantly, she pushed the bowl of icing toward me. “Can you take it from here?”
“Sure, thanks,” I replied, but my mind was still on The Aunts. I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. If there was something weird about the Stark family, they would know it. They knew everything. Seriously, why had I wasted any time searching the internet when I had them? I made a mental note to stop by Aunt Jewel’s on Friday—and to buy more cake ingredients.
Mom and I chatted while the cakes baked, and once they were done, I stuck them in the fridge to cool and went to my room to  make myself a little more presentable. That accomplished, I  headed back to the kitchen to find Mom frosting the cake for me.
“You’re seriously going to take this to Saylor tonight?” Mom asked, nodding to the microwave clock. “It’s nearly seven.”
“Which is perfect timing,” I insisted. “After dinner, but before people start getting ready for bed.”
Mom looked up, a strange expression flitting across her face.
“Harper, you know . . . you don’t have to prove anything. Not to me, or Saylor Stark, or this entire town. You could just—”
“Chill?” I suggested, thinking of Ryan.
Mom didn’t laugh. “I worry about you. You’ve always taken things so seriously, and—” She broke off with a little laugh. “While I’m proud of all you’ve accomplished, it’s not like the fate of the world depends on dance decorations or when you bring people cake. Or Cotillion.”
I tried to shrug that off. Again, what was wrong with a little dedication? But Mom’s words seemed to lodge somewhere inside my chest. She was right that the
whole
world didn’t revolve around what I did at the Grove, but she also didn’t know about David. About whatever I
was
now. What if the entire fate of the world did depend on me taking this cake to Saylor Stark?
With that thought in mind, I decided to pick out one of Mom’s nicer cake plates. Just in case.
“I promise, once Cotillion is over, I’ll start dropping some things. I’ll need to focus on college stuff by then anyway.”
Mom didn’t seem particularly comforted by that, but she helped me move the cake onto the holder. “I hope Saylor appreciates all of this.”
Sighing, I lifted the cake. “You and me both.”