Secret of Light (4 page)

“Conrad plays guitar?” Lily set her glass down so firmly she spilled her milk. “I can't believe that guy can do anything but get into trouble.”

Darrell began to eat her lunch and glanced at Brodie. He smiled and looked pointedly at her arms. Darrell's hands were clean but paint began at her wrists and continued vividly past her elbows.

“Tough morning painting?” he asked. Darrell's mouth was full so she shook her head and rolled her eyes at him.

“Translation: ‘Yeah, Brodie, isn't it obvious? I've been painting my fingers to the bone and I haven't eaten in days.'” He laughed at her expression.

Darrell swallowed and took a sip of water on which she promptly choked. Kate pounded her on the back.

“Nice first impression you're making with the new guy.” She grinned.

Darrell wiped her streaming eyes on a napkin and managed to stop spluttering.

“I was painting all morning, and er — I didn't quite find the time for a shower before lunch.” She coughed again.

“Once you get a hold of yourself, Darrell, I'll introduce you,” Lily said brightly. Darrell frowned.

“I'm perfectly capable of introducing myself,” she said, and looked across the table. “My name's Darrell Connor. I mostly work in the art program, as you can see.” She glanced ruefully at her paint-speckled arms.

“I'm Paris Mercer. I saw you in history this morning, though I guess you didn't see me.”

Darrell looked puzzled. “You're in our history class with Professor Tooth?”

Paris nodded. “My main interest is music, but I thought I'd give history a try.” He paused for a moment and looked out the window of the dining room. The rain of the evening before was a distant memory, and late September sunshine dappled the waves. He turned back to the others. “This is an amazing place. I've only lived in the city and I didn't know it could be so beautiful out here. I figured it would be totally boring with nothing to do.”

Darrell exchanged a meaningful glance with Brodie and Kate. “I wouldn't ever use the word
boring
to describe life at Eagle Glen,” she said quietly. She gazed at Paris. “Sorry I don't remember you from history. With a name like Paris and blue hair, you don't exactly blend into the background!”

Brodie looked around the dining room. “Five nose rings, two shaved heads, and three kids with multiple piercings. Seems like a normal enough high school group to me. I think he blends in pretty well.”

Paris grinned. “My hair's only been blue since yesterday,” he explained. “Until then it was blonde. My
family hates alternative anything, so I sprang the latest Kool-Aid job last night, just to freak 'em out.”

Darrell finished the last of her lasagne and dropped her fork with a clatter. “Anyway, your name is stranger than your hair,” she said, her voice muffled as she wiped tomato sauce from her mouth. “Who ever heard of a guy called Paris?”

Paris's grin widened. “Who ever heard of a girl called Darrell?” he shot back good-naturedly. “You need to bone up on your ancient Greek history,” he added. “Paris was a famous hero who fought a war for his girlfriend, Helen of Troy.”

“Darrell! I can't believe you didn't know that!” cried Kate, and looked at Paris with mock consternation. “She may look like an artist, but she has a secret interest in history, particularly late fourteenth-century Scotland, right Darrell?”

Darrell frowned. “Shut up, Kate. Leave my historical interests out of —”

“Shhh!” Brodie interrupted the argument. “It looks like the principal has something to say.”

Professor Myrtle Tooth stood at the teachers' table, cleared her throat, and waited for silence. As soon as the voices filling the room died away, she began to speak in quiet, measured tones.

“Now that classes are underway, I would like to introduce a significant undertaking for the students of Eagle Glen School this term. We will celebrate the completion of exams by staging a Renaissance fair, to be held in the final days before winter break. All students will be expected to participate in some element of the
fair, each to his own strength. Teachers will have comprehensive sign-up lists for each form. Fourth form will be responsible for the actual design and planning of the fair, accurate to historical detail whenever possible. Third form will be responsible for the construction required for the various events. Second form will help to organize scheduling, and first form will staff assigned stations as needed.”

Professor Tooth swept the silent room with a glance. “The primary objective of this fair is to put into practical use the lessons presented about the Renaissance era during this term. Your form teachers will be available to further enlighten you on the details of this most important and entertaining event over the course of the next few weeks.” She glanced at her watch. “And now, I do believe the first session of study hall has begun. You may proceed to your study rooms or feel free to continue your work here, as you see fit.”

The scraping of chairs and a low murmur of conversation rose as students settled in with their first day's homework or left the dining hall for the smaller and more comfortable study rooms designated one to each school class.

“D'you want to stay here to work or move upstairs?” asked Kate.

Paris got to his feet. “Well, I'm going to the music room to practise,” he said, as he shouldered a bulky instrument bag, “so I'll see you later, okay?”

Darrell nodded and smiled her goodbye. When Paris had strolled out of the room she glanced at Brodie. “Might be easier to talk here,” he said in a low voice.
“The first- and second-form study rooms have an adjoining door, but I think less people can hear us here.”

The tables around theirs had emptied and voices dropped to a muted murmur as the remaining students settled down to work.

“So — is Conrad in any of your classes?” whispered Darrell. “Paris says he has him in music.”

Brodie nodded. “From the look of my classes today, it seems like grade level is less important than interest in the subject matter. I had kids from all of the forms in every one of my classes.”

Kate pulled out a leaflet from her binder. “You're right, Brodie. It says here the teachers will establish individual learning outcomes for each student, and evaluation will be based on the outcomes.”

“I guess that's how Conrad can be in our Renaissance history class when he's three years older than we are,” Darrell added glumly.

“I'll bet Conrad's there so Professor Tooth can keep an eye on him,” said Brodie shrewdly.

The sound of a dry cough made them all look up. “Completed your work, have you, Mr. Sun?”

Mr. Dickerman, Brodie's homeroom and archaeology teacher, was looking pointedly at Brodie's closed books.

“Oh, yes, well — we're getting right to it, sir,” Brodie said, flipping open his notebook. Darrell smiled to herself. It had been a long time since she'd had a group of friends to study with. She cracked the spine of her new history text, and the three of them bent their heads to the task at hand.

The following week passed in a rush of classes, meeting new students, and a dizzying amount of work to do. Expectations were high, and most out-of-class time was spent working on projects and assignments. To her relief, Darrell found the only class she shared with Conrad was the Renaissance history class, and her worry about being around him lessened.

The weather continued to worsen as September moved into October, with blustery wind adding interest to the rain. The armchairs by the fire in the first-floor study came into high demand. Darrell was curled up reading her history text when Kate stuck her head into the room.

“You'd better get a move on, Darrell. We've got history in five minutes.”

Darrell glanced at the already darkening sky through the window and then down at her watch.
“Okay, I'm coming.” She stood up and grabbed her books.

Kate held the study door open. “Have you seen Paris anywhere? He's got my textbook.”

Darrell shook her head. “He's probably in the classroom.” But when they stepped into the class moments later, Paris wasn't anywhere to be seen.

Darrell dropped her books onto her desk. “He's probably just lost track of time. I'll go check the music room and you check the library.”

Kate nodded. “If you find him, make sure he brings my textbook, okay?” She peeled out of the room and along the hall, while Darrell headed quickly down the stairs. She entered the music room to find Conrad taunting Paris, whose hair was now a vibrant shade of purple, in one corner of the room.

“Hey rich kid, nice hair.”

“Thanks. Glad you like it. And I wish I was.”

Conrad sneered. “Wish you were what?”

“Rich. Actually, I am feeling pretty loaded today. I've got twenty bucks burning a hole in my pocket, but I'll probably save it for the next time I go into town.”

Darrell was getting used to seeing Conrad in the halls or in class, but the fear that rose in the back of her throat made her angry at herself every time. She frowned and took a step forward. “You coming to history, Paris?” she asked. “I thought you might've lost track of the time, and Kate needs her text back.”

Conrad sneered at Darrell. “Get lost, Gimpy. I hear your teacher calling you.” He turned and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I can think of better
ways to spend that money than you can, you purple-haired freak.”

“What are you talking about?” Paris's expression became wary. Darrell took another cautious step into the room.

“Just what I said. Now hand it over.” Conrad swivelled his head around and glared at Darrell. “You still here, Gimpy?”

Paris raised his eyebrows and turned to pick up his guitar, a look of cautious amusement on his face. “You've got to be kidding!” He bent down and unplugged the guitar from a small amplifier.

Conrad's face turned ugly. “Don't turn your back on me, you geek.”

Paris began to load his instrument into its case, ignoring Conrad.

Conrad pushed aside a music stand and stepped forward. In one smooth motion he spun Paris by the shoulders and grabbed the front of his shirt. “This room is soundproofed, you doorknob,” he hissed through his teeth. “And nobody can hear any kind of noise you make. So, I think that money's mine, now.” With one hand still holding Paris's collar, he reached into the front pocket of his shirt and used two fingers to withdraw a twenty-dollar bill.

Paris went red to the roots of his purple hair. “Hey, you jerk! That's mine! Give it back.” He reached over to grab the money, but Conrad leapt nimbly over a music stand. Darrell felt sick as she watched from the door.
You're a lot of help, you big chicken
.

“I don't see your name on it,” drawled Conrad as he elbowed Paris aside and turned to leave.

Darrell gathered her courage. “I do,” she said, stalling for time and not knowing what else to say. Conrad sneered at her and opened his mouth to speak.

“So do I.”

Conrad closed his mouth with a snap and turned to look at the stage door.

Kate stepped into the room. A tiny smile played at the corner of her mouth. “Hey Connie. You being a bully again?”

Conrad glared at Kate but swallowed nervously. His eyes flitted back and forth among the people in the room, assessing.

“Need a girl to fight your battles, do ya?” he taunted Paris.

Some of the normal colour returned to Paris's face. “Is it going to be a battle, then, Conrad?” he asked quietly.

“That — that's not what I meant,” Conrad spluttered.

“Do I scare you, Connie?” asked Kate, innocence radiating from every pore. She took another step forward.

Conrad's will broke. He took the twenty out of his pocket and stuffed it back into Paris's shirt. He kicked a music stand out of his way and stomped to the stage door.

“Get out of my way,” he snarled to Kate, who stood her ground in front of the door.

“You didn't say please,” she said casually and reached out towards Conrad's shirt.

His eyes wild, Conrad tore his shirt from Kate's grasp and ran out of the room, slamming the door.

“He seemed in a bit of a hurry,” noted Kate, to no one in particular.

Paris exhaled rather shakily. “Thanks, you two. I think you helped save me twenty bucks right there.”

Darrell shook her head. “I wasn't any help.”

Paris glanced at Kate. “Conrad seemed pretty nervous around you.” He looked at her small frame disbelievingly. “You don't look very scary to me.”

Darrell laughed. “I never go anywhere without her,” she said. “She might look small but she's pretty feisty.”

“Feisty? Try fit, fast, and frightening,” Kate said with a grin. She dropped her hands to the ground, did a quick handstand, and flipped back onto her feet in front of Paris.

“Okay, okay,” he said, laughing. “You've convinced me. Karate, right?”

“Nope. Tae kwon do. A very similar martial art, though,” she said, and her face took on a distant expression. “You just use the opposite side of the body. The theory is a bit different, too...”

“Okay, Paris, don't get her started or she'll go on for hours,” said Darrell. “So what really happened?”

Paris frowned. “I was finishing practice when Conrad came in. He didn't even touch his own guitar. Just accused me of being a rich kid and then tried to take my money.”

Kate's nodded shrewdly. “I knew that leopard wouldn't change his spots,” she said, her voice warming with anger. She turned back to Paris. “The guy is a total jerk, and extortion is no joke.”

“I can handle it.” Paris swung his guitar case onto his shoulder. “I'm on to him now.”

Kate shrugged as they walked out the door of the music room. “Lucky it's history we're late for,” she said with a grin. “Do you think Professor Tooth will be interested in our excuse?”