Spell Check (5 page)

My throat constricted and hot tears rushed to my eyes. I crouched and picked up the willow stick so Salem wouldn’t notice. “I better go do my biology homework.”

“You’re taking Biology? I thought only tenth graders took bio.”

“Parvani is taking it.” And Jordan and Zhù, so basically, everyone I know.

“You have to be awesome in algebra to take it as a freshman. Amy took it then, but I decided to wait until next year, even though I’m pretty good at math.”

The sick feeling I got whenever I knew a math test was coming up fast-tracked through my intestines.

“You okay?” Salem asked. “You don’t look so well.”

“I think there’s been a mistake.”

“About bio? You might still be able to switch classes.”

“Maybe.” Humiliation scorched my cheeks. There must have been something about math ability in the Biology course description. I must have skipped it. But Parvani wouldn’t have. She’d probably highlighted it.

“Don’t you have the Smash Heads in Gym?” Salem asked.

“Yeah. Unfortunately.”

“Keep your guard up. I heard we start Capture the Flag next week.”

“Are you kidding? How middle school can you get?”

Salem fluffed her bangs. “This is Coach Willis’s first year teaching high school. He’s from some middle school down south. I don’t think he’s made the adjustment yet.”

“Great.” I pictured the weeks of torture ahead and grew queasier. I knew the Smash Heads would take me prisoner, or I’d trip over one of the orange cones dividing the field. I so do not need this.

I hoisted the Quarter Guardians over my shoulder. By some ill magic, they seemed twice as heavy.

Chapter Seven

My arms and shoulders ached the next day from carrying the stupid rocks. I needed to start working out after this whole spell business was over.

Thanks to some major rain Sunday night, the field was flooded on Monday, and we couldn’t play Capture the Flag. When Gym ended, Parvani rushed off to Miss Ravenwood’s class.

As I trailed behind, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I readied for a Smash Head sneak attack, but came face to face with Jordan. Looking into his blue eyes felt like skinny-dipping in Lake Tahoe at Christmastime. The shock stole my breath.

“Hey,” he said.

I shouldered my backpack. “Hey.”

He glanced around, as if making sure no one could overhear us as we walked toward the door. “Does your Mom still belong to the women’s service club?”

A pang of grief rose from its pine box and stabbed me. “Nah. She quit after Dad died.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” We stepped out into the cool autumn air. I pulled the front of my hoodie up to my nose. “Why? What’s up?”

“I remembered one of their philanthropies helped seniors.” His voice trailed off. “I, like, couldn’t think of its name.”

“Contact Care.”

“That’s it.” His lips pressed together and his eyes glistened.

I stopped and placed my hand on his forearm. “Is this about your grandpa? Is he getting worse?”

Jordan nodded, then pressed his hand against his lips. “I gotta get to class.” His voice caught. “Bye.”

“See ya.” Regret washed over me as I watched him hurry off to Honors Geometry, his shoulders hunched as if he carried a burden far heavier than his backpack.

Coward, I scolded myself. I should have given him a hug.

Memories flooded back of all the times Jordan’s grandpa had taken us to get ice cream or see a movie. Funny, I didn’t have as many memories of Jordan’s parents—they had always been at work. I wondered which was worse. To have a loved one go quickly, like Dad, so the grief slammed you like a bus, or slowly, like Jordan’s grandfather, where each day you saw them slip further and further away. There should have been a third option, where everyone lived on in an enchanted ever after.

How does Jordan do it? Hide his despair. Function like normal. Convince people like Parvani he’s easy going, without a care.

I’ve heard of “aha” moments. Instead of a light bulb illuminating above my head, a blinding strobe light flashed. Jordan had trusted me enough to ask for help. And I was going to let Parvani steal him away with a love spell?

No way.

I entered Spanish fueled with righteous determination, and scored a hundred percent on the pop quiz. The sun came out during lunch. My mood continued its upward trajectory until I remembered I still had to go to Algebra.

I slunk into the classroom and hid in the back row, my thoughts confetti. I have to stop Parvani. I can’t let her perform the spell just to spite Miss Ravenwood.

The sharp screech of chalk drew my attention to the front of the class. Mr. Bentley, former Marine drill sergeant, now math teacher to the numerically challenged, scratched algebraic equations onto the blackboard. I prayed he wouldn’t call on me.

Finally the bell rang, and I raced out into the crisp air. I fought my way through the backpack-wielding crowd toward Room 222. Yearbook.

“Evie!” Parvani squeezed past a pack of popular girls and drew up beside me. “How was Algebra…?”

Zhù Wong walked a few yards ahead, his back to us. Tommy Deitch cut in from the side and bore down on Zhù like a rogue SUV. Before Parvani or I could call out a warning, Tommy slammed Zhù against a large, metal trashcan. Zhù hit with a loud bang. A startled sophomore cursed. Tommy laughed.

Parvani hissed air between her teeth.

The potential for a fight or major humiliation hung in the air. Even the clutch of popular girls stopped talking and watched.

I expected Zhù to fall like an overturned turtle. But somehow he landed on his feet, his body tense. Tommy gaped. For a wild second I thought Zhù would do something amazing, like flatten Tommy with a karate chop or a taekwondo kick.

You could have heard a bobby pin drop. Zhù stared Tommy down. Zhù. The Nerdinator. Zhù, who weighs half as much as Tommy.

“Whatever.” Tommy shoved his way through the throng, headed straight for us. I clutched the topaz in my pocket.

“What are you staring at, Jekyll and Hyde?”

My mind stuttered.

“Ow!” Tommy swerved away from the jab of Parvani’s umbrella. “Watch it, Hyde.” Scowling, he stormed off, holding his side.

“Jerk!” Parvani tucked her umbrella under her arm, then dashed after Zhù. “Are you okay?” she asked him as I headed up the ramp to Yearbook. “You were awesome.”

My teacher, Miss Roberts, poked her head out the door. Short, plump, with shoulder-length, flyaway hair, she appeared closer to fifteen than twenty-three. “What’s going on?”

As much as I would have loved to see Tommy hauled off to the office, I followed the unwritten No Snitching code. “I’m not sure,” I lied. “Someone must have banged into the garbage can.” In the back of my brain, I relived the scene. Tommy’s startled face would have made a great photo. Too bad I don’t take pictures anymore.

“The first set of pages is due October fifteenth,” Miss Roberts reminded me.

Forty-one pages in nine days? No problem. There were two other photographers on the staff—Zhù, and an artsy sophomore named Hallie.

“Hallie is sick today,” Miss Roberts said. “You’ll have to shoot the fashion candids.”

“But…”

“I’ll do them.” Zhù joined us on the ramp. I so wanted to hug him.

“I need you to cover academics. So grab your cameras, you two, and get going. Be back before the bell.” Miss Roberts made a sweeping gesture and whisked us into the classroom.

Zhù retrieved the digital cameras from Miss Roberts’s desk and handed one to me. It felt cool and heavy in my hand. My mouth went dry.

“Let’s hit the classes together,” Zhù suggested.

The room silenced. I didn’t have to glance around to know the rest of the class was staring. “Miss Roberts…”

“Go on, Evie. You’ll be fine.”

Sweat gathered beneath Dad’s lucky cap. I wanted to scream, “I can’t!” But Miss Roberts ushered me out the door.

Zhù talked me down the ramp. “Parvani has French. Let’s start there.”

Hot tears brimmed my eyes. I hate Miss Roberts. I hate Yearbook. I hate Hallie for missing class.

Zhù walked me past the library then guided me to Room 505. “Parles-tu français?”

I glared. Can’t he hear my heart pounding? I may die right here on the spit-covered concrete.

“Right. Well, plié and pas de chat are about all the French I know. If you live in California, you should speak Spanish. ¿Es verdad?”

“Sí,” I replied. French ballet terms? Zhù’s been hanging around Parvani way too much.

Zhù opened the door. Madame Marseille raised a penciled brow. “Oui?”

“We’re here from the yearbook.” Zhù nudged me.

The room smelled of chalk and strawberry lip-gloss. I tore my gaze from Parvani in the third row and cleared my throat. “Zhù would like to take some candid shots of you and the class.”

“And Evie needs to take a few students outside for fashion photos,” Zhù added.

Evan MacDonald scraped back his chair, stood, and put one hand on his hip. His red hair hung in oily strands down to his jaw. “Take me. I’m fashionable.”

I sneered, remembering all the recesses in fourth grade when he and Tommy had held me prisoner. Parvani thought Evan had a crush on me, which proved she wasn’t as smart as she looked.

“Perhaps you would like to pick someone else,” Madame said in her thick accent.

Zhù slipped from my side and started photographing Parvani. She designed most of her own clothes, and always wore something interesting.

“You, you, and you.” I pointed to a black-clad goth who seemed like he needed an escape, one of the preps who would probably be mad she’d missed class time, and a pixie-like brunette I recognized from middle school.

Madame sighed. “D’accord.”

Zhù circled Parvani in full ninja-paparazzi mode. I left him and trooped outside.

“Could you make this quick?” the prep said.

I grunted. My heart raced. I had the weird feeling I had separated from my body and was walking beside myself. Maybe the photo shoot was happening to someone else.

“Why don’t we pose around this?” The goth halted beside a smooth-barked tree and swung his lanky frame up into its V-shaped fork.

“Perfect.” The brunette sprite sat at the tree base, her skinny legs hugged to her chin.

“Fine.” The prep leaned against the trunk and flashed a tight smile. “Just get it over with.”

The camera weighed against my palm like a small, silver corpse.

“Dude, take the picture.”

I fumbled for the shutter button. It had to be there. Why couldn’t I find it?

You can do it, Evie. Remember, I showed you how. It sounded like my father’s voice, calm inside my head.

I can’t breathe. I’m going to die right here and have to haunt Jefferson High for eternity.

“It’s okay, Evie.” The familiar scent of 50 SPF sun block registered in my brain. A warm hand eased the camera from my clammy grip.

Parvani. Thank goodness.

Parvani held the digital to her eye. “Hold it another second.”

It took me a few turbo heartbeats to realize she meant the students around the tree, not me. The camera clicked.

“Okay, got it. Merci.”

“Is she all right?” someone asked.

“Could you tell Madame I’m going to take her to the nurse?”

“Sure, dude.”

“Parvani?” Zhù appeared beside her. “Wow, Evie. You look like you’re going to faint.”

Parvani handed Zhù the camera. “Tell your teacher Evie isn’t feeling well, okay?” She slipped her arm around my waist. “Come on, Evie. Let’s go to the office.”

Someone who sounded like me said, “Okay.” It might have been me. With my heart roaring in my ears, I couldn’t be sure. The phantom weight of the camera pressed against my palm as Parvani led me toward the glass-fronted office. Jordan emerged from the boys’ bathroom and we almost collided.

Jordan said, “Hey…”

Parvani shook her head and propelled me forward.

I told my heart to slow down. Then, maybe, I could hear my father again. But my pulse kept racing, and all I could hear were Jordan’s footsteps as he fell into step behind us.

Chapter Eight

“Just rest, sweetie.” Mom tucked a fuzzy blanket around my neck. Its woolly moose pattern marched across my shoulders. I sank into the sofa and watched the flames curl around the pressed log in the fireplace.

Mom walked to the far end of the sofa. As she sat down, a scrap of blood-colored corrugated paper fell from her sweater. I recognized the tatter. It wasn’t from Mom’s line of handcrafted greeting cards, our “bread and butter” between Dad’s royalty checks. She had started a series of large collages after Dad had died. The latest was of a headless woman fashioned out of red corrugated paper. The lower half of her body was a gold-leaf clock.

I don’t want to think about the symbolism.

“I’m sorry the office called you,” I mumbled.

“They better have called me!” Mom picked dried glue off her fingertip. “The collages can wait.”

Baby sighed and stretched out by the hearth.

“What about your cards?”

Mom patted my ankle. “Don’t worry. I won’t miss any deadlines. The cards will be ready to ship by Saturday.”

Good. One less thing to worry about.

“Do you want to talk about what happened at school?”

I’d rather eat glass. “Not now.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Well, I was gluing the numbers on the clock when the school called…”

“Go,” I said. “Time waits for no one.”

“All right, if you’re sure.” Mom rose. “Shout if you need me.”

I gave her my most reassuring smile. After she left, I moved to the hearth and snuggled Baby. She placed a warm, sympathetic paw on my leg. “Do you remember the last time we saw Dad?”

Baby lowered her head.

“Right.” A sick feeling twisted my stomach. “Almost two years ago.” Halloween. Parvani and I had decided to enter the costume contest at school. Dad had promised to take pictures of us, but at the last minute he had accepted an assignment. He’d come into my room while I’d been shoving my Dr. Jekyll lab coat into my backpack.

“Hey, Kitten. You weren’t going to leave without saying goodbye, were you?” I could hear his voice as though it were yesterday.