The Winter Lodge (7 page)

“You doing all right?” he asked her. “Still a five?”

She was surprised he remembered that. “I’m too confused to feel anxious.”

“The good news is, everyone’s breaking for lunch.”

“Thank God.”

They got in the car and he said, “Where to? The bakery? Back home to rest?”

Home, she thought ruefully. “I’m homeless, remember?”

“No, you’re not. You’re staying with me, for as long as it takes.”

“Oh, that’ll look good. The chief of police shacking up with a homeless woman.”

He grinned and started the car. “I’ve heard worse gossip than that in this town.”

“I’m calling Nina. I can stay with her.”

“She’s out of town at that mayors’ seminar, remember?”

“I’ll call Laura.”

“Her place is the size of a postage stamp.”

He was right. Laura was content in a tiny apartment by the river, and Jenny didn’t relish the thought of squeezing in there. “Then I’ll use this debit card at a B&B—”

“Hey, will you cut it out? It’s not like I’m Norman Bates. You’re staying with me, end of story.”

She shifted in her seat to stare at him, amazed by his ease with the situation.

“What?” he asked, glancing down at his crisp shirt and conservative blue tie. “Did I spill coffee on myself?”

She clicked her seat belt in place. “I was just thinking. One way or another, you’ve been rescuing me ever since we were kids.”

“Yeah? Then you’d think I’d be better at it.” He dialed the steering wheel one-handed, heading down the hill toward town. He put on a pair of G-man shades and adjusted the rearview mirror. “Either that, or your dragons are getting a lot harder to slay.”

Four

D
aisy Bellamy stood on the freshly shoveled sidewalk in front of Avalon High School. She gazed up at the concrete edifice of her new school while her heart tried to beat its way out of her chest.
Her new
school.
It was one of those brick Gothic buildings so common in old-fashioned small towns.

She couldn’t believe it. Once a girl from the Upper East Side, she was now, in her last semester of school, a resident of Avalon, here in the heart of nowhere.

I really screwed up this time, she thought, feeling sick to her stomach.

Was it only two weeks ago that she’d been a senior at an exclusive prep school in New York City? That was a lifetime ago. Since then, she’d left school in disgrace and now this. Now her dad had forced her to move to Sleepy Hollow, and she had to finish her senior year here with the Archie Gang, at a public high school.

Of course, everyone said, in the most caring fashion, moving here and changing schools came about because of a bad choice Daisy made.
Bad choice.
What a riot.

So now she stood in the middle of the frozen tundra surrounding her, and she felt completely detached from the scene. It was like an out-of-body experience, where she was hovering unseen somewhere, gazing down at herself, a lone figure in the snow, with a kaleidoscope of babbling strangers circling around her, oblivious to her presence.

No. That wasn’t right. Not everyone was oblivious. A pair of girls spotted her, then put their heads together and immediately started whispering. A moment later, a pack of guys tossing a football back and forth checked her out with measuring glances. Their low whistles and apelike sounds rolled right over her like a bitter wind.

Let them whisper. Let them jeer. What the hell did she care about any of this?

She brought her attitude with her into the main office of the school. A blast of damp heat filled the room, redolent of wet wool and whatever else a public high school smelled like. Daisy undid her Burberry muffler and pulled off her Portolano gloves. People on the other side of the scarred wooden counter were busy on the phone, staring at computer monitors or sliding messages into a row of mailboxes.

A tired-looking woman at a desk marked Attendance Clerk glanced up at her. “May I help you?”

Daisy unbuttoned her faux fur-trimmed suede jacket. “I’m Daisy Bellamy. Today’s my first day.”

The clerk sorted through the stacking trays on her desk. Then she picked up a file folder and came over to the counter, moving with a pregnant woman’s waddle. Her stomach was enormous. Daisy tried not to stare.

“Oh, good,” the clerk said. “We’ve got all your records right here. Your father stopped by on Friday and everything is in order.”

Daisy nodded, suddenly feeling overheated and nauseous. Her dad would be here right now, except that she’d begged him not to come. Her brother, Max, was only in fifth grade, she’d argued. He needed their dad way more than Daisy did. Way more.

The clerk explained Daisy’s schedule to her, handed over a map of the building and traced directions to her homeroom. She also told her where her locker was located and gave her the combination. There was a complicated system of bells—first bell, assembly bell, lunch bell…but Daisy barely listened. She glanced at the room number on her pink slip, left the office and headed into the tile-walled halls of her new school.

The corridor was jammed with loud kids and the smell of damp winter clothes. The sounds of slamming lockers and laughter filled the air. Daisy found the locker assigned to her, dialed the combination and swung open the metal door. The former occupant had shown a fondness for hip-hop, judging by the intricate, interlocking graffiti drawn inside.

She put away her jacket, muffler and gloves. It had been tempting, this morning, to wear something low-key, something that wouldn’t attract attention, but that wasn’t Daisy’s style. The only possible advantage to changing schools midyear was that for the first time in her life, she would go to a school that didn’t have a strict dress code. She took full advantage of that and showed up today in low-cut jeans and a cropped argyle sweater that showed off one of her many recent rebellions against her parents—a belly-button ring. She had no idea if Archie’s Gang would appreciate her Rock & Republic jeans or Pringle of Scotland sweater, but at least she felt good in them.

She walked into room 247, strolled past the other students and found the teacher’s desk.

Was
this
guy a teacher? He hardly looked old enough, in slightly wrinkled chinos, a more-than-slightly-wrinkled blue oxford shirt and an adorable but crooked paisley tie.

“Daisy Bellamy,” she said, handing over the new-student folder the attendance clerk had given her.

“Anthony Romano,” said the teacher, standing up and favoring her with a warm smile. “Welcome to Avalon High.” He had a kind of puppylike charm, with those big brown eyes and that eager-to-please attitude. “You want me to introduce you to the class?”

At least he had the consideration to ask. And he seemed so chipper, she hated to burst his bubble.

She nodded—might as well get this over with—and turned to face the busy, noisy classroom.

“Hey, listen up,” said Mr. Romano in a surprisingly authoritative voice. He punctuated the imperative by knocking on the blackboard. “We have a new student today.”

The words
new student
worked like magic. Every pair of eyes in the room turned toward Daisy.

She just pretended she was in yet another school play. She’d been into drama since playing a Christmas-pageant cherub at age four, right up to playing Auntie Mame in last year’s spring musical. She simply treated the homeroom class like an audience, offering a hostess’s smile.

“This is Daisy Bellamy. Please make her feel welcome and show her around, okay?”

“Bellamy like the Camp Kioga Bellamys?” someone asked.

Daisy was surprised that the name Bellamy actually meant something around here. Back in the city, you had to be a Rockefeller or carry the name of a clothing label or hotel chain in order for kids to think you were anything special. She nodded. “My grandparents.”

The name Kioga conjured images of the family property high in the mountains outside of town that had once been famous as the summer watering hole of well-heeled New Yorkers. The camp had closed down a long time ago, but it still belonged to the family. Daisy had only been there once, last summer.

She’d worked for her cousin Olivia, renovating the place for their grandparents’ fiftieth anniversary celebration.

“Daisy, why don’t you take a seat right here, between Sonnet and Zach.” Mr. Romano indicated a right-armed desk between a boy with light blond hair and an African-American girl who had supermodel cheekbones and a wicked manicure.

“Thank God,” Sonnet said. “Now I don’t have to look at him.”

“Hey,” Mr. Romano warned.

“Whatever,” Sonnet said, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms.

Daisy expected the teacher to eject her—that would have been the procedure at her old school—

but instead, he turned his back on her and went to write some reminders on the chalkboard.

“Kolache?” asked the kid named Zach.

Daisy realized he was speaking to her and holding out a golden-brown pastry on a napkin. Its fresh, sweet smell made her slightly nauseous. “Oh, that’s okay,” she said, taken aback. “I’ve already had breakfast.”

“Thanks.” Sonnet reached across the desk and snatched it out of Zach’s hand.

“Oink, oink,” said Zach.

“It speaks.” Sonnet nibbled at the pastry. “Maybe it can do some other tricks.”

“I’m working on making you disappear,” Zach said.

Daisy felt as though she was at a Ping-Pong match, watching them trade insults back and forth.

She cleared her throat.

“I work at the Sky River Bakery,” Zach said conversationally. “Early shift. So every morning for fresh pastries, I’m your man.”

“We’ve all got to be good at something,” Sonnet said with a pitying glance in his direction.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m good at making them and Sonnet is good at eating them, as you can tell by the size of that ass.”

“All right,” Daisy said suddenly, understanding why the teacher had placed her between these two.

“Do we kill him now or wait until the bell rings?”

Sonnet shrugged. “The sooner, the better, as far as I’m concerned.”

Zach stretched, and folded his hands behind his head. “You need me, and you know it. You’d die of withdrawal symptoms if I didn’t bring you a pastry every day. You guys hear about the fire?” he asked, changing the subject. “Jenny’s house burned down.”

“Bullshit,” Sonnet said.

“It’s not.” He held his arms wide, palms out. “Swear to God, I’m not making this up. It’s probably in the paper.”

Daisy listened with interest. She had a sort of crazy family tie to the bakery. It was owned by Jenny Majesky—she assumed this was the “Jenny” Zach was talking about. Jenny was the daughter of Daisy’s uncle Phil. So that made them cousins, though they were virtually strangers.

“Is Jenny okay?” Sonnet asked.

“Fine. I’m surprised she’s not with your mom.”

“Jenny and my mom are best friends,” Sonnet explained to Daisy. “And my mom’s out of town at a mayors’ convention. She’ll be back later this morning.”

“Oh,” Daisy said. “Does she work for the mayor?”

Sonnet took a bite of her kolache. “She
is
the mayor.”

“Hey, that’s awesome,” Daisy said.

“Not for long,” Zach interjected. “My dad’s running against her in the next election.”

“Yeah, well, good luck with that,” Sonnet said with airy confidence.

“He’s the city administrator and he’s saved the city a fortune. People love that,” Zach countered.

“Yeah, they love it when you cut services, like closing the municipal pool. What’s he going to close next, the library?” She finished eating the kolache and wiped her hands with a napkin.

Announcements crackled over the PA system, drowning the conversation. There was a meeting of the debate club after school. Ice-hockey practice and a 4-H Club sugaring-off party, which sounded wholesome, but Sonnet whispered that it was a chance for the 4-H’ers to go out into the woods, boil maple sap into syrup and get high while doing it. Then—Daisy couldn’t believe it—everyone stood up, turned to face the flag in the corner of the room and said the Pledge of Allegiance. The words came to her from some hidden well she thought she’d forgotten.

“Let’s have a look at your schedule,” Zach said.

Daisy spread it out on the desk and the three of them studied it.

“Whoa,” said Zach. “Calculus and honors physics? And AP English? What are you, a glutton for punishment?”

“I didn’t get to pick,” Daisy explained. “At my old school, I had to take five AP courses.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “It was a really hard school.”

“So you’re halfway through senior year, and they made you move to the boonies,” Sonnet said.

“That’s harsh.”

“I begged my dad to let me stay in the city,” Daisy said, though beg was a euphemism for screaming fit. “I even said he could homeschool me, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Why not?”

“He claims he doesn’t remember calculus. And I was, like, fine, we’ll fail it together, because I don’t understand it, either.”

“Probably not the best way to convince him,” Sonnet said. “I’m surprised they even have classes for you here.”

Daisy decided not to tell her that technically, she probably had enough credits to graduate early.

The only problem with that was, if she left school, then she’d have to get a life. And she was totally not ready for that.

By comparing notes, she discovered she had several classes in common with either Sonnet, or Zach, or both. Sonnet was some kind of accelerated brainiac. Though only sixteen, she would graduate with the seniors in June. And Daisy figured out that even though Zach and Sonnet teased each other, they were kind of into each other. But there was definitely a rivalry going on.

“It’s a little weird,” Zach agreed. “I can’t wait to get the hell out of here. My college apps have been in since October. What about you?”

Daisy stared down at her pristine, empty notebook. “I applied,” she admitted. The counselor at her other school had practically held her under house arrest, making her fill out applications. “I don’t really want to go to college,” she confessed.

Sonnet and Zach seemed to take it in stride. At Daisy’s old school, saying “I don’t want to go to college” had the impact of saying “I have an STD.” People stared at you, hiding their disgust behind pity.