Ancient Forces Collection (38 page)
“Look out!” Darryl cried.
Scott jumped aside, and the pointer hit the floor, barely missing his feet. He threw a look at the girl in black, certain she had flung it across the table at him.
But the expression on her face said she was just as surprised as him.
Or was she?
“You okay?” Julie Mitchell asked as she toweled off her thick blonde hair and approached Rebecca’s gym locker.
“Sure.” Rebecca winced while pulling her jeans up over her skinned knees. “Nothing a brain transplant couldn’t fix.”
It had been nearly an hour since her little crash-and-burn routine on the track. Of course, everyone had gathered around her, making a big deal of the whole thing, and, of course, she wanted to melt into the track and disappear. But that was an hour ago. Yesterday’s news. Now most of the girls had hit the showers and were heading home.
But not Julie. It was like she purposely hung back. Becka glanced at her curiously. There was something friendly about Julie, something caring. Becka had liked her immediately . . . even though Julie was one of the best-looking kids in school.
“The team really needs you,” Julie offered.
“As what? Their mascot?”
Julie grinned. She tossed her hair back and reached over to slip on a top-of-the-line, money’s-no-object, designer T-shirt. “Seriously,” she said, “I’m the only long-distance runner we’ve got. Royal High has three killers that bumped me out of State last year. But if you work and learn to concentrate, the two of us might give them a run for their money. You’ve got the endurance. And I’ve never seen anyone with such a great end sprint.”
“Or such klutziness.”
Julie shrugged. “You’ve got a point there,” she teased.
Becka felt herself smiling back.
“Anybody can learn form and style,” Julie continued. “That’s what coaches are for. And if you add that to your sprint, we just might be able to knock Royal out of State.” She rummaged in her gym basket, then bit her lip and frowned. “Shoot . . . don’t tell me I’ve lost it.”
Becka rubbed a towel through her hair, then sighed. Her hair was mousy brown and would dry three times faster than Julie’s. The reason was simple: Becka’s hair was three times thinner. Yes sir, just another one of life’s little jokes with Becka as the punch line.
Julie’s search through her basket grew more urgent.
“What are you looking for?” Becka asked.
“My pouch . . .” There was definite concern in her voice as she continued pawing through her clothes.
“Pouch?”
“My good luck charm.”
Becka wasn’t sure what Julie meant, but she gave a quick scan along the bench.
“I just hope nobody stole it,” Julie said.
Becka spotted something under the bench. It was partially covered by towels. She reached for it and picked up a small leather bag with rocks or sand or something inside. A leather string was attached at the top so it could be worn as a necklace.
“Is this it?” Becka asked.
Julie relaxed. “Yeah. Great.” She took it and slipped it around her neck.
Becka watched, fighting back a wave of uneasiness. She tried to sound casual as she asked, “So, what’s in it?”
“I don’t know.” Julie shrugged. “Some turquoise, some powders, herbs — that sort of stuff. The Ascension Lady puts them together for us — you know, for good luck.”
“ ‘Ascension Lady’?” Becka asked.
“Yeah,” Julie fingered the little pouch. “’Course I don’t believe in any of that stuff. But with the district preliminaries coming up, it doesn’t hurt to play the odds, right?”
Becka’s mind raced. She wanted to ask lots more about the pouch and this Ascension Lady, but Julie didn’t give her the chance.
“Listen, we’ll see you Monday,” she said grabbing her backpack. “And don’t be bummed, you did fine. Besides,” she threw a mischievous grin over her shoulder, “we can always use a good mascot.”
Becka forced a smile.
“See ya.” Julie disappeared around the row of lockers and pushed open the big double doors. They slammed shut behind her with a loud
click, boooom.
Becka didn’t move. She sat, all alone . . . just her and the dripping showers.
Her smile had already faded. Not because of the pain in her knees or even because of the memories of her fall.
It was because of the pouch. She’d seen pouches like that before. In South America. But they weren’t worn by pretty, rich, athletic teenagers who wanted to go to State track championships.
They were worn by witch doctors who worshiped demons.
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