Crossed Out (11 page)

I opened the door just enough for me to slip in.

Squeak
.

I cringed.

“Late again, Miss Stewart?” Mr. Johnson continued to write on the board. “Why aren’t we surprised?”

I felt all eyes on me. I tried to ignore the flush burning my face.

Okay, so this wasn’t the first time I’d been late. That kind of came with my calling. But come on. Did Mr. Johnson have to rub it in my face?

Hunching my shoulders, I walked to the front of the room.

Hillary and her friends glanced my way. As I passed them, Hillary pointed at my cotton capris. “
Eww
, where’d you think she got that outfit, Walmart?” Her friends snickered. But I didn’t care. After last night, the thought of denim or anything heavier against my eczema made me cringe.

“Well, since Miss Stewart has decided to grace us with her presence, we can start.”

I ignored his comment and slid into a chair next to Cura. “So what did I miss?” I glanced over at her notebook.

“Oh, we’re going over photo assignments. This should be interesting considering all the weirdness happening lately.” She glared at Hillary. “Don’t pay those phonies any attention. I don’t.”

It was sweet of her to act like it didn’t matter.

“Thanks.” I placed my half-eaten donut on the edge of the table and fumbled for my pencil.

“Late night?” Cura whispered. “ ’Fess up. Were you with that cute new guy, Mark?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

“Well, you aren’t the only one who had an all-nighter.” She nodded her head toward Dylan, slouching in his chair.

“Yeah, right.”

Mr. Johnson turned to face us. “Okay, anyone have some interesting photo ideas? Come on, people. We need to get on the ball with this.”

“What about the funky light show?” someone asked.

“Yeah, what’s with that?” Cura asked. “Did you guys see what happened yesterday in the cafeteria?”

A chill came over me and it had nothing to do with the temperature in the room.

I snuck a glance to the other side of the room toward Dylan. His face reddened.

He hadn’t changed his clothes from earlier this morning, but there was a ragged slit up the side of his shirt. His gaze met mine, then quickly slid away. Apparently this whole discussion bothered him too.

Cura elbowed me…hard.

“You saw it, right, Steph? What do you think it was?”

I shook my head, refusing to say anything.

“Come on class.” Mr. Johnson raised his hands to stop the sudden chatter over the weirdness at Sutter High. “Nothing strange happened. And even if it did, how can you take photos of it?”

“Uh, maybe it was someone from Burpie High,” I said, wanting this subject to end. “You know, playing a prank before this weekend’s game?”

“This weekend’s game? Where have you been, Miss Stewart? There is no game. If you paid more attention, you’d know that.”

I thought he’d leave it at that.

Instead, he came closer to my chair and leaned over, pointing his finger in my face. “I highly doubt anyone had anything to do with a so-called light show.”

I pulled away, hoping not to get a morning spray job.

“You need to take our planning meetings more seriously or maybe you shouldn’t bother coming.”

I gulped. That would be the worst thing. Mom would kill me.

“Maybe Stephanie knows something we don’t,” Hillary said. “I mean, about someone doing the whole light thing.”

Oh just great.
Now everyone is going to think I was behind the craziness – though that wasn’t too far off the mark. Oh, why didn’t I leave well enough alone?

“No?” When I didn’t answer, Hillary gave me an innocent look. “Didn’t think so.”

“Any other ideas, class … ones that don’t deal with imaginary light shows?” Mr. Johnson snickered, then walked back to the front of the room.

Dylan shot me a funny look. I couldn’t tell what he’d been thinking. I looked away, wounded that he didn’t at least stand up for me. But then again, he probably didn’t want others to know that he knew the truth about the paranormal activities suddenly happening in our school.

“What about covering the upcoming winter formal,” said Dylan. “I can cover it. I know how to use the new Cannon digital.”

“Why, yes, Dylan. That’s a great idea.” Mr. Johnson glanced my way. “It’s sure nice to know some students are actually serious about working on this yearbook.”

Cura rolled her eyes.

I slid further down in my chair, trying hard to tune out the snickers of Hillary and her friends.

Throughout the discussion of photo ideas and ads, I kept glancing at Dylan. Leaning back in his chair, his open jacket revealed his surfer bod. I resisted the urge to walk over and smooth back his messy blond hair.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stay mad at him. I remembered my first ‘visitation’ and how freaked out I’d been. Why should he be any different?

I wished for his gift of seeing lights around people.
What was he thinking? Did he hate me? Was he afraid of what others would do if they knew his secret?

Maybe we weren’t that different.

Finally the meeting let out. I had an overpowering urge to talk to Dylan. If he heard me out, he’d understand. Wouldn’t he?

Feeling better about my decision, I turned to Cura. “Meet you outside.” I shoved my notebook into my backpack. “Dylan and I need to talk.”

“He already left.” Cura gestured toward the door. “Jeez, what’s going on with you two?”

“Later, okay?” I rushed past a surprised Cura to the doorway. Hillary and her friends crowded the aisle.

“Hey, Steph. Problems in boyfriend land?” Hillary asked.

The only reason Hillary was on the committee was to get close to Dylan, who just happened to be assistant editor. I knew her interest shouldn’t bug me but it did. “Yeah, whatever.”

I tried to push past her but she got in my face. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, Stephanie but it isn’t going to work. Why don’t you just do like Mr. Johnson suggested?”

“And what is that?” I asked, refusing to back down from her.

Hillary snorted. “As if you don’t know. For all we know you could have been behind that whole cafeteria weirdness. I wonder what Dylan would think if he knew what happened at my house the other night? You know with the whole
Bloody Mary
thing.”

I clenched my hands, afraid to leave but knowing if I didn’t, I’d lose Dylan. But I couldn’t let her know how her words scared me.

“Like I said before – whatever.” I pulled my shoulders back. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Maybe you should be.” Hillary gave me one of her phony smiles.

I didn’t stay around to hear more. I pushed my way through. Later I could fantasize about different ways to get back at her. Right now I didn’t have time to deal with her. Not if I wanted to catch Dylan in time.

I ran outside. No one else had left the building yet. I knew I’d better make it quick. I didn’t want to risk making a scene and be the gossip of the morning.

I searched the parking lot for Dylan and found him standing by his truck, rummaging inside his pockets for his keys.

“Hey, wait up!”

Dylan glanced up. “Oh it’s you. What do you want?” Opening his car door, he turned his back and reached in for some of his books. He hadn’t cleaned up since early this morning. A ton of crap still cluttered the seat.

It didn’t help that I was still fuming over the Jessica’s veiled threat.

But dang it, I was furious. Now Dylan was brushing me off? No way he was getting off that easy. Not if I could help it.

“Where do you come off giving me the cold shoulder?” I set my hands on my hips. “Couldn’t you have waited around, instead of ditching me at the airbase?”

“Steph, leave it, okay?”

I knew I couldn’t leave it. How dare he leave me behind? I was so angry, I could just hit him.

“What’s with you, anyway? Lights? Water? Enlighten me. I don’t get it.”

Dylan glared at me, refusing to answer.

“I trusted you with…” I glanced around to make sure no-one was listening, “…my secret. Can’t you trust me?”

“No.”

“So, that’s it?”

“Yes. Now excuse me, I need to get to class.”

If he thought I’d let him off that easy, he had another thing coming.

“Dr. Anthony doesn’t think either of our gifts are strange. Can’t you...?”

At the mention of the counselor, Dylan turned and glared at me. “Something isn’t right with that man. This weirdness started with him, didn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re implying. If anything, he’s been helpful.”

“Jeez, Stephanie. Get a clue,” Dylan said. “That man is trouble.”

“How can you say that? You don’t even know him.”

“What’s there to know? Guys like him don’t just go out with girls like you at two in the morning.”

“It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Do I? After this morning I tend to disagree.”

“Oh?” I clenched my hands “Since when did you become my father?”

Dylan shoved a notebook into his backpack. He then stopped, pointing his finger at me. “Your mom doesn’t know, does she? She thinks you’re going to him for therapy sessions.”

My heart raced. Dylan might be a major pain in the ass but he wouldn’t squeal on me, would he?

“Keep my mother out of this.”

“Or you’ll do what?” He shoved another book in his bag. “Now that I think about it, all this weird stuff started to happen when that new dude, Mark, showed his pasty face. Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed it.”

“Whatever.” An image of Mark at the cafeteria the other day flashed through my mind. “You’re imagining things.”

“Yeah, right, play dumb.” Dylan snorted. “I know all this crap is tied to him somehow. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re working together.”

“Omigod, Dylan. Now who’s being paranoid? You can’t actually think that?”

“Sheesh, Steph.” He zipped up his bag. “Wake up and see what’s happening around you. That Mark dude is bad news. Trust me on that.”

Anger boiled inside me.

“How would you know? Oh, wait a minute here. Did the
lights
tell you?”

Dylan flinched. “That’s low, Steph, even for you.”

Deep inside I knew I’d crossed the line. I should stop and just walk away. But I couldn’t. How dare he tell me who to see and who not to?

“Well, what else would make you say those terrible things? Anyway, Mark understands me – something you sure as hell don’t.”

Dylan’s face reddened. “Yeah, right. I don’t care about you? Forget that I saved your sorry ass this morning. Where was lover boy, Mark? Let me see….” He tapped his finger against his chin. “Oh, right. I don’t care about you.”

“Dylan, that’s so unfair!” I banged my backpack against his truck. “Come on, let’s talk about this.”

He pushed past me. Some of the others were coming out of the building. A few, including Hillary, pointed in our direction. But I was too mad and hurt to be embarrassed.

Dylan continued walking, blending into the crowd.

“Whoa, what was that about?” Cura grabbed me from behind. “You two pissed off at each other?”

“Yeah.” I tried hard to keep the tears from coming. “You could say that.”

Chapter 17

Cura and I walked to our first class in silence. In between snaps of her bubble gum, she glanced over, waiting for me to break down and reveal what’d happened with Dylan. But I refused to open up, afraid of unleashing tears. I looked away, fighting back the painful ache in my heart. Why was he being such a butt?

The parking lot was now crowded with students and cars. Loud music blared from other cars, hip-hop tunes drowning out the pop songs. I kind of liked the beat. For a moment, it made me forget the mess that my life had become.

Cura stopped me at a vacant parking space next to the P.E. building – far enough away from the crowds but still close enough to class.

“You really shouldn’t let Hilabitch get to you. No way Dylan likes her.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Okay,” Cura said. “Are you going to tell me or what?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to go there.” I pulled away. “Let’s just get to class, okay?”

Cura stormed over to me, blocking my path. She put both of her hands on her hips, her black Kohl-lined eyes scrunched together into one mad line. In her Eagle Outlet mini-skirt, denim jacket, and boots, she was the picture of one fashionable, but upset friend.

So much for not mentioning the scene with Dylan. I should have known better. Silence and gossip didn’t go together. Well, not in Cura’s eyes.

“What’s the 411 on you two? Jeez, you’d think Dylan was mad or something.”

“You’d think?”

“Okay.” Cura took a deep breath. “What bit you on the butt?”

“Like I said before, nothing. End of subject. Talk about something else. What did you do Saturday?”

A dreamy smile flashed across Cura’s face. So much for worrying about me.

“You just missed the best part of the dance. Lots of cute guys showed up. Hey, what was so important that you couldn’t come?”

“I was doing a service project.”

“Oh, you mean something to help Ricky with his Peace Corps work in the Philippines? Cool.”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” An image of my furious mother – confronting me in the garage about my obsession with decorating crosses – flashed through my mind. Inwardly, I cringed. Well, I wasn’t exactly lying. She did have a letter from Ricky in her hand, while she ragged on me about desecrating yet another cross.

We raced up the stairs, barely missing a guy on his skateboard.

As usual, the hallway was packed. Kids were glued to their lockers, discussing their weekends or text messaging.

“Omigod!” Cura yanked me aside. “Check out who’s by your locker.”

“What?”

“Forget about jerky Dylan. It looks like Mr. Gorgeous is awaiting your presence.”

“What are you...?”

My feet stopped moving. The guy of my latest daydreams, Mark, was leaning up against my locker. He looked amazingly hot. An open, black leather bomber jacket revealed a tight white t-shirt. His slim body screamed for attention. Around his neck hung a small silver cross attached to a leather cord.