Halo

20 Warning Sign

I opened the door of the Literature classroom to find Jake Thorn sitting casually on the edge of Miss Castle’s wooden desk, his eyes fixed on her reddening face. I realized they hadn’t heard me come in when neither looked my way. Jake’s glossy dark hair was combed smoothly away from his face. His cheekbones looked razor sharp, and his cat-green eyes watched Miss Castle intently with the hypnotic quality of a snake about to strike. A red rose lay on the desk, and I saw that his long, slim hand rested lightly over hers. There was no sound in the room other than Miss Castle’s shallow breathing.

“This is inappropriate,” she whispered.

“According to what laws?” Jake’s voice was low and confident.

“The school’s for one. You’re my student!”

Jake gave a low chuckle. “I’m all grown up — old enough to make my own decisions.”

“But what if we’re caught? I’ll lose my job, I’ll never be able to work as a teacher again, I’ll…” I heard her sharp intake of breath as Jake pressed a finger against her lips and then slid it teasingly down till it rested in the hollow of her throat.

“We can be discreet.”

Just as he leaned toward her and Miss Castle closed her eyes, there was a loud bang from behind me, followed by a stream of cursing. Ben Carter had just arrived and accidently jammed his bag in the door. Jake sprang up from the desk with a feline grace while a flustered Miss Castle shuffled papers and tried to smooth her hair.

“Hi,” Ben grunted as he pushed past me to his seat, oblivious of the exchange he had just interrupted. He threw himself into his chair and scowled at the clock. “I’m not even late.”

I took a seat behind Ben as other students began to file into the classroom and stared studiously at my desk. Someone had scratched into the desktop, “English Is Death. Death Is Crap.” I didn’t want to look at Jake; I was shocked by what I’d seen. I knew I had no right to be. Jake was eighteen, he was entitled to make a play for whoever he liked. But Miss Castle was a teacher; surely she deserved more respect. I shook my head resolutely; it was absolutely none of my business.

I should have known he wouldn’t let me get away with ignoring him. He slid into the seat beside me.

“Hello,” he said, his voice slick as oil. His eyes were even more captivating than his voice. When I looked into them, it was hard to look away.

Things were starting to change at Bryce Hamilton. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what had changed or when, but the school felt different. There was cohesion where there had only been disparity when we first arrived. Involvement in school activities had never been so popular, and judging by some of the posters that had appeared around the place, there was a new awareness of global issues. I could claim no credit for these improvements; I’d been far too preoccupied with fitting in and getting to know Xavier to have given much thought to anything else. I knew the change was due entirely to the influence of Gabriel and Ivy.

From the outset, people in Venus Cove recognized Ivy’s commitment to helping others. Although she didn’t attend the school, she was busy gathering support for various causes from animal welfare to environmental issues. She campaigned for these in her usual soft-spoken manner — she didn’t need to be loud to get her point across. Bryce Hamilton had asked her to speak at assemblies to inform the students of upcoming charity drives and fund-raisers being held in town. If there was a cake drive, car wash, or Miss Venus Cove competition to raise money for a good cause, Ivy was usually behind it. She seemed to have created an entire social service program within the town, and a small but growing number of volunteers opted to help out on Wednesday afternoons. The school had even introduced a volunteer program as an alternative to afternoon sports. This involved helping out at local charity groups, shopping for elderly members of the community, or working at the soup kitchen in Port Circe. Some people, admittedly, feigned interest as an excuse to get closer to Ivy, but most were genuinely inspired by her dedication.

However, with only two weeks left until the senior prom, all social service projects were temporarily abandoned. The mood of the girls at school was bordering on obsessive. It was hard to believe the time had passed so quickly. It seemed like only yesterday that Molly had circled the date in my planner and berated me for my lack of enthusiasm. To my surprise, I now found myself as eager as everyone else for the big night to arrive. I clapped and squealed along with the rest of the girls whenever the subject came up and didn’t care how puerile it looked.

On Friday I met Molly and the girls out front after school for our long-anticipated shopping trip to Port Circe. Port Circe was a large town just a half-hour train ride south. With a population of some two hundred thousand, it was significantly larger than Venus Cove, and many of the people living in our sleepy town commuted there daily for work, while the teenagers went there to shop or to sneak into nightclubs using their fake IDs.

Gabriel had handed me a credit card along with instructions to be sensible and a reminder of the irrelevance of material goods. He knew how dangerous it was to let a pack of teenage girls loose with a credit card, but he had nothing to worry about; my chances of finding something I liked were slim. I was particular when it came to clothing and I had a very clear picture of how I imagined myself looking on the night of the prom. I had set my standards rather high. Just for that night, I really wanted to look as well as feel like an angel on earth.

I was nervous as we headed down the main street toward the station. This would be my first experience on public transportation. Much as I was looking forward to it, I couldn’t help feeling a little apprehensive. When we got there, I followed the others through an underpass and up onto an old-fashioned platform. We lined up at the booth and bought tickets from a gruff man with gray whiskers behind the window. He shook his head at the racket the girls were making, and I gave him an apologetic smile as I tucked my ticket safely into my wallet.

We moved to sit on the wooden benches lining the platform and waited for the four-fifteen express to arrive. The girls continued to talk over one another and typed text messages at lightning speed, arranging to meet up with boys from Saint Dominic’s school in Port Circe. Molly announced she was thirsty and bought a can of diet soda from a vending machine. As for me, I was relaxed and comfortable until the arrival of the train sent me into shock.

It started out as nothing more than a rumble in the distance, like a peal of thunder. But it grew steadily louder, and soon the platform was vibrating beneath my feet. From out of nowhere the train came barreling down the tracks, at such a speed, I wondered how the driver would manage to stop. I jumped up and pressed my back against the wall of the waiting bay as the train cars, which looked poorly secured, clattered noisily to a halt. The girls stared at me.

“What are you doing?” Taylah asked, looking around self-consciously to make sure nobody had witnessed my display.

I eyed the train suspiciously. “Is it supposed to make that noise?”

The metal doors opened and people spilled out in a wave. I watched one set of doors snap shut again, catching the hem of a man’s overcoat. I gasped and the girls howled with laughter. The man banged angrily on the train doors until they sprang open again. He stalked off, throwing us a livid look as he passed.

“Oh, Beth,” Molly sputtered, clutching her abdomen as she shook with laughter, “you’d think you’ve never seen a train before.”

The heavy row of interlinked metal boxes looked to me more like a weapon of mass destruction than any form of reliable transportation.

“It doesn’t look all that safe,” I said.

“Don’t be a baby!” Molly grabbed my wrist and hauled me toward an open door. “We’re going to miss it!”

Inside the train wasn’t so bad. Molly and her friends threw themselves down on a row of seats, ignoring the irritated glances they received from passengers whose space they had invaded. As we rattled toward Port Circe I sat perched on the edge of my seat and watched the people around me. I was surprised at the array of characters that mass transit attracted, from executives in business suits to sweaty schoolkids to an elderly bag lady wearing fur-lined moccasins. I wasn’t very comfortable being surrounded by all those people and nearly being jolted from my seat each time the train jerked to a stop, but I told myself I ought to be grateful for every human experience I could get. All too soon it would come to an end.

When we reached our stop, we joined the crowd pushing their way off the train and into the main square of Port Circe. It was certainly a far cry from sleepy Venus Cove. The streets were wide, rectangular, and tree lined. Church spires and skyscrapers were silhouetted against the horizon. Molly insisted we weave our way across the congested roads rather than waste time finding the crosswalks. There were shoppers everywhere. We passed a homeless man with a white beard sitting on the cathedral steps; the wrinkles around his droopy eyes were as deep as crevices. He’d draped a gray army blanket over his shoulders and was banging a tin cup. I dug in my pocket for some change, but Molly stopped me.

“You can’t just go up to strangers like that,” she said. “It’s not safe. He’s probably a drug addict or something.”

“Does he look like a drug addict?” I objected.

Molly shrugged and walked ahead, but I turned back to press a ten-dollar bill into the man’s hand. He gripped my arm. “God bless you,” he said. When he looked right past me, I realized that he was blind.

The girls decided we should split up. Some went to a little boutique in a cobbled lane off the main square, while Molly, Taylah, and I went to a big department store with a revolving glass door and a checkered marble floor. I was glad to get out of the frenzy of the street and turned my face up toward the air-conditioning vents on the ceiling.

“This is Madison’s,” Molly explained as if she were speaking to a Martian. “It’s split over five levels and sells just about everything a girl could need.”

“Thanks, Molly, I think I get the general idea. Where’s ladies’ wear?”

“We’re not going anywhere near there. That’s for losers. We need Mademoiselle, which is on the third floor. They’ve got some great stuff, and it’s cheaper than those little exclusive places. Just because Megan’s got cash coming out of her butt…”

It took two hours of combing through the racks and the help of some very tolerant sales assistants before Molly and Taylah finally found dresses they were satisfied with. They went through rack after rack, discarding outfits because they looked too frumpy, too slutty, too middle-aged, too dorky, or not sexy enough. Forgetting that they’d debated this before, they launched into a drawn-out discussion about the perfect hemline. Apparently just above the knee was too schoolgirl, below the knee was geriatric, and mid-calf was only for people who bought their clothes at thrift shops. That left only two acceptable options — mini or floor-length. This they discussed as though it were a matter of national importance, until the discussion broadened to ruffle or no ruffle, strapless or halter, satin versus silk. I followed them around like a somnambulist, trying my best to keep up and not look as weary as I felt.

After what seemed like endless deliberation, Taylah settled on a short, backless taffeta dress in a peach color that kicked out at the hem. It served the purpose of showing off her toned legs even if, in my opinion, it made her look like a walking cream puff.

I spotted something I thought would suit Molly’s coloring perfectly and pointed it out to her. The shop assistant instantly agreed with me. “That color would look great on you,” she said to Molly.

“It is beautiful,” Molly agreed.

“So?” said Taylah. “Try it on.”

When Molly emerged from the dressing room, it was as though she’d undergone a transformation from gangly schoolgirl to goddess. Even other shoppers stopped to admire her. We made her spin around in order to appraise her from every angle. The dress was an off-the-shoulder, Grecian-style gown with a delicate gold chain over the bare shoulder. The fabric wound around her hourglass figure in soft layers, then pooled on the floor like liquid. But it was the color that was most incredible. It was a dazzling bronze that shimmered when the light caught it. It picked up the russet tones of Molly’s curls and heightened her peaches-and-cream complexion.

“Wow…,” breathed Taylah. “I think we found your dress. You and Ryan are going to look stunning together.”

“Wait, he asked you?” I said.

Molly nodded. “He took his time, but yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

“It’s not, like, major news or anything.”

“Are you joking!” Taylah cried. “You’ve been going on about him for weeks. Everything is perfect now. You got everything you wanted.”

“I guess so,” Molly nodded, but her face was lacking its usual enthusiasm. Was she thinking about Gabriel? I wondered if maybe Molly was changing and Ryan Robertson with all his good looks and bulging muscles just wasn’t enough to satisfy her anymore.

For Taylah and Molly the agonizing search was over and relief showed plainly on their faces. Shoes and accessories could wait; they had found dresses that suited them perfectly. I, on the other hand, had seen nothing even remotely appealing. The dresses were all more or less the same: either too busy, covered in sequins and bows or too nondescript. I wanted something simple yet striking, something that would allow me to stand out from the crowd and take Xavier’s breath away. It was a tall order, and I didn’t like my chances of finding it. Part of me felt ashamed of my newfound vanity, but my desire to impress Xavier was stronger.

“Come on, Beth!” Molly said, folding her arms obstinately. “There must be something here you like! We’re not leaving till you’ve found it.”

I tried to protest, but now that Molly had her outfit all organized, she threw herself magnanimously into helping me find one. On her insistence I tried on dress after dress, but none of them felt right.

“You’re nuts,” she said, after an hour had passed. “Everything looks stunning on you.”

“Yeah, you’re so thin,” said Taylah through gritted teeth.

“Here’s one!” cried Molly. She pulled out a white satin dress with pleats that opened like a fan. “A Marilyn Monroe replica. Try it on!”

“It’s lovely,” I agreed. “But not what I’m looking for.”

She sighed and thrust the dress back onto the rack.

I left Madison’s with the meager purchases of a bottle of nail polish called Whisper Pink and a pair of sterling silver hoop earrings. It had hardly been worth the time and effort.

We met up with the others at Starbucks. Various designer bags were scattered around their feet, and three boys in striped blazers had joined them. They were stretching back in their chairs, enjoying the girls’ shameless flirting.

“I’m starving,” Molly announced. “I’d kill for one of those giant cookies.”

Taylah wagged a finger at her. “Salad until after the formal,” she said.

“You’re right,” Molly groaned. “Is coffee allowed?”

“Skim milk, no sugar.”

By the time I got home my despondency was hard to disguise. The shopping expedition had failed to deliver, and I didn’t know where I was going to find a dress. I’d scoured the shops in Venus Cove weeks ago and all that remained were a couple of thrift stores.

“No luck?” Ivy didn’t sound surprised. “Did you have fun at least?”

“Not really. It was a waste of time. There are only so many dresses you can try on before they all start to look the same.”

“Don’t worry — you’ll find something. There’s still plenty of time.”

“It won’t make any difference; what I want just isn’t out there. I shouldn’t even bother going.”

“Come on now,” said Ivy. “You can’t do that to Xavier. I have an idea. Why don’t you tell me the kind of dress you’ve got in mind and I can make it for you.”

“I can’t ask you to do that! You have more important things to think about.”

“I’d like to do this for you,” said Ivy. “Besides, it won’t take me long, and you know I can make exactly what you want.”

I knew she was right. Ivy could become a skilled seamstress in a matter of hours. There was nothing she and Gabriel couldn’t do if they had a mind to.

“Why don’t we spend some time this afternoon going through magazines and see if there’s anything you like?” Ivy asked.

“I don’t need a magazine. I can picture it in my head.”

My sister smiled. “Okay, then close your eyes and send it to me.”

I shut my eyes and imagined the night of the prom. I saw Xavier and me standing arm in arm under a canopy of fairy lights. He was wearing a tux and smelled fresh and sharp. A shock of hair fell across his eyes. I stood beside him, and in my mind’s eye I saw the dress of my dreams. It was a shimmering ivory gown with an undergarment of soft cream silk and an overlay of antique lace. The bodice was studded with pearls and a row of satin buttons lined the fitted sleeves. It had a scalloped neckline with an intricate gold trim of tiny rosebuds. The material seemed to be woven with little fragments of light and emitted a faint pearly glow. On my feet I wore the daintiest, beaded satin slippers.

I looked at Ivy sheepishly. It wasn’t exactly the simplest of requests.

“Piece of cake,” said my sister. “I can whip that up in no time.”

At lunchtime on Monday I sat alone in the cafeteria. Xavier was at water-polo practice, and Molly and the girls were on the prom committee and had a meeting of their own to discuss the final decorations and seating arrangements. As I sat and picked at my wilted lettuce, people looked at me curiously, probably surprised to see me unaccompanied, but I hardly noticed them. As usual, Xavier occupied my thoughts, even more so when we were physically separated. When I found myself calculating how many more minutes needed to pass before I could see him again, I decided I should be making better use of my time and headed for the library. The senior library was the one space where solitary activity was considered acceptable. I planned to use the rest of the lunch break looking up the causes of the French Revolution.

I had just grabbed my books from my locker and was taking the short cut across a narrow walkway when a voice called out from behind me.

“Hello there.”

I turned to see Jake Thorn leaning against a brick wall, his arms folded across his chest. His dark hair framed his pallid face, and his lips were curled in a sardonic smile. He now wore the Bryce Hamilton uniform but with a distinctive style of his own: He was tieless and the collar of his shirt was turned up. Instead of a blazer he wore a hooded gray windbreaker. His trousers hung loosely from narrow hips and he was wearing white oxfords instead of the regulation school shoes. I noticed for the first time that he wore a diamond stud in his left ear as well as the mysterious pendant around his neck. He took a long drag of his cigarette and blew a ring of smoke into the air.

“You shouldn’t smoke here,” I cautioned, wondering how anyone could so openly flout the school rules. “You’ll get into trouble.”

“Will I?” Jake feigned concern. “This happens to be known as smokers’ corner.”

“There are still teachers on duty.”

“I’ve noticed they never come this far — they sort of hover near the staff-room steps counting the minutes until they can get back to their coffee and crosswords.”

“I think you’d better put that out before someone notices,” I said.

“If you say so,” Jake replied.

He crushed the butt under the heel of his shoe then kicked it into a garden bed just as Miss Kratz, the ancient and crabby librarian, scuttled past, eyeing us both suspiciously.

“Thank you, Beth,” he said when she was out of earshot. “I think you just saved my skin.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, flushing at his dramatic expression of gratitude. “It’s hard when you don’t know the ropes. You must have had a lot of freedom at your old school.”

“Let’s just say I took some risks. Some didn’t pay off — hence my exile here. You know, the ancient Romans preferred death to exile. At least mine isn’t permanent.”

“How long are you staying?”

“As long as it takes for my character to be reformed.”

I laughed. “Is there much chance of that?”

“I’d say there was every chance given the right influence,” said Jake meaningfully. He narrowed his eyes suddenly as though something had just occurred to him. “I don’t often see you alone. Where’s that smothering Prince Charming of yours? Not sick, I hope.”

“Xavier is at practice,” I said quickly.

“Ah, sports — the invention of pedagogues in an attempt to keep raging hormones in check.”

“Sorry?”

“Never mind.” Jake rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. “Tell me, I know your boyfriend is an athlete, but is he any good at poetry?”

“Xavier’s good at most things,” I boasted.

“Really? How lucky for you,” Jake said, arching an eyebrow.

His behavior was confusing me, but I certainly wasn’t going to make him aware of that. I decided the safest thing to do was change the subject. “So where are you staying?” I asked. “Close to school?”

“At the moment I’m living in the rooms above the tattoo parlor,” said Jake. “Until more permanent accommodation can be organized.”

“I thought you’d be with a host family,” I said in surprise.

“Well, that would be like staying with boring relatives, wouldn’t it? I prefer my own company.”

“And your parents are okay with that?” I was uncomfortable with the idea of him living on his own. Even though he sounded mature and worldly, he was still a teenager.

“I’ll tell you all about my parents if you tell me about yours.” His dark eyes burned into mine like lasers. “I suspect we have a lot more in common than we realize. By the way, what are you doing Sunday morning? I thought we might work on our masterpiece.”

“I have church on Sunday.”

“Of course you do.”

“You’re welcome to come along.”

“Thanks, but I’m allergic to incense.”

“That’s a shame.”

“It’s the bane of my existence.”

“Well, I have to go and study,” I said, moving past him, aware of the minutes slipping by.

He stepped casually in front of me. “Before you go, I have the opening line of our poem.”

He dug a crumpled ball of paper from his pocket and tossed it lightly to me. “Don’t be too hard on me — it’s only a beginning. We can take it anywhere you like from here.”

He flashed me a smile and sauntered away. I moved over to the closest bench and smoothed out the paper. Jake’s handwriting was elegant and narrow, the letters elongated; nothing like Xavier’s boyish print. Xavier hated cursive; it took too long and looked too fancy. Jake’s writing was like calligraphy, the letters swirled across the page as though they were dancing. But it was the seven words he had written that sent my mind into a spin: