Nevermore

21 Motley Drama

Despite her extra-slow walk to Swanson’s class the next morning, Isobel’s heart raced in her chest. It thudded against her rib cage and pounded in her ears, the anticipation of seeing him again gripping her more tightly by the second.

She’d had to pace herself, not wanting to arrive too soon and be left sitting there, making it seem as though she was waiting for him. Then again, she didn’t want to get there too late and not get the chance to talk to him at all. Would he talk to her?

Isobel gripped her books against her chest, as though that could help slow her pulse. She wasn’t sure why it felt like such a big deal, anyway. It was just class, right?

Isobel entered Mr. Swanson’s room with her head down. She went straight to her seat, chancing only a quick glance in the direction of Varen’s chair. It sat empty in its corner.

She took her seat and, even though she told herself not to, watched the door.

Kids filed in. Chairs filled. The clock on the wall measured the minutes. The bell rang.

Varen’s seat remained vacant, leaving Isobel with the sensation that a boulder had somehow materialized in the pit of her stomach.

For the first twenty minutes of class, as Swanson scribbled across the chalkboard, she held on to the hope that he was just running late. Her gaze kept straying from her senseless notes to the door. But then, at half past, a sinking feeling overtook her as she realized he wasn’t coming.

Over and over she wondered where he could be. Her mind played out different scenarios, most of which involved the wrath of a certain ex-boyfriend.

Eventually Isobel gave up and zoned out. She spent the remainder of the period staring unfocused at Mr. Swanson, her gaze occasionally flickering to Varen’s empty seat.

“All right, remember, everyone,” Isobel heard Mr. Swanson say when the lunch bell rang, “projects and their presentations are due this Friday, that’s All Hallows’ Eve, as I’m sure I don’t need to remind you.” He smiled as everyone began to file out, his voice growing louder over the groans, Isobel’s among them. “I hope for your sake, though, that I don’t find them too terrifying. And just so you can’t say I didn’t tell you so, a no-show without a doctor’s note equals a no-grade. That goes for both you and your partner.”

In the hall, Isobel stopped, looking right and left. At no sign of his green jacket or black hair, her heart sank all over again. Where was he?

Isobel entered the lunchroom with unwavering tunnel vision.

Get in line. Get food. Pay. No eye contact. No talking.

After exiting the food line, she went straight to the empty table she’d ignored last time and set her tray at one end without so much as a glimpse in the crew’s direction, or the goths’, for that matter. She wasn’t going to give anyone the opportunity of shooting her so much as an ugly look today. Instead she’d keep her eyes on her tray and her focus on eating, and she’d direct her mind toward surviving the next twenty minutes.

As she lifted the first forkful of salad to her mouth, another tray hit the table, clanking down right in front of hers. Isobel lowered her fork and looked up.

From behind her owlish glasses, Gwen glared at her. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked. Wadding up her broom skirt, hiking it enough so that she could feed her skinny spandex-clad legs under the table, she slid onto the bench seat across from Isobel.

Isobel opened her mouth, not sure what to say. Was Gwen seriously going to sit with her? An overwhelming sense of gratitude welled up inside of her, nearly bringing a sting to her eyes. It was the nicest thing anyone had done for her in more than a week.

“What, were you dropped on your head as a kid?” Gwen railed. “First you hang up on me.” She held up a hand and ticked off fingers. “Then you don’t call me back, then you don’t even show up at your locker this morning to say why you didn’t call me back!”

Isobel chanced a look toward the floor-sitting group that she thought Gwen normally ate with. She received a few curious glances from some scraggly bearded guys and more than a few sneers from the bandanna-wearing girls.

“Hey, Earth to Isobel.” Gwen banged her spoon against Isobel’s tray. “Why the snap-crackle-pop didn’t you call me back?”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I forgot.”

“Well, I’m about to ‘Oh I’m sorry’ forget to tell you what I found out this morning.”

“Uh. What?”

Gwen grinned. Looking self-satisfied, she folded her arms. “No, I’m not tell—” but she stopped, her eyes growing round. Something over Isobel’s shoulder had caught her attention.

“Oh my.”

Isobel twisted in her seat. A hush fell over the entire cafeteria. All eyes focused on Mr. Nott, the assistant principal, who’d entered through the double doors, Brad on one side of him, a dark, familiar figure on the other.

“Oh, no,” Isobel said. She pressed both hands against the table and pushed herself up to get a better look. At the sight of him, a thrill of excitement mixed with nervousness surged through her. She scanned him, taking an inventory of all appendages and searching for any sign of bruises or blood or evidence of a fractured skull. His face still looked as perfect as it had the previous night, smooth and calm. Brad, however, stood scowling, his shoulders tensed, his hands clenched into fists.

The two boys broke away from Mr. Nott and strode in opposite directions, ignoring each other as well as the countless stares. Brad headed for the crew’s usual spot, while Varen, bypassing his own table, moved straight for her.

“Holy granola. He’s coming over here,” Gwen whispered, hands flapping, knocking over her yogurt cup.

Isobel took in a sharp breath as she watched him approach.

A brown paper lunch bag hit the tabletop. “Mind if I join you,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Gwen, in a flurry, scrambled to move down one seat.

“Hey,” he offered to Gwen as he slid onto the bench next to her, directly across from Isobel.

“Shalom,” she said, raising a hand.

“What the hell is that?” asked Varen. He nodded at Isobel’s tray.

Isobel sat stunned for a moment, her brain flatlining when she felt his knee brush hers. “Uh.” She shook her head. Why couldn’t she think straight? She glanced down at the soupy contents of her plate. Just tell him what it is. Simple. Look at it and say what it is. “Sloppy Joe,” she managed.

“Hmm,” he said, sounding doubtful. “May he rest in peace.”

“So, I don’t mean to be rude,” Gwen interjected, “but are you going to tell us what that was all about or what?” She jabbed a thumb toward the door through which he and Brad had entered.

Isobel’s eyes darted to Varen. Gwen, unlike her, seemed to have the audacious ability to jump in there and ask the hot-button questions. The girl was really starting to grow on her.

Varen sat very still, staring Gwen down in that withering way that always left Isobel wishing she could blend into the furniture. After an immeasurable moment, he blinked slowly and, turning back to Isobel, said, “Apparently, during football practice yesterday, somebody overturned your boy’s car in the school parking lot.”

“What?” Isobel and Gwen shouted in unison.

Several sets of eyes shot in their direction. The three of them ducked their heads and turned to their lunches. Gwen tore her grilled cheese sandwich in half. Isobel poked at her fruit salad with her fork, while Varen pulled a small Tupper-ware container out of the paper bag.

Isobel leaned forward over the table. “That’s what he must have meant last night,” she whispered.

His eyes locked on hers, causing a mosh-pit sensation to erupt in her stomach. When he looked at her like that, it was like he was trying to communicate through some form of telepathy. It was a language she wished she held the power to decipher.

“How did I not know about this?” Gwen wondered aloud. “And what? He’s trying to say that it was you?” She dipped an apple slice into her yogurt.

“I spent the better part of the last hour in Finch’s office being questioned. With your ex and his old man there, let me tell you, it was a real party,” he said.

“They seriously think you could have done that?” asked Isobel.

“Yeah, well, I tried to explain that my mind powers don’t work on Tuesdays,” he said, prompting Gwen to let out a tiny, hysterical, almost fearful laugh. She stifled it quickly by shoving half her sandwich into her mouth at once.

“Didn’t you tell them about what happened at the ice cream shop?”

“Wha happwn?” Gwen asked with her mouth full.

Varen shot Isobel a look of warning. “I told them I was at work when it happened. That should be enough, shouldn’t it?” He trailed off. “Hmm,” he muttered, his attention caught by something behind her. “Give me just a second.” He got up.

“Hey, is that hummus?” Gwen seized his Tupperware container.

“Knock yourself out,” he said, and dumped over the paper bag. A Ziploc pouch full of pita bread hit the table.

“Ohh, this looks like the whipped kind Mom used to get from Cohen’s Deli back in Brooklyn.” Gwen snatched up a piece of pita bread and scooped out a Ping-Pong-ball-size glob of hummus.

Glancing over her shoulder, Isobel watched Varen as he intercepted a dark-haired, Egyptian-eyed Lacy, who, it seemed, had been heading straight for their table.

Isobel felt her blood run suddenly hot beneath her skin. Something about them standing there together like that irked her. And then the girl reached out one lace-gloved, copper-toned hand to brush back a few locks from his ear. She stood on her toes, leaning in very close to whisper in his ear as her goddess eyes slid in Isobel’s direction.

Isobel whipped around to face Gwen again, balling her napkin into one tightening fist.

She felt sick.

Gwen shook her head, trying to swallow her mouthful of pita and hummus. “Mmm!” she said, gulping hard. “That’s what I had to tell you.”

A long shadow fell over the table. Gwen averted her gaze and started to nibble on another slice of pita.

“Can you meet me tonight? To work on the project?” Varen asked.

Isobel looked away. She shrugged. “I’m still grounded.”

From beneath the table, she received a kick to the ankle. She kicked back, aiming for Gwen’s shin, but missed. “But I’ll try,” she amended in spite of herself.

“Good. Listen,” he said, pulling a crumpled red envelope out of his back pocket. It was the same red envelope, Isobel knew, that Lacy had given him that morning after he’d stopped by her locker. “I’ve got to go return something right now, but I’ll find you later.”

“Sure,” she said. Then, as he turned to walk away, she called after him. “Hey!”

He turned.

“So, for real, we’re going to get this project thing done, then?” she asked.

He shrugged, walking backward. “Pending any unforeseen disasters . . .”

She nodded, and he turned to go, a group of tray-carrying sophomores clearing a wide path for him.

“Good,” Isobel said, standing. She picked up her own tray, Sloppy Joe remaining untouched. She looked at the cafeteria clock. Almost ten minutes left. It might just be enough.

“Wait a second.” Gwen rushed out of her seat and followed Isobel as she went to drop her tray at the dish-washing window. “Wait for me! I still have to tell you—where are you going?”

Gwen at her heels, Isobel hurried through the cafeteria doors. “There’s something I’ve got to do too.”