********************
“No speeding,” my grandmother remarked sternly, her voice echoing in the empty ballroom. She eyed Darren closely.
“I never speed, Mrs. Adams.”
My grandmother shot him a look before continuing. “You are not to deviate from the agreed -upon course. You are to take her straight to school and then bring her straight back here. You will not, on either trip, make a stop at your family’s seldom used boathouse—I trust the reason for this request is self-evident.”
Darren’s face turned bright red and he nodded.
“Very well, then,” she said with a sigh. When she turned her attention to me, standing beside him, her face softened. “Have a wonderful day, sweetheart. And please remember what we discussed last night.”
“I will.”
No sooner had the words left my mouth, had Helena come running in with a telephone, handing it to my grandmother. She spoke briefly into the receiver and then hastily excused herself. This left Darren and I alone in the ballroom.
“Nice shirt,” he said with a smirk, pointing to the grinning cowboy.
“Yeah, Helena thought I’d like it,” I said grinning. “I don’t think she read the back though..."
I turned and he read aloud, “Mamas don’t let your babies grow up to ride cowboys…Nice.” He laughed out loud. “Explains the goofy grin.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, better get going,” he suggested. “We’re already running late.”
I followed him outside. We walked a short distance to a small parking area flanking the house where his SUV was parked.
“That’s very red,” I commented.
“All my cars are,” he returned, nonchalantly.
“How many do you have?”
“Oh, just three.”
“Just three? And you’re aware of the fact that you can only drive one at a time?”
“You say that now,” he said grinning. “But wait ‘til you get your license. You’ll be whipping around here in a Ferrari or something.”
I shook my head. “I could never spend that much on a car. My mom did her best, but there were times when I was a lot younger when we’d have to split a can of soup. I know what it feels like to go to bed still hungry—I’d rather give that money to someone who needs it.”
There was complete silence after that. Way to go Ana.
“I’m sorry,” I said, staring down at my shoes. “I shouldn’t have said anything—I mean, who am I to stand here and preach to you—“
“It’s okay,” he said, smiling awkwardly. “You’re right—“
“Well hello there!” shouted the enormous Latino boy who had just popped his head through a backseat window. “This is the first time Darren here’s ever picked a girl up for school before. You must be special.”
“Shut up, Carlos,” Darren sighed.
“Dude, she might even be the one!”
“Ignore him,” Darren suggested, shaking his head as we rounded the truck. His voice dropped to a whisper. “He’s not one of us, so no witch talk.” I nodded and he opened my door, practically lifting me up to my seat. I pretended not to enjoy it. I doubt I did a very good job.
“I don’t mind sitting in the back,” Carlos announced once Darren had climbed into the driver’s seat. “But you do remember what you said last week, right? You know, Bro’s over—“
“Dude!” warned Darren.
Carlos dissolved into laughter. “Okay, I’m done. I swear.”
I watched Darren as we followed a thin paved lane back toward the main road. It was quickly becoming apparent, given various statements made by his grandmother, my grandmother, and now his friend Carlos; that the version of Darren I was getting to know, wasn’t quite the same boy everyone else here knew him to be. Not that I minded. If anything, I thought it was sweet of him to try to impress me.
As we moved along the two-lane highway, Carlos and I took turns pointing out mansions. He explained that he’d never been this far into “Old Brighton” before because he’d only ever been to Darren’s house, and that was right on the border.
“Old Brighton?” I wondered aloud.
“Yeah,” he replied, grinning. “You rich kids get to stay here in freakin' paradise, while the rest us are forced to live in the most boring place on earth—New Brighton.” He turned to Darren. “Why are you so quiet today, man?”
“You do enough talking for the both of us,” Darren responded. Carlos hooted and gave him a light punch on the shoulder. Darren looked over at me, smiling that confident smile and I felt my heart flutter.
“Man I can’t wait to see London!”
“London, England?” I asked, turning around in my seat.
“Huh?” said Carlos.
“You said that you can’t wait to see London.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t say anything like that.”
I turned to Darren. He shook his head. “I didn’t hear him say anything, Ana.” Even still, he shot Carlos a knowing look.
I turned back around, and stared at Carlos. I searched his eyes; like my mother used to check to see if I was lying to her. He held up for a moment, but then his eyes dipped downward. "I know what I heard," I said calmly. This time he didn't offer a rebuttal. In fact, he didn't say anything else at all.
Like Carlos had predicted before our disagreement, the moment we passed into the part of town called “New Brighton,” the two-lane highway twisted to the left and quickly became four lanes, with the large mansions being replaced by abandoned strip malls and dingy looking fast food restaurants. The town had an inherent deadness to it that was palpable, especially evident in the faces of people who were riding in adjacent cars or listlessly crossing the street.
The school turned out to be the exception. It looked like a small college. Four small buildings surrounded one very large building, with an enormous football stadium looming in the background. We turned by the sign that read “Heathwood Academy High School,” and followed a line of cars past a fountain and up to the front of the largest building. As the truck slowed, I realized that I was being dropped off.
“We’ll be in building four, so we probably won’t see you until lunch,” Darren said.
“How will I know where to go?”
“Just tell them that you’re a new student." He winced. “They’re gonna make you sit through freshman orientation though.”
“Okay,” I conceded with a nervous sigh.
The cars behind us began to honk their horns so I stepped out of the car.
“It was nice to meet you Carlos,” I said politely, an attempt at making up. He didn’t answer. He was staring at me like I was an alien or something. The SUV began to pull away and Carlos kept staring. I must have really made him upset.
At the top of the stairs, standing in front of the wide glass doors, were a group of girls in navy blue shirts and extraordinarily tight fitting khaki pants. One of them stepped up to greet me. “Is this your first time at Heathwood?”
I nodded.
“Great!” she said with a big smile. It was so wide it startled me, and annoyed me a little. False niceness was one of my pet peeves. “Let me escort you—“
“I’ll take this one Meagan,” said a tall, slender girl with sand colored hair as she stepped forward from the group. I couldn’t help but stare. She was stunning. Her hair reached the middle of her back and her eyes were like big drops of the caramel on either side of her face. She smiled at me too.
“Follow me please.”
I did as she asked. She led me into the building, past a boy in a bumblebee costume (who I could only hope was the school mascot) and into the first door on the right. We had arrived in what looked to be the main office; a long barrier separated three long lines of students from two middle-aged men and a very feisty looking elderly woman wh
o was leaning over a microphone.
“Students with late registration must wait until all registered students have received schedules. No exceptions!”
The woman seemed to be looking directly at us when she said the last part. My guide rolled her eyes and waved me toward the School Secretary’s office. I followed her with my feet; half the boys in line had followed her with their eyes.
“Hello, Mr. Bonderman,” she said in a sugary sweet voice.
“Oh, hello Ms. McArthur,” he replied, visibly flustered. My eyebrows jumped at her last name—so this was Aspen’s older sister. She must be a witch too.
“What can I do for you today?” he continued.
“My cousin arrived in town only two days ago and could really use a copy of her schedule.”
He looked at me and muttered something about this not being his job. “I’ll have to check her status. What’s your name?”
“Anastasia Aleksandra Adams.”
“Okay, Ms. Adams, it appears that we've only received your records just this morning. I’m afraid we won’t be able to do anything until after all the pre-registered students have been assigned classes.”
That didn’t sit well with my guide. She frowned and then whispered something under her breath. “Cheating on your wife while she’s in the hospital? Shame on you, Mr. Bonderman.”
All the color drained from Mr. Bonderman’s face. Mine too.
She shook her head. “ICU Section 4, Room 223. Am I right?”
Mr. Bonderman just stared. Perspiration had begun to show on his forehead and his lips trembled when he tried to speak. “W-what do y-you want?”
Her voice regained its sweetness. “Schedule please.”
Mr. Bonderman looked to me and I quickly looked away. What had just happened?
Thirty seconds later I was being led out of the office, schedule in hand. She seemed uninterested in me now and I wondered if her willingness to help wasn’t just an excuse to go torture Mr. Bonderman. She informed me that she would escort me to the auditorium for orientation, but added that if I needed more help after that, not to come looking for her. However, that was hardly the information I was interested in at the moment.
“What happened back there?” I asked her as we walked.
A guilty smile spread across her face. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” I looked over my shoulder and then lowered my voice. “Was that magic?”
She shook her head. “We don’t discuss that here.”
“He didn’t deserve that,” I said as we approached the auditorium doors.
She stopped in her tracks and spun around to face me. There was a crowd gathered here and we now had their full attention. “Before you go feeling all sorry for Mr. Bonderman, know that his wife has terminal cancer and he goes around hitting on high school girls like he’s seventeen. That is the very definition of a creep. Secondly, if at any point in the future you should wonder what you did to make me hate you like I do, just know that it probably had something to do with you showing up to school with my ex—“
“Is everything okay here, London?” asked a silver haired woman who'd just stepped out of the auditorium.
“Yes, Mrs. Moorer,” she answered innocently. “I was just telling one of our new students what’s what here at Heathwood.”