Complementary and Acute
Copyright 2015 Jennifer Fitzpatrick
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
About Ella Lyons
Other books by Ella Lyons
Acknowledgements
For Juli, of course
Chapter One
The tiny dorm was just as they’d left it at the end of last term, all honey-pale hardwoods and soft gray walls. The school’s laundry service had already come and gone, leaving their beds dressed in crisp white linens. “Home sweet home,” Jac Flores said, dropping her bag on the floor and flopping down on her bed. She toed off her shoes, which went flying across the small room and landed with twin thumps in front of the dresser.
Anabelle Horton grimaced. Honestly, she didn’t even have that many rules for their room. And not leaving your shoes where Anabelle—who was awkward on her best day and downright clumsy on all the others—would fall and break her ankle was just polite. And as her best friend since their first day at Dearington, Anabelle thought it only fair that Jac be polite.
“Jac, your shoes,” she said, but even as she spoke she walked across the room and picked them up. She carried them over to Jac’s closet and lined them up carefully on the top shelf. She hadn’t unpacked her orange oil deodorizing spray yet, so they’d just have to wait until she could get into her suitcases.
“Leave them alone,” Jac said, rolling over, her black curls trailing behind her. How had her hair grown that much in the three months since they’d finished their junior year? Anabelle’s had hardly budged. She’d even waited eight weeks between trims instead of six, and still her hair barely reached her shoulders. She wished she could go back in time and talk herself out of that stupid bob she’d thought was so adorable last spring. Her face was far too round and her hair far too straight to pull it off. She’d spent weeks looking like a drowned cherub. “Come cuddle me. I missed you.”
“In a second,” Anabelle said. She adjusted Jac’s shoes and then, satisfied, straightened out the curtains she’d sewn to cover the closets. She still thought closet was a generous term. It was hardly more than a recess in the wall with a bar and a shelf tacked up on the wall. But the curtains were a pretty yellow, and they matched the pillows Anabelle had made for their twin beds. It could be worse. The girls across the hall just left theirs open and piled their shoes in on top of their laundry and field hockey crap. Their room smelled like boys. Anabelle hated it.
“My shoes will still be there in ten minutes, but I’ll have wasted away from lack of cuddles.”
With a roll of her eyes and a laugh, Anabelle flopped down on Jac’s bed. Her body curved into Jac’s automatically, and Jac pillowed her head on Anabelle’s shoulder.
“Better?”
Jac hummed and butted her head into Anabelle like a kitten. “It was a long summer.”
Anabelle tugged on one of Jac’s curls, just to hear her indignant squawk, then she slid her fingers between Jac’s silky curls and petted her scalp. “We texted almost every day.”
“No, I know,” Jac said, rubbing her cheek against Anabelle’s shirt. “Just, other stuff. Senior year, you know?”
“Senior year,” Anabelle agreed. “Did you get your schedule yet?”
Jac went quite still “What?”
“Your schedule,” Anabelle repeated. “Have you got yours yet? I’ve got AP English at 8 on Mondays. In what world is that fair?”
“Oh, um. I haven’t looked at it yet.”
“Is it in your notebook?” Anabelle asked. She gathered up Jac’s curls and smoothed them away from her face. “I’ll get it.”
Jac sat up quickly, and she reached over and yanked her bag into her lap. “Why does it smell like lavender in here?” she asked, holding the bag against her chest.
Anabelle had filled little sachets with dried lavender and stuck them in all the drawers so they wouldn’t come back to school and find their room smelling like baked asshole. She normally would tell Jac so, because there was little Jac enjoyed more than poking fun at Anabelle, but she was too confused by how weird Jac was being to offer it up for her enjoyment. “I think it’s your perfume.”
Jac snorted. “Right,” she said. “Because that’s a thing I’m wearing.”
“Aren’t you?” Anabelle asked. Jac had just been pressed all down the length of her, and Anabelle thought she’d smelled very nice—like flowers or something. “You smell all florally.”
Jac lifted her arm and sniffed her wrist. “Oh man, it’s that lotion my mom made me put on in the car. I smell like a funeral parlor. Can you really still smell that?”
“I think it’s nice.”
“Then you can have it,” Jac said, wrinkling up her nose and rubbing her wrist with the cuff of her jacket. “I’m sure she hid it in one of my bags somewhere. Look in that big pocket where—”
“Why won’t you let me see your class schedule?”
Jac stopped rummaging around in her bag and sighed, dropping her chin to her chest. Anabelle’s heart skipped. “Jac? What is it? What’s wrong?”
“It’s just—oh God, okay, don’t be mad?”
“I won’t be mad if you tell me what’s going on.”
With a fleeting glance up at Anabelle, Jac cleared her throat. “The thing,” she said slowly, “is that I dropped math.”
“You dropped…you dropped math? You mean you dropped our AP trig class? Jac, why would you do that? We were going to co-captain Number Ninjas together!”
“Number Ninjas,” Jac said, forcing a smile. When Anabelle didn’t return it—her heart was beating too hard for her to find anything funny—the smile slid off Jac’s face, and she dragged her fingers through her hair, biting her lip. “Okay, Annie—”
“Don’t call me Annie, I think I’m mad at you.”
“I had to drop trig, because it’s at the same time as the GLG course.”
Anabelle was so upset she hardly even registered Jac talking. But when she did, the whole world lurched around her, then snapped back into focus. She knotted her hands together and frowned. “What do you mean, the GLG course? You’re taking GLG instead of trig? Jacqueline Flores, you’d better be teasing me right now.”
“I’m not teasing. I registered at the end of last term.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Anabelle said sadly. She shifted away from Jac and tucked her feet up underneath her, spreading her skirt out over her thighs. She frowned at the little pink stripes. This had been her favorite new school dress, and now it was tainted with Jac’s betrayal. “Number Ninjas, Jac. Our senior year! We were going to co-captain.”
For a long moment, Jac didn’t answer. Anabelle looked up and found Jac staring at her with her head cocked to one side, like an owl. She widened her dark brown eyes and held her hands out, palms up.
“Are you upset at me for enrolling in the Girls who Like Girls program? Or are you upset at me about Number Ninjas?”
“Number Ninjas,” Anabelle said, narrowing her eyes. “Obviously.”
“So you’re fine with me being a lesbian? Because that was sort of my way of telling you.”
“Jacqueline,” Anabelle said slowly, because her best friend was clearly an idiot, “I couldn’t give a shit about that. Why on earth would I care if you’re a lesbian?”
“Because you have to share a room with me? Because you have to share a bathroom with me? And I, you know. Want to kiss other girls.”
“Okay, I don’t have to do anything. I want to share a room with you, though God knows why, because in your life you’ve never put anything i
n a hamper, but—wait.” Anabelle straightened up and pointed a finger at Jac. “When you say you want to kiss other girls, do you mean other than you? Or”—she pointed at herself—“or other than me?”
Jac tossed her head back and laughed, then lurched forward and wrapped her arms around Anabelle’s neck. “You are the best friend in the whole world,” she said, squeezing tightly. “Thank you for not being weird.”
“Why would I be weird?” Anabelle said, ignoring the way her heart felt a little queer in her chest. “Who you kiss isn’t my business.”
Jac squeezed again, then let go and straightened up, wiping at her eyes. They were bright and shiny, and Anabelle’s stomach gave an unhappy lurch at that. She hated it so much when Jac cried. She’d rather cut off her own foot than watch it. In a desperate attempt to stop it happening, she bounded off the bed and grabbed the bag Jac had dropped on the floor.
“I’m going to start unpacking your stuff,” she said quickly, carrying it over to their little shared dresser. They had all afternoon to get sorted, but that was no reason not to get started now. It always made sense to be prepared.
* * *
Jac was already down at breakfast the next morning when Anabelle finally dragged herself out of bed. Normally it was the other way around, especially on Mondays. Jac hated mornings and more often than not, Anabelle had to wrap up a bagel and take it to her in their first period class, but Anabelle had tossed and turned the night before, her mind whirling like a washing machine stuck on the spin cycle. There was so much to be done before Number Ninjas started up for their fall competitions, and Anabelle had been counting on Jac to co-captain the team with her. Now she had to find another co-captain—not likely at this late date—or do it all on her own.
Anabelle pulled her hair up into a ponytail and tied it with a ribbon, then hustled down to the dining hall, glancing at her watch. Twelve minutes before the first bell. Two minutes to get to the hall, then seven minutes for a bowl of cereal, then three minutes to get to AP English. Did she have all her books in her bag? Anabelle forced herself not to stop and check. Of course she had all her books. She’d packed them last night, and then double-checked around two when she couldn’t sleep for thinking about Jac.
No, not about Jac. About the Number Ninjas. Anabelle didn’t really care if Jac was taking different classes than her. They were 17 now; there was no reason they had to coordinate their schedules like they’d done in the past. They weren’t scared little 6th graders anymore, adrift in a sea of the unknown. They both had friends at Dearington, and they didn’t need to live out of one another’s pockets. Anabelle just wished Jac had talked to her about it before enrolling in GLG. Heck, Anabelle had recruited Jac to help her with a Pro/Con chart before she’d cut off her hair, and that had still gone wrong. How could Jac be sure about this course without discussing it at length?
A tiny thought pressed in at the back of Anabelle’s mind, but she shoved it away and quickened her steps. She pulled open the door to the dining hall and checked her watch. Ten minutes until the first bell. Exactly on schedule.
A quick survey of the dining hall didn’t reveal Jac anywhere so Anabelle revised her plan and grabbed two bagels—one with cream cheese, one plain—a carton of orange juice, and a to-go cup of black coffee with two packets of sugar. She wrapped the bagels in napkins, shoved them in her bag, and set off for the English hall.
English wasn’t Anabelle’s best subject. She did all right at it, but she’d barely squeezed out the grade to get into the AP class this year. She wasn’t going to mess it up by being late on the first day.
Mrs. Graves class was at the end of the English hall, and as Anabelle stepped in, she saw that Jac was already inside, seated against the back wall and deep in conversation with a girl Anabelle didn’t recognize. She tightened her grip on her orange juice and walked over to her.
“Hey.”
Jac looked up and grinned. “Morning, sleepy-head.”
“I didn’t see you in the dining hall. I brought you a bagel.” She held out the coffee.
The girl sitting beside Jac smirked. She was very tall and very thin, and had very short hair that was shaved on one side. There were about a dozen earrings in one ear and none in the other. “That’s coffee, love, not a bagel.”
Anabelle’s face went hot. “The bagel is in my bag.”
“I had a granola bar, but I’ll take the coffee,” Jac said. She reached up and took it from Anabelle. “Thank you.”
“Welcome,” Anabelle said, not mentioning that they weren’t supposed to have food in their rooms. She felt wrong-footed and uncertain, and didn’t particularly like how this new girl had angled her desk towards Jac’s. But it was fine. Whatever. It was Monday, and Anabelle was tired, and nervous about Number Ninjas. There was nothing to be bothered about. She slid into the seat on the other side of Jac and uncapped her orange juice. Everything was fine.
Anabelle didn’t get a moment alone with Jac until lunch, when the dark-haired girl finally gave Jac a one-armed hug and disappeared out to the courtyard. Jac tucked her arm into Anabelle’s and they headed back to the dining hall for spaghetti. Anabelle was careful to make sure Jac put at least a small amount of salad on her plate, even if she wasn’t likely to eat it. There was always a chance, after all, and at least this way she’d have it if she decided she wanted it.
“So who was that?” Anabelle asked, once they’d found a table and unwrapped their silverware. Anabelle placed her napkin in her lap and carefully tore off the corner of her salad dressing packet. The dark-haired girl had been in all three of their classes that morning, and Anabelle wasn’t any closer to liking her than she had been in AP English. She’d spent all morning drawing all over her notebook—not even just in the margins, but on the actual page where she ought to be taking notes!—and staring out the windows while passing notes to Jac. No, Anabelle wasn’t sure about her at all.
“Who?” Jac asked, shoving her salad out of the way and scooping a big forkful of spaghetti onto her garlic bread. “Mrs. Tithers? She’s been the lunch lady since we started here.”
“No, not her. The other girl. The one with the hair.”
Jac grinned around her mouthful. “Who, Dahlia?”
“I guess.”
“Just a friend,” Jac said. “I met her last year.”
“Oh.” Anabelle poked at her salad. She speared a piece of spinach, a cucumber, and a sliver of tomato. “I don’t know her.”
“I met her when I was looking into the GLG course. She helped me figure out which classes to enroll in. There’s one that’s all about full faith and credit across state lines that I’m really excited about. She’s cool.”
Cool. Anabelle nodded and took another bite of salad. Spinach, cucumber, tomato. “So you talked to her about GLG last year?”
“Yeah,” Jac said. She was shoveling in spaghetti nearly faster than she could chew. “She was really awesome about answering questions and stuff, you know?”
No, Anabelle didn’t know, but she nodded anyway. “So are you two, like…” She waved her fork. “Together?”
Jac choked on her lunch, went bright red, and had to gulp down half her soda to stop coughing. “Who, me and Dahlia? No! She’s just my friend. You know lesbians can be friends with other lesbians without being girlfriends, right?”
“Of course,” Anabelle said, desperately wishing she hadn’t brought the subject up. She didn’t want to think about Jac having a girlfriend. She didn’t want it at all. “You guys just seemed pretty close.”
Jac took another swig of soda and shook her head, her mouth still turned up into a grin, and Anabelle felt herself softening. It was hard to feel anything but happy with that smile turned on her. Girlfriend or not, Jac was Anabelle’s favorite person in the whole wide world. She was just glad they were back together again. That was more than enough.
Chapter Two
Five people showed up for the first meeting of the Number Ninjas, which was three
more than Anabelle was expecting. Two of the girls were returning seniors, and one was actually quite good with numbers. The other couldn’t even do division in her head, and had confided to Anabelle last year that she only stayed on the team because it looked good on college applications. The other three girls were all juniors, and two of them had letters of recommendation from Mr. Akins, the head of the math department. Anabelle read them carefully, then placed them in her notebook to file when she got back to her room. Then she stood up and clapped her hands together.
“Right! So. Welcome to the first meeting of the Number Ninjas. I’m Anabelle Horton, and I’m your senior captain.”
One of the junior girls raised her hand. “We get extra credit for this, right? Mr. Akins said we get extra credit.”
Anabelle sighed. “Yes, you get extra credit. But more than that—”
“How much extra credit? If I get all B’s, my mom said she’ll buy me a car next summer.”
“It’s really up to Mr. Akins. Last year everyone got five points on their mid-term and their final, and then five points on their final grade.”
“Five points? I heard—”
“You have to talk to Mr. Akins about extra credit,” Anabelle said, raising her voice and holding up a hand. “I don’t have anything to do with that. My hope is that you’ll find Number Ninjas fulfilling even without extra credit.”
Most of the girls looked at Anabelle doubtfully, and she suddenly missed Jac with a desperate twist of her stomach. Jac would have stopped the girls talking over her, and would have nodded at her encouragingly and made it seem like Number Ninjas was the greatest thing at Dearington. It wasn’t, of course, but Jac made Anabelle feel like it was okay that she thought it was.
“I’m going to pass out a quick test—”
“A test?” cried one of the girls.
“An evaluation of skills,” Anabelle said. “Just to see where everyone is. Then I can create a practice plan. Our first meet isn’t until November, so we’ve got plenty of time to get ready.”
Half an hour later, Anabelle sat alone in the math classroom, skimming their work and trying not to despair. She hadn’t expected juniors to know advanced trig, but basic geometry? She wrote theorems down on her notepad and underlined it twice. Lucky she was done at two-thirty on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. It was going to be a job trying to get the team in shape.