The Thief

I didn’t think I heard any of the rest of the lecture, but apparently my right hand could take notes separately from my brain, because when the bell rang I had a full three pages of scribbling about Demetrius and Hermia’s parallels to – I balked at my own handwriting – Romeo and Juliet? How had I missed the mention of my namesake? I sighed and hoisted my bag over my shoulder.

Mac approached with his tall friend behind him. He had the grace to look sheepish this time. “Sorry, that probably wasn’t the best intro ever.”

“Well,” I said, “I survived, I guess.” Boy, did I sound positive. I glanced fearfully at Mr. Tailor, but he was focused on Camille collecting her belongings, like she would steal something if he looked away. Teachers around here seemed to really not like her...

“We have chemistry with Ms. Miller next,” Mac explained, bringing my attention back to him. “She’s way nicer,” he said in an undertone. “The labs are down in the basement, did you want us to show you where? Oh, this is Destin,” he introduced his friend, the tall, lanky boy with dusky cinnamon-colored skin and overlong bangs. He gave an awkward wave.

A slender arm looped through mine. I looked in shock at the girl who’d moved up next to me; it was the blonde Model, with her matching friend in tow. “Let me save you the embarrassment,” she told me condescendingly, drawing a circle in the air around Mac and Destin with her finger. “This is a girl-free zone. Come on, we’ll show you where chemistry is.” She pulled me away before I could say another word. We passed Camille on the way out of the room and her brow creased slightly, noting my unexpected change in escort.

The Model weaved us expertly through the crowd of students changing classes. Some people even seemed to get out of the way for her. “Sorry about my little brother,” she said, in a melodious voice.

Her friend, on my other side, added, “He’s like a puppy that just won’t grow out of being a puppy.” She had an accent I couldn’t quite place - French, maybe?

“He sees new people and he just has to latch onto them,” said the Model.

Aren’t you the one latched onto my arm? I thought, but I’d never say that. Beautiful people never talked to me. They certainly never fought for my attention. This was arguably the most bizarre day of my life.

“Mac is your brother?” I asked. I suppose I could see the resemblance. The wavy blonde hair. Something about the nose.

“Too late to deny it,” she sighed dramatically. “I’m Hayley, by the way. Hayley Dupree. This is Amity Clairmont,” she introduced her friend on my other side. “You certainly made an impression on Tailor. Are you acquainted?”

I was having trouble paying attention simultaneously to the conversation and the stairs we were descending. Tripping would be very bad. “Um, no, I’ve never seen him before.”

“That’s interesting,” she said. “I missed your name when you came in. Julia, was it?”

“Jul,” I said. “Graham.”

“Graham,” she lit on the name, like she’d been waiting for me to say it. “You aren’t related to Bea Graham, are you?”

I couldn’t shake the feeling this exchange had been rehearsed. “Um, yes. She’s my grandmother.”

“That’s right, I think I heard you might be moving down here,” she said. “Is it true your father was kidnapped? That’s so horrible, it doesn’t seem like something that would happen in real life.”

The air around us had gotten cooler as we exited the stairwell. This had to be the basement level. Though the hall was just as long as it was upstairs, there were only a handful of doors. The classrooms here had to be quite large. Hayley and Amity led me down the hall. A couple of other students trickled in behind us.

“It’s um...I don’t...the police are still investigating, and...”

“Hmm,” she said, in disappointment. “There’s been so much gossip flying around and I wanted to know the real story. I’ve known old Ms. Graham my whole life, but she’s a pretty private lady, you know. I mean she lives just down the road, but the only person she’ll talk to is Mac when he cuts her grass, or if you go to the library. And honestly, who uses libraries anymore?”

I went to the library constantly. Most days it felt like the only place that was real.

“Well, here it is,” she said, finally releasing my arm and opening a door labeled B-2.

Inside, a woman in a white lab coat with long, frizzy red hair tied back in a braid hunched over a table of experiment materials, carefully dosing them out. A cabinet of ingredients stood open at the back of the room. She looked up at our arrival, and nearly dropped the beaker she was holding.

Yet another adult shocked by the sight of me.

“Kyra?” she gasped.

“Um, Jul,” I said. “Jul Graham?”

With a nervous laugh, she put a hand to her chest. “Oh! Oh, yes, of course! I should have known, I’m sorry. They did tell me you were coming. You must hear it all the time, but you look exactly like your mother. It’s uncanny.”

I blinked. My... “I didn’t know that,” I murmured.

No one mentioned my mother. No one ever mentioned my mother. Dad went into a rage if you even got close to the topic...

“I went to high school with her. Simon and John too,” Ms. Miller explained, in a pronounced southern accent. “The last time I saw her, she was about your age, so, you can imagine it’s a little like seeing a ghost. I see the difference now, though. Something about the eyes. And you’re taller, I guess. Hayley, would you be a dear and pass out these instructions?” She handed her a stack of papers.

Hayley’s immediate reaction was disdain, but she forced her face into an acquiescing smile. “Sure thing,” she said, moving to lay them out on the several two-person lab tables.

“Thank you. Oh, I’m Charlotte Miller, I should have said. This is chemistry,” she said, with a sweeping gesture. “I also teach theatre, if you end up taking that. How has your morning been? Not too bad, I hope?”

“She got Tailor’d,” said a familiar voice.

I turned; Mac and Destin had entered. His enthusiasm had tempered in the interim.

Ms. Miller huffed, one hand going to her waist. “I told him not to do that to new students.”

“I think he was just...um...surprised, is all,” I said.

“Hmm, that’s probably true,” she mused. “He and Kyra never did get along. Ah, and here’s Camille,” she said, smiling as the foreign girl entered the room.

I’d never seen anyone look simultaneously lost and calm, but Camille managed it. When her eyes lit on Ms. Miller she seemed to recognize she was in the right place.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I think new people should stick together, so I’ve put you at an empty lab table together,” Ms. Miller said, pointing toward a table near the back. “Across from Hayley, there. Will that do?”

“Um, sure,” I said. Camille shrugged.

“Go get settled in, we’re just waiting on a few stragglers,” Ms. Miller said.

Camille and I made our way to the back of the room. Our table was in the middle of three rows of two- person lab tables. Hayley and Amity were already seated at their table next to us. Mac and Destin apparently had a table up front.

Hayley turned her chair towards me, apparently not done with her interrogation. She ignored Camille entirely; the foreign girl was hunched over a notepad, scribbling aimlessly in one corner.

“So you’re from New York?” Hayley asked. “You must know where all the good stores are.”

“Not really,” I admitted.

“Oh.” She made a delicate frown. “How about plays? Do you see many of those?”

I shook my head.

“You live in New York and you don’t see plays?” she exclaimed. “Isn’t that the whole point?” She gave me a look of suspicion. “You’re not one of those people who sit inside and play video games all day are you?”

“No...” Without a computer or a game console, that would be difficult.

“Hmm,” she intoned, like I’d still somehow failed a test. She looked up; her face immediately brightened. “Kei, did you find it?”

It was Him. The guy from the atrium and the bored guy with the overstyled hair had come in. My face flushed and I reflexively became very interested in the experiment instructions on my desk.