The Thief

“What! Two?”

I peer around the corner into the foyer, where he’s looking. He’s not kidding; two unknown girls stand among the mix of people. One is short, blonde, and surly looking.

The other is a goddess. She has skin the color of pale milk chocolate, hair that gleams near-black, and smooth, delicate features. She’s looking around in a sort of controlled terror, pursing her plush lips. A flightless angel lost in the woods. I have to help her. My life has no other purpose.

My feet start moving me forward. But before I can even get around the corner, a large, thick-fingered hand reaches out to shove me, and I slam back against the lockers. I glare up at Chase Armstrong, a senior the size and shape of a bear. His name is a little too appropriate.

“You been having fun with my locker, midget?” he rumbles at me.

“Not in recent memory,” I snap, peeved that he’s blocked my view of my Reason For Existence.

“That’s funny. You’re funny. So funny I think I’ll take it out of your hide. Hope that soda was worth it.”

“Soda?” I object. “What soda? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The one you swiped from my locker, dork. It was in there last night, and now it’s gone.”

“Do I look like I’m stupid enough to smash open the locker of someone who could sit on me to death?”

“It’s not smashed, the lock was picked or something,” he says, his eyes narrowing. “Nerd territory.”

“Our lockers were hacked last night too,” Destin speaks up, though he cringes when Chase’s attention moves to him. “We didn’t do it.”

He regards us both with suspicion. “If you didn’t then who did?”

“Ninjas,” I say offhand, ready to be far away from this conversation.

“Ninjas,” Chase repeats.

Destin coughs. “Yes, our current theory is ninjas,” he says. “It’s part of a conspiracy involving the school’s foreign investors, and it’s only just now starting to affect the students. This is the first of many manifestations to come. It seems you’ve been chosen, just as we have. You’re one of us now,” he says solemnly, patting Chase on the shoulder.

“That’s it, I’ve had enough of you two freaks,” he growls, smacking Destin’s hand away. “Just keep away from my stuff alright?” He storms off down the hall, big arms swinging.

“Nice save,” I tell Destin.

He sighs. “Ninjas? Seriously? Were you trying to get hit in the face so you could show your imaginary girlfriend your manly scars?”

“For the last time, she’s not imaginary, she’s - oh!”

I quickly round the corner, looking for the girl of my dreams, but Principal Umino has already captured her and is leading her away to her office. Opportunity missed. But there will be others. I swipe my unruly blonde hair out of my eyes. The gears in my head start turning.

“Whatever you’re thinking of, it’s a bad plan,” Destin warns.

“Go on to class without me, then,” I say. “Because I think it’s a great plan.”

Chapter 4

Jul

earlier that morning

The rising sun glinted off the hood of Bea’s ancient Cadillac as she drove me to school. The drive had been silent but for the rattling of the engine and a back hubcap that occasionally jangled. I should have been used to being ignored, but was I crazy to hope for some kind of conversation?

The first day of school loomed ahead, a monolith in my mind. Well, not the first day of the school year - the semester was already well underway. But it would be the first day for me to attend. Transmute had been the word of the day on my calendar, and the chance to be someone else was not lost on me - a new place meant the opportunity to make new first impressions. Trying to invent a better impression than I usually made, however, was agony.

I had spent hours last night trying on every single piece of clothing I owned about twelve times each, desperately hoping that the next time I went to my closet I would have something magical and wonderful inside that would prepare me for today. It had taken me so long to fall asleep I’d overslept and ended up having no time to get ready anyway. I’d settled with a blouse and capris, hastily pulling my hair into a loose ponytail over my shoulder. Transmutation, it was not.

“There may be afternoons where you’ll have to walk back,” Bea said, finally breaking the long silence. “It’s not all that far, and on Thursday and Friday afternoons I work at the library. It’s a straight walk through the woods. Here’s the school, on the left - someone spent a pretty penny on that place, that’s clear.”

She was not lying. Though it had been nothing but the same two-lane road surrounded with trees since we’d left her house, the car rounded a corner and suddenly a school stretched out in front of us, a giant building of grey stone that looked very out of place for the deep south. The combination of brick and stone in the architecture lent it a kind of earthiness, and the drab grey tones and stiff geometry gave an air of prestige. The climbing vines and loosely manicured shrubberies added to an overall vibe that put words in my mind like “east coast” and “Ivy League.” It did not look like it had only been built a few years ago – whoever maintained the landscaping had to be very good. I had to forcefully remind myself that, though not in eyeshot, not three miles away was a dying strip mall housing an adult video store, two barbecue joints, and a check-cashing service. It had taken less than ten minutes to drive, and most of that had been to skirt the forest – loathe as I was to walk, the forest path Bea had talked about would certainly be a more direct route, though it would probably still take longer.

Bea pulled her ancient Cadillac into the parking lot, and my nerves resumed jangling where the hubcap left off, compounded by the sudden feeling of awe. Somehow, I got out of the car, staring up at the three-story edifice as I hoisted the strap of my book bag over my shoulder. Three stories is nothing to a New Yorker, but I was far, far from home, and compared to the rest of this town I’d seen, the school was practically a castle.

“I’ll be back to get you at 3,” Bea said, starting the engine back up.

“You’re not going to walk me in?” I tried to keep the panic out of my voice.

“This ain’t preschool,” Bea said. “Main office is just inside, they’ll get you set up. I’d just be in your way.” And with that she pulled out of her parking space and left me.

I swallowed my abandonment and approached the building, feeling subdued and a little sorry that I hadn’t tried harder to find something for breakfast. Butterflies had hatched in my stomach. I self-consciously clung to the strap of my bag. It was liable to fall off my shoulder from being so empty. All it contained was a spiralbound notebook, and my mother’s blank journal. I just couldn’t leave it behind.

Some older students were walking leisurely into the building from the parking lot, pocketing keys from what were probably their own cars. I felt a stab of jealousy, and was reminded of my own mode of transportation.

Hello, I’m Jul Graham. What’s that? Oh yes, I’m chauffeured in a death trap by an old lady who hates me. When I’m not on foot. My hands were sweating so I wiped them discreetly on my capris before opening the front door.

The interior was more modest, and school-like. The hallway was bright and clean – and loud. Students were everywhere, walking through the enormous atrium entryway, down the huge corridors on either side that apparently housed the lockers. I hesitated in the atrium, as students swarmed around me, up the stairs that climbed either side of the entry. I clutched my bag, peering around at the signs on the walls. My fear compounded.

Oh god, I’m lost already, I thought. I don’t know where I’m supposed to go. I won’t get my schedule. I won’t find my classes. I’m going to be late. I’m already late by three months! I’m going to look like an idiot!

“Ladies,” said a smooth woman’s voice, “you look as if you could use some direction.”

I turned and saw an Asian woman in a skirt suit. Perfect manicured nails curled around the tablet she carried. The bottom edge of her chin-length hair was impeccably straight.