shivered as a ribbon of cold fear shimmered down his spine and tied a knot around his breath. Nakamo’s eyes weren’t just black, they were filled with blackness. Cavernous, they were like tunnels that lured toward something he couldn’t quite identify. Michael wasn’t sure if evil was the right word, but that’s what came to his mind. For an instant, Michael wasn’t surrounded by a hundred other boys in St. Martha’s; for an instant, it was just him and Nakano, and he was afraid. It didn’t make any sense, but there was something wrong with the boy who stared at him, something terribly wrong. And then the feeling was gone. Nakano pushed his glasses back into place and Michael’s fear disappeared. As he watched Nakano walk out of the lunchroom, Michael wondered what had taken hold of him and why he wasn’t the one leaving in search of Ronan.
“Boys!” Fritz declared. “Sometimes I just don’t understand ’em.” With that announcement he and a few others got up from the table and left, leaving Michael between Penry and Ciaran. Michael tried to catch Ciaran’s eye, but it was as if he were deliberately avoiding him. He knows something, Michael thought. He knows what’s going on between them. As if he could read his mind, Ciaran turned to Michael. “If you want to know their history, ask Ronan. I’ve already done enough.”
Gathering his books quickly, Ciaran got up to leave. He didn’t mean to snap at Michael and he would spend the rest of the day feeling guilty about it, but there was very little he could say. He couldn’t be honest with Michael, only Ronan could, and he found it wearisome to lie, so he kept silent. Michael would find out the truth soon anyway; the way he and Ronan kept staring at each other, it was inevitable. And inevitably, Ciaran would be there to pick up the damaged pieces once the truth was revealed. But for now he had to leave.
“Another lab?” Michael asked.
Ciaran nodded. He looked at Michael and made himself smile. “I’ll see you back home.” It wasn’t Michael’s fault. Ciaran’s problems were here long before Michael arrived, so he shouldn’t take them out on him. “I have an English quiz tomorrow; maybe you could help me study?”
“Sure,” Michael said. “Of course.”
Both boys felt the urge to say more. Michael hadn’t yet thanked him for arranging the meeting with Ronan the other day, and Ciaran wanted to warn him about any future meetings, but both remained silent, instinctively knowing that the other really didn’t want to hear what they had to say. They didn’t have to worry about finding the right thing to say or even being heard, because suddenly Penry made enough noise for the both of them.
“Imogene!”
Everyone looked at the front of the hall, near the kitchen entrance, to see a rare sight at Archangel Academy. Standing next to the headmaster was a girl. And not just any girl. It was Penry’s girlfriend.
“What the devil is she doing here?” Penry cried out, looking quite shocked, but very delighted.” ’Scuse me, mates, I have to see my girl.”
Imogene Minx was a sophomore at St. Anne’s, the all-girls school on the outskirts of campus, but Michael thought she looked more like a pop star or someone you would see on TV. She had a look about her that demanded attention. Of course she wore the mandatory uniform, which for the girls was a navy, white, and gold plaid vest and pleated skirt, which could rise no more than a half inch above the knee; navy blue stockings and tie; and a white long-sleeved shirt with a Peter Pan collar.
On the upper left side of the vest, over their hearts, the girls each wore an oval patch of St. Anne, her hands folded in prayer, her white robe bright against a golden yellow backdrop. Each girl had to hand-sew the patch on herself in front of the headmistress, Sister Mary Elizabeth, as a ritual before being allowed to attend class. No words would be spoken between the headmistress and each student until they submitted their handiwork for inspection, at which time Sister Mary Elizabeth would say, “Welcome.” It didn’t matter if the effort was perfect or flawed; all who tried were accepted. The sewing was more an offering than a test.
Now it looked as if Mr. Hawksbry’s patience would be tested as he stood between Penry and Imogene. Her lips were the same red color as Penry’s hair, but that’s really all they had in common. Where Penry was almost always brimming over with enthusiasm and movement, Imogene was calm and still. She held a small stack of books that she rested on her right hip, which was slim and hadn’t yet developed a womanly curve, and a black bag hung from her left shoulder, adorned with a large gold A, presumably for St. Anne’s. But it was her hair that caught Michael’s attention. She wore it in a severe style, bangs high and straight across her forehead and the rest no longer than her chin, cut the same length all the way around. The color was beyond dark, so black that in places where the light hit it, it looked blue. And even from where Michael stood, he could see her eyes were the same color, round and open, as if she didn’t want to miss anything of her surroundings. But right now, all she was looking at was Penry.
Michael and Ciaran walked by them just in time to hear Imogene announce that she was interviewing Mr. Hawksbry for her school paper and he was kind enough to let her grab lunch here instead of walking all the way back to the cafeteria at St. Anne’s.
“Mr. Hawksbry,” Imogene said, “you’re a scholar and a gentleman.”
The headmaster coughed, uncomfortable being on the other end of such a pointed compliment on school grounds, and for no other reason than to change the subject, he put his hand on Michael’s shoulder, preventing him from walking any farther away.
“I don’t presume you’ve met our newest student,” he said, turning Michael to face Imogene. “This is Michael Howard all the way from the Midwest. America, that is, and specifically Nebraska.”
Up close, she looked even more severe, but despite her look, she wasn’t at all aloof. She seemed to possess the same friendly quality Penry did; she just wasn’t as loud. “It’s a pleasure, Michael. I’ve been to the States a few times, actually. I’ve relatives in California, Los Angeles.”
“Nebraska is pretty far from L.A.,” Michael said. “In every sense of the word.”
Mr. Hawskbry’s eyes brightened and he snapped his fingers. “I have an idea. Perhaps you could arrange to do a story on Michael.”
“That’s brilliant!” Penry shouted. “New bloke on campus and all that.”
Imogene thought about it for a minute. She was obviously the type of girl who didn’t like to be told what to do. “I’ll consider it. I’ll present it to our editor and see if we have room.”
“It’s a right smart idea, Ims,” Penry said. “You know it is.”
Imogene smiled at Penry, making him become quite self-conscious in front of the headmaster, who not so selfconsciously glanced at his watch. “Next period is about to begin; time to carry on.”
“See you later, Ims,” Penry said. Imogene’s smile softened her look. She didn’t say anything but merely winked at him. She was trying to appear cool, but she was definitely infatuated. It was fun to see the two of them in each other’s presence, and Michael hoped he would see more of them as a couple. Then just as she was about to enter the kitchen, she turned around, her hair swaying a bit so that a strand of hair caught the crease of her mouth. “Michael,” Imogene said, “I’ll be in touch.” Looked like he would be getting his wish.
After school, walking aimlessly across campus, Michael couldn’t get the image of Penry and Imogene out of his head. Had Michael met Imogene first, he would never have imagined she would go for a guy like Penry, but sometimes opposites attract. All that mattered was that they looked happy together. He wondered if he and Ronan were going to be happy. Or better yet, would there ever really be a Michael and Ronan? Today had started out with such great promise. Ronan was flirty, attentive, but then Nakano ruined everything. As Michael wandered in front of St. Florian’s Dorm he saw that Nakano was still at work.
He stopped in his tracks as he saw Ronan and Nakano at the side of the building in the shade of a huge oak tree. They were covered by late afternoon shadows, but Michael could see enough to know that they were having an argument. To be exact, a one-sided argument. Nakano was whispering loudly. None of his words reached Michael, but his arms were moving up and down, a finger poking the air to accentuate a point, a hand forming a fist. It was clear he was angry. But Ronan just stood and listened, his eyes never leaving Nakano’s face. Then he raised his hands and reached out, looking as if he was going to grab the sides of Nakano’s head.
Instinctively, Nakano raised his hands inside Ronan’s arms and deflected them, making them swing out to the side and away from his face. Instead of growing angrier, reacting more physically, both boys settled down. Michael could feel the knot in his stomach grow tighter as he watched Ronan reach his hands up to Nakano’s face, slowly, and gently take off his sunglasses. They stood facing each other—they didn’t speak, they didn’t move—until finally Ronan hugged Nakano. Michael couldn’t tell if it was a friendly hug or a tender one. He didn’t care; they were hugging. This morning Ronan was shoving him in the pool and now he was hugging him; it just didn’t make sense. Devastated, Michael wanted to scream or hide or return to Weeping Water, where at least he knew he would never be happy. Here he thought he could be and briefly he was, but already it was over. Everything he
