My mind flashes to Finn, pretending to sword fight with my brother, and I break into a wide grin as I reach for the handle on my locker.
“Do I have food on my shirt or something?” Ben asks.
I glance over at him. “Not that I can see. Why?”
“I figured you were smiling because you were fixing to bust on me for something. What’s got you in such a good mood?”
“I was just remembering something funny,” I reply. “How was your game yesterday?”
“We lost.”
“Sorry.” I grab my binder and my history book out of my locker, and he closes it for me before falling into step next to me.
“It’s okay.” He shrugs. “We suck.”
“Go team,” I snark. “That’s the spirit!”
“I don’t see you out on a field anywhere, St. Clair.” He bumps me with his shoulder.
“Hey, how’d the diorama turn out?”
“It’s done and it’s good. Perfection.”
“Ah,” I say wisely. “The perfect partner project. I knew I could count on you.”
We make our way into history class, where I put my pen on the paper and start working on my latest piece for creative writing class.
I listen to Mr. Draper drone on with half an ear as I start to form my story. My protagonist is a superhero guy who will appear to a person, and he’s summoned there when they utter the phrase, “I’m all alone.”
Once he’s thrown there, face-to-face with the person he needs to help, he has only twenty-four hours to find them a friend. A true friend. Someone who can make a difference in that person’s life.
It’s a good premise. I can explore all the many reasons someone might feel alone, and Ms. Eversor is big on the humanity angle, too. She’ll like that I’ve got people helping others. Too many kids in my class write horrible emo poetry and postapocalyptic zombie stories. She likes the upbeat stuff.
I flesh out the story a little more, concentrating on my supporting characters, and despite my efforts, the hero is shaping up to be exactly like Finn. Of course.
I stop gnawing on my pen and glance up at Mr. Draper, who hasn’t moved from the position he took at the front of the class. I don’t think he’s changed the inflection in his voice, either.
I glance over at Ben so he can see me roll my eyes, but he is paying attention. More than that, he looks like he’s enjoying this lecture. I’ve never considered the Prussian involvement during the Revolutionary War to be that exhilarating, but Ben is eating this stuff up, raising his hand a few times and really discussing the answers with Mr. Draper.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, class is over. I’m distracted at school, and it’s starting to show in my schoolwork. I had a C on my test in calculus and end up with a low B on my history pop quiz from last Thursday. I shove the paper into my messenger bag when Mr. Draper hands it to me, thoroughly disgusted with myself.
Ben holds the door for me as I exit the class.
“That was a rough one. You all right, St. Clair?”
“Yeah. I should have studied more.” I make a face because I’m still mad about it. “How did you do?”
“I aced it.” He shrugs. “But I always do. It’s an easy class.”
“Thanks.” I give him a dirty look.
“It would have been easy if you’d studied,” he chides. “What’s up with you?”
“What are you? The nerd police?”
He raises his hands defensively. “Just being a friend. Sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. That was bitchy.”
“Yep.”
I give him a sideways glare as we walk down the hall. “I need to get my mind off things. My mom just bought that new space movie—the one with the airborne mutant virus and the scientists who get trapped on that planet.”
“Eosphere?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. We could watch it after school. Can we do it at your house, though?” I don’t want Ben at my house, because I don’t want to take a chance on Finn showing up to the party.
He looks uncomfortable for a moment. “I can’t. I’ve got a date.”
I stop in my tracks. “Really?”
“You don’t have to sound so disbelieving, you know,” he grumbles.
“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just … it’s Monday,” I finish lamely.
“It’s just a first-time get-to-know-you-over-coffee kinda thing after school. She lives in Manortown.”
“Didn’t they just beat your team in soccer?”
“Yup. Whupped our butts. She was there supporting her brother and came over to comfort me.”
I raise a brow and make a tsk-ing sound. “Fraternizing with the enemy. What has our school come to?”
“I consider it good sportsmanship.”
“I’ll bet.”
I try not to be disappointed, but I am. I’m just so used to having him as a fallback plan. I don’t know who this girl is, but I instantly don’t like her. And I also realize how completely petty that is, but I can’t help it.
“Sorry,” he says.
“It’s okay.” I wave him off. “I should be studying anyway, and Eversor wants me writing something about local ghost stories for the next installment of The Articulator. Maybe I’ll go to the local historical society after school to research.”
“Ghosts? In Ardenville?”
“They don’t have ghosts in New Mexico?”
“Some. Mostly the things that go bump in the night are coyotes.” He says it like a true westerner.
“Out here, that word has three syllables,” I say primly. “You’d better learn that before they kick you out of the great state of New York.”
“Kigh-oats,” he repeats. “You’re the one saying it wrong.”
“At least I’m not a total suck-up,” I say. “It must be nice to have a dad who’s a history professor.”
“Come on. I just asked about the Prussian helmet design and von Steuben’s contributions to sanitation and their effect on lowering the rate
