Halo

me unaccompanied, but I hardly noticed them. As usual, Xavier occupied my thoughts, even more so when we were physically separated. When I found myself calculating how many more minutes needed to pass before I could see him again, I decided I should be making better use of my time and headed for the library. The senior library was the one space where solitary activity was considered acceptable. I planned to use the rest of the lunch break looking up the causes of the French Revolution.

I had just grabbed my books from my locker and was taking the short cut across a narrow walkway when a voice called out from behind me.

“Hello there.”

I turned to see Jake Thorn leaning against a brick wall, his arms folded across his chest. His dark hair framed his pallid face, and his lips were curled in a sardonic smile. He now wore the Bryce Hamilton uniform but with a distinctive style of his own: He was tieless and the collar of his shirt was turned up. Instead of a blazer he wore a hooded gray windbreaker. His trousers hung loosely from narrow hips and he was wearing white oxfords instead of the regulation school shoes. I noticed for the first time that he wore a diamond stud in his left ear as well as the mysterious pendant around his neck. He took a long drag of his cigarette and blew a ring of smoke into the air.

“You shouldn’t smoke here,” I cautioned, wondering how anyone could so openly flout the school rules. “You’ll get into trouble.”

“Will I?” Jake feigned concern. “This happens to be known as smokers’ corner.”

“There are still teachers on duty.”

“I’ve noticed they never come this far — they sort of hover near the staff-room steps counting the minutes until they can get back to their coffee and crosswords.”

“I think you’d better put that out before someone notices,” I said.

“If you say so,” Jake replied.

He crushed the butt under the heel of his shoe then kicked it into a garden bed just as Miss Kratz, the ancient and crabby librarian, scuttled past, eyeing us both suspiciously.

“Thank you, Beth,” he said when she was out of earshot. “I think you just saved my skin.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, flushing at his dramatic expression of gratitude. “It’s hard when you don’t know the ropes. You must have had a lot of freedom at your old school.”

“Let’s just say I took some risks. Some didn’t pay off — hence my exile here. You know, the ancient Romans preferred death to exile. At least mine isn’t permanent.”

“How long are you staying?”

“As long as it takes for my character to be reformed.”

I laughed. “Is there much chance of that?”

“I’d say there was every chance given the right influence,” said Jake meaningfully. He narrowed his eyes suddenly as though something had just occurred to him. “I don’t often see you alone. Where’s that smothering Prince Charming of yours? Not sick, I hope.”

“Xavier is at practice,” I said quickly.

“Ah, sports — the invention of pedagogues in an attempt to keep raging hormones in check.”

“Sorry?”

“Never mind.” Jake rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. “Tell me, I know your boyfriend is an athlete, but is he any good at poetry?”

“Xavier’s good at most things,” I boasted.

“Really? How lucky for you,” Jake said, arching an eyebrow.

His behavior was confusing me, but I certainly wasn’t going to make him aware of that. I decided the safest thing to do was change the subject. “So where are you staying?” I asked. “Close to school?”

“At the moment I’m living in the rooms above the tattoo parlor,” said Jake. “Until more permanent accommodation can be organized.”

“I thought you’d be with a host family,” I said in surprise.

“Well, that would be like staying with boring relatives, wouldn’t it? I prefer my own company.”

“And your parents are okay with that?” I was uncomfortable with the idea of him living on his own. Even though he sounded mature and worldly, he was still a teenager.

“I’ll tell you all about my parents if you tell me about yours.” His dark eyes burned into mine like lasers. “I suspect we have a lot more in common than we realize. By the way, what are you doing Sunday morning? I thought we might work on our masterpiece.”

“I have church on Sunday.”

“Of course you do.”

“You’re welcome to come along.”

“Thanks, but I’m allergic to incense.”

“That’s a shame.”

“It’s the bane of my existence.”

“Well, I have to go and study,” I said, moving past him, aware of the minutes slipping by.

He stepped casually in front of me. “Before you go, I have the opening line of our poem.”

He dug a crumpled ball of paper from his pocket and tossed it lightly to me. “Don’t be too hard on me — it’s only a beginning. We can take it anywhere you like from here.”

He flashed me a smile and sauntered away. I moved over to the closest bench and smoothed out the paper. Jake’s handwriting was elegant and narrow, the letters elongated; nothing like Xavier’s boyish print. Xavier hated cursive; it took too long and looked too fancy. Jake’s writing was like calligraphy, the letters swirled across the page as though they were dancing. But it was the seven words he had written that sent my mind into a spin:

21 Drowning

What could Jake mean by that? She had the face of an angel. I felt as if the words had been burned into my brain, as though, in a split second, Jake had unzipped me and left me shivering and exposed. Could he possibly have guessed my secret? Was this his idea of a twisted joke?

Something snapped in me then; I felt overcome by a sudden anger. Forgetting all about my plans to catch up on the French Revolution, I bolted inside to find Jake. I tore through empty corridors, back to the cafeteria, where I scanned the groups gathered in little clusters. But he wasn’t among any of them. A flutter of fear began in my chest and I knew it would soon swell if I didn’t do something to stop it. I had to track Jake down and ask him about the poem before the beginning of the next class or it would eat away at me.

I found him at his locker.

“What’s this all about?” I demanded, charging up to him and waving the paper under his nose.

“Pardon me?”

“This isn’t funny.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be.”

“I’m not in the mood for games. Just tell me what you meant by this.”

“Hmmm, I’m guessing you don’t like it,” Jake said. “Don’t worry, we can scrap it — no need to get worked up.”

“What were you thinking when you wrote it?”

“I was just thinking it might be a good place to start.” He shrugged. “Did I offend you or something?”

I breathed deeply and forced myself to remember how Miss Castle had introduced the assignment to the class. She had given us a brief rundown on the tradition of courtly love and read us some sonnets by Petrarch and Shakespeare. She’d talked about the idealization and worship of the woman from afar. Was it possible that Jake was merely sticking to the theme? My fury was suddenly redirected at myself for jumping to wild conclusions.

“I’m not offended,” I said, feeling ridiculous. Both my anger and fear had subsided as quickly as they had