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So these chapters are a bit long and are going to take more than one post each. But everything under this topic is the same chapter, Chapter One.

Part One
“You must give up the life you had planned in order to have the life that is waiting for you.”
- Joseph Campbell


“Cara!”

“Cara, honey!”

“School starts today!”

“You should be getting ready!”

I groan and pull my covers over my head as the voices of my parents float up the stairs. I peek out of the nest of warm blankets I’ve created overnight to see my clock. It says 6:20. The alarm isn’t set to go off for another thirty minutes. I call out something unintelligible and promptly slide down to the middle of my bed to go back to sleep.

I succeed too, for about ten minutes, before my mother realizes I haven’t moved. She enters my room with a loud “Up, up, up!”, whips the covers off me, and turns on my light. I don’t budge.

“Isn’t Jade coming at 7:15 to get you?” mom asks.

I crack an eye open to look at her. “When has it ever taken me…” I check the clock again quickly, “forty-five minutes to get ready? For anything?”

She smiles and pats my arm. “We just don’t want you to be late. See you downstairs!” And she whirls away, calling out for my younger sister.

Now I am awake and I’m cold. I have a blanket that was pushed nearly off the bed last night due to my tossing and turning, so without sitting up I drag it over myself and curl up to close my eyes again.

Soon Sophie nestles her way under my blanket, so I open my arms and she slides into them. I kiss the top of her head, which smells like her strawberry shampoo, and the two of us fall asleep together with the sound of pots and pans banging downstairs.

Sophie, at the age of nine, doesn’t have to be at school until about 8:00. But when I finally have to get up she looks at me sleepily, soft brown hair forming a static-y halo around her head.

“Do we have to get up?” she yawns.

“’Fraid so little girl,” I say. Unable to see well in the darkness, I stub my toe, hard, on one of the half-empty cardboard boxes lying around my room, and I bite my lip to keep from cursing.

“Don’t swear, Cara,” Sophie tells me sternly, watching from my bed.

“I didn’t swear!”

“You were though. In your head.”

I look over at her, affronted, rubbing my injured toe. “Okay smarty pants,” I say, “you walk through this minefield without running into anything.”

I should know better. Sophie’s had this house memorized since we moved in. Just because it’s dark in here and I’ve shifted some of the boxes doesn’t mean she doesn’t know where they all are.

She gives me her are-you-serious look- a look she perfected long ago- and daintily makes her way to the door without disturbing a thing. Even in the dim light I can see her turn to smirk at me, then she dashes out of the room giggling. I give chase, knocking over some more boxes sitting in the hallway, so she squeals and tries to close her door before I reach it.

“Too late!” I tell her, and she shrieks when I pick her up and toss her onto her own bed, tickling her. She fights back, laughing hard.

Eventually I fall back onto her pillow. “Okay, okay, I surrender!” I laugh. “We need to pick you out some clothes anyway.”

Sophie sticks out her tongue. “What if I wore my jammies?” she asks me, still breathless.

“Then all the people at school would be jealous that their parents didn’t let them wear their jammies, and you’d never make any friends,” I reply. She’s been trying to wear her pajamas to school for months now.

“Maybe I don’t want any friends here,” she says, big brown eyes suddenly serious.

The joyful mood evaporates. I hug her close. “Oh, honey,” I say sadly, “yes you do. You may not know it now, but yes you do.”

She wraps her little arms around me and we sit there for a minute, not saying anything. Then, “Can I wear my Pokémon shirt?” she asks in a small voice.

I smile down at her. “I don’t think there’s a kid in that school who won’t want to be your friend if you wear your Pokémon shirt. Good choice.”

She grins at hops over to her closet. “I can’t find it,” she tells me over her shoulder after a moment, searching the pile of clothes sitting on the floor. I glance around her room at the stacks of boxes and piles of toys and clothing.

“Yeah, we should probably do something about your room when you get home today kid,” I say, grimacing.

“And then we should probably do something about yours,” she shoots back.

“And then the hallway.”

“Then the kitchen.”

“And the dining room.”

“Bathroom?” she suggests. And then she sings out “Found it!” and drags a long-sleeved t-shirt from the pile.

I stare at it critically. “Maybe we should at least iron it first,” I tell her. She tosses it to me. “Find some jeans,” I say as I leave the room. “Some clean ones.”

I make it down the stairs just in time to hear our front door shut, and I can see my parents getting into their cars through the front window. They didn’t even bother to see if we were actually awake after all that fuss. And now I have to find the iron myself.

After digging through a few boxes in the kitchen I finally find it, the cord tangled in some dishtowels. But I can’t find the board, so I just use the counter top.

I’m not surprised that my parents are already gone, or that they didn’t wish us good luck at school, or even that they couldn’t be bothered to find Sophie clothes to wear before they left. Just because I’m not surprised doesn’t mean it isn’t frustrating though. The least they could do is act like they’re sorry for up-ending our lives again.

This is our fifth house in four years. All in different states, and we always pack up and move the moment my father is needs to be somewhere new, no matter how or what we’re doing.

When I finish I unplug the iron and leave it on the counter, and I go back upstairs. Sophie is still in her pajamas when I enter her room.

“What have you been doing?” I ask.

“Waiting for you,” she answers, snatching the shirt from my hands. Then she grabs her pants and socks from her bed and trots into my room with me trailing behind.

“Do you know what you’re going to wear today?” she asks me parentally.

“Yes ma’am I do. I picked it out last night.” In truth I had only unpacked a few of my clothes, so my choices are severely limited. I pull a purple thermal shirt and dark boot-cut jeans from the suitcase by my bed. Sophie nods in approval, earning a grin from me, and begins changing, so I walk across the hall to the small bathroom.

“Hair up or down?” I ask her on my way out.

“Down,” she decides. “Will your hair even stay in a ponytail?”

I feel the ends of my dark brown hair, cut to my shoulders. “I think so,” I say uncertainly.

“Still down,” Sophie tells me.

Last, a slip on the ring I’ve had since I can remember. It’s a bit ostentatious, an emerald surrounding by a few diamonds that I’ve been told are real but I have a hard time believing. So, as I always do, I twist it the wrong way, only the gold band showing and the gems hidden on the inside of my hand.

Finally Sophie and I both make it downstairs so I can throw together breakfast before I leave. By then it’s already 7:10.

“Dang,” I mutter, scrambling eggs.

“Cara,” Sophie says, “can you pull my hair back before you leave?”

“Of course,” I say. “Go get a hair tie and a brush.”

She rushes off while I scrape the eggs onto our plates.

Before she comes back down I hear Jade at the door. “It’s open!” I yell.
She comes sauntering in, dropping her bag by the door and collapsing at the table, head down.

“Hard day?” I ask.

She grins ruefully up at me, a glint in her pretty hazel eyes. Jade has an elegant face and tanned skin, and, although she’s too polite to admit it, she’s strikingly beautiful.

“Have I ever told you I hate school?” she answers my question with one of her own.

“Hate is a strong word,” I say, offering her some eggs, which she accepts.

“So is love. At least I didn’t say that.”

“So is elephant, but people say that all the time,” says Sophie, bounding back down the stairs and sending Jade and I into fits of laughter.

Sophie holds out the brush to me when she’s done eating, but Jade says, “Here, let me do that.” I nod at her gratefully and stack up the plates in the sink, running water over them and making a note to clean them when I get back from school.
Now Sophie dashes back upstairs to get her backpack, so Jade tosses her heavy dark hair over her shoulder and gazes at me shrewdly. “You alright?”

I take a minute before I respond. “I think so. A little stressed, kind of anxious. But I think I’m alright.”

“Good. Soph, let’s go!” she hollers up the stairs. I raise my eyebrows at her. “What?” she asks. “I love being that little girl’s third mom.”

Jade and I met only a week and a half ago, when we first moved in, but she’s already stepped up and been more helpful to me than anyone I’ve ever met, in any state. I never told her I was overwhelmed, but she noticed anyway. She saw how often my parents are gone and that Sophie is under my care most of the time, so she didn’t waste a moment in taking Sophie under her wing. She’s the one who asked around and found a mom nearby, Mrs. Finch, who has a little boy Sophie’s age and can give Sophie a ride to school everyday. And Jade willingly undertakes whatever she can to lighten my load. Needless to say, she and I are already fast friends.

We’re leaving later than planned, but Jade says she doesn’t mind. “It’s not like I want to spend extra time a school,” she tells me as we pile into her car.

Soon I’m hugging Sophie goodbye as we drop her off at Mrs. Finch’s, then Jade and I are once again comparing our schedules, deciding where and when we can meet during the day, and then, too quickly, we’ve arrived at Shawnee Mission East, the latest in my long list of high schools.

“Seniors get the best parking,” Jade explains, pulling into a side lot, “but this is way better than where the sophomores have to park.” She shuts of the car and turns to examine me carefully.

“What’s the verdict?” I ask without meeting her eyes.

“You look a little green,” she replies.

I sigh before I explain. “Would it kill my parents to move at the beginning of a school year, just once?” It’s the end of February, and by now every high school-er in the building is comfortably settled in. Except for lucky me. I get to come in a screw it up for everyone.

Jade looks exasperated, like she knows exactly what I’m thinking. “You really think anyone here is going to care? There are about 400 kids in our junior class alone. No one is going to mind one more. Especially a cute one like you,” she promises, patting the top of my head. “Now come on. I know Ms. Shepherd: no assigned seats and she only cares about the students that sit in the front, so we want nice seats in the very back row.”

That gets a weak laugh out of me. I brace myself and then Jade and I step out of the car into the throng of students making their way through the door. A few call out greetings to Jade, and a few more ask about me. Soon I’ve met a handful of people, all of whose names I have forgotten by the time we reach the fourth floor.

When we walk into our first class, which I thankfully have with Jade, only about five kids are there. Jade tucks us into seats in the back corner, slinging her backpack into the seat next to her. A few minutes later I see why. A gangly boy with waves of honey-colored hair and headphones in his ears strolls into the room and makes for the seat Jade has saved. With a glance, he takes in my new student attitude.

“Cara Weaver?” he guesses, removing an ear-bud.

“Max Fedderman?” I ask in reply. I’ve heard about Max, though I’ve never met him. According to Jade they have been friends forever. I’ve been told he’s a little geeky sometimes (the proof is in the graphic tee he’s wearing under his dark blazer) but if he’s as great as Jade says he is I’m sure we’ll get along fine.

He nods and flashes me an easy grin. “Nice to finally meet you.” Then he shoots Jade a meaningful look.

“What?” she asks. “It’s not like it’s my fault you all haven’t met before.”

“Yeah,” Max says, sliding into the seat. “Yeah it kind of is. I’ve been at your house, what, five times since she moved here? And you never walked me down the street to say hi?”

“You never asked me to!”

“Well that might have been a little weird. ‘So, Jade, I hear you have a new friend. I must meet her, so, though we’ve never talked before and she probably has no idea who I am, take me to her house immediately.’”

“Oh, I hope that’s not how you would have worded it,” I break in, earning a grin from Max. “What were you listening too?” I gesture to the iPod he’s stowing into his backpack.

“Snow Patrol,” Max answers. “You know them?”

“I love them!” I exclaim. “They're my favorite!”

“You too? They just sound so…”

“I know! Oh, my absolute favorite is-”

“Okay, break it up ladies,” Jade interjects, smiling.

“She’s just jealous,” Max whispers to me as the bell rings. “She has no idea who Snow Patrol is.”

I laugh quietly.

“And by the way,” he smiles when the teacher’s back is turned, “welcome to East.”


I have my next few classes on my own, so when English ends I wave goodbye to Max and Jade and head off down the hall.

History is my next class, but, as I find history tends to be, it’s uninteresting and passes quickly. When I get to chemistry however, a subject I’ve been dreading, my teacher makes me wait in the front of class while everyone else takes their seats. I shuffle my feet uncomfortably, twist my ring around my finger, and try to look anywhere but at my classmates.

“Class!” he calls as soon as the bell rings. “We have a new student with us today.

Cara Weaver, from Minnesota. Cara? Would you like to say anything?”

Not really. I think. Aloud I say, “Umm… I’m actually from New York. We moved when I was seven. To Alabama. Minnesota was just where we lived before Kansas.” I look to my teacher in hopes that he will let me sit down, but he just gives me a nod of encouragement so I fumble for something else to say. “Okay. I’m a junior. I’ve lived in eight different states, but I’d never been to Kansas before we moved here. I…” I stop, unsure what else to tell them, but Mr. Marks claps his hands so I stay silent.

“Well, we’re glad to have you!” he tells me.

Some of the class is looking at me curiously, but some are clearly uninterested and two are asleep. I hold back a laugh, not wanting to get them caught.

“Why don’t you sit… there?” Mr. Marks points to a lab table. There’s boy with loose curls of sandy-blonde hair sitting there, fiddling idly with a pencil, his books strewn across the table. He doesn’t even look up when I approach, just sweeps his books over to clear half the table for me.

I notice some of the girls (most of them, actually) watching my walk to the table with interest, but I soon realize they’re watching the boy, not me. And I know why. When I take the time to look at him, I see that he’s much better looking than I thought, incredibly good-looking, actually, with defined muscles showing through his fitted blue shirt and bright eyes.

Since my new partner doesn’t speak I don’t either. I get out a pen to take notes. However, even though I’m trying to follow what Mr. Marks says carefully, within five minutes I’m completely lost. So I stop paying attention and doodle on the corner of my page, planning to catch up on my own time. After a while I notice the boy next to me watching me with interest.

I raise my eyebrows questioningly at him. He continues to look at me with piercing dark green eyes, not speaking.

“I’ve never taken chemistry before,” I inform him.

“I didn’t ask,” he replies quietly.

“Maybe not out loud,” I mutter, falling silent as Mr. Marks looks up to see who’s talking. He doesn’t seem to suspect me, and turns back to the board.

When I peek over at him, the boy is trying to conceal a grin. He catches my eye and gestures to my half empty notebook page. I don’t know what he wants, so he slides it out from under my hand himself to write something. When he hands it back I point to his equally empty page of notes, wondering why he didn’t just use that. He appears to know exactly what I’m asking, because he just smiles and busily begins taking notes on it, like that was his plan all along. I roll my eyes.

I’m Crispin Calaway. The note reads. I’m new here too.

I wonder briefly why he’s telling me, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter.

Hi Crispin. When did you get here? I scrawl back.

He seems pleased when I hand the page back to him. Last week, is his reply.
After I read it, he takes it back and writes again. You’ve never taken chemistry before?

Ha. I knew you were wondering! I show him, and then continue writing. It wasn’t required in Minnesota. Or Arizona. You could choose if you wanted Physics or Chem.

When Crispin reads that, his eyes widen a fraction. He looks at me, a question on his lips, then remembers we can’t talk now and hurriedly starts to write again, pencil flying across the page. Before he finishes though, Mr. Marks turns to face the class and begins a demonstration, so Crispin slows his writing to a more normal speed but doesn’t stop. When our teacher glances at the two of us I nudge Crispin under the table to warn him. He immediately makes a show of looking at the board and pretending to copy what Mr. Marks has written there.

It’s only later that I marvel at how he knew exactly what I meant without any words.

Next time Mr. Marks looks down at his experiment Crispin quietly slides the page back to me. I take a moment to make sure no one is watching before I read it.

Arizona? That’s where you were before Minnesota? And you’ve lived in eight states? Which ones? How long were you there?

I mouth “wow” at him. Anything else you’d like to know about my life? Hospital I was born in? Social security number?

Just answer the questions.

I reply shortly. Yes. New York, Alabama, Colorado, Virginia, Texas, Arizona, Minnesota, Kansas. We stayed different amounts of time in every one of them. Why?

I was born in Arizona. I actually lived in Texas for a while, too.

That’s it? That was a lot of questions to tell me where you used to live.
Why did you really ask?

Crispin doesn’t write a reply, and I’m about to snatch the paper back from him when I notice why. Mr. Marks is making his way back toward our table. Crispin nonchalantly slides my notebook under his own.

“Ms. Weaver?” Mr. Marks begins. “Is everything alright back here?”

“Yes, it is,” I tell him. I hurry to come up with an explanation as to why the pages of my open binder are blank. “I’m just a little lost. I’ve never taken chemistry before this, and I’m not quite as ready as I thought I was.”

Crispin coughs next to me, I think covering up a laugh. I kick his stool. He glares at me. I pretend not to notice.

Mr. Marks looks confused, and I feel bad for him.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’ll try harder, I just came in a little unprepared today.”

“Not to worry, Ms. Weaver,” he says, brightening. “Chemistry is a tricky subject. Maybe a tutor?”

“Maybe,” I reply, not wanting a tutor.

“Mr. Calaway here actually is quite a chemistry prodigy,” Mr. Marks hints.

This time I am the one hiding my laughter. “Of course he is,” I say with the straightest face I can manage.

Crispin starts to threateningly pull my notebook out from under his, so to appease him I quickly say, “I don’t know if he would want to tutor me. It’s alright.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” Crispin smirks at me. There is an odd accent to Crispin’s voice, something I hadn’t expected. I can’t place it, and it’s so faint I can’t even be sure it’s really there. “The more quickly you learn the better this class will be for both of us,” he says.

While Mr. Marks is thanking Crispin I stick my tongue out at him. He gives me a that’s-real-mature glance and turns to assure Mr. Marks that it’s no problem at all.

“You’re not tutoring me,” I announce when the bell rings.

Crispin looks at me innocently. “You heard the teacher Cara. You need to learn.” He holds the door open for me. “Besides, it’s not my fault I’m a chemistry prodigy.”
With that he walks off.

I fume for a moment, and then grumble to myself all the way to photography.


When I arrive at photo class, Max is sitting at a table, alone, headphones back in his ears.

“Anti-social much?” I ask, sitting across from him.

He grins and shuts his iPod off. “Little bit,” he tells me. “Would you believe me if I said I just didn’t like talking?”

“I would not.”

“A wise decision.”

“It’s okay of you just don’t like these people,” I say, offering him an out.

“I just don’t like these people,” he says gratefully.

I grin. “That I understand.”

“How’s the first day going?” he asks me.

I think, wanting to answer truthfully. “I’m really not quite sure. It’s going fine, I guess. It’s pretty uneventful.”

Max nods. Apparently uneventful is to be expected. “Any new friends?”

“I’m not quite sure,” I say again.

“How can you not be sure if you made a friend or not? Didn’t you learn how to do that in, like, preschool?”

I glower at him. “Yes.” A boy with tousled black hair sits down a couple seats away from me. I unintentionally glance over at him, and then I can’t help but continue to stare. The boy is paler than I expect someone with dark hair to be, with elegant cheekbones and a strong jaw and big eyes framed with dark lashes. He’s tall and lean and defined muscles along his arms and shoulders are visible under his shirt. He is without a doubt the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.

Just then, his eyes flash up to my face, and it ridiculously causes my heart to skip a beat. I feel heat rush to my cheeks and I look away quickly, clearing my throat to continue talking to Max, trying to act les flustered than I am. “There was this one guy. My chemistry lab partner actually,” I say to him. “And we… we argued for a lot of the period, but we still seemed to get along really well. He was immensely annoying, but it was somehow entertaining.”

“Weird,” Max says.

“Yeah. It was.” I shrug.

“Anyone I know?” he asks.

“Do you know a Crispin Calaway?”

I see the dark-haired boy snap his head up like someone called his name, but I studiously ignore him this time.

“Crispin?” Max asked with ill-concealed awe, leaning toward me over the table.

“That blonde senior boy?”

“I guess so?” I answer, unsure. “I don’t know if he was a senior or not, but how many Crispin Calaways can there really be at this school?”

“You must be special,” Max says. “I don’t think that guy talks to anyone.”

“Oh, I feel special. And he was quite chatty,” I assure him.

Jade waltzes right before the bell, looking pleased to see us. She throws herself across two seats and dumps her things on the table, knocking over the dark-haired boy’s bag. She exclaims and apologizes loudly while I bend down to help him pick up the things that are now scattered around.

“So, Crispin Calaway, huh?” A lilting voice speaks next to me on the floor. When I look up, the black-haired boy is much closer than I expect, watching me curiously. His eyes are surprisingly dark, darker than I first thought, their color dancing on the line between gray and deep blue, like the sky before a storm. They’re intense too, even in his light-hearted question, and made to look even more so because of his light skin.

I have to search for words for a moment before I can answer. “Crispin? Yeah, yeah. New lab partner.” I pull away from his gaze with difficulty and reach for a few pens that I drop in his hand.

“Nice work, getting him to talk,” the boy tells me quietly.

“Mm,” I answer ambiguously. “I hear it’s hard to do.”

The boy smiles to himself. “Not if you know what to say.” He holds out his hand and I shake it. “James Sable,” he introduces himself.

“Cara Weaver,” I reply.

“I know,” James says.

“So Crispin’s talked to you too?” I ask, somewhat relieved. I’ve just been trying to get through the first day, not draw attention to myself. “Well, I’m sure you were smart enough not to share that with the world. I didn’t realize it was something you keep quiet about.”

“Oh people know he and I talk,” James tells me, sitting back on his heels and watching me curiously. “But there’s a difference between him talking to you and him talking to me.”

“What difference is there, exactly?”

“Well, I’m just kind of here. In the background. I’m around but that doesn’t exactly make it worth mentioning. But the new girl getting him to talk on the first day they meet? People are going to want to know what’s special about you. I’m wondering myself.”

I refuse to be distracted by the way his eyes rake over me, as though he’ll be able to see the reason for my peculiarity if he looks hard enough. “And what, they don’t care what’s special about you?” I ask him.

James waits for a long time before he answers, and I wonder if I’ve somehow offended him. I’m about to apologize when he speaks again, quietly, jaw set. “No. If they remembered me I’m sure they’d be curious. But next to Crispin I’m rather forgettable.” He doesn’t say it bitterly, as I’d expect a statement like to be; he says it like it’s a fact.

James Sable is by far the best looking boy I’ve seen, bar none, so without thinking I answer, just as quietly, “Forgettable is not how I would describe you.” I regret the words as soon as I say them, and I blush furiously, wishing I could take them back.

But, when I finally meet James’ dark eyes again there’s a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Thanks for your help, Cara,” he says to me. His mouth softens the C in my name and makes the A’s taller, shooting an irrational thrill of pleasure through me.

It’s only when James stands and brushes off that I realize that we’ve been down on the floor longer than necessary. I stumble to my feet. He doesn’t look over at me as class starts.

“What was that?” Jade demands when I take my seat again.

“What?” I say.

She crosses her arms on the table and angles herself toward me. “He dropped about five pencils. It doesn’t take two people that long to pick them up. What’d he say to you? He’s cute.” Jade says everything in one rushed sentence.

I blush again, because James is still in earshot, and he’s undeniably cute. “Take a breath,” I tell her, and, in need of a quick distraction I say “and never mind that. I think I’ve got something to tell you. Max found it interesting at least. You know Crispin Calaway?”

“Umm, yes. The gorgeous blonde senior?” Jade gasps.

Distraction successful. “Why is the only thing people know about him is that he’s blonde?” I wonder aloud. Then, “Sure, him. He was pretty cute I guess. Not the point. He’s my chemistry lab partner.” Jade lets out a squeak of disbelief. “Yep. And he talked to me.”

“Oh. My. Gosh.” Jade stares at me in wonder, her hand flying to cover her mouth. “No way! No way, he never talks!”

“Shh!” The majority of class has turned to look at us, including the teacher who was beginning his lecture.

“Sorry Mr. Lincoln!” Jade calls out a bit too loudly.

Mr. Lincoln strolls over to our table. I manage to glare at Jade before he reaches us. “What seems to be the problem?” He sounds more annoyed about the fact that we were talking loudly than the fact that we were talking at all.

Jade seems lost for words, unable to come up with an answer. And, because I thought she had an excuse prepared, I’m not ready with a good explanation either. Max looks like he’s about to say something, but he can’t get it out. I think I’m doomed, then I hear. “Sorry Mr. Lincoln.” James Sable leans over to join the conversation. “Cara was just double-checking what we’re doing in class right now. New student, you know.”

I’m staring at him incredulously, but I try to compose my expression as Mr. Lincoln turns back to me. “I see,” he says. “And is she caught up now?”

“Yes sir, I believe so,” James continues smoothly. “Turns out she actually took photography at her last school, so she’s quite adept. It’s rather impressive really.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing him to stop there. I’m not even kind of impressive when it comes to photography.

“Well then, Cara,” Mr. Lincoln says to me, “I’ll be waiting to see your work.” And then he strides away.

I fix James with a hard look, torn between thanking him and scolding him.
“What?” he asks, eyes glittering. “Your welcome, for getting you out of that tight spot.”

“He’ll be waiting to see my work?” I hiss at him. “James, I can barely wind the film into the camera properly!”

“You might need to work on that then, huh?” he tells me with a crooked smirk.
I spin around to face the front of the room again, muttering about how “the dang people at this school keep getting me in trouble with the teachers on my first day”. I catch a grin on James’ face that reminds me instantly of Crispin, and it seems to me he knows exactly which other person I’m talking about.

I spend the rest of the hour alternating between trying to remember exactly what Crispin and I talked about so I can relay the information to Jade (who is hanging onto my every word), watching the people in the class work so that I know what to do, and staring at James Sable.

I find it impossible not to compare James to Crispin, especially now that I know they are friends, or at least something like it. Though very little about them seems similar, James’ lack of concern for anyone else in the class as well as the brooding expression on his face reminds me of how Crispin was when I first sat down in chemistry. Something about them sets them apart from others around them, but, no matter how hard I try, I can’t put a finger on it.

James seems to be working on a project more advanced than what Jade and Max are doing. They’re in the process of comparing their negatives and choosing the best ones. James has four different prints spread on the table. One is cut into strips and woven back together, one is tinged a sort of sepia color, and he’s working on painting a third, adding bright splashes of color to the black and white picture. He either doesn’t notice me watching or doesn’t care that I am.

Mr. Lincoln comes up to me near the end of class and hands me an outline of the project I need to start. He then gets me a camera out of a back room and asks me to shoot the pictures in the next couple days before I fall too far behind.

“Texture Project,” I read off, sitting back down with Jade and Max. “Doesn’t sound too hard.”

“Well, it is,” Jade tells me, frowning at her negatives.

“Thanks for that,” I reply. “Good to know I have something to look forward to.”

At the end of class I check my schedule quickly to make sure I know where I’m going, then I stuff it back into my bag.

“Third lunch, right?” I ask Jade and Max as we walk out the door.

“Third lunch,” Max affirms. “We’ll meet you by the staircase.”

I smile appreciatively. “See you in an hour!” I can’t help but chance one look back at James Sable before I walk away, and I find, to my surprise, that he’s looking at me too.


There’s a sub in math, meaning no one actually has to pay attention, so I don’t, but I rush out the door when the bell rings in order to find Jade and Max before the herd of students swallows them. Luckily, Max found a chair sitting in the hall and is standing on it so that he can see me. When he does he shouts my name loudly over everyone’s heads, and I pretend to look around with everyone else to see whom he’s calling to.

“Smooth,” he tells me when I finally reach them.

I shrug modestly. “I do what I can.”

I find that the lunch period goes by much too quickly; before I know it there are only ten minutes left until we have to go back to class.

“The rest of the day will go fast, you’ll see,” Max says when he sees me glancing repeatedly at the clock with a frown. “After third lunch the last two classes fly by.”

“You don’t know that will happen,” I say without knowing if this is true or not.

Jade starts to say something, but before she ever starts she leans back against her chair and frantically whispers, “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh,” Her wide eyes are locked on something behind me.

“Are you okay?” I ask her, slightly concerned.

Before she has time to reply someone pulls out the chair next to me and sits down.

“Hey Cara,” Crispin Calaway says to me. “Just wanted to drop these off for you. You need to get cracking on your chemistry studying if you want to understand the class.” He sets a notebook down in front of me.

I pull it toward me with one finger, as if it’s diseased. “Who says I want to understand the class?” I mutter.

“That’s the spirit,” he tells me pleasantly. And then he stands back and pushes the chair in. “See you tomorrow!” With that, he makes his way back through the maze of tables and meets James Sable at the door. They both glance over at me once, Crispin still smiling and James looking curious, and then they walk out.

I look back up at Jade and Max, who are staring at me with poorly concealed surprise. So are people from the tables nearby, actually.

“What was that?” Jade asks.

I hold the notebook up for her to see. “Chemistry notes. Apparently I will fail the class without immediate help.”

“Your teacher actually said that?” Max asks me.

“Well, he may not have used those exact words…” I confess.

“Wow. I know you said he’s your lab partner and that you guys talked, but I didn’t think that you guys…” Jade trails off.

I smile at how flustered they both are. “That we what? Were at the notebook sharing stage in our relationship? I’ll admit it, things are moving awfully fast between us.” I look down at the notes. “May be I shouldn’t have accepted this. After all, I don’t want to give him the wrong idea.”

“Wrong idea about what? Is note sharing now a form of dating?” Max asks.

“No,” I reply. “Don’t be silly. It just that, he probably thinks I’m actually going to look over these soon.”

Jade shakes her head at my foolishness. “Cara, if a hot guy gives you his notebook, you accept it happily and you read every damn word.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, “maybe you didn’t hear me. These are chemistry notes.”

The bell rings then, saving me from further conversation about Crispin and his special notebook. But I flip to the first page as we walk out, and written there in Crispin’s tight cursive I see: That actually is exactly why I asked. I guess I’m just a curious person. See you in class!

I shake my head when I read it, but I can’t help the small chuckle that escapes me. At least he answered my question.



James Sable is waiting with Crispin outside the lunchroom, leaning lazily against the wall, arms crossed, unseen by Cara Weaver as she exits the lunchroom with her friends. He sees her smile down at the notebook before snapping it shut and following Jade Thatcher down the hall.

Her short, dark brown hair seems to annoy her, he notes. She’s continually pushing it out of her face. James is trying to figure out what Crispin, who is standing nearby, is thinking about her. Finally he just asks. “So, who is she Cris?”

Crispin, to his surprise, shrugs. “No idea,” he replies honestly.

They both watch her until she turns a corner and disappears from their line of sight.
Crispin’s usually bright face is serious when he turns to look at James. “There was just something about her when she took her seat in class today. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You don’t think she…?” James doesn’t have to finish his thought. Crispin will know exactly what he means.

“Oh no, I don’t see how she can be,” Crispin replies. But James can tell his heart isn’t in it, because his green eyes darken slightly. “I hope she’s not. For her sake.” He says.

James silently agrees. He waits patiently while Crispin collects his thoughts.

Crispin finally gestures toward the door. “Come on. I’ve got to get a message to Verne.” James nods in assent, glancing one last time at the hall where Cara was moments before.

She’s too good for this, he thinks. She’s still innocent. She has a life here. And, even though he isn’t sure whether or not anyone will hear it, he sends up a prayer. Don’t let it be her. Don’t let her life become like ours.

Crispin has been standing off to the side, but now he claps James on the shoulder, his expression one of complete understanding. “We’ve got to go.”

And so the two slip quietly out the door into the parking lot, unnoticed, and dash away.

END OF CHAPTER ONE

Nice start! I'm already dying to know what's so special about james and crispin...and perhaps Cara as well. I'm a fantasy freak, so I'm kinda hoping it's something supernatural :) I can already see a little love triangle starting between the two boys and cara...can't choose one yet tho...must keep reading!

Ha, yay! That's the point :)