Flock Page 2

  Dating way back, the two towns were rivals. Penny once told me that the tensions began with two feuding families. Whatever its roots, the fact that our two schools, due to budget constraints and falling enrollments, were considering a merge did nothing to improve relations.

  “Because,” Ms. Bryant said, “the projects are to be displayed at a joint By Student Design Show that our class and their high school Design class will plan together. Seven weeks from Friday, all projects will be displayed at Pinewood as a partnership. No matter what comes of the consolidation proposal between the two schools, it’s time the two communities focused on something cooperative, not just a football rivalry.”

  A few more grumbles floated in from the back of the room, but Ms. Bryant ignored them, continuing with a description of the assignment.

  “This semester, I think I’ll let you pick your own partners.” Ms. Bryant paused, consulting her notes.

  Penny and I locked eyes and gave each other a small nod. No deliberation required; Penny and I had the term-project thing down to a science.

  When she glanced up and resumed, a strange look passed over Ms. Bryant’s face. “Sorry. I don’t think we will do it that way. Not this semester, anyway.” Again, her finger trailed down the page of her lesson plan. “Katla Leblanc . . .”

  Funny, Ms. Bryant knew I preferred Kat. Not so funny was my foreboding that I’d get Jinky.

  “. . . will team with Marik Galdursson,” Ms. Bryant continued. I gave Penny a small shoulder lift before turning to receive Marik’s broad smile. Just a few names later, Penny was saddled with Jinky. I couldn’t help but notice Penny’s slump; even her lobes hung lower. Though, guessing by her glances to the back of the room, I wasn’t her first choice of partner, after all.

  Once all the groups were assigned, Ms. Bryant distributed handouts and talked us through the entire semester’s coursework and timeline. For the last five minutes of class, she suggested we sit with our partner and look over the list of sample businesses. It was clear Jinky was not going to budge from the chair she was in. Penny, therefore, eyed my seat expectantly. I gathered my things and headed to the back of the room and a spot that had opened up next to Marik.

  Abby and John, another assigned team, occupied the seats in front of us. Abby, who I thought was dating a basketball player, spent the bulk of the remaining class time turning and addressing Marik.

  “So where does your host family live?” she asked.

  “On Spruce Street.”

  “That’s nice and close,” Abby said, “and walkable to school and downtown.”

  “Good thing,” Marik said. “We don’t have a car.”

  “We . . . meaning?” Abby asked.

  “My cousin Jinky and I are staying with the same host family,” Marik said, pointing to where Jinky sat stone-faced and an ambitious Penny chatted away.

  “Your first cousin?” Abby leaned in closer.

  “Yes.”

  “If you ever need a ride anywhere, just let me know,” Abby said.

  John, a buddy of taxicab Abby’s basketball-player boyfriend, had been busy texting during their little gabfest. No doubt sending his friend a heads-up on the potential situation.

  “No wheels is a serious problem around here, dude,” John said, dropping his phone into his backpack. “Don’t worry, though, we got you covered.”

  Got you covered? Seriously? Already two of the school’s finest were open-arming Marik, whereas one year ago I was Leper City.

  “Should we take a look at this list?” I asked Marik, fully aware of the glare Abby shot me before turning in her seat. Because Marik on his own wasn’t enough of a handful. And like I needed a situation in which he had more friends than me.

  Third period was an all-school assembly. Penny and I entered together. Marik, I noticed, was already camped out with Abby, John, Shauna, and their kind. Spotting a group of our fellow school-paper writers, Penny pointed and led us to the front of the auditorium. Jinky arrived a few minutes later and sat by herself in the back. I wondered at her aloofness. Why had she come if she wasn’t going to make an effort?

  Following the principal’s annual welcome, the senior-class officers were called to the stage. Abby, our president, delivered a by-the-cue-card speech. What it lacked in spontaneity, it went for in dramatics. The save-our-school message revisited last year’s rumors and Ms. Bryant’s mention of a merger between our school and Pinewood. With a year’s worth of attachments to the place — and to a guy named Jack — I, too, was now in the SOS camp, but I couldn’t help think that Abby’s remarks were all hype, no content. Plus, I imagined it was the school board that needed convincing, not the student body. Finally, lowering her voice from its helium-sucking heights, she dropped her note cards onto the podium. “Finally, I’d like to take a moment to welcome our new kids, especially our two exchange students.”

  I noticed Abby looked over to where Marik sat, not Jinky.

  “Let’s all do our best to make their year one to remember,” she finished, clapping her hands above her head in a do-as-I-do gesture.

  The room detonated in cheers. Seriously? And was it the anti-merge message or the special welcome they were responding to? In irritation, I scratched at my neck.

  After the assembly, Penny hurried to catch up to Jinky, inviting her to walk through the lunch line with us and to follow us over to the journalism room. I was more than a little surprised when she fell in step behind us. I’d half expected her to bail on the photographer thing. Then again, I remembered how lunch had been my least favorite thing about being a new kid. During the rest of the day, you could keep your head down and not draw too much attention. But in the cafeteria — all cafeterias, I’d assume — the true pecking order was revealed. Though I figured Jinky could give as good as she’d get, Abby, Shauna, and their gang would shun her the way Monique, last year’s senior queen, had done me. As much as Jinky’s perpetual scowl irked me, I still kind of owed her for last spring. She and her grandmother had helped me save Jack’s life, after all. I even handed her a tray and steered her away from the fish croquettes. No one deserved that particular brand of cruel and unusual.

  Just as we exited the line, I saw Marik. Holding his tray in front of him, he wavered back and forth, looking confused. I took a step toward him and he lifted his chin as a sign of acknowledgment, possibly even relief. I wondered then if this all wasn’t a little overwhelming for him. Pulling me from this internal debate was a whistle, followed by John Gilbert hollering, “Yo, Marik. Over here.” Marik gave me a nod and a coy smile as he sailed off for his lunch with the top o’ the heapers. Whatever.

  Our first lunchtime journalism meeting was an all-business affair: partly because Mr. Parks was putting in one of his rare appearances, and also because Penny, the new editor in chief, had some ambitious goals. She wanted the paper to have an online presence with a blog, Facebook page, and Twitter feed. She, too, mentioned the merger and the paper’s role in reporting the events. I was proud of her, although I wondered what my traditionalist, former-editor-in-chief boyfriend would have to say about the web branding. He hadn’t even wanted a Starbucks to open up in town.

  I did not see Marik, Jinky, or revolutionist Penny as I closed my locker on day one of my senior year. I bounded down the front steps of the building with an Iced Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha on my mind when a figure leaning against my VW bug came into focus.

  “Jack,” I said, skipping the remaining ten feet that separated us, “shouldn’t you be at Walden?”

  “I finished my lab work early so I could surprise you.”

  “Mission accomplished.” I slipped into his arms, sensing my burdens ease. Only Jack had this effect on me.

  “So how did it go?” he asked, resting his chin on my head.

  Despite sharing three near-death experiences with the guy — something other couples might take as a sign of incompatibility — I believed in our unique connection. Given this conviction, a part of me wanted to tell him everything right then and
there. I felt words collect in my mouth; they pooled under my tongue until I had to force a dry swallow. Coming in with only the slightest of majorities, my cautious side remembered that the guy had once plunged into an icy lake after me. Recognizing I triggered this reckless, self-sacrificing trait in him, I knew I had no right to involve him in my current mess. So how much was, therefore, wise to reveal? Norse Falls was too small a place for the presence of two Icelandic exchange students to go unremarked upon.

  “So do you remember that girl I told you about? The one I met at the fair in Iceland and who read my runes?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Funny enough, she’s here. As an exchange student. With her cousin. It seems my descriptions of Norse Falls were pretty enticing.”

  “She’s here?” Jack pulled back, holding me at arm’s length.

  “Yes.”

  “But she’s the one who helped you —”

  “I know.”

  “Isn’t that kind of strange?”

  “A little, I guess.” I tried to keep my tone breezy and flipped back a strand of my hair.

  “What cousin?” Jack asked, narrowing his eyes.

  Ugh. I should not have attempted body language. Jack knew me too well.

  “His name is Marik. I met him briefly. On the boat.”

  I knew I was leading Jack to assume I was talking about Hinrik, Jinky’s real cousin who boated us over to her grandmother’s nub of an island. I had not told Jack anything about Marik, nor had I given any details as to how I came about the gift of a selkie skin that was so key to my survival in Niflheim. To have done so would have necessitated an explanation of why the Water World was involved. All Jack knew, all Jack had to know, was that Jinky had helped me get to him. Given Marik’s warning — threat, really — it was a topic best left intentionally vague.

  “Oh,” Jack said, questions still clouding those gem-blue eyes of his.

  I felt something in my gut pouch with regret: liar’s tummy. And then I wondered how Marik or Safira would ever know what Jack and I whispered to each other. As it was, we practically had our own language. A single twitch of his mouth or bite of his lip and I, for instance, knew exactly where his thoughts were headed. What chance did I stand of keeping the existence of a landlocked merman and a shaman-in-training from him?

  “And cool that they’ve come all this way,” he continued. “I guess I’ll be meeting them sometime or other, then.”

  With that small act of graciousness, of calling the situation “cool,” all thoughts of involving Jack in my mess gusted away. I couldn’t do that to him.

  “I’m on my way to the factory,” I said, inventing a change of subject. “I need to borrow my dad’s camera. You wanna come along?”

  Jack’s phone rang. I unlocked my car door and threw my book bag over to the passenger seat during his brief brow-scruncher of a conversation.

  “I can’t.” Jack pocketed his phone. “That was my dad; he needs me. Plus, I’ve got an assignment due tomorrow.”

  The assignment alone would be enough to distract him. I knew also that harvest was their busiest season.

  “Will I see you tomorrow?” I asked.

  “Not likely,” he said with a shake of his head.

  “How much longer will it be like this?” I asked.

  “We grow different varieties, all with different grow cycles. The worst should be over by Halloween, I’d think.”

  “Halloween?”

  “And by Thanksgiving, we’re just sitting around waiting for it to snow.”

  I could tell he was goading me now. Best to redirect. Besides, Thanksgiving made me think of something.

  “For Thanksgiving, my dad and I are planning a trip to Santa Monica to visit my grandmother. You should come. She said she’d like to meet you.”

  “What? To California?”

  “Yeah.”

  He swiped at his brow as if mopping up sweat. “The beach. Sunshine. Temps in the 70s or 80s. Am I painting an accurate picture?”

  “Well, sort of.”

  “Nothing personal, but summers around here are torment enough. You know I barely go out. Southern California is not my idea of a vacation.”

  “Ever?”

  He shook his head. “I really don’t think so.”

  As much as I knew all about his Jack Frost heritage, this was somehow news to me; bad news, to be specific. I had a secret fantasy of showing him my old stompings, parading him in front of my old friends, kissing him as the surf crashed over us. This was a serious buzzkill.

  “Hey,” he said, pulling me from my sulk. “I’ll see you on Friday.”

  “OK.”

  “Count on it,” he said.

  Watching him walk away, I couldn’t help feeling that our gifts were more often than not burdens. And on top of it all, we still had the full complement of household chores, schoolwork, financial obligations, and all the rest of the load that came with life. And Jack took on more than most. The only upside was that just maybe, with his own preoccupations, he’d be too busy to further question the Marik issue, at least until I could devise a plan. It was a reprieve, at best. One I’d take for now.

  Balancing a carrier full of Starbucks offerings, I strode the short distance across the reception area and set the drinks down.

  “Just what the doctor ordered,” Jaelle, my dad’s office manager, said, getting up from her desk. She boxed me into one of her hugs and then initiated a hand slide, a gesture so jive I laughed out loud every time I was on the receiving end. As always, Jaelle had a way of making anyone and anything look cool. Case in point, the thick zebra-print headband, nubby green cardigan, knee-length corduroy skirt, and scuffed cowboy boots she presently sported. Jaelle had been my very first friend here, a kindness for which I would always be grateful.

  “Is my dad busy?” I asked.

  “He’s on the floor,” Jaelle said, sipping from her Grande bold drip with a shot of skim foam and ah-ing in appreciation. “I’ll help you find him.”

  I followed Jaelle down the hallway that separated the quiet office space from the assembly area. The moment she pulled open the door, a din of machinery and voices hit me like a rogue wave. My dad’s wind turbine factory had been in business for less than a year, but already it was in full swing, with more orders than they could handle.

  As we passed various stations, I noticed one or two of the workers snap to attention. It wasn’t for me, the boss’s daughter. My dad, a big softie, had done well to hire the clever and capable Jaelle. He liked to joke that she had even him kowtowing around her. Proving my point, her husband, Russ, a brawny former logger, saluted as we walked by. I inwardly preened. When I’d first met Jaelle, a little over a year ago, she was underemployed as a waitress and lamenting her husband’s travel-required back-buckler of a job. Convincing my dad to open his factory here instead of California was admittedly a self-serving act; nonetheless, I couldn’t help but gloat a little at how much it had done for Jaelle. Even though she had been one of my very first vessels — prospective mothers considered as candidates to receive a hovering soul — and I’d recommended against her, I knew it had been the right decision. At the time, Jaelle simply wasn’t ready. She’d come a long way since then, however.

  We found my dad near the shipping dock. He signed a paper, handed the clipboard to his foreman, and walked toward us.

  “Atta girl,” he said, taking the coffee I held up for him. “I was just thinking about how nice a little of the mermaid would be right now.”

  While he enjoyed his first sip, I shrugged off the jitters brought about by his casual mention of a water creature. To him, Ariel was simply his nickname for the split-tailed siren that was featured on the Starbucks logo. Little did he know that it was responsible for the ad-lib prophecy that I’d made during my very first Stork assignment and for the difficult situation I was in now.

  “A little bird must have told me,” I said, recovered enough to make a private joke. My dad had no idea that his daughter was a member of
an ancient flock of soul deliverers.

  “So how much is this cup going to cost me?” he asked.

  Busted. Kind of. It was true enough that the last time I’d come bearing beverages he’d ended up out two hundred bucks for my car’s tune-up.

  “It’s more of a trade than anything else,” I ’fessed up.

  “A trade?” he asked, arching his brows.

  “Can I borrow your camera for a while? Well, technically I’ll be lending it to an exchange student, our newest member of the school paper.”

  “My good camera?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “And you’re lending it to a stranger?”

  “Well, not a complete stranger. I met her briefly while I was in Iceland.” I left out the part about her pickpocketing my runes as well as any kind of physical description.

  “It’s in my desk drawer,” he said with resignation. “Jaelle, would you get it for her?”

  At times like these, I super-loved the way my easygoing, surfer-dude dad just rolled with things.

  “Sure can,” Jaelle replied.

  I walked behind Jaelle back across the factory. The afternoon sun was streaming through the west-facing windows; it cast a slanted shaft of light over our path. In this illuminated patch, dust motes danced like first-of-the-season snowflakes. It was fascinating, like a peek under a microscope, but they weren’t the only things catching my notice. Above Jaelle’s head, corking spirals of energy bounced. Finally. I’d been waiting a long time for the signal that Jaelle was all systems go.

  As we stepped back into the calm of the office space and Jaelle retrieved the camera from my dad’s desk drawer, I, again, saw the vibrations above her head. I took it as the very best of vibes.

  Driving home, I was so excited about Jaelle’s ready-for-baby signs that I almost didn’t register the summons to a Stork meeting. Our means of announcing a same-day, nine p.m. council gathering was a scalp rash: a barbaric method of communication and my least favorite part of the job. Thankfully, it wasn’t nearly as painful or as noticeable as it had been the first few times. I irritably dug through my bag looking for something to cover my head. Dreading the next few pre-meeting hours, I decided to reroute.