Part 27 (2/2)

You know that you will never lead a normal life as long as she's alive to haunt you.” Ash slapped her hand away, 334 and headed up the street. ”You must bring her to me!”

Lesley screamed.

Ash turned and jabbed a warning finger back at Lesley. ”You keep playing with a kite in a thunderstorm, and sooner or later you're going to get struck by lightning too. From now on stay the h.e.l.l away from me, my sister, and my friends.” As an afterthought she held up her bag.

”Oh, yeah-and thanks for the dress, b.i.t.c.h.”

She'd made it only as far as the intersection when Lesley called after her, ”Don't you want to know how she died last time?” A pause. ”Your sister?”

Ash remained still. A car drove by, and the breeze sent her hair billowing out. Her fist tightened around the twine handle of her bag.

”They found her in a field in Spain, chained to a post.” Another pause. ”She'd been burned alive.”

Ashline crossed the street.

Blackwood's Student Government a.s.sociation was a farce.

Yes, they held elections every fall. Yes, they convened for biweekly meetings in the dining hall.

But everyone knew that their SGA co-chairs, along with all of the cla.s.s presidents, senators, secretaries, historians, and other imaginary positions that they concocted for the annual ballot, had only one real job every year.

To plan Spring Week.

Spring Week was a series of nightly events the first 335 week of May. It kicked off with a mandatory full-school attendance at an athletic event-this year, the Blackwood-Southbound tennis match-and culminated on Friday with the masquerade ball. A pancake breakfast generally followed on Sat.u.r.day morning, but the few ragam.u.f.fins that made it out of bed in time for brunch usually looked like they'd been sleeping on a train for days or, in some cases, possibly been hit by one.

The purpose of Spring Week was allegedly to reward the students for an accomplished year of studious academics at one of California's premier prep schools, and to give them one last romp before they geared up for study week and final exams.

Ashline knew better than that; Spring Week was the faculty's only bargaining chip to keep the students from burning the school to the ground. At the semester's opening ceremonies back in January, the threat was clear: You misbehave, no Spring Week.

The Thursday night event changed each year. It had been a fas.h.i.+on show one year, and capture the flag the next. This year the SGA had settled on a ”midnight movie.” After negotiations with the headmistress, the movie's start time had been pushed back to ten o'clock.

Unfortunately, ”Ten p.m. Movie” just didn't have the same ring to it.

And so it was that at five minutes to showtime, cl.u.s.tered on an enormous blanket that was still too small for the five of them, Rolfe, Raja, Ade, and Jackie sat with 336 Ashline, waiting for the movie to begin. Top to bottom, the gradual hill behind the faculty lodge was covered with Blackwood students. From a bird's-eye view it would have looked like a patchwork quilt of quilts.

An SGA representative swooped by with a crazed grin on her face and delivered a basket-no, a cowboy hat- full of treats. Popcorn, chocolate-covered raisins, a cornu-copia of sodas. She flitted off to deliver the next gift package as Rolfe savagely ripped open the plastic packaging.

Soon the exterior floodlights dimmed. The outdoor projector, which rested on a roll cart just a few yards from their blanket, purred to life. As the tripod-mounted speakers crackled on, the projectionist fiddled with the projector until the image focused on the white screen hanging from the faculty lodge.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.

They all laughed; the cowboy hat filled with goodies suddenly made sense.

The movie barely made it past the opening scene before two pale blurs came streaking wildly through the maze of student-covered blankets. Bobby Jones raced over the hill wearing a cowboy hat and nothing else, while another naked soccer player joined him, using his fingers to fire imaginary bullets at Bobby's back. They hooted and hollered, and the entirety of the hillside exploded with laughter. Monsieur Chevalier, one of the faculty chaperones, stood up from his lawn chair and clambered up the gra.s.sy hill, but Bobby merely took his hat, used it 337 like a fig leaf to cover the little Jones, and raced off into the forest.

The laughter subsided and the audience mellowed, including the other occupants of Ashline's blanket. Raja and Rolfe hadn't wasted any time getting cozy. Having her head pressed against his collarbone was enough to make him stop shoveling popcorn into his mouth.

Ashline, however, was more interested in the other pair. Jackie was jabbering at Ade without pause. She must have touched on every topic from what it was like to grow up in Canada, to his culinary interests, to questions like: did he eat only Haitian food at home? And what was his workout regimen? It must be pretty intense, because (squeeze, squeeze) wow those biceps were defined.

All the while Jackie was slowly edging her way across the blanket, an inch at a time until her thigh touched his. Apparently confidence had come as a bonus with her contact lens purchase.

Even more intriguing, Ade couldn't stop smiling. Ash spied his arm sliding stealthily behind Jackie, until he found the courage to hug her waist. All in all, it was far more entertaining than the spaghetti western on-screen.

She eventually stopped eavesdropping for privacy's sake, but she couldn't help but look sullenly at the empty s.p.a.ce on the blanket next to her. She was sandwiched between two couples and quickly forgotten in the realm of the fifth wheel.

Perhaps sensing this, Rolfe leaned over Raja, who had 338 fallen asleep in his arms. He checked to make sure that Jackie was engrossed in conversation before he whispered, ”Any progress on figuring out who you are?”

Ash fished around in the cowboy hat until she found one of the bags of chocolate-covered raisins. ”All I've got so far is a name . . . Pele. Apparently a volcano G.o.ddess.”

Rolfe stiffened. If Ashline didn't know any better, the expression that had come over his face was . . . deja vu? No-recognition. Whatever it was soon pa.s.sed, and Rolfe snickered. ”Pele? Sounds more like a hula dancer.”

”Or a type of quail,” Ash added. ”I honestly haven't done any research beyond that. Guess I should take an interest in my future, or past, or . . . whatever. But for the next month I just want to focus on pa.s.sing spring semester.”

”Honestly, the less you know, the better.” He moved a tress of hair out of Raja's closed eyes. ”I looked into Norse mythology to get some background on Baldur, and maybe get a glimpse into my future as the G.o.d of light.”

”And what did you see in the crystal ball?” She offered him the candy bag.

”Well, on the downside,” he said, ”I apparently got stabbed through the heart with a mistletoe dart. But on the bright side, I apparently had really, really nice hair, as white as snow.” He popped a raisin into his mouth and tugged at his bangs. ”Apparently the Norse didn't have a word for 'dirty blond.'”

Raja stirred and opened her somnolent eyes halfway.

339.

”Only chicks can have dirty blond hair, idiot. On guys it's called 'sandy.' And did you say something about mistletoe?”

Rolfe plucked a bouquet of gra.s.s and held it over the s.p.a.ce between them. ”Here you go.”

She closed her eyes expectantly and tilted her chin upward.

Rolfe let the gra.s.s go. It sprinkled all over her hair and face.

”a.s.shole!” She tussled her hair, trying to get the lawn tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs out. Before she could put up a fight, Rolfe wrapped his hands around her waist and drew her to him in a pa.s.sionate kiss.

Ashline awkwardly turned her attention back to the movie. When the kiss had ended, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Raja inhale a slow and shaky breath.

”That was nice,” Rolfe whispered. ”And now I have to take a leak.”

Raja swatted at him and missed as he popped up to his feet. ”Way to kill the mood, jerk.”

He shrugged unapologetically and pointed at himself. ”Sorry, darling. I'm the G.o.d of light, not the G.o.d of love.” A few of the surrounding movie-watchers gave him strange looks, but he ignored them and staggered off toward the woods.

Raja shook her head, but she couldn't hide from Ashline the smile etched into her face.

However, ten minutes clicked by and Rolfe still didn't 340 return. Raja's smile waned to impatience, then concern.

”Christ, how much soda did he drink?” she asked.

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