Nevermore

After what seemed like nine eternities, fourth period finally rolled around. Isobel stopped by her locker again before heading to class to pick up her English binder as well as the dreaded Poe book.

If there was one thing she was looking forward to most about finishing the project, it was not having to tote around Poe’s lifework anymore. Besides being creepy and contributing to nightmares, the thing weighed as much as a cement block.

Isobel found her seat in Mr. Swanson’s class. A moment later, chains clinking, Varen walked in. She looked up, straightening in her chair, his presence never failing to put her on full alert. But a second later her rigidness crumbled into laughter, and she had to cover her mouth. Several people turned in their seats, looking curiously between them. The T-shirt beneath his jacket read HOOLIGAN in Gothic white lettering. It was the term Isobel’s father had used last night. Varen had heard, she realized with a stab of embarrassment.

“Shades off, Mr. Nethers, if you don’t mind,” Mr. Swanson said.

Varen removed his sunglasses in a salute before going to his desk, his wallet chains rattling noisily against the plastic seat and metal chair legs as he sat.

The bell rang, and Mr. Swanson began the day’s lesson, leaving Isobel still trying to wrestle the goofy smile from her face. She also had to fight to keep herself from sneaking glances in Varen’s direction.

Toward the end of the class, Mr. Swanson began listing project groups on the board in the order of their presentations the next day. Romelle and Todd were going first with Mark Twain, Josh and Amber were next with Walt Whitman, then came the one group of three with Richard Wright. Isobel started to fidget with her pen as the list grew longer.

“And last but not least,” Mr. Swanson said, writing her name on the board, “we’ll have Isobel and Varen with our Halloween guest of honor, Mr. Edgar Allan Poe. I’m looking forward to that one especially.” He smiled and nodded at the two of them.

Way to load on the pressure there, Swanson. She shot an anxious glance at Varen. He gave her what she took to be a “no big deal” shrug, and she thought that must mean that he had a plan. She tried to smile, hoping that was the case, but despite this reassurance from him, the queasy feeling in her middle refused to subside. After all, it was no secret between the two of them that she at least had completed nothing. Well, nothing except scribbling down a few random quotes that, if she read them aloud tomorrow, might prevent them from getting a total zero. Emphasis on might.

Isobel shut her eyes, taking a moment to get a grasp on the fact that she could not afford to fail tomorrow. She’d almost lost her spot on the squad once. If she got a failing grade in English, then it would be out of Coach’s hands, and no amount of repentant cheers could save her from exile. Her wings would be clipped, Alyssa would take over, and she’d have to wave good-bye as the bus headed off to Nationals.

The bell rang, dismissing them for lunch. Isobel gathered her things and stood, loading the Poe book on top of her binder, now sorry she’d rooted it out of her locker, since they hadn’t been given any time to work in their groups that day. When she looked up, though, she no longer saw Varen at his desk. Instead her eyes found him standing out in the hall, talking to somebody blocked by the wall, though her suspicions about who it was were confirmed the moment she caught sight of black hair and a copper-toned, bracelet-lined wrist.

Her eyes narrowed. She shoved her things under one arm and started for the door. She thought, as she drew nearer, that she might have caught the word “bimbo.”

Before she could even think to stop herself, Isobel slipped out into the hall and stood next to Varen, touching him gently on the arm. The connection sent a static sensation coursing through her. He turned fast, his eyes on hers, deep green pools of surprise. Through sheer will, Isobel kept her hand steady on his sleeve. Then, for the killer, she leaned in, quietly interrupting with, “Hey, I’ll see you after school, okay?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Her gaze slid from him to Lacy, and Isobel took care to flash her a wink-smile combo. The Queen of Sheba stood stunned, her glossy maroon lips parted in awe. Still smiling, Isobel spun on her toes. Putting just the right amount of sway in her walk, she headed toward the lunchroom.

Isobel left the lunch line with the Poe book and her binder both clamped under one arm and tried to keep her tray steady with both hands. Thursdays were order-out-pizza days at Trenton, and Isobel, her empty stomach finally catching up with her, had grabbed the biggest slice of Tony Tomo’s mushroom pizza she could find. From there, it was a balancing act all the way to her table, and she didn’t see who was sitting there until she was ready to set her tray down.