Shifting

Shifting Page 8

“Good. Well, I’ll let Mr. Petersen know that things are acceptable here. And don’t worry about seeing me to the door. I’ll show myself out. Take care of yourself.”

As I walked to my bedroom, I heard the front door close. I pulled Jenny Sue’s letter from my pocket and tore it open.

Dear Maggie Mae,I hope life is going good. Mr. Petersen told me he found a real good home for you. Paul and I miss you and hope that you get the help that you need. You’re a real sweetheart.The reason I’m writing this letter is because some guy has been by the house looking for you, but he won’t say why he wants you. He came the very day you were taken from my custody, and he has been coming almost every day since, even though I told him that you don’t live here no more. He’s been hanging around the house and neighborhood a lot, too, usually in a real fancy car. He gives me the heebie-jeebies. I am worried that he’ll follow you to your new house. That’s why I mailed this to your counselor. So please be real careful.—Jenny Sue I read the letter five times. Who’d be looking for me? And in a nice car? Some pervert who saw me naked and wanted to see more? I got a pen and piece of paper from my backpack and wrote a quick note.

Jenny Sue,Stop worrying. I’m good. I live with a sweet older woman in the southern part of the state. I got a job at a restaurant called the Navajo Mexican. Totally weird name, I know, but the food rocks.Thanks for warning me about Mr. Creepy. I’ll keep an eye out, but don’t worry. I can take care of myself.—MM I stuck the letter in an envelope and wrote her address on it, but hesitated. Just to be safe, I left the return address blank.

I got a stamp from Mrs. Carpenter’s desk and walked the letter out to the mailbox.

7

On Monday morning, when the bus pulled into the school parking lot, the energy level in the air doubled. The sophomore and freshmen girls started jabbering and pressing their noses against the windows facing the school.

The words “totally hot,” “prom,” and “staring right at this bus” carried over the low rumble of the engine.

I stayed in my seat as the freshmen and sophomores filed out. When the bus was empty, I stood and choked my way through the fog of diesel exhaust that had filled the bus. As I stepped into the cold morning air, I knew what had gotten the girls so excited. Bridger O’Connell stood leaning against the school, staring at the bus. He looked picture-perfect wearing expensive jeans and a tan leather jacket, with the wind tousling his black hair. But there was something more about him. He seemed different than other guys—always still, always aware of everything around him.

He waved. I looked over my shoulder to see who he was waving at, but the only thing behind me was the bus.

“I’m waving at you, Maggie,” he called, striding toward me. Though it was nearing the end of April, the morning still held a hint of winter. Then Bridger smiled and the air seemed to warm ten degrees. He fell into step beside me.

“How do you know Ollie?” I asked as we walked.

“Ollie Williams? He’s Mike and Danni Williams’s uncle. You know—Danni who runs hurdles, with legs like a moose. Ollie comes to our track meets every now and then,” he explained.

A wave of panic made it hard to breathe. What if Ollie mentioned my past to Danni, his niece? Danni, who already hated me without knowing my past? Or her brother, Mike?

A hand clasped mine and pulled me to a gentle stop. Panic was replaced with warmth.

“Maggie? Are you okay?” Bridger asked.

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice disbelieving. I looked at our clasped hands, marveling how something so simple could send a wave of warmth through my body. “So, why were you waiting for me?” I eased my hand from his.

“You think I was waiting for you?”

I smiled. “Weren’t you? It was pretty obvious, Bridger.” He returned my smile and took my hand again, pulling me past the stairs leading to the front entrance to the school.

“It’s time to race,” he said.

“Right now?” I looked down at his feet. He wore running shoes.

“Yeah. Prom’s in five days. I figure if you win, you’ll need time to shop for a dress.”

Something clicked in my head. Five days … Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday. Saturday night. I thought of the moon, a waxing gibbous, and my heart started pounding. The full moon was five days away. My birthday was on the eve of the full moon.

I stopped walking and yanked my hand from Bridger’s.

“Maggie?”

“What?” I snapped. Speechless, I stared at him. I couldn’t go to prom. It was absolutely, ridiculously impossible. Saturday night was a bad night for me. Really, really bad. I wiped my damp palms on my jeans and shook my head. “I can’t go to prom.”

Bridger lifted an eyebrow and studied me. “You haven’t won yet.”

We walked to the rear of the school in silence. The track was empty. Bridger and I took our backpacks off and set them on the bleachers and then moved to the fifty-yard dash start line.

We lined up side by side, each of us in a pre-sprint lunge, and stared at each other. His face was so close I could see his pupil surrounded by the coal-dark iris.

“You ready?” he asked, studying my eyes just like I was studying his.

I nodded and looked forward.

“Just so you know, I’ve been practicing. On your mark, get set … go!” he yelled. I dug my toes into the track and felt my muscles respond. Wind rushed through my loose hair, my pulse sped up, and my feet hardly touched the ground. I knew he couldn’t beat me.

Until I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye and almost tripped. Bridger was keeping up with me. I focused straight ahead and pushed myself. So did Bridger. The finish line sped into view and we both crossed it and continued on, sprinting around the bend in the track before our legs were able to slow.

I gasped the dry morning air and looked at Bridger.

“You beat me.” He panted.

I shook my head. “It was a tie.”

“Nope, you were one pace ahead. You won. And I’m okay with that. You’re the first girl I don’t mind losing to,” he said with a gleam of satisfaction in his eye. “I’m man enough to admit when someone’s better than me at something, which rarely happens. So it looks like we’re going to prom.”

“No, thanks. You don’t have to feel obligated to take me,” I said, thinking of the full moon. No way I could go!

“Maggie?” I looked at him. “I want to take you. I knew all along you’d win.”

“Whatever! You are so full of crap!”

“Okay, maybe I thought I stood a chance at beating you. But even if I won, I was still going to ask you. And you already agreed to go. So what time should I pick you up?”

My mind came alive with options. Maybe I could go to the dance and be back before ten. Maybe I was wrong about the moon. Maybe I was freaking insane and nothing bad was going to happen on Saturday night.

But maybe not.

With the word “no” on the tip of my tongue I looked up into Bridger’s eyes. He put his fingers against my cheek. The newly risen sun gleamed off his dark hair and silhouetted him in light.

“Please?” he whispered. I melted beneath that touch.

“Fine. If you promise to get me home by ten.” Insane or not, I was crazy to go along with this. But when he touched me like that, I couldn’t think straight. I stepped away from him and dug my hands deep into my jeans pockets. The tardy bell rang and I turned toward the bleachers.

“There’s one more thing,” Bridger said, walking beside me. “I was wondering if we could be friends. You know, say hi to each other in the hall, you could actually smile at me during track, sit by me at lunch …” His eyes got a wicked gleam. “Unless you’re still worried about your reputation.”

I frowned and slung my backpack over my shoulder. “Whatever,” I said. But inside I was smiling. “Except I sit with Yana at lunch. So you’re on your own there.”

“What’s up with you and Bridger O’Connell?” Yana asked.

We sat side by side, our backs against the brick wall by the girls’ bathroom. She took a bite of pizza.

“We’re friends, I guess.” I washed down my PBJ with a swig of milk.

“Friends? I overheard some girls talking in the bathroom. They said he’s taking you to prom?”

I glanced at the prom flyer on the wall. “Yeah. He’s taking me to prom.” Saying the words seemed surreal. Even though I was only going with him because I won a race, a smile jumped to my face. I looked at Yana and it fell off. “What? Is he a juvenile delinquent or something?”

“Juvenile delinquent? Aside from streaking last year’s graduation ceremony totally nude, not that I know of. But he’s a jerk. He’s got some rich girlfriend from France that he’s practically engaged to. Well, there’s a problem. France is on another continent. So when Bridger’s hormones rage, he finds someone local to use as a temporary replacement. And then he tosses her aside.”

I sagged against the wall. Bricks dug into my shoulder blades through my T-shirt. “Are you serious?”

Yana nodded. “Danni was his last victim. And just a heads-up, but he was originally going to take her to prom. So watch out. That girl’s got claws.”

“What happened with him and Danni?”

“She’s had a crush on him since junior high, even joined the track team to get him to notice her. And he finally did notice her when she beat him at hurdles,” Yana said. I cringed—this was starting to sound all too familiar. “They dated for a little bit,” she continued, “and when he dumped her, she stopped eating and didn’t come to school for a week. When I told Naalyehe about it, he said Bridger’s parents want him to marry someone in their social class. Therefore, he only gets serious with girls in his social class.”

“What social class is that?”

“The über-rich, world-traveling, university-graduate social class.”