“Somebody talk to me about the symbolism of the chestnut tree,” said Armitage the next day, with even more acid in his tone than in our first class. Everyone stared back with a blank face, except Doyle, who didn’t bother looking up from the distinctly not Jane Eyre book he was reading.
Normally I would have been super happy to do just as Armitage had said for me to do and stay quiet. Not just today but permanently—because it wouldn’t be long until Mom got itchy feet and I was the new girl all over again. But that wasn’t happening here. I was stuck here for the entire year. I knew the answer. And I already didn’t like this guy. What the hell.
I raised my hand. “The tree is struck by lightning and split apart but still connected at the root. It’s telling us Jane and Rochester will be torn apart but ultimately their bond, not only of love but of shared hardship, will keep them connected.”
Someone—probably Valerie, the ginger witch—let out a small, ladylike snort. “What is this, Twilight?”
“Shut up, Valerie,” Mr. Armitage said. “When you have something meaningful to contribute to the class discussion, that’s the day I cash out my 401(k) and retire, because the end times are clearly upon us.”
I blinked, surprised that anyone would take my side, never mind Armitage, who was leading the pack for meanest burned-out teacher I’d ever run into.
“And you,” Armitage said. I flinched away from his finger. Maybe I’d hold off on jumping up on the desk to recite poetry in his honor for now.
“This isn’t some soppy love story where true love conquers all,” Armitage snarled. “This is love cast in the harshest light. Lightning strikes the tree because love is a destructive force. Love shatters what’s good and pure in Jane’s world. It does nothing but bring her misery.”
I felt heat creep up my cheeks, and the words flew out before I could make myself be quiet. “That’s your opinion. Maybe Charlotte Brontë wanted to show how sinister forces are conspiring against Jane but she’s stronger than they are. You can destroy the branches of a tree, but if the root survives, it can grow back.”
We glared at each other. Finally Armitage sniffed. “Fair enough, Ms. Bloodgood. Since you’re so convinced you’re right, you can write me a paper for tomorrow defending your evidently very strong opinions about Ms. Brontë’s intentions in this scene.”
Valerie snickered. I stared at the back of her head and wished I could shoot deadly lasers out of my eyes and into her brain. We moved on, and I didn’t raise my hand again. I should have learned by now trying to impress teachers never ended well. You either came off as a kiss-ass or an overachiever, neither of which would make my life at Hell High any easier.
After last bell, I went outside and saw Valerie and half of her posse heading down toward the field in bright shorts and tank tops, even though to me it was practically winter. I saw another group of girls stretching and lacing up shoes, and against my better judgment I followed them. Being on a team was the easiest way to fit in, and it’d get me off the island on weekends. So what if Valerie was the queen b-word of the track as well as the school?
I set my stuff down and approached. “Hey. This is tryouts, right?”
Valerie gave me a pitying look that somehow managed to be toxic and condescending at the same time, which was a feat. “Mascot auditions are in the gym. Since I assume you’re looking for something that will save everyone from having to look at you.”
I took off my jacket and pulled my running shoes out of my bag.
“No sassy remarks this time?” Valerie pushed. “Am I upsetting you? You going to go home to your freak family and cry about the mean girl?”
I looked up at her and gave her a wide smile. Smiling confuses people if they’re expecting you to get all upset. “That’s an idea,” I said. “But I’d rather stay here and kick your ass on the track.”
More girls showed up in civilian running clothes, and Valerie stomped back into the crowd. I followed the other hopefuls into the locker room, changed, and went back out to stretch. I got the feeling of eyes on the back of my neck as I worked on my quads. Turning, I saw Doyle watching me from the shadow of the bleachers. He gave me a little wave and beckoned me over.
“Are you sure your girlfriend won’t bite your face off for talking to me?” I said when I jogged up.
He laughed. “I think you’re doing a fine job pissing her off on your own.”
I heard a whistle blow and shifted my feet. “Did you want something, or . . . ?”
Doyle handed me a folded piece of paper. “Just wanted to give you this. In case you change your mind about getting out of here.”
I shoved the paper into the pocket of my shorts. “Thanks, but I’m good.” He still didn’t leave, so I reached for the first reason that sounded halfway plausible. “Unless you want to give me a real, concrete reason, I’m kinda reluctant to run out on the first home without wheels I’ve lived in since grade school.”
His jaw twitched but he sighed. “Fine. I can’t stop you.”
“No,” I agreed. “You can’t.” I jogged back to the group on the track, and I felt like I’d swallowed a rock when I saw the track coach was Mr. Armitage. He raised one eyebrow when he saw me.
“You do know this is a team sport, Ms. Bloodgood? You’re expected to get along and support the other girls.”
“Is that what this is?” I said. “I thought this was the club where we go into the woods and fight each other Hunger Games–style.”
A few of the girls snickered, and even Valerie cracked a smile.
“If you’re so tough, give me your fastest mile,” Mr. Armitage said. “Valerie, since, unlike English literature, this is your arena of expertise, try not to beat her too badly.”
We lined up, and Valerie streaked ahead of me on the whistle. I caught up by the end of the first lap and felt my heart throb and my blood pound. This wasn’t like waking up on the lighthouse, though. I was warm and alive, and I dug my toes into the damp red clay of the track, letting my longer legs pull me just ahead of Valerie. If I could tire her out, I could shut her down in the finish lap.
Valerie was faster than I’d expected, though, and more important, she hated me, and she pulled ahead—way ahead. I watched her bright copper ponytail swish away from me, and I pushed myself again. My calf muscles burned, and I could hear my lungs making saw-blade sounds, but I wasn’t letting her beat me. This wasn’t a school I’d stay at for a few months and get to move on. I was here for who knew how long, and I wasn’t going to be dealing with some wannabe Regina George dogging my every step.
Gray thunderheads piled up as Valerie and I rounded the last turn, close enough to touch. My vision was blurring around the edges, and I saw a bright tongue of lightning flick the underside of the clouds over the bay. Two more steps, that was all I needed to get ahead. There was a flashbulb, and a thunder crack, and then my feet skidded across the chalk line at the end of the lap. Valerie came up a half second later and almost plowed into me. She doubled over, wheezing, and Armitage tossed her a bottle of Gatorade. “Walk it off,” he ordered, and then turned to me. “Seven sixteen. Not terrible.” He fished a jersey—blue with a bright yellow D on the back—from the mesh bag at his feet and tossed it to me. “Welcome.”
The sky opened and rain poured down on everyone, freezing droplets that washed all the sweat off my skin. Mr. Armitage called off the rest of the tryouts until the next day, and we ran for the gym.
Valerie caught me after I’d showered and headed for the bus. “Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” I said, eyeing her warily.
She sighed. “Look, you’re really good. We need more strong distance runners. Can we just call off the Game of Thrones?”
I shrugged. “I’m willing to stop being a bitch if you stop calling me a witch.”
Her mouth lifted at the corners. “Fair enough. Where did you go to school before Darkhaven? Not many people can just walk on the team with a seven-sixteen mile.”
“All over,” I said honestly. “Track is the one sport almost every school has, so it was easy to keep up even if we moved.” And running didn’t cost more than shoes and sweat, whether it was on the rainy, spongy ground of Portland or concrete-hard New Mexico high desert. It also gave me a ready-made excuse to get out and away from Mom, who would only run if the cops were chasing her.
“I’m jealous,” Valerie said. “I had to train all summer with a coach to shave my time down to under seven thirty.”
“Don’t be,” I said. “You have a long stride for somebody your height. I bet you kick ass cross-country.” I guessed I was serious with this olive branch extending, because I felt almost happy when Valerie held up her phone.
“Add me on Instagram and I’ll add you back, and I’m usually on Google chat. I’m Valirun98.”
“Cool,” I said, because “I don’t own a smartphone and live on a island where wireless signals go to die” would have made me look very much like some kind of boring time traveler from the past.
Valerie started to walk over to a red SUV idling at the curb and then turned back. “One more thing—stay away from my boyfriend. I know you guys are neighbors, but he’s mine, and we’re serious.”
“Yeah, I’m not his type,” I said. I wanted to roll my eyes at Valerie virtually peeing a circle around Doyle, but he was the best-looking guy I’d seen in this shallow gene pool of a town, and she was probably counting on the two of them moving someplace where restaurants stayed open past eight when high school was over. She could do her doctor thing, like Betty had said, and he could sit around being attractive. They’d be a perfect couple.
She could have her fantasy. Aside from the superstitious crap, I’d met a dozen guys just like Doyle. None of them had a clue what the real world was like. The first time being an upper-middle-class male didn’t get them what they wanted, they melted down.
The note he’d passed me crinkled inside my shorts pocket when I pawed through my bag for my water bottle, and I pulled it out and unfolded it while the bus rumbled down the hill to the pier.
I was tossed on a buoyant but unquiet sea, where billows of trouble rolled under surges of joy.
I smirked. Somebody was lying about never having read Rebecca.
Doyle’s number was scribbled below it, with a note.
Call me if you change your mind.
I crumpled up the note and shoved it into the bottom of my bag. I couldn’t figure Doyle out. One second he was all into me, the next he was practically dragging me to the town line and shoving me over it to get me away from him.
Rain lashed the bus window and lightning lit up the harbor, light then dark then light again. I wrapped my coat around me and ran for the boat. I never thought I’d be glad to be going back to the island, but cursed family lineage, mystery illness or not, it was better than high school.