Rebel Belle

Page 39

“Are you guys a thing?” I asked, tapping the picture. It suddenly occurred to me that I knew next to nothing about David’s social life. He’d always hung out with the same handful of kids in school, all the same kids that were on the newspaper staff now. And since David and I had basically declared ourselves mortal enemies in preschool, our circles didn’t overlap often. But I never saw him at school dances or at the movies or anything. I’d certainly never seen him with a girl. But Chie had looked weirded out about him holding my hair when I puked at Homecoming.
“Huh?” he asked, squinting at the picture. “Oh, no. We’re friends. That was . . . goofing off with the camera in newspaper.”
“I think she likes you,” I said. He gave a noncommittal grunt in reply, shoving his laundry basket into the closet.
Since that was a dead-end street, I crouched down in front of the bookcase. Like mine, it was overstuffed, but whereas I’d at least made an attempt at organizing titles, David had books shoved in every which way and stacked on top of one another.
There were a bunch of fantasy novels, and classics, as well as several biographies of journalists. I picked up a book about Ernie Pyle and started thumbing through it. “So you’re really into this whole newspaper guy thing.”
David pushed the closet door closed. “Yeah. I always thought that’s what I’d do for a living one day.”
I put the book back and turned to face him. “You still can.”
He snorted, leaning back against his footboard. “Yeah, I’ll be one heck of a journalist. I can predict the stories before they happen.”
I wanted to say something encouraging. Something like, “Hey, you still can! So what if you might be a supernaturally powered crazy dude!”
But even I couldn’t fake that much pep. “We’ll work it out,” I said.
David looked at me, and there was that expression again, the one he usually got right before he wrote a terrible article about me. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
I walked over to his desk and sat in the chair. “The only alternative is to sit here and whine about it, and I don’t think that’s going to accomplish much. Now. What is it you want to try?”
David rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. “I want to try to have a prophecy.”
Confused, I sat up straighter. “Don’t we need Saylor for that? She’s your battery or whatever.”
David shook his head. “I don’t want her to know about this. And I think . . . I think just the two of us ought to be enough to get some kind of vision. It’s worth a shot, at least.”
I wasn’t exactly opposed to the idea. Some hint of what was coming could be helpful. But I still didn’t get why David was so set against telling Saylor.
He must’ve read that in my face because he sat on his bed, propping his elbows on his knees. “I know I have to trust Saylor again. Eventually. And I will.”
I didn’t know how to answer that, so I just nodded. “Okay. Let’s prophesize.”
Relief washed over David’s face. “Right.” He sat up, clasping his hands in front of him. “So where should we . . .”
I got out of the chair and attempted to sit as gracefully as I could on the floor. “Here,” I said, holding my hands out.
After a pause, David sat across from me, folding his long legs. But he didn’t take my hands. Instead, he stared at them like he’d never seen hands before. “It probably will only work with Saylor,” he said. “Surely you and I have held hands before. In PE, playing Red Rover or something. And nothing happened then.”
I thought back, trying to remember if I’d ever held hands with David Stark, but nothing came.
I opened and closed my hands at him. “Maybe we did, but that was before I got all superpowered, so it doesn’t matter. Now come on.”
Still, he sat there, hands clenched in his lap. “We hugged!” he exclaimed, lifting his head. “In your car, when we didn’t die, and the other night, with the soup. We hugged, and I didn’t have some crazy-ass vision.”
Neither had I. But I’d had a potential case of the butterflies I was trying very hard not to think of right now. And then I noticed the red flush creeping its way up David’s neck and wondered if he was trying to squelch the same thing. “That was just a hug, and we were both fully clothed.”
He shot me a weird look, and the flush on his neck got redder.
“I mean our—our skin didn’t touch,” I hurried on, and now, oh God, I was blushing, too. “So maybe this thing needs skin-onskin contact. Or hand-on-hand. Or . . .”
Frustrated, I reached out and grabbed his hands. “Please shut up and think future-y thoughts.”
“I wasn’t the one talking,” he reminded me, but before I could give any kind of comeback, I felt the low buzz of electricity start between our palms. It was nothing like that first night with him and Saylor, the power of it nearly blowing us out of our chairs. But it was there. Weak and full of static, like a TV channel that was trying to come through.
David closed his eyes and I did the same. Our hands were warm, and as David’s fingers tightened on mine, a picture began to form behind my eyelids. There was a flash of white, another of red, and I thought I could hear screams again, but they were so faint, I wasn’t sure. More red, and stairs. A bunch of greenery crumpled on the ground, and silver—
Suddenly, the picture was gone, and David wasn’t holding my hands. When I opened my eyes, I saw him standing across the room, next to his bookshelf.
“What is it?” I asked, rising to my feet.
Shaking his head, he turned back around, and his face wasn’t so much pale as it was gray. When he still wouldn’t answer, I grabbed his arm.
“Remember what you said to me about how I had to start saying ‘dead’? Well, you have to start saying things, too. Namely, important things, no matter how dumb you think they are.”
He turned to face me, and his mouth opened and closed a couple of times. “I saw you, in a white dress. You were lying on the steps, at Magnolia House, bleeding. And I . . . I saw you die.”
Chapter 32
I’d only thought I’d taken Cotillion practice seriously before. Now that I knew what the night was really about, I was nearly fanatical in getting everything right.
That Thursday afternoon, Saylor was MIA at Cotillion practice. She hadn’t said where she would be, only that she needed me to be in charge. So I walked up and down the stairs of Magnolia House and did my very best not to imagine myself lying dead on them. Like I’d told David that afternoon, Blythe and Saylor had both said that boy Oracles could see what could happen, not necessarily what would. Of course I could die the night of Cotillion. We’d always known that. But I wasn’t going to, because that night was going to go off perfectly, no matter how many times I had to correct the girls’ placement. Where they were standing was important since Saylor and I were trying to create an easy exit should stuff go badly.
But the third time I snapped, “Move three steps to your left, Mary Beth!” she whirled on me.
“Oh my God, Harper, it doesn’t matter. You don’t have to pick on me just because I sat next to your boyfriend at a movie.”
It was almost like the air had been sucked out of the room. Or maybe that was from everyone trying not to gasp all at once. Ryan and I hadn’t talked about Mary Beth and the movies, or David and the jacket. I think both of us were willing that entire evening away. He’d come over a couple of evenings, and we’d sat in the entertainment room my dad had set up in the basement, watching movies and occasionally kissing, but things still felt fragile and awkward between us. Two more weeks, I kept reminding myself. Two more weeks, and all of this is over.
But now here was Mary Beth, throwing it in my face. Bee moved closer. “You sat where with who?” We were practicing in our dresses today, and Bee looked like a seriously pissed-off bride as she stomped to my side. “You went to the movies with Ryan?” she asked Mary Beth.
Bee was one of the sweetest people I knew, but she was also super scary when she got angry. It didn’t help that she was over six feet tall in her heels.
Mary Beth went a little pale. “No!” she bleated. “I-I sat next to him after Harper ran out to hook up with David Stark.”
Now everyone did gasp, and David, who was in his usual spot, slouching behind a paperback book, sat up.
Bee turned confused eyes on me. “You and David . . .” She trailed off, and I looked around, wondering where the hell Saylor had gotten off to.
“No,” I told Bee. “I ran into him. Literally.” Pitching my voice lower, I added, “And you know why I’ve been spending time with David.”
She nodded, but didn’t look particularly reassured. From his spot in the corner, David called, “The only hooking up Harper did was with a pint of crab bisque. She ran into me, I spilled soup, and then I gave her my jacket. Like a gentleman. That’s all there was.”
He pulled his feet up onto his chair, propping the heels of his Converse on the edge of the seat, and disappeared behind his book again. But Mary Beth only narrowed her eyes at him and then turned back to me.
“Whatever. Everyone knows that you and David have been flirting since, like, third grade, and all those mean articles are his way of pulling your freaking pigtails. And you have Ryan Bradshaw for a boyfriend, and it’s like you don’t even care!”
The other girls were all circling around us now, like this was some bizarre game of Duck-Duck-Goose, and I could feel my face flaming. The only thing I hated more than a scene was people getting involved in my personal stuff, and this was both.
“You don’t know anything about me and Ryan,” I told Mary Beth, trying to keep my voice calm.
“I know that all he is to you is another . . . achievement.” Mary Beth seemed close to tears now, her voice tight and squeaky. “Look at the way you treated him Saturday night. You just ran out of the theater. No explanation, no apology. And then you show up two hours later wearing David’s jacket?”