Last to Die

TWELVE

CLAIRE WAS THE FIRST TO SPOT THE ARRIVAL OF THE NEW BOY. FROM the stairwell window, she watched the hatchback drive under the school’s stone arch and roll to a stop in the courtyard. The driver climbed out, a compact woman with unruly dark hair, dressed in blue jeans and a windbreaker. She stood and stretched, as if she’d been driving for a long time, then walked around to the back of the car and pulled out two small suitcases.

The rear passenger door swung open and someone else climbed out of the car: a boy.

Claire pressed up against the glass to study him, and she saw an egg-shaped head with light brown hair topped by a wisp of a cowlick. He reminded her of Pinocchio, all stick arms and legs moving in mechanical jerks and stops. He squinted up at the building, and his face was so pale that Claire thought: That’s what a vampire must look like. Or someone who’s been shut away too long in a cellar.

“Hey look. It’s the Night Crawler.”

Claire’s back stiffened at the too-familiar insult. She turned to see Briana and her two snooty girlfriends come sweeping down the staircase on their way to breakfast. These three were the golden girls, the princess posse with glossy hair and perfect teeth.

“What’s so interesting out there?” one of the princesses asked.

“Maybe she’s looking for a new place to hunt for grubs tonight.”

“Hey, Briana. Look,” one of the princesses said. “There’s the new kid we heard about.”

The three girls pushed Claire aside and crowded forward to stare through the window.

“He’s fourteen?” said Briana.

“You heard about him?” asked Claire.

Briana ignored her. “What a stick boy. He looks like he’s about ten.”

In the courtyard below, Headmaster Baum and Dr. Isles came out of the building to welcome the new arrivals. From the way the two women greeted each other, it was clear they were already acquainted.

“He looks like an insect,” one of the princesses said. “Like some creepy praying mantis.”

Briana laughed and looked at Claire. “Hey, Night Crawler. It sounds like your new boyfriend just arrived.”

HALF AN HOUR LATER, at breakfast, Claire got another look at him. The boy was sitting at Julian’s table, where the older boys sat. That’s probably why they’d put him there, so he’d be looked after on his first day. He seemed dazed and a little scared, as if he’d just landed on an alien planet. Somehow he sensed that she was looking at him, and he turned to stare at her. Then he kept on staring, as if Claire was the only one he found interesting. As if he’d just spotted the one other person who was as much a misfit as he was.

The insistent clink of a spoon against a water goblet made everyone look up at the teachers’ table. Headmaster Baum rose to his feet with a noisy scrape of his chair.

“Good morning, students,” he said. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, we have a new student with us today. Starting tomorrow, he’ll be attending classes.” He gestured toward Pinocchio-boy, who blushed at the sudden attention. “I hope you’ll make him feel welcome. And I hope you all remember what it was like when you first arrived, and try to make Teddy’s first day here an excellent one.”

Teddy, with no last name. She wondered why Headmaster Baum had left out that particular detail. She studied him more closely, the same way the boy was watching her, and she saw his lips curve into a smile so tentative that she wasn’t entirely sure it was there. She wondered why, of all the girls in the room, she was the one he was looking at. The three princesses were way prettier, and they were sitting closer to him. I’m just the class weirdo, she thought, the girl who always says the wrong thing. The girl with the hole in her head. So why are you looking at me?

It made her feel uncomfortable and thrilled at the same time.

“Ooh look. He’s staring at her.” Briana had sidled up to Claire’s table and now bent close to whisper in her ear. “It looks like Mr. Stick Bug has a thing for Ms. Night Crawler.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Maybe you’ll have cute little insect babies together.”

Without a word, Claire picked up her glass of orange juice and splashed it on Briana. Juice splattered her rival’s sparkly jeans and brand-new ballet flats.

“Did you see that?” Briana screamed. “Did you see what she just did to me?”

Ignoring the outraged squeals, Claire stood up and headed for the exit. On her way out, she glimpsed Will Yablonski’s spotty face grinning at her, and he gave her a sly thumbs-up. Now, there was another weirdo, just like her. Maybe that’s why Will was always so nice to her. Weirdos had to stick together here at Freak High, where no one could hear you scream.

The new boy was still staring, too. Teddy-with-no-last-name. She felt his eyes follow her every step.

IT WASN’T UNTIL THE next afternoon that she spoke to him. Every Thursday she had stable chores, and today she was grooming Plum Crazy, one of the four Evensong horses. Of all the duties regularly assigned to students, this was one she did not mind at all, even though it meant mucking out stalls and hauling around bales of wood shavings. Horses didn’t complain. They didn’t ask questions. They just watched her with their quiet brown eyes and trusted her not to hurt them. Just as she trusted them not to hurt her, even though Plum Crazy was a thousand pounds of muscle and sharp hooves, and all he had to do was roll over and he could squash her right here in his stall. Chickens scratched and flapped nearby, and Herman the rooster let loose with an annoying screech, but Plum Crazy stood still and serene through it all, nickering in contentment as Claire ran the currycomb across his flank and down his rear. The rasp, rasp of the rubber teeth was hypnotically soothing. She was so focused on the task that she did not at first realize someone was standing behind her. Only when she straightened did she suddenly notice Teddy’s face peering at her over the stall door. She was so startled, she almost dropped the currycomb.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped. Not exactly the friendliest of greetings.

“I’m sorry! I just wanted to … they told me I could …” He glanced over his shoulder, as if hoping someone would rescue him. “I like animals,” he finally said. “Dr. Welliver told me there were horses.”

“And cows and sheep. And these dumbshit chickens.” She dropped the currycomb in a hanging bucket, where it landed with a loud thump. It was an angry sound, but she wasn’t really angry. She just didn’t like being startled. Teddy was already backing away from the stall door.

“Hey,” she said, trying to make amends. “You want to pet him? His name’s Plum Crazy.”

“Does he bite?”

“Naw, he’s just a big baby.” She gave the horse’s neck a gentle pat. “Aren’t you, Plum?”

Cautiously Teddy swung open the stall door and stepped inside. As he stroked the horse, Claire retrieved the currycomb and resumed grooming. For a while they did not talk, just shared the stall in silence, inhaling the smells of fresh pine shavings and warm horseflesh.

“I’m Claire Ward,” she said.

“I’m Teddy.”

“Yeah. I heard that at breakfast.”

He touched Plum’s muzzle, and the horse suddenly tossed its head. Teddy flinched and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Even in the gloom of the stable, she saw how pale he was, and thin, his wrists as delicate as twigs. But his eyes were arresting, wide and long-lashed, and he seemed to be taking in everything at once.

“How old are you?” she asked.

“Fourteen.”

“Really?”

“Why do you sound surprised?”

“Because I’m a year younger than you. And you seem so …” Small was what she was about to say, but at the last second a kinder word came to mind. “Shy.” She peered at him over the horse’s back. “So do you have a last name?”

“Detective Rizzoli says I shouldn’t go around telling everyone.”

“You mean that lady who brought you here? She’s a detective?”

“Yeah.” He got up the nerve to stroke Plum’s muzzle again, and this time the horse accepted the pat and gave a soft nicker.

She stopped combing Plum and gave the boy her full attention. “So what happened to you?”

He didn’t answer, just looked at her with those wide, transparent eyes.

“It’s okay to talk about it here,” she said. “Everybody does. It’s the kind of school where they want you to get your pain out.”

“That’s what shrinks always say.”

“Yeah, I know. I have to talk to her, too.”

“Why do you need a shrink?”

She set the currycomb down. “I have a hole in my head. When I was eleven years old, someone killed my mom and dad. And then he shot me in the head.” She turned to face him. “That’s why I have a shrink. Because I’m supposed to be dealing with the trauma. Even though I can’t remember it. Any of it.”

“Did they catch him? The man who shot you?”

“No. He’s still out there. I think he might be looking for me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because it happened again, last month. My foster parents got killed, and that’s why I ended up here. Because it’s safe here.”

He said, softly: “That’s why they brought me here, too.”

She stared at him with new understanding, and saw tragedy written in his pale cheeks, in the brightness of his eyes. “Then you’re in the right place,” she said. “It’s the only school for kids like us.”

“You mean all the other kids here …”

“You’ll find out,” she said. “If you stay long enough.”

A shadow blotted out the light above the stall door. “There you are, Teddy. I’ve been looking for you,” said Detective Rizzoli. She noticed Claire and smiled. “Making new friends already?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Teddy.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but Dr. Welliver wants to talk to you now.”

He looked at Claire, who answered his unspoken question by mouthing: The shrink.

“She just wants to ask you a few questions. Get to know you better.” Detective Rizzoli opened the stall door. “Come on.”

Teddy stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him. Turning back, he whispered to Claire: “It’s Teddy Clock.”

He looks like a Teddy Clock, thought Claire as she watched him walk away. She left the stall and pushed the wheelbarrow filled with soiled horse bedding out of the stables. In the barnyard, that annoying rooster was causing trouble again, chasing and pecking a beleaguered hen. Even chickens could be cruel. They’re as mean as we are, she thought. They attack each other, even kill each other. Suddenly the sight of that poor hen, cowering under Herman the rooster’s assault, infuriated her.

“Leave her alone!” She aimed a kick, but Herman flapped safely out of reach and darted away, squawking. “Asshole rooster!” she yelled. Turning, she saw one of the princesses laughing at her from the corral. “What?” she snapped.

“He’s just a chicken, retard. What’s your problem?”

“Like anybody cares,” she muttered, and walked away.