Nightingale

Chapter 19 Warning Signals

Olivia and Bron took separate cars that day. To avoid recognition, she drove Mike's pickup, and wore sunglasses, arriving at school later than usual. She checked the parking lot for any sign of strangers before she got out of the truck and hurried in. The broad walkway was set beside a creek, and every hundred feet or so, she had to leap up some shallow steps.

She had just reached the plaza when she met Mr. Petrowski, the dance instructor. He was eyeing students as they practiced their dance routines.

He jutted his chin toward Bron, who was just walking into the building, while Kendall McTiernan lugged his guitar. In a mild Russian accent Petrowski said, "You just missed a wonderful performance. Your foster son astonished the school, and he won the admiration of ... Mr. McTiernan."

A chill crept over Olivia. Kendall McTiernan had been the subject of more than one faculty meeting this summer. Not everyone at Tuacahn was a devoted artist. Some teens were special cases. Tuacahn was so new, it hadn't quite maxed out its attendance, and the administration had been pressured into taking a couple of students who didn't quite fit in elsewhere. The hope was that these students would thrive at Tuacahn. Kendall was one of these test subjects.

Kendall was trouble. Several teachers were trying to figure out how to save him. Others just hoped that his explosive temper wouldn't go off at school. Some said that Kendall was just another Columbine, waiting to happen.

"Are you going to warn your son to stay away?" Mr. Petrowski asked.

Olivia wondered. Kendall had his good points. He'd transferred from a rough neighborhood in Dallas, one where he'd watched his older brother get stabbed to death in a senseless gang battle. Ever since then, he'd been toughening up.

He was brilliant, ruthless, devoted. Mostly devoted. It came from watching his brother die. He'd never gotten into a fight where he wasn't protecting someone else.

His guitar skills were almost non-existent. Olivia had him pegged to become a roadie for a couple of years, then graduate to becoming a band manager, maybe even a record producer.

Kendall has a mobster's mentality, Olivia thought. He should do well as a record producer.

"I'll have a talk with Bron," Olivia promised.

Olivia didn't see Bron for the rest of the morning, didn't even really have much time to think about him—aside from the fact that half the school was talking about his "awesome guitar skills." The air was electric in the hallways. Tryouts were going to begin for the Hyperion Club. A bevy of students ran the club, but as the faculty advisor, Olivia's opinion carried tremendous weight.

At the auditions this afternoon, Olivia could just about guarantee a student's acceptance into the club with the slightest nod of the head, or send them packing with even a bit of a frown.

She didn't take such power lightly. These kids worked and prayed and dreamed for this. Entrance into the club got them extra training for their careers. It helped seal them spots in plays, and since so many of her students ended up going to work on Broadway, she'd need to take special care today.

She stood outside on the plaza and listened to the students reciting lines in their own private worlds, singing openly, or practicing dance steps. She knew that timid students often did not perform at their best when put under pressure. So she studied them as they practiced, when they thought no one was watching.

She felt it important to begin developing her opinions on each student now—before the actual audition. If she found someone who needed a confidence boost, she could give that later. What she wanted today was to gauge their real talent.

So she spent time on the plaza, and patrolling the halls, and peering into the various darkened theaters and onto the dance floors to find the students lurking in the shadows.

She had made her way upstairs, when she halted abruptly: Marie Mercer stood in the office, Galadriel in tow.

Galadriel waited at the principal's desk, lithe and blonde and beautiful, and it seemed that the air went out of the hall. Kids were whispering to one another, "Who's that?"

Galadriel had transformed. She stood taller, and had a more commanding presence, as if she owned the school. Even her expression had altered: there was a fierceness to her eyes, determination, as if someone else had taken over Galadriel's body.

She was easily the prettiest girl in the school. It was as if a handsome caterpillar had just burst from its chrysalis, and sat in the morning sun stretching its wings, scintillating and sparkling in the sunlight. What she had been was forgotten. What she could become was heartbreakingly beautiful.

She spotted Olivia, rushed up, and with boundless enthusiasm she asked, "Where's Bron?"

As Galadriel said it, she actually leapt into the air a little. In anthropological circles the move was known as "the bounce." Females around the world did it. It was a subconscious display, one that drew attention to one's breasts, and it signified her willingness to mate.

Instantly Olivia knew: Galadriel had come to this school just to be with Bron.

"I'm sure that he's around somewhere," Olivia said. "Are you ... transferring schools?"

Galadriel beamed. "My mother always said I should be a movie star. So I thought I'd give it a try. It's not the kind of thing that you can learn just anywhere. This is the place to do it."

"Well, good luck," Olivia said. She wondered how long Galadriel might last here.

"I thought maybe you could help," Galadriel said. "I read online that there's this audition today, for this thing called the Hyperion Club? So I need to try out. But I've never had an acting lesson or a singing lesson, and I want to be great!"

Olivia opened her mouth, trying to fill it with something intelligent, but nothing would come. This girl wanted her to stop everything and teach her to be a Lea Michelle. "I, it takes a lot of work, Galadriel." She decided to be honest. "Most of our students study for years before they make it into the Hyperion Club. There's not much that I can—"

The bell rang. "Oh, sorry," Olivia said. "We'd better get to class." She smiled graciously, relieved to make her escape.

News of Galadriel Mercer's arrival at Tuacahn surged through the school like a tsunami.

Whitney Shakespeare heard bits and pieces of it in the hall as she walked between classes. Girls were whispering, "Have you seen the new girl?" and despairing whimpers of "She's so beautiful!" and "Who is she?"

It was Dia Sosa who supplied the answer in a ghetto accent. "She live next to Mrs. Hernandez. Funny thing, she's never wanted to come to this school befo'."

Whitney stopped in her tracks. Dia hung with a crowd of girls, talking to them, but her gaze was fixed on Whitney.

A chill ran down her spine. Whitney understood instantly. This girl, Galadriel, hadn't come to the school looking for an education.

"That's right, sista'," Dia joked. "You got the fight of your life on your hands. Want I should borrow you a razor, or something, to cut her face up?"

Just then, Dia nodded, jutted her chin toward the stairwell. Whitney followed her gaze.

A gorgeous blonde in a stylish pink shift came down the steps, seeming almost to float. She reminded Whitney of a water lily, resting on a glassy pool, so perfectly vibrant and wholesome.

For a moment Whitney forgot to breathe.

With everyone else wearing their school uniforms, the girl's outfit was completely out of place. The teachers were letting it slide for her first day.

Whitney felt a pain in her palms, glanced down. Her fists were clenched. She'd pressed her fingernails into her skin so hard, she'd nearly drawn blood.

In second period that day, just before lunch, Olivia found that Kendall McTiernan had unexpectedly transferred into her class.

He was a singularly odd young man, with broad shoulders and arms so long that he should have been able to walk on his knuckles. She wasn't sure if he gelled his curly hair, or if it was just oily. He had a brooding expression, as if he was sad and angry, but Olivia studied him all through class and realized that his heavy brows just cast deep shadows. His brown eyes were really quite gentle and inquisitive.

When class finished and the kids were grabbing their backpacks, she called, "Kendall?"

He looked up in alarm, as if he expected her to yell at him. "Yo, Mrs. Hernandez."

"Could I speak to you in private, please?"

He shrugged, as if to say "fair enough," and waited for the other students to leave. Not wanting to cut into his lunch time, she got right to the point. "I saw you with Bron this morning. You plan to hang with him this year?"

"The guy's a freakin' genius," Kendall said. He shrugged apologetically. "I thought maybe some of it might rub off. With a little luck, I'll pick up a bouncer."

"A bouncer?"

"You know," Kendall explained. "Pretty girls throw themselves at him, one bounces off, and maybe I pick her up."

Olivia nodded her head wisely. "Ooooh. Good plan."

"That all?" he asked, seeking permission to go.

Olivia licked her lips. "I wanted to talk to you about Bron. You see, he got in trouble at his last school...." she figured that Kendall could relate. "I don't know all of the details, but there are some young people who have been looking for him, and they might come here." Kendall immediately stiffened, and his right hand strayed toward his back pocket. She didn't want to know what he kept there.

"In any case," Olivia said, "if anyone comes around asking questions—"

"I'll handle them, Mrs. Hernandez."

That was the problem. This boy might be good in a fight, but he wouldn't stand a chance against a Draghoul. "No," Olivia said, "I don't want violence. Just make sure that you warn me. If any strange people come onto the campus, I want to know about it immediately. You run straight to my class, or to my office—whatever it takes."

"Sure thing, Mrs. Hernandez," he offered. "I'll tell the boys in the band to keep their eyes out."

She'd seen the boys in his band—a ragtag team of losers and dreamers who could somehow seem frightening when they got together.

"Thank you," she said. "That's all that I was hoping for—a few more pairs of eyes on the lookout."