Nevermore

Isobel stopped. Skidding to a halt, Gwen nearly toppled into her.

“What are you talking about?”

“Varen and Madame Cleopatra,” said Gwen in a low, drawn-out voice, flicking her fingers dramatically over fluttering eyes. “Happened this morning. I heard it from Trevor, who heard it from Sara, who heard it from Ellen, who said she saw them arguing.”

Gwen leaned against a row of lockers, arms folded. “Apparently, though,” she said, “they were only pseudo girlfriend-boyfriend to begin with anyway.”

Isobel narrowed her eyes on Gwen, then whipped around to stalk through the hallway again. “Sure looked like they were broken up.”

She could hear Gwen bustling after her again. “Okay, so I don’t know what that little moment was all about, but I do know for a fact that they’re not together. Didn’t you see his reaction when she came over? So obvious he wasn’t about her.”

“And I care because?”

“Whatever!” Gwen said. A huge smile sprang to her lips, making Isobel feel even worse. “As if.

You so got it for him. I mean, can we say, ‘Uhm, urh, durh, Sloppy Joe’? Psh. Please. Can’t hide it from me. I know all—hey, what happened last night, anyway? Are you ever going to tell me? And oh my God, Brad’s car. Any idea who could have done it? And what’s this stuff about the ice cream shop? What happened at the ice cream shop? C’mon, Isobel, you’re gonna have to fill me in herehey, why are we going into the gym?”

Isobel came to a halt outside the double doors and pivoted to face Gwen. “You can’t tell anybody.”

“What? That we’re going to the gym?”

“No,” she said. “I mean . . . about Varen.”

“What? You mean . . . that you like him?”

“Swear,” Isobel pleaded. “You can’t tell anyone.”

Gwen’s expression turned coy. “What, you don’t think he likes you back?”

“You do?”

Gwen’s smile grew. “You kidding? I mean, did you not see the way he kept sneaking looks at you?

No, I guess you didn’t. He was very good at it. Kinda makes you wonder what else he’s good at.”

She elbowed Isobel and beamed. “And why else do you think little Miss Morticia Addams came prancing over? But don’t worry, I won’t tell.” Gwen thrust a fist between them, her smallest finger extended. “Pinky swear.”

Isobel paused, an eyebrow raised, but then hooked her own pinky with Gwen’s. They shook.

“Come on,” said Isobel. Turning, she pushed through the gym doors. Gwen hustled in behind her.

Isobel found Coach Anne in her office, listening to the oldies station and poring over paperwork.

She looked up only when Isobel tapped on her open door.

“I want back on the squad,” Isobel said.

Coach’s curiosity over Gwen faded in an instant; her eyes flashed, then narrowed and locked on Isobel. She leaned back in her chair and tossed her pen onto her desk. She rubbed her face like she was too tired to hear it. Isobel stood her ground, determined to do or say whatever it took to get back into the air.

“You walked off the squad, Lanley.”

“And now I want to walk back on,” she said. “I was wrong. And stupid. I want to go to Nationals. I want to see us win.”

Coach Anne pursed her lips, considering.

Behind them, the bell ending lunch echoed through the gymnasium.

“Get your keister back to class, Lanley,” Coach Anne said. “You’ve got two more hours to prepare your formal apology to the squad, and I want it in cheer format, is that understood?”

“Yes!” shouted Isobel, jumping.

“Go on,” Coach Anne said, waiving them toward the door. “I’m not writing any notes. Get your butts back to class.”

“Come on!” said Isobel.

Together they hurried out of the gym and took a shortcut through the courtyard, their footsteps crackling through strewn leaves.

“Isssobel.”

She stopped and whipped her head around. A breeze washed past them, carrying with it a rush of crisped leaves, the singed smell of autumn.

“What is it?” Gwen asked, jogging up to meet her.

Isobel’s gaze darted toward the cafeteria Dumpster, where she thought she’d seen someone. Her eyes snapped to the oak tree in the courtyard’s center. She caught a dark blur of something just as it vanished behind the trunk. She heard a low rustle. A group of nearby pigeons, pecking at a pizza crust, took off in a flurry.

She tilted her head back to follow their scattered flight. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she caught a glimpse of several dark figures peering down at her and Gwen from the ledge of the roof.

That couldn’t be right.

She dropped her gaze, stepped back to a better angle, and looked again.

What she had first taken for the silhouettes of people’s heads, Isobel could now see were crows.

They all sat on the edge of the roof, beaks rifling through feathers, heads turning in small jerky movements.

Someone snickered.

“What was that?” Isobel whispered.

“What was what?” Gwen asked. “And what are we looking at?”

Isobel revolved in a slow circle, her eyes scanning the empty courtyard and the vacated cement tables strewn with stray pieces of trash. “Nothing. I just . . .”

Inside, the bell rang.