stranger.”
“No problem.” I glanced away, hoping he’d drop the subject.
“What did you say to him? I thought he was right behind me.”
“I told him I hadn’t seen you, like you said.”
“That’s it? You must be convincing.” A note of skepticism seemed to underlie his words.
Was he skeptical of me? What could he possibly think I had done?
I shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. “Well, you’re the one who told me to say it. You must have thought it would work.”
“I guess.” He stared at me as if he were waiting for some sort of explanation.
As I was thinking of something to say that might distract him, the bus stopped and everyone got quiet. A cloud of dust drifted through our open window. The big iron gates that circled the school loomed in front of us. The driver held something up to a square, black-armed device that stood just to the left of the road leading up to the school. It issued a loud beep, and then, with a sound like a roller coaster going up the first big hill, the gate slowly began to retract.
When the gate had opened wide enough for the bus, we pulled forward. I lost sight of the gate after we cleared the opening, but you couldn’t miss the mechanical voice calling out loudly, “Caution, the gates are closing! Caution, the gates are closing!”
A second later the clang of heavy metal bars slamming together echoed through the bus.
Jack jumped and whipped his head around, as if expecting someone to sneak up behind him.
The bus fell silent. Everyone seemed to watch, fixated, as the gate disappeared from view. Then someone broke the quiet with a burp, and you could almost hear the relief in people’s voices as they laughed and restarted their conversations.
“I guess some kids think they’re still in middle school.” I tried to smile, but it was hard when Jack’s face looked so pale. He didn’t respond.
I studied my fingernails. Jack’s hands were in his lap, his knuckles white. When I looked up, I saw his throat moving as he swallowed. He craned his neck around to look at the road behind us.
“They must be serious about the whole security thing,” I offered.
“Security?” Jack asked.
“You know, protect the students and visitors.” I gestured toward the rest of the bus. “Keep the bad guys out?”
“Keep the bad guys out, or us in?”
He said it under his breath, and I wasn’t sure if he meant for me to hear. But his words settled between us, heavy and impossible to ignore. When I looked down, I realized I had clenched my hand into a fist. Deliberately, I released each finger, one by one.
“You’re kidding, right?”
He snorted. “Yeah, I’m kidding. Why would they want to keep us in? We’re just kids, right? Just a bunch of kids.”
He turned away to stare out the window, a little smirk playing around his lips. I considered saying something else, but Jack’s eyes didn’t look quite right, and I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. I turned back to the aisle, where Cam stood next to the driver.
“Now that we’re here,” Cam said, “I’d like to tell you a bit more about the place where you’ll spend the best four years of your life. Or at least, the best four years thus far.” A group in the back of the bus hooted and clapped, and the noise drowned out whatever Cam said next.
Hugely relieved by Cam’s somehow comforting presence, I turned my face toward his and tried to erase the memory of the gates slamming shut behind us.
Cam started describing the history of Delcroix: It had been established almost sixty years ago by a couple who wanted to make sure that kids with special gifts were nurtured and challenged. Their names were Peter and Cindy Delcroix, and they died in the late eighties. They left the school a huge endowment to keep it going.
What followed was more detail about Delcroix than any student could ever want to know—except maybe Esther. I’m sure she was fascinated. I wouldn’t have thought it possible for Cam to be
“No problem.” I glanced away, hoping he’d drop the subject.
“What did you say to him? I thought he was right behind me.”
“I told him I hadn’t seen you, like you said.”
“That’s it? You must be convincing.” A note of skepticism seemed to underlie his words.
Was he skeptical of me? What could he possibly think I had done?
I shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. “Well, you’re the one who told me to say it. You must have thought it would work.”
“I guess.” He stared at me as if he were waiting for some sort of explanation.
As I was thinking of something to say that might distract him, the bus stopped and everyone got quiet. A cloud of dust drifted through our open window. The big iron gates that circled the school loomed in front of us. The driver held something up to a square, black-armed device that stood just to the left of the road leading up to the school. It issued a loud beep, and then, with a sound like a roller coaster going up the first big hill, the gate slowly began to retract.
When the gate had opened wide enough for the bus, we pulled forward. I lost sight of the gate after we cleared the opening, but you couldn’t miss the mechanical voice calling out loudly, “Caution, the gates are closing! Caution, the gates are closing!”
A second later the clang of heavy metal bars slamming together echoed through the bus.
Jack jumped and whipped his head around, as if expecting someone to sneak up behind him.
The bus fell silent. Everyone seemed to watch, fixated, as the gate disappeared from view. Then someone broke the quiet with a burp, and you could almost hear the relief in people’s voices as they laughed and restarted their conversations.
“I guess some kids think they’re still in middle school.” I tried to smile, but it was hard when Jack’s face looked so pale. He didn’t respond.
I studied my fingernails. Jack’s hands were in his lap, his knuckles white. When I looked up, I saw his throat moving as he swallowed. He craned his neck around to look at the road behind us.
“They must be serious about the whole security thing,” I offered.
“Security?” Jack asked.
“You know, protect the students and visitors.” I gestured toward the rest of the bus. “Keep the bad guys out?”
“Keep the bad guys out, or us in?”
He said it under his breath, and I wasn’t sure if he meant for me to hear. But his words settled between us, heavy and impossible to ignore. When I looked down, I realized I had clenched my hand into a fist. Deliberately, I released each finger, one by one.
“You’re kidding, right?”
He snorted. “Yeah, I’m kidding. Why would they want to keep us in? We’re just kids, right? Just a bunch of kids.”
He turned away to stare out the window, a little smirk playing around his lips. I considered saying something else, but Jack’s eyes didn’t look quite right, and I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. I turned back to the aisle, where Cam stood next to the driver.
“Now that we’re here,” Cam said, “I’d like to tell you a bit more about the place where you’ll spend the best four years of your life. Or at least, the best four years thus far.” A group in the back of the bus hooted and clapped, and the noise drowned out whatever Cam said next.
Hugely relieved by Cam’s somehow comforting presence, I turned my face toward his and tried to erase the memory of the gates slamming shut behind us.
Cam started describing the history of Delcroix: It had been established almost sixty years ago by a couple who wanted to make sure that kids with special gifts were nurtured and challenged. Their names were Peter and Cindy Delcroix, and they died in the late eighties. They left the school a huge endowment to keep it going.
What followed was more detail about Delcroix than any student could ever want to know—except maybe Esther. I’m sure she was fascinated. I wouldn’t have thought it possible for Cam to be
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