The Paladin Prophecy (15 page)

Classical piano music played from inside one of the closed bedroom doors. Someone was practicing, someone exceptionally skilled. Brooke returned with cotton pads and hydrogen peroxide. She opened the bottle and soaked one of the pads.

“You don’t have to do this,” said Will. “I can go back to the infirmary.” His head still hurt, but the weakness had started to fade.

“Two years as a nurse’s aide—I think I can manage,” said Brooke. “My mom’s a doctor. Tilt your head this way.”

She leaned over, brushed his hair out of the way, and removed his bandage. When she set it on the table, Will saw it was solid red. She dabbed peroxide gently on his stitches; he willed himself not to react. She bit her lip as she concentrated.

“Looks like the stitches held … and the bleeding’s stopped.… Doesn’t that hurt like hell?”

“No,” he said.

“Liar. I’d be screaming.”

“Nurse’s aide, huh?”

“Shut up.” Brooke finished cleaning the wound and prepped a new bandage.

“How’d you end up here?” asked Will.

“My dad’s an alumnus. We never really discussed my going anywhere else.”

“So it had nothing to do with your test scores?”

“My scores were great, but legacy kids also have an inside track. I’ve known I was coming here since third grade.” She applied the new bandage. “That’ll do it. Don’t tell another soul you have that cell phone.”

“I won’t if you won’t.”

Brooke looked seriously at him. “No joke, Will. I saw Lyle find a BlackBerry on a freshman last year. The kid got a nosebleed that wouldn’t quit.”

And I’ll bet Lyle never laid a hand on him
. Will cringed at the memory of Lyle’s attack. “The wrong people always get put in charge,” he said.

“I should have warned you about Lyle. Next time you’ll know better.”

Next time I’ll be ready
.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” she asked.

“No.”
Okay, this is happening a lot lately
.

Brooke gave him a long look, then set the medical supplies on a counter and turned formal tour guide again. “So this is our shared space. Communal kitchen. Bedrooms are through each door. You’re over here.”

She led him to a door marked “4.” Inside was a surprisingly large furnished room with irregular angles, pale blue walls, and dark hardwood floors. It was furnished with a single bed, nightstand, and sturdy desk with a futuristic meshwork chair. One of the black phones sat on the desk. A chest of drawers sat in an open closet. A large bay window looked out over the woods, away from campus. The only other door led to a private white-tiled bathroom.

“The blank canvas design is intentional, by the way,” she said. “You’re expected to make it your own. Are you hungry?”

“Starved.”

“Take your time. I’ll see what we have in the kitchen.”

She closed the door behind her. Will set his bag on the bed. Tested the mattress. Firm but not too firm: the perfect balance. The room felt pleasant but utterly neutral. He might have been anywhere in the world.

This is where I live now
.

He’d faced this moment many times before. He was used to starting over.

But never alone. Never without my parents
.

Now that he was here—and safe—the enormity of his loss came rushing at him. He wrestled those feelings down before the anguish overwhelmed him.

I’m not going to grieve. I’m not going to give whoever did this to us the satisfaction. I know they’re still alive and I’m going to fight until I find them
.

He’d been dropped into this new life now. He had to stay strong and keep moving forward. That’s what his parents would
want
him to do.

#50: IN TIMES OF CHAOS, STICK TO ROUTINE. BUILD ORDER ONE STEP AT A TIME.

Will dried his eyes, took a long look in the mirror, and didn’t like what he saw: exhausted, pale, beaten down. He put away his few clothes in the closet. Set the mechanical bird in the top drawer of the dresser and folded the towel over it. The framed photograph of his parents and Dad’s rules went on the bedside table. He hid the cell phone under the mattress and plugged in its charger behind the bed.

Will took a shower. Instant hot water blasted from an adjustable showerhead under solid pressure. Careful not to get his hair wet, he washed off the wear and tear of the road. Somewhat revived, he changed into his spare jeans, a white T-shirt, sweater, and his bomber jacket. Which more or less exhausted his wardrobe.

He heard raised voices from the great room and opened the door. An older boy stood near the front door. He was three inches taller and thirty pounds heavier than Will, all of it solid muscle. He was tan, ruddy cheeked, with short black hair, and he wore trim gray khakis and a tight navy blue polo. He held Brooke’s left wrist in his right hand, twisting it slightly, pulling her closer.

“That’s not what you said. That’s not what we
agreed on
,” he said, just short of yelling.

“Lower your voice and let go of me—” she said.

“Hey there,” said Will. “What’s the good word?”

The older boy looked at Will, surprised. “Who’s this noob?” he asked Brooke.

“He just got here—”

Will walked over, grinning like a clueless goofball. “My name’s Will West. And I’m from
out
west, too. Isn’t that ironic? Really pleased to meet you. And you are?”

Will extended his hand, radiating nerd vibes. Some vestige of country club manners hit the front of the guy’s brain. He let go of Brooke and shook Will’s hand.

“Todd Hodak.”

Hodak opened his eyes really wide, simulating interest, and clamped down on Will’s hand as hard as he could. Will pretended it hurt a lot more than it did, bending over, trying to shake it off.

“Dang, that’s some grip, Todd. Look, I’ll never play the piano again.” He held up his hand, hanging limply, and chuckled. Todd stared at Will as if he had leprosy.

“You must be an athlete, right? What sport? I’m guessing most of ’em! I just got here and I already miss my dog. Do you have a dog? Mine’s named Oscar. He’s a long-haired dachshund. You know, like ‘Oscar
Mayer
,’ ’cause he’s a
wiener
dog—”

Todd turned to Brooke. “We’ll talk about this later.”

He slammed the door as he left. Brooke, flushed and upset, hurried to the kitchen. Will trailed her to the dining area. She came back out carrying a large plate, which she set down, noisily, on the table.

“Excuse me a moment,” she said.

Brooke hurried into bedroom 1 and closed the door. A moment later, Will heard her crying. Unsure what to do, he went back to the table, where there was a pitcher of lemonade and tall glasses with ice, small earthen tubs of three different dips, a selection of sliced vegetables, and a dish of spiced olives.

And all he could think was,
She lives here. There
is
a God
.

The front door flew open. An elfin black-haired kid bolted in, arms full of boxes overflowing with electronic components. He stopped, startled, when he saw Will. His skin was the color of caramel, his eyes big, brown, and shiny. The kid studied him intensely but didn’t change expression. Then he hurried to bedroom 3, transferring his load onto one skinny arm just long enough to unlock the door. He pushed it open with his butt, darted inside, and closed it behind him. Will heard multiple locks being thrown on the other side.

Brooke came out of her room. Eyes red, forcing a smile, determined to proceed as if nothing named Todd Hodak had jammed her frequencies. She sat at the table and grazed from the platter. Will sat across from her and dug in as well.

“We have a good group here, all things considered.” She waved a carrot toward door 3. “You’ll like Ajay. Everybody likes Ajay. He’s indispensable.”

She took a bite of carrot and pointed to door 2. “But Nick’s a ginormous pain in the watusi. Do you like sports or Chuck Norris?”

“I like sports.”

“Then who knows, you and Nick might be able to bond.”

Will couldn’t stop eating. The dips were all fresh and delicious: hummus, an artichoke mix, and something tart and gooey he couldn’t identify.

“What is this?” asked Will, pointing to the third dip. “It’s unbelievable.”

“Baba ghanoush.” The way she said it, with a slight lisp, sounded so adorable Will almost asked her to repeat it. Brooke waved her carrot stub at door 5, where Will had heard piano music earlier.

“Elise is in five. Elise is … well, you’ll see for yourself.” She popped the carrot into her mouth. “You may have something in common with her.”

“What?”

“You’re a big boy. I’ll let you make up your own mind.”

Will tried not to sound too interested. “So are all the pods co-ed?”

“Is that a problem for you?”

“No, no, not at all—” said Will.

“Because one of the halls is segregated by floors, if it is—”

“It’s not—”

“—but you’d have to tell Dr. Robbins—”

“It’s not a problem.”

She leaned back and smiled. “You might feel differently when you meet Elise.”

“I doubt that I’ll feel differently.”

She took a bite of red pepper. “You don’t have a dachshund named Oscar.”

“I don’t even have a dog.”

“So you were just messing with Todd.”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

“No. Not even a little bit.”

“Yes,” said Will. “I was messing with Todd.”

Door 3 opened. Ajay stepped out and made sure his door was locked.

“Ajay, this is Will,” said Brooke. “He’s moving into number four.”

“So I see,” said Ajay with a small bow. “Welcome, sir. Misery is compounded by solitude, so it does, in fact and indeed, prefer company.”

He had a deep, dignified voice and a refined Southern accent. He looked about twelve and sounded like he was running for president.

“Oh, fudge,” said Brooke, glancing at the wall clock. “I’ve got to get to a lab. Ajay, could you take care of Will for a while? He needs clothes, groceries, books, and supplies—it’s all really kind of desperate. Back in a bit.”

Brooke hurried out the front door. Ajay helped himself to an olive.

“If that is indeed the case,” said Ajay, “then I am exactly the man you need to see: Ajay Janikowski, entirely at your service.”

Ajay reached behind his back, tossed the olive five feet in the air, and caught it in his mouth.

AJAY JANIKOWSKI

Ajay darted ahead of Will into the hallway and through a side door.

“We’ll take the stairs,” said Ajay. “The elevators date from the early days of the Harry S. Truman administration. They’d finish third in a race with a glacier and a deceased postal worker.”

Ajay bounded down the stairs ahead of him, brimming with energy he hardly seemed able to contain. Will struggled to keep up with him.

“How badly are you injured?” asked Ajay.

“Not seriously.”

“And you just arrived this morning. Where did you fly in from?”

“Southern California.”

“Are those the only clothes you brought with you?”

“More or less.”

Ajay stopped on a landing and assessed him. “You’re going to die almost immediately from hypothermia.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“How much money do you have?” asked Ajay.

“What comes below abject poverty?”

“Tell me you don’t already have a mad crush on Brooke.”

Will finally caught up, his head throbbing. “What makes you think that?”

Ajay shook his head in disappointment and continued down. “Good God, man, we have our work cut out for us.”

Ajay pushed through the ground floor door and set the same brisk pace outside toward campus. The temperature had warmed considerably, from crippling to just below disfiguring. Will zipped up his jacket and shivered.

“Why would you assume I have a crush on Brooke?” asked Will.

“Please, Will. Destiny clearly intends, by virtue of domestic proximity, some form of friendship for us, but you simply must acknowledge the danger of our situation.”

“What would that be?”

Ajay’s big eyes got even wider. “Why, the astonishing and nearly supernatural attractiveness of not just our two extraordinary roommates, but the school’s entire
female population
.”

“You mean … they’re all like Brooke?”

“No, that’s just it,” said Ajay, gesturing expansively. “They’re all as different as snowflakes. Beautiful, interesting girls, each capable, in her own delicious way, of driving you to madness. Any red-blooded male would swim shark-infested waters with a Bantu spear through his leg to change places with us. But if you don’t control yourself, your nervous system will detonate like a string of firecrackers. A bomb-sniffing dog couldn’t save you.”

“How old are you?” asked Will.

“Fifteen. But chronological age is a most unreliable method of evaluation.”

“Okay, so I think Brooke is a flat-out slammin’ babe and will someday rule the world. That better?”

“Yes! We’ve established that you’re not a robot.”

Ajay slapped him on the back, laughed heartily, and led them into one of the larger buildings. A substantial sign read STUDENT UNION. It did nothing to prepare Will for what awaited inside.

The student union was the size of a shopping mall. A grocery store took up the southwestern corner. He saw a laundry and dry cleaners next door to a bank, a massive sporting goods store, and a store offering every art or academic supply imaginable. The school bookstore seemed to go on forever. It opened into a busy food court offering eight different cuisines, none of which looked fast, cheap, or unhealthy. Across from that was a duplex movie theater; one showed a film that was still in general release. Ajay explained the other theater ran only classics from the “Golden Age”—way back, before
Star Wars
—as part of a film studies course. The marquee read HITCHCOCK’S “REAR WINDOW.” Next door was the six-lane bowling alley and soda fountain that he’d seen in the school’s promotional materials.

Will followed Ajay into a clothing store as big as a football field, with row after row of every item you could imagine in variations of the school colors. Will felt overwhelmed and intensely aware he had only a hundred dollars left in his wallet.