The Tramp (The Bound Chronicles #1) (21 page)

chapter twenty-four

Candy bounded from her front porch to John’s waiting car. The passenger door was already ajar and she ducked inside under the ragtop. “Good, you put the top up.”

“Yeah, looks like rain,” he murmured, still sleepy-eyed and sedate. He watched Candy bounce in her seat with a bemused look.

“I’ll finally arrive somewhere without being a crazy, wind-blasted mess.”

“I thought you did that on purpose.” John smiled and eyed her artfully tousled hair. “Fine line between careless and tangled, I guess.”

“Yeah, there is, Mr. Un-tucked Yet Miraculously Un-wrinkled Oxford Boy.”

“Mmmm.” He looked down at his wardrobe and lifted a shoulder in assent. “Grandma Pearl frowns on wrinkles.”

“I bet she does, is that where you learned it? So, first day of school—are you ready? Did you get all your books? Of course you did.”

“Forgot how electrified you are in the morning.” He caught his empty thermos off the passenger seat, under her butt-cheeks and in between bounces, and tossed it into the back.

She frowned at the flying metal cup. “Coffee? You don’t drink coffee, do you?”

He glanced at the discarded drink container absently. “Protein shake. Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be. I mean, I’m excited to see some people again that I haven’t seen all summer. And people I’d just like to see more often, you know?”

“Oh yeah, like who?” John swiveled around in his seat, put the car in neutral, and let it roll down the driveway into the street.

“Just some friends.” Candy’s mind settled on one friend in particular, but she decided not to mention Sam yet. John would meet him soon enough and the thought sent the butterflies in her stomach into conniptions. “I guess, the first day back I just dread all the polite small talk, the cagey remarks, the searching questions. Especially at lunch—the lunches are broken into two sessions, and you never know who you’ll get or who you’ll miss.”

“Can’t be that bad?” John turned to face forward again and caught sight of the worry in her face. She was wringing her hands in her lap. “Didn’t forget anything inside, did you?”

She shook her hands out and laughed.
I’m being ridiculous.
“Nope, let’s go.”

Candy’s house was a little out of the way for John, but she needed moral support on the first day of school and he said he didn’t mind picking her up. He turned off Forest Lane and onto Hemlock Drive, easing down the winding trail, listening to Candy chat about her class schedule. His dad must have taught him to downshift into the lowering grade of the road instead of burning up the brake pads, and he concentrated intently, still unused to the terrain. Finally, they reached the intersection with the state road, which leveled out into the valley. John came to a full stop and turned to Candy, who had grown pensive and quiet. “What are you thinking about?”

“Hm? Oh, just ticking off lists in my head. You know, school supplies and stuff,” she lied. All she could think about was Sam and how strange it would be to see him at school. Who did he hang out with? She had no idea who his friends were, besides Ricky Mendez. Would they sit together at lunch? The thought of food made her want to vomit. Did Sam have girlfriends at Jackson the previous year? She searched her mind for Sam Castle gossip memories and came up with nothing concrete.

John wasn’t fooled. He watched the side of her face, scanning for clues. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” She started bouncing in her seat again, urging him on. “Let’s go.”

John put on his sunglasses and put the car in gear. “Alright. Andrew Jackson, here we come.”

The pair lapsed into silence for the last thirty minutes of the drive, the countryside zooming by in the pale morning. The only sound inside the car was a low purr from the engine and the wind whistling against the glass. Candy could feel him monitoring her out of the corner of his eye and she tried to act normal. She flipped on the satellite radio and searched for something good to pass the time, surprised to find that John had several of her favorite channels already programmed into his speed menu.

Shirley Valley was narrow, but long, and Candy lived at the extreme north end. Andrew Jackson High School sprawled in the last wide bulge of the southern valley, before both Eastern and Western Mountain closed together and strangled the land in a bottleneck. Farther south past the school, there was hardly more than a hundred yards straddling either side of the train tracks and the river for miles. Then, the two ridges became one: Red Ridge Mountain. The train was forced into a tunnel and the river spilled down Hell’s Gate waterfall. It was a hike for Candy to get to school, but plenty of kids had it worse; Jackson was a tri-county public school and serviced all the little towns south and west of the waterfall. There was no way across it close to the school, so students would have to circle around north or east and backtrack down to the school.

Pain in the butt.
Candy felt sorry for all the backwoods mountain kids.

As they neared the bottom of the valley, a billboard flanking the road screamed in garish orange and white (with blue details to further set off the orange, just in case one missed it): “Go Bobcatts! Let me hear you ROAR!” The lettering was set to appear shouted straight from the pictured quarterback’s mouth. Tristan Jameson had his hand cocked back, holding a football, ready to throw a winning pass. Candy watched his face as it slid by outside her window. She had to admit, he was as hot as everyone said.
What a cheesy smile, though.

The first building they saw as they neared the school was the old library and John sat up straighter in his seat. “Gorgeous,” he said, pulling off the main road.

“What?”

“That library. It used to be a communal school house. I looked it up last night—it’s from the Victorian Era. Donated by Esther DeWinter Collins in 1878.”

“You and your research.” Candy was well acquainted with John’s insatiable thirst for details. His nerd side was so sweet.

“Look—Gothic windows, exposed trusses, brackets, spindles, scrollwork. It’s stunning.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

As they passed the main school building and turned into the student parking lot, passersby rubbernecked to see who was driving John’s unfamiliar car. Candy braced herself for an overly familiar assault. As soon as he turned off the engine, she grabbed her book bag and set her jaw, steeling herself for the fray. John got out of the car and enjoyed a stretch and a groan after the long drive, looking around with an easy, open face.

“Did you say they split the homerooms into two?” he asked; finally awake enough to concentrate on Candy’s earlier details about class schedules.

“Yes. Freshmen and sophomores in one homeroom, juniors and seniors in the other.”

“Good, so we should be with Antonio, that new foreign exchange student. Grandma Pearl told me to ‘befriend the poor boy, and make sure he gets along well.’” John reproduced a commendable Grandma Pearl voice. “He’ll be in our first class—awesome.”

“We better get over to homeroom then, make sure he’s not sitting there by himself,” Candy said; ready to plow through the parking lot as quickly as possible. Sam would be in their homeroom, too.

“Hey, Robinson.”

They both turned to see a beefy boy, with the build of a linebacker, grinning in their direction. He crossed the parking lot in two strides and held a fiver up high. Not one to leave a person hanging, John supplied the other side.

“Word on the street is you’re coming out to play this year, Robinson.”

“Play?”

“Football, dude. Come on, Candy, introduce us for Pete’s sake.”

“Oh, sorry. Will Bartlett, John Rob—”

“Robinson, I know who you are, man. Eat at Big Joe’s once a week, at least.” Will draped a lead arm over John’s shoulders. “So, can we count on ya?”

“Sure, love football.”

Candy appraised him anew. “So, that’s why the protein shake this morning. Always so prepared.”

John gave her a wink.

“Awesome, man. We already started pre-season, but you haven’t missed too much. Come to the field for an info session after school, alright?” Will slapped his new recruit on the back and abruptly changed direction, walking backwards towards another car that had just pulled in on the other end of the lot. He pointed at John with one outstretched hand, fist-pumping the other. “This season’s gonna rock, dude. Yo, Chambers…”

“Shouldn’t he be heading the other way?” John watched the friendly giant lumber over to strong-arm another able-bodied Bobcatt onto the team.

“I’m sure Mr. Warren won’t mind if he’s late. The football team is much more important to any honest Bobcatt than an education.”

Candy turned toward the new voice and grabbed her friend in a hug. Erica bent her knees to shorten her gangly frame a few inches and returned the embrace. “Hey, Erica. This is my friend John. John, this is Erica Norman. I think you guys met years ago.”

“Yeah, of course. I remember Erica.” John hugged Candy’s friend like he would one of his own. He never forgot a face, even after three or four years of pubescent changes. “Good to see you again.”

“You, too.” Erica’s face was beet-red when she pulled away from him.

Candy looked at John.
Jeez…her, too.
“So, we’re headed to homeroom to befriend the foreign exchange student, as per John’s Grandma Pearl’s request.”

“Yeah, since my grandfather set up the exchange, she wants me to help ward off Shirley County embarrassment on an international scale,” John said. “I’m sure you’ve heard that there’s been a little confusion.”

“Melodrama, you mean,” Erica corrected. “What’s the big deal, anyway? Oh—there he is over there, I bet. I don’t think that lustrous, gelled mane is from around here.”

Candy saw a slender guy dressed in tailored, fashionably grungy jeans, cowboy boots, and an antiqued Guns N’ Roses T-shirt. He was looking around with his shoulders thrown back, taking in his surroundings with the air of an explorer. He nodded and murmured to the woman in a pantsuit and heels standing next to him, accepting the expensive leather backpack she handed him. Mieke Walsh. Candy had seen her jogging along Forest Lane the last few days, and of course she had to listen to Dad’s sexist comments about that. Mrs. Walsh looked furtively at her watch, then to the boy, then back at the front doors of the school. She had double-parked right at the front of the library, unsure where to head next. Antonio looked content to wander but Mrs. Walsh gripped his shoulders in anxious claws, like a nervous mother eagle shielding the helpless chick she had yet to realize was actually a mountain goat.

“Let’s rescue the new guy,” John chuckled.

“Aren’t you the new guy, John?” Candy asked, shaking her head at Erica.

“Not as new as him.” John walked over with the girls in tow, holding out a welcoming hand. “Hi there. You must be Antonio di Brigo. And Mrs. Walsh?”

“Hello,” Mrs. Walsh accepted the handshake first, pulling Antonio closer with her other arm and giving him a squeeze. “A welcome party, how wonderful.”

“I’m John Robinson. My grandfather has told me a lot about you, ma’am, and it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Joe’s grandson? Well, that’s great—Antonio, you’re in good hands, then.” Mrs. Walsh’s features smoothed into a more natural softness and her shoulders visibly loosened.

“Is nice to meet you.” Antonio cranked John’s hand, while looking past him, at Candy. “This is Erica Norman. Oh, and Candace Vale. I call her Candy.” John gave Candy an evil smile, as Antonio zeroed in on her.

“Candace Vale?” The name seemed to ring a bell for Mrs. Walsh. “I met your father George at our PTA meeting recently. Parent Teacher Association.”

“Oh, sure.” Candy glanced around the grounds, distracted. Was Sam already inside? It wasn’t like him to be early.

“We live on Forest Lane, so I guess we’re neighbors. Maybe you kids can come over to our place and hang out after school or something. Antonio and I would love to have you.”

“Sure, that sounds great. Thank you,” said John.

“Thanks, Mrs. Walsh,” said Erica, beaming at John.

“Uh…” Candy attempted to pry her hand out of Antonio’s, but he pulled it to his lips and gave it a quick kiss. John stifled his amusement badly and she served him a scalding glare. As the group parted ways with Mrs. Walsh, Antonio sidled in close to Candy’s side. Candy jumped around John, shielding herself from Antonio with no attempt at subtlety.

“Awesome, we can check out his digs at the Walsh place for Grandma Pearl,” John whispered.

“
You
can. Great—the notorious, womanizing Italian male.”

“Aw come on, Candy.” John said under his breath, slowing down to put more space between himself and Antonio. “You’re playing your part, too: the delicate—yet fiery—redhead, immediately rejecting his advances. His macho hunter instinct is engaged.”

“Nice. I’ll just stop, then.”

John shook his head, with a sympathetic smile. “The game is already underfoot, after two minutes on campus.”

Antonio reached the doors first and held one open. “Please, Candy.”

Candy’s smile was a grimace as she stepped past him and into the main vestibule. John watched her elbow into a crowd that lingered by the front doors, and then he lost sight of her. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of Lysol and musty air-conditioning, the aging units still filtering stale air that hadn’t been circulated since spring.

“Morning, Bobcatts,” a shrill voice greeted them.

Wow.
John fought the urge to recoil. He recognized Stephanie Jameson from his dad’s photograph albums, dressed in an orange T-shirt emblazoned with the pouncing, growling-Bobcatt mascot. Her big blue eyes and bouffant hair looked out of sync with the dangerous animal—at first. He changed his mind as the woman advanced, with a pink smile full of shining white teeth, giving orders with fiercely sweet insistence.

“No dilly-dallying, y’all. Straight to homeroom. You’ll find your names here on this chart, so you can see which room is yours.”

It’s too early,
read Erica’s expression. John nodded agreement and looked at the flier Mrs. Jameson had shoved into his hand. Peppy promises of a fantastic new school year. A hand-painted paper banner was strung across the wide entryway claiming similar predictions and eliciting Bobcatt enthusiasm. More flyers littered the table supporting the homeroom assignment chart, with encouraging reminders to join various school clubs. Debate Team. Drama Club. Future Farmers of America. John picked up one or two and Antonio followed suit. Uniformed cheerleaders were manually supplying their own incentive handouts—full-colored postcards picturing the squad in a pyramid formation, with an attached Tootsie Pop. They were shoving them into student hands with coquettish smiles and masked aggressiveness.