The Goddess Candidate (Excerpt)

Chapter One: DEVON

You gotta have patience to cut up a math book. You can only slice ten pages at once, and only that many because the pages are thin. But patience I'm good at, oh-you've-got-no-idea. I spent half my life learning to be the popular girl, and by the day the Signs fell, I had made it.

The Signs hit us on a Monday, just before class. I'd arrived at 6:30 a.m. to the Earth Science room, where I could sit alone and hack at my textbook without anyone to question my sanity.

The book was last year's edition, thick as a fist. Last year I had failed to return it, and the school had charged me almost two hundred bucks. But the investment would be so, so worth it. A rectangular nest cut out of the pages would fit twice the makeup my old textbook would.

Besides, I couldn't fool my father much longer on the Algebra One book from eighth grade. Once the semester ended, I'd swap for the new one, to show I'd "progressed" to a higher math level—when in reality I was in Pre-Calc, which was pretty donkin' good, you ask me.

But a dull blade makes for strugglebus paper-cuts, so my hand started cramping after five or ten minutes. With a quick check of the clock, I gave it up, and stuffed the 500-page monster into my backpack next to the huge bag of Jolly Ranchers, which I took a moment to glare at. It was getting time to sort the noxious things for Natalie, who—as the main secretary in the school office—had covered up my little Algebra lie by changing the class name on my printed report card.

I zipped up my backpack, opting to avoid the candy problem for now. For her service, I owed Nat six-to-ten Jolly Ranchers (lemon only), exchanged in the office like drug money.

My chair creaked as I sighed at the ceiling. It wasn't really about the candy sorting (Nat was right; only the Lemon flavor was passable). Nope—what really got me were the leftovers. The Watermelon and Blue Raspberry rejects would become sacrifices to all the cool kids, the ones with good looks and too many friends. I gave them a piece of candy, and they kept liking me.

They kept liking me, and I stayed safe.

Morning thoughts + silence = fun times.

Above me, the pocked white ceiling tiles seemed to hover in the pre-dawn winter haze that filtered in through the full wall of windows. I drew a long breath, basking in the silence. By the time acoustic guitar wafted in from the hallway, the sound and the light felt like dreaming.

I smiled to myself. Here early, Pubes?

The music carried on like soft rain on a window, and I pictured short, scruffy Pubes in his Sherpa fleece and striped beanie. As our resident drifter-of-halls, Pubes belonged to the school, a class personality that faded into the background. I tilted my head all the way back as the music came nearer, so that I could see the snow in the courtyard behind me. It was supposed to be cold here—the other kids were complainers—but I was toasty wearing only a cardigan.

I pulled the black fabric tight around myself, trying to hold the peace inside me like heat. These were my favorite moments. No one to impress and nothing to hide.

The music came closer, and stopped.

"Hey, Devon. You're early."

I think I bruised my tailbone on the hard back of my chair; that was how fast I sat up. Pubes stood inside the fat metal doorframe, his guitar held in one hand by the neck. He looked like he'd stepped into a room full of mousetraps. He'd never spoken to me directly before.

"Oh, hey Pubes," I offered, a little impressed: unlike most boys, he hadn't used the name Oreo. I got that stupid nickname all the time. People are really observant like that.