The Cunning

Chapter 6; The Pentagram

Gillian had slid her schedule into the plastic of her three-ring binder. She usually let herself rely on the paper until she found she had unconsciously memorized it, then it would be covered with pictures of her friends, and drawings given to her. How long would it be before the schedule was covered this year, she wondered. Maybe it never would be. She was sitting in first period, early, like the day before. The buses here are insane, she thought, drumming her pencil against her folder. At her old school they had pulled into the bus circle five minutes before the late bell rang. Her bus at this school had been at least fifteen minutes early the first two days.

Her eyes scanned the almost empty room. The teacher sat silently at his desk, looking over a paper. There were five other students scattered at random around the room, only two in the back talking quietly. Gillian leaned back in her seat and pulled out a sheet of notebook paper to doodle on. She started in the corner, making row upon row of identical leaves, stopping every once in a while to fill in the spaces between with tight-knit dots. She liked to draw, but never did anything serious with the minor talent. “My artistic child,” her mother would call her sometimes after seeing the absent-minded doodles in the corners of her school work. Gillian would roll her eyes, but secretly be proud of what little talent she had. The door opened behind her, then closed immediately afterwards. Then opened again. She looked back at the girl who had entered-- short brown hair and a black tank-top. Spaghetti strapped. You're going to get in trouble for that, thought Gillian as she turned back to her doodles. The girl sat down behind her and cleared her throat.

“Hey, you draw really well,” she said, Her voice was low and mature, and she possessed the midwestern twang everyone here seemed to have. Which makes sense, thought Gillian. We are in the midwest. Gillian glanced behind her. “Thanks,” she said, a little uncomfortable at the compliment, but grateful, all the same. She went back to drawing then stopped suddenly, realizing she had just been spoken to for the first time since stepping into Stillwood High. “My mom says I should try painting-- but I don't know...” she said tentatively, twisting her body slightly to face the other student. She had one earring in, a red feather. Gillian wondered briefly if she had lost the other one, or the asymmetry was purposeful. “You should,” said the girl. “My brother draws, I'm terrible at it.”

The two both let out a small laugh.

“I'm Anita.”

“Gillian.” Anita squinted at her then and gave a small smile. “Are you new?” she asked. “Yeah, my family just moved here,” answered Gillian. “After my grandma died a few years ago they wanted to get out of the desert and live somewhere new.” Anita leaned back in her seat and her smile broadened a bit. “The desert, huh? Like New Mexico?”

“No, Mojave,” Gillian said. “It's in Southern California.”Anita quirked her head. “I didn't even know there were deserts in California.” Gillian shrugged. “A lot of people don't, I guess.” Anita glanced at the clock and folded her hands on the desk-- the inevitable awkward moment when two strangers aren't sure how to carry on the conversation. She laughed then, and looked back to Gillian.

“So-- since you're new you probably haven't heard of the weird graffiti behind the bleachers yet.” Gillian's eyebrows shot up curiously. “No,” she answered. “What's it of?” Anita shook her head slowly and chuckled-- the graffiti apparently too strange for words. “You'd have to see it. I can show you at lunch if you want.” Gillian hesitated. Something about Anita made her seem like the kind of person who drank at parties, and drove without a license. And wears clothes to school that are against the dress-code, she added to her mental check-list. But in her mind she laughed at herself. It wasn't as if she had ever been a perfect child at her last school. “Yeah, sure,” said Gillian accepting her offer. “Do you want to meet outside the cafeteria?”