Nothing has come of my meeting with Yumi by Monday, and I'm hoping I'll have time to formulate a plan before she tells someone who shouldn't know.
With my concerns about what Yumi will say, my worries about Tara's struggles with her ability, and my anxieties about what Marco's got planned, it's not surprising that the astronomy exam has slipped to last place on my list of major priorities in life.
"Are you ready for this?" I ask Derek, taking my seat behind him in third hour.
"Hell no," Derek declines, "but I don't have a choice do I?"
"Unfortunately, no." I sigh, digging around in my backpack for a pencil that doesn't either need new lead or require sharpening. Finding one in relatively acceptable condition, I face the front again as Professor Atwater strolls among the desks.
He looks way too serious, but he's also much too pale.
Another vision, I wonder, or is he just sleep-deprived like most of the rest of us?
"This exam should take you an hour or less," he says, glancing around at us, "and you will have the remaining fifteen minutes of class to talk quietly amongst yourselves. If I see that we're having issues maintaining quiet conversations, I have the right to revoke that privilege."
He walks between the desks, handing out exams as he goes. Derek, Creighton and I are among the first to be served with a test, and I have to suppress a groan at the set of fifty multiple choice questions in front of me.
This won't end well.
I focus on surviving the exam as Atwater retakes his seat at his desk.
I never have been a good test taker. I have pretty average study skills, but once I sit down every answer that I ever knew seems to escape my memory. It doesn't help that the constant scratching of pencils against paper makes me feel as though I'm under even more pressure than I actually am.
I sigh, circling the answers I'm pretty sure of and moving on to the more difficult questions.
I'm rejoicing in the fact that, if I'm right on all of those seemingly easy questions, I'll at least earn a twenty out of fifty.
What is that, I wonder, like a forty percent?
I continue circling answers until the sound of someone walking across the floor catches my attention.
I look up, being sure to keep one eye on my exam in case it's Atwater on the hunt for cheaters.
Creighton is the one on the move, on a steady course for our teacher's desk.
I watch, mildly surprised, as she deposits her exam on the edge of Atwater's desk.
He nods at her, as though he has students finish in half the expected time every day.
Atwater doesn't speak at first, going through one of his desk drawers. Creighton turns her back on him, and I'm about to go back to my test-taking when the professor finally opens his mouth.
"Miss Hastings," he speaks quietly, but I'm still just close enough to make out his words, "I need to speak with you."
If one of my teachers singled me out, I'd be scrambling for answers. Creighton, on the other hand, looks relatively unperturbed when she turns back to face Atwater.
The teacher pulls a piece of notebook paper from his desk drawer, promptly handing it over. He starts speaking again, but this time I can't make out a word he says. I'm forced to return my attention to the exam, reading the next question with a sigh.
Eventually, the rest of us have finished with our tests, and Atwater's given us permission to talk. Almost everyone takes the opportunity.
Derek, Creighton and I are no exception.
Creighton's studying the piece of paper that Atwater gave her, one of her own notebooks positioned next to it on her desk.
"What did he want?" Derek whispers, leaning across the aisle to glance at the paper, "Did he give you that? But ... What on earth?"
Derek's eyebrows seem to rise of their own accord, the surprise and confusion displayed clearly across his face as he looks from the piece of paper to the notebook.
"What's going on?" I demand, too far away to make a clear determination for myself.
"That's your handwriting," Derek continues, ignoring me, "but that's impossible."
"What," I repeat, "is going on?"
Creighton sweeps her notebook and Atwater's paper out of Derek's reach, leaning across the aisle to hand them both to me.
I quickly read the contents of the solitary page, a shiver running down my spine. Had I still lived in a world where superpowers and strange occurrences were out of the question, I would have called this poetry. Now, I don't have a clue what to make of it.
Death leads to life,
sacrifice breeds chaos.
Army of the dead,
imprisoned by the living.
In a future ruled by Darkness,
the Five hold the key.
Together they wield the power,
though alone they cannot stand.
Spirits of the lost must take their place
finding reason to connect the remnants of reality.
"Professor A wrote this." Creighton clarifies, pointing to the words on the slightly wrinkled page, "He saw this in one of his visions, but after he finished writing it, he noticed it didn't match his handwriting. He recognized it as mine."
I stare at her, unsure of what to make of that. Upon considering Atwater's words and comparing them to Creighton's astronomy notes, I can't disagree.
"It's a perfect match." I manage.
"It's a prophecy." Creighton sounds pretty sure of it when she speaks.
I'm startled to say the least.
"Well," I try to reason, "clearly it has something to do with you. That's the only logical explanation for the handwriting."
Creighton nods, reclaiming the evidence.
"But there are only three of us," Derek argues, "so it can't be collectively referring to me, you, and Tim, can it?"
"There are four of us if you count Lauren," I refute, "that would mean we'd be looking for the fifth."
"Or it's mentioning the three of us," Derek muses, "and Marco and Yumi. That's five."
Creighton frowns at the paper, silently reading it again.
"I think you're sort of onto something," she tells Derek, "but I think Marco and Yumi may be the ones responsible for the 'army of the dead'."
Derek looks shocked.
"You think they would ...?" he wonders, running a hand through his hair.
She nods.
"He holds his rituals in the cemetery most of the time," Creighton reasons, "figuratively, there's an army of dead people in every cemetery. Literally ... he might be able to manage that too."
"Damn," Derek remarks, collecting his backpack in preparation for the end of class, "this is insane."
"You're telling me?" I snort, "At least the two of you are kind of used to this. I've barely known about this sort of thing for a month."
Derek shrugs.
"This sort of thing," Derek air quotes, "doesn't usually involve prophecies and someone's sinister plans. I can't remember the last time something like this happened around here."
I shoulder my backpack, contemplating a response.
"Well," I decide, "if this 'army of the dead' has anything to do with what Marco's planning, we'll have to keep an eye on him at all times on the day he's supposed to go to the graveyard. As soon as he tries to sneak off, we either stop him or follow him. In the meantime, we've got almost two weeks to figure out exactly what this ... prophecy ... means."
Creighton merely nods, following Derek and me out of astronomy without saying a word.
~*~
I'm early to dinner on Tuesday, which is how I stumble across Lauren Perkins curled up in the middle of the hallway.
She's clearly lost track of time, because she's going to be in clear view of the cafeteria crowd and, in about ten minutes, will serve as everyone's main focus if she's not out of the way.
She's sitting in the floor, elbows on her knees and both hands covering her face.
"Lauren?"
I step closer, mildly relieved for once that I've headed out to dinner alone.
Lauren peeks through her fingers at me, remaining silent.
"Hey, what's going on?" I wonder, seating myself in the middle of the floor.
"Marco and Yumi," she whimpers, "I-I th-think they're going to kill someone. I heard them talking about it and ... I'm scared."
"They won't hurt you," I hope I sound more convincing than I feel, "you're the youngest person here. No one in their right mind ... no one would want to hurt you."
Lauren shakes her head, removing both hands from her face and gazing steadily at me. Her moss-green eyes are wide, and she looks as scared as she sounds.
"You don't know what I can do," Lauren says, "I'm the youngest, but I'm one of the strongest. If they find out what I'm doing ... that I'm telling you guys about their plans ... they might decide to get rid of me."
"You're the headmaster's kid. They'd never get away with it."
"They could come up with something. They're smart, too smart. No one would know," she doesn't look away from me as she whispers the last bit, "Yumi made Derek kill Amber. I know that. I told my dad, but he won't believe me. He's going to talk to Yumi tomorrow, and then he really won't believe me."
I sigh.
"He can't do whatever it is you've learned to do? You know, to keep Yumi from controlling you?"
Lauren shakes her head.
"We'll figure it out," I assert, "we'll keep them from doing whatever it is they're planning, and figure out a way to show your dad the truth."
"You really think so?" Lauren queries, picking anxiously at one of her fingernails.
"Yes, I do." I tell her.
She frowns, but manages a nod.
She stands up, preparing to go wait for Marco and Yumi in the cafeteria. I get to my feet too, stopping her before she can take off.
"Can you tell me how you do it?" I ask, hoping for some tips I can use myself, "You said you read something that taught you how to keep Yumi from messing with you. Would that work for me?"
Lauren stares up at me, shaking her head.
"No, you don't have my ability," she declines, "at least, I don't think you do. This only works for people like me."
"Like you?"
"Elementals," Lauren explains, "people who can call the elements. You know, air, fire, water, and earth? I can do that, so what the book said was able to help me. Every time she tries to mess with me, I imagine that my mind is protected by one of the four. Like, I imagine there's an ocean around my thoughts and Yumi can't swim through it."
"That's amazing." I tell her.
She nods.
"It makes me really tired every time I use my power, though."
"That seems pretty logical," I decide, "you've got a lot of power."
"I've known what I can do for about a year," the nine-year-old admits, "I'm still trying to understand how it all works."
Voices carry down the hallway, and Lauren steps away from me.
"They're probably coming," she says, "I can't let Marco or Yumi see me talking to you by myself. They'll wonder what I'm doing."
With that, Lauren disappears through the cafeteria doors, leaving me alone in the hallway to wait for Derek and Creighton to show up.