[Transcend Time 04.0] Transcendence Read online

  “Lizzie!” Chelsea called from behind, making me stop in place. “Wait up!” We were both heading towards the language wing since I had French next period and she had Spanish, but apparently I was so caught up in thinking about Drew that I’d forgotten to wait for her in my dash out of the room. She bounced to my side, clutching her books to her chest. “So, how hot is Drew?” she asked, her eyes shining with enthusiasm.

  I nodded and managed a small smile, hoping she would continue talking so I wouldn’t have to reply. I was still trying to figure out why he seemed so familiar, and the last thing I wanted was for Chelsea to think I was interested in him.

  She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “He moved here last week from Manhattan,” she said, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “He lives on Lakeside Circle. I heard some people talking about him before you got here this morning.”

  I raised my eyebrows in surprise. The biggest, most elaborate houses in Manchester were on Lakeside Circle—the people who lived there were so rich that they didn’t even need to work.

  “Why would they move here?” I asked, wondering why someone would go from Manhattan to Pembrooke. Judging from Drew’s lack of enthusiasm about being here, I figured there must be a story behind the move.

  “I don’t know,” she said, her eyes wide with excitement. “But I’m going to find out.”

  “You do that.” I laughed, doing my best to pretend not to care, despite the fact that I hadn’t stopped thinking about Drew since leaving the classroom. “But we have to get to class. Meet you in the cafeteria for lunch?”

  She smirked and stopped in front of the Spanish room. “Sounds good,” she said, glancing at something in the distance before looking back over at me. “I’ll let you know what I discover.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Drew was the first person I noticed when I entered the French classroom. He didn’t strike me as the first row type—that was typically reserved for teacher’s pets who raised their hand after every question to show off their mastery of the material—yet he was front and center. He leaned back in his seat, not making an effort to talk to anyone.

  His eyes locked with mine when I entered, and I paused in the doorway, wondering what would happen if I sat near him. However, his expression twisted into one of annoyance a second later, and he looked down at his desk, making me wonder why the idea had passed through my mind in the first place.

  “Liz!” Jeremy called from the back of the room, breaking my train of thought. I saw him waving at me and walked over to join him, glad that he’d chosen a seat in back. “Mrs. Evans has assigned seating,” he said as I navigated my way through the multiple rows of desks. “Which means you’re all the way up there.” He pointed to the first row.

  I reached the empty desk next to him and widened my eyes, hoping he was joking. “Really?” I asked, looking at the front row with dread. Drew’s expression when he saw me walk into the room made it clear that he didn’t want me to sit anywhere near him, and the last thing I needed was for him to make it difficult for me to concentrate during another class as well.

  “Really.” Jeremy laughed, pointing at the piece of paper on his desk that said Jeremy Williams in black permanent marker.

  “Great.” I looked at the front row in agitation. “Now I’ll be forced to participate.”

  I trudged forward to find my seat, my eyes traveling to Drew sitting with his back towards me, and then to the desk on his left. Andrew Carmichael … Elizabeth Davenport. The seating was alphabetical, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when I saw that mine was next to his.

  Unsure if I should say hi or not, I took out my notebook and turned to the front page, writing ‘AP French’ on the top to stop myself from looking over at him. My hand started to shake and I concentrated on steadying it, not wanting him to think that I noticed him more than any other student in the classroom.

  “This class should be easy,” he broke the silence, his voice flowing with a warmth I didn’t expect.

  I looked at him to make sure he was talking to me, surprised to discover not only that he was, but that he was also leaning forward, like he was interested in my response. “Maybe,” I said, trying to think of a way to continue the conversation. “I guess your old school had a good program?”

  He chuckled, leaning back in his chair again. “You could say that.”

  I tilted my head in confusion, wondering if I was supposed to understand what he meant, but Mrs. Evans walked to the front of the room and greeted us in French before I could ask. Everyone quieted down as she handed out the book we would be reading for the semester and began going over the syllabus. We were only allowed to speak in French in the class, and I only caught half of what she said—partly because I didn’t understand it, and the other part because I was too busy trying to act unaffected by Drew’s presence next to me. I copied whatever she wrote on the board in the pretense that I knew what was going on, figuring she wouldn’t call on me if I looked busy.

  “Élisabeth?” she spoke my name, causing my pen to jolt to a stop on the paper.

  I looked up in terror. “What?” I asked in French.

  “Would you care to tell the class what you did over the summer?”

  “Okay,” I began, trying to ignore the fact that everyone had turned to look at me, including Drew. “I went to Pennsylvania. My dad lives there, and I stay with him every summer.”

  The vocabulary was simple enough, but my pronunciation was awful.

  “What did you do when you visited him?” she prodded.

  “I was a counselor at an art camp.” I tried as hard as possible to speak with a proper accent, but the words refused to come out right.

  Someone laughed in the back of the room, and I knew it was Jeremy before turning around. I narrowed my eyes at him before refocusing on my notes. I was already embarrassed enough—he didn’t need to draw more attention to the fact that I had a difficult time speaking French, especially since he knew it was something I was self-conscious about.

  Mrs. Evans moved on to ask Drew about his summer, and he replied flawlessly. I somehow managed to stop myself from looking at him. The class was easy for him, yet I stumbled over simple sentences, looking like a bumbling idiot. I started to regret not dropping down to the regular level French class. Then I reminded myself that AP classes looked good on college applications, and I didn’t want to let my mom down by switching to the lower level class. She would tell me that it was fine either way, since she believed I was capable of making my own decisions, but she was proud that I was taking AP classes. I would just have to study really hard.

  Mrs. Evans didn’t call on me again for the remainder of class, and I managed to fill the sides of the page where I was supposed to be taking notes with senseless geometrical designs by the time the bell rang. Not wanting to deal with another awkward moment like the one in history class, I made sure to take my time gathering my books so Drew could leave before me.

  “Nice job pretending you’re awful at French,” he said as he leaned down to get his bag, speaking quietly enough so no one else could hear but me.

  I looked at him and raised my eyebrows. “Pretending?”

  “Yeah,” he said with a smirk. “And you did a good job of it. I think they all believed you.”

  I pressed my lips together, hoping he wasn’t making fun of me, too. “What are you talking about?” I asked, trying not to sound as interested as I was.

  He leaned in closer, holding his gaze with mine. “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “I honestly don’t.” I kept focused on him and tried to figure out what he meant, but there was no way to make sense of it.

  Now he looked confused. “You mean you don’t speak French?”

  “Well, I’m decent at it,” I answered in defense. “But it’s not exactly my best subject.”

  His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at me, like he was trying to figure something out, or waiting for me to admit some non-existent fluency in the language.
“Right,” he said, pushing his chair back as he stood, the metal screeching against the floor. “I guess you just struck me as the straight A type.”

  “I like my other classes,” I said, trying to lighten the conversation. “It’s just French that gives me a hard time. I’m thinking about dropping AP and moving down to the regular level class.”

  “You’ll do fine in this one.” He shook his head and laughed, like he found my idea of switching into the other class ridiculous. “Trust me.”

  Before I could come up with a coherent reply, he turned around and walked out of the room. I looked at the door in shock. He had no reason to think I would do well in the class, especially after how much I’d messed up when called on to speak.

  Jeremy approached my desk a second later, resting his hand on the back of my chair. “What was that all about?” he asked, staring at the place where Drew had just stood.

  “I have no idea,” I mused, leaning away from him to pick up my bag. Then I remembered what had happened earlier and looked back up at him, becoming irritated all over again. “But why did you laugh at me in front of everyone?”

  He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing. “You have to admit it’s kind of funny that you sound like a clueless American tourist when you speak French,” he said with a chuckle.

  I glared at him. “Thanks, Jere.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” he tried to cover up the comment. “But maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to switch out of AP.”

  His words made me freeze in place. “I’m not that bad at French,” I defended myself, even though I’d said the same thing to Drew a minute earlier.

  He picked the textbook off my desk and handed it to me. “Don’t take it so seriously,” he said, smiling as I took the book and shoved it into my bag. “It’s just not your best class. And regular level French is at the same time, so you wouldn’t have to change around your entire schedule if you switched. Plus, you would get an A.”

  “I’m staying in AP,” I insisted, not in the mood to argue in the middle of the near-empty classroom. Mrs. Evans was speaking with another student at her desk in the corner, but she was still close enough to hear our entire conversation. “But third period’s starting soon. I’ll see you at lunch.”

  The entire way to my next class, I thought about the short conversation with Drew. It was no secret that French wasn’t my strong point, and he had no reason to think otherwise. Still … he sounded so confident. Maybe he was just being nice, but even though he had no reason to think I could do well in the class, it seemed like he believed every word he said.

  CHAPTER 3

  My next two classes, genetics and English, went smoothly, except I couldn’t get Drew’s dark eyes with the golden specks out of my head. It felt like he was everywhere I went. I spent most of third and fourth periods trying to figure out why he seemed so familiar, but every time I felt close to remembering, the thought disappeared. I wondered if I should ask him the next time I saw him, but I resolved not to say anything. It would sound so strange. I had no choice but to let it go.

  A return to the normal routine of meeting Chelsea in the cafeteria before going to eat lunch in the commons seemed like the perfect way to focus on my life at school instead of my non-existent relationship with Drew. She waited for me like we agreed, but after we bought our food, Jeremy called my name from the center table in the cafeteria filled with his fellow varsity teammates. There was a huge smile on his face as he motioned us to join him.

  “Looks like we have a new table this year,” Chelsea said with a smirk, waving at Jeremy to let him know we were on our way. She started walking towards the long rectangular table, holding her head high as she strode through the crowd.

  I wanted to sit with some of our other friends in the commons, but Jeremy and Chelsea both seemed happy switching locations, so I would have to deal with it for the day. When we got to the crowded table, I somehow managed to squeeze into a small space between Jeremy and the edge of the bench. Chelsea sat across from us. I crossed my legs in discomfort and looked around the table, which consisted of varsity athletes and their girlfriends. The guys were muscular from their workouts, and each one had a large amount of food in front of them, opposed to the salads on the girls’ plates. They were all seniors except for Jeremy, Chelsea, and me.

  “You know the guys on the team, right?” Jeremy asked me, a huge grin on his face. He seemed happy to move up in the world, if “the world” meant high school and “moving up” meant sitting in the center of the cafeteria.

  “Yeah,” I answered with a timid smile. I’d seen them around school and knew most of their names, but hadn’t had a conversation with any of them before. Jeremy was aware of that, but he turned away to continue a conversation with one of the other soccer players, not attempting to make any further introductions. The other girls didn't make an effort to be friendly either, so I took a bite of my sandwich and listened to them talk about their summer vacations, doubting they would be interested in my experience as an art counselor at a summer camp in Pennsylvania.

  “Drew just walked out of the cafeteria line with Danielle Parker,” Chelsea said to me, stabbing a piece of cantaloupe with her fork. “I guess she’s fighting with Brandon again and is using Drew to make him jealous. How typical.”

  I turned my head to look, and just as Chelsea said, Drew stood near the far wall of the cafeteria with the tall senior girl. He looked bored with whatever they were talking about, and he glanced around the room like he was looking for someone to save him from the conversation.

  His eyes stopped when they reached mine. My head started spinning like it did the first time I saw him in history class, and the strange feeling of déjà vu refused to go away. But the far-out look in his eyes was different from earlier. He looked almost like he was in pain, opposed to his relaxed attitude from that morning.

  “Oh my God, he’s totally looking at me,” Chelsea said, breaking the spell between us. When I turned back around, he was situating himself at a table by the wall with Danielle and her friends, not acknowledging the fact that he’d been staring at me a moment before. He didn’t appear to be looking at Chelsea, either.

  “Isn’t that the new guy you were talking to at the end of French?” Jeremy broke into the conversation. “The transfer from New York?”

  I looked down at my plate and moved a tomato around with my fork. “Yeah,” I said, shrugging like it didn’t matter.

  Chelsea widened her eyes and leaned over the table. “You talked to him?”

  “He just had a question about the homework,” I lied, wishing she would let it go. “No big deal.”

  Jeremy laughed, looking at me in shock. “And he asked you?”

  I paused, not knowing how to reply. It did seem unlikely that anyone would ask me for help in French, but Jeremy didn’t have to announce that to the entire table.

  He took a bite of his sandwich and resumed talking about the upcoming vote for co-captain with the guy next to him before I could say anything. Aware of the fact that the entire table had listened to our conversation, I sat back in my seat and tried not to look at Drew again. I doubted that he would ever embarrass me in front of everyone like Jeremy had just done.

  Chelsea popped a grape in her mouth and rested an elbow on the table. “Since you know Drew, maybe you could introduce us,” she said, looking over at him without bothering to be inconspicuous. “He’s totally my type.”

  “Sure,” I said sarcastically. “He asked me about the homework, and now we’re best friends.” I managed a small laugh, but her comment bugged me. She couldn’t know if he was her type—she’d never even had a conversation with him. Then again, it wasn’t like I knew him, either.

  I spent the remainder of lunch trying to act engulfed in listening to Shannon Henderson, one of the senior girls, tell everyone about her month-long trip to Europe this past summer. She took full command of the table, speaking loudly and making huge gestures to get attention. Her stori
es were only vaguely entertaining, but her two best friends Keelie and Amber hung onto every word like she was giving a presidential speech.

  At least listening to her talk provided an adequate distraction from Drew and prevented Chelsea from discussing him any further.

  I checked my schedule at the end of lunch to see what class I had next, glad to find that it was drawing. Chelsea and Jeremy weren’t in the class, and it probably wouldn’t be one that Drew would sign up for either, since it tended to be mostly girls.

  When I arrived at the art room it was only a quarter full, and I smiled when spotting Hannah Goldberg sitting by herself at one of the four tall tables. Her peasant shirt looked like it came out of the sixties, and she barely wore any make-up. She was a quiet girl—short, with mousy brown hair and a few freckles. She used to be best friends with Chelsea and me, but in the beginning of freshman year she started dating Sheldon, the star of most of the school plays, and the two of them started to isolate themselves from everyone else. I missed talking with her, but at least she seemed happy in her relationship.

  I sat on the stool next to her, saying hi as I placed my bag on the ground.

  “Hey,” she said, smiling and placing her pencil on her desk. “Where were you at lunch today?

  “Jeremy decided to sit in the cafeteria with the guys from the team, so Chelsea and I ate there today,” I explained, hoping she didn’t take it the wrong way. Last year we always ate together in the commons.

  “Oh.” She looked disappointed. I felt bad, since the only times we saw each other any more were during lunch or classes we shared, but at least we had drawing together.

  We discussed what we did over the summer until our teacher entered the room and handed us all empty sketchbooks. He told us that by the end of the semester we had to fill them up however we wanted. It didn’t matter what was in them as long as they were full, which wouldn’t be a problem for me. I knew it would be easy for Hannah as well; she was an excellent artist.