“How do you know her granddaughter?”
“I’m pretty sure she’s Eve Conwell—both of us met her in the other timeline. That’s what I was trying to tell you inside. I don’t know if she’ll remember it. Probably not, unless she was at the temple when the time shift occurred. But she might still recognize me—”
“Great,” he says, his voice a bit harsh. I can’t quite read his expression, which strikes me as odd, because Trey’s face is usually easy to decipher. Then he says, in a softer tone, “After we leave here, we need to go somewhere and talk this whole thing through, okay? I have some questions. My dad does, too.”
“Your dad? How much did you tell him?”
He shakes his head. “Later, okay? Let’s just find Tilson.” He grabs my hand, and we move away from the drink station. I accidentally bump my shoulder into a tall, auburn-haired woman who is trying to eat from one of those little appetizer plates and balance her drink at the same time. A chunk of something orange, cantaloupe or maybe mango, slides from her plate, splattering her shoe. She tosses an angry look my way, but the expression quickly morphs into something else as she stares at my face. She looks almost shocked when I apologize.
“No, no. Entirely my fault.”
I open my mouth to say it really wasn’t her fault, but Trey is pulling me forward, so I just give her a little smile.
Trey stops a few yards later, his neck craning up to look over the crowd. “I don’t see him.”
“Do you have a description?”
“Nothing beyond really, really old.”
We make our way around the pool, which is covered with dozens of floating lotus flowers. They seem real at first glance, but then I realize the centers change color very slowly, so they must be some sort of pool lights. I see a few faces I remember from school; otherwise, it’s all people I don’t know. And aside from Eve’s grandmother, still at her post by the glass door, everyone seems to be under sixty, so I don’t think any of them could have taught Trey’s grandfather.
It’s mostly parents and teens, and the parents seem to be having a better time, possibly because their glasses contain something other than sparkling cider. A tall black man, who’s facing the guesthouse, claps another man who just arrived on the shoulder. The laugh sounds familiar, and when he turns in my direction, I recognize Mr. Singleton, Charlayne’s dad. I scan the people nearby and finally catch a glimpse of her when one of the guys in the teen cluster shifts a bit to one side.
She’s looking out across the lawn, wearing an expression I remember well from our days at Roosevelt High—Charlayne is bored, bored, bored. One of the other girls leans forward to tell her something, and she smiles politely and nods, brushing at the skirt of her dress, navy and white, with cap sleeves and an angled hem that falls just a bit above the knee. It’s still too prim and proper for the Charlayne I knew, but the white edging is nice against her dark skin, and the dress is definitely an improvement over the drab getup she wore when I last saw her at the temple—a meeting that she, fortunately, won’t remember.
Charlayne must feel my gaze, because she turns toward me. Her eyes travel down to my hand, still linked with Trey’s. She frowns, but I can’t tell if it’s disapproval or just annoyance that I was staring.
“Hey, I think I see him,” Trey says.
“What? Where?”
Trey starts across the lawn to the tent closest to us, where the Briar Hill principal and a few others are gathered. I follow, but as soon as I’m off the flagstones, I realize Mrs. Meyer was right about the soggy turf.
Trey stops and glances down at my sandals. “Why don’t you wait here? I’ll only be a minute.”
I nod and step back onto the patio. Someone touches my elbow, and I jump, sloshing a bit of cider onto the flagstones.
“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Charlayne. Charlayne Singleton. I was just telling Leann—that’s her over there in the pink—anyway, I was telling her I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to be mingling with new students from Briar Hill. But it looks like we’ve separated into enemy camps or something, you know? And since your friend seems to have wandered off, I thought I’d just say hi . . . and introduce myself?”
The question at the end reminds me that I haven’t introduced myself yet. “Oh, hi—I’m Kate Pierce-Keller. I’m not exactly new to Briar Hill, since I started last year. I’m just here with Trey.”
“So, you’ve known Trey for a while?” Her eyes shift almost imperceptibly down to my hand, then back to my face. It hadn’t even occurred to me that Trey holding my hand was a flagrant example of PDA to any Cyrists in attendance. Charlayne’s brother dated his girlfriend for six months before they were allowed to hold hands. Cyrist rules about dating and sex are strict: no sexual activity until age twenty or marriage, all dates are chaperoned, and all marriages must be approved by the Council of Elders.
“Oh, yes. We’ve been together for the better part of a year.” It’s not exactly a lie. The time I spent with Trey was definitely the better part of my year.
I look over at the tent, where Trey is standing near someone who must be Tilson and the rest of the Briar Hill contingent. The old guy is waving his hands, apparently distraught, and Trey looks like he’s trying to find a good time to interrupt the conversation.
“He’s really cute,” Charlayne says, shooting me a little smile. It’s a timid shadow of the wicked grin that used to accompany her assessment of anything male and remotely hot, but I’ll take it.
I return her smile, remembering us having pretty much this same conversation about the various boys who caught her eye in the cafeteria at Roosevelt last year, before I transferred to Briar Hill. “He is cute, isn’t he?”
“Well,” she says, “I’ll be sure to let the Evelettes over there know that he’s taken.”
“Evelettes?”
She nods her head toward three girls sitting on a bench near the guesthouse. “Those three are like Eve’s backup singers. Everything she says, they echo it twice and toss in a few oohs and aahs for emphasis.”
I laugh. “So . . . Eve’s not your friend?”
Charlayne wrinkles her nose and then gushes loudly, “You mean you haven’t met Eve? She is an absolute angel. You couldn’t ask for a better friend.”
Then she continues in a much lower voice. “But off the record, let’s just say no one crosses her. Anyone with half a brain keeps her distance—which tells you a little something about the three twits over there on the bench. Eve has been the Queen Bee of Carrington Day from the beginning, and she’s not exactly happy about switching to a new school her senior year. This little shindig is supposed to ensure that everyone at Briar Hill understands that she’s the new boss.” Her eyes slide over to the patio door. “I’m guessing she’ll make her dramatic entrance in about five minutes.”
“Thanks for the warning.” I look around for Trey. Hopefully he’ll finish up with Dr. Tilson and we can get out of here before Eve arrives.
Charlayne asks what classes I’m in, and we’ve just finished comparing schedules when I feel Trey’s hand on my shoulder.
“Did you talk to Tilson?”
He nods and glances over at Charlayne.
“Oh, you haven’t met, have you? Trey Coleman, this is my friend Charlayne.” I hesitate at the end, realizing that from her perspective, we’ve only known each other for a few minutes, so the word friend might sound weird. But she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
“Charlayne Singleton. Pleased to meet you,” she says, sticking out her hand.
He shakes her hand, his eyes grazing briefly over the pink tattoo. I wonder if Cyrist girls find the tattoo useful sometimes? I can see how it might be easier to just put “not gonna happen” out front when talking to some guys.
Charlayne turns her smile back toward me. “Nice meeting you, too, Kate. I’ll see you in AP History—but for now I’d better get back into position before the curtain goes up.” She wags her eyebrows at me before scooting back over near the Evelettes.