From Chapter One The itch began two days ago. Lexi slapped the back of her neck so loudly yesterday, that Mr. Adams stopped his lecture to stare at her and ask if something was wrong. No, everything was fine. As if she could explain it. It had felt like a mosquito bite. A sensation that drew her attention to the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. She tried to ignore it, forget about it, and then the itch returned.
An hour ago, she could have sworn she''d heard it buzzing. "Lex," a voice said. Maybe she should go to the nurse''s office tomorrow? It would be her first visit of the year, so no one would be suspicious. She didn''t miss nearly as much school as her sister. Although she had to admit, it would be a convenient way to miss the chemistry quiz. "She isn''t listening," a softer voice replied. "And besides, she doesn''t know what you''re talking about." The bus lurched forward, and the rows of heads in front of Lexi rocked.
It was the slowest portion of the ride to Cannon Mountain. The highway was a curved line to the base of the mountain, all uphill. While the cars that were racing by were light enough to maintain a decent speed up the three miles of slope, the bus crawled. Lexi didn''t mind the slow moments. It gave her time to stare out the window and admire the fresh snow on the trees. The North Country was beautiful. Hostile, but beautiful. The kind of terrifying beauty known only at the bottom of the sea, or in the face of a lion.
Captivating from a distance; but cold and ruthless up close. Not many people lived in the North Country - a term lovingly coined by the locals who lived in the region north of the Franconia Notch in New Hampshire - but the ones who remained were well-suited for its subzero temperatures and hurricane winds. "Lex." Lexi blinked. "Sorry, what?" Michelle, the only person who called her Lex, was facing her, propped up on her knees in the row in front of Lexi. Michelle was glaring, but she always looked like that. Her blue eyes weren''t particularly striking, but her voice could be heard from miles away. Even above the mechanical roaring of the bus, and the excited cacophony of fifty students craving snow, Michelle could be heard.
She brushed her blonde hair to the side - a warning sign that she was growing impatient. Lexi had learned the best way to deal with Michelle was just to agree with everything she said. She was, after all, her best friend. "Told you," Gui said, cracking his knuckles, a physical tic of discomfort for when he held the spotlight. Gui - a French name short for Guillaume, which no one could pronounce correctly - sat next to Lexi. Leaning over he said, "she was complaining about your weekly ritual." Lexi smiled at that. "Ah.
" "I wasn''t complaining," Michelle snapped. "I was trying to explain to Jonathan over here that it''s all re-runs." Michelle gestured to Jonathan who was sitting beside her. Jonathan was at least a head taller than Lexi and Michelle, but his posture and unkempt hair made him look five years younger. Lexi could only see the back of Jonathan''s head, but judging by his silence, he was likely grinning with that unshakeable arrogance so commonly found among adolescent males. Jonathan had joined their group last September, having migrated to their lunch table one day for reasons unknown. He was a grade below Lexi, Michelle and Gui, but he assimilated into their faction nicely. He was tall and lanky, with dark brown hair that appear almost black in contrast to his fair skin.
A common combination for British descendants whose families had been in the northeast for centuries. Time moved slowly in places like rural New Hampshire. A constant dolling of the clock without change, or progression. So, although Jonathan had been sitting with them for months, and Lexi knew where he lived, what his father did for work, and that his aunt died last summer from a car cash - she didn''t know him, know him. "What were you talking about?" Lexi asked. "What re-runs?" She regretted it the moment she asked. Michelle rolled her eyes. There was only one television show that Lexi watched, and it had to be at Michelle''s house.
Lexi''s family didn''t own a television. They believed that the media was a mindless echo chamber, and reading or building a deck was a more productive use of their time. They wouldn''t punish Lexi for watching television, but they took no action to encourage it. Lexi had to drive to Michelle''s house every Thursday to watch their favorite show. The bus hit a pot hole, or a frost heave. It was difficult to tell in the middle of winter when the roads were full of obstacles. "C.S.
I., duh," Michelle said, nearly snapping her neck against the seat. She fixed her hair and looked out the window. "What the hell was that, a moose?" "If it was a moose, the bus driver would be dead," Gui said. "And we probably would spin off the highway, sustaining multiple injuries and a few concussions." There was something disarming about Gui''s indifference. He wasn''t condescending, he was pragmatic. It''s one of the reasons why he was the best student in their grade, along with his twin sister, who had safely secured second place.
Gui would probably become a doctor or a rocket scientist, something that required patience and a truckload of books at various reading levels. He would be a brilliant doctor, of course, but Lexi worried about his future patients. His voice would be calm, his gestures smooth, and then he would deliver a cancer diagnosis with the same bored temperament as ordering a cannoli. "Perfect," Michelle said. It was her usual response to Gui''s deadpan statements. "Anyway. It''s re-runs this week, so what are we doing?" "I''m pretty sure you''re wrong," Jonathan said. He turned to face them, bracing himself between the seats as the bus hit another frost heave.
"The re-runs start when Massachusetts goes on winter break," he said, ticking off one finger at a time, "and then we go on break, and then Canada, and then the show starts back up. That''s been the pattern anyway." Jonathan''s voice was astonishing low. There was a roughness to it, as if he was out of practice talking. He told Lexi once that he was content with silence, and she cautioned him there would be none. Not around Michelle. "How would you know?" Michelle challenged. "You don''t even watch television.
" "I watch C.S.I.," Jonathan said. Her eyes narrowed. "Since when?" "Since now." "What, out of spite?" "Whatever shuts you up." Michelle let out a sharp laugh.
The quickest way to her heart was with a spear. "Fine," she relented. "But you better be right." Jonathan shrugged. "Usually am." Lexi chuckled. Jonathan''s gaze turned to Lexi, the way he usually does when she manages to squeeze in a word around Michelle. His expression was unreadable, a gentle fog of contradictory thoughts, like he was trying to find the next thing to say in the wrong language.
He didn''t always have that particularly cloudy look, but it was growing in frequency, now that Lexi thought about it.