“This is the third one of these I’ve gotten this month.”
From the foyer, I could hear Saylor announcing the next rehearsal, and I knew I didn’t have much longer before I’d be missed. As quickly as I could, I scanned the e-mail.
Dear Mr. Stark: We here at the University of West Alabama are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for our Distinguished Student Scholarship. Recipients of this scholarship must first submit to an in-person interview with a representative from the university. We would be happy to schedule this interview at any time that is most convenient for you. Kindly contact us so that we might set up a time as soon as possible.
Underneath that there was a phone number and a name, Blythe Collier.
Handing him the paper, I glanced over my shoulder. “Okay, what’s so weird about that? That’s a legit scholarship. I’ve heard of it.”
David leaned close enough for me to see my reflection in his glasses. “Yeah, it’s legit, but you have to apply for it, Pres. They don’t offer it to you. And there’s no interview for it.”
I flexed my fingers. “So someone might be trying to lure you out of town.”
“Maybe.” He was a little sheepish as he shoved the paper back into his pocket. “I know it sounds stupid—”
“David, you’re really going to have to stop saying that. And look, I admit, maybe this is a bit fishy, but why tell me? Why not tell Saylor?”
Snorting, David tugged at his hair. “Can you blame me for not trusting her right now, Pres? She’s lied to me my entire life. She’s not even my actual aunt.”
His voice rose on the last word, and I touched his arm. “Shhh. I know. But . . . she’s in this with you. I’m not.”
David looked down at me. “I’m not asking you to go full Paladin on this. But I . . .” He broke off and sighed. “God, I might actually choke on these next words. I trust you. And I wanna check this out, but I’m not stupid enough to go check it out myself, and I think I might . . . need you.”
No. No. Tell him no. You are not his Paladin and this is not your issue anymore.
But I watched David chew a thumbnail, his skin pale. His other hand, shoved in his pocket, jangled change nervously, and he looked more freaked out than I’d seen him yet. That had to be the only reason I heard myself say, “E-mail her. Make an appointment. And I’ll . . . I’ll go with you.”
Chapter 20
“This is ridiculous. You know that, right?” David glared at me as he slid into the passenger seat, fastening his seatbelt. “You could’ve come up to my house. Or I could’ve gone to your house. Basically, there were at least three options that didn’t involve me walking three blocks from my house and you dressing like Carmen Sandiego.”
I adjusted my sunglasses and pulled my hat a little further down. “I’m not . . . look, you were the one who didn’t want your aunt to know we were doing this. And I think it would be better if people didn’t see us together.” Especially since I’d begged off hanging out with both Ryan and Bee, telling them I was studying for the SATs.
David settled into his seat and immediately reached out to flip the radio on. My finger itched to push his hand away—I could be as bad as Bee when it came to people touching my radio—but music was probably better than awkward silence or bickering.
The drive out of town was pretty. Fall had come to Alabama in full force, the leaves orange, gold, and red. Overhead, the sky was that pure, impossible blue that only happens in the fall, and if I rolled down the window, I knew I’d smell wood smoke.
Nearly every other house we passed had some kind of Thanksgiving decorations in the window or on the mailbox. I counted three papier-mâché turkeys, two cling-form Pilgrims, and at least half a dozen cornucopias. Pine Grove definitely went all out for the holidays.
It wasn’t until we were about a mile out of town that David finally turned down the radio. “We’re going to feel really stupid if this is a totally legit scholarship offer, aren’t we?”
I glanced over at him. “I won’t, but you should. Who turns up to a scholarship interview in skinny jeans and a Doctor Who Tshirt?”
Reaching down, David slid the seat as far back as it would go before resting his heels on the glove compartment. “You mean like you did? Because there are few things less conspicuous than a teenage girl rocking a sombrero.”
“It’s not a—forget it. My choice of headgear is not the important thing. We need to figure out what we’re going to do once we get there. I mean, if this is an attempt to lure you out of town to kill you or kidnap you or whatever, we should be prepared.”
David shifted in his seat. “Isn’t that your area?”
Uncomfortable, I shrugged. “I guess so.”
Silence fell over the car again.
“Are you going to kill him?” David finally asked. “Or her?” That was my job, right? Or it would be, if I were actually
going to be a Paladin. Which I wasn’t. “We can question whoever it is,” I said. “See how many of them there are, what their plans are.”
“You heard Saylor. Their plans are probably to kill me.”
“Yeah, but maybe we could get more of a sense of why. Is it the whole ‘boys make crappy Oracles’ thing, or is there more to it? For example, maybe you’ve been writing horrible articles about other people.”
Snorting, David wrapped his arms around his knees. “No, you’re the only person I torture in that particular way.”
Why do you? I suddenly wanted to ask, but I bit back the question. Mine and David’s tangled personal history wasn’t the issue here.
“Have you had any more . . . you know?” I lifted one hand off the steering wheel and wiggled it. “Visiony things?”
“Prophecies? No. Nothing since that night.”
I made the turn into Merlington, driving down an oak-lined street. “Well, that’s part of it, right? Being a boy means not having great visions.” Overhead, the trees cast shadows on the car, covering David’s face in dappled sunlight.
David shrugged. “Unless I do some kind of crazy spell on myself that makes me Mega Oracle.”
I turned to look at him, nearly running a stop sign. “You wouldn’t do that though, right?”
David dropped his feet from the dash, pulling at the hem of his T-shirt. “Seeing as how I wouldn’t even know where to start on something like that, let’s go with no.”
He wasn’t looking at me, but something in his voice wedged under my skin like a splinter. “But even if you did know how,” I said, “you . . . you wouldn’t, right? I mean, you heard what Saylor said. That spell gave Alaric awesome visions and power, but it also fried up his brain and ended with lots of dead people.”
David sighed, scrubbing a hand up and down the back of his neck. “Yeah, I got that part. Still, it sucks having visions that are so half-assed, you know? And no matter what Aunt—” He stopped, dropping his hand back to his lap. “I’m never going to stop doing that, am I?”
“You can still call her your aunt, David,” I said, surprised at the gentleness in my voice. “I mean, she did raise you.”
He made a noncommittal sound in reply before settling back in his seat. “All I’m saying is, being able to see the future but not really see the future is frustrating as hell. I get why someone would try a spell like that.”
We drove past the big brick sign reading “The University of West Alabama,” and I turned down the narrow street leading to campus. The library was at the end of the road, rising out of the bright green lawn like some kind of medieval church. I could already make out the stained glass windows. “Well, the next time you start thinking like that, try to remember that Alaric ended up dead thanks to that spell.”
David turned to me as I pulled into a parking space. In his glasses, I had to admit, I did look a little Carmen Sandiego-ish, so I tugged off the hat. “Okay, before we go in, anything else I should know?”
Unbuckling his seatbelt, David dropped his gaze. “No.”
“You are the worst liar in the entire world.” As I shifted the car into park, a couple of girls walked past the car, long hair blowing in the breeze. Other than them, I didn’t see anyone else in the parking lot.
“I’m not lying,” he said, but I waved him off.
“Look, I know we’re not exactly best friends, but we have known each other more or less since the womb. Remember in second grade when you spilled all the blue paint, and tried to say you hadn’t? You’re making the exact same face.”
David rolled his eyes. “And what face is that?”
I jutted my jaw out and gave my best David scowl. “Kinda like this,” I said through clenched teeth, and he gave a surprised laugh.
“Okay, I do not look like that. That looks like . . . I don’t know, Dick Cheney.”
“No, this is totally how you look when you lie,” I insisted. “You did it with the blue paint and you’re doing it now.”
David’s grin slowly faded and his fingers fiddled with the edge of his T-shirt, pulling it up over his bicep a little. Since when did David Stark have biceps? How did you get any muscle tone when all you did was type and be annoying?
“Trust me, Pres,” he answered as he opened his door. “That’s it. No more to tell.”
He wanted me to trust him, and Saylor wanted him to trust her, and I just wanted this whole thing over with.
So why are you here? a little voice whispered inside my head. Instead of chasing that thought, I got out of the car and hurried after David.
He was looking at his phone. “Okay, so the appointment is in ten minutes on the second floor of the library. Which would be . . .” He pointed to the large Gothic building. “Here.”
I stared at it, waiting to feel that sudden tightness in my chest that told me David was in danger. But there was nothing but the breeze brushing my hair into my face and the slight chill of early November. No vice around my heart, no Pop Rocks.
“Should we go in?” David asked, and I nodded.
Walking inside, the familiar old building smells of mildewed carpet and burnt coffee assaulted my nose, but other than that, everything felt . . . fine. Normal. Maybe this was a routine scholarship interview.
The office David had been told to go to was on the library’s second floor. As we made our way up the stairs, everything was completely silent except for the squeak of David’s sneakers on the stone floor. “Do you feel weird?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No. I feel . . . weirdly unweird, actually.”
Slanting me a look, he gave a half-smile. “Only for us would unweird be weird.”
It was easy enough to find 201-A. It was the first office right off the stairs, and when David knocked on the door, a pretty, petite brunette opened it, smiling at us. There were deep dimples on either side of her shining white teeth, and despite the imminent danger we might be in, I couldn’t help wondering where she’d gotten her lipstick. That was a seriously gorgeous—ugh, no. Focus.