Chapter Two

“Pearl-Ann, you know you are welcome to have lunch with me anytime, but are you sure you wouldn’t rather spend your time with the other students in the cafeteria?”

Mrs. Wade pointed a paper towel at me.

I been having’ lunch in her classroom the few days since I been comin’ to the new school.

Her classroom is quiet, ‘cept for Mrs. Wade talkin’ to me on occasion.

I love to hear her talk. She has a Disney princess voice that rolls over my skin like a beach breeze in summer, tickling my goose bumps. Sometimes I don’t know what she is sayin’ to me cause I am just feelin’ her voice.

It’s nice and calm in her room at lunch.

Not crazy like the cafeteria. On my first day I had to go to the cafeteria. My homeroom teacher made me sit between two boys.

Lunch happens right after PE.

Do I have to tell you why holding my breath was a good idea?

One of the boys told me three times to buy him cookies in the lunch line. There was no way I was buying HIM cookies.

Paul-Andy would buy him cookies but I’m not explaining that to Mom when she checks my lunch account.

The boy said I’d regret it if I didn’t get his cookies. It was bad enough being the new girl. Walking up to the trays under two-hundred pairs of eyes–and half as many whispers, I knew were about me–gave me a bellyache before I even got to eat.

I was NOT getting him cookies, so I shoved my lunch in the pockets of my hoodie and ate it in the bathroom.

“Nah, I’m good here.” I shook my head but kept my eyes peeled on the shiny parts of the aluminum foil from my PB&J.

Besides, I swear that glowing hallway girl was super-staring at me from the next table. Least it sure looked like her. Same weird outfit. Same freaky glow. She was already there when I sat down.

I know I musta been hallucinating ‘cause no one else was paying’ her any mind.

But when our table got called, she was just… gone. I didn’t see her go, but I was trying real hard not to see her anyways. Even now–I still feel her–like she’s watching from the shadows.

That’s the third time I’ve seen her this week. First in the hallway during the “Would You Rather” game. Then yesterday, standing outside the school when we lined up for fire drill. Now in the cafeteria.

Each time she locks eyes with me like she’s trying to tell me something without words.

And that ain’t even the strangest part.

That note I found? I tried to throw it away twice. Once in the bathroom trash. Once in the big bin by the bus lane. Both times it showed up back in my pocket before the end of the day.

The photo on our bookshelf at home keeps changing too. I swear yesterday the silver-haired woman was standing next to Mom. This morning she was on the other side, behind Dad. Nobody else seems to notice.

“You sure?” Mrs.Wade’s eyebrows lifted up, making her eyes more huge behind her glasses. The purple frames matched her nails today. Who matches their glasses to their nails? That’s next-level coordination.

I nodded this time and took another bite of my homemade sandwich with a juice chaser. Grape was Paul-Andy’s favorite flavor but I didn’t much care. I wasn’t planning on going near that cafeteria any time soon. Making my own lunch was worth it.

Paul-Andy called me weak, but I still didn’t care. He didn’t get shoved between the stinkopotamus Greg and Wendall the nose picker. I been here for four days now and even I heard the stories.

Apparently — they are best friends but argue ALL THE TIME. I heard two girls talking’ in Science class ‘bout how they even got in a fist fight in the bus loading zone last year AND got suspended! That’s why the teacher stuck me between them at the lunch table.

I get that the teacher don’t want trouble–but I don’t want it brought on me either.

“So, Pearl-Ann,” Mrs.Wade’s eyebrows lifted, “what are we doing today? Did you need help with your math?”

I shook my head, “No, I’m good with my math.”

“Ok then. Some cards maybe? I play a mean round of Go Fish.” Mrs. Wade slid her desk drawer open. I shrugged and shuffled to the trash can.

A lot of the kids here go for the two-pointer. I just as well throw my trash in the can less fancy. I don’t need the points.

“How about we watch some more of that movie from yesterday?” Mrs. Wade’s eyebrows were about touching her hairline. Any higher and I think her nose’ll start bleeding’.

“Sure, I guess…if you want to.” I slid back into my desk and rubbed a peanut butter smear with my sleeve off the desktop.

Mrs. Wade sat real quiet for what felt like a billion minutes. The skin on my cheeks grew hot where her eyes touched them.

Like the time Wes and Jim started a piece of twig ablaze using Paul-Andy’s glasses in the backyard. “I could just work on studying for my Ancient Greece quiz, if that’s ok.”

She just kept looking at me. I decided I was gonna act nonchalant and pulled out my folder to get to studying.

Mrs. Wade let out a long sigh and blinked a few times. “Pearl-Ann, how is your history class going for you? Do you like learning about Ancient Greece?”

“Huh, uh, yeah, it’s ok I guess.” I pulled my study guide out of a crisp orange two-pocket folder. “I mean, the teacher’s nice. The class gets a whole lot of crazy so it’s hard to know what is going on.”

“Sure. Sure. I understand. Ms. Smith tells me you might be having some trouble understanding the material.” Mrs. Wade rested her chin on her clasped hands leaning on her desk. A big teacher’s smile filled her face but I wasn’t bein’ fooled one bit.

When the sweetness don’t crinkle the forehead, nobody’s meanin’ happy thoughts behind it.

“It’s a’right Mrs. Wade, Ms. Smith just thinks I should be speakin’ in Greek already but I’m just not a history person. I mean, no offense to Ms. Smith. She’s a good teacher and all, but I just don’t get it. It’s confusing.” I bounced my leg under the desk so bad my pencil rolled off and hit the floor with a clang.

“I always liked history, tell me what you find confusing.” Mrs. Wade asked as she pulled open another desk drawer.

This time, I tapped the pencil on my study guide. Ratatat, ratatat, tap, tap, tap. “I dun know…” I sighed as my shoulders slumped forward. Mom’s face popped in my head warning me about my hump so I shot back up straight, “It’s just not real interestin’ to me. I have enough to remember to do my chores and now I have to make my lunch. I just can’t seem to keep it in my head.”

“Well, that makes sense but you seem to like math and ELA, you are doing fine in those classes, right?” She didn’t look at me this time.

She set a brown book on her desk and closed the drawer. Her fingers traced the cover, eyes lingering, like my Mom when she’s mooning over our baby pictures.

I squinted at the book. Leather-bound, worn at the edges, with what looked like tarnished silver clasps. Not a textbook. Not a novel. Something else.

The air in the room changed, like right before a thunderstorm.

You shouldn’t be here. You’re not special enough for whatever this is. She feels sorry for you.

The thought sliced through me, sharp and cold as winter wind. It didn’t feel like my own voice—it felt like someone whispering directly into my brain.

I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself.

“Yeah, math don’t give me much trouble. My Dad was on us to learn all our facts growin’ up so it’s real good now. I got fractions down thanks to my Dad and my brother Paul-Andy is real good at long division so I got that too.”

I balanced my pencil on my upper lip. I figured out that I just need to tilt my head back a tiny bit. Paul-Andy’s not gonna believe I’m getting this good. I can even move my head side to side and it don’t fall.

“And ELA?” Mrs. Wade looked up at me. Her crinkleless smile was replaced with the high eyebrows again. This time her eyes looked a little glassy.

“Oh, sure…that’s one of my favorite classes. I love stories. I like the mysteries and the scary ones. The scarier the better. I really love tryin’ to figure out the secrets.”

A flicker of movement caught my eye. I glanced toward the classroom door.

She was there again. The glowing girl. Standing perfectly still, watching me with those dark, bottomless eyes. This time, she wasn’t alone.

A tall woman stood beside her, draped in flowing fabric that looked like liquid silver. Her hair cascaded down her back in waves that seemed to shimmer with their own light. She looked exactly like the woman in the photograph—the one who kept changing positions.

The one Mom said was just some cousin.

The woman’s eyes locked with mine, and a jolt ran through me. I heard a voice—not out loud, but inside my head:

Pearl-Ann. The memories are in danger. Find the notebook.

My gaze dropped to the leather book on Mrs. Wade’s desk. The same instant, the woman and the girl vanished.

Nasty!! I put my hands under my desk and touched something gross. It was slimy, so put there recently. Ew, gum!

The gag stuck in my throat, trying to claw its way out. “Can I wash my hands? I just touched something gross under here.”

“Sorry about that.” Mrs. Wade stood with the book, caressing the cover. “Go ahead, take a bathroom pass. When you get back, I have a surprise for you, something special.”

As I reached for the pass, my fingers brushed the edge of the leather-bound book. A shock ran up my arm, not painful but strong, like static electricity multiplied by a thousand.

Images flashed through my mind—a magnificent library stretching endlessly, books with glowing pages, the silver-haired woman writing furiously, the glowing girl running through ancient streets, a music box playing a haunting melody.

Mrs. Wade yanked the book back, her eyes wide. “Pearl-Ann? Are you alright?”

I blinked hard, the visions fading. “Y-yeah. Just dizzy for a second.”

Mrs. Wade looked at me differently now—like she was seeing me for the first time. Like she was realizing something important.

“Take your time,” she said softly, setting the book down. “When you come back, we need to talk about this.”

She tapped the leather-bound book.

“It’s been waiting for you.”

As I headed to the bathroom, my mind raced. The note in my pocket felt warm against my leg. The woman’s voice echoed in my head.

The memories are in danger.

What memories? Mine? Everyone’s?

And what exactly was that book that Mrs. Wade had been saving for me?

Something told me I was about to find out—whether I was ready or not.