detention, so keep talking if that’s your thing. Your funeral.”
In the same breath, I have to bite the smile trying to break across my face because Principal Cano is the butt of much Borat-related humor at Dover, all, of course, expressed in secret. A couple years back, one student actually posted a photo of the offending infamous green mankini on her blog with Principal Cano’s face, and she’d mysteriously disappeared within the same week. Rumors varied from she’d been expelled, to her family had moved to the other side of the country, to she was being held in Cano’s garage to be tortured for eternity.
I, of course, know better. Speio—who seems to somehow know everything that goes on in school—told me that there had been a very private lawsuit and an even more private settlement. So I know that it was definitely the second one, but who am I to curb the fun of speculation? Still, Cano is not one to be messed with—he takes his job as school principal seriously. Supposedly he used to be some kind of big-time molecular scientist in Eastern Europe and published several books on DNA research before he had a breakdown. I can’t imagine anything worse than managing a school full of hormonal teenagers, but different strokes for different folks.
“Ah, Ms. Marin,” Principal Cano says in a thickly accented voice. Beside me, I feel Lo’s indrawn snort and I bite the inside of my cheek even harder. I paste my best impression of a cheerleader smile on my face and lean so far away from Lo that I’m nearly out of my chair. “Congratulations on the game last week. Coach Fenton said that you were instrumental in the win.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say. “But it was a team effort.”
“That’s the spirit,” he agrees. I notice that he hasn’t acknowledged Lo but, new student or not, beach-bum surfer-boy is hardly my problem. “Come on in.”
As I stand to follow Principal Cano to his office, Lo winks at me and sprawls in the chair as if he’s in his living room. He picks up my discarded magazine and flips through it, raising his eyebrow and pointing overtly at the embarrassing-moments article. Unable to help myself, I roll my eyes at him. He’s a piece of work, that one.
Despite the pretense with the magazine, I feel his eyes on me all the way into the principal’s office. I say hello to the guidance counselor, who’s sitting in the second chair on the outside of the wide mahogany desk. Mrs. Leland is a tiny bird of a woman with dark hair always combed back in a bun, and a quiet demeanor. I smile at her and she congratulates me on the game as I take the seat to her left.
Luckily, Principal Cano only wants to talk about college choices, something I haven’t even started to think about. I still have a year of high school to go, but for some reason, it’s on his list of priorities. Jenna had told me he’d had a similar conversation with her about sports schools and sports scholarships. She’d mentioned something about it looking good on Dover’s—and by default Cano’s—record so he always took a vested interest in any potentially promising students, which apparently included me. But Cano has always seemed to be interested in my progress at Dover, so his attention is nothing new.
Lo catches my eye through the blinds of Principal Cano’s office. He’s staring at his phone, completely uncaring of any the rules governing visible cell phone use in school areas. I nod at the appropriate intervals, pretending to listen to Cano but surreptitiously studying the boy sitting outside. Something about him tugs at me. I don’t know if it’s the whole lonely-boy slash bad-boy vibe, but there’s something there that just gets me.
It isn’t about his physical looks. I mean he’s okay, but nothing spectacular. His tanned face is all hard angles and hollows, and his almond-shaped eyes make him look almost feminine. He’s not bad looking, that’s for sure, but cute isn’t a word I’d use to describe him. More on the slender side than bulky, there’s something resilient about him. I didn’t get to see that much of him in the wet suit, but I’m sure he’s in great shape if his surfing is any indication. He’s strong. I see it in the sharp curve of his jaw and in his long slender fingers tapping away on the phone’s screen.
Suddenly, my own phone vibrates in my pocket as a smile curls the left corner of Lo’s mouth. He doesn’t look up, just continues to stare intently at the device in his hands. I frown. Coincidence? It buzzes again and, this time, I can’t help myself.
“Excuse me, Principal Cano, sorry to interrupt but I think I forgot to turn my phone off this morning. I just want to make sure it’s not on.” Cano tosses a benevolent smile in my direction as I slide out my phone with a quick glance at the offending messages. I don’t recognize the number but the words are more than maddeningly identifiable.
Still enjoying that cherry smoothie, I see. BTW, you didn’t tell me your name.
I’m so hot with delayed embarrassment that it feels like I’m going to melt into a puddle on the floor any minute. Lo hasn’t looked up but that smirk is still lurking around the corners of his mouth. I’m itching to slap it off his face and figure out at the same time how he got ahold of my unlisted number. I shove my phone back into my pocket.
Tearing my glance away from the annoyance on the other side of the window, I focus on Principal Cano, who is now looking through my file. Boring. Not much in there other than the usual—transcripts, grades, notes. On paper, I’m an exemplary student, never drawing unnecessary attention to myself.
My gaze spans the desk, and suddenly, my boredom disappears. Next to a heap of files on Cano’s desk is another open file far thinner than mine. The photo of an arrogant but familiar face is clipped to one corner.
Lo’s file.
I bolt upright and forward in my chair, curiosity peppering my brain. It would be so easy to glimmer over the desk without anyone being the wiser. Curiosity gets the better of me, and maybe a little desire for payback. The need to see what’s in that file becomes insistent. In a world governed by paperwork, his file is even thinner than mine, which makes him very interesting.
Lo obviously has money; otherwise, he wouldn’t be here. Not that it matters, but Dover is a snooty private school that isn’t exactly known for giving free rides. As a student with a royal trust fund and a generous long-standing alumni grant, I had no trouble getting admitted. Dover has been my family’s alma mater for centuries.
My real family...the nonhuman one.
Who wouldn’t exactly approve of what I am about to do. Especially my Handlers.
Shoving the thought of them away, I focus on the task at hand. Glimmering isn’t expressly forbidden so I’m not doing anything too untoward, but it is frowned upon because of the potential exposure. I’ll be careful so there won’t be any risk.
Taking a breath, I shrug off the nerves, feeling the water inside my body press against my skin in immediate response as a round weightlessness forms in the middle of my chest. I extend the glimmer-shadow outward like a ball of water, hovering over Principal Cano’s desk as he’s speaking and gesturing at some notes in my file.
From any outside perspective, I’m sitting in my chair and listening intently to what Cano is saying. But for my own purposes, my glimmer-self can now see the pages on the desk as easily as if I were sitting on Principal Cano’s lap. Which is a pretty gross thought.
Focus, I tell myself, and push slightly to the right.
The glimmer-shadow almost breaks but I pull it together with a long, slow breath that slivers through my teeth. Glimmering is a delicate business that involves manipulating minuscule amounts of water in the air and connecting those to the source in my body. The technical term for it is hydroprojection, which basically
