her.”
“Not in high school, I didn’t.” Milo’s blue eyes behind the wire-framed glasses studied the gravel at his feet. “Her brother was gone by then, so he doesn’t know …” his voice trailed off. This time, when Milo began walking, Ian didn’t try to stop him. But he did grab Jess’s hand and follow Milo down the driveway. Linda and Jon came out of the house then and joined them.
“What happened in high school?” Ian asked Milo.
Milo continued walking. “Nothing. She was a big deal. I wasn’t. End of story.”
“And end of friendship?” Ian’s voice was kind.
Milo didn’t answer, but Jess had no trouble picturing what had happened. She’d seen it happen to other kids. Best friends in grade school and maybe middle school, sometimes even the first year of high school. Then one person found new friends, new interests, and left the old friend on the outside looking in … an awful place to be.
Giselle had been pretty and popular, a “big deal,” as Milo put it. And he hadn’t.
Sighing, Milo turned to face them, his mouth grim. “Look, this isn’t anybody’s business but mine, okay? Giselle and I were friends and then we weren’t, that’s all. I was never her boyfriend. Her boyfriend was some guy from out-of-town. I never met him. Now, can we just forget about this, okay?”
Because Jess felt sorry for him, she nodded. Taking their cue from her, the others did the same. “Old news, Milo,” Ian said. “Forgotten.”
Milo nodded and said in gruff voice, “Thanks. I mean it, thanks.”
But as he turned and resumed his walking, Jess knew she couldn’t forget the surprising revelation. Milo hadn’t even said how he felt about Giselle’s death. If they’d been that close, even if it had been a long time ago, he must have been upset by her suicide.
Yet he had shown no emotion of any kind when Ian had told that story during their get-acquainted party on the porch … and no emotion when he’d first seen Avery McKendrick standing in the hall waiting to collect Giselle’s things.
Weren’t poets supposed to be emotional?
Hurrying to class a while later, Jess wished that she could stay forever among the beautiful, red brick and stone buildings covered with ivy, and under the sheltering trees whose leaves were just starting to turn blazing yellows and purples and scarlets. She wished she could stay there forever and never have to return to Nightingale Hall, with all of its unanswered questions.
Chapter 11
I N SPITE OF JESS’S wish that she could linger on campus indefinitely, the day passed quickly. After attending a brief meeting of the Fall Ball planning committee at the Student Center, she reluctantly returned to Nightingale Hall.
No one else was home. The house was dim and eerily silent. No pipes groaned, no shutters banged, no wild wind shrieked. All three stories of brick sat in silence as if … as if the house was waiting for something to happen, Jess thought as she climbed the stairs.
She quickened her steps, eager for her own room, sunnier and brighter than the rest of the house.
But her anticipation died a quick death when she reached the top of the stairs. Staring in dismay, she let out a soft “Oh.”
A trail of muddy footprints oozed straight down the middle of the hall. From one end to the other.
No, that wasn’t right. There was something weird …
Jess walked the length of the hallway, avoiding the mud, her eyes on the floor. The weird thing about the footprints, she realized, was that they began in the middle of the hall, some distance from where the hallway began. They didn’t start in a place that made sense, like at the threshold to one of the rooms, as if someone had entered the hallway wearing muddy shoes.
Frowning, she followed the prints to where they curved, suddenly, into … her room. The muddy footprints ended just inside her door. But when she searched the room with her eyes, she found no one there.
It was as if the person in mud-covered shoes
“Not in high school, I didn’t.” Milo’s blue eyes behind the wire-framed glasses studied the gravel at his feet. “Her brother was gone by then, so he doesn’t know …” his voice trailed off. This time, when Milo began walking, Ian didn’t try to stop him. But he did grab Jess’s hand and follow Milo down the driveway. Linda and Jon came out of the house then and joined them.
“What happened in high school?” Ian asked Milo.
Milo continued walking. “Nothing. She was a big deal. I wasn’t. End of story.”
“And end of friendship?” Ian’s voice was kind.
Milo didn’t answer, but Jess had no trouble picturing what had happened. She’d seen it happen to other kids. Best friends in grade school and maybe middle school, sometimes even the first year of high school. Then one person found new friends, new interests, and left the old friend on the outside looking in … an awful place to be.
Giselle had been pretty and popular, a “big deal,” as Milo put it. And he hadn’t.
Sighing, Milo turned to face them, his mouth grim. “Look, this isn’t anybody’s business but mine, okay? Giselle and I were friends and then we weren’t, that’s all. I was never her boyfriend. Her boyfriend was some guy from out-of-town. I never met him. Now, can we just forget about this, okay?”
Because Jess felt sorry for him, she nodded. Taking their cue from her, the others did the same. “Old news, Milo,” Ian said. “Forgotten.”
Milo nodded and said in gruff voice, “Thanks. I mean it, thanks.”
But as he turned and resumed his walking, Jess knew she couldn’t forget the surprising revelation. Milo hadn’t even said how he felt about Giselle’s death. If they’d been that close, even if it had been a long time ago, he must have been upset by her suicide.
Yet he had shown no emotion of any kind when Ian had told that story during their get-acquainted party on the porch … and no emotion when he’d first seen Avery McKendrick standing in the hall waiting to collect Giselle’s things.
Weren’t poets supposed to be emotional?
Hurrying to class a while later, Jess wished that she could stay forever among the beautiful, red brick and stone buildings covered with ivy, and under the sheltering trees whose leaves were just starting to turn blazing yellows and purples and scarlets. She wished she could stay there forever and never have to return to Nightingale Hall, with all of its unanswered questions.
Chapter 11
I N SPITE OF JESS’S wish that she could linger on campus indefinitely, the day passed quickly. After attending a brief meeting of the Fall Ball planning committee at the Student Center, she reluctantly returned to Nightingale Hall.
No one else was home. The house was dim and eerily silent. No pipes groaned, no shutters banged, no wild wind shrieked. All three stories of brick sat in silence as if … as if the house was waiting for something to happen, Jess thought as she climbed the stairs.
She quickened her steps, eager for her own room, sunnier and brighter than the rest of the house.
But her anticipation died a quick death when she reached the top of the stairs. Staring in dismay, she let out a soft “Oh.”
A trail of muddy footprints oozed straight down the middle of the hall. From one end to the other.
No, that wasn’t right. There was something weird …
Jess walked the length of the hallway, avoiding the mud, her eyes on the floor. The weird thing about the footprints, she realized, was that they began in the middle of the hall, some distance from where the hallway began. They didn’t start in a place that made sense, like at the threshold to one of the rooms, as if someone had entered the hallway wearing muddy shoes.
Frowning, she followed the prints to where they curved, suddenly, into … her room. The muddy footprints ended just inside her door. But when she searched the room with her eyes, she found no one there.
It was as if the person in mud-covered shoes
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