and there,” he said vaguely, not even bothering to hide the grin that stole across his face.
“But where most recently, before Dunwoody?”
“What is this, a crime scene? Relax, Hope—there’s nothing fishy about me that you have to uncover.”
“If that’s true, then where are you from?” I pressed him.
He turned to the locker bay and started twirling a combination absentmindedly while I fumbled with mine, waiting for his answer. “I grew up on a commune in Iowa,” he finally said. “I didn’t really have parents; the whole community raised me. You know—that whole ‘takes a village’ thing.”
“A commune?” I asked, unsure of what that meant.
“Some called it a commune. Some called it a cult. It doesn’t really matter.”
“Oh,” I said dumbly, trying to take this in. “So what happened to your parents? I mean, your commune?”
“It was shut down by a police raid last year. And because I wasover sixteen, the district attorney gave me the option of staying with the community as they went through social services and the courts, or of being declared an emancipated youth.”
“An ‘emancipated youth’?” The term was starting to make more sense to me as I began to understand his situation.
“For all intents and purposes, I am treated as if I were eighteen. It means I operate on my own. No adults telling me what to do.”
“But how—?”
“I had distant relatives here in Georgia, and apparently there was a bit of money stashed away that my real parents had never told me about. It was against the rules, you see, to have any private property or money on the commune.”
“So your real parents—?” I left the question hanging in the air, afraid of what he might say.
“It was all a big mix-up. They weren’t really brainwashing people or anything. So they have moved on to California. And now I’m here. I live by myself and drive myself to school and every now and then a relative checks in on me.” He flashed me that brilliant smile again and shrugged. “I know it’s an odd story. Probably one of the strangest you’ve heard.”
I laughed to myself. If only he knew.
“I’ve heard stranger things,” I said, knowing exactly how it must have felt to have such an odd upbringing. I was impressed by what he had shared with me. I’d had enough experience in the juvenile legal system to know that to be able to convince a judge to treat you like an adult was no mean feat. It seemed to explain how comfortable he was around everyone, the weird sense of authority that he just seemed to take for granted and to which everyone else succumbed. He’d been through a lot and was on his own. He
had
to come across as in charge.
Michael suddenly stiffened. A group of boys came careening around the corner, crashing into the lockers next to mine. Michael deftly maneuvered me out of the way, somehow managing to get me past the crowd without ever touching me.
“C’mon, let’s get you on the way home.”
Swinging my backpack, I looked over my shoulder at the knot of fighting boys. On the edge of the crowd, I saw my tormentor from the bus. He was not paying attention to the fight. Instead he was looking straight at me, pointing me out to one of his friends. The friend was tall and dark and seemed to be staring after Michael and me with a smirk. He didn’t stop looking even when I started to blush. Instinctively, my hand flew up to my neck, smoothing my hair. I checked behind me, hoping that maybe the smirk was meant for someone else, but nobody else was there. Before Michael could usher me out of the school, I looked back over my shoulder. Both of them were gone.
We wound through the hallways, Michael unerringly charting a path through the chaos and crowds, until we emerged into the low light of the afternoon. I blinked at the light and breathed in the crisp air, for the first time really cherishing the freedom that my new school seemed to promise.
I turned to Michael and drew in my breath.