Kids on Fire: A Free Excerpt From YA Novel Phoebe Pope and the Year of Four

Phoebe Pope and the Year of Four (A Shapers Novel)

by Nya Jade

 

 

 

One

 

Phoebe was too far away to sense whether the boy had one heart or two. Through the maze of trees with clattering leaves, she could see him moving with purposeful speed. He was headed toward her destination—a brownstone chapel perched at the top of a small hill. Not knowing the boy’s nature made Phoebe hesitate. Then came the sound of tower bells. Eight o’clock. There was no time to think of an alternate route. She was officially late for the Conversion.

            A loud, echoing crack quickened Phoebe’s pace as lightning slashed the indigo sky above her. She had barely reached the base of the hill when rain began pounding down. Clutching the camera that hung from the strap around her neck, she sprinted the final stretch, arriving breathless.

Phoebe wiped the rain from her face, and then entered the chapel. Inside, light from moon-facing windows cast a misty glow across the sanctuary, the air redolent with the smoke of a blazing fireplace. She glanced around the heart of the nondenominational Green Lane Academy. It seemed so ordinary, so quiet, even peaceful. Rows of pews with velvet cushions ran the width of the room. She moved between them, taking care to remain in the shadows. An irregular shape in a dark corner caught her eye and Phoebe could just barely make out the outline of the boy. He knelt with his head between his hands, his body huddled against a pew. Praying.

Phoebe paused several feet away and waited. After a moment she felt energy seeping from the boy’s skin, raising the hairs on hers. Cold and electric, it meant one thing: the boy had only one heart. She couldn’t risk him seeing what she had come there to do. That meant waiting. Just then, something stirred behind her.

With her hearts thudding, Phoebe spun around to face a girl who appeared to be around her age: sixteen, maybe seventeen. Her eyes stared expectantly at Phoebe from behind a severe pair of black-rimmed glasses.

“Thank God I’m not the only delinquent who’s late,” the girl said. “Christ, did I scare you?” she asked, clearly baffled as she took a hesitant step backward.

“No,” Phoebe lied and lowered her fists.

The girl looked unconvinced. “Well, I didn’t mean to. I figured you were aware of me.”

“It’s all good. . .” Warmth crept over Phoebe’s skin. She blushed, embarrassed that she was only now sensing the physical energy of a fellow Shaper.

“I’m Hayley.”

“Hi. I’m Phoebe.”

As they shook hands, the boy grunted and shifted to the end of his pew.

“Come on, let’s get warm,” Hayley said.

Hayley moved toward the fireplace with short, graceful steps. Phoebe followed, feeling awkward in her limbs by comparison. At nearly six feet tall, she towered over her petite companion. They slid into a fireside pew. Flames crackled toward a portrait of the Virgin Mary hanging high on the wall above it. Phoebe gazed at the oil painting briefly, and then turned sideways, facing Hayley, who had already removed her coat and spread it out next to her.

“So,” she said. “Where’s the entrance?”

Hayley gave a lazy shrug. “Dunno. My search got interrupted.”

“Oh.” Phoebe glanced quickly at the human boy. “Why’d you miss the escort?”

“Major hair crisis.”

Phoebe raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“A girl’s gotta look good—just kidding,” Hayley said, laughing. “My kid brothers stuck gum in my ponytail. I don’t smell like peanut butter, do I?” She swept strands of her light-brown hair under her nose.

Phoebe shook her head. “Why? Another brotherly prank?”

“No. It’s my mom’s remedy for removing gum,” Hayley said, examining the ends of her hair. “It takes forever, but it beats the hell outta chopping it out. So . . . why are you late?”

Phoebe absently ran her camera strap between her fingers. She was going to tell Hayley that she got distracted photographing the old farmhouses-turned-dorms dotting the campus, but she didn’t get the opportunity. A sudden sound of footsteps on the creaking floor cut through the air and both girls snapped their heads to the right. The boy had risen to his feet. He crossed himself, shot them a look of silent fury, turned on his heel, and left the chapel.

“What was that about?” Phoebe muttered. Hayley rolled her eyes and shrugged as they both stared at the door the boy had closed behind him.

“Some prefer the sanctity of silence when in prayer.” The room resonated with a man’s reproach. Phoebe flinched. She looked to the front of the chapel where a hooded figure stepped out from the shadows of the altar.

A wrinkled hand rose from inside a burgundy cloak and beckoned them. “Well, what are you waiting for?” the man said. “Come.”

Phoebe sprang to her feet. Suddenly conscious of her own hair, remembering what the rain had done to it, she tugged in vain at the knots. She scurried down the aisle, Hayley close at her heels, mumbling, “Forgive us Father—”

“I’m not a priest, lass,” the man said, his eyes reflecting moonlight as he watched them mount the steps to the altar. “I’m Gabe, the custodian for this narthyx point.”

“Nice to meet you, Gabe. I’m—”

“Phoebe.”

“How’d you know?” Phoebe’s eyes widened.

“I knew your father during his time here. I see you’ve inherited his incurable tardiness in addition to that famous hair of his,” he said, softening his tone.

As a reflex, Phoebe ran a hand through the white streak in the front of her copper-colored locks. She had a sudden urge to cry, but she shoved it down. The pain of losing her father still remained fresh, no matter how many months rolled by. Hayley took one look at Phoebe’s face and had the good grace to feign sudden interest in the racks of unlit candles behind them.

“You do him proud being here,” Gabe said warmly.

“Thank you,” Phoebe said quietly. “How do we find the ceremony?”

“Follow the moons to the Great Hall.” Phoebe waited for some elaboration but none came. Gabe simply raised his chin toward the pulpit and chided, “Come, now, before you miss the whole thing.”

The girls gathered behind the gently hunched man as he pushed against the pulpit. A reverberating series of clicks echoed from within the stone structure, and a moment later, it slid to the side, revealing a dark, square opening with a stairway leading down.

“Careful of your step,” he said.

After thanking Gabe, Hayley slipped agilely by him and Phoebe into the passageway, disappearing into the blackness. Phoebe began to step cautiously into the stairwell when the sleeve of her sweater caught. She glanced up and saw that Gabe held her cuff between forefinger and thumb.

“If you need anything, lass,” he said, dropping her arm, “anything at all, you know where to find me.” Phoebe considered his narrow, lined face and saw the sincerity etched into his features. It seemed her father had meant something to this old man. She nodded. A guarded smile appeared on Gabe’s face as he slid the base of the pulpit over the entrance.

Darkness swallowed Phoebe. The sound of Hayley’s footsteps echoed around her. She pressed a finger to her temple and blinked rapidly. Soon her eyes adjusted to the dark and she could see Hayley’s moving form. Phoebe followed her, careful to keep a steadying hand on the cold stone walls as they made several sharp turns. Having no sense of the depth of their descent unnerved her as the stairs continued to slope downwards into utter blackness. Just when she thought it would never end, Phoebe heard the merciful sound of Hayley opening a door.

Inches behind Hayley, Phoebe passed through the doorway and stopped short. The smooth walls of a circular room were inlaid with at least thirty black doors spaced five or so feet apart. Plaques in the center of each one told where each door led, as Phoebe saw Above Dining Hall, Above Library, and Above Chapel on the door they’d just come through.

“The narthyx chamber,” Hayley said reverently, running fingers over the bronze handles. She looked around, an expression of awe spreading across her glowing face.

“So cool to finally see it,” Phoebe said.

“Mm hmm,” Hayley agreed, distractedly.

Phoebe couldn’t help but grin as she continued reading the plaques. These were the secret passageways that connected the Campus Above with the Campus Below. The human students roamed their austere halls unaware that below their manicured grounds existed a prestigious school of an entirely different kind.

 

Two

            

            They stepped through the door marked Below Courtyard and entered a gleaming white marble quadrangle. Phoebe turned in a slow circle. She felt entranced by the splendor of stone arches all around them, rising to meet upper corridors with balconies overlooking a large, central fountain and garden.

“This way!” Hayley called, pointing across the courtyard to an archway lined with golden images of the moon in its four major phases. They set off at a run and followeda trail of moons down hallways and around corners. Anticipation rattled Phoebe’s chest. Her father had run down these very halls.

Moments later, at the trail’s end, they came upon a tall muscled guard positioned outside a pair of mahogany doors. He watched their approach with narrowed eyes. Phoebe parted her lips to apologize for their lateness, but before she could speak, the guard grunted and released the iron bar lock. The massive doors swung inward and he waved them in with a flick of his wrist.

The instant Phoebe stepped into the Great Hall, the scent of sweet spices wafted up around her. She stood still, trying to absorb the scene before her. Hundreds upon hundreds of recessed lights sparkled from a black, domed ceiling. They lit every corner of the cavernous room. Three rows of tables, garnished with white moon flowers, had been arranged in semi-circles around a wide stage that jutted out from the front wall like a fashion runway. The festive tables were packed with hundreds of students whose backs faced Phoebe and Hayley.

Phoebe elbowed Hayley. “Amazing, huh?”

“Unreal,” Hayley gushed. “Now what?”

“Over there.” Phoebe nodded toward the only two empty seats at the last row of tables.

Hayley charged forward, pulling Phoebe along with her.

“Don’t look,” Hayley whispered, “but we’re getting the evil eye.”

“Crap.” Phoebe glanced back, cringing at the disapproving glare she got from some faculty members. Great first impression, she thought.

“Next,” a commanding male baritone bellowed, as Phoebe and Hayley settled into their seats. “I call before you Xavier Reno.”

Phoebe’s eyes followed an elaborate marble staircase, one of a pair that spiraled upward to a balcony that was situated to the right side of the stage. There, a middle-aged man with a prominent aquiline nose and deep sunken eyes stood peering down at the crowd. He wore a purple toga that swathed him in silken waves. From her father’s description, Phoebe knew at once that this man must be Professor Yori, Headmaster of the Campus Below.

Phoebe turned her attention to the stage where a male student draped in an ivory toga rose from a bench. After a nervous glance at a blond, heavyset girl next to him, also in a toga, who gave an encouraging smile, the boy moved forward, tugging up fistfuls of cloth to prevent tripping as he walked. He arrived at center stage, and cautiously picked up a luminous object from a round, gilded table.

Hayley gasped, shifting in her seat for a better view. “Utaviium,” she said, faster than Phoebe could think it. And it was. Thin and cylindrical, Utaviium was a pale blue crystal enchanted to capture and hold a single bolt of lightning. It was beautiful to look at; both of the girls sat transfixed, focused on the frenetic light within the crystal.

“Xavier, show yourself!” Professor Yori declared.

In the moment of those words’ utterance, several things happened at once. The boy’s toga slipped to the floor. He smashed the Utaviium at his feet. A massive wave of energy rippled through the room, and for an instant, Phoebe was blinded by the intensity of its accompanying light. When her vision recovered, a giant, red falcon stood where the boy had been.

Spreading his bejeweled fingers across the balcony’s railing, Professor Yori spoke down to the majestic bird, “Son of Osiah, rise!” Phoebe watched a pair of iridescent wings unfold sleekly, wings that from tip to tip spanned the width of the stage. The falcon lifted and lowered them slowly. The hall erupted with applause as he took silent flight, faltered for a moment, then shot upward to a long perch suspended from the ceiling by gold chains. All heads peered up as, beating his wings inward to steady himself, the falcon took his place on the perch next to a silver eagle and a black hawk.

Phoebe glanced to her side. She saw Hayley’s eyes ablaze with her own excitement. Never before had she seen the mind-thrilling spectacle of a first time Conversion. Goosebumps waltzed up her arms.

Professor Yori cleared his throat, reclaiming the room’s attention.

“I now call Leslie Davis.”

The blond girl who had been sitting next to Xavier strolled to center stage, grabbed another Utaviium, and bobbed a hasty curtsy.

“Show yourself,” Professor Yori said again, with an equal measure of intensity. The girl shattered the Utaviium like Xavier had done, and Phoebe bit back a gasp as a jaguar with silver spotted gold fur appeared in her place and began to stalk the stage, tail whipping in the air.

“We welcome a daughter of Gavya!” the headmaster said. When applause filled the Great Hall, the massive cat exploded off the stage, joining a white leopard Phoebe hadn’t noticed sitting on the floor between the stage and the crowd. She found the regal assurance of both animals spellbinding. And, although she wouldn’t find out until the first full moon after her seventeenth birthday, Phoebe could not help longing to know what alternate Shape her second heart belonged to.

As Phoebe’s mind wandered, so did her gaze, and she noticed for the first time the purple banners that hung the length of the back walls. Gold words embroidered into the center of each one read: Vesuvius AD 79. Old and faded, the banners were a reminder of Pompeii, the ancient Roman city and ancestral homeland of Shapers that had once thrived before the eruption of Mount Vesuvius buried it under volcanic ash. The human world viewed the demise of Pompeii as a catastrophic act of nature. But every Shaper knew that Mount Vesuvius had been triggered by an act of war.

A collective movement of chairs scraping back pulled Phoebe’s gaze away from the banners as the entire congregation rose to its feet. Moving slowly, a slight limp in his stride, Professor Yori descended one of the staircases. He removed a laurel wreath from his bald head and passed a hand over the interlocking branches and leaves. When he reached the bottommost stair, he was met by a couple of older students who assisted him with disrobing in a swift but careful manner. The voluminous toga unraveled, revealing that the headmaster wore a stately black suit underneath.

Once the two students had removed his rings, folded the toga between them and left the stage, Professor Yori said, “We have come to the conclusion of this full moon’s Conversion. I congratulate all the newly converted on this important rite of passage. This includes those of you who Converted over the summer in the presence of your community leaders, family, and friends. Reaching the day your second Shape is awakened is a momentous event to celebrate so”—he raised the wreath in a sort of benediction—“blessings of Osiah and Gavya.”

The students moved their right hands to their lips in unison, and then crossed both arms in an X over their chests—one fist placed over each heart.

“Welcome back, Cadets.” Professor Yori gestured for them to be seated. “And a special welcome to our newest Hastati class. Your decision to train for the Shaper Intelligence Service is an admirable one, and a decision that I know was not made without long and careful thought. It is why we mark the beginning of the year with a grand Conversion Ceremony in the tradition of the Old Country. It reminds us of what we serve to protect. And now, as is our custom, the Principes class will swear in the new Hastati class.”

Phoebe stood with her classmates as everyone in the middle row of tables rose and turned to face them. Together the second-years said, “We, the Principes class, candidates for advancement to Triarii class, bid you welcome.”

“We are happy to be welcomed,” Phoebe replied with her class, reciting the response they’d been given in their trainee handbook.

The Principes continued: “Please give your enrollment statement.”

“We are here to gain physical toughness. Develop strength of character. And sharpen our mental acumen.”

“Why do you fight?”

“Loyalty to each other. Service to the Royal Court. And in honor of Pompeii.”

“And when called to the task?”

Phoebe’s stomach lurched. Her palms suddenly felt clammy. With a shallow breath she answered timidly, “We will kill Vigos, no questions asked.”

Then Phoebe shook hands with the Principes boy in front of her, who looked at her with concern. Embarrassed, she composed her face into a picture of calm. She pulled her hand from his grasp and sat slowly, caught up in the meaning of the oath. Doubt, sharp and unwanted, coiled in her stomach. What if she couldn’t make her father’s career her own?

“The start of a new moonester,” Professor Yori said, “brings with it a few quick announcements. First, and of most importance, recent reports indicate a spike in Vigo activity in the area—” Gasps and murmurs broke out as every student turned to address his or her neighbor.

Professor Yori’s whistle cut through the noise. The hall fell silent. Maintaining his composure, the headmaster looked out at the sea of students. “In the one hundred years of the Campus Below, Vigos have never once found the school. We remain perfectly cloaked by the presence of humans.”

Phoebe knew that Professor Yori was right. Her father had once explained that because of the warm physical energy that radiated from Shapers, a gathering as large as a school would be a beacon for Vigos to track. Luckily, the presence of a greater mass of cold energy humans, like the Green Lane Academy population, could shield them. This truth failed to stop the shiver that swept through Phoebe.

The headmaster continued, “The concern is localized in Boston. There will be no trips into the greater city area or into the town of Dedham until further notice. Now,” he continued, “on to the more administrative announcements. Hastati years, if you have not already done so, please make sure to finalize your course selections for both campuses by midnight tonight.”

Phoebe frowned inwardly; she hadn’t turned in her Above schedule yet. Shapers were required to take classes with the Green Lane Academy students because subjects such as mathematics, science, and English, needed for assimilation in the human world, were not taught at the Campus Below. Anxious about her double course load, Phoebe was still deciding which electives would require the least amount of work.

“And lastly,” Professor Yori said, “the custodians would like you to know that the door in the narthyx chamber that leads to the Above library is closed for maintenance.”

Just as Professor Yori began to dismiss the students, a thin, gray-haired woman hurried toward the stage, handed him a folder, and then bustled away. The headmaster reviewed the file briefly, a muscle twitching beneath his short graying beard. Looking up he said in a tight voice, “I would like to see Scott Roland, Lewis Baker, Mariko Higashi, and Phoebe Pope in my office tomorrow during the lunch hour.” And as far away as Phoebe was from the headmaster, she could have sworn his eyes had flashed in her direction as he’d said it.

Hayley leaned close to Phoebe and whispered, “Is he talking about you?”

Phoebe nodded. “You think it’s ‘cause I was late?”

“Can’t be,” Hayley said, shaking her head. “I’d be on that list too.”

Phoebe stared at Professor Yori, a nervous feeling brewing in her stomach. What could he possibly want?

“Go with Osiah and Gavya,” he boomed and dismissed the crowd with a small bow.

***

            Later, as the rest of the campus slept, Phoebe lay heartsick in the small grassy courtyard behind her dorm. Under a clear sky, she gazed at the brittle-looking moon, willing her body not to succumb to fatigue. If she did not sleep, the nightmare would not come. But Phoebe knew that, whether or not her eyes closed, the memory would still find a way in. Always.

She remembered rain hammering on the roof of the car as her father sped down a road lined by a wall of forest on either side. Behind them, the choral growl of the Vigos rose.

“Seat belt!” her father had shouted. His eyes were focused ahead, his jaw hard. Drawing the belt across her body, Phoebe stared in the side view mirror, seeing the moving shadows growing larger in the distance. Her panic soared.

“It’s going to be okay.” Her father stole a quick glance at her. “They can’t chase us all night. I promise you.”

Phoebe glanced at the speedometer and swallowed; the needle had pushed up past ninety. They turned a tight corner, and then, as her father had promised, the Vigos fell back, their growls receding into the drone of the rain. Phoebe saw triumph flash in her father’s eyes mere seconds before the car hydroplaned, turning and turning as though it would never stop.

Even now, as she lay curled in on herself, her arms wrapped around her body, Phoebe could hear the explosion of the car smashing into the tree. She could taste the gagging heat of blood dripping down her throat as she crawled her way out of the tangled mass of glass, metal, and branches.

“Dad,” Phoebe cried, stumbling over to the broken shape of her father lying nearby.

His eyes flickered up at her. “Honey,” he said, his voice hoarse and urgent. “They heard the crash.” He coughed raggedly, and blood ran from the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got to go.” What her father was asking her to do rattled around in Phoebe’s brain, failing to fully register even as her legs gave way underneath her. Her knees hit soggy earth, and, frantically eyeballing his injuries, she touched his face.

“You’ve already started heal—”

“I can’t heal enough before they get here.” His eyes slid to the darkness behind her, in the direction from which they’d come. Phoebe could hear them coming and the ground beneath her trembled with the vibrations of their advancing feet—Vigos drunk with the scent of a Shaper down. Phoebe felt intolerable pain at the thought of leaving her father. She wouldn’t do it.

“I can get you out of here!” She took both of his wrists in her hands and began to pull with a determination that burned. Then something twisted inside her chest, hard and insistent. Phoebe recognized it immediately; her father was pushing emotion into her: courage and the will to survive.

As if he’d just slapped her across the face, Phoebe glared up at him, blinking. “Stop it—stop it!” Her voice broke. They both knew he needed every drop of those instincts for himself. Phoebe squeezed her eyes with the effort of pushing them back into him, but even in his dying moments, her father’s ability was stronger than her own.

“Don’t fight me on this one, kid.” He ran a bloodied hand through her hair, his voice now just above a whisper. “You have to go. Please.” Tears seeped into the blood on Phoebe’s bruised face. “If they’re distracted with me, they won’t sense you.” Her father looked at her with eyes that held love and the wildness of one last push. When he did, Phoebe felt his power crash though her with a force she couldn’t fight. A burning need to survive controlled every part of her. She scrambled to her feet and ran.

Phoebe fled into the forest feeling none of the branches that clawed at her hair and scraped her arms and legs. A few hundred yards from the crash site, her skin flared hot from the physical energy of a nearby Vigo. Daring to look back, Phoebe staggered at the sight of the silver-striped black Tiger approaching her father, its fiery eyes burning bright. Large silver spikes ran down its heavily arched back to the tip of a tail that was poised to strike.

A scream caught in Phoebe’s throat. None of the stories had adequately prepared her for this. The Vigo was huge. A lot bigger than she’d imagined. The beast roared in triumph. And an instant later, it morphed into a tall blond woman, who wore a dark shawl over shoulders as pale as early morning mist. Phoebe had barely absorbed the rapid transformation when a violent shiver pulsed through her, sharpening the instinct to flee. And she did.

Now, in the solitude of her dorm’s courtyard, Phoebe listened as a breeze tickled wind chimes someone had hung on a branch above her. Her eyes stung with pent-in tears until she reluctantly began to sob. Her father was gone. Phoebe slid a hand underneath her shirt. She fingered the scar that arced across her stomach, and brushed the one that ran down the fold of her right shoulder with her thumb. Her other hand traveled behind her left ear, tracing that jagged scar along the back of her neck. Her body was a landscape of reminders.

 

 

Three

 

The next morning, Phoebe felt an energizing sense of peace, as though her dreaming mind had spread a balm over her aching hearts. By quarter to seven she’d showered, pulled on her Green Lane uniform, and taken photos of the sun pushing the navy of night below the horizon, all before anyone stirred in her dorm. A chill wind snaked its way into her coat. She put a hustle in her step, crunching leaves kissed with every hue of autumn under her feet.

Within minutes, Phoebe arrived at the red barn that housed the Green Lane dining hall. As she crossed the threshold, she felt a light tap on her right shoulder. Hayley stood behind her, smiling mischievously, with her hair pulled up into a neat twist.

“Doesn’t anyone see the irony of us Shapers living on a campus that used to be a farm?” she whispered with a smirk.

“At least it’s not a zoo,” Phoebe retorted in a low voice.

Hayley laughed. “The pancakes are to die for. Come join me when you’re done.” She indicated a corner table that held a lone tray of food.

“Sure thing.” Phoebe moved with the river of students around the many buffet stations, quickly loading her tray with more food than she could possibly eat, and arrived at Hayley’s table to find her perusing a copy of the Green Lane Gazette.

“You won’t believe this,” Hayley said, looking over the top of the paper at Phoebe with a slight frown on her face.

Phoebe put down her tray and sat. “What?”

“It says here in this article that three particle physicists from Harvard were recently abducted outside their Boston homes,” Hayley said. “Authorities have no leads.” Phoebe paused as she reached for her scone. “They’re saying,” Hayley continued, dropping her voice, “that this comes at a time when there has been an escalation in unexplained criminal activity in the city.”

Phoebe looked around them. They were two tables away from the nearest group of humans. Still, she whispered, “You think it has to do with Yori’s announcement?”

Hayley nodded solemnly.

Phoebe’s eyes narrowed as she broke her scone in half and began spreading a liberal amount of jam onto both pieces. “What would Vigos want with particle physicists?” she murmured.

“Hell if I know. But what I do know is that the ban on trips into Boston sucks.” Hayley laid down the paper and heaved a dramatic sigh. “Coming here was supposed to be my great escape,” she said, sounding defeated.

“From what?”

“Santa Claus, Indiana.”

Phoebe jerked an eyebrow. “Santa Claus? As in Rudolph’s fat boss?”

“The one and only,” Hayley half laughed with such a distinct note of bitterness that Phoebe stared at her blankly, wondering how a town with a beloved namesake could be so bad. As though reading her mind, Hayley added, “You have no idea how boring it is there. Let me put it this way: Answering the thousands of ‘Dear Santa’ letters our post office gets from around the world during the holidays is the biggest event of the year.”

“That sounds cute—”

“It’s not cute,” Hayley said in an almost indignant tone, “when you have to dress like an elf while doing it. Look at me”—she waved a hand over her body—“do I scream elf to you?”

Phoebe couldn’t stifle a snort. “So you traded one small town for another?”

“Yeah. But at least Dedham has access to a legit city,” Hayley said. She pointed a forkful of pancakes at Phoebe. “Where are you from?”

Before Phoebe could answer someone took a seat on the edge of their table. She and Hayley glanced up at a lanky girl with maple-colored skin and hair that fell in thick, ebony ringlets over her shoulders.

“Where ya been, roomie?” she said to Phoebe. “Didn’t hear ya come in last night and I’m a light sleeper. Then when I woke up this morning, you were gone.”

Phoebe had met her roommate Cynthia and her entire family the previous night when they arrived at the dorm chattering excitedly, with tons of luggage in tow. Cynthia’s father had found it necessary to corner Phoebe and drone on about the family’s school legacy, Cynthia’s stellar junior high  grades, and certain future as an Ivy Leaguer. Pushed beyond her endurance, Phoebe had grabbed her camera, politely excused herself, and slipped out to explore the campus.

“Hi Cynthia—”

“It’s Cyn,” Cynthia said, interrupting. “Remember?”

Phoebe forced a small smile. “When I got back you were fast asleep.”

Cyn drew down her perfectly arched eyebrows in a disbelieving expression. Phoebe knew that Cyn wasn’t wrong to doubt her. She had been lying awake in the dark when Phoebe had returned from the courtyard. Using her Shaper silent stealth, however, Phoebe had managed to slip into the room, undress, and crawl into bed unnoticed.

“What did you get into last night?” Cyn asked, still eying Phoebe with suspicion.

“Nothing much. Just wandered around taking photos.”

“Allnight?” Cyn’s eyebrows rose further.

“Then she was hangin’ with me,” Hayley jumped in.

Phoebe shot Hayley a grateful look and made a quick introduction. “Cynth—Cyn, this is Hayley. Hayley, Cyn.”

Cyn turned her liquid brown eyes to Hayley, regarded her for a moment and then grinned broadly. “You’re reading my article!” she said, stabbing the features section of Hayley’s paper with a French-manicured finger. Phoebe confirmed this with a quick glance at the byline. “Crazy, isn’t it? On the next page I talk about the millions of dollars worth of equipment that disappeared along with the physicists.”

Phoebe and Hayley exchanged quick glances.

“Anyway,” Cyn said, returning her attention to Phoebe. “I came to tell you that the Gazette is looking for a new features photographer. I told them you’d be perfect. The work you did for the paper at your old school was amazing!” Phoebe’s surprise showed, and Cyn didn’t miss it. Smiling brightly, she rolled her eyes, “I Googled you. With my endorsement, the job is yours if you want it.” Cyn smoothed her pleated navy skirt and slid off the table. “Think about it, roomie.” She sashayed off, throwing a “Nice to meet you, Hayley” over her shoulder as she went.

“Damn,” Hayley said, staring at Cyn’s retreating figure. “Why didn’t I think of Googling my roommate, Maya Le—” The end of Hayley’s sentence drowned in a sudden, earsplitting clamor of screams that erupted around them. Excitement sizzled through the room. Phoebe pressed herself back against her chair and stared with puzzlement at several groups of girls fairly quaking at their tables, looking as though they were about to pass out.

“Oh my God!” Hayley said in a pitch that had escalated a few unnatural octaves.

Phoebe returned her gaze to Hayley. “What?”

“I can’t believe it’s actually true.” Hayley riffled diligently through her backpack, muttering something under her breath about the magazine being in there somewhere. “They said he might be going to a private school in the area, but I didn’t believe it.”

“Who said who’d be going where?”

“Teen Hollywood Dish,” Hayley said, as though explaining the obvious. She threw her hands up. “I can’t find my latest issue. But he’s actually here,” she said pointing, her eyes gleaming, “Colten Chase is here!”

That spun Phoebe in her chair. Her eyes followed Hayley’s wavering hand to a table near the doorway and her jaw hung slack; it was him. When it came to pop culture, Phoebe rarely troubled herself with keeping up, preferring time spent behind her camera or in a book. Even so, she wasn’t oblivious enough to not know Colten Chase, star of the Taylor Hawk—Teen Agent movies. He was practically the teen James Bond.

“Colten Chase is a student here?” Phoebe said incredulously, glancing back at Hayley whose eyes had glazed over.

“He’s so hot,” Hayley gushed. “And tall!”

Phoebe craned her neck to see more of Colten over the chaos of students elbowing each other out of the way just to stand close as he walked by. He had a tan-complexioned face lit by large, expressive eyes. Chestnut hair spilled over his collar, tossed in a fresh-out-of-bed manner that Phoebe knew most girls found appealing but she considered lazy. What is wrong with using a comb, she thought. Still, Phoebe couldn’t deny that even when dressed in the plain uniform of gray slacks, a white button down shirt, and a navy tie, Colten was gorgeous beyond belief.

“I thought he was done with school,” Phoebe said, peeling her eyes away from him.

Hayley, who seemed to have regained her composure said, “Well, according to Dish, he spent more time on movie sets last year than in the classroom and has to redo his senior year.”

“But why here?”

“Why ask why? He’s here and we’re here. All is good! Anyway,” she added with an air of authority, “I know Green Lane is a top-tier school and all but I’m sure he picked us since nothing exciting ever happens in small towns. Probably not worth it for the paparazzi to bug him here.”

Hayley’s theory was entirely lost on Phoebe, who wasn’t taking in a word of it, but rather was surreptitiously stealing another glance at Colten. She was fascinated by the way his body moved with a certain confidence, almost grace, as he acknowledged those in his presence, shaking hands with engaged interest and signing autographs. Phoebe gathered that his was a well-practiced routine when it came to handling such adoration.

Colten’s head suddenly swiveled in their direction, and his distressingly beautiful green eyes caught hold of Phoebe’s. His gaze swept across her face; struck by its intensity, she looked away hurriedly, lowering her eyes to her tray. After giving herself a moment to recover, Phoebe chanced another glance. To her surprise, Colten was still staring at her, this time with a wide, dazzling smile that almost dared her not to blush. And blush Phoebe did, just as the bell rang and his eyes dropped from hers.

“What was that about?” Hayley asked with a pointed sidelong look.

“Hmm . . . ?” A dull ache throbbed behind Phoebe’s eyes prompting her to massage small circles into the crease between her brows. “What was what about?”

“C’mon,” Hayley said, “don’t even try to pretend Colten Chase wasn’t just checking you out.”

As Hayley gathered up her newspaper and hoisted a backpack with a square Hip Hop Life patch on her shoulder, Phoebe cast around for a counter comment and managed, unconvincingly, “He was just looking in this general direction.”

“Yeah, in the direction of those supermodel legs of yours!” Hayley waggled suggestive eyebrows behind her black-rimmed glasses.

At this, Phoebe laughed a dismissive, self-deprecating laugh and lowered her gaze. People often said that Phoebe was beautiful, with her storm-cloud eyes, and hair saturated with the red-gold brilliance of copper. At times Phoebe could see this. But mostly she only felt too tall, too thin, and completely awkward.

“I mean, do you see him?” Hayley continued. Phoebe looked up, embarrassed, wondering if Hayley had seen her furtive looks at Colten. “Over six feet of sexy is checking out your tower of sexy and you’re being blasé about it.”

Phoebe shrugged. “Someone that hot,” she said, trying not to steal another look, “probably isn’t that interesting.” Phoebe knew it was an unfair generalization, but she’d seen enough celebrity interviews to know that many of the gorgeous ones got by on good-looks-octane and nothing else.

“Well I’m hot,”—Hayley shimmied her shoulders—“and veryinteresting.”

Phoebe grinned at her in agreement. Hayley exuded charming energy with her olive skin, bright smile, and deep dimples. “You may be a littletoo hot,” she said, laughing as Hayley shimmied some more. “Where’s your first class?” Phoebe asked, changing the subject.

“Below. You?”

Phoebe reached into her backpack, pulled out some papers and consulted her schedule. “I’m up here.”

Shaper schedules were staggered between the two campuses so that a third of the Green Lane population didn’t mysteriously disappear all at once. And from what Phoebe understood, there were Shapers among the Green Lane administration who ensured that no eyebrows were raised where cadet movement was concerned. Free periods, placed at strategic times during the week, allowed cadets to slip Below. And whenever needed, some SIS classes met at night.

Hayley grabbed Phoebe’s schedule, compared it to her own and frowned. “Looks like when you’re up, I’m down—oh wait,” she said as she thrust Phoebe’s schedule back in her hands and pointed, “we have Bio Encryption and Tactical Bird Song together. Well, until then, my friend, I gotta go see about a walk-in refrigerator.” Hayley double-winked at her mention of the kitchen narthyx point, and Phoebe winked back.

            For a moment, Phoebe watched Hayley push through the kitchen doors and smiled. In the past, she’d had trouble with most of her friendships on account of her acute ability to sense emotions. Being keenly aware of everything your friends were feeling about you was as thoroughly exhausting as it was disappointing. More often than not, expressed sentiments in the vein of ‘I’m happy for you . . . Of course you look great . . . You should totally ask him out . . .’ came along with unexpressed waves of resentment orenvy that Phoebe had trouble ignoring.As a result, Phoebe had eventually shied away from jumping into new friendships until she’d had an epiphany: she could use her ability to screen for fakers. Phoebe felt a strong twinge of guilt for having just probed Hayley’s emotions, but it was quickly overpowered by the relief that settled over her as she realized that Hayley said what she meant.

Phoebe screwed up her eyes against the pounding that had become a blistering headache. Screening Hayley had required partially opening the mental gate she normally kept closed to block the stampede of strangers’ emotions that came at her from all directions. She called them emotional intrusions, and Colten’s arrival had driven them to a fever pitch that rocked her brain.

With her mental gate firmly closed, Phoebe stood up and risked a final glance in Colten’s direction, but he was no longer there. Finding herself oddly disappointed, and paying little attention to those around her, Phoebe bumped into a boy and dropped her papers in surprise. She lowered herself to the ground but he was quicker, already retrieving her items by the time she met his onyx eyes.

“Sorry. Didn’t see you,” he apologized, taking a rapid peek at her top sheet before handing the stack over to her.

“My fault,” Phoebe corrected, studying him as they rose in tandem. His dark eyebrows gave him a broodingly handsome look, and he stood tall with his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his pants, observing her. Phoebe couldn’t help noticing a pattern of raised scars on the side of his neck as he shook his shaggy, raven hair from his eyes and said, “Interesting classes you got there. Is Understanding Vigos new to Green Lane? Didn’t see it listed in my course guide.”

Phoebe’s throat tightened and her hearts hammered madly at the thought of what the boy’s words potentially meant. She lowered her eyes to hastily confirm what he’d seen, wondering how she could possibly explain herself without putting the Shaper cadets at risk. In the same instant that a warm tingle washed over her skin registering the boy’s physical energy as a Shaper, she heard him laugh. The dirty trick he’d played on her hit Phoebe a second before she lifted her eyes to find him gone.

***

            After two morning classes Above, Phoebe spent the better part of the one free period where she wasn’t scheduled Below, in the Green Lane Gazette staff room. Cyn had burst into delighted giggles when Phoebe accepted the position of features photographer after the meet and greet. As much as it pained Phoebe to have to both live and work with Cyn, she knew she needed an outlet. Photography pulled her into a part of her mind where the pain of losing her father did not slice her.

“And this,” Cyn said, clipping a laminated card to Phoebe’s white blouse pocket, “is your press pass. It’s as legit as the one my mom has at the Globe.” Cyn straightened Phoebe’s badge, stepped back and smiled. “You know, the Gazette is one of a few student papers that gets the same respect as the big—”

Phoebe raised a polite hand, cutting her off. “Thank you. This is great,” she said, heading for the door and escaping another long-winded endorsement for the paper.

The morning had turned from dank and chilly to brisk and sunny, and Phoebe made her way outside, settling onto a bench bordering the courtyard that separated the schoolhouse from a multilevel library. She pulled her camera out of her backpack, and panned her surroundings. Two boys lay stretched out in the yellow-tipped blades of green grass, letting the brilliant midmorning sun bake them. One napped on his backpack while the other lay on hands laced behind his head, a baseball cap covering his face.

Phoebe leaned forward, elbows on knees, and brought her camera to her eye. She trained its lens on the boys and captured how the sun made long silhouettes of their sleeping bodies. Phoebe sat back against the bench, and casually scrolled through the images on her screen, discarding any she didn’t care for. The sunlight on her face flickered into a cool shadow as a pleasant voice said, “So, you’re one of the enemy, I see.”

Phoebe jerked and looked up. She was floored to see Colten looming above her. Up close, he was even more breathtaking than she’d realized. The knot of his tie was half-undone, and his shirtsleeves were casually pulled up to his elbows, disclosing tanned, sculpted forearms. His long hair fluttered beneath a Green Lane cap he wore backward. He stared at Phoebe with inviting eyes and a sideways smile that kept her words jammed in her throat.

“Um,” Phoebe started, finding her power of speech. “Hi Taylor—I mean—” Phoebe broke off, tongue-tied and mortified that she’d called Colten by his movie character name. Embarrassment rushed in and she stared down at her lap, as color drained from her face. She would have given anything to have the ground crack open and devour her at that moment.

Colten flashed his Hollywood smile. “It’s a common mistake.”

Phoebe caught something teasing in his tone, which made her cheeks flame so that she couldn’t look up to meet his eyes. She played with the hem of her skirt, unsure of where to look. “What do you mean,” she asked, speaking quietly, “when you say I’m one of the enemy?”

Colten sounded amused. “The press badge, the camera.” And finally, when Phoebe gazed up at him with puzzled eyes, he added, “You know? Paparazzi. It seems a guy can’t even enjoy the sun in peace.”

At that, Phoebe peered behind Colten to the courtyard; only the boy napping on his backpack remained in the grass. Shock reached her face first and then comprehension bloomed. “I am so so sorry,” she said quickly. “I had no idea I was shooting you. It was about the pattern of shadows . . . really.” Phoebe glanced at Colten before looking back into her lap.

A grin eased across Colten’s face. “May I?” he asked, gesturing at the bench. Phoebe nodded, hardly believing that Colten wanted to sit by her. Does he want to talk? That can’t be it, she thought. Maybe he wants to inspect the photos for himself. Phoebe set her camera down at the end of the bench and slid her backpack to her feet, allowing room for him. Scrubbing her clammy palms on her skirt, she sat up straight as though she herself was about to be photographed. Colten slid in beside her, closer than he had to on the wide bench, his eyes never leaving her face.

“If you want,” Phoebe said, clearing her throat unevenly, “I can delete those photos.” Phoebe, who felt awkward and unsure around beautiful people (and they didn’t get more beautiful than Colten Chase), hoped she didn’t look as nervous as she sounded.

Colten shrugged, smiling. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been photographed doing much worse.” He adjusted his body slightly to face her better, the weathered bench creaking as he did so, and Phoebe felt herself tugged by an invisible cord to do the same.

“So where are you from, Lady Paparazza?”

“San Francisco.”

Colten threw his head back and chuckled. “Cali girl, huh? Man, have winters beat you up?”

“Not yet, but I can only imagine.” Phoebe cringed at the thought. Already, the crispness of fall was proving to be no friend of hers.

“So this must be your first year,” Colten said, sounding intrigued.

Phoebe nodded.

“Why boarding school out East?”

“My grandfather. He offered to foot the bill.”

“And your folks just let you take off like that?”

Phoebe looked away from the question, her hands clenched on her lap. When she spoke, she kept her voice controlled. “It’s just me and my grandfather,” she said, eyes back on Colten’s; she saw sympathy there, and braced for an apology.

Colten said, “I’m sorry if I—” just as Phoebe said, “Don’t worry about it.” Phoebe wanted to nip the discussion in the bud. She didn’t want to get into the accident. And telling someone that her mother had walked out on Phoebe and her father during her infancy tended to be a conversation killer. “She preferred changing her life to changing diapers,” she’d once heard her grandfather say.

Colten turned his face away from her, his mind suddenly somewhere else. Unable to read his expression, Phoebe stared down at the black loafers, which somehow made her size ten feet look much smaller than they were. At that moment, three girls exited the library, glanced in their direction, and giggled behind their hands. Phoebe heard the gossip in their whispers but chose not to focus on the words. It’s not worth the energy, she thought.Though Shapers could hear and see  across distances, expanding the reach of these senses required effort when in human form. Most kept them restricted to a more normal range.

Phoebe took a long breath and broke what had become an awkward silence.

“Your turn to tell me something,” she said, her words stumbling over each other.

Colten removed his cap and rumpled his hair. “What about?”

“You.”

“I’m really not that interesting,” he said.

Phoebe nearly giggled, remembering what she’d told Hayley earlier. To cover her reaction, she let a skeptical expression take over her face while Colten chuckled and added dryly, “I’m sure you can find information to the contrary with any Internet search.”

“Well then give me a head start,” Phoebe pressed mildly. “What brings you here?”

“Work. The next movie in my Taylor Hawk series picks up in the city where the last one ended.” Phoebe offered a blank look. “You know, Boston,” Colten added.

Phoebe shook her head. “No, I don’t know. Didn’t see it.”

“Ouch,” he said, bringing a hand to his chest for effect. “Have you seen any of them?”

“Just the previews. No offense,” she hurriedly added.

Colten grinned, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “None taken. The honesty is kinda refreshing. If I had to guess,” he said, sparing the courtyard a glimpse before meeting Phoebe with eyes that sent her stomach into free fall, “I’d say you’re less fast chases and explosions and more indie romance.”

Phoebe bit her lip to stop a grin. “Nice try,” she said.

“I’m wrong?” Colten seemed a bit discombobulated by this.

How could he presume to be right? Phoebe thought. Then it occurred to her that most girls probably went along with anything Colten said—it was kind of hard not to when looking into his enthralling eyes.

Phoebe toyed with her hands awkwardly. “I like period romance movies like Sense and Sensibility and Emma,” she said. “And I do like fast chases and explosions. I just, um, like them to involve spaceships . . . .” Phoebe briefly looked at Colten, gauging his reaction. She worried that maybe she shouldn’t have let her inner geek out of its cage.

“A Jane Austen lovin’ space nerd, huh?” Colten said. He sounded both surprised and amused and didn’t bother hiding it. “So what are some of your favorite flicks starring little green men?”

Phoebe laughed, but before she could answer, a sudden feeling of disorientation washed over her and she grasped the back of the bench to steady herself.

Colten’s concern was instant. “Are you okay?” His narrowed eyes searched her face.

“I’m fine,” Phoebe said at once, striving to keep her eyes from his. What was that?

“You sure?”

            Phoebe nodded and quickly changed the subject. “So once you’re done with the Boston shoot,” she said, “will you make up the rest of your senior year someplace else?” She forced a smile.

Colten raised an eyebrow a fraction, tilting his head. It was clear she had thrown him with that bit of knowledge. Then, a grin played on his lips. “We’ll see,” he said mysteriously. The bell rang, startling Phoebe out of the moment. She shot to her feet and scooped her backpack up from the ground, remembering that she was due at a meeting with Professor Yori. Without pause, or even a backward glance, she headed toward the schoolhouse, cutting across the courtyard as Colten said something in her wake. If he showed offense at her abrupt departure, Phoebe didn’t catch it. She was already shoving through the glass double doors of the schoolhouse.

It wasn’t until she was nearing the narthyx point that she registered what Colten had called to her as she fled: “See you around, Phoebe Pope.” Phoebe stopped abruptly in her tracks, confounded by the fact that Colten had known her name. She hadn’t introduced herself.

 

Click here to buy the book: Nya Jade’s Phoebe Pope and the Year of Four (A Shapers Novel)>>>