Free Pale Immortal by Anne Frasier Page A

the seat. "I can handle it."
    "I've made arrangements for my daughter to pick you up. Right here, at exactly three fifteen. She'll be driving a white van You'll be here, won't you, Graham?"
    Ordinarily he would have said yes while silently saying no. But he liked this old guy. Why'd he have to be so nice?
    "Yeah. I'll be here."
    "Good." The old guy smiled and gave him a wave. "Take a right once you step inside."
    He didn't pull away Instead he waited for Graham to walk up the sidewalk, past the flag, and through the double doors.
    The school smelled of books and bodies and whatever they used to clean the floors; it made Graham's stomach drop again.
    The old guy had been right: They were waiting for him in the office. A secretary greeted him with a tight, phony smile that meant she'd been there too many years and now hated every kid ever born, but was trying to hide it because deep down she knew it was wrong to hate so indiscriminately.
    She gave him his schedule. She gave him a map. She gave him his locker combination and lunch tickets.
    "Who paid for this?" Graham asked.
    "Mr. Stroud."
    'Bout fucking time.
    "Your first class is English, with Mr. Richards. Room 102. Down the hall and take a left."
    Graham took the printed schedule and looked at it. What was he doing here? "Thanks."
    "On second thought, I'd better come with you." She left the safety of the counter, and side by side they walked down the hallway.
    Strips of kraft paper had been taped to the walls and were covered with handwriting from colored Magic Markers. It wasn't until they passed a locker with a cluster of flowers and stuffed animals on the floor that he realized the display was a tribute to the dead girl.
    They stopped in front of room 102. It was probably a good thing the secretary had come along. At this point he would have taken off.
    She reached around him and opened the door. "Go on."
    He stepped inside the doorway and halted. She followed. "I have a new student for you, Mr. Richards."
    A million eyes turned to stare.
    The teacher was in the front of the room, one leg dangling over the corner of his desk. "Take any empty seat."
    Everything was a blur of embarrassment and self-consciousness. Graham hated being the new kid. Fucking hated it.
    Frantic, he spotted an empty seat and shot straight for it, quickly sitting down. The kid in front of him gave him a half smile and slid back around. A sound of mass movement—and the class was once again facing forward.
    Graham sat there and waited for his heart to quit pounding.
    It took a long time.
    He had no idea what the teacher was talking about. He didn't care, but vaguely came to attention when the man showed up beside him. Just as suddenly a book appeared on his desk.
    Why did schoolbooks always smell like puke? Could anybody explain that? Was it because someone had puked in them? Or was it the ink? The paper? Or did he just associate it with puke? He'd never been able to figure that out, and anytime he ever mentioned it, nobody seemed to have the answer.
    Something soft hit him in the back of the head, and a crumpled piece of paper landed on the floor. He ignored it. Another one hit him. He slid around in his seat, ready to throw somebody the finger, when he spotted Isobel sitting in the back of the class. She gave him a little wave, pointed to him, pointed to the floor, then lifted both hands, palms up, in the pantomime question of, What the hell are you doing here?
    But she was smiling. Looking kind of happy and surprised at the same time.
    He smiled back and shrugged his shoulders. Beats me. Just fell out of the sky
    Someone cleared his throat—a sound meant to get Graham's attention. It took him a second to realize the teacher, Mr. Richards, was politely trying to get him to turn back around and listen.
    Didn't want to chew out the new kid.
    Graham faced front, but spent the rest of class intensely aware of Isobel sitting several seats behind him.
    She was waiting for him in the hall after the bell