Free Swans Landing #1 - Surfacing by Shana Norris

through the room again. “I’m not going to play these games just because she’s here. I have as much right to say anything I want as she does.”
    Dylan stood, grabbing her arm to pull her close enough that he could whisper in her ear for a moment. But Sailor pulled herself free, shooting both of us dark glares, and grabbed her tray before stalking across the room toward the trash can.
    “Sorry,” Dylan said as he returned to his seat. “Sailor can get easily wound up.”
    “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” I said.
    I watched him, but he kept his eyes on his food and pushed mashed potatoes around with his fork.
    “Well?” I asked.
    His gaze flickered up to me. “Well what?”
    “Are you going to tell me what that was all about? What did she mean by people like us?”
    “Oh.” Dylan shrugged, but he looked a bit flustered at my question. “She meant native Swansers.”
    “I’m from Tennessee,” I pointed out.
    “But you’re originally from the island. That makes you a Swanser.”
    I shot him a smirk. “Oh, really? I’ve been a Woodser all this time, but now you’re telling me I’m a Swanser?”
    Dylan laughed. “You’re a Woodser-Swanser. How’s that?”
    I made a face. “Why can’t I just be Mara?”
    “Okay,” he said. “Mara.”
    It was hard to look away from those clear blue eyes. There was something so familiar, so comforting in them. The noise in the room seemed to drop to a dull whisper as I looked at him. It took a great effort to break our gaze and think about something other than Dylan sitting across from me. I sucked in a long shuddering breath, as if to assure myself that yes, my lungs still worked.
    “You okay?” Dylan asked.
    “I’m fine.” I tossed my napkins and fork into my tray. “I—I need to go by my locker. See you later.”
    I hurried across the room without giving him a chance to stop me, dodging around a younger boy who pretended to be going for a touchdown with a carton of milk. After dumping the contents of my tray, I slipped out of the cafeteria and down the mostly empty hallway. Signs congratulating the Fighting Swans basketball team on their winning season hung from the ceiling, almost suffocating me as I raced under them. A teacher leading a group of elementary students toward the bathroom glowered at me when I skirted past.
    I needed to get away from everyone, especially Dylan. I needed to be completely invisible for a while.
    I collided with a solid form, which snapped me out of my thoughts. Josh Canavan had emerged from the guidance counselor’s office. His arms reached out instinctively to grab mine and keep me from falling backward. Electric currents exploded from where his fingers pressed into my flesh.
    “Are you stalking me?” I gasped out, as if I’d been running across the whole island.
    “You ran into me.” He dropped his hands from my arms.
    Mr. Richter, the guidance counselor, stuck his perfectly combed head out of his office door. “Oh, hello, Miss Westray,” he said as he grinned at us. “I was just thinking about you. How are you doing?”
    I cleared my throat and took a step back from Josh. “Um, fine.”
    “Adjusting to your classes okay?”
    I could feel Josh’s stare on the side of my face, but when our eyes met he looked away quickly.
    “Yes, everything’s fine,” I assured Mr. Richter.
    He nodded. “Okay, then. But remember,” he said, tapping his office door, “open door. Come by anytime you want to talk.”
    “Sure thing,” I said.
    Mr. Richter turned to Josh. “I wanted to catch you before you left. We need to reschedule your next appointment. Come by on Monday instead of Wednesday, okay? Same time, different day.”
    Josh adjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder and nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine. Monday.”
    Mr. Richter smiled at us and then disappeared back into his office.
    I eyed Josh. Why was he seeing the guidance counselor? The question hung there on the tip of my tongue, waiting to be set loose,