Chapter 11: Impulses

I leap from the bottom step of the bus and head for the front doors, unable to wipe the grin from my face. My cell phone is tucked happily into the interior pocket of my messenger bag-big thanks and kisses for Mom for retrieving it for me-with the absolute promise to her and Dad I will not use it or take it out in class.

They can count on that. Never again.

It's all fixed, too, new sparkles replacing the three gone missing in Mr. Gladwell's room. I don't ever want it in a position where it's at risk again. Sure, it might just be a thing, but it's my thing and I love its pink and white sparkly goodness.

My morning is made when I spot Tate entering the school ahead of me. While her conservative outfit isn't exactly my taste-she could use a pop of color to accent the plain jeans and brown jacket-I should be able to find one thing about her clothes to compliment her on. It's been my experience that saying nice things about people's dress makes for great ice breakers.

Just a little tip for you there. You're welcome.

I'm almost at her side when I notice she's not alone, that she's walking along beside Mrs. Cradle. They seem to be whispering a conversation to each other. But, whatever it's about, Tate doesn't look very happy. She rushes away from her mother, out of my reach into the school while Mrs. Cradle watches her go. She looks so sad, I stop and smile at her, hoping to brighten her day a little.

"Good morning, Mrs. Cradle."

She instantly smiles back at me, her principal's smile from yesterday. Good, I'm doing my job. "Good morning...?"

"Kit MacLean." I offer my hand, shake hers. Her smile increases. "Welcome to Rimtree High, ma'am. I hope you're having a great time so far."

"Thank you, Kit." Mrs. Cradle releases my hand. "Have a good day." She strides past me and into the school before I can suggest a meeting or something. I'd love to have the same relationship with her I did with Mr. Standard. Talking with him was often the high point of my day and he was enthusiastic about helping me challenge myself without having to move grades.

I make a note to myself to set up an appointment with her as I join my fellow students in entering the building, blinking into the dimmer interior and almost regretting the loss of the sunlight. Another gorgeous day in Rimtree. I wish my teachers would take us outside.

My new plan, as I settle into my seat and pull out my books, is to focus on class more these days. Sure, I might already know what's being taught well enough I could probably teach it myself, but I've been spending a lot of time letting my mind wander lately. School is about the experience of things, right? I want to be sure I don't miss a single exciting moment.

I do have a secondary goal, too, however. Tate. It's honestly driving me a little bonkers I'm not able to catch a few minutes alone with her. She can certainly move fast, but I know the school better than her. I don't know why exactly I feel the need to talk to her, except that I just know we'd be great friends if she'd just slow down long enough for me to catch up with her. Maybe if I was more obvious about it? I consider finding ways to corner her as I follow her through the school all day. Rather than trying for a chance encounter-well orchestrated, of course-it might be a better idea to just jump in and be obvious about it.

When my third period ends, I make up my mind, gathering up my gym clothes from my locker, slamming it with a firm and determined hand. I'll just have to go over to Tate's this afternoon when I get home and knock on her door. That's a fabulous idea. She should have more time then, right? Grinning, I head down the hall-and spot her trotting up the stairs toward the second floor.

Impulse has me follow her. I could invite her over to my house now, rather than waiting to go to hers after school. And this is the closest I've gotten to her all day. Her slim shoulders weave between students as she disappears down the hall between the library and the computer lab and I follow eagerly. I have five minutes before I have to be in gym. That's lots of time to ask her over.

To my surprise, I stumble to a halt at the sight of Tate talking with none other than Donnelly Holler and his boys. Again. She must have some kind of trouble wish if she's hanging out with them. Sadly, my plans to make friends with her rapidly fading, I take a half step back, already turning to go. It's clear she's made her choice and I have no interest in getting involved with anyone who would purposely hang out with people who are mean to other kids.

But, the expression on her face makes me pause. She looks... scared? Upset? And the way Donnelly looms over her like that gives me the creeps. I have the distinct impression Tate really doesn't want to be there, that he's holding her against her will somehow. And the moment that thought touches down in Kit Central, I'm moving forward again.

Never mind the tiny fear growing in my heart that the KingPin's warning might have had something to do with Tate. It's the only interaction I had yesterday that was out of the ordinary and immediately preceded the cell phone picture barrage. While I have no idea what this KingPin might have to do with Donnelly and Tate, it doesn't matter now. Not while I'm stomping my way to a halt between them again, grinning up at the bully like he's my best friend.

Oh, Kit MacLean, what are you doing? He looks very angry all of a sudden and I can't help but shrink from him. Inwardly, that is. Outwardly I continue to smile. It's my best defense and always gets me what I want. At least, has in the past. No one can resist my smile.

"Little kitten," he snarls in my face. "I thought you were told to get lost."

Fear sparks, but anger is stronger. I don't get mad often. Takes a lot to set that fire. But he's being really mean and rude and I don't like being afraid. "Why don't you leave Tate alone?"

Donnelly's lips curve into a smile of his own, but I can't bring myself to imagine it's even remotely kind. He's a giant gorilla, silverback wannabe, with a low brow and deep-set eyes, the stench of his musk choking me as he oo-oo-oos a moment before speaking.

"Tate's none of your business." He looks over my shoulder, long, black fur rippling, knuckles dragging on the floor as his boys hoot behind him. The jungle surrounds waver and he's Donnelly again. "Now beat it."

Tate doesn't argue, even when I turn to check in with her. If she wants my help, I'm here, no questions asked. But, she's looking at the floor and refuses to meet my eyes. All the puff goes out of my bravado at the sight of her shuffling her feet.

I shrug. There's nothing I can do then, is there? "Okies," I say as cheerfully as I can muster. She looks up suddenly, panic in her eyes. It's there, I know it. Her need to be saved. But she won't ask. So now what?

I back away, waving at them, grinning all over again. "Have a great day!" And turn, walk away. Right into the library. I have to do something. As I glance back over my shoulder, Donnelly is gripping Tate's arm in his hand, shaking her a little. That's so wrong and I have to act.

Mrs. Moore stands behind the counter, smiles at me as I hurry to her. Concern crosses her face as I lean close, knowing my own worry is getting the better of me.

"I need you to come right now."

She nods, circles the counter, follows me. "What's the matter, Kit?" The older woman has always been kind to me and I miss hanging out in the library with her. I'll have to return that activity to my schedule this year. She tells the best jokes ever. But, right now, I need her to step in and help Tate where I obviously can't.

I push the door to the library open. The hall has emptied mostly, just a few kids hurrying by. The thought I'm going to be late for gym passes through my mind, but I ignore it. Tate is still there, the hulking Donnelly standing over her. Gripping her arm.

"I think something's going on," I whisper to Mrs. Moore. From the pinched expression on her wrinkled face, she agrees with me.

Phew, so I'm not imagining things? There are times I do worry I let my overactive mind make things up that aren't really there. But it's clear from the way Mrs. Moore puffs her way across the hall to interrupt the conversation she's as concerned as I am.

I hurry away, trusting her to take care of it, but can't resist looking back over my shoulder. Donnelly scowls at me, Tate staring with huge eyes and her bottom lip clenched between her teeth as Mrs. Moore does her teacher thing and the kids scatter. Hopefully Tate will see the light now and steer clear of Donnelly and his friends.

When I see her at her house later, I'm sure she'll thank me for stepping in.

I'm halfway down the steps when I hear feet running behind me and turn, look back. Tate huffs to a halt one stair above me, face pinched and red.

"Just leave me alone, why don't you?" She looks like she's going to say something else before she turns and runs back up the stairs. Behind her, watching from the computer lab door, Tom Brown points at me with his thumb and index finger before pulling the trigger on his imaginary gun.

Well, that was rude. And what does he have to do with this? I always thought he liked me. Am I wrong? It doesn't matter, I guess. I'm not wanted, regardless of what I saw in Tate's eyes a few minutes ago. I read the situation wrong, she doesn't want or need my help and I guess it's time to just move on.

No new friend for Kit MacLean.

I feel my lower lip tremble a moment before clenching it firmly against my upper just as the bell rings.

I hate being late for class. But worse is how I feel as I try to muster the energy to run, only managing a hanging head shuffle all the way to gym.

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