Unhinged (Splintered, #2)(32)
A fly buzzes around the room and settles on my shoulder. Fix things, Alyssa. Its whisper is a tickle in my ear. The flowers have been compromised. You must stop them.
I swish the bug away gently. I’m fed up with their obscure riddles. I have enough to worry about.
A few giggles break out at the table across from mine. Four junior girls avert their eyes when I look their way, pretending to focus on the lanterns they’re making of stiffened fabric doilies and white LED tea lights. As the girls form domes by tying two doilies together, their giggles escalate. It’s the same group that was ogling Jeb last Friday when he came to pick me up on his bike. I’m not sure if they’re talking about what Morpheus and I supposedly did, or what an idiot I am to screw around on an incredible guy like my boyfriend. Either way, it’s obvious I’m the topic of conversation, just like I have been in every class since fifth period.
My neck and cheeks burn.
The phone hums between my fingers. I click on Jeb’s response.
Uh … encounter? Details plz.
He sounds either jealous or rushed.
Biting my lower lip, I type the lie I worked up last period: Turns out his family is good friends with the London Liddells. I’ll explain everything when you pick me up.
I’ll do better than explain. I’m going to make a mosaic in front of him. Let him watch my blood’s magic in action. Then, once he’s past the freak-out stage, maybe he can help me figure out a way to avoid facing Red and still protect Wonderland and the people we love.
My phone buzzes again. Can’t pick U up 2day after all. Interview was rescheduled for this afternoon. Get a ride w/Jen?
No. I want to scream, to tell him I really need him to drop everything and come see me now, but before I can respond at all, the classroom door opens and Mr. Mason comes in. Along with half my classmates, I scramble to hide my phone. Mr. Mason talks quietly to the sub, then sends him on his way.
After sitting at his desk, Mr. Mason fishes an art supply catalog out of a drawer. Against every instinct to hunch at my table and blend into the surroundings, I raise my hand. From behind his pinkish lenses, he spots me and waves me forward.
I start toward the front of the room. A hissing sound stops me in my tracks. It sounds just like the clown in the girls’ bathroom. Spine rigid, I turn to see two guys off in the far corner, spray-painting one of the “trees.”
I continue forward. My stomach churns as the girls resume their giggling. The gazes on my back weigh heavy and make my steps slow and awkward.
When I arrive at the desk, Mr. Mason looks up and adjusts his glasses. “Alyssa. I’ve been meaning to speak to you about your mosaics.”
Nodding, I gesture to his cabinet. “Right. Should we wrap them in butcher paper for the trip home?”
His jaw drops, but then he regains his composure and stands on his side of the desk, hands splayed next to the catalog. “Your mom didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“She called me from the hospital after your accident. She’d heard about your mosaic series and wanted to see them, so I took them to her Saturday evening.”
My pulse pounds beneath my jawline. Who told Mom about my artwork? My blood shuttles even faster to imagine her seeing Queen Red’s vicious slaughter in the scenes.
“So my mom has them?”
“Well, she only has three. They were too heavy for me to carry from my car all at once. When I came back for the rest … they were gone. Stolen.”
A sense of violation chills me. I think of the clown and my sedated, web-filled dream. Morpheus had to be behind all of that, whether he confirms or denies it. So he must’ve been at the hospital, spying from the shadows, pulling strings. He could’ve heard Mr. Mason and Mom’s call. Which means he stole those three mosaics and already knows that my mom has the other ones. So he asked me to bring them to him for nothing. He’s messing with my mind again.
I’m done playing his games. Unless he comes clean with everything, I’m not going anywhere but home today.
“I can’t apologize enough,” Mr. Mason says. “I don’t know how it happened. The car is new. Its alarm system is top-notch. But somehow the thief got the door open without setting it off.” His cheeks redden as he picks up the catalog. “I’ve been looking through all my supply lists, trying to find more of those red-lined gems. I want to buy you some replacements. It can’t make up for all your hard work … but …”
The bell rings, causing me to jump.
My classmates gather their books and bags and scramble out the door. A heavy knot forms in my gut, like I’ve swallowed a huge rock. All I can think is: Mom knows. She knows my head is still in Wonderland, yet she hasn’t said a word.
I take the catalog from Mr. Mason and lay it facedown on his desk. “You’ll never find gems to replace the ones I used.” In a daze, I walk to my table and grab my backpack. “But don’t worry. Making those mosaics wasn’t as hard as you think.”
I leave before he can respond.
There’s a buzz in my ears, as if all the bugs hidden inside every crevice of tile and under every locker are talking at once. The sensation fills my head and muffles sounds as I walk through the crowded halls.
Taelor and her crew glare at me when I pass, but it’s as if an invisible wall stands between us. Slammed lockers swish like paper fans; chatter and laughter are as small and insignificant as the squeaks of a mouse. I’m removed from everything.