Connecting (Lily Dale #3)(65)

That’s it. Calla’s had enough. She opens her mouth to protest, but Mrs. Atwell is rapping sharply on her desk.

“People! Quiet down! We have a lot to cover today!”

“Here’s the punchline—Jill’s going to superglue all the chess pieces to the board!” Gwen hisses as Calla obediently turns toward the front of the classroom. “Is that the best, or what?”

“Do you love it? Isn’t it hysterical?” Maggie whispers gleefully.

Hysterical?

It’s a sick joke, that’s what it is. Literally. Calla feels nauseous. Class begins and she does her best to take notes on the identifying characteristics of a mixed capitalist economy, but it’s impossible to focus.

Poor Donald.

She can’t let these cruel kids ruin the chessboard his father made for him.

When the bell rings at last, Calla bolts from her seat without a backward glance at Maggie and Gwen.

She races to the cafeteria, looking around for Jill Eggerton. She has to stop her.

The place is still almost deserted and Calla spots her immediately, across the room. She’s crying, clutching her head. A couple of her friends and a lunch room monitor are gathered around her.

Calla spots Donald’s chessboard on a table next to them, but the pieces are still in the box beside it.

Thank goodness.

As Calla goes through the line to buy an apple she doesn’t feel like eating, she keeps a curious eye on the growing commotion surrounding Jill.

By the time she makes her way to her usual table with Willow and Sarita, she sees that Mrs. Musso, the school nurse, has arrived. She’s got her arm around Jill, who’s still clutching her head and sobbing hysterically.

“What the heck happened over there?” Calla asks her friends.

“I don’t know . . . it looks like Jill hurt her head or something,” observes Sarita, a gorgeous, sophisticated Halle Berry clone until she reveals a mouthful of braces. “She just keeps holding it and screaming like she’s in pain.”

Calla sees the chessboard still on the table and looks around to see if Donald’s here yet. There’s no sign of him.

No sign of Jacy, either, another quick glance reveals. She hasn’t seen him all morning.

And she’s definitely been looking. He must be cutting again.

Blue is here, though, a few tables away, eating his usual double lunch with his soccer friends. His crutches propped against the table and his leg outstretched, injured foot resting on a chair. He catches Calla’s eye and gives a little wave, and she waves back.

She’s not disappointed when he goes right back to his friends and his food.

Blue’s a good guy.

He’s just not Jacy.

Again, she looks for him.

Nope.

Where are you, Jacy? I miss you. I need you.

Glancing back over at the flurry of activity around Jill, Calla spots a familiar rotund figure hovering near the forgotten chessboard.

Donald Reamer’s father.

He’s watching Jill, Calla realizes, and wearing an almost smug expression.

“Hey, looks like Mrs. Musso’s getting Jill out of here,” Willow observes, and Calla sees the nurse leading an inconsolable Jill, whose hands are still grasping her skull, toward the cafeteria exit.

Now that she’s gone, the crowd begins to disperse.

“So what time do you want to come over tonight to work on math, Calla?” Willow asks, unscrewing the top on a bottle of water.

“The earlier the better. I have to pack for my trip to Florida.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Right from school tomorrow.”

“Lucky you . . . you get to see the sun and go to the beach,”

Sarita comments, and of course Calla doesn’t correct her.

She’s letting her friends think this weekend is a pleasure trip, just as she’s letting them think that she and Jacy were at the homecoming dance for a short time, but missed seeing them. That’s what Willow guessed, and Calla didn’t tell her she was wrong.

“Oh my God, you guys, did you hear what happened?” Pam Moraco materializes at their table.

“What?” the three of them ask in unison.

“Jill Eggerton was fooling around with this tube of superglue, and she accidentally glued her hands to her head! It was like this freak thing. And now she can’t move without tearing out huge hunks of hair. It’s horrific!”

Calla turns to look over at Donald’s father again, and a slow smile spreads across her face.

Donald is there, too, now, picking up the abandoned chessboard and looking around, for Jill, probably.

Calla pushes back her chair.

“Where are you going?” Willow asks.

“I’ll be back.”

Pam has already moved on to spread the news about Jill to the next table.

Calla sidesteps her and goes straight over to Donald, her grandmother’s words echoing in her head.

“You have a big heart. I know you want to help people. And you can.You can do a lot of good in this world using your gift. ”

“Hey, Donald.”

He looks up. “Hi.”

“I’m Calla.”

He just nods.

The older man beside him is watching her warily.

“Listen . . . this is going to sound crazy, but I just want to tell you something. I live in the Dale, and my grandmother’s a medium and . . . well, so am I.”