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He didn’t have a chance to talk to Kim that morning in spite of his best efforts to corner her. She gave him the cold shoulder throughout the morning, sitting far away in French and history and not responding to his repeated balled-up messages thrown at her desk. A couple of times, when she wasn’t aware he was watching, he saw her staring daggers at Charlie.

For her part, Charlie was ultra-charming. In every class she introduced herself to the teachers and explained why she was sitting in. Brendan was amazed that no one challenged her. She was irresistible. He was especially surprised when she managed to get past Mr. Hutchingson, the cantankerous algebra teacher. He didn’t exactly welcome her with open arms, but he didn’t say no to her either.

When he and Charlie left algebra, they almost ran into Chester Dallaire. The bigger boy was standing by the side of the door, fiddling with his binder. Chester looked up as Brendan approached, his brown eyes widening slightly.

Brendan decided to break the ice. “Hi, Chester.”

“Hey,” Chester mumbled.

“How’s your mum?”

“Fine.” Chester turned his gaze on Charlie, and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Brendan put it down to being so close to the force of nature that was Charlie. Every boy seemed drawn to her.

“This is my cousin, Charlie. She’s visiting from Montreal.”

Chester just stared at Charlie with a strange expression, halfway between fear and wonder.

Charlie laughed and held out her hand. “I won’t bite. Nice to meet you, Chester.”

Chester looked at the offered hand for a moment before gingerly shaking it.

“I’ve gotta go,” the big boy stammered and spun away, barely missing a collision with another book-laden student in his eagerness to escape.

“Wow.” Brendan laughed. “You’ve got a way with guys.”

Charlie pouted prettily. “It’s a gift!”

Lunchtime found Brendan in the cafeteria at his customary table with Harold, Dmitri, and Charlie. She scarfed down a mound of french fries smothered in gravy and bemoaned the fact that there was no cheese curd to make a proper poutine.^ 40

“This school is supposed to be a centre of civilized learning, non?” Charlie said. “And no cheese curd for the poutine? It’s disgraceful.”

“I could go find you some,” Harold offered.

“Me, too,” Dmitri chimed in. “What’s a cheese curd?”

“Just cool it, guys.” Brendan shook his head. “It’s like you’ve never seen a girl before.”

“Shoot! Mr. Greenleaf told me he wanted to see you,” Harold suddenly broke in. “I totally forgot.”

“When?” Brendan asked.

“Like, right now. I ran into him in the hall between classes. He wanted you to come by during lunch. It slipped my mind.”

Brendan arched an eyebrow. “I wonder why.” Harold and Dmitri had been practically sitting in Charlie’s lap all lunch hour. Harold shrugged as if to say, Can you blame me? He’d been sketching Charlie surreptitiously from the moment she sat down. Brendan rolled his eyes and stood up.

“Come on, Charlie,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“But I ’aven’t finished eating!” she protested.

“Yeah, she hasn’t finished eating,” Harold and Dmitri said at the same time.

“You guys are pathetic,” Brendan observed. To Charlie he said, “Bring it with.”

Harold and Charlie watched Brendan leave with this beautiful new creature. As soon as they were out of earshot, Harold said, “Come on. We’re following them.”

“What?” Dmitri raised his eyebrows. “Why are we doing that?”

“We have to find out what Brendan is up to. He’s been weird for weeks. Ever since I woke up and found these drawings in my sketchbook.” Harold held up the dogeared sketchpad he carried with him everywhere now. “You know I don’t remember doing these. I’m sure I did them on the day we lost!” He flipped the pages for Dmitri to see. There were pictures of Brendan floating in the air borne by seagulls, tiny people with wings, and a terrifying woman surrounded by a nimbus of lightning. “These are the best drawings I’ve ever done. I showed them to Brendan and he said I have an amazing imagination. But they aren’t from my imagination! I know this stuff really happened, and I think somehow we were made to forget it. You lost that day, too. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

Dmitri frowned and nodded. “I guess so.”

“We’ve gotta find out what the deal is with Brendan.” Harold grabbed Dmitri by the arm and pulled him to his feet. “First he blows off our study session and now this ‘cousin’ shows up? It just gets weirder and weirder.”

“I think you are having a conspirority complex,” Dmitri said, gathering up his books.

“It’s inferiority complex,” Harold said. “But I think you mean conspiracy theory… either way, you’re wrong. Brendan has been acting weird. He doesn’t hang out the way he used to. We never see him after school.”

“Maybe it’s something simpler,” Dmitri said sadly.

“Like what?”

“Like, he’s found other, cooler people to be friends with.”

Harold thought about that for a moment. Brendan’s skin was better. His glasses were gone. He was more confident and, in a word, cooler. Harold felt an empty space opening up in his stomach and a tiny voice saying, He’s right, you know. He doesn’t need nerds like you guys. Harold refused to listen to that little voice. “Naw. Brendan’s a good guy. It must be something else. We’re gonna tail him until we figure out what it is.”

“I can only imagine that this will end badly,” Dmitri sighed.

Together, the two friends headed for the door.

As is the way with most people who decide to follow others, Dmitri and Harold never considered the possibility that they might be followed in turn. Chester had been eating his lunch at a corner table, alone. He’d been watching the little group of his former victims with quiet interest. As Dmitri and Harold left the cafeteria, Chester discarded his half-eaten sandwich, swept his books into his bag, and set off after them.

^ 39 Again, see Book One.

^ 40 Poutine is a culinary peculiarity that hails from the province of Quebec. A bed of french fries is laden with immature cheese in curd form and drenched in thick brown gravy. No one knows the origin of this dish, but its popularity has spread widely. There are many variations on the original. Italian style uses Bolognese sauce in place of gravy. The Indian version employs a glutinous curry sauce. An Arctic version uses chunks of whale blubber in place of cheese curds. No matter which variety you choose to enjoy, be aware that you will shorten your life by several weeks.

BOUNDARIES

Greenleaf’s English class was on the top floor of the school overlooking the park. Greenleaf stood at the windows watching the birds chase each other through the grey sky. Snowflakes were falling, large and soft, swirling against the panes of glass. Brendan entered the room with Charlie in tow and closed the door.

“I smell gravy,” Greenleaf said without turning around.

“And fries,” Charlie said cheerily. “Want some?”

“No food allowed in the classrooms.” Kim’s voice was flat and brittle as a pane of glass. She sat on a desk at the back of the room, glaring at Charlie.

“Really? I’m new here. I don’t know the rules.”

Kim launched herself to her feet and marched up to Charlie, snarling, “Obviously not. You have no business being here. Brendan is my responsibility. I’m his guardian.”

“He’s also my responsibility,” Greenleaf pointed out, his voice calm and even as always. “Let’s not be angry, Ki-Mata. We have only one chance to make a first impression.”

Kim whirled on Greenleaf. “She’s made a pretty bad first impression on me! She approached Brendan on her own without permission. No one’s supposed to butt in on his education.”