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with one of his students, who had gotten pregnant. Mr. Anthony was fired, and the student expelled. This was not Degrassi Junior High, after all. This was Duchesne.
Which was all well and good, except that with Mr. Anthony and his advanced, yet exciting, lab experiments gone (last semester they had turned copper into gold, or at least gold plate), the students were stuck with boring old Mr. Korgan, whose syllabus included a series of experiments each duller than the next. Calculating density. Determining the composition of water. Identifying a solution as acid, base, or neutral. Yaawwwn. Mr. Korgan was so slow that for two weeks the class was involved in creating a chemical reaction in hydrogen and fructose otherwise known as turning sugar and water into candy.
Schuyler was ready to place a beaker filled with water above the burner, when Mr. Korgan announced they were going to do something different that day.
"I would like you to--cough switch lab partners every week. The class has grown very disruptive of late and so I must-- cough separate you from your friends. Will the partner on the left please step down to the next table, and so on, and we will keep this rotation every week."
Oliver and Schuyler looked pained. "See you after class," Oliver called as Schuyler collected her things and moved over to the next table, where Kingsley Martin was standing.
If anything, the large plastic goggles on his face only served to enhance his beauty by highlighting how nothing could put a damper on his good looks--not even bug-eyed plastic shades. Kingsley could wear polyester pants and a Groucho mustache and still look hot. Schuyler hadn't seen much of Kingsley since he arrived, although she had heard all the raves about him, and had witnessed his arrogant performance at the cortile that morning.
"Shame about your grandfather," he said as a greeting.
Schuyler tried not to show her shock. But then, Kingsley was a Blue Blood. His parents were probably high-ranking members of the coven.
"He'll be all right," she said tersely, waiting for the water in the beaker to boil.
"Oh, I'm sure. I just wish I were there to see Lawrence and Charles battle it out. Just like the old days."
"Uh-huh." Schuyler nodded, not wanting to get into the conversation. She hadn't even told Oliver about Lawrence's return. She felt superstitious about it. What if The Committee just sent him back to Italy posthaste? Then there wouldn't even be anything to tell.
"Tell me, are you still hung up on that boy?" "Excuse me?" Schuyler asked, holding a test tube.
"Nothing." Kingsley shrugged innocently. "If that's how you want to play it," he said teasingly.
When Kingsley wasn't looking, Schuyler studied his pro- file. He had been at the Four Hundred Ball, she'd heard.
Could he could he have been the boy behind the mask she had kissed at the after-party? Schuyler subconsciously put a hand over her lips. If he was the boy she had kissed, did that mean that even though she found him repulsive, there was actually something about him that she found attractive? Oliver was always quoting from Foucault, saying that desire stemmed from revulsion.
A random thought flew into her head: what if the boy behind the mask had been Oliver? There had been Red Bloods at the party...and Oliver hated being left out of anything fun. He would have been able to find out about it, she was sure. Had she felt drawn to the boy in the mask because he was her best friend? Had they kissed? Was that why he was so nice to her lately? Treating her with so much tenderness?
She peeked across the room at him, watching him grimace as Mimi Force, his lab partner, burned the fructose so that it melted into a sickeningly sweet--smelling disaster.
If she had kissed Oliver, did that mean they were more than friends now? Would they have to start dating? Was she even attracted to him? She looked at his chestnut hair flopping over his eyes, and thought of how, in Venice, she had wanted nothing more than to taste his blood. Did that equal attraction? And who knew how he felt about her?
Schuyler placed the perfectly molded candy squares on the table, and caught the eye of another boy across the room.
Jack Force. Her stomach immediately tied up in knots.
Suddenly Schuyler knew she was just kidding herself She might toy with the idea of liking Kingsley or Oliver. But really she knew she nursed a not-so-secret hope about the identity of the boy she had kissed: she wished for one name and one name only.
Jack.
When Schuyler arrived home from school, Lawrence still had not returned. She asked Julius to bring her grandfather's luggage up to Cordelia's room. It looked forlorn and lonesome in the entryway. Hattie had prepared supper, and Schuyler took a tray up to her room, eating her meat loaf and mashed potatoes in front of her computer. Cordelia would never have allowed such a thing. Her grandmother had been vigilant that Schuyler eat dinner properly at the table every night. But then, Cordelia wasn't around to enforce her rules anymore.
Schuyler fed Beauty scraps from her plate as she checked her e-mail and made a halfhearted attempt to finish her homework.
Afterward, she brought her tray down to the kitchen and helped Hattie load the dishwasher. It was after nine o'clock. Her grandfather had been gone for more than twelve hours already. How long could the meeting have lasted?
Finally, at a little past midnight, Lawrence's key turned in the lock. He looked exhausted. The lines on his face were haggard. Schuyler thought he looked as if he had aged several decades.
"What happened?" she asked, alarmed at his condition. She flew up from the window seat where she had been dozing. The living room, removed of its heavy drapes and covers, was a surprisingly comfortable place. Hattie had lit a fire in the hearth, and Schuyler couldn't get enough of the river view. Lawrence set his crushed fedora on the rack and sank into one of the antique couches across from the fire. Dust flew as he shifted in his seat. "I do think Cordelia could have put some money into keeping this place a little cleaner," he grumbled. "I left her with quite a nest egg."
Cordelia had always given Schuyler the impression that they had run out of money, and what little they had went to financing the bare necessities: Duchesne tuition, food, shelter, the skeletal staff. Anything aside from that--new clothes, money for movies or restaurants was grudgingly parceled out dollar by dollar.
"Grandmother always said we were broke," Schuyler said.
"In contrast to how we lived once, surely. But we Van Alens are far from bankrupt. I checked the accounts today. Cordelia invested wisely. The interest has been collecting interest. We should be able to bring this house back to where it should be."
