The Gathering Storm (2 page)

“A new teacher?” Mack guessed. The name sounded familiar, but Mack didn't remember a Coach Therian from last year.

“I can't believe our perfect streak ended over gym class,” he said. “That's weak.”

But Mack wasn't ready to accept it. “Maybe it's a mistake,” he said. “I've never even heard of independent study classes at school. There's just, you know,
gym.
This has to be a mistake.”

Joel looked doubtful. “I don't know,” he replied. “That would be a much bigger mistake than a typo or spelling somebody's name wrong.”

“It could happen,” Mack protested. He twisted around in his seat to talk to Eddie and Miles, who were sitting in the row behind him. “Guys, what do you have for seventh period?” he asked.

“Gym,” Eddie replied. Beside him, Miles nodded.

Mack leaned across the aisle to ask Juliet and Maya
and then Ethan and Reese. All of them had seventh- or third-period gym with Coach Connors. Soon, the entire bus was talking about Mack's unusual gym class.

“I'm sorry, buddy,” Joel said, shaking his head.

“What for?” Mack asked, sounding more confident than he felt. “Now I know it's a mistake.”

Joel raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, come on. If it was an actual class, there would be somebody else on this bus who's in it,” Mack pressed on. “When we get to school, I'll go to the main office and ask them to fix it.”

“It's worth a try, I guess,” said Joel.

Mack glanced down at his schedule again. Those words—“Independent Study: Physical Education, D. Therian, Ancillary Gym”—were all he could see. The longer he thought about it, the less sense it made. Nobody even used the ancillary gym anymore—not since the larger gym had been built a decade ago. In fact, everybody kept saying that school was going to renovate the ancillary gym and turn it into a greenhouse for a new gardening elective. So why would Mack have a class scheduled there? And he had never even heard of a
teacher at Willow Cove Middle School named Therian.

D. Therian,
Mack thought, squinting at the schedule.

Dorina Therian!

No wonder he knew that name: Dorina Therian was one of Jiichan's mah-jongg buddies. Every Thursday night, Jiichan and his three best friends gathered around the kitchen table to play mah-jongg. Mack loved his grandfather's game nights—for him, they meant pizza for dinner and complete control over the TV. Mack had known Ms. Therian since he was a little boy. In fact, he'd seen her just four days ago at Jiichan's most recent mah-jongg party. She'd given Mack a lemon square and pinched his cheek as she told him to run off and play, like he was still five years old. With her tiny frame and deeply wrinkled face, Ms. Therian seemed like the last person in the world who'd be teaching a gym class. And wouldn't she have mentioned something to Mack about starting a new job at his school?

A sudden punch to his shoulder jolted Mack from his thoughts.

“Wake up! We're here,” Joel said.

Mack shook his head, realizing that half the kids had already filed off the bus. Mack would have to hurry if he wanted to get his gym class changed without being late for homeroom. He couldn't imagine that Jiichan would be pleased if Mack got a tardy on the very first day—that was one lecture Mack would do just about anything to miss.

“Catch you in homeroom, buddy,” Mack said to Joel as they were swept into the stream of kids entering the school. Joel flashed him a thumbs-up and continued down the hall toward his locker while Mack turned left toward the main office.
I hope there's not a big crowd today,
Mack thought.

Mack was in luck. The only other person in the office was Mrs. Logan, the secretary. She smiled at Mack over her glasses. “Good morning, Makoto. What can I do for you?”

Mack reached into his back pocket for his schedule, which had gotten pretty crumpled from being passed around on the bus. “It's about my schedule,” he said as he tried to smooth it out on the counter. “I need to switch my seventh-period class.”

“I'm sorry, Makoto,” Mrs. Logan replied, not even
glancing at the schedule. “Switching classes isn't allowed.”

The disappointment hit Mack harder than he expected.

“But,” he began again, and then swallowed hard. For once, the manners Jiichan had drilled into him over the years were about to come in handy.

“I understand, Mrs. Logan,” Mack said politely. “It's just that I think there might be a mistake. I don't even know what ‘Independent Study: Physical Education' is, and all my other friends have regular gym with Coach Connors—”

Mrs. Logan was already shaking her head. “We can't bend the rules,” she explained. “If we let you switch a class, then we'd have to let the next person who asks also switch a class, and then everybody would want to custom design his or her schedule. It would be a logistical nightmare.”

“But why was I assigned to independent study?” Mack asked. “I didn't sign up for it. No one else I talked to is in it—”

“I am,” a new voice spoke up.

Mack turned to see Fiona Murphy standing behind him. “You're in independent study for phys ed too?” he asked in surprise.

“Yeah,” Fiona replied.

Mack turned back to Mrs. Logan. “Fiona, me . . . Who else is in this class?” he asked.

She eyed him over the top of her computer screen. “Well . . . ,” Mrs. Logan began. “I'm really not supposed to share information like that. But since you'll be finding out during seventh period, anyway . . .”

Mrs. Logan typed quickly and then peered at the screen. “ ‘Seventh-period Independent Study: Physical Education,' ” she read. “ ‘Makoto Kimura, Fiona Murphy, Gabriella Rivera, and Darren Smith.' ”

Mack's eyebrows shot up. He couldn't think of a single thing he had in common with Fiona, Gabriella, and Darren. Fiona was supersmart—like,
scary
smart—and took all accelerated classes. As for Gabriella, everyone in Willow Cove figured she'd make it to the Olympics before she graduated from high school. She was that good at soccer—and that determined to succeed, too. And Darren? He was popular with everyone,
not because he wore the coolest clothes or anything like that, but because he was honestly, genuinely nice. Darren always waved and smiled at Mack in the halls, even though they barely knew each other.

“That's got to be the most random group of kids at Willow Cove Middle School,” Mack said.

Mrs. Logan fixed him with an indulgent smile. “That's because it is,” she replied. “Physical education class assignments are generated by the computer. I just print out the schedules.”

“But one class for only four students?” Fiona spoke up. “Wouldn't it be easier to assign us to the other gym classes?”

Mrs. Logan's expression didn't change, but her smile looked strained. “The vice principal sets up the classes. The computer schedules the students. I then print and mail out the schedules,” she explained, reciting the words as if she'd said them a thousand times before. “What brings you to the main office today, Fiona? I suppose you're also here to request a switch?”

Fiona shook her head. “Actually, it's my locker,” she explained. “It's stuck.”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Logan, sounding relieved. “That's something I can handle. What number is it? I'll send the janitor to take a look.”

“Five oh seven,” Fiona replied.

Mrs. Logan dutifully wrote it down on a memo pad. “Now, off you two go, or you'll be late for homeroom,” she said kindly but firmly, and Mack knew there was no point in saying one more word about Independent Study: Physical Education.

“Thanks,” Mack and Fiona said at the same time. They glanced at each other and grinned. Mack reached the door to the office first and pulled it open.

“Do you have Mr. Morrison for homeroom too?” Mack said as they hurried into the hallway. Some kids were still hanging out by their lockers, but the crowd had thinned out. Mack wasn't the only one who didn't want to get a tardy on the first day of school.

Fiona nodded in response. “He's not so bad,” she said. “I heard Mrs. Williams gives tardies if anybody is even
talking
when the first bell rings.”

Mack groaned, shaking his head.

Just then, someone pushed past Fiona.

“Hey!” Mack yelled.

The boy turned around without stopping, flashing them an apologetic smile. It was Darren Smith. “Sorry! Homeroom! Williams!” he yelled as he kept running.

“That explains everything. You okay?” Mack asked, turning to Fiona.

“Yeah, Darren gave me a shock when he rushed by,” Fiona said, then, seeing Mack's expression, “What?”

Mack stifled a laugh. “Your hair” was all he could get out before cracking up. Pieces of Fiona's wavy hair were standing straight up from end to end. “The shock must've been pretty . . . hair-raising,” he added with a grin.

Fiona elbowed him in the ribs before smoothing her hair back in place. At the far end of the hall, he heard a scoff from Daisy Park, Katie Adair, and Lizbeth Harris. They were the coolest, most popular girls in Willow Cove Middle School—and they were also some of the meanest.

“Looks like the Pony Patrol is ready to prance into seventh grade,” Fiona said suddenly, in a voice so low that Mack wasn't even sure he had heard her correctly.

“Did you just—” he began, but Fiona put her finger to her lips. Mack saw her eyes sparkle with mischief.
Who would've thought Fiona had a snarky side?
Mack wondered. Everybody called Lizbeth and her friends the Pony Patrol because they always wore their hair in perfect ponytails—but nobody Mack knew would ever dare to say those words aloud and especially so close to them. Somehow, though, Fiona seemed completely unconcerned, even as Mack glanced furtively at Lizbeth and the other girls. Gabriella Rivera was also part of their clique. In fact, she should have been right next to Lizbeth, but Mack didn't see her anywhere.
Weird,
he thought.
Maybe she's got Mrs. Williams for homeroom too, unless she's sick or something.

Why else would anyone miss the first day of school?

Gabriella clutched the edge of the sink and leaned forward, resting her forehead against the cold mirror. She closed her eyes, as if she were sleeping. Actually, Gabriella wished she were still asleep. Then she could wake up from what was surely a nightmare—or at least the weirdest dream of all time.

One. Two. Three,
Gabriella counted silently. She took a deep breath and looked in the mirror. The eyes staring back at her were bright, blazing gold, without a sliver of white; they were the color of the sun on the hottest day of summer. Their tiny, round pupils, which reminded Gabriella of a cat's, were dark
and unfathomable. Gabriella's stomach lurched as she shut those eyes, those strange and unfamiliar eyes. She couldn't bear to look at them; though they were beautiful and mysterious, they were definitely not human. Was she hallucinating?

“Gabriella!” her mother called again. “Move it! You're going to be late!”

Gabriella shook her head, trying to focus. Being late for the first day of school was the least of her worries.

Change,
Gabriella commanded her eyes.
Change back. Change. Now.

She took ten slow, measured breaths. Then steeling herself for whatever truth the mirror might reveal, she opened her eyes again.

Gabriella could've cried with relief.

Her eyes were back—her ordinary, average, boring brown eyes. The same eyes that Ma called “her chocolate kisses.” The same eyes that Gabriella's little sister, Maritza, had. Gabriella wasn't exactly obsessed with her looks, but she'd never been happier to stare at herself in the mirror.

There was a knock at the door.

“
Mija
?” Ma said. “You okay in there?”

Gabriella grimaced. Now, Ma didn't just sound annoyed—she sounded worried.

“Yeah!” Gabriella called. “Be right out!”

Gabriella turned the faucet on full blast and splashed cold water onto her face. Then she raked her hair into a tight, smooth ponytail. The whole time, she never looked away from her reflection in the mirror—and to Gabriella's relief, her eyes stayed the same.

This ponytail is no good,
Gabriella thought suddenly. If her eyes changed at school—Gabriella didn't even want to
think
about it, but she forced herself to do so all the same—it would be totally obvious with her hair pulled back.

There was only one thing to do.

Gabriella yanked her hair out of its ponytail and fanned it around her shoulders. If she absolutely had to, Gabriella knew she could bow her head and let her hair fall in front of her face if her eyes changed at school—and she had to hide them—