and screams. The hail came down harder. A couple of freshman girls started to cry and the bus driver sat there in dumb shock until Will shouted up to him:
“DRIVE!”
The driver stomped on the gas and the bus lurched forward. A few more crows dive-bombed the bus, cracking the back window, and then the attack was over. The hail stopped abruptly. The bus was stone silent the rest of the way to school. As it pulled into the unloading area the shock began to wear off and was replaced by excited talk. Just about everyone on the bus shot at least one suspicious glance at Will. They all wondered the same thing: How the heck did he know that the first crow was going to attack? Will kept his head down and pretended to groove to music on his iPod, taking care not to return their gazes. Best to appear nonchalant. No big deal.
He tried to tell himself that the crows were acting crazy on their own accord, that it was just some freaky nature thing and had nothing to do with him. And he’d probably just imagined the bloody symbol. But deep down he knew better. He always did. It was the same story wherever he went. Things looked good and pure and wholesome on the surface, but underneath the whole place was evil and sucked beyond words. They already knew he was here in Harrisburg. They were here, too, and he would have to battle them. Demons. The crows had been a nice little twisted welcoming committee. Back on the pavement, the dead crow lay still for a moment longer, then rose on crushed legs, flew up into the sky, and banked toward Mount St. Emory.
Will looked out the bus window at Harrisburg High—HOME OF THE MUSTANGS!—as kids poured out of the bus and chatted excitedly, spreading the story of the hail and the whacked bird attack to all their friends. Will was the last one to exit the big yellow bus and Natalie was waiting for him, her eyes full of questions.
“Hi, I’m Natalie.”
“Um, I’m Will.”
“Nice to meet you, Will.”
He smiled thinly and started to walk away but she blocked his path, looking at him with her searching eyes.
“Can I ask you something? How the heck did you know about that crow?”
“I just . . . had a feeling.”
“Some feeling. Thanks. If you hadn’t slammed that window shut that freaky bird might have pecked my eyes out.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Well, my eyes are a big deal to me.”
“I didn’t mean. . . .” Will was flushing now, flummoxed and inept. He could usually avoid chicks without too much trouble. But this girl—he was thrown off balance by her. Not only was she totally hot—in a natural way, an unconventional way—she also seemed mature for her age. She held a kind of sadness in her eyes and she looked haunted, like she’d lost something, or someone, important. Maybe Will was imagining it or projecting his own feelings on to her, but he couldn’t help feeling connected with her because of it. Then it hit him again, this feeling that he’d seen her before.
She looked so appealing, just standing there, defiant, ready for him to make the next move. Will told himself he had to stay aloof. Better for everyone that way. But hell! Given half a chance, he might really dig this Natalie. She was so pretty that his brain went numb. He stood there and the only thing he could think of was to ask her how long she’d had her shoes. Moron! Numbskull! He kept his mouth shut and stared at her kneecaps. Exasperated, she shook her head.
“Whatever,” she said as she left.
He watched her walk away and was inexorably drawn to her. He liked the way she got right in his face, liked the sparkle in her eyes, liked the way she wore her cords. He’d never had a girlfriend; just the thought of such a thing seemed way too perilous. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t dream. He was a guy, after all. Again he shoved Natalie out of his mind. It was time to take care of business, time to start in at yet another school.
A couple of white panel trucks were parked next to the school. Some painters had the shrubbery covered with drop cloths and were rolling out a coating of primer onto the masonry walls of the school. No doubt they’d come up with some innocuous institutional color for the place. Schools always did that. He guessed this one would be some shade of boring beige. On another wall, the main wall of the front of the school, the painters had already laid down a coat of primer and someone, probably members of the art class, had sketched a huge rough outline of a galloping mustang. Whoopee.
Then Will looked over at the parking lot where some cheerleaders were pinning paper roses to a homecoming float anchored by an ancient Ford flatbed truck. The dominant girl, who clearly knew she was the most beautiful, seemed to be asserting herself over the others and as she gestured for them to do this and that her eyes wandered over and found Will. She froze for a moment then, as if she was catching herself, blushed then tossed her hair like a filly and went back to bossing the other cheerleaders around. Will studied her, noticing how her skin shone in the sunlight, how her hair spilled onto her shoulders like she was in some TV commercial for shampoo.
Will pulled his eyes away from the cheerleader—don’t go there, you know you can’t go there, you gotta stop acknowledging girls—and further inspected the school. The old part, the anchor to the new additions, had to be the oldest structure in Harrisburg. A three-story ashlar edifice, it looked like the stones had been cut from some quarry in Europe where the sun never shone. The place had a look of finality about it, as though the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse would be right at home here. How fitting, Will thought to himself as he looked at the surrounding grounds. On one side of the school stood an imposing old-growth forest choked with towering pines. On the other side the ocean crashed against a rocky bluff. Perfect. Just perfect. Will’s nemesis always did have a flair for the dramatic. He glanced again in the direction of the cheerleader who along with her cheer squad had paused in her efforts on the float and was checking him out. As soon as they saw him look their way they turned up their noses to make sure he knew they wanted nothing to do with him, that he was beneath him.
Refocusing himself, Will eyed the school entrance and headed for it. He’d done this walk more times than he wanted to remember but never quite got used to it. He thought to himself, When you’re the New Kid, it’s like you’ve got a big neon sign flashing on your forehead blinking, “Check me out! I’m THE NEW KID!” At least that’s what it felt like. And sure enough, as the sea of kids parted and Will waded through, they whispered and pointed and scoped him out. Fresh meat. Most of the girls looked like they either wanted to run away or lay a big wet kiss on him. Half the boys acted like they wanted to beat the crap out of him and the other half wondered if he was going to beat the crap out of them. High school, you had to love it. Or maybe not. Duncan was hanging with some of his buddies by a bench and he glared at Will as he walked by. He used his fingers to make the “I’m watching you” sign. No, thought Will, I’m watching you. All of you.
Will checked in with the principal, a large oafish man with adult acne, small eyes, and a neck that was thicker than his head so his whole body sort of came to a point.
“Welcome to Harrisburg High, I’m Principal Steadman,” said the pointy head as it looked down at a folder. “Do you like to be called Willie, Bill, or William?”
“It’s Will.”
“Good for you.” Pointy-head—Steadman—smiled, revealing overlapping front teeth. Will mustered a smile in return and studied the man. He could be safe or he could be one of them. It was hard to tell, especially with adults. It usually took a while to smoke them out. Will’s enemies were nothing if not clever.
Steadman’s administrative smile evaporated as he opened a file, read a little, then tapped it as though he was a hot shot TV cop or something. Guys like Steadman made Will want to puke, but he thought it best to abstain for the time being. Steadman tapped the folder again.
“You know what this is?”
Will kept mum, figuring Steadman would get around to answering his own question sooner or later. They always did.
“It’s your permanent record, your transcripts