Behind the Gates Read Free

as I’ve seen. But everyone’s been pretty quiet, reading or listening to music or talking to their seatmates. I think we’re all starting to get hungry and restless, though.
    There’s a group near the front that all look like athletes and have clearly already bonded. They’re a good-looking bunch, all clear skin and toned arms and legs. They chat and laugh together as though they’ve been friends for years. “No one can return my serve,” says atall girl. She holds up an arm with a giant, fancy watch on it. “But my wrist is totally ruined. I have to wrap it up every time.”
    “Whatever,” scoffs an Asian girl with her black hair in a sleek ponytail. “I fell so hard on my arm playing field hockey this year that I broke it. I was in a cast for the rest of the season.”
    One of the girls sitting near the sporty set isn’t so chatty, but from the look of her well-muscled arms, she seems to be an athletic type. Her gleaming straight black hair is tied back with a gold cord into a high ponytail. Something about her face — the straight nose, the set line of her mouth — makes her seem regal, yet aloof and unfriendly. I don’t think she’s someone I’ll get along with.
    When the girl turns to the other athletes, though, she has a natural authority that makes them quiet down to hear her. “That’s nothing,” she says calmly. I’m pretty sure I detect — though just barely — the clipped beat of a Latin accent. “I was tripped on the basketball court and slammed my head so hard I was in a coma for three days.”
    For a moment the little group is silent.
    “Wow!” the tall one says, filled with awe. “What’s it like to be in a coma?”
    “Yeah, I’ve always wanted to know that,” says another girl.
    I can’t hear what she tells them because everyone has huddled around her. I can’t even see her anymore without standing up.
    Turning back toward our part of the bus — the back half — I notice a pretty girl with dark skin. Her black eyes are intense and her delicate eyebrows V with concentration as she types furiously on a notebook.
    What’s so urgent? It’s not like we have homework yet.
    I’d love to go talk to her but a slim, pale girl with white-blond hair is sleeping heavily in the aisle seat. Her presence makes it impossible to plop myself down beside the writing girl. Instead, I nudge Maddie. “Are you awake?”
    Maddie’s eyelids flutter. “Wha …?”
    “Are you awake?” I repeat.
    “Now I am,” she gripes, rubbing her eyes. “What’s going on?”
    “I need somebody to talk to,” I admit, grinning apologetically.
    Maddie straightens and leans across me to see out the window. “Where are we?”
    I shrug. “Two hours north, as far as I can tell.”
    “Not in Blumberg Woods?” she checks.
    I shake my head.
    “Too bad,” Maddie says sleepily, slumping against the back of her seat, closing her eyes.
    I jab her again and lower my voice to a whisper. “Look at that girl over there. What do you think she’s writing?”
    Maddie stretches around to see behind her seat. “I don’t see anyone writing,” she reports, turning back to me.
    I hoist myself high enough to see across the aisle. The girl is now chatting animatedly with the girl who had been sleeping beside her.
Chatting
isn’t really the word; she’s doing all the talking and her seatmate is simply listening in wide-eyed astonishment.
    What could she be saying to make the other girl look so shocked?
    Now I’m really dying to know what’s going on with her.
    “I’m going to the bathroom,” I tell Maddie. “Maybe on the way back I’ll be able to hear what that girl is saying.”
    “What girl?” Maddie asks.
    “The one who was writing,” I say. “If I stop to talk to her, you come join me.”
    “Why? I want to go back to sleep. I was up all night worrying about today. I’m tired.”
    “You weren’t up all night. You were snoring,” I tell her.
    “Just go say hello to her. You don’t need me for