Flecks of Gold Read Free Page B

I lost myself in my subject, it was as if there was another hidden element, just out of reach. When I drew, I not only saw lines and shadows, but a different shape at the edge of the subject. It was more than imagination. It was a view that was beyond simple sight, a pressure like what I’d felt when sitting next to Kelson. It was something I knew I could grasp if I only had a key to understanding how. Whenever I contemplated this second sight, I felt slightly silly, but it was hard to dismiss it as my imagination when I saw the golden patterns so often.
    The bell rang sooner than I expected, and I wondered why my other classes couldn’t have gone by as quickly. As I transferred piles of homework from my locker to my already overstuffed backpack, I noticed Kelson with a group of guys in blue letterman jackets. Short-skirted girls in tight shirts dripped off the boys’ arms like jewelry.
    I studied Kelson covertly. He looked so at ease, so normal. His jacket was slightly different from the other guys, and I briefly wondered why. A sappy urge to walk over and say hello floated through my head as I watched, but when I looked away, I was gripped by a strong desire to flee his presence and feel like myself again. I strode quickly out of school, ready to get home and complain about the day to Mom. I’d walked about a block when I heard someone approaching from behind.
    “Mary Margaret, wait up,” Kelson said. A whoosh of warmth, which somehow made me picture a blue-white mist, spread through me. It was pleasant, but my stomach clenched in reaction, and I turned around slowly. Amorous thoughts swam through my brain.
    “Hi. How was your first day of school?”
    “Fine.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets.
    “You must have a lot of stuff to catch up on.”
    “Yeah, but I don’t mind. I don’t have much else to do. So what’s your letterman jacket for?” I asked, trying to divert the conversation from me.
    He hesitated, and I had a funny impression that he was trying to think of an answer. “Swimming,” he finally said.
    “That’s cool.” Thinking of follow-up questions was difficult with my head full of Kelson’s blue eyes. I tried to clear my mind. “Why is your jacket different from the other guys at school?”
    “I didn’t really letter in this school. Actually, I just moved here awhile ago.”
    “Oh, where did you come from?” I asked, trying to concentrate.
    “Iberloah.” He gave me the strangest look, curious and mischievous, and so intense I looked away. “Have you heard of it?”
    “No. It sounds really unusual. What state is it in?” I thought that it sounded more like a foreign name, but Kelson didn’t have a hint of an accent.
    “It’s a small town in Mitiga—ah, I mean Michigan. No one who doesn’t live there even knows about it.”
    I looked away, finding it easier to think that way. I’d never heard of the town, but Michigan was no desert. Hadn’t Kelson said earlier he’d lived in a desert his whole life?
    “Do you swim?” he asked out of the blue. It took me a second to change gears.
    “A little. I was kind of on a team in middle school.”
    “Maybe we could go swimming sometime.” His grin now looked almost hungry.
    I shivered. “Maybe.” Something was bugging me, but it was like a ball of knotted yarn in my head.
    We reached my house and stopped in front of the cactus garden.
    “Well, I’ll see you around.”
    “Yeah, thanks.”
    Watching Kelson walk away again triggered the memory of the sour sweet aftertaste of the kumquat. Unease accompanied me into the house.
    Mom wasn’t home, and I found a sticky note on the fridge reminding me that she’d be home by 5:30. I’d forgotten that she’d gotten a job. I was happy she’d found something so quickly, but a job at the Bernard Packing Company didn’t seem like a good fit. I wondered if she’d worn one of her long beaded shirts. They were her favorite, but if she was moving boxes they might get caught. I put my