CHAPTER EIGHT PART ONE

The rest of the week goes by in a flash, with people buzzing with the news of our field trip. By the time Saturday morning rolls around, we are ready, at least we all hope we are. Until, a burgundy van pulls up with the big, bold words Saint Henry's High School on the side. Fletcher smiles, he's dressed in casual clothes, as we all are, "All right, everyone ready to go?" he asks.

"We're taking that?" Savanna comments, none of us looking happy about it. "Of course, we need to blend," Fletcher reasons. "We call backseat," Duke chimes pulling Paul along with him. Savanna loudly claims the front seat beside Fletcher. He looks somewhat saddened by the idea, but only for a moment as he conceals his emotions. "Ahh, Gemma, can I have a word?" Fletcher gestures to the side.

"Sure," I follow him a few yards away from the van and stand across from him. He reaches up towards my face,"Oh, you have a...I'll get it." My body lurches away from his hand. I question his motives. "Sorry," his hand drops, "You have a piece of lint in your hair." I reach up, feeling and pulling the foreign object from my hair. It's a tiny piece of a leaf.

He rubs his head nervously, "I wanted to apologize if I made you uncomfortable when I helped you train the other day." You did. "It's all right, no harm done." Just to my nerves. He looks nervous, "No, I um, well, I can't seem to get you out of my head."

"What!" My eyes stretch like two saucers. He smiles wickedly and leans in, "Let's just say I can't wait for you to graduate." I cough. I can't believe I'm being hit on by my teacher—a guy I once kneed in the balls. "We, ahh, we should probably get on the road," I gesture back towards the van, changing the subject.

"You're right; we can talk more about this when we get back," he leans in again, "I'll be thinking of you." I fight the urge to run to the van and instead remind myself to walk like a normal average person. I slip into the truck and sit in the front row against the window.

"Everything all right?" Quincy asks from the seat beside mine. "I'll tell you later," I whisper as my mind tries to formulate words. She looks at me doubtfully but lets it go for now as she unconsciously leans against Dmitri on the opposite side. Just behind us, Beatrice has snagged a seat with Hudson, and she is tactfully trying to flirt with him. In comparison, he remains as quiet and stoic as always.

I try to reboot my mind by counting the weapons on my body. In my boot is my usual stake; in my sleeves, I have a knife tucked away on each side, and in my bag is a collapsible bow and arrows, just in case.

Quincy has a stake and her small ax; she has it attached to her back. I've seen her use it a few times, but she's good with it. I know Fletcher favors a short sword. The ride is long, and mostly everyone is making small talk. However, I can't forget Fletcher's words; I can't wait for you to graduate. I would have thought of him if he was a student or friend, but now things are different.

Quincy falls asleep against Dmitri a few hours into the drive. He doesn't look like he minds. I glance back, Beatrice is laying out entirely over Hudson; while she looks peaceful, he seems uncomfortable. Savanna watches them through the front mirror, with her fists clenched and an agitated look on her usually composed face.

Interesting, very interesting. I may have just found the cause of some significant future disputes between Savanna and Beatrice, supposed friends, but I guess so were Blair Waldorf and Serena Van Der Woodsen. Well, that's something to take my mind off my own life's chaos.

"Time to wake up, we're just about there." Fletcher urges. "Are you going to tell us the mission?" Savanna asks like the teacher's pet she is.

"I am, the Council would like us to find any information on several missing persons. So we'll stay together at all times, and none of you are to ever at any time to take off from the group." We pass the Now Entering Fillmore sign.

Savanna looks surprised and glances back at me with a confused look. Fletcher parks the van across from a diner. "We'll stop here first to get some food, but remember we're in enemy territory now, so keep your guard up." Everyone in the car agrees to the conditions after only having eaten drive-thru and gas station snacks for a whole day.

I take note of all the places around; a bar, flower shop, clothing store, beauty salon, grocery store, church, and town hall all in eyesight. People walk by, all blending into the scenery. I pull my bag closer, as I attempt to keep my senses open and alert. "Why do I suddenly feel like this could be the setting for the next American Horror Stories?" Quincy asks, looking around.

I get the same ominous feeling about this place, "I really hope you're wrong," I whisper as I follow the others toward the diner, passing a few teenage girls heading for the beauty salon. One of the girls turns back to look at us and whispers to her friend. Fletcher holds the door open for each of us. His eyes seem to gleam as I walk past.

"Well, hello, folks, you can all go have yourselves a seat wherever yah fancy," an older waitress with the name tag Sandy gestures for us to pick our seats. We move to push a few tables together, and all sit down. Sandy comes over with an entire pot of coffee and a stack of menus, "Welcome to Fillmore; it's so rare that we have out-of-towners around these parts; are yah all just passing through, where ya headed?"

Fletcher clears his throat, "We're on a school field trip. We're joining the rest of our group in Portland for the Maple Sunday celebration. We decided to stop to get some lunch before meeting the others," the lies roll off his tongue like he's used to them before.

Sandy smiles kindly, but a look in her eye makes me question her intentions. I don't trust her. A family of four eats happily in the corner. A group of five friends sits on stools by the front door. Nothing is out of place, but those around us seem to fit their roles well.

I catch sight of another waitress, this one looking like a younger version of Sandy, obviously her daughter with the name Mina written on her apron. She's serving the teenagers while Sandy pours each of us a cup of coffee, "None for me, thanks," I put my hand over my cup, stopping her.

"If you're sure, it will give you a little push of energy to get you through to your Maple festival," she encourages. "Thanks, but I'll just take an unopened bottle of water," I say. Sandy's eyes meet mine for a moment, almost searching for something. She plasters the smile back over her face, "Smart wanting to stay hydrated, that's important," she murmurs rushing to get my drink.

Savanna snickers at me, "Geeze, would you lighten up? Knightly, she's like fifty. What's she going to poison us all with community coffee?" I glare, trying to ignore her comment; Fletcher remains tight-lipped but gives me a questioning look. I shrug and look away from the table. Sandy returns after a few moments and takes our orders.

I choose a muffin from the tin at the front that I have made sure to keep my eyes on. Everyone gives me another look, meaning for me to blend in better. Quincy smiles, finding the whole situation comical.

When the food arrives, everyone digs in. "Yay!" Quincy cheers. I take small calculated bites out of the blueberry muffin, and I admit it's not half bad. We all make small talk trying to talk about everyday things like clothes and upcoming concerts that we would never get to wear or attend in real life.

"I don't feel so good," Hudson mutters, holding his head. His head swings back and forth. He falls to one side and collapses, still breathing but unconscious. "Hudson!" Beatrice shrieks, jumping up to help him, but her legs go out from under her and she falls onto him.

They shouldn't have eaten the food. Rookie mistake. I won't say I told you so right now, seems like a poor choice of words when everyone is passing out.