Carrier of the Mark. Leigh Fallon
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know what you mean, Meg. I think your mom’s looking after us,” he said wistfully, glancing up to the sky.
“Maybe.”
“Or it could be that Irish blood in you; it’s back on home turf.”
“I have Irish blood?”
“It’s pretty diluted, but it’s definitely in there. Your mom’s grandfather came from somewhere near here, I think. Somewhere in County Cork.”
“I guess that explains the freckles,” I said, inspecting my arms. “So, are you going to show me around your vast empire?” I put my arm in the air and waved it around extravagantly. “It looks very fancy. Is your office nice?”
My dad was happy to give me the grand tour: the boats, the marina, and the club. I tried to look interested, but water and boats were never my thing. Truthfully, water had always sort of freaked me out. It held an allure for me, but one that felt dangerous, so I generally gave it a wide berth.
“I’m so proud of you, Dad,” I said, after he had shown me everything there was to see. “You’re definitely onto a winner here. How did you manage to swing this job?”
“I’m still not sure,” he replied. “Someone recommended me, but I don’t know who. I just wish I could thank whoever it was. I’ll never get an opportunity like this again.”
“Well, you deserve it.” I paused. “One thing, though.”
He looked at me nervously.
“I’m seriously going to need a cell phone.”
He looked relieved. “We’ll get right on that! Come on. I’m finishing up early, and I’m going to treat you to a big bag of fish and chips. When in Ireland, do as the Irish do!”
“Sounds good,” I said, hooking my arm into his. “Lead the way.”
Dad pulled the door open for me and I found myself face-to-face with a shocked Adam DeRís.
“Mr. Rosenberg,” Adam said, avoiding my eyes.
“Hello, Adam. This is my daughter, Megan,” Dad introduced me. “Adam is one of our instructors.”
I didn’t know where to look.
“Nice to meet you, Megan,” he muttered, and started backing away, tripping over himself. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rosenberg, but I’m in a hurry.”
“Of course, of course.” My dad’s forehead was crinkled in confusion as he leaned closer to me. “That was weird. He’s normally so friendly. Never mind, let’s get those chips.”
With my stomach twisting uncomfortably, the last thing I felt like was fries. I glanced over my shoulder at the fast-departing Adam.
“Don’t worry about him, Dad,” I said, faking a smile. “I’m not bothered.”
But I was lying. Adam’s reaction did bother me. It bothered me so much it hurt.
Two
DAY TWO
And that was why I found myself standing at the school gates forty-five minutes before classes started.
Half an hour went by, and while other students had started to pour in, there was no sign of Adam. I looked anxiously up and down the road.
A hand tapped me on the shoulder, and I jumped.
“You came back.” It was Caitlin, beaming at me. “We didn’t scare you off then?”
I laughed. “Not quite; I thought I might risk one more day before I run screaming to the U.S.”
“Come on, we’d better get inside. If we’re late to biology, Psycho Phil will go ballistic.”
My heart sank a little. I’d forgotten the class schedule here changed every day. I wondered if Adam would be in my biology class. I was just going to ask Caitlin who Psycho Phil was when I realized my hands were tingling again. A black Volkswagen came into view and swung into a parking space across the road. Adam opened the car door, stepped out, and threw his bag over his shoulder in one fluid movement. Then he leaned over the roof of the car, talking to the girl who was getting out of the passenger side. It was the same girl I had seen him with yesterday. She was tall and slim, and her smooth, black hair was cut in a blunt bob.
They started walking toward the entrance, where I was standing with Caitlin. Adam was grinning, and her face looked up into his with a sly little smile, her eyes gleaming with a witchy edge to them. Adam walked by without a glance. She looked at me sheepishly, then quickly walked on.
“Bitch,” I muttered. I hated to admit it, but I was totally jealous. She was stunning. I could never compete with that. To top it all off, they were probably laughing at me and my completely transparent infatuation with Adam.
“Earth to Megan; come in, Megan,” Caitlin said as she snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Megan, are you with me?” she said a little louder. “Or are you with a certain tall, dark, and outrageously handsome Mr. DeRís?” She followed my gaze.
“I wish.” I stared after them. There was no point in trying to hide my glaringly obvious emotions. “They look good together,” I said, somewhat begrudgingly.
“They would,” she said. “They’re twins. And did you not listen to a word I said? Honestly, don’t bother. Now come on.” She grabbed my arm and started dragging me up the hill. “We’re definitely going to be late!”
We ran down the hallway to our class.
“Twins,” I said at the door, as we paused to catch our breath.
“Yes, twins. Her name is Áine.” She shook her head in irritation. “Really, Megan, no offense or anything, but let it drop. You’re wasting your time. He’s a total plank, and has the personality to match. Now, shush,” she whispered, putting her finger over her lips before pushing the door to the biology lab open. I followed, wondering what a “plank” was.
“Ah, ladies, nice of you to finally join us,” said a sarcastic voice as we filed into the room. “I’m assuming this is our new class member, Miss Rosenberg.” A man with beady eyes and more hair on his face than his head glared at me. “Well, Miss Rosenberg, let’s hope this is not how you intend to continue your education in this school, and if it is, perhaps you could be so kind as to not drag Miss Brennan down with you.”
“No, sir,” I muttered, and fled to the nearest available desk. I was starting to understand the “Psycho Phil” nickname.
As soon as I realized we were talking about the lymphatic system—something I had studied last year—I tuned Psycho Phil out and my thoughts drifted back to Adam. The image of him smiling and leaning on his car crept into my mind: his head thrown back in laughter, his green eyes glittering with mischief. I pushed the picture from my mind and reminded myself that I was trying to purge him from my system, not reinforce my feelings. I rubbed the scar on my neck; it was itchy again. I couldn’t believe how much it had been irritating me. It never really bothered me before, but then again, I’d never gotten all flustered over a guy like this before either. I idly traced its circular shape and lost myself to memories of my mom. The scar would always be a painful reminder of the last day we spent together.
I was six. Mom and I had gone to see my grandmother, who was living in a retirement village. We had a great time playing games, Gran telling me stories of