Unearthly by Cynthia Hand

away from me. He’s not rude or anything; he just isn’t all that interested in getting to know me. And why should he be? He has no idea the future that awaits us.
    So for an hour each day I secretly watch him, trying to memorize everything I can, unsure of what might be useful to me someday. He likes to wear button-down dress shirts with the sleeves rolled casually to his elbow and the same version of Seven jeans in slightly different shades of black or blue. He uses notebooks made from recycled paper and writes with a green ballpoint pen. He almost always knows the right answer when Mr. Erikson calls on him, and if he doesn’t he makes a joke about it, which means that he’s smart plus humble plus funny. He likes Altoids. Every so often he reaches into his back pocket for the little silver tin and pops a mint into his mouth. To me that says he expects to be kissed.
    On that note, Kay meets him right outside class every day. Like she saw the way the new girl looked at her man that first day in the cafeteria, and she never wants him vulnerable to that again. So all I have are the precious pre-class minutes, and so far nothing I’ve done or said has elicited a significant response from Christian.
    But tomorrow is T-Shirt Day. I need a shirt that will start a conversation.
    â€œDon’t stress about it,” says Wendy after school as I parade a line of T-shirts in front of her. She’s sitting on the floor of my room by the window, legs curled under her, the very picture of the BFF helping to make a huge fashion decision.
    â€œShould it be a band?” I ask. I hold out a black tee from a Dixie Chicks tour.
    â€œNot that one.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œTrust me.”
    I pick up one of my favorites, forest green with a print of Elvis on it that I got on a trip to Graceland a few years before. Young Elvis, dreamy Elvis, bending over his guitar.
    Wendy makes a noncommittal noise.
    I hold up a hot-pink shirt that reads, EVERYONE LOVES A CALIFORNIA GIRL . This could be the winner, a chance to play up what Christian and I have in common. But it will also clash with my orange hair.
    Wendy scoffs. “I think my brother is planning on wearing a shirt that says, ‘Go back to California.’”
    â€œShocker. What’s his deal with Californians, anyway?”
    She shrugs. “It’s a long story. Basically my grandpa owned the Lazy Dog Ranch, and now some rich Californian owns it. My parents only manage it for him, and Tucker has rage issues. Plus, you insulted Bluebell.”
    â€œBluebell?”
    â€œAround these parts, you can’t disrespect a man’s truck without dire consequences.”
    I laugh. “Well, he should get over himself. He tried to get me burned at the stake in Brit History yesterday. Here I am minding my own business, taking notes like a good little girl, and out of the blue Tucker raises his hand and accuses me of being a witch.”
    â€œSounds like something Tucker would do,” admits Wendy.
    â€œEverybody had to vote on it. I barely escaped with my nun’s life. Obviously I’ll have to return the favor.”
    Christian, I remember happily, voted against burning me. Of course his vote doesn’t count much because he’s a serf. But still, he didn’t want to see me dead, even in theory. That has to count for something.
    â€œYou know that’ll just encourage him, right?” Wendy says.
    â€œEh, I can handle your brother. Besides, there’s some kind of prize for the students who can last the whole semester. And I’m a survivor.”
    Now it’s Wendy’s turn to laugh. “Yeah, well, so is Tucker.”
    â€œI can’t believe you shared a womb with him.”
    She smiles. “There are definitely moments I can’t believe it either,” she says. “But he’s a good guy. He just hides it well sometimes.”
    She gazes out the window, her cheeks pink. Have I offended her? For