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  Wow, he was cold.

  He shot a sharp look at me, as if he knew what I was thinking, then turned his attention to his lunch. He’d bought two grilled chicken sandwiches. He removed the chicken from the rolls and set the rolls aside. He scraped the mayonnaise off the chicken, and cut it up into bite-sized pieces. He piled it on top of his salad, then ate precisely, chewing slowly and washing down each bite with part-skim milk.

  “Fry?” Joanne offered him. A faint look of disgust crossed his face as he looked at her poutine, but he quickly hid it.

  “No, thanks.”

  Joanne stuffed in another mouthful, then mumbled around her food. “So, you like it here?”

  Adrian held up a finger, indicating he was still chewing. Then he leaned forward. I knew his next words would be something slimy like, “I like you very much, Jo.”

  Maybe he caught my expression. He stopped, pulled his hand back. “It’s cold,” he said. “My car wouldn’t start at first.”

  “Didja plug ’er in?” Joanne said, chewing.

  “Sorry?”

  Joanne swallowed. “Did you plug in your block heater?”

  “Uh, no,” he admitted.

  Ha! He had no idea what a block heater was. Even Joanne caught it. “You don’t know what that is, do you?” she asked.

  “Sure, I do,” he said, not very convincingly.

  “It’s a heater that warms your engine block,” said Joanne. “You plug your car in overnight. You’ll need it if the temperature goes down to thirty.”

  “Thirty? That’s barely freezing,” he said.

  “Thirty below, Centigrade,” Joanne said. “In Fahrenheit, that’s like, uh, what is it, Gwen?”

  “Twenty or twenty-five below, Fahrenheit,” I estimated. “Forty below is the same on both scales.”

  Adrian deigned to look at me. He raised one eyebrow and tilted his head.

  “Trust her,” Joanne said. “Gwen’s a genius.”

  Thanks, Joanne. Fat and a genius. I wonder why the guys don’t flock to me.

  Adrian turned his attention back to Joanne. “So, where can I get a block heater, Jo?”

  “Canadian Tire,” she said. “Hey, how’s about I meet you after school. If your car doesn’t start, I can give you a lift.”

  “Okay.” He was all smiles now.

  “No,” I said.

  “Why not?” said Joanne.

  “We have that thing after school.”

  “What thing?”

  I kicked her. “That thing.”

  “Oh. That thing.” She gave me a look that said we’d have to talk about this later. “Uh, sorry, Adrian. Another time?”

  “Sure.” Big smile, showing perfect white teeth. I bet he bleached them.

  Joanne checked her watch. “Oops. Forgot. I have a meeting before the next class.”

  “Let me guess,” Adrian said, still smiling. “Cheerleader?”

  “Debate Team,” Joanne said, with a perceptible edge to her voice.

  Adrian’s head jerked back, a bare millimeter, but enough for a Watcher to notice. “See you later, Jo,” he said, recovering.

  No way. Not while I was around. What a predator. He was not getting my cousin.

  Once Joanne was gone, I said, “Her name’s Joanne, by the way. Not Jo.”

  “I’ll try to remember that,” he replied, eyes narrowed. Then he turned his attention to his food. I had been dismissed.

  Jerk, I thought, getting up to leave.

  I looked back to see a half-puzzled, half-angry expression in his big baby blues. It was almost as if I’d spoken out loud. But I hadn’t. Had I?

  Adrian

  What’s with her, anyway? Telling me in that stuck-up voice, “Her name is Joanne, not Jo.” Then she calls me a jerk. If this is Canadian hospitality, I can do without it.

  I finish eating, then go out to the parking lot to run my car for a while to keep the engine from freezing. While it’s warming up, I call home.

  “Hello,” answers a male voice. Great. My father.

  “Is Mom there?”

  “She’s busy.” I hear Mom in the background, rattling dishes.

  “Tell Mom I’ll be home late. I’m going to Canadian Tire to get a block heater.”

  “Good idea,” says Dad. “I’ll reimburse you.”

  “Fair enough,” I say. “Since you’re the reason I need one.”

  That meets with hard silence. Dad’s not one for pissing matches. He lets the silence sink in, then says, “I’ll let your mother know you’ll be late.”

  His voice is as subzero as the wind that whips off the lake, freezing my fingers before I reach the warmth of the school.

  Gwen

  Had I called him a jerk out loud? That wasn’t like me. Maybe I’d muttered it under my breath. He made me so furious. The way he moved in on Joanne, repeating her name like some smarmy used car salesman, calling her “Jo” like they’d been friends for years.

  And Joanne, so naive, falling for him. Someone has to watch out for her. She has no sense where boys are concerned. Look at Conrad. All romantic gestures, flowers and chocolate and love notes. And Joanne fell for it. Meanwhile, she even looks at another guy and Conrad goes ballistic. Something wrong there.

  I drove slowly through town, heading for my work placement as a student photographer at Rocky Waters Press. It was a gorgeous day. Twenty-five below, deep blue sky, no wind. I reached the newspaper office and entered through the back door, leading to the presses. I loved the roar and rumble, the rush of papers speeding along the rolls, the inky smell of the fresh newsprint. I grabbed a paper, and checked out the photo on the front page.

  A house on fire, with flames reaching into the night. Please no. Don’t let this be happening.

  The cutline said: “House Destroyed By Early Morning Fire.” There was little else, except to say the Rocky Waters Volunteer Fire Department had responded quickly but was unable to put out the blaze.

  I stopped by Doug, my editor’s, office. “You busy?” I asked.

  “Hey, kiddo, grab a seat,” replied Doug, motioning with one ape-hairy arm at the chair in front of his battered oak desk.

  “Any more on this?” I asked, pointing to the photograph.

  “Police gave more details about an hour ago,” Doug said. “Sad story. Seven-year-old boy died. Parents out of town. Older sister supposed to be babysitting, but she was at her boyfriend’s place.”

  A small casket, its lid up and waiting.

  “You okay, kiddo?” Doug asked. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Um, fine,” I managed to say. “Uh, did the kid set the fire?”

  “Not unless he was playing with gasoline and a pile of rags in the basement,” Doug said.

  “Arson?”

  “Suspected arson,” he clarified. “Look, I’d like you to get a shot of the wreckage. We’ll run it tomorrow with the latest from the police.”

  He handed over my assignment sheet—take a photo of the burned-out house, get a few shots of the penny drive at the elementary school, and a photo of the monthly birthday party at the seniors’ center. Okay. I could do that. Take the shots, get the names, triple-check the spelling, turn in my photos and cutlines.

  “Oh, and Gwen? If the police are poking around the fire scene, try to get a statement, okay?”

  “Oh, no. I’m a photographer, not a reporter.”

  “C’mon, kiddo,” said Doug. “We’ve been through this before. Hard to make a living strictly as a photographer. You need to spread your wings.”

  No way. Watchers watch. They take pictures from behind the safety of the camera lens.

  Doug gave me directions to the house. Great. A country road. Narrow, treacherously icy, winding between rock cliffs and swamps. Not to mention the deer that leap across the road when you least expect them. Let’s hope I don’t crack up Mom’s old Volvo.

  After twenty minutes of white-knuckle driving, I crested a hill and there it was. The house I’d watched burn.

  At le
ast the police weren’t there. Small comfort.

  A vile stench hit me as I got out of the car, a combination of charred wood and scorched insulation. Only one corner of the house remained standing. I moved closer, holding my breath. There it was, hanging on the wall. A poster of a skull, bone-white on a black background.

  I wanted to jump back in the car and drive, get away, run. I reminded myself I had a job to do. I snapped off a dozen photos, catching the house from all angles. But I knew the shot Doug would choose.

  The skull, floating in blackness, framed by charred wood.

  Adrian

  Cold enough to freeze your balls. I’d always thought that was just an expression. Not at twenty-five below, it isn’t.

  I drive to Canadian Tire after school. My block heater will take an hour to install, so I decide to check out the town. Bad move. My sinus cavities fill with ice. My nose hairs are as brittle as glass. If I sneeze, they’ll shatter. And my toes? I’ll probably have to amputate.

  I pass a store called Freshly Ground. I go inside, order a triple espresso and gulp it down steaming hot. As I pay for the coffee, something happens. I feel shivery hot and sweaty cold, like an ice cube tossed on a sizzling grill. Beside the cash register, along with the candy bars and breath mints, is a collection of key chains. My hand closes on one.

  “How much?” I ask.

  “A toonie,” the woman responds.

  “A what?”

  “Two dollar coin. You new around here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thought so. Your accent, eh?”

  I’m thinking, I don’t have an accent. She does. But I say nothing as I hand her a two-dollar coin. It’s large and heavy, with a copper disc inside a nickel ring.

  “Here you go then. Have yourself a good one,” she says.

  I’m outside before I take a closer look at my purchase. A cheap plastic skull, about two inches long, is attached to the metal key ring. The skull’s moveable jaw drops down in an obscene grin. Its black eye sockets stare at me.

  I must be crazy. I toss the skull into a trash can and walk on.

  After half a block, I turn back. I stare into the trash. The skull grins up at me. Take me home, it says.

  “No way.” I walk away. And stop. Without understanding why, I pick the skull out of the trash. Half a dozen times in the next five blocks, I take it out and throw it away.

  But each time, it calls me back.

  TUESDAY, JANUARY 7

  Gwen

  Every Tuesday and Thursday, Joanne and I had opposite lunches. On these days, I ate alone, doing what I did best: Watching.

  I propped up my current novel, Pride and Prejudice, and dug into my spinach salad. Melissa and her entourage swept past and sat at the table next to me. A moment later, Adrian sauntered in, dressed in jeans and a light blue shirt, worn open over a dark T-shirt.

  Yeah, heads turned.

  Adrian favored me with a glance, but didn’t go so far as to nod or say hello. His left eyebrow rose in surprise when he saw the title of my book. As if I cared.

  “May I join you?” he asked Melissa, turning his back on me.

  Of course you can join her, I thought. Anyone, anywhere, anytime. That’s our Melissa.

  Melissa nearly fell off her chair moving over for him. Her friends shifted one down to accommodate Adrian. They reminded me of a gaggle of geese, all honking quietly. Melissa, the head goose, glared at them to shut up.

  “So,” Melissa said.

  “So,” Adrian replied. He tapped his fingers on the table. Nerves? Interesting.

  Abruptly, he stopped tapping, leaned toward Melissa and spoke in his sexy just-for-you voice. “Want to know a secret? I can read your mind.”

  Spare me.

  “Read my mind?” Melissa actually batted her eyelashes at him.

  “Sure. I’m psychic. I channel the basic life force of the universe,” he said.

  I nearly choked. Basic life force?

  “Give me your hand,” he crooned.

  Melissa complied. Adrian closed his eyes as if in deep concentration. “You’ve broken up with your boyfriend.”

  “That’s right. How did you know?” she gushed.

  Well, babe, might be the white spot on your hand where you took off the ring. Melissa had been dating Stone since grade eight, in an on-again, off-again relationship. Right now it was off. Melissa is high-maintenance.

  “He didn’t give you the love and attention you deserve,” Adrian continued.

  I inhaled a piece of spinach and coughed furiously to dislodge it. Adrian watched me, head tilted, eyebrow lifted.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Fine, thank you,” I replied with as much dignity as I could muster. I wasn’t finished eating, but I’d seen enough.

  Like seeks like. He was welcome to her.

  Adrian

  “Like seeks like?” I turn around, but she’s gone.

  “Huh?” Melissa says.

  “Is that a Canadian expression?” I ask.

  “Is what?”

  “Like seeks like.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Melissa said with a frown.

  “No. Gwen did.”

  Melissa gives me a blank stare. The other girls look at me as if I’m crazy. Whoa. Think fast.

  “Guess I read her mind,” I joke.

  They stare at me with mouths gaped open. They look like a bunch of birds, like geese or something.

  I almost expect them to honk.

  WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 8

  Gwen

  I’d had the strangest dream. A herd of deer crossed Bjorn Bay to reach the first island. Stalking them was a gray wolf. Symbolic. The deer are obviously Melissa and her group. And guess who is the wolf?

  Only it didn’t feel symbolic. It felt real. Like the dream of Adrian, the house fire, the skull, the dead child. What’s happening to me?

  I showered, pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and joined Mom in the car. She drove cautiously, creeping around corners and putt-putting along the icy sections.

  “We’re here,” she said, arriving at the bakery where she’d worked since high school. She got out and I slid into the driver’s seat. “Be careful,” she said.

  “I’ll be careful,” I promised. It was our morning ritual. Be careful of what, I wasn’t sure, but when I said the words some of the tightness eased in her face.

  I waited for the last minute to go to English class, dreading the fact that Adrian would be there. I needn’t have worried. He ignored me when I walked into the room.

  Arrogant jerk.

  At lunchtime, I was relieved to find Joanne alone at our table.

  “You sure you can eat all that?” Joanne asked by way of greeting. She pointed to my Caesar salad without dressing and my bottled water.

  “We can’t all eat like you, Joanne.”

  “Who peed in your cereal this morning?”

  “I didn’t have cereal this morning. Nothing else, either.”

  Joanne made an exasperated huffing noise. “How often do I have to say it? Read my lips. You are not fat.”

  “Read my lips,” I replied. “You’re my cousin. It’s your job to say that.”

  Joanne stewed for a minute, had a few bites of her chicken strips with barbeque sauce, then changed the subject. “So, I broke up with Conrad.”

  I glanced over at Conrad. He sat with the boys, his beetle-brown eyes trained on Joanne. He held his fork in a fist-like grip, mounding the macaroni and cheese on his plate and then mashing it down.

  “Looks as if he took it pretty hard,” I said.

  “Too bad. He told me he didn’t want me talking to Adrian. So I told him it’s over.” Joanne brushed her hands together in a dismissive gesture.

  In the next second, she caught sight of Adrian.

  “Hey, Adrian! Over here.” I kicked her under the table. She kicked me back. “What is wrong with you?” she hissed.

  I opened my mouth to answer, but Adrian arrived. He carried a lunc
h tray with tuna salad, yogurt, and an apple.

  “Hi, Jo,” he said, with his ultrabright smile.

  At the next table, Conrad stabbed his macaroni.

  “So, how’s our amazing mind reader?” Joanne asked.

  Adrian pulled the lid off his yogurt. A tiny bit splashed on his long-sleeved black shirt. He dabbed at it, frowned, and smiled at her. “I’m great. How are you, Jo?”

  Right then, if I could have shot a lightning bolt at him, I would have.

  “Joanne,” I said, “he can’t read minds.”

  “Sure he can,” said Joanne. “I heard he read Melissa’s mind yesterday.”

  I groaned. “Parlor tricks, Joanne. He makes general suggestions to people, watches their reactions, then plays on them. He’s a fake.”

  “I’m sitting right here, Gwen.” Adrian’s voice held an undercurrent of anger.

  “Fine. You’re a fake,” I said to his face.

  “Whoa, easy, boys and girls, no bickering,” Joanne said. “Let’s put it to the test. Here, Adrian, tell me what I’m thinking.”

  Adrian reached across the table toward Joanne. His shirt pulled back, revealing strong wrists, long fingers, and meticulously clean nails. He closed his eyes as if in deep concentration. “You are thinking you’d like to go to a movie with me tonight.”

  “No,” said Joanne. “I mean yes.”

  “Which is it?”

  “No, I was thinking about my History quiz. But, yes. I’d love to go to a movie with you.”

  “No,” I said, too loud, too fast.

  “Why not?”

  “Joanne has a boyfriend, right, Joanne?”

  “But, I—”

  I kicked her again.

  “Joanne already has a boyfriend,” I said to Adrian. I said each word slowly and clearly, so there would be no mistake.

  “A-a-l-l-l r-i-i-ight.” He drew the words out, mimicking me. Mocking me. I wanted to kick him, too, only hard.

  Then he gave Joanne his big, fake smile. “I can wait my turn.”

  Yeah, in a pig’s patootie, I thought.

  Adrian’s head whipped around. For a second, I thought he’d heard me. His eyes held me, immobilized me, like an animal in a leg-hold trap.

  “You’re afraid of me.” He made it a statement. A challenge.

  “No.” But my pulse raced.