Ice Cold

They. Plural. This was sounding worse and worse. The poker-faced secretary, as usual, gave nothing away-just kept tapping at her keyboard. Pausing outside Gorchinski’s door, he prepared himself for whatever punishment was waiting. I probably deserve it, he thought, and stepped into the room.

“There you are, Julian. You have visitors,” said Gorchinski. Smiling. This was new and different.

The boy looked at the three people who were seated across from Gorchinski. He already knew Beverly Cupido, his new caseworker, and she, too, was smiling. What was with all the friendly faces today? It made him nervous, because he knew that the cruelest of blows too often came with a smile.

“Julian,” said Beverly, “I know it’s been really rough for you this year. Losing your mother and sister. All those questions about the deputy. And I know you were disappointed that Dr. Isles wasn’t approved as a foster parent.”

“She wanted to have me,” he said. “She said I could live with her in Boston.”

“That wasn’t an appropriate situation for you. For either one of you. We have to weigh the circumstances, and think about your welfare. Dr. Isles lives alone and she has a very demanding job, sometimes with night call. You’d be left alone far too much, without any supervision. It’s not the sort of arrangement that a boy like you needs.”

A boy who should be in juvie hall was what she meant.

“That’s why these people have come to see you,” said Beverly, gesturing to the man and woman who had risen from their chairs to greet him. “To offer you an alternative. They represent the Evensong School in Maine. A very good school, I might add.”

Julian recognized the man as someone who had come to visit him while he was still in the hospital. That had been a confusing time, when he’d been foggy with pain meds, and there’d been detectives and nurses and social workers trooping through his hospital room. He didn’t remember the man’s name, but he definitely remembered those laser eyes, which were now fixed on him with such intensity that he felt all his secrets were suddenly laid bare. Discomfited by that gaze, Julian looked instead at the woman.

She was in her thirties, ski

“Hello, Julian,” the woman said. Smiling, she held out her hand to shake his, as if she were meeting an equal. An adult. “My name is Lily Saul. I teach the classics.” She paused, noting his blank look. “Do you know what I mean by that?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. No.”

“It’s history. The history of ancient Greece and Rome. Very fascinating stuff.”

His head drooped. “I got a D in history.”

“Maybe I can change that. Have you ever ridden a chariot, Julian? Swung a Spanish sword, the sword of the Roman army?”

“You do that at your school?”

“All that and more.” She saw his chin suddenly tilt up in interest, and she laughed. “You see? History can be a lot more fun than you thought. Once you remember it’s about people, and not just about boring dates and treaties. We’re a very special school, in a very special setting. Lots of fields and woods, so you can even bring your dog if you’d like. I believe his name is Bear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We also have a library that any college would envy. And teachers who are among the best in their fields, from all around the world. It’s a school for students who have special talents.”

He didn’t know what to say. He looked at Gorchinski and Beverly. They were both nodding approvingly.

“Does Evensong sound like a school that might interest you?” said Lily. “A place you might want to attend?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Julian said. “Are you sure you’re talking to the right Perkins? There’s a Billy Perkins in this school.”

Amusement flickered in the woman’s eyes. “I’m absolutely certain I have the right Perkins boy. Why would you think you’re not the one we want?”

Julian sighed. “The truth is, my grades aren’t all that good.”

“I know. We’ve looked at your transcript.”

Again he glanced at Beverly, wondering what the trick was. Why such a privilege was being offered to him.

“It’s a great opportunity,” said his caseworker. “A year-round boarding school with top academic standards. A full scholarship. They have only fifty students, so you’d get plenty of attention.”

“Then why do they want me?”

His plaintive question hung for a moment unanswered. It was the man who finally spoke.

“Do you remember me, Julian?” he said. “We’ve met.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy found himself shrinking under the man’s piercing gaze. “You came to see me at the hospital.”

“I’m on the board of trustees at Evensong. It’s a school I deeply believe in. A school for unique students. Young people who’ve proven themselves extraordinary in some way.”

“Me?” The boy laughed in disbelief. “I’m a thief. They told you that, didn’t they?”

“Yes, I know.”

“I broke into houses. I stole stuff.”

“I know.”

“I killed a deputy. I shot him.”

“To stay alive. It’s a talent, you know. Just knowing how to survive.”

Julian’s gaze drifted to the window. Below was the school courtyard, where cliques of students were huddled together in the cold, laughing and gossiping. I’ll never be part of their world, he thought. I’ll never be one of them. Is there anywhere in the world where I belong?

“Ninety-nine percent of kids wouldn’t have lived through what you did,” said the man. “Because of you, my friend Maura is alive.”

Julian looked at the man with sudden comprehension. “This is because of her, isn’t it? Maura asked you to take me.”

“Yes. But I’m also doing it for Evensong. Because I think you’ll be an asset to us. An asset to…” He stopped. It was in that silence where the real answer lay. An answer that the man chose at that moment not to reveal. Instead, he smiled. “I’m sorry. I never properly introduced myself, did I? My name is Anthony Sansone.” He extended his hand. “May we welcome you to Evensong, Julian?”

The boy stared at Sansone, trying to read his eyes. Trying to understand what was not being said. Principal Gorchinski and Beverly Cupido were both smiling cluelessly, oblivious to the strange current of tension in the room, a subaudible hum that told him there was more to the Evensong School than Lily Saul and Anthony Sansone were telling him. And that his life was about to change.

“Well, Julian?” said Sansone. His hand was still extended.

“My name is Rat,” the boy said. And he took the man’s hand.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Writing is a lonely profession, but I am far from alone. I am fortunate to have the help and support of my husband, Jacob; my literary agent, Meg Ruley; and my editor, Linda Marrow. I owe thanks as well to Selina Walker at Transworld; to Brian McLendon, Libby McGuire, and Kim Hovey at Ballantine; and to the lively and wonderful crew at the Jane Rotrosen Agency.