Maureen Johnson - The Name of the Star

“ That’s her phone? How old is that thing?”

He reached for it, but I moved it aside.

“Shouldn’t you be studying?” I asked.

“I’m supposed to be meeting with my Latin group. But there are only five of us, and three left school.”

“Chickens.”

“Audaces fortuna iuvat.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Fortune favors the brave,” both he and Alistair said at the same time.

Jerome shifted around a bit so that we were arm to arm and leg to leg.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Why are you up here sitting on the floor?”

“It’s quiet,” I said. “And I just like floors.”

I think Jerome was prepared to take anything I said at that moment as a flirtatious remark. He had that look on his face that indicated that hormone levels were high and the time was right. Under any other circumstances, I would have been delighted. At the moment, I wasn’t feeling much of anything. I’d exhausted my supply of emotions.

“Oh, God,” Alistair said.

“Sorry,” I replied.

“Sorry for what?”

That was Jerome.

“I thought I . . . scratched you,” I lied. “With my nail.”

“Just do it,” Alistair said tiredly. “It happens all the time. I’m used to it.”

“Are you all right?” Jerome asked, his face close to mine. He sounded so English. Awl riiight. I didn’t answer. I kissed him.

Our previous making out had been a little frenzied. Today was different. We pressed our lips together and held them there. I could feel the warm air from his nose as he breathed in and out. We kissed each other’s necks. I started to warm up a bit and gave in to the slow molasses that was creeping back through my veins. Kissing is something that makes up for a lot of the other crap you have to put up with in school, and as a teenager in general. It can be confusing and weird and awkward, but sometimes it just makes you melt and forget everything that is going on. You could be in a burning building or a bus about to fall off a cliff. It doesn’t matter, because you are just a puddle. I was a puddle on the library floor, kissing the guy with the curly hair.

“Could you not roll on top of me, though?” Alistair asked. “I was here first.”

When the bell went off, signifying what would have been the end of the period had it been a normal school day, we both jumped a little and blinked. Alistair had gotten up and moved away to another corner, and I heard some sniggering in our general direction. We emerged from the library bleary-eyed and collars crooked. The three police cars had turned into two police cars and four much larger vans. There were also people coming in twos and threes and fours carrying signs and candles.

“There’s going to be a vigil tonight,” Jerome said, adjusting his prefect’s tie. “On the Mary Kelly murder site. It’s just a few streets over. Supposed to be thousands of people.”

The sun was already retreating, and the crowds were coming. The Ripper, the Ripper, the Ripper.

We went right next door to the refectory. Jerome held my hand. This did not go unnoticed. It wasn’t mentioned either. But I saw it register. I was suddenly starving and took a heavy helping of fish pie. I ate with one hand, and with the other I held Jerome’s hand under the table. There was just a trace of sweat on his brow. It made me proud. I caused that sweat.

And life was good for about half an hour.

“So there’s some speculation on where tonight is going to happen,” Jerome said. “Because it’s going to be indoors, right? A lot of people are saying hotel, because of all the tourists . . .”

My good mood exploded. Pop. Gone.

He went on for a good ten minutes about the various odds on locations for that night’s murder. I took it as long as I could.

“I have to call my parents,” I said, getting up. I shelved my tray roughly and joined the many people who were heading out.

The stupid misting rain had started up again. I could see it under the orangey glow of the lights along the green and in front of the school. Loads more people were around the school now, the people with their signs and the police officers and the handful of press people who had decided to use the previous murder site as a place to broadcast.

“Hey!” Jerome called. “Wait! Rory!”

“It’s not a game,” I said, turning around.

“I know that,” he replied. “Look, I know you were a witness. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t know anything,” I snapped.

I regretted it even as I said it, but the simple fact was—something had to give. The kissing had distracted me for a little while, but reality was back.

Jerome looked at me in confusion and shook his head, unable to come up with the words.

“I’m going back,” he said. “I’ve got desk duty all night.”

I watched him as he cut across the square, turning up the collar of his blazer against the rain and stopping only to adjust his messenger bag.

Stephen was standing by the door in his uniform. I noticed Callum as well, also in a police uniform. It took me a moment; the helmet was low over his face. Usually, Stephen wore a police sweater, a dark V-neck with epaulettes on the shoulders. Tonight, he and all of the other officers, including Callum, were wearing heavy tactical vests covered in tiny pockets. Stephen gave me a nod as I went in.

There was a mild commotion in the common room. It turned out to be a group of people gathered around Boo, who had triumphantly returned in a wheelchair. It’s not that Boo had been hugely popular or anything, but she had been hit by a car and she had come back in a wheelchair. That kind of thing draws a crowd. Jo, I noticed, was standing just behind the chair, her arms politely crossed. I didn’t even go in to greet them. I went right upstairs.

I had promised my parents a call after dinner, so I went upstairs to take care of that. They extracted some very serious promises from me that I would remain in the locked building surrounded by all the police officers. Bristol, from the sound of it, was also under a state of high alert, as were most of the major cities. Would the Ripper suddenly cross the country? Would copycat killers join in? It seemed like people didn’t want London to have all the fun. Everyone deserved to share the fear.

I got off the phone as soon as I could and shut my eyes. I heard Jazza come in.

“Did you see Boo?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“You didn’t come in to say hello. And Jerome was wandering around out in front of the building looking upset.”

“Argument,” I said.

“You’re not saying very much.”

I felt her sit on the end of the bed.

“Everyone is scared, Rory,” she said.

The impulse to scream was very great, but I held it down. Screaming at Jazza would be bad. I just kept my eyes closed and rubbed my face.

“You should go down and say hello,” she said.

“I will.”

Jazza was disappointed in me. I could tell from her light-asair sigh and the way she got up and went out without saying another word. I’d managed a trifecta—Alistair, Jerome, Jazza. Really, the only three people at Wexford I had any special bond with. If this was going to be my last night, I’d done a great job so far.

The dark had come, and Ripper night was here.

30

IT WAS A LONG NIGHT, AND I WASN’T SURE WHAT WAS worse—the terror I was just managing to keep at bay or the boredom. We sat in that study room for six straight hours. Boo tried to keep me entertained by reading to me about celebrities, mostly English ones that I’d only recently learned the names of. My butt went numb from sitting. My back hurt from the chair. The air in the tiny study room got stale, and I grew to hate the powder blue walls.