Wax by Gina Damico

Author:Gina Damico
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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Poppy wrangled Wax Crawford into the car without much ado, without the painful awareness of how open and exposed she was, how high the potential for embarrassment. In a former life​—​like, three days ago​—​she might have been terrified of getting mocked by Blake Bursaw, but now she was so focused on the task at hand that she didn’t care.

Besides, Blake wasn’t anywhere to be found. She still hadn’t seen him.

And for the first time ever, she realized she wanted to.

She paused at the school entrance and looked back at the parking lot. Blake’s car was not in it.

Maybe he’s sick, she thought as she walked back to class. Maybe he’s . . .

But she couldn’t think of any other reason why Blake wouldn’t be there. He’d told her he’d see her at school. He’d said he would call her back. Neither of those things had happened.

Something clenched in Poppy’s chest. And then something else clenched harder at the thought that Blake Bursaw’s well-being was something clenchable.

This distraction followed her all the way into biology, a class where she was typically distracted enough by the Greek god at the front of the room. Today, though, her thoughts drifted not to the noble pursuit of mentally undressing her teacher, but to the mysteries surrounding the candle factory.

Madame Grosholtz/Tussaud was made of wax, she jotted down in her notebook. And so are the Chandlers. But what does any of this have to do with Big Bob and Miss Bea?

She paused, her pen hovering above her notebook. She was supposed to be taking notes on how viruses replicate, but so far all she’d done was sketch out some blobby circles, turn those blobby circles into the dreamy blue eyes of Mr. Crawford, scribble it all out, and go back to thinking about the message in the candle.

Madame Grosholtz said that souls can be put into the forms of flames.

One fire, many flames.

One fire, many flames.

“Poppy?”

She looked up. Mr. Crawford was staring down at her, worried. “Are you having an asthma attack?”

“What?”

“You’re breathing heavily. Are you all right?”

Poppy forced herself to exhale and regain a normalish composure. She looked around the empty classroom. Class had ended, and she hadn’t noticed or heard the bell. “I’m fine. Just . . . got so wrapped up in the magic of horrific diseases. And​—​and​—” There had to be a better way out of this. “And guess what? My parents said yes to hosting an exchange student!”

“Really? That’s wonderful!” His grin lit up the room. “Of course, there are still a multitude of steps between saying yes and finally receiving a student.” Oh? Poppy thought as he hurried to his desk and pulled out a thick folder. You mean they don’t come pre-stuffed into your trunk? “Here’s the informational packet,” he said, handing her the folder. “The exchange agreement is in there, along with some FAQs, expected responsibilities of the host family, all that fun stuff. Once that’s taken care of, we can begin the process of getting you matched with a student.

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