Turning around, I flick my wrist and laugh as I watch a murky green oil truck flip twice, crash and burn, the flames licking away at the metal container. I hear an explosion as my nostrils burned from the scent of gasoline. My eyes searchlights as I scan my surroundings. Flames. Purple, golden yellow, sunset and orange. Beautiful. My lip twitched as I try to veil my smile. My crooked smile.
I sat up in bed with a gasp, my black hair wisping around my face. I glance at my alarm, still set for seven, but it’s only two forty-two. Exhaling a groan, I collapse back to my fluffy pillow, sent from my Aunt Jeane, and I embrace it.
Curious, I wriggled my fingers, gazing at my purple nails dark against my pastel skin. Nope, no destruction. I laughed at my naiveté. Closing my lids, I saw flames and knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep with that visualization in my psyche. Swinging my legs over the bed, I pace the floor. Stupid, stupid dream.
Write it down and get it out of your head, then, dumbass.
My subconscious raises his eyes at me and purses his lips.
I trail through my notebook, looking for a blank page. Finally, I discover one, right beside my poem about a little boy in a blue hat, a project I had yet to complete-
“Once upon a time there was a girl with midnight hair…” I whispered to myself. How exceedingly childlike I feel, writing at three-thirty in the morning over some nightmare.
“She woke up one day with an evil power…” My pencil is racing across the paper when I remember the burning truck.
“She was always in a dream state at night… only getting flashes of that memory in the morning… that was when she set the city on fire.” I wince. “But the firefighters snuffed it out and took away her powers no more flames the end.” I rush, wanting to kill the story so I could sleep. Reading it over, I scoff. It’s going to be a best-seller children’s book for sure. Ripping out the paper with a satisfying tear, I throw it against my pale green walls. Green is supposed to be a relaxing color, a calming color…
Bzzzz!
My phone vibrates somewhere near the corner of the room.
Bzzzz!
On my hands and knees, I investigate the scene, looking for my phone. I didn’t want to wake up my sister, the only other person in the house whose room was just beyond the thin walls.
“Where are you?” Hands groping, my fingers slam into my dresser, bruising them. “Shit…!”
Bzzzz!
“There!” I snatch the phone from underneath my sheets where it had been hiding, and flip it open. Aunt Jeane had given it to me for my birthday last year, with rainbow colored gems already glued to the top. I was never able to scrape any off, but I managed to make the cellular device look twice as ugly as it had been before. I sigh. The screen read:
Eneile? You up?
I smile. Phoenix was my first friend at my old school, and was the only one who still ever kept in contact with me. I used to have friends, but when I moved in with my sister, they drifted away like a light buoy, some were heavier, others… not so much.
Yah. I type. My fingers are slow. I almost never use the phone.
How’s Boston
Boring. I don’t know anybody here.
You should come and visit soon. Or I could visit you?
No, I’ll come to Juneau. You wouldn’t like Boston. Rich snobs.
I see. Phoenix replies.
I’m tired. Night.
Night.
I don’t mean to be so curt with Phoenix, really, I don’t.
Don’t you? My subconscious snorts and goes back to reading his Sunday paper.
Glancing at the clock, I notice it’s four. To make a point, the clock clicks to four oh-one, trying to make me go to sleep.
I did feel drained. Just thinking about another day at Airway Prep makes me shudder and ruin myself of energy. Distracted from my conversation with Phoenix and images of Juneau behind my lids, I quickly go under, the crumpled piece of paper on the floor forgotten.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Ugh. Even in partial unconsciousness, I know my alarm’s blaring. Snapping my eyes open, I hit my alarm with a curled fist and growl. It was luring to pretend to be ill and miss school, but there was a biology test today that I didn’t feel like making-up for. Groaning, I stretch up, take a hasty, sloppy shower, and then strut over to my closet to look for something to wear. I swathe my black shoulder-length hair into a towel and browse my scarce collection. I settled for a pair of gray skinnies, my ever-present converse, and a Beatles tee.
Retro.
Shut up, subconscious.
Walking over to my mirror, I put on some liner. Then un-wrapping the towel, situate a clip up by one of my deep amethyst highlights. My sister and I had them done together before we moved to Boston
“Annie will go with you.” Mike crosses his arms and glares at me over his glasses. “If you can’t stand being in the house, move in with your sister.” Annie is a college major. I thought it would be best if someone older came along, me being a mere sixteen-year-old adolescent. I let her decide where we would move and she, majoring in democratic politics, opted for Boston.
I added gray eye shadow to go with my mood.
“Eneile! Time to leave!”
Snapping out of my flashback, I snatch my bag and allow myself a last check-over and smile. The Airhead preps wouldn't be thrilled, but I am. Why should I give in? I treasured my style and was going to keep it. I didn't care about their snickers and backwards glances and glares.
“Eneile!”
Rushing out my door covered in photographs, I welcome Annie in the hallway, who’s twirling her ring of car keys around her index finger, impatiently.
“Hey, Ann.”
“Mhm.” Annie obviously didn’t have time for her crack-of-dawn coffee special.
We both sauntered into her huge gray pick-up, me struggling because of my petite size- and she starts driving. It is a sun-drenched day today in Boston, with an exception of a few puffy clouds. Not a bad start.
“Stay up late?” Annie questioned, “You seem tired.”
“I guess you could say that.” I groused. Thank you, Ann, for reminding me of my most splendid dream. Real treat. Thanks. Annie gives me a blessing, not pressing the issue. She -telling from my evasiveness- knows I’m not in the mood to confess anything.
I lean my head alongside the taciturn window. The glass is a bit chilled from the morning weather but my forehead upgrades it nicely. I let my lids droop as the cherry trees and occasional hedge maple whizz by, oblivious to my watching eye.
“Well… have a good day.” Annie slows the car to a halt in the school lot and lets it idle.
“Bye. Thanks for the ride!” I try my best cheeky smile.
“Mhm.”
I leap off the dark gray truck and wave to Annie as she steers out of the parking lot, maneuvering around a gaggle of students and leaving me alone to face another day in Airway’s red brick walls. Sighing, I twist around, bumping into something solid.
Way to go, short-stuff.
“Ah!” I trip over a shoelace and plummet to the pavement, scraping my hands in the process. I gaze up to the sky, dazed.
“Sorry.”
Glancing up, I see a boy, probably seventeen; holding a muscled arm out to me. I grab his hand and he hauls me up from the ground, supporting all of my weight, however slight it is.
“Um, thanks.” I mumble lowly, and begin to amble away, brushing grime off my jacket and swinging my bag over a shoulder. The bag’s heavy and cuts into my shoulder blade, but I ignore it.
“Hey, wait.” The boy grips my arm and twirls me around. I’m surprised by the touch, and shove his arm away, but hold his gaze for a few moments before returning it to my shoes.
“What?” My patience tank was running on empty, lately.
“I’m new here and terribly lost. I was wondering if you might show me round.”
He’s cute.
No, he’s annoying.
Don’t deny it.
Well call me O.J.
He’s looking at you.
I flip my eyes back up to meet his gaze. He features scream ‘puzzled.’ Oh yeah,
he’s waiting for some kind of answer. Why not. For all I know, it could brighten up my day considerably if I show this kid around. I might even make a friend.
“Sure.” I reply.
He beams, cheek to cheek, and picks up a brown bag to swing it over his shoulder. The boy has a cute beaten leather jacket-
Told you he’s cute.
-and dressed comfortably in a navy V-necked tee and jeans.
“But I have to warn you,” I linger, “I’ve only been here a few weeks, so don’t expect me to tell you all about this place.”
“I understand…a… what did you say your name was?” He stares with silvery eyes that are breathtaking.
“I didn’t. My name’s Eneile.”
“Sam.” His smile’s radiant, seeming to catch the light on all his perfect rows. You’re ogling. You hardly ever ogle.
“Nice to meet you, too, Sam.” I managed to stutter. His smile grows ever wider. The wind blew and there was a sudden chill. I shiver. I left my coat at home. I speed-walk towards the school.
“Come on, it’s cold out here.” I yell over my shoulder at Sam. He caught up with me in a few long strides. It was then I noticed that he was about a foot taller than me.
“So where do we start?” Sam asked as he opens the door for me into Airway’s front hallway. Crap. Do I know anything about junior classes?
Do you even know if he’s a junior, dumbass?
Looks like it. I would just have to show him the basics. Some tour guide I am.
“Well,” I started, “We have ten minutes until first period, so we won’t be able to get to do much.”
He nods. Whew, good recovery. Now I had an excuse not to show him any of his classes.
“Follow me.
I lead Sam to the cafeteria overflowing with students lounging around at the spherical tables, probably cramming in last minute study sessions for today’s tests, Airhead-style.
“Hmmm.” Sam scans the student body. I’d gamble my decreasing college fund that Sam’s acknowledging how different I was from the others. He didn’t turn to disappear and talk to some prep-dressed jock, or the slutty, over-cleavaged cheerleaders, as I expected him to, but turns to me.
“Do you know where the library is?” He asks.
“Of course,” I answer, shocked he would want to know. “Do you like books?”
“I find them irresistible.” He alleged, “Some more than others.”
Some more than others? Okay. At least one person I know shared my passion for reading.
“This way.” I head up a curving staircase to the second floor and he pursues close behind. Sometimes, I find myself lost in Airway Prep’s vast square footage, but I committed the route to the library to memory, which was simple anyway. Go up the curved staircase, across the hall, the double doors are on your right.
“So… nice weather.” Sam spoke politely, breaking the silence growing between us.
“Hah. Quite.” I say, trying to be amusing, “For Boston, I guess.” There is a window set in the bloodshot brick of the wall. Ashy clouds are shaping over the sky like a bulky blanket, polar opposite of this morning.
“You mentioned you’ve only been here a few weeks?” Sam commented. His tone is awkward so I try to be light.
“Yup.” It was easier to talk to him when I wasn’t looking at his face. I’m tempted to sneak a peek, but think better of it.
So you want him to think you’re a social harpy?
“Where did you move from?” Not at all a tone of curiosity, just trying to keep up a conversation I am failing to even start.
“Juneau
Eneile, you are so remarkably intelligent with your one-worded answers. Leave it to you to bore the boy.
“Alaska
“You?” I wondered where he used to live before moving to this monotonous city.
“Oh, I just switched schools.”
“Why?” Was he tired of it? Too smart? Does he have friends here?
He probably got into trouble.
Sam decides not to answer. I glance over at him and he’s eyeing the window encased in the wall. The sun has been swallowed by the dark clouds now, it starts to drizzle.
“Yah… nice weather.” I mention, trying to change the subject.
“Hm.” He seems elusive on the subject, so I decide to pull an Annie. Sneaky-ambiguous.
“Well, here’s the library…” I struggle to open the heavy wooden doors and he relieves me, opening them with ease. We amble noiselessly into the library. Sam no longer seems involved in the library. His face has turned into a scowl. Have I upset him?
He’s pissed at you.
“Hello, Eneile.” whispers Ms. Crout, the librarian. I smile. She’s very stern about the Whisper Law, even though Sam and I are most likely to be the only other beings in this part of the school.
“Hello, Ms. Crout.” I whisper back, and pass her a little wave. Sam’s amused by this.
“And who’s your friend?” Ms. Crout queries. I blush cumbersomely.
“This is Sam,” I answer. “He’s a new student here.”
“Welcome to Airway Prep, Sam.” She whispers.
“Thank you, Ms. Crout.” Sam gives her a breath-taking smile, all teeth.
Ms. Crout fiddles with her glasses nervously and somersaults through some pages that looked important but probably had no value whatsoever.
“Yes, okay, um,” stutters Ms. Crout, “Would you like to check out some books?”
“Not for me, thank you.” Sam glances at me out of the corner of an eye.
“I might enjoy one or two.” I manage to say under his gaze and stroll over to the section of novels. In reality, I don’t really want nor need any more books, but there was no where else I could take Sam, besides maybe the sophomores’ classrooms, and I hadn’t a clue where they were. Browsing through the shelves, I spot one that sparks my interest. It stands resolute against all the other book’s spines. I pluck it from its place on the shelf, rubbing off a layer of thick, choking dust. It’s a thick book with a plain black cover. No title. Without reading the summary, if there was one, I briskly walkover to the librarian’s desk and passed the hardback to Ms. Crout.
“That’s an interesting choice, Ms. Soole.” She bleeps the book along the scanner and kindheartedly tells me to punch in my ID number on the key pad.
“Is it?” I asked as I tap in the six digit code.
“Certainly,” She responded, “I’ve read it about three times myself. It’s very intriguing.”
A telephone dings and Ms. Crout retorts with a brisk “hello” before I can pose any questions, like why a book wouldn’t have a title. Situating the book in my bag, I turn back to Sam. He was staring at me, eyes bulged wide. It was then that I finally notice he hadn’t followed me back to the desk. Sam is standing right were the book I just check out should have been, but he’s staring at its empty, dust-award-worthy space.
“What?” I whisper, alarmed. Sam’s face melts and becomes a serine mask. The glare never verdures from his eyes, though.
“Nothing.” He slurs, seething. That doesn’t seem like nothing, something you could just brush off your shoulder like an unwanted piece of lint. He speaks calmly, too calmly. I question him with my eyes, hoping he could detect my signal.
The bell rings, ending a conversation I so badly crave to finish. Sam’s eyes sweep from me to the book in my hand, and back again, then over to Ms. Crout, who is still speaking animatedly into the phone.
“Sam? Is there… something wrong?” I asked. He seemed so distraught. Sam’s eyes flickered with something I didn’t identify. Realization? Fear? Then started to run. He was halfway to the door when he suddenly stopped, hand clenching the handle. Then he marched back to me.
“Open the book.” He demanded in a clipped voice.
“What? Why?” My hands gripped the book tighter. What could he possibly want so badly in a book he could have checked out himself?
“Just open it.” He said darkly. He was starting to scare me. Was he unstable? Maybe he had been expelled from his former school…
I quickly tuck the book into my backpack.
Run away.
“Ms. Soole? And, um- Sam?” We both curved toward Ms. Crout, broken from our tense little bubble.
“You’d better get to class. You’re already late and the clock’s ticking. I’ll write a pass for both of you. First period, correct?”
I glanced at Sam, who was fuming and eyeing hungrily at the exposed book, which was peeking its apparently important head over the rim of my bag.
“Do you want me to walk you to your first class?” I asked timidly, even though I probably had no clue where it was. I wanted answers.
“No. I’ll find my way alone, thank you.” He glowered at me one more time with his crystal clear, silver eyes, opened the door, and then practically tripped down the staircase. He seemed so tense. Anxious. I wrestled back frustrated tears and ran after him, tripping over my own feet. When I finally appeared at the last stair I took in the vacant room-
He had vanished into the air.
End of Chapter One.
End of Chapter One.
I loved it I can´t wait for the rest I´m going to start on ep 2 now and wait hungry for the next
ReplyDeleteDr.Isabella Cullen