Little 15 (Cities In Dust)

by L. D. Wosar

  LITTLE 15

  CITIES IN DUST: BOOK ONE

  L.D. Wosar

  Copyright © 2021 by L.D. Wosar

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Art by Mikki Noble

  Formatting by Inked Imagination Author Services

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Books by LD Wosar

  Follow LD Wosar

  My granddaughter, Sophie, has always been one of my biggest supporters of anything I write. However, she cannot read any of my works until she is much older. I wrote Little 15 with her in mind and she had been excited about the book. Sophie was my muse for the character, Sammie Flowers and happy to say, this amazing child’s spirit will live on in the literary world.

  THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR

  The month of December in Atlanta was never white, but there was enough red and green all over the city to get the residents into the mindset it was the most wonderful time of the year. Hey, so long as I got my iPad for Christmas, I was good!

  Every year, Sabrina Weston throws a holiday party at her parent’s elaborate home on the outskirts of Atlanta, and it surprised me that I was invited since I was not in that circle of popular people. Yet, I was too excited to wonder about their intentions, and to hear that Cameron Tobac was going to be there only enhanced that excitement. He was one of the pops, a shortened version of, obviously, the populars. Cameron was a jock, and I learned he played every sport known to man. He was also super cute and I’ve had a huge crush on him for months. However, I never got that close to him. Cameron was always surrounded by his chums and there was always a new girl every month on his arm; unfortunately, I wasn’t one of those chosen ones.

  In 2019, I was a transfer student from Nash High in Nashville to Rockmore here in Georgia. I wish not to dwell on that fiasco during PE. I want to get back to the boy who haunted my dreams on a daily basis. Cameron showed me around on my first day, I immediately crushed on him since the beginning of my freshman year at Rockmore High School. Cameron was pleasant enough, yet after that brief few minutes, he never spoke two words to me or looked in my direction. I may as well have been a bug throughout Freshman year. I was a sophomore now, and felt he still acted as though I didn’t exist, yet he existed to me. In my dreams. Admittedly, I was a glutton for punishment and there was no harm in dreaming about what I wish would happen, although, realistically, I’d always be that bug to him. Tonight was the night that I would muster the courage to approach him at the party. I had to let him know how I felt with the hopes he’d finally notice me.

  My father dropped me off, reminding me and my friend, Michaela, that he’d be back at eleven to pick us up. Dressed to the nines, we walked up the huge estate with pride. We thought we looked hot and joked about it until we walked in to see wall to wall populars. There was no one else like us, no outcasts, no geeks, nothing but the jerks and cheerleaders who taunt us on the daily. “Something doesn’t smell right, Mikki.” I told Michaela to take her hand in mine...and here come the cracks about being the L word. We were besties with one thing in common, we were both witches, our best kept secret. I was able to ignore their comments. Mikki on the other hand was slowly becoming shaken and bothered by this. No matter how much I urged her to stay calm and ignore them, I could see the trepidation build in her chocolate orbs. Sabrina brought over some swag bags, filled with some pretty elaborate gifts like expensive cologne, Marc Jabobs I think, as well as travel bags stuffed with Smashbox cosmetics and some expensive lotions. This girl spared no expense. This made our night, but Sabrina still treated us like we were bugs and called out to a couple of her cheerleader besties.

  After much encouragement, I told Mikki to mingle and enjoy the festivities. I did the same, though choosing to be a wallflower as I nursed my Solo cup of Coke Zero. Granted there was alcohol flowing, but I chose to respect my parents’ wishes and not drink. When I thought I was succeeding at hiding, two of the Barbies came over and told me that Cameron was asking about me, feeding me a bag of lies about how much he liked me but was too afraid to approach me. Being the dunderhead I was, I believed them and followed them outside where a small crowd stood, laughing and shouting.

  “Hey, look there’s the drunk girl’s nerdy friend,” Cameron called out and as I walked in between the crowd, there was Michaela. Her dress was soiled after she got sick, her head bobbing and it was apparent she was completely drunk. The closer I got to her, this was not the sign of a normal drunk person. Her complexion was purple, she couldn’t breath and I tried to pull her off the chair, but these bullies had her bound at the wrists and ankles.

  “Who did this to her?” The crowd laughed and not one person owned up to what was done to Mikki. I stood up, feeling the heat of my fury run through my veins. “I am going to ask, WHO DID THIS TO HER?” It was the same response as before, until I waved my hands, sending a couple full kegs of beer into the crowd. They all ducked. I heard them cursing and the taunting was now directed at me, calling me witch or freak, who knows. All I remember, it only made me angrier, and I lifted two of the football players off the ground, crashing them into one another. It wasn’t until Cameron ordered me to stop with fear in his eyes. “Please, Sammie, stop!” He urged me and I was immediately centered. “Your friend…” I turned to notice Michaela wasn’t moving. She drank too much and rather than these people doing anything to help her, they killed her. I wanted them dead, as a Christmas gift to Michaela, but it would only make matters worse. I cried out, running out of the house with my bag of swag, a consolation prize for them killing my only friend. I called 9-1-1 and my father, but I was under scrutiny, accused of murdering her. I was interrogated for hours and had no issues with dropping names, since they didn’t deserve to be given that respect.

  After I was expelled from school, my father had no choice but to look for other work. He was immediately offered a position in Santa Barbara, California. The fresh start in California was an exciting thought; however, in the back of my mind, it will be the same vicious cycle as it had been in Tennessee and Georgia.

  SAMMIE FLOWERS - THE OUTCAST

  The Cure blasting from my iPod drowned out, what I’m sure, was some mindless adult conversation between my parents. I guess it was something for them to do to kill time while we’ve been stuck in this car for days. We are heading from Atlanta to California, which is five days stuck in my father’s SUV and having to sleep in various hotels. Mind you, my father is loaded and wouldn’t be satisfied staying at some roach motel on the side of the highway. It was always some $500 a night swankfest with all the perks. The only downside was sharing a room with my ten-y
ear-old brother, Brant. He is a great kid though his communication was lacking, and we’d spend the nights in silence as he played whatever on his Nintendo Switch while I fought to get good reception on the Wi-Fi the hotels offered. I was a teenager with nothing in common with Brant. Our relationship is perfect, he gives me space, and I pretend he doesn’t exist.

  My father, Marcus, is an architect and claimed he’d been offered a position in Santa Barbara. After five different cities in two years, I know the actual reason is because of me. Let me tell you something about me, and you’ll hear the reason I have issues staying enrolled for an entire school year. I am a witch or, a more eloquent term, a sorceress, something I think I inherited from one of my ancestors. It was all my mother, Melody, would tell me every time I’d ask. Neither of my parents were casters, so it’s a mystery how I became a witch or caster, or whatever you want to call it. Sometimes I wish I was a normal girl; being a witch is more trouble than what it’s worth.

  No matter how much my parents constantly urge me to control my powers, I can’t help it, and stuff happens… lousy stuff, that is. The control tactics I learned from books and others who practice wicca or witchcraft have gone out the window several times, and we constantly lived on the run. I am a sophomore in high school, nearly sixteen, and sometimes I wonder if I’ll make it to my sixteenth birthday. I was in two different schools in my freshman year, traveling to my second one in my sophomore year.

  “Sammie?” My mother leaned over her chair and smiled at me, getting my attention by patting on my leg. “We’re almost to the next town. What are you hungry for?” This was forced, as with anything else, my parents would say as if they were frightened of me. I know one of them had to be a witch or warlock; however, when I tried asking, neither of them would tell me. My lack of control stems from my emotions, especially when I was angry or heartbroken. In Michaela’s death, it was a combination, and I blame myself for removing the leash from her, rather than protecting her from the bullies who killed her.

  “I’m dying for a big, greasy burger and fries.” Brant seconded my suggestion. I think the only thing I had in common with him was the love of junk food; surprisingly, I can wear a size six. Yeah, I was tall and skinny. I suppose five foot eight was tall for a fifteen-year-old girl, and I still had three years of growing left. I’d always joke with my father that I’ll tower over him. It’s not impossible; he was five foot eleven.

  “Are there any clubs you’d like to join at Ocean High?” My father asked, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. He only wanted to ensure I wasn’t prone to finding some Wiccan club or anything that appeared to be a witchy club. That’s how I met Michaela in the Wicken Club at Rockmore High. “You’re pretty athletic. Have you considered a swim team or volleyball?”

  I chuckled at his question, “Father, I’m pretty athletic, but I don’t want to be in another jock club. I did gymnastics, remember, not swim or volleyball. You know me, I can’t hit a ball to save my life.” I hummed and pulled my laptop over to open up the school’s website, clicking on Clubs. Choir- nope. Band - definite nope. Chess - Ummm, maybe, it was safe. Surf Club - I’ve never surfed...except the web. Dungeons and Dragons? That’s a thing? LOL - I love some D&D, so I’m game. “Would you object to me joining Chess club and D&D?”

  My parents looked at one another and shrugged, “So long as it’s not Wiccan or Nature Club, we’re fine. But use only imaginary magic for D&D.” My father half-joked due to my poor choices in the past. “I had an idea of possibly trying out for cheerleading in my Junior year. That’s if I am still at Ocean High next school year.”

  “Learn to control those inner demons, and that could happen. I encourage you to get into a different non-magic crowd. Granted, they have their share of troubles, but they don’t participate in anything dangerous like levitation and flying kegs.” Once again, he half-joked, and that was my queue to go back to blasting The Cure; at least it would kill some time before lunch. It also gave me time to think about getting into shape to be a cheerleader; since I hadn’t been in gymnastics for the last couple of years, I needed to get limber again and show these California peeps, I can do some massively amazing somersaults without batting an eye.

  GREASE DOES THE BODY GOOD

  I never had In-N-Out Burgers before but heard enough about them. I ordered the Double Double Animal Style with grilled onions. Holy cow! It was the best burger I ever had, and I laughed to notice Brant inhaled it like I did mine. “I finished my burger. Can I get a shake now, Ma?” Brant asked, and I shook my head at her, for she could never tell him no. The boy was lactose intolerant, and he’d have gas for hours. I was not about to be stuck in the back of my father’s Mercedes SUV hearing Brant fart, much less smell it.

  “Brant, that is a resounding no,” my father said, and I breathed a sigh of relief until my mother pulled out the Lactaid tablets. “Mavis? I said no. Brant plus milk equals an extension to this trip. You know what it does to him.” I covered my head in my hand, embarrassed that we are talking about this in a crowded restaurant. Brant crossed his arms over his chest, pouting at the underused NO word.

  “Get over it, you little brat. You can’t pull that ‘baby of the family card.’” Brant stuck his tongue, resorting to begging. Yet, she got up to order him the shake anyway. What a little conniving brat my brother is?

  My father tossed one of the pills to my brother, curtly ordering him, “Take one of those before you even think to take a drink.” He grumbled, “If you toss cookies in the back of my vehicle, I’ll pull over and pop you on your behind.” I stifle my laughter at the notion my father had about as much tolerance of my little brother as I did.

  After the brat got his shake, we all left the table to get back on the road. While we waited for my father, Brant’s shake slipped from his hands, dropping to the ground. Our legs were covered with the strawberry liquid of death, as was the side of the Mercedes. Brant wailed, blaming me for it, and my mother charged me. “When are you going to stop, Sammie?” She yelled.

  “I didn’t do anything, Mom, I swear. Look, I am a mess too because of this spoiled-” She held her finger up to stop me from saying anything else. Groaning, I marched to the back of the SUV, pulling clean pants from my suitcase and stomping back into the restaurant. I was not about to sit for hours in my sticky lounge pants, no thanks to my brother.

  Moments Later

  We were all taken care of, and Brant focused on his game, whereas I stared out at the swiftly moving brown landscape of Arizona. Ugh, it was brown here, thank goodness, we’re going to California, I couldn’t deal with desert landscaping on a daily basis. Visions of the beach, bikinis and cute boys killed time.

  I closed my eyes, dreaming that I was at the beach in my itsy bitsy, teeny weeny, yellow polka-dot bikini playing volleyball with a few girls and guys. There was one who’d steal glances at me with sun-kissed wavy blond hair and blue bedroom eyes. I called him Ken and all the girls wanted him, yet he only had eyes for me. He never spoke to me in the dream until I shot the winning spike. “Sammie, I think you’re really cute. Do you want to walk with me?” My cheeks were as hot as the sun on my bare shoulders. He took my hand and we ran down the shore to get away from our friends. The moment he leaned in to kiss me, my dream man’s face was replaced by the heartbreaker, Cameron. “Do you honestly think you’ll be able to escape what happened to your friend, Michaela? You killed her….you killed her...you killed her.”

  I jolted awake with a loud inhale. My mother peered over her shoulder with a look of concern, “Another nightmare?” She asked. It was becoming all too common now, I’ve had nightmares since the night of that party. Not only had the nightmares been incessant, I wore the backpack of guilt constantly and it was becoming heavier. My parents mentioned therapy for me. I didn’t need a therapist unless a change of scenery did me no good. I didn’t kill Michaela, I got there too late and couldn’t stop this torment from happening to her. All of those guests and not one person came to her aid. My only regret was not injurin
g them with the flying kegs. However, that would have been a terrible idea, for I can just see the amount of lawsuits. I just hoped that Michaela’s parents could find closure and peace at their young daughter’s death. The only challenge I had was trying to convince my parents that I kept my magic inside, for the most part. I succeeded at controlling my temper. Did my parents care? No, all they needed to hear was flying kegs and we were packing up and relocating from Atlanta to Santa Barbara.

  Santa Barbara - FIRST DAY AT OCEAN HIGH

  The holidays were over and I stood frozen at the front of Ocean High School. It was my first day in a new prison where the inmates are segregated in different groups - Jocks, more like jerks. Cheerleaders, more like plastic Barbies whose only purpose was to compare designer shoes and prestige cosmetics. Oh, not to mention, the biggie, who gets to be on the arm of the Captain of the Varsity football team. The geeks, they could be bigger jerks than the jocks at times. There were too many categories for students and it was hard to keep track of, since I never belonged to any one. I could fit into the cheerleading squad - I was adorable and super athletic, but I wasn’t all about that shopping therapy life. I could fit into the outcasts, since I dressed and acted more like a goth chick than a cheerleader. I just made this easier on myself and stayed on the sidelines until I was welcomed, which was seldom. Mind you, this doesn’t come from a lack of self-esteem or self-confidence, more like a lack of self-discovery. I have yet to find my place in this world, maybe this will be the time that I do and the time I stay out of trouble.