The Elements Series Complete Box Set

by Brittainy Cherry

  When I had first read the books, I’d seen the excitement in the story.

  As I reread them, I saw much more of the pain.

  A person never reads an outstanding book twice and walks away with the same beliefs. An outstanding book always surprises you and awakens you to new ideas, new ways of looking at the world, no matter how many times the words have been read.

  “I’m going to start believing you’re into Wicca,” she said, chowing down on her sandwich and sipping her tea. A peculiar thing for a witch to say to a Muggle, if you asked me.

  Muffins came from under the table and rubbed against my leg to say hello. I bent down to pet her. Hello, friend. Muffins meowed before turning on her side for me to pat her belly. When I didn’t pat her the way she wanted me to, I swore she muttered a curse word at me in cat language, then she wandered off, probably to find my mother, who was a professional at petting Muffins.

  “What’s wrong with your face?” she barked, narrowing her eyes at me.

  I raised an eyebrow, confused.

  She shook her head back and forth. “Your eyes look awful, like you haven’t slept in days. You should really have Katie bring you some makeup. You look horrid.”

  I touched below my eyes. It was always worrisome when someone said you looked tired but you didn’t feel that way.

  “Listen, Maggie. We must talk.” Mrs. Boone sat up straighter in her seat and cleared her throat. “What I mean is you must listen as I speak.”

  I sat up straighter, too. I knew it must be serious because whenever she was going to be stern, her nostrils flared, which they were doing at that moment.

  “You have to leave your house,” she said.

  I almost laughed.

  Leave home?

  What a ridiculous idea. She knew my situation—well, she didn’t know my situation, but she knew well enough. In the past ten years, I hadn’t left home. Mama and Daddy had enrolled me in homeschooling years ago, and whenever I needed a doctor or a dentist, my parents arranged for them to come to us. Mrs. Boone knew these facts; it was why we never had disgusting tea at her house.

  Her brows furrowed. “I’m not joking, Maggie May. You have to leave. What are you going to do? Stay here forever? You’re about to graduate high school. Are you not interested in college?”

  I didn’t have an answer to that.

  Mrs. Boone frowned. “How do you expect to ever live your life? How will you ever fall in love? Or hike a mountain? Or see the Eiffel Tower at night? Jessica, we can’t keep supporting you like this,” she said.

  I paused and raised an eyebrow. Jessica?

  “Your father and I are being pushed to the limit, and there’s not much more we can take. Don’t you want to be something? Do something?”

  The room filled with silence, and Mrs. Boone’s brows lowered, as if she was going deep into thought. A cloud of confusion washed over her as she pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. She shook her head slightly before reaching for her tea and taking a sip.

  Her eyes were filled with a state of bewilderment when she looked up at me. “What were we saying?” Where had she just traveled? “Oh right. You must leave, Maggie May.

  “What about your parents? Are they just supposed to spend the rest of their days sitting in this house with you? Do they never get a chance to be married without kids in their home? They didn’t sign up for this.”

  I turned my back to her, angered and hurt, but mostly ashamed, because she was right. Out of the corner of my eye, I could still see her frowning. The more I saw her frown, the angrier I grew.

  Leave.

  “Oh. You’re grumpy now and throwing a tantrum,” she muttered.

  I knocked on the table once. No.

  She knocked on it twice. “Yes. A teenage girl who is emotional and throwing a tantrum, how original. Finish your sandwich, grumpy. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  Whatever, old fart. Don’t be late again. I rolled my eyes and stomped my feet hard against the floor. God, I was throwing a tantrum. How original.

  “You’re mad at me, which is fine,” she said, rolling her brown paper into a ball. She stood up from her chair, placed her purse on her shoulder, and lifted up my novel. Her steps brought her closer to me and she lifted my chin with her finger. “But you’re only mad because you know I’m right.” She placed the book in my lap. “You can’t just read these books and think that means you’re living. It’s their story, not yours, and it’s heartbreaking to watch someone so young toss away their chance at writing their own story.”

  9

  Maggie

  “You’re really starting to piss me off, Cheryl.”

  Cheryl was fighting with her boyfriend, Jordan, across the hall from my bedroom as I sat on my bed reading a novel.

  Correction: Cheryl was fighting with her ex-boyfriend Jordan across the hall from my bedroom as I sat on my bed reading a novel.

  “I’m just saying,” Cheryl groaned, tapping the heel of her shoe against the wall. Her arms were crossed and she kept smacking her bubble gum. “It’s not me, it’s you. I’m just not into you like that anymore.”

  “You gotta be shitting me,” Jordan huffed, his feet storming back and forth in the hallway. “I broke up with my ex for you! I paid more than a hundred bucks for our prom tickets—a fucking dance I didn’t even want to go to—for you. I’ve bent over backward to treat you right. I’ve ditched parties to watch chick flicks with you.”

  Cheryl twirled her hair on her finger and shrugged. “Nobody told you to do all those things.”

  Jordan chuckled, flabbergasted. “Yes! You did! You even smoked my weed every night.”

  “That was me being nice to you,” she explained. “You smoking pot alone would’ve just made you a pothead. You smoking with me made you a social butterfly.”

  “This is bullshit,” he snapped, raking his hands through his hair. “Prom is tomorrow. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

  “Go by yourself.”

  Cheryl was beautiful, that was a given fact. Over the years, she had grown into her body—big chest, thick hips, slim waist—a lot faster than I had grown into mine. In my mind, she had the perfect body, and from years of braces, a perfect smile to go with it. After years of feeling like an outsider, she’d created this persona where she was determined to fit in—even if that meant extreme measures to lose weight for an ounce of attention.

  Another given fact about my sister was that she knew her beauty existed, and she used it in almost every situation to get whatever she wanted in the world—no matter who it hurt. Then, she’d come to my bedroom and tell me about how many guys she used and abused, just to get things from them. Dates, money, presents, sex—anything and everything.

  Sometimes I thought she told me so much because she resented me for making her miss out on so many things as a kid. Other times, I thought she felt guilty about what she did, and my silence gave her a bit of confidence that what she did was okay.

  She was a professional fake lover of love. She made guys believe in the love, too, which wasn’t easy for boys our age—especially for a bad boy turned good like Jordan. He literally went from the biggest jerk ever to a puppy dog whenever he was around Cheryl. He always seemed as if he was begging her to love him—except for when she pissed him off. When she pissed him off, his true colors showed. People could hide their true selves for a while, but over time, the masks always fell off.

  “No. Screw that. You said you loved me,” Jordan choked out, almost close to tears.

  “Yeah, loved—past tense.”

  I peeked over the top of my book and stared at them. Jordan’s face was red, and Cheryl seemed more than amused by the fact that he was upset.

  “No,” Jordan hissed, grabbing her tightly by the arm.

  I put my book down.

  “No. You don’t get to do this. Not without a real reason.”

  “You want a real reason? Fine.” Cheryl yanked her arm from his grip, and she stood up tall, staring him square in the eyes
. “I slept with Hank.”

  Jordan’s eyes grew wide. “What? No, you didn’t.”

  “I did.” Her eyes widened too, and a wicked grin found her lips.

  Oh no. She was about to crush his spirit, the same way she’d crushed many other guys in our hallway.

  “I screwed him at Tim’s party when you were sick, and at his house when I told you I was getting my hair done, and in my room yesterday when—”

  Jordan closed his eyes and his hands wrapped into fists. “Hank is my best friend.”

  She snickered and lightly shoved him in his chest, forcing him to step away from her. “You should choose your friends more carefully.”

  Her laughter faltered as her head flew sideways when Jordan’s hand slapped her hard. Her back slammed against the wall and her body slid down to the floor.

  I hadn’t a clue how it happened, but the next thing I knew, I was standing in the hallway, holding my novel in my hand, ready to knock Jordan out if he stepped an inch closer to my sister. Cheryl’s face reddened from his hit, and her hand gripped her skin.

  “You’re a fucking whore,” Jordan said, spitting at her, his words hitting me hard, his actions hitting me harder.

  He screamed at her, his voice cracking. “You fucking whore!” he shouted, slapping her hard across the face. She stumbled backward and whimpered, her hand flying to her cheek. “I gave you everything. We had a life together. What about our son? What about our family?” He slapped her again and again. “We had a life!” He shoved her to the ground and his eyes popped out of his head, as if he was crazy—disturbed.

  “You’ll come to your senses, trust me,” Jordan told my sister. “And I’ll be waiting when you come running back to me.”

  I raised my arms up high, seconds away from hitting him. I stomped my feet, my mind traveling from past to present day with each blink of my eyes. Over and over again I stomped my feet until Jordan turned to look my way. When our eyes met, I stepped back.

  Jordan’s dark side was showing. Everyone had a dark side, their own personal devil that they kept chained up most days. The devil whispered lies into individuals’ ears, filling them with fear and doubt, pushing them to do dark things. The main goal was to control the sounds of the devil, to only allow it to peek out of the closet where it was chained up. The devil could only truly take over one’s mind if the person freed him, and allowed him inside.

  Jordan’s devil broke free of his chains that night.

  His darkness scared me.

  Shh…

  I blinked slowly, and when I reopened my eyes, Jordan had a sly smile on his face. “What the hell are you gonna do, freak? Are you going to silently beat me to death with a book?” He came toward me and launched forward like he was going to hit me.

  A sharp yank to my dress sent me backward, the poppy in my hair flying across the forest floor. His fingers were wrapped around my dress and he tossed me to the ground. My breaths weaved in and out and I screamed as he tackled my body, placing all of his weight on top of me, his filthy hands covering my mouth, muting my shouts.

  I kicked and screamed, screamed and kicked. He was going to kill me.

  When I opened my eyes, I was on the floor, covering my face with the book in my grip, shaking from fear, shaking from memories. I hated that part of me—the one that sometimes slipped back into the past. I hated how it shook me, how it still had a hold on me at times, but mostly, I hated when others noticed. Most of my panic attacks I’d been able to keep hidden. Most of the panics were a secret of mine.

  He laughed at my reaction. “What a fucking nutjob. I’m out of here.”

  He hurried down the stairs and slammed the front door on his exit.

  With haste, I stood up and rushed to Cheryl’s side. I bent down, reaching my hand out to help her up. She swatted it away.

  “God, Maggie. Why don’t you just get a life of your own and butt out of mine?” she grumbled, standing up and rubbing her cheek. “You’re so embarrassing.”

  She hurried to her bedroom and slammed her door shut.

  I rushed over to my bedroom, grabbed my notebook and a marker, and ran back to Cheryl’s door, knocking.

  She opened it and rolled her eyes. “What do you want?”

  I scribbled on the paper. You didn’t sleep with Hank.

  She ran her fingers through her hair and shifted on her feet. “Go away, Maggie.”

  You were shopping with Mama yesterday. You didn’t sleep with Hank.

  “It’s none of your business.”

  Jordan hit you.

  “I provoked him.”

  He hurt you.

  “I pushed him, Maggie. I pushed him.”

  I gotta tell Mama and Dad that he hit you.

  “Will you just shut up, Maggie?” she whisper-shouted as she reached for the page in my notebook and crumpled it up, tossing it into her room. “You don’t understand anything about relationships or boys, even. That’s just how Jordan gets sometimes. I push him, and he pushes back. Stop making a big deal out of things. Not everyone is as traumatized and damaged as you, okay? And just because you’re a freak and don’t have a life of your own doesn’t mean you can meddle in mine.”

  I stepped back.

  Ouch.

  For a second, Cheryl’s upper lip twitched and her eyes glassed over; perhaps she was feeling regret for hurting my feelings? She shook her head back and forth, shaking off the feeling. “I’m not going to apologize, all right? You pushed me, Maggie, so I pushed back. Anyway, Jordan and I aren’t even together anymore, so it doesn’t matter. I’m on to bigger and better things now. So if you don’t mind…” She took her hand and waved me off. “Bye.”

  I sighed and walked off to my room, back to my quiet corner of the world, and picked up my book once more.

  Sometimes I wondered what it’d be like to leave the house, but if there were people like Jordan outside those doors, I was better off staying at home.

  I couldn’t concentrate.

  I’d been sitting on my bed with my book open to page two hundred and nine for several minutes, yet I hadn’t been able to read. My mind kept replaying Jordan hitting my sister. The shocked expression on Cheryl’s face as his hand made contact. The loud gasp that fell from her lips.

  I shut my eyes.

  Shh…

  “You okay this evening, Magnet?” Brooks said, standing in my bedroom doorway later that night with a backpack hanging on his shoulder. My eyes opened and I took a breath of relief. He never knew how perfect his timing was, but he always showed up when I needed him.

  I closed the book in my grip and sat cross-legged on my bed, looking up at him. His shaggy brown hair was getting long—his rock star style—and was touching the bottom of his eyebrows. Every now and then, he’d slightly flick his head back to move the hair from his eyes. Sometimes he’d pucker his lips together and puff hard to move the strands, but never—and I mean never—did he use his fingers to guide his hair. He always smiled so wide whenever he looked at me, which in turn brought smiles to my lips. I didn’t always feel like smiling, but Brooks? He made me feel as if smiling was all I ever wanted to do.

  “Can I come in?” he asked.

  The answer was yes. The answer was always yes.

  He sat down on my bed. I reached for the notebook and pen on my nightstand, opening it up to the first free page. Beside my bed was a trash can filled with balled up pieces of paper from the nights before when Brooks came to visit. It was the way we communicated the best. In the mornings, we just listened to music, but in the afternoons, he’d speak and I’d write. I’d tried the same form of communication with Mrs. Boone, but she had told me she wasn’t going to aid me in killing trees. Plus, she said I had a voice and should be able to use it.

  “I hear Mrs. Boone and you had a fight,” he said. I rolled my eyes and he snickered. “She means no harm, you know that, right? I went over to her place to drop Muffins back off, and she told me everything she said to you. I’m not saying her delivery was right, but her
heart was in the right…” His words faded off as he saw my annoyed glare.

  “She was right.” He snickered. “You are grumpy.”

  I started writing on the paper. She called me Jessica.

  He frowned. “Yeah.” He shifted his body slightly and looked up.

  I cocked an eyebrow.

  He pretended not to notice by looking higher up. My fingers nudged his shoulder. “I’m not supposed to say anything, Maggie.”

  I nudged him again.

  He sighed. “Okay, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, all right?”

  I scrunched my nose. Who would I tell?

  He laughed and tapped my nose twice. “I forgot I’m talking to the one girl who’s perfect at keeping a secret. So, my mom said Mrs. Boone’s been struggling with her memory. She found her wandering around last weekend, and Mrs. Boone was confused about her whereabouts. Mom said she thought it was maybe the early stages of Alzheimer’s, and she wanted Mrs. Boone to get checked out, just in case.”

  Did she?

  He frowned. “You know Mrs. B, a bit stubborn, to say the least. She said she was fine and didn’t need anyone meddling in her affairs.”

  A worrisome feeling grew in my gut as I imagined something seriously being wrong with Mrs. Boone. Even though I hated her, I loved her so much. The idea of anything happening to her made me nauseous.

  As I went to write a few more words to Brooks, he blocked my hand from the paper. “Wait, I got something for you. For us.” He took off his backpack, unzipped it, and pulled out a huge dry-erase board with a new pack of markers. “I figured this is an easier way to write and not waste all that paper. Plus, if we ever have to tell secrets, I don’t have to speak out loud, and then we can just erase the evidence.”

  I smiled.

  He smiled.

  I took a marker and began writing, but before I could write anything, he spoke.

  “I broke up with Lacey today.” My marker dragged across the board as my mouth dropped open. He laughed nervously and shrugged. “Yeah, I know.” Lacey and Brooks had been dating for about nine months—nine months, two weeks, and four days to be exact—not that I’d been counting.