Blinking into the mirror, I noticed that the purple dye made my hair look black, and a twinge of panic ran through me. I just wanted a subtle violet hue over my dirty blonde hair—something to say, "Leave me alone. I have a lot on my mind,"—not a full-on goth-look. With a shrug of my shoulders, I realized either would be fine. It didn't matter.
But then, it was the strange look in my eyes, more than my odd hair, that caught my attention.
I held a lost gaze. The deep blue of my irises was like the abyss of the ocean depths. The color whirled like a downward vortex, making me dizzy, and I shook my head to steady it. I stared into the mirror again and gasped as a stranger stared back at me, searching like they were struggling to find a way out.
I squeezed my eyes shut. The reflection had been my own, but somehow I didn't know her.
A strange feeling brewed in my gut, as memories of a place I'd never been flashed through my mind—an unusual metal gate, deep woods, glowing purple flames.
My stomach tightened, sending nervous energy through me, clenching my teeth.
Then the image of a star surrounded by intricate symbols flashed in my mind. The vision caused me to stand up tall as it struck me deep in my core.
Here it comes again—my evil anxiety.
Sweat broke out on my forearms—the constant physical indicator of my inner stress.
I lifted one hand to rub my arm and then stopped short at the sight of purple dye all over my hands.
Shit! I'd forgotten to use the gloves in the kit.
My heart rate jumped ten levels as I cranked the faucet on. Hot water rushed out of the tap, scorching the skin off my hands as I fumbled to get the temperature right. Wet, plum-colored dye flew everywhere, splashing onto the white tiles behind the sink and on the floor. In the back of my mind, I knew the mess would be hell to clean up, but my panic drove me forward, scrubbing furiously.
Adding soap to a full lather, I rinsed my hands only to reveal a blotchy tie-dye effect all over my skin. My fingernails were the worst with black stains under the nails and dark purple lines at the cuticles. Frantically, I ripped open the alcohol wipe included in the coloring box for 'touch-up' and wiped it all over my hands, digging it under my nails.
It helped a little.
But the damage was done.
Great.
First day of school tomorrow, and I looked like the walking dead.
At least my hair turned out well.
Once it dried, the shade of purple glowed like lavender. It was perfect.
My hands, however... not so much.
And the state of the bathroom after my Armageddon... a disaster. Once my mother woke from her Svedka-coma, she’d be sure to deliver some sound verbal lashings and hours of scrubbing. My welcomed escape for the moment was school.
Shame-of-the-day number one: purple zombie hands.
Shame number two: no car.
Finding a part-time job was a must, but for now, I had to survive on my measly savings from DQ. It was enough to keep my wardrobe decent and my cell phone activated but far from paying for driver's ed or a vehicle of any form.
The school was within walking distance though, ten minutes max, so that was a plus.
I hoisted my light pack over my shoulder and stepped out into the all-too-early morning. Commuter traffic hadn't even started up yet, and here I was heading off for the day. It was pure torture. My bed always beckoned me back at this point, but I fought the familiar urge to return to it, and powered on.
Moving past the lake by my house, I noticed how pretty it was for the first time. I glanced around the neighborhood, seeing mature maples, flags hanging from telephone poles, and a free-library box on the corner, full of books for the taking. It was actually a charming town.
I shot my eyes forward again, refusing to allow myself to like it here.
It was too nice for us.
It wouldn't last.
It never did.
Following the GPS on my phone, I had three minutes until arriving at the school. I slowed my pace to avoid the inevitable, but it was too late. Busses passed me, and a few more walkers filled the sidewalk, proving I was almost there.
My anxiety tweaked at me, and I swallowed hard to keep it down. Everyone would know I was the new girl, and I prepared myself for the unrelenting stares.
It wasn't my ripped jeans and leather jacket that would stand out most, though. It was my hair. Okay, and now my hands, too.
Why did I always do this to myself? It was like I couldn't help it. Different school, different hair color. Maybe it was subconscious since my mother hated it so much. I wasn't sure. All I knew was that I was compelled to do it.
Every time.
And now, once again, it was clear that my look didn't fit in. That was obvious from all the khaki, fresh white Vans, and perfectly-trimmed, straightened hair, everywhere.
But it didn't bother me. It was exactly what I'd been aiming for. As always.
If I didn't fit in, then no one would pay attention to me. I'd be left alone to get through my sentence and be done with it.
So I'd thought.
Chapter Two
Lifting my eyes as I approached the front of the school, I was shocked at first by its gothic architecture. The building looked more like a regal, ivy-covered college than a public high school. I was used to poured-concrete structures built in the seventies, with dirty buckets in the halls collecting drips from the ceilings.
This place was better. Way better.
My mood lightened slightly as I moved up the granite steps at the front entrance. Two sets of stately double doors waited at the top with the words 'Lakefield High School' scrolled above them. My primary focus was on finding the main office and meeting with my guidance counselor for the typical 'new student' run-through.
As I reached the top of the stairs, I glanced toward a student leaning against the railing. His eyes met mine, and he watched me as I pulled on the door nearest my reach. I fumbled for a moment, distracted by his piercing gaze. His stare unnerved me like he knew me or was sizing me up.
I ground my teeth in annoyance. I'd already broken my cardinal rule of keeping my head down and avoiding eye contact at all cost.
The bang of the door behind me echoed into the long corridor, emphasizing the fact that the hallway was empty. Clearly, the students avoided entering the confines of the school until the very last minute. That was fine with me. I'd rather remain unseen in my lost wanderings while searching for the elusive office.
A white sign stuck out from the wall ahead of me letting me know exactly where to go, and I moved with purpose toward the office. Maybe there was a chance my meeting would be quick, and I'd get to class before the first bell. I hated walking in late. There was nothing worse than all eyes staring as the new kid searched for an empty seat.
Standing at the door, I took a deep breath and reached for the handle. As I pushed it in, I lost my balance as the door pulled open from within. Weightless, I stumbled forward and shuffled to avoid hitting the student who had just flung the door open, exiting at the exact same time.
He chuckled, holding the door steady to help me regain my balance. I swore under my breath and glanced up at him. There was no doubt he was a football player, judging by the way his broad shoulders filled the doorframe. His friendly eyes held mine, and I paused for a second staring at him, waiting for him to say something. My awkward hesitation threw me off, and I fumbled with my bag. It wasn't that he was beyond attractive and beautiful and handsome, but it was the fact that I'd looked at him at all.
What was the matter with me? I was breaking my first steadfast rule left and right. Keep head down, ignore everyone—was it really that hard?
It was weird, though, none of the other students drew my attention, but with those two guys, I couldn't help myself. It was like we already knew each other. It was the first time I ever felt anything like that before when entering a new school.
I pulled my gaze away, frustrated by my error, and focused on the d
esk ahead of me. The secretary watched with an annoying smirk like she'd caught me blushing or something. She dragged her pencil through her short, spiky hair, waiting for me to pull myself together.
Damn it.
I had to stop having eye contact with the students here. I was usually a master at avoidance, but clearly, something about Lakefield was making me crazy, throwing me off my game.
I'd have to try harder if I was planning on surviving my final year. Making connections of any form was not a part of my master plan.
"Can I help you?" the secretary probed. Her blank stare and monotone proved how much she loved her job. I half-expected her to snap on gum.
"I'm new here," I replied. "Brynn Douglas."
"Do you have an appointment?" she murmured.
"Umm, no. I didn't realize I needed one." I struggled to keep my tone civil. Her attitude was already grating on me. "I think my records were sent over."
She rolled her eyes.
"Have a seat." She let out a deep sigh as she pushed herself up from her chair. "I'll see who your counselor is."
She shuffled along a row of office doors and stopped outside the one at the end. After a few words, she headed back, taking her time for fear I might actually think she cared about me.
"Ms. Kelly can see you," she said, motioning her head in the direction of the office.
Obviously.
It's not like they'd leave a new student just hanging around. Didn't this woman know the drill?
But instead, I swallowed my cynicism and remained calm.
"Thanks," I forced the word and walked down the narrow hallway to Ms. Kelly's office.
I had no idea what to expect. I'd had so many different teachers and counselors throughout high school. Sadly, I expected the worst.
My last guidance counselor was an old dude. A hippie. He was nice enough but never stayed focused on what I needed. He was too busy talking about himself with a load of 'back-in-my-day' crap. I never went to him for anything after our first meeting, no matter how much I needed help.
"Hi. You must be Brynn," Ms. Kelly's friendly voice invited me in.
My eyes widened at the sight of her. She wasn't too young, but young enough that she was still vibrant and full of positive energy. I was a little surprised at how cool she seemed.
"Um, yeah."
"Come on in. I've been looking forward to meeting you," she said.
"Really?" I mumbled under my breath.
"Yes. Have a seat." She gestured to several options.
There was a chair right in front of her desk, one off to the side by the fidget toys, and another against the wall by the colorful pictures of former students, intriguing field trips, and amateur artwork. I sat in the chair directly in front of her without hesitation.
She smiled and continued. "Your transcript kept me busy," she teased. "It's choppy, with different variations depending on each school you've attended." She scanned the multiple pages.
My heart rate accelerated. This was the part where the counselor always challenged my credits or tried to put me in the grade below me. I mean, I was eighteen. Could it be more obvious that I was a senior? Either way, this moment was never smooth, and I prepared myself for the fight.
"It's clear to me, though," she added, "you're an exceptional student."
The breath I'd been holding since entering her office released from me in a long whoosh.
"Um, thank you," I whispered, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"At first, I was concerned that you had requested all AP courses, but after reviewing your academic records, I can see why. It appears that learning is one of your strengths." She watched me for a response.
I'd never considered having any strengths before, but somehow, the way she said it made it sound like a compliment. I had no idea how to react to it.
"I guess."
Maybe it was true. I had nothing else to focus on, so it made sense my school work would get my full attention. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that learning did come easy to me. The other students always had questions and struggled on the tests while I sailed through every hoop. It was one small blessing, I supposed.
Ms. Kelly gazed at me like she was trying to figure me out. But it was more than that. She looked into my soul like she could see more of me than I wanted to allow. I pulled my eyes away from her, feeling like it was my only way of hiding my true self. Her examination was unsettling, to say the least.
"Well, typically, I would be hesitant about having a new student take five AP classes, but judging from your perfect scores on last year's exams, I think you've got this." She smiled.
I couldn't believe it. It was the first time a counselor had faith in me. Last year's hippie made me sign over-ride forms and practically swear away my firstborn to take their advanced placement classes. He probably never even took the time to see my past exam scores. That was how it always went. I was never around long enough for people to see my academic history at their schools. It was like they always had to take a leap of faith with me, assuming the wayward girl would follow the wrong path.
Ms. Kelly was different, though. She was more chill like she believed in me. Her loose sweater hung comfortably from her shoulders and her surfer-girl hair looked like she'd only just run her fingers through it that morning. I'd swear she probably had yoga pants on, but I couldn't see for sure. Her pretty face was non-judgmental, and I felt comfortable in her presence, even with her uncanny ability to stare straight into my naked soul. It was clear, I needed more armor.
She studied me with one eye squinted. "You forgot to wear gloves, right?"
I clasped my hands together and hid them between my knees. "Oh, um, yeah. Nerves, I guess."
"There's no way you can walk into class like that," she chuffed.
My face burned as I fought her surprising criticism.
"Here," she said, handing me a pump bottle of organic oil hand-lotion. "This stuff works magic. I use it on my hands all the time, and it's amazing." Her face lit up to the point of no refusal.
I squirted a generous amount of the white lotion onto my palms and rubbed it all over. She handed me a bunch of tissues, and I wiped all the purple-tinted mess off my hands.
"Oh my god. That's so much better," I gasped. "Thank you."
Most of the purple staining had lifted, leaving only a slight hue on my skin. The nails weren't great, but I could live with that. I relaxed ten-fold now, knowing I wouldn't be seen as a freak the moment I walked into class. Well, not a total freak.
I glanced up at her with gratitude splashed across my face. I mean, seriously, she's the first person who ever actually helped me on the first day of school. Like, actually helped me.
Then she said, "You're a sensitive person, aren't you?"
I pulled back.
Suddenly I wasn't so comfortable in her presence. She picked up on too much like she could read me.
I wasn't used to people prying into my privacy and asking me if I was an emotionally frail person. That was crossing the line. What the hell? Did I look like I was about to cry or something?
I struggled to find my words, and before I could reply with something that would shut her down and decide I was a write-off, she spoke again.
"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that." She chuckled. "I mean, you are a sensitive." She hesitated on her next words, watching me fidget, then smirked. "And judging by the look on your face, you don't even know it."
What the hell was the difference? "You're a sensitive person," or "You are a sensitive." What the actual fuck? All I knew was she was getting too personal asking about my emotional stability, because, to be honest, it was dodgy.
I reached for the ends of my hair and twirled them. "Is it the purple? You think I'm unstable because of my hair color?" I glared at her, waiting for the same judgmental treatment I'd received from the secretary.
"No, not at all. Your hair color is amazing." She smiled with a warm glow in her eyes, winning me back almost insta
ntly. "It's just a feeling I get from you like you perceive things differently from others. Like, you're more in tune with the world around you, more aware." She hesitated, studying me again. "Does the make sense at all?"
I stared back at her.
This was not the typical new-student-entry-meeting protocol. Now was the time she should be asking me about a bus pass, homeroom assignment, and giving me a copy of my schedule. But no. Not this time. This time my guidance counselor was asking me about how I perceived the world. She must be tripping.
But as I looked into her honest eyes, I saw more than the typical routine meeting. Her words then took a deeper meaning in my mind as I thought about them.
Yes.
Yes, I was more aware of subtle sensations around me. Yes, I could pick up on the deeper meaning of people's words or actions easily. It always scared me actually, because I typically believed everyone had that ability. It made me feel exposed, thinking that people understood me and my thoughts, the way I understood theirs.
Then I nodded with a shrug.
"Maybe," I said.
"Yes." She smiled. "I thought so. It's something I pick up on about people. It helps me to understand you better, which is a good thing, considering I'll be your school counselor for the rest of the year. It's best I know you as well as possible, so I can help you reach your goals."
"Oh." My breath blew out of me. "I get it. Okay." The tension in my shoulders released as I realized she was just trying to get to know me better, so she could be effective in her job. I huffed at myself for thinking she was diving into my mind, trying to pull my soul out through my eyes.
"So, what are your goals?" she asked. "What do you want to do when you graduate?"
I shrugged, clearing my mind of my earlier panic from her intrusive questions. "I don't know. I just want to finish high school and get my diploma."
"I see a lot more potential in you," she said.
Oh, here we go. She's getting personal again.
I thought for a minute about her comment and then realized it actually wasn't that bad. It was nice, even.
Mystic Coven: Fire Festival (Supernatural Academy Graduates Book 1) Page 22