Hidden Worlds

by Kristie Cook

  Irked, I insist, “He’s real.”

  “I have no doubt whatever boy you’re talking about is real.” Eyes drifting back to her crossword, she taps her pencil against the paper. “But I highly doubt you’ve seen him in your dreams before.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if you had, we’d have known about it by now.”

  What does that mean?

  Caleb straggles in, refusing to eat, and looking just as tired as I feel. I cannot believe my parents have requested he escort me to and from school until the Quake shows up. Caleb doesn’t seem to mind, but I’m sure he’s got better things to do than babysit me all day.

  I’ve just moved my bowl and mug to the sink when my mother says, “You’re to visit the Seer tomorrow.”

  I look up, surprised.

  “Your father and I feel you could really use some guidance and insight, especially with the news you were given over the weekend. Don’t think that we haven’t noticed the turmoil you’ve been in during the last year.”

  Seriously? This how she’s going to play it? I mean, she’s virtually ignored me for the last year, not to mention most of my life, never bothering to even ask what was wrong. So, rather than being grateful she’s now noticing, I become angry. “If you’ve noticed, then why haven’t you tried to talk to me? Or help?”

  Caleb instantly busies himself with a section of the newspaper.

  “I’m mentioning it now, aren’t I?”

  That does it. “Too little, too late, Mother.” I stand up and stuff my backpack with notebooks, resentful at her hollow attempt at caring. It’s like, because Caleb is here, she’s putting on a show of motherly concern. But she isn’t fooling anyone. I’ve told him everything over the years. She’ll never get a shiny Mother of the Year award.

  Caleb’s smile is of supreme sympathy, but instead of making me feel better, I only become angrier. Her silence and distance is far preferred than this façade of caring.

  “Why do you think we’re sending you to a Seer, Chloe? This is us helping you.”

  “Wow, that’s excellent, Mother,” I snap. “Sending someone else in to do your dirty work. Am I really such a bother you can’t take five, ten minutes out of your busy day to take care of me? Or spend time with me? Is it really so wrong to expect you to occasionally ask me how I’m doing, maybe guide me through some of these difficult changes?” I’m gripping the island now, knuckles turning white under pressure.

  “Chloe,” Caleb says in a low voice. “Let’s just go.”

  My mother ignores him. “Every Magical has to go through Ascension. What makes you so special that you need extra attention to do so?”

  She might as well have slapped me.

  Worse yet, she’s clearly bored, like she can’t even be bothered to get worked up over this, either. “What do you want from me, Chloe? Should I hold your hand through the process? For gods’ sakes, you’re a Creator, and you will be sitting on the Council in a few years. Act like it. People will be looking to you for guidance and action. How do you think they’ll feel, finding out you’re an insecure little girl?”

  Even Caleb is appalled.

  She ruthlessly continues. “I will not tolerate my daughter acting like this. Pull yourself together and stop embarrassing yourself. You have many obligations ahead of you, Chloe, and we will not tolerate you tarnishing the Lilywhite legacy.”

  I can barely think, I’m so angry. This is how she sees me? “When were you ever asked to destroy a civilization? When were you ever asked to take life away from hundreds or thousands, or gods, even millions of souls? Would you be ready to do so, if asked?”

  “Stop being so maudlin,” she shoots back, her eyes like glittering marbles. “You may never be asked to do those things. And if you are, it’ll be your job.” My mother practically taunts me to counter her. When I don’t, she says flatly, “Sometimes I wonder if Fate made a mistake when it gave you the powers of Creation.”

  It’s a kick in the stomach.

  “Abigail,” Caleb snaps, angry himself now, “enough!”

  She ignores him just as easily as she does me. He and I leave her behind without even saying goodbye.

  The school bell rings the second I turn off the car’s engine, and within a minute, the parking lot transforms into a ghost town. I stay in the safety of my car, gripping the wheel while reliving the conversation with my mother over how I’m a great big disappointment to her. To everyone.

  What’s really sad is how I can’t remember the last time either parent said I love you to me. Truth be told, I don’t think they ever have.

  I beat my forehead against the steering wheel.

  “That’s going to be pretty,” Caleb says quietly.

  “Like it matters.”

  “Your mother is who she is. Expecting her to be anything else only hurts you.”

  “How stupid of me. I expected her to act like a mother.”

  “She loves you,” he says, but I cut him off.

  “She doesn’t, and you and I both know it.”

  “I think she does. But in her own way.”

  I try so hard not to cry. “Whatever. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  Caleb tries to argue with me, get me to continue talking, but I all I want to do is go to class and pretend none of this happened. He reluctantly lets me go, reminding me he’ll meet me after school.

  I’m walking across the parking lot when I spot the twins standing next to a rather expensive looking yellow sports car. I try not to stare, but it’s a lost cause. Both turn at the same time to look at me, and as luck would have it, I stumble over the curb.

  FANTASTIC. I’m contemplating creating a hole to sink into, when Kellan gives me a worried, sympathetic smile. And Jonah is watching me with what appears to be genuine concern. He moves forward, like he’s going to come over to help me, but then Kellan calls out, asking if I’m okay.

  “Fine, thanks,” I croak. And then I rush away as fast as I can, because I can’t deal with this on top of everything else this morning.

  By the time I get to the office, I’m nearly out of breath, humiliated, still angry at what’s happened with my mother and rubbing at a very sore forehead. So I’m not exactly in the best of moods when the ancient attendance clerk levels a stern look at me. “Miss Lilywhite,” she says in her steely voice, and I’m momentarily taken aback, because someone her age ought to sound frail and not like a battlefield general. “Tardy by twenty minutes. What would your mother think?”

  “Ex-excuse me?” I stutter.

  She points a gnarled finger at me. “I said, what would your mother think? She was an excellent student, never late once. I remember, missy. I was here when she was, and she was a really top-notch pupil. It would do you a world of good if you tried to be more like her.”

  I gape at her for a couple of incredulous seconds before something in me snaps. “Are you kidding?”

  Her back yanks straight in outrage. “What was that, young lady?”

  “I said, are you kidding?” It isn’t my finest hour. But, man—I can’t deal with the comparison, not after what happened earlier.

  The clerk narrows her eyes at me. Then in clear, crisp words, she says, “Too bad you’re not more like her.”

  Everything in my mind sort of short circuits. How dare she! The little voice in my head urges me to calm down, but I’m seeing red. I lean my palms against the counter and hiss, “Shut your mouth! You have no idea what she’s like! I couldn’t be happier that I’m nothing like her!”

  The clerk opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off. “What’s the big deal, anyway? It’s a tardy. Give me my slip already and back off!”

  The little voice is shouting at the top of its lungs: Are you INSANE? Do you want to get SUSPENDED? Shut. Up. NOW!

  “HOW DARE YOU!” the clerk shrieks, her eyes bugging out.

  “I said—”

  “ARE YOU THREATENING ME?”

  The counter below me shudders, and for one small, irresponsible mom
ent, I contemplate blowing it up just to see what she’d do. But then I remove my hands and curl them into fists at my sides. She’s not your mother, the little voice whispers. She’s just a school clerk. Her opinion of you means nothing. Taking your anger out on her isn’t worth it. So I take a deep breath and say through gritted teeth, “Of course not, Ms. Applebaum. It would be unwise for a student to even think of doing that during their senior year.”

  “That’s a poor excuse for an apology if I’ve ever heard one. Who knew what a mouth you have on you? You have everyone so fooled, thinking you are just a delightful girl, but I know better. I’ve always seen you for what you are.” The gnarled finger is pointing at me again. “Don’t think I won’t call your mother!”

  There is a stifled laugh from the back of the room. I turn to find, much to my utter dismay and chagrin, the twins sitting on the wooden bench against the wall near the door.

  How long have they been in here?

  Kellan mock-whispers, “I’ve got my money on you.” Jonah, though, looks beyond shocked. Eyes wide and concerned. Angry, even. For the briefest of moments, I wonder if he’s going to stand up and say something. Defend me. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but he appears just as upset as I am. Our eyes meet, and he actually does stand up, but, appalled at how he and Kellan have just witnessed me melt down and lash out at a clerk, I whip my head back towards Applebaum. My insides are churning, my hands trembling. Why do I let my mother get to me like this?

  Much to my utter shock, the clerk is scratching out a tardy slip for me. And all I want to do is run, because Jonah just saw me do that. They both did. Gods. What must they think? That I’m a lunatic with rage issues?

  She holds the slip out and I snatch it out of her hand. Unable to help myself, I choke out, “Go ahead and call her. I don’t care. What’s the worst you can do to me? Suspend me? It doesn’t matter. None of this matters.”

  And then, because my confidence finally fails me, I flee the room.

  chapter 10

  During passing period, I shove my head into my locker, wishing for a way to cram my entire body in. Then I could shut the door behind me, leaving all of the events of the morning to fade into the darkness.

  “Tough day?”

  I yank my head out and find Kellan standing next to my locker. My breath catches in the back of my throat, because he’s so unbearably sexy. And I’m not alone, because every girl walking by drools unabashedly. I can’t believe he’s here. Next to my locker. Talking to me after watching me yell at the attendance clerk! I blush, ruining any effort at playing it cool. “Sort of.”

  He raises a hand and scratches his forehead—there’s a wide black leather cuff on his left wrist in place of a watch. I like it. It seems so him. “That was some show you put on in the office.”

  I’m about to say something witty, like, “Ugh, don’t remind me,” but then I decide to tell him the truth. “Everybody has their breaking point. I guess I reached mine today.”

  Stupidly, I’d expected (hoped for?) a phone call or a text from my mother expressing her disappointment in my actions, but true to form, nothing appeared. Because to call me would have required that little bit of effort a loving mom would put out for her daughter.

  “Yeah?”

  I chew on my bottom lip and study him. He seems genuinely interested in my answer. “I don’t like being compared to someone else, you know?”

  “No one does, C.”

  “I guess you’d know that pretty well, huh?” He gives me a questioning look, so I lamely add, “What with you being a twin and all.”

  I can almost read his mind: Ah, let the twin jokes commence.

  I try for damage control. “Does that happen to you a lot? Comparisons, I mean?”

  He gives a small laugh. “Every day.”

  “Huh. You seem so different from one another. You even look totally different.”

  Surprise softens his features. “You think? Most people have a very difficult time telling us apart.”

  I blush again, realizing my slip. “It’s just, uh, from what I could tell so far, you seem different from one another.”

  Kellan studies me intently for a moment. I try not to squirm. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the tardy sort.”

  “And you are?”

  He chuckles. “Occasionally.”

  I laugh, and all of the crummy feelings plaguing me since waking up this morning evaporate.

  He grins at me mischievously. “So. Here we are. At school.”

  “Yes, but not in class,” I offer, remembering my foolish words from Friday night.

  “Hmm …” He crosses his arms across his chest, tilting his head to the side. “You’re right.”

  Out of the blue, I become aware of a very strong, distinctive pull toward him, almost as if there’s a cord connected between the two of us. It tugs at me in strong, mouth-watering ways. Okay, Chloe. Breathe. “So, what class do you have next?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

  His lips curve upwards. “What would you say if I told you I don’t have any more classes today?”

  “Surely you’re not planning on ditching!” And then I want to groan, because HELLO. Do I sound like the ultimate goody-goody or what?

  “Why not?” And then, after a short pause, much more seriously—“Come with me.”

  Positive I misheard him, I offer a sophisticated, “Huh?”

  He doesn’t repeat anything. Instead, he holds out a hand.

  And I take it.

  When his fingers curve over mine, it strikes me how right his hand in mine feels. Like our fingers are meant to fit together.

  Rather than discussing destinations or the insanity of our actions, I lean back into the warm leather seat of his car and ask, “This yours?”

  With a completely straight face, he says, “It’s stolen.”

  “Just this morning, or late last night?”

  An eyebrow quirks up. “Yesterday afternoon.”

  I laugh as he fiddles with the stereo. “So. Why yellow?”

  “Why not?”

  “They say that a car’s color says a lot about its owner.”

  “Is that so?” He glances over at me, amused as he shifts gears. “What do you think yellow says about me?”

  “Hmm. I would say that yellow indicates a need for … being recognized.”

  He laughs out loud at that. “Is that what I’m doing?”

  “Maybe,” I smile, although it’s obvious he doesn’t have to seek attention. The last few days have shown me that attention follows him whether he wants it or not.

  He surprises me when he asks, “Your car is blue, right?”

  “How did you know that?”

  He ignores the question and asks instead, “What does blue say about you?”

  “Maybe it means I’m looking for peace.”

  “Really.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Well, since you think we’re so different, what do you think my brother’s car’s color means? His is white.”

  I picture the SUV I’ve seen several times already. Grappling for something that won’t shriek, I love your brother, I offer, “White means … a need to blend in.”

  Kellan glances at me, somewhat surprised for a second, before snorting. “He’d find that interesting.”

  “Is it accurate?”

  “I guess you’d have to ask him, wouldn’t you?”

  I wish I could. Yet, here I am instead with Jonah’s twin, heading to parts unknown, and my tightly leashed life suddenly feels less restrained than it has in a long time. And I know it has a lot to do with the guy sitting in the seat next to me. Which is crazy, crazy, CRAZY, because it ought to be Jonah, yet it’s not.

  A quick glance at the speedometer tells me Kellan’s driving fast for rain. But rather than being alarmed, I’m not bothered in the least because, for some bizarre reason, I completely trust his instincts. I don’t know when it appeared, but it’s here all the same—a very distinct feeling of safety with him. An inherent knowledge that this guy would do
everything and anything to make sure I stay safe.

  So I lean my head back and savor the scenes whipping by us, green-and-brown watercolors of blurred trees mixing with the rain streaking on the windshield.

  Kellan leans against a guardrail overlooking the ocean and tells me, “I like this place.”

  It’s still raining, so I allow myself the opportunity to move close enough to feel the lovely warmth radiating from him. “Why?”

  “I feel connected to the ocean, like I’m part of a larger picture. Part of a whole. But at the same time, very singular.”

  “How very poetic.”

  He laughs, cheeks pink. On him, it’s amazingly disarming and tempting at the same time.

  “Is that why you enjoy surfing so much?”

  “Yeah,” he admits. “It helps me think.”

  “Deep thoughts?”

  He pretends to consider about this. “Occasionally shallow.”

  “I watched you surfing on Saturday,” I confess with a sheepish smile. “You’re very good. It seems to suit your personality.”

  “More than the yellow car?”

  I laugh. “More than the car.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, it sort of goes back to what I was talking about earlier. Everyone was talking about you. You were impossible not to notice out there.”

  He puts a hand against his chest, pretending to be wounded. “So what you’re saying is that I’m some sort of attention whore?”

  “No! I mean … that came out wrong.” I fumble for the right words. “I don’t think you do it on purpose. I think you’re the sort of person who is impossible to ignore.”

  He taps a finger against his chin. “Impossible?”

  “You know what I mean.” A flush creeps up my neck.

  “Let’s say you’re right about this attention thing,” he says, generously pretending to ignore my foot in my mouth. “How does this explain my brother? He’s just as good as me at surfing. If he wants to … how’d you put it? Blend in? What does it say about him?”

  Now I’m completely flustered. “Oh. Um … he likes to hide out in the waves?”

  “You can do better than that, or I’ll start to think you’re just grasping at straws,” he teases. And then he tucks a strand of misty hair behind my ear and my knees weaken. I am excruciatingly aware of every inch of him, of how fabulous he smells, and of how each accidental graze against me makes my heart feels like it’s going to smash out of my chest. “Do you surf?”