by Debra Kristi
“Come to the party, and you’ll find out!” She giggles and runs ahead of me toward the house.
Another Monday. Another school day. I’m praying with all my might people have forgotten the incident at the swim meet. Of course, that’s like searching for one special pebble in a desert covered with nothing but. Just my luck, the opposite has happened. Word of Ry’s heroics has spread, resulting in new, interesting twists, with various versions floating around the school.
This day couldn’t progress at any more of a crawl, with the countless pats of concern, several viral looks for having cost the school win, and even name-calling—ugh! Stupid Skylar clones. I’m trapped in a horrible teenage drama flick. When the sixth period bell rings, I anxiously head toward the locker room, ready to drown my distress in the pool.
And…I secretly want to see Jaden. One of the girls from my swim class told me he was the one who plucked me from the water. He had his arms completely wrapped around me. That had to be some kind of crazy vibe running through my body. Too bad I wasn’t conscious for it. I pick up speed as I head down the hall. Ry cuts me off before I get to the locker room.
“How are you feeling?” he asks casually.
I purse my lips. “Fine. I really wish everyone would stop asking me that.”
A mild smile plays at the corners of his mouth, and he motions for me to follow. “Come.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” He squeezes his arm around me and jostles me playfully before continuing on his way. I’m unsure if the tactic was meant to disarm, but I follow anyway. We head around the corner to the coach’s office. He closes the door behind me. Coach is seated at his desk, and we stand before him like a couple of pupils reporting for detention.
Ry removes a slip of paper from his pocket and hands it to the coach. “Ana’s doctor requests she refrain from strenuous activity for the next couple of weeks. I suggest study hall.” Ry’s calm, as if placing an order at the pharmacy. Never once does he spare me a glance.
If it were possible, smoke would spew from my ears right now. Why is this the first I’m hearing about it?
“What?” I burst, fire burning up my neck and swiftly spreading across my face. I glance between Coach and Ry, then narrow my gaze on my coach. “I’m fine. Totally fine. I swear it!” I look at Ryland—traitor. He starts to open his mouth, and my hand snaps up to stop him. Is this because of Jaden? There must be a reason Ry didn’t tell me himself that Jaden was the one who pulled me from the pool. Heat prickles my skin. “I’ll get out there right now and show you how fine I am.” I exhale heavily.
Coach glances up from the slip. “Feeling fine, are you, Janssen? You didn’t look so good the last time I saw you.”
My fingers ball into tight fists, but anger isn’t getting me anywhere. “I really am okay, Coach,” I say, trying to sound calm.
He rubs his chin, studies the paper as if avoiding eye contact. “That might be all well and good. But doctor’s orders are doctor’s orders.”
“But—”
“Janssen.”
Coach’s decision is final, and it lands me in study hall. For the next hour, I sit in a miserable plastic chair at a depressing metal desk, twisting my pencil until it breaks. I go through three pencils.
The quad is practically deserted when I am finally released from purgatory. Everyone is running to the gym for some rah-rah-snob rally. I head straight to my locker. There are a few others milling around. One of them is Jaden. He stands near his locker, and for a fraction of a second, light reflects off something in his hands. I recall him holding something shiny in my dream, as well. As he shoves the object back into the depths of the locker, my heart jumps like an over-excited cheerleader. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll go talk to him.
I don’t want to appear too eager, so I walk to my locker first. As I swing the door open, I glimpse over my shoulder, and our gazes lock. He’s now only three lockers down. I can’t break away. I’m lost in his hypnotic eyes. They suck me in, and I have nothing to anchor me. The heat around me rises, and the now-familiar, harmonious buzzing begins. Like gravity, I’ll be sent crashing into him.
Skylar steps between us, my view of him instantly gone, blocked by the wall that is Ms. Popularity. I can see by the way she glares at me she’s envisioning my death in a multitude of manners. One hip thrown to the side, she places her hands on them in a theatrical snit.
She wiggles her finger loosely in the direction Jaden should be. “That wonderful example of the male species is mine. Direct your eyes elsewhere, freak.”
Blinking, I drag myself back to reality. Then glance past her to see Jaden is no longer there.
“I’m fully aware of what you think is yours. There’s no problem here.” I stand my ground and wait for her comeback.
“Better not be.” With a flip of her hair, she spins on her toes and walks away.
I may not have gotten the opportunity to speak with Jaden, but I finally stood up to Skylar—sort of. I feel warm and…and…three feet taller. A victory smile tugs at my lips.
Hibiscus, azaleas, roses, and magnolias. Their heavy perfume creates an invisible barrier one must nudge through when entering Mom’s shop. “Have you ever considered bottling the scent of Lily’s Lovelies? It’s rather unique,” I say and throw my backpack to the ground.
Mom chuckles. “My flowers are happy here. I don’t know the first thing about chemistry and the perfume industry. And besides, I like the simple life.”
I purse my lips and take in the botanical garden around us. “I don’t think this is simple. I think you’re working your butt off. That’s why you need a break. Crystia and I have been planning this for a long time, Mom. Don’t try to back out on our deal now.” I grab her purse and shove it in her hands. “I’m taking over, and you’re taking some rest and relaxation. Crystia and I have the new schedule worked out. I’m taking the first shift, you don’t need to worry about a thing.” I gently direct her toward the exit.
“But Anala—”
I raise my finger. I will not allow objections.
Her chest heaves. She squares her shoulders, plants her feet, and stares into my eyes. “This is only on a trial basis. If I decide it isn’t working for any reason, things go back to normal.”
I shrug. “Fine.” Define normal, I think sarcastically, then behold all the flowers defying normalcy. Their colors are five times more brilliant. Their scent five times more pleasurable. And their lifespans five times longer. Lily’s Lovelies puts out the hardiest flowers in the entire region, possibly the state.
Once she’s gone, I make myself comfortable by straightening the clutter and searching for things she may have hidden in the shop. Anything that would hold a clue to my supposed destiny. I move boxes of cards and massive books on floral arrangement options. Shove green tape, wire stems, and brown covered vine out of the way. Behind it all I find an old dusty journal buried far into the back. When I slide it from its hiding place, something falls from its pages—a pressed Nerine lily.
Memories of the lily-filled meadow in Hiddenkel consume me, compelling me to bring the journal closer. My fingers trace the leather cover, so soft, so smooth against my skin. Guilt nips at me. I shouldn’t be holding her private book. I crack it open and flip through the pages, letting them swing by until I come to the page with the lily impression.
The first few words make me pause. I flip forward a couple pages and back several, noticing every entry is addressed to the same person, someone named Marduk. She wrote to him often, until the journal was packed. I stare at the passage and begin reading:
My Dearest Marduk,
I knew not of loneliness before now, separated from my love by the shrouds of time and distance. As long as we are apart, things shall never be right. My warrior clings to the pieces, holding me together, for you, for us. But alas, a cavern expands through the core of my being for as long as we exist on opposite sides of the barrier. Memories are all-consuming.
My bond, my life. My co
mmand, my duty. I have always known this. And a battle has been waged, and so it must be. I, too, cannot stand the bereavement of another Kaia. It is only because of this that I came so far. If only another way would present itself. This world presents a new battlefield, one much different from our own. End this, and bring us home, my love.
While we must wait, I promise to put forth my strength in the protecting. We shall blend in with the mortals and disappear in this foreign land. I beseech you, do make it brief.
Be well, and be strong. My life, my love. Keep safe and return.
Forever Yours,
Nerine
The journal slumps into my lap, the blood draining from my face. I’ve always assumed my lack of a father was the result of a fling or bad romance. Could she still hold a flame for this Marduk? Maybe he’s my father. I clutch the book again, stare at Mom’s words. My foot twitches, tapping nervously against the floor in an erratic beat. I chew the inside of my lip. Seeking calm in the sea of questions my mom has left, I concentrate on the sound of my breath.
The doorbell chimes, killing my opportunity to explore further. I slide the book back under the counter. Crystia slips through the door, a slight bounce in her step.
“To what do I owe the honor?” I say.
“Just came to borrow something from the back. You don’t mind, do you?” She hesitates. “Since you’re currently in charge and all?”
“Help yourself. As long as you know it’s something Mom would let you do.”
She bounces both hands off the counter and heads for the back. “Yeah, no problem.”
“Hey, wait a sec.” I slide a little foil square out for her to view.
She pauses, leans back on her heels. “What’s that?”
With a skip, she comes back to the counter, her gaze fixed on my small offering. She reads the horoscope: Try something new this weekend.
She looks up. “This from today?”
“Guess you can count me in for the party.”
She bounces up and down on her heels. “Really? Really truly honestly you’ll go?”
“Consider it a present. On account I’ll be gone next year.”
Her face morphs into the stinky face she’s been making since she was three. “You’re a poopy. Why do you want to leave Mom and me?”
“It’s not that I want to leave you. I love you. I simply need to be doing something else. Somewhere else.”
Crystia rolls her eyes. “Whateva.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll see each other often.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She frowns.
I sigh, change the subject. “There’s one minor problem regarding the party. I have nothing to wear, and there’s no shopping time left.” I scrunch my face. “I can’t promise we’ll actually get in the door.”
Insta Crystia change. Her face brightens; she has a mission. “You leave that part to me. We’ll look fabulous. Beyond amazing!” She dances her way toward the back of the store. “Thank you, sis! Love you! This is going to be so great. Just you wait. You’re going to thank me when this is over. You’ll see.” She disappears through the door into the work area.
Mom’s journal is all I can think about. All the treasures it must hold. I wonder if there are more journals, more treasures, hidden elsewhere. Her plight consumes my thoughts when I crawl into bed for the night.
A rickety old beater, driving along unkempt asphalt roads and stopping at greasy diners, haunts my night. I picture Mom writing notes to Marduk. Sitting in tattered, red vinyl booths in eateries thick with the scent of coffee and hash. Before long, the scene changes.
The air chills, turns damp. A foul stench wafts through the dark. The space in front of me is barely distinguishable. I stumble, raise my hands, let them guide me. They glide across a substantial, hulky surface at my side. I use it to steady myself. Beneath my touch, it feels alive. The desire to scream builds, even though my body moves ever forward, ignoring my impulse. Is the surface heaving?
Mom’s too courageous to give into fear, and right now—in this dream—I am her. Frigid and wet, a trickle of water running down its face, the wall beside me is now supple and slimy. And the smell! Rotten eggs a hundred fold. Totally gross. I choke back the desire to vomit. Shove forward another step. Another step through the tiny pools beneath my feet. The chill bores through my shoes, shoots up my legs.
Light-headed, my sight fades in and out, spinning slightly. With a start, I realize it isn’t water on the surface next to me. I jump back, expel a small scream, and get thrown off-balance by the weight in front of me. My hands clutch at my non-existent waist. I look down. All I see is a ballooning blouse where my waist should be.
My pulse is racing, my limbs shaking, and the sweat trickles down my face. I sway—back and forth and back again. Someone calls my name, breaks through my fuzzy brain. Only it’s Mom’s name I hear, not my own. Rapid footsteps. The splash of water. They’re coming through the dark.
Ouch! I lurch forward. A sharp fracture jolts through my middle.
I’m dying.
The sound nears. Raising my eyes to the darkness, I can just make out the figure of a man. He slows, reaches for me. My heart skips a beat. How can Ry be here? Everything fades, transmutes darker still. His face, welcoming and concerned, disappears within the black void. Gone now is all sight, all sound. All that remains, the mental and physical tremors.
Somewhere outside, birdsong declares the day. It’s difficult to pry my eyes open, but this nightmare is one I wish to leave behind and forget. If I can. I twist, get stuck once again tousled in the sheets. Daylight warmth tingles on my face, and its red glow burns through my eyelids. Sweat decorates my brow, so I wipe my hand across my forehead.
And feel slime. My eyes pop open. I stare at my hands. Green-brown sludge covers my hands, arms, and legs. I spring out of bed, stare at myself, at the bedding. The stuff is everywhere. I rubbed it into the sheets. My heart hammers faster than the motor on my wet stone grinder. If injuries and muck follow me out of my dreams, what’s next?
Ry’s filling his face with nuts and skimming a sportsman catalog when I slide in next to him at lunch. He glances up long enough to take note of the scowl on my face.
“What’s up?” he says through a mouthful of nuts.
“Nothing really. I just had unpleasant words with a girl,” I say, feeling a tad sorry for myself.
“Don’t need her,” he responds matter-of-factly and looks back down at his catalog.
My hands curl into fists under the table. “And you know who my friends should and shouldn’t be, do you?”
“I have a pretty good idea. So would you, if you opened your mind to it.” He pops another nut in his mouth.
I hope he chokes. No I don’t. Yes I do. Okay, I really don’t. I’m just in a foul mood. I bore into him with my glare. “Like who? Give me an example.”
“Her.” He points to our left. “That one there.” He identifies the girl I saw him with at the Farmer’s Market a few weeks ago. Same one I met in the girl’s bathroom the next day.
“Bree.” My voice hitches. “You can’t be serious. I doubt I have anything in common with her. She’s weird vibe girl. Did you know that?”
His brow arches. “Are you going to hold that against her?”
“Of course not. It’s just…” I don’t have an argument. Truth is I’ve never considered Bree as a potential friend. I’ve never considered her at all. Probably the same way most people have (not) considered me.
“It’s settled, then. You should get to know her.” He goes back to his catalog study.
“Right. You know a lot more about me and ‘things’ than you let on, don’t you?” I say, letting anger and frustration permeate my words.
He shrugs, then points to something in his catalog. “What do you think of going camping?”
“Don’t change the subject. That’s not cool.”
His shoulders drop, and he meets my stare. “You’re right, Ana. I’m sorry. You were saying?”
“Do you
think dreams hold any meaning?” I take a sip of my water and think of him running toward me in the dark tunnel.
He cradles his face in the palm of his hand, appearing deep in thought. “Some think dreams are just unsolved problems. Emotions your brain is wrestling with in your sleep. Of course, there can always be the extraordinary exception.”
I gnaw on my sandwich and mull the thought around in my head. “What kind of extraordinary exceptions?”
He coughs, choking on his soda.
“Mom said I have a ghost whisperer ability. Would that qualify?”
“She said that?” His mouth hangs open. I thought that might be part of their secret, but maybe not. “Wow, I’m sorry, Ana. I thought she’d come clean with you.”
“Are you saying I’m not talking to ghosts, and there’s something else wrong with me?”
“There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s all a matter of learning what’s what.” He closes his catalog. “I know you’ve had a rough time with the dreams. Especially lately. But I honestly believe they’ll reveal their purpose to you when you’re ready.”
“Finish what you started to say. Learning about what, Ry?”
“So sorry, Ana. I can’t say.” He crushes his Coke can, stands, and heads for the recycle bin, leaving me to stew over our conversation. I think of the dream again, and of the journal. What if Mom didn’t come here alone? It was a war, so what if an entire battalion or regiment was sent? There could be a bunch of Mom’s people. Ry’s probably one of them.
My gaze wanders over the lunch crowd. Crystia sits with her friends, laughing. Bree is with two others, although she appears to be reading a book and ignoring her company. And there’s Jaden. Skylar caresses his bicep like she’s cuddling a cute, fluffy puppy. Ugh. He led me to believe they weren’t together.
Why am I drawn to Skylar and her cliquey group? Nothing would make me happier than to turn away and forget about them, only I can’t. Jaden’s there—he’s the magnet tugging at me. For that ugly reason, I can’t avert my eyes. I stare at them, even lean forward, chin in my palm, like I’m engaged in an enthralling television show.