“Kylie, chill. Personal space bubble, remember?” she says.
“Never,” Aaden laughs, and Kylie huffs good-naturedly at him; I notice now they’re closer that she’s as tall as her boyfriend. In fact, Mabel and I are the only ones around average height.
I recall as I’m watching them interact that I was going to use this fifteen minute break to find a place to recover from the morning. I imagine my friends looking for me right now, and hope they haven’t seen me with this fun looking group of humans.
“I have to go,” I say, “I-I forgot some stuff in my locker, and I should go—” I take a few steps back,
but Duncan follows me.
“Gotcha. I’ll see you guys in a bit,” he says, giving them a clipped farewell wave.
“Nice to meet you, Sierra,” Mabel says with a mysteriously wry smile. Feeling stupid, I walk off with Duncan following me.
“Your friends seem…nice,” I say. While I still want some peace and quiet, I also want to keep talking with him. I’m under no illusions, however, not any more. The crush I’m developing isn’t going to go anywhere, so I’d better get used to that idea right now.
Duncan shrugs. “They’re all decent people. I think you and Mabel would get along; your personalities seem similar.”
“Oh?” I question. “She did shake my hand…” I notice my hands are clenched into fists with fur bristled, and I sigh, attempting to relax.
“Lucky,” Duncan mutters, surprising me.
“Lucky?” I repeat stupidly; I notice he’s looking at my hands. His eyes return to my face, and I realize he might not have meant to say that out loud.
“Oh…I forgot you have super hearing,” he says, color seeping into his face under the attractive stubble.
I look away quickly, towards the stairs. I feel myself blushing too as I imagine this boy touching my hand, even in something as casual as a hand-shake…then I wince. Mabel may not have shown any repulsion she felt, but I don’t want to take the chance Duncan won’t like the feel of my fur.
“Sorry…did I offend you?” he asks after a second, and I blink to shake myself out of the reverie I’d
stumbled into. He’s in my personal space bubble now, hovering just on the edge. I don’t mind...though it would probably be better if I did.
“No…I just…I have this party tonight,” I say stupidly. What the hell does that have to do with anything? I think. Duncan raises an eyebrow at me, perhaps thinking the same thing.
“Oh?” he asks. “I think you told me this yesterday…is it troubling you?”
I sigh again, shaking my head. “Just...it’s at Femi and Hasida’s house, and I’ve heard they only invite important people.” This is only part of the problem, but I’m reluctant to tell Duncan about Lyle’s interest. Their interaction yesterday seemed a little too tense for me to feed with new information.
“Femi and Hasida Reis?” He asks.
“Yes…why?”
“I know who they are,” he shares. “My dad is a security guard, and their parents hired him before for random details around the house because of some vandalism and theft issues.”
“Understandable. Even if they live in a good
neighborhood, stuff like that still happens to us,” I nod, a little more sympathetic with the Reis twins. For all their flashy dress and apparently splendid parties, they’re still in the same boat with the rest of the half-breeds who struggle for acceptance.
“You should cheer up: if they invited you, they must think you’re important,” Duncan says. I shake my head before explaining.
“Ordinarily that would be great. However this time…people who think I’m important could get me into trouble. I’m already in Harper’s bad books,” I say. Duncan nods seriously, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe of the stairway; half-breed students pass us with questioning glances, but I ignore them and my discomfort from their stares.
“You are kind of a rebel,” he tells me, one corner of his mouth hitching up in a smirk. “I don’t think you should get in trouble, but I think everyone at Hostetler knows you rule the M-DNA students.”
“That’s what people assume,” I sigh. “I’m sure I’m very flattered, but I just want to finish senior year and get the hell out of this dump.” Suddenly the one minute bell rings, and I startle, almost throwing my school SMARTpad down the stairs. Duncan laughs, and those butterflies in my stomach rattle like crazy.
“Your ears were drooping, but they just stood up straight really fast,” he says, chuckling. I know he’s not making fun of me maliciously.
“I don’t appreciate loud noises,” I say, then add: “We should go; Sociology calls.” I lead the way back,
only regretting a little bit that I didn’t have some time to cool down. Duncan calmed me, somehow.
“Can I see you again?” he asks. His tone makes me look up, and our eyes meet once more. I can’t look away, nor do I want to.
“Yes,” I whisper. He smiles, and I forget why I would have said no in the first place.
“Tomorrow?” he requests. “It’s Saturday, so we
might have more freedom as to what to do.”
“Okay…do you need my number?” I ask, and he nods. I rattle off my SMARTcall number rapidly, hoping his memory is good.
“See you later,” he says once he’s got it, and then he saunters off to class, leaving me to wonder what I’m going to do about this situation. Strangely enough, I’m more excited for tomorrow than for the party tonight.
REGION 5 HISTORY TEXTBOOK FOR GRADE 12
TEXT PROVIDED BY S.M.A.R.T. INDUSTRIES
SECTION HEADING: CENTURY 23/CURRENT EVENTS
CHAPTER HEADING: DESEGREGATION
The nation—indeed, the world—is divided on the issue of the rights of M-DNA citizens. In many places, the conflict is still violent as M-DNA people—who still refer to themselves as "half-breeds" amongst their own kind—fight for their freedoms.
In the Regional United States, disagreements are still solved by committees and SMARTvision televised talks. The committee of senators who manages the country has recently passed a controversial law regarding the future of our nation. That is, the future of the peace between M-DNA people and pure DNA humans: most of the senators believe that the only way to preserve the peace is to teach our youth to cooperate and live with each other fruitfully.
According to the polls SMART industries has provided to the general public, the desegregation laws have had mixed success rates. Only time will determine the future of blending pure DNA human lifestyles with M-DNA life, but the general agreement thus far is that the way into a successful future is by removing the barriers between pure DNA and M-DNA young people.
17
My brothers wait in line at the bottom of the stairs after I finish preparing for the party tonight.
“Guys, this isn’t prom night,” I say jokingly, fluffing my freshly curled hair as I come down. “I might not even be out that late, depending on how things go.”
Now that school is over after this long week, I feel ten times better. It was much easier to prepare for a party knowing that I don’t have to deal with humans or with Belinda Harper for a couple of days. I cranked up some loud music and rocked around my room for a while, enjoying my improved mood and looking forward to partying with some friends.
There’s still the problem of Lyle’s interest and how I might be encouraging it just to get my mind off someone else...but that was more convenient to
ignore.
“Doesn’t she have a curfew?” Wade asks as I walk past the three of them to the shabby full length mirror hanging on the wall beside our non-working fireplace. Harold chuckles.
“Yes, but it’s later than yours was. Sierra is a lot less likely to cause riots than you boys were,” he says, surprising me.
“Oh? What about the fight I got into this week?” I ask.
“Yes, perhaps you forgot that Sierra is currently the queen bee at Hostetler,” Eisen has planted himself behind me, arms
crossed and legs belligerently apart. “If we had to be home by eleven, shouldn’t she?”
“Jealous, much?” I say teasingly, smoothing a smudge of neutral but flattering lipstick away from the corner of my lips. I took a lot of effort with my make-up tonight; the smoky-winged eye will never go out of style, and I like to think the foresty eye shadow I used compliments the yellow and gold of my irises. I won't have to hide anything about what I am tonight: this is a half-breed party, and I plan to luxuriate in my own me-ness.
“You both have fair points, but you forget that Sierra hasn’t been a trouble maker for at least two years…not until this week anyway, but she was provoked,” Harold says reasonably. “Her curfew is one a.m. because she earned it, as you two might have if you’d partied more responsibly.” Harold is definitely enjoying this more as an older brother than as a parent figure, and I smile at memories of younger, wilder versions of Eisen and Wade when they cared about
rules a lot less.
“Plus, I’m the baby of the family,” I tease, rubbing salt into the wound.
“Baby gets what baby wants.” Wade huffs, genuinely annoyed, but Eisen stalks forward and grabs my waist, finding the points in my ribs that are the most ticklish.
“Harold, make him stop!” I gasp between giggles
as Eisen laughs at my squirming. “He’ll mess up my outfit!”
“You’re such a girl sometimes, S,” Harold chuckles, letting Eisen carry on for a bit before breaking us apart.
“Not much of that outfit to mess up,” Wade mutters, still standing by the stairs with his arms crossed.
“What?” I ask innocently once Eisen backs off, glancing at my outfit in the mirror again. I’m wearing a flowy dark green skirt that falls right below the middle of my thighs as well as vintage grey fishnets to match my petite faux leather pumps. My shirt isn’t terribly low cut, but the scoop neck shows off a pleasing amount of my collar bones and some of what I've been endowed with; the cool black fabric hugs my torso flatteringly. This is definitely more formal than what I would have thought to wear to a party myself—what happened to jeans and t-shirts?—but I consulted with Shelby and Morgan, who’d been to a Reis party before, and they said this was more acceptable. I even took the effort to brush my tail and ears, so I thought I looked nice enough. Plus, here I can focus on enhancing my animal aspects; at school, I’ll have to start downplaying them to please Belinda. The thought turns my stomach, so I push it away.
However, while I understand my brothers being a little leery about what I’ve chosen to wear to my first real party, Wade’s grumpy attitude about the whole affair strikes me as odd. It’s not like him to be antagonistic about something like this.
“Something wrong, Wade?” I ask, shaking out my hair so the hairspray continues to dry correctly. Our gazes meet in the full length mirror, and I know from the
weird golden sheen in his eyes that my brother is troubled.
“It’s nothing,” he mutters, looking away. “Bad day at work.”
“Sucks, man,” Eisen says, moving over and manfully patting him on the back. I turn away from the mirror, glancing at Harold to make sure he
notices Wade’s troubled mood. His familiar frown settles at the corners of his grey eyes. He gives me an I’ll talk to him later look before manufacturing a smile.
“Cheer up, Wade. Your curfew is one a.m. now that you’re out of high school, so at least that’s something,” he says, striding to the front door to grab his keys out of the metal dish.
Harold knows where the Reis house is, since he’s worked as their attorney in the past—one of his more important cases—so he’s driving me. Suddenly Eisen comes and gives me a hug; I like hugs from all my brothers, including Harold’s bear hug and Wade’s hugs that are sneaky from behind. Eisen gives a kind of reassuring hug that somehow embodies family loyalty, which I’ve always found comforting after a hard day or after an upsetting incident.
“Be safe…stay away from boys with unidentifiable
drinks,” he tells me quietly so no one else hears. I notice his ears droop when our hug ends. I don’t mind my brothers being protective, but it does bother me when they psych themselves up with worrying.
“I’ll be fine…it’s just a party,” I try to reassure all three of them, smiling. “Besides, we just had a discussion about how responsible and mature I am.”
“Did we? I thought your words were ‘baby gets what baby wants’…” Eisen says, ears slowly perking back up. Harold laughs and takes my arm.
“Okay, okay, we’re going to make her late. Let’s be gentlemen and escort the lady to the vehicle,” he says, leading me towards the garage.
“Gentlemen, sure. We’ll be the only ones she’ll encounter tonight, then,” Wade says darkly, grumbling further as he retreats up the stairs to his room. I’m very glad that I didn’t mention Lyle—or even Duncan—to anyone else.
z
I’m sure human teenagers would be mortified to have a guardian drop them off at a party, but this is very normal for half-breeds. Most people our age can't even afford a regular SMARTvan, not to mention the fact that human leaders don’t trust young half-breed drivers. Supposedly our instincts might go haywire and
we’ll crash the vehicle…at least, that’s what they tell the public.
I gawk at the fabulous house and the surprising number of people lingering on the lawn; I can see into the front door, which keeps opening and closing, and it looks equally crowded inside. Blending in will be easy, but I’m still nervous; I’m not good at meeting new
people, especially not in large quantities.
I continue walking up the brick sidewalk towards the house, wondering how Femi’s and Hasida’s parents managed to get into a house that is clearly old money material. Probably illegally, I think. I’m right outside the ostentatious brick house when my SMARTcall buzzes twice in my small red leather wristlet. I tug the device out of its pocket and glance at the screen.
LYLE ZEMAN: Hey there, where are you? The party is awesome.
You said you’d let this play out, I think, telling myself the fluttering in my stomach is from nervous excitement about this sort-of date instead of plain old uncertainty. He is a nice guy and he's confident and outspoken. I look at the next text.
MORGAN CHEPI: We’ve gone around back, if you want to look for us. Lyle already went towards the front room to look for you.
I enter the house, passing several half-breeds I don’t recognize. So far my outfit doesn’t look out of place…not that anyone would notice. The room is dark with perfect lighting for partying: smoky with roaming colored lights installed in the antique arched ceiling. Deafening music—which might be overwhelming if I had my animal senses cranked up—pounds through the entire house. I hope the walls have been sound-proofed; we don’t need angry neighbors calling the police to complain about the raucous party noise
jarring through the bricks.
“Sierra!” An excited female voice calls my name close behind my head, and I jump, startled. Femi’s tanned face beams with satisfaction as I face her. “It’s great you’re here!”
“Thanks,” I reply. Femi is beautiful in the way a real parrot would be: exotic, colorful, a tropical creature with bright yellow eyes, glittering make-up, and clothes at the height of fashion. She must be feeling the heat in here, judging from the faint sheen of sweat beading on her forehead. I expect to see Hasida nearby, but Femi is alone this time.
“Aren’t you glad this week from hell is over?” she yells, shaking out her spiky blonde, chin length hair; her feathers gleam scarlet under the roving lights. “It’s nice being able to chill with a few cool people on a Friday night after all that garbage we had to deal with.”
“Just a few?” I query as she expertly leads me through the masses of people. She laughs.
“What can I say? My sister and I come into contact with a lot of half-breeds. It’s definitely worth having most of them at a party. Now come on!” She turns and grins at me, then gives a guy w
ho looks like he’s got some hawk DNA a flirty wink and a wave. “Lyle already asked me where you were, so I said I’d help him find
you.”
Apparently getting to where Lyle is involves crossing the huge living-room-turned-dance-floor, which means Femi and I have to dance our way across to avoid getting tangled up during the crossing. Or perhaps the point is to get tangled up; there’s a wild atmosphere in this house already. As I’m rocking through the masses I
feel more than one body pressing up against me in a way that can’t be accidental. True, half-breeds don’t do vulgar butt-grabs and all the groping I’ve heard humans do—a lot of times half-breed women are strong enough to discourage unwanted attention, not to mention the boys who don't want their "territory" infringed upon—but it’s not really a dance party unless there’s a lot of physical contact.
Not that I speak from experience. My experience only covers worrying about a noise complaint and the fortune this party must have cost.
One particular face in the crowd seizes my attention; another Egyptian-looking man— absolutely not a high school boy—with expertly gelled black hair and a long, sophisticated nose observes the crowd with some distaste as he leans against the massive doorframe of a room that looks like an office, from what little I can see behind him.
His eyes are the blackest I’ve ever seen: glittering, intelligent onyx.
Jackal, I think, sensing his animal DNA without trying to catch a scent.
“Don’t mind him,” Hasida joins us right as Femi and I come through the crowd. “That’s just our brother, Issachar. He and some of his college buddies are having their own private soiree in his office tonight.”
“That seems like poor planning on his part,” I remark, gesturing to the air vaguely as music pounds through the room. The sisters laugh, and I see Issachar’s sculpted lips curl with dissatisfaction. He turns away, and I notice as the lights gleam on the shining black fur on his ears and tail that a gold piercing has made one
Vixen (The Fox and Hound Book 1) Page 17