First Impression (A Shadow Maven Paranormal)

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First Impression (A Shadow Maven Paranormal) Page 9

by Pauline Creeden


  Matt’s eyes are wide and wild, still fixed on the cafeteria exit. “I don’t know for sure. But the same kind of weird stuff that was happening at Donnie’s is happening to him. He said he feels like he's being watched. Cabinets and doors slamming around his house, stuff like that, but only when his parents aren’t home.”

  “What?” Stacy asks. “He didn’t say anything to me. And he's not tweeting like Donnie.”

  “He told me today the stuff’s been happening the whole time, but he hasn’t said anything about it.”

  She swallows and loosens her grip on his jacket.

  Matt shrugs her off and starts for the door. He’s stopped by Mrs. Blaylock.

  My appetite has abandoned me again. I snag the brownie and stuff it into my pocket, grab the milk, and set the rest of the tray on a table. Without a second thought, I set course for the stairs.

  *

  Bright sunlight stabs my eyes, and the familiar squeal of the rooftop door greets me. Steve is perched on the fence, his talons wrapped around the green painted chain link. Ben doesn’t turn around and greet me like he normally does. Somehow, this comforts me a bit and relieves some of the awkwardness I anticipated.

  Steve plucks a bit of jerky from Ben’s fingertips. The snap of his beak slices through the skin of Ben's finger. Droplets of blood begin to form.

  “Are you okay?” I jog to his side.

  He tosses back a fleeting glance and pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. With a quick wrap, the finger is covered. He stuffs the hand into his pocket.

  He carries a handkerchief?

  “It’s fine, this happens all the time,” he quips. The tone of his voice rings a bit hollow and short, and he takes a step away from me.

  I falter. Did I do something wrong? I swallow back the disappointment and try to shake it off. “All the time? I don’t recall seeing little slits covering your fingers.”

  The side of his mouth quirks, and he eyes his uninjured hand. “You were looking at my hands?”

  I stand akimbo. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  He shrugs and steps back to lean against the wall of the stairwell door. “It hasn’t happened in a while. I’m more careful most of the time. I just let myself get distracted.”

  I’m a distraction. Of course I am. I watch his lean well-muscled figure in the bright sun. He cuts a clean shadow against the wall. He pulls the injured hand out of his pocket and flexes his long fingers. His square jaw tightens as he bites his full bottom lip. While he turns his hand over, his eyes look troubled and anxious, but they are half covered in the shadow of his wavy, dark, messy hair.

  He’s perfect and beautiful. And he doesn’t need to lower himself to my level. He could go downstairs right now and hang out with the best of them. If he’d open himself up to them, he’d be popular. Matt and Hailey Benson’s cousin? How could he not fit right in with the crowd?

  But instead he’s on the roof, feeding an owl. Would anyone ever accept that bit of weirdness? Would the teeny boppers I stood in line behind find that cool? Probably not. And his eyes. Pools of dancing black oil? They were a bit unusual, yeah, but worth freaking out about? Not really. Then there’s the whole monk thing…and how he knows so much about things like ghosts and demons. I shiver at the thought. I blurt, “I’ll go with you.”

  His eyes finally meet mine. In them is a tiny spark of hope. “What?”

  I clear my throat. “I’ll go with you tomorrow to the Old Schoolhouse.”

  The flash in them becomes serious, and his face sets in a determined expression. “Good. What made you change your mind?”

  I shake my head and turn to look at Steve, who is perched closer to me on the fence now, his amber eyes watching my every move. “We need to do something. Tasha is in a coma. Donnie is dead. And Jacob…”

  Ben steps closer, his voice quiet but with a hard edge. “What about Jacob?”

  My gaze lifts to his. Those faux brown eyes are determined and curious. I like it. The serious Ben has returned. I stand up straight. “I was just in the cafeteria. He looked distraught, unshaven, disheveled—nothing like he usually does. And he had a fit downstairs, slammed his hand on the table and shouted something about how what happened to Donnie is happening to him, too, and he just can’t take it anymore.”

  Ben’s intense eyes become distant as he looks over my shoulder, and his jaw works in and out on the side of his face. “Maybe we shouldn’t wait until tomorrow. Maybe we should go break into the Old Schoolhouse tonight.”

  My jaw drops, and my breath catches.

  His gaze returns to me and flickers between my eyes and my lips. He’s so close that, for a moment, my heart skips a beat. Will he kiss me? But the moment passes in an instant as he turns away and takes a step back.

  My breath returns. “We can’t do that. We can’t break in. They’ve started night watch at the building now. I remember Mr. Scott saying something about it at the Police Station.”

  Ben winces, and his eyes dart back and forth like he’s trying to come up with another plan. Finally, his shoulders droop a bit. “It can’t be helped I suppose. We’ll have to try the custodian after school tomorrow.”

  I nod and finger the brownie in my pocket. My stomach growls.

  “Have you eaten?” he asks me with an accusing tone.

  I quirk an eyebrow and pull the milk and brownie from my pockets. “The lunch of champions.”

  He laughs and shakes his head when I snag my first bite.

  With my mouth full, I ask, “What about you? Have you eaten?”

  “A bologna sandwich and a coffee. According to my uncle it’s the lunch of detectives.”

  I wash down the brownie with my milk and smile. “That’s good because we’ll need you to be one if we’re going to settle this whole thing.”

  I MISS TASHA THE MOST in 6th period Gym class. It’s here that I have to deal with the brunt of my shunning, without the buffer that is my best friend. Instead, I deal with pointing, stares, and being chosen last for any team sport. Which irks me the most, since I can play circles around the majority of the girls in the class due to my innate size and build. And volleyball? I totally rock this game.

  “You can take the Amazonian woman,” Kaitlyn says, snickering and rolling one of her blonde curls with her finger.

  Stacy shrugs and waves me over. I try to keep my face as neutral as possible. It was down to me and the smallest, weakest freshman, and I still got last pick.

  We set up on both sides of the net. Gym is one of those classes where students from every level work together, from seventh graders to seniors. Whether puberty has gotten hold of them or not. I take my spot against the net as opposite because I’ve got a good jump on me and can spike it anytime someone sets me up. And boy, am I ready to spike it with some power today. If I was male, I’d be oozing testosterone… Just as Kaitlyn’s serve passes over the net, the whistle blows. Stacy catches the ball to stop the play, and we all look over at Mrs. Norris who blew the whistle. The vice principal stands next to her, and he looks sterner than ever. “Stacy Brine, Mr. Collins would like to see you for a moment. The rest of you, run four laps around the gym to stay warm.”

  I groan along with the rest of the girls, but we do as we’re told. The jog around the perimeter of the gym is slowed because we are all craning our necks to see what’s going on with Stacy. When she sobs and collapses into the principal’s arms, I slam into the body in front of me. Kaitlyn has stopped. She turns toward me and snaps, “Watch it, dyke.” And then she dashes over to Stacy.

  No one in the group is running anymore. We all stop and stare like sheep watching one of their own being slaughtered. When Kaitlyn gets over there, she’s talking to the principal, and Stacy crashes into her friend’s arms.

  “What?” Kaitlyn yells, and then she’s crying, too.

  As a collective, every student in the gym has become silent and huddled together. A fight or flight instinct has taken over us all, and we know instinctively that there is safety in numbers. Ka
itlyn leaves with both Stacy and the vice principal. Mrs. Norris glares at our group. “Laps, girls.”

  We nod and scramble to finish our drill. Murmurings begin at the group that had been nearest the action and slowly the gossip travels from ear to mouth throughout the gym. Shocked expressions interrupt game play at the other volleyball nets, and Mrs. Norris is forced to make an announcement. She blows her whistle and the murmuring stops. “Ladies! Have a seat right here in front of me.”

  I’d lost count on how many laps we’d done, but my legs aren’t tired in the least. With everyone else, I sit cross-legged on the hardwood gym floor. Once everyone is seated and quiet again, Mrs. Norris speaks.

  “I know how the telephone game and the gossip chain works around here. I was going to wait until the end of class to avoid the interruption of game play, but it seems you all aren’t letting that happen. I’m sorry to relay to you all some horrible news.”

  The hush in the gym allows for the wails of other students down the hall to reach our ears. When we hear this uproar, it becomes that much harder to be patient for the announcement. Mrs. Norris clears her sniffles, tears welling in her eyes. “Senior class president, Jacob Sloane has been in a terrible accident.”

  Cries of disbelief and general tears erupt in spurts around the crowd of girls in the gym.

  Mrs. Sloan makes a motion with her hands for all of us to sit still. She continues, “This appalling tragedy follows too closely to the incident on Saturday with Donnie Price. To have two of our Jackson Hall seniors die in completely unrelated ways is a horrible blow. If anyone needs to see the guidance counselor, Mr. Collins has informed me that we’ll be doing group sessions to help the student body deal with their grief.”

  What? I feel paralyzed. My joints are frozen, and my muscles refuse to move. How could this be possible? I sit in a stupor, my mind numb, while voices and crying around me becomes indistinct. Someone pats my shoulder, and I notice that everyone has stood and started heading for the locker room.

  “Miss Kelly. If you need to see the grief counselor, I can write you a hall pass right now,” says Mrs. Norris.

  I shake my head and scramble to my feet. “No, ma’am. That won’t be necessary.”

  She nods, her eyes bloodshot and sad. “Okay, but please talk to someone about what you’re feeling. Don’t hold it all in. That’s the worst thing you can do.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Norris has a ball of tissues in her hand, and she’s wiping her nose. Some of the girls from the class have congregated just outside the locker room door, talking. I recognize one of them as Tracey James. When she sees me, she brightens. “Tell them, Chira. You would know better than me.”

  I blink and raise my eyebrows. “What? What do you mean?”

  She pulls me over to the group, and I scan the judgmental, doubtful, but mourning faces of the other three girls. Tracey keeps hold of my elbow as though she’s afraid I might run away as she says, “My group went upstairs, but yours went down. You were with them. Tasha, Donnie, Jacob and Stacy, right? You were with them all when you saw that ghost. And now three of you have been hurt, right? It’s got to be a curse.”

  Panic claws in my chest, and I shake my head. I don’t want to talk about this right now. I try to pull from Tracey’s grasp, but she tightens her grip. “Tell them Chira. You were there. What did you see?”

  I’m stronger than she is, and if I have to drag her with me, I’m still going to leave. I head for the locker room, pulling her with me for a moment before she finally lets me go. The door doesn’t swing shut before I hear her laugh behind me. “I wonder who’s next. You or Stacy?”

  SKIPPING THE LAST FIFTEEN MINUTES of class doesn’t seem like a problem for me. The moment I’m back in my standard uniform, I shoulder my bag and rush out the door. I march down the hallway, and when I pass a classroom, a shout stops me in my tracks.

  “Wait up!”

  The vibration that voice sends through my body makes it clear who it is, and I don’t bother to turn around. Ben stands beside me with his backpack slung over his shoulder. I eye him. “Were you planning on skipping the last bit of class, too?”

  “Most everyone is. After that bit of news, no one can concentrate on their work anymore,” he says.

  I nod and start walking again. “That’s for sure.”

  “Where are you going? I told you never to go anywhere alone right now. It’s not safe.”

  “How are you going to save me from this…curse that everyone’s talking about?”

  He frowns. “What curse?”

  “The Old Schoolhouse is not only haunted, but apparently there’s a curse now. If you’ve seen the ghost, you have an accident. Or something like that.”

  Ben’s jaw tightens. “Urban legend. I don’t buy into silly superstitions.”

  We reach the administrator’s hall and nearly run into Mr. Scott. His smile wanes the moment he sees us. “What are you two doing? I hope you have a hall pass?”

  I swallow and shake my head, suddenly ashamed. I’ve never skipped class before, but somehow I just can’t take being here any longer. “I don’t feel well, Mr. Scott. Since the day is almost out, and my teacher isn’t working on anything further, I asked if I could be excused. Ben offered to walk me home.”

  Mr. Scott narrows his worried eyes at both of us, and then his gaze lands on me. Suddenly I’m sure that his kind eyes can see right through my lie. Instead, he says, “There were five of you in that video Donnie posted on twitter, weren’t there? And now three of you have been hurt. It’s a terrible thing that happened today with Jacob. His brakes went out, and he ran a red light. I don’t buy into this whole curse theory, but it’s better that you stay safe, okay?”

  I nod.

  The light shines on Mr. Scott’s bald head as he turns to look up at Ben, and there’s something wary in his gaze. “Glad you’re keeping an eye out for Chira. Keep up the good work.”

  I blink and am surprised as Mr. Scott continues down the hallway away from us. With a shrug I take advantage of the opportunity and walk a little faster for the door. Ben is right beside me, but I beat him to the door and push it open myself. The overcast sky mutes the sunlight so that it feels later in the day than just before two o’clock. I decide to go home. Maybe I’ll just hole up early and snack on something in the house before I go to bed. I’m not feeling like doing the usual library and diner thing. I’m just too tired. I hop down the steps, and Ben follows me like a shadow. Not sure how I feel about that. I don’t need a babysitter, but it seems like this chivalry thing is in Ben’s nature. At least he keeps his distance from me.

  HALLOWEEN COMES ON A SUNNY Tuesday morning. Even though Ben is following me still, he barely talks to me. It’s as though he’s noticed that I want my space, and he’s determined to give it to me. For that I’m thankful. I can almost forget he’s sitting behind me—he’s so withdrawn.

  By lunch time, I’ve given up on avoiding the only person who will really talk to me in the whole school without looking at me like I’m a freak and without asking me about this forsaken curse. I make no pretense when I follow him up to the roof. He even holds the door for me.

  “Do you have anything to eat?” he asks.

  I shrug and pull out a pouch drink and chocolate flavored toaster pastry packet.

  He shakes his head and frowns. “Not much different than your lunch of champions yesterday.”

  I plop down on the roof tiles and rest my back against the wall. “Guess not. Did you bring your detective’s lunch?”

  He plops down beside me and opens his brown bag. Lifting a sandwich, he shows me. “Yep.”

  Steve’s wings whistle as he lights upon the top of the green chain link fence right in front of us. He eyes us both intently at first but soon dozes off with his lids half shut.

  We eat together in a comfortable silence. I finish one of the toaster pastries and stuff the other in its silver wrapper into the pocket of my bag. The bright sun feels good on my legs while my body
remains shaded. I didn’t sleep well the night before, so I begin to feel drowsy. Unintentionally, my body leans toward Ben until my shoulder touches his. He stiffens, and I jerk away. “Sorry.”

  He gulps down a bit of coffee from his thermos and sets it down. “No, it’s okay.”

  With his permission, I lean against him again. So tired. My eyes close again, but a loud bang makes me jump, and my heart race. I stiffen and sit back up. Steve hops from the fence and takes flight.

  Matt strolls around the corner. “I knew I’d find you both here.”

  “I…uh…” I stutter, not even knowing what I had planned to say.

  He sits across from us in the sunlight with his legs folded. In his lap is a brown sack lunch and green thermos identical to Ben’s. Matt pulls out a bologna sandwich and starts in.

  “Why are you neglecting your usual group of friends?” Ben asks.

  Matt shrugs and stares at his sandwich a moment before speaking. “Donnie and Jacob were my only real friends.”

  My chest aches for him and tears burn the back of my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  He looks up at me and forces a smile. “Thank you. Sure lots of people are saying that, but somehow it feels like you really mean it. Maybe it’s because you and Tasha…”

  I nod and swallow back the sob that was rising in my throat.

  Matt resumes tearing bites from his sandwich. He speaks with his mouth full, “So when I looked around the cafeteria for Chira and didn’t find her…or you, I knew where you would be. You’re nothing if not predictable.”

  Ben glowers. “Thanks.”

  Matt washes down his sandwich with a swig from his thermos.

  I lean forward as he puts it down and peer in. The dark liquid within has a little bit of steam to it. “Coffee?”

  Matt’s eyes meet mine and his eyes hold some mixture of interest and wonder. “Um…yeah.”

  I lean back and laugh. “Did your dad pack both your lunches?”

 

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