“You’re such a weirdo, Mage McPherson!” he laughed. “You’re a really ugly, stupid, weirdo. Even your name is stupid!”
Yeah, he was a bright one.
He said this as he threw clumps of playground sand at me.
“Leave her alone, Nick,” Adam said from my side.
I remember looking over and thinking that I’d never seen eyes so green. They glowed behind his thick, black lashes as he looked over at me and smiled.
Nicholas didn’t listen.
I don’t know why he decided I should be his victim that day, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he stopped. Turning my back to him, I tried to walk away. He followed me, continuously tossing dirt clumps.
Unwanted tears streamed down my sand-covered face and at that exact moment, it started to drizzle. The combination of my warm tears mixed with the cold drops of rain felt strange again my flushed cheeks.
I continued to ignore him.
Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! I ran those words through my mind.
And then I saw it—a little black rock that stuck out from the beige playground sand; it sparkled when the light hit it the right way. Its coloration was foreign amidst the rest of the rocks surrounding it, as if it was obviously waiting for me.
In my mind, I imagined that little black rock knocking Nicholas in the face. I visualized what it might look like as it smashed into his perfectly-shaped nose.
I was sent to the principal’s office that day and then sent home for throwing a rock at Nicholas. I guess I did throw a rock at him. It’s amazing what the mind can do in a moment of distress.
He tried to tell the teachers that I looked at the rock and it flew over and hit him. All that got him was a one-way ticket to the nurse’s station to have his head looked at.
Adam never told anyone about the rock or what he saw me do that day. Most kids would’ve squealed…not him. I think that’s when Adam became an enigma and I made it my mission to figure him out.
We finished elementary school together, followed by middle school, and even though he never said a word, I knew that he knew—I was different.
The only form of contact we share now is when I occasionally catch him looking at me.
“Okay, please pull out a notebook and let’s get started,” the teacher says, as she shuts the classroom door.
Leaving the outside world and the past behind, I peel my eyes away from the window to face her. Anxiety sets in when I notice that not only is Bernie in this class with me, but so is Adam. They’ve placed themselves on either side of me and it’s awkward, especially considering both have witnessed me doing strange things.
Keeping my head down, I glance to my right at the girl named Bernie. She smiles a secret smile at me before turning away to listen to the teacher.
Seriously, she’s still smiling at me? Doesn’t she understand that being nice to me means getting her ass kicked every day?
She must like torture. And if that’s the case, then she should definitely keep it up. Being chummy with me will get her exactly what she wants.
But if she’s not a masochist, then this needs to stop. I can’t be there every time someone decides she’s a traitor to the normal people and attacks her. Somehow, I need to clarify how important it is for her to stay the hell away from me. If I have to be a bitch about it, then so be it.
Peeking over at Adam, I take a stolen moment to appreciate his profile. The curve of his neck, the tilt of his head, and the way a wavy piece of dark hair spills over his eyes. He smirks to himself and softness blooms inside of me.
His hands capture my attention. I like the way his long fingers skim the side of his book, before slowly turning the page. A banded muscle in his arm ticks as he moves that hand back-and-forth. Dark, sooty lashes fan against his soft cheeks as he looks down at his working fingers.
The other hand, which is relaxing against his flat stomach, is moving up and down with the steady rhythm of his breathing. He doesn’t know I’m watching him, and in that rare moment, I get a glimpse of the boy I yearn to know.
Class flies by in an uncomfortable haze. I consider it a challenge to not look at either of them. With the exception of a few quick glances, I do relatively well.
Mental note…find a new seat tomorrow!
When the end-of-the-day bell rings, I prepare to make a quick departure. I’m excited that I made it through the day without any problems—nothing huge, anyway.
I don’t get far before I feel a warm hand wrap around my arm. I’m not used to physical contact, so my entire body stiffens. My automatic assumption is that it’s Bernie, but when I turn around, I’m amazed to see that it’s Adam.
My pulse bangs against my temples as my heart accelerates. His gaze is sharp and sure as he inspects my face. A wave of dizziness sweeps across me when the panic comes. Like a caged animal I search for an escape.
Instead, my eyes find his. And like the frantic, little fly that I am, I’m caught in his tangled web. Soft, deep-set eyes stare into mine and I wonder to myself what he’s looking for. I feel exposed, like he can see right through me—I don’t like it.
He hasn’t spoken a word to me in eight years, and yet out of nowhere, he thinks it’s okay to grab my arm and practically demand my attention. It’s not okay.
My panic is replaced with anger. I jerk my arm back, partly because I want to be defiant and partly because his flesh touching mine is scrambling my thoughts. Out of habit, I shoot him my stay-away-from-the-evil-girl look. I’m doing everything but hissing.
Instead of walking away, he stands there. His face mirrors mine—angry. I think for a minute that he’s about to yell at me, but then out of nowhere his mouth twitches and he gives me a lopsided, lazy grin.
Woah!
The wall I’d been building most of my life is almost eradicated by his devastating smile. My anger disappears and I feel light and giddy. Unlike Bernie’s smile, which honestly makes me uncomfortable, Adam’s grin lights my insides on fire. It makes me feel all warm and, might I say it, happy.
Like the girl I never wanted to be, I blush for the second time today.
He cocks a dark brow at me as if he’s amused. Then his smile finally reaches his eyes.
It brings to mind the cute little boy who defended me all those years ago.
I’m not sure why being around Adam does this to me. Maybe it’s the excitement of him knowing a small part of my secrets. Perhaps it’s the fact that out of the thousands of people at school, he’s the only one that sees me.
But something about him sings to me, and the tune is refreshing. It gives me an odd desire to know him. It started in the second grade and it’s only gotten worse over the years.
Incapable of looking away, I’m paralyzed. The emerald gates of Oz are open and I’m being allowed a tiny glimpse of a color-filled world. Finally, he blinks and his intense spell is broken. I take advantage of the relief and quickly look out the window. The sky is bright and blue, a slither of sunlight shines down on us from a hovering white cloud.
The rain clouds from earlier have suddenly disappeared and I know I’m responsible. The intensity of the warmth I feel being this close to him has transformed the day. What would’ve been a rainy walk home will now be sunny.
I wonder to myself what the hell I’m doing.
I’m not a little, blushing girl. I’m not one of those girls who melt every time an attractive guy talks to them. I’m not a mindless tart who lusts after jerks!
Not saying Adam’s a jerk, but there’s no need for us to start talking now. I don’t want to condemn him to the gates of social hell for being polite to me. If he’s still the sweet little boy from second grade, then he definitely doesn’t deserve what Bernie experienced a few hours ago.
I say nothing as I gather my things and walk away.
The trek home is quick—one of the advantages of living close to school.
I’ve lived in the town of Summerville for as long as I can remember. My grandparents moved us here from somewh
ere up north when I was just a baby. Because of that, I know every back road and walking trail.
Azalea Plantation, my family home, is one of the historical homes in the area. Secluded in the shade of oaks and pines, most people don’t even know it exists.
I live here with my grandfather, the ghost of my grandmother, and the even more active ghost of my best friend Thaddeus.
My grandma died from pneumonia when I was five and I have no clue how Thaddeus died, but thanks to my special sixth sense, I can see and speak to them. It’s an ability that started when I was just a young girl, but I’d never tell anyone. I don’t want to add anything extra to my long list of craziness.
My grandfather used to call them my imaginary friends. I didn’t know at that time that seeing dead people was a unique ability. But after being sent to the guidance counselor in third grade for talking to people who weren’t there, I realized it would have to be my little secret.
The last thing I ever want is to be shipped off to some loony bin. I’d prefer to stay home where I’m the only crazy person walking the halls talking to no one.
“Did you have a good day at school, sweetie?” My grandma’s gray eyes appear before the rest of her.
Her eyes used to be an awesome amber color, but all spirits lose their sparkle, and with that goes any remaining eye color. So in short, ghosts have gray eyes.
“Yeah, it was okay,” I plunder through the refrigerator.
My grandma has a special way of making me feel comfort. She’s a round woman, with long, white hair that’s kept tightly in a bun. When in a fit of laughter, her entire body jiggles. She’s beautiful inside and out, and even with the sad, gray eyes of a long-gone dead woman, she exemplifies what’s blissful and good to me.
“That’s good. I hope this year’s better for you,” her smile fades away when she does.
I’m accustomed to these short conversations, and it’s no longer crazy to watch the people I love slowly dissolve into air.
I shove a piece of cheddar in my mouth as I walk to the library.
Slamming the door behind me, dust swirls around the room, dancing in the sunlight that beams through the wall of windows. I flop into the old, leather chair propping my feet up on the gigantic, antique desk that’s in the middle of the room.
The library is more like a big, dusty book. Upon first entering, you’re filled with the aroma of leather and cigars from years gone past. The dark, wooden décor is a direct contribution to the distinctly masculine atmosphere.
The tall, floor-to-ceiling book shelves that line the room are filled with aged books. Broken bindings as far as the eye can see. The subject content of these books remains unknown, since I don’t think I’ve ever touched them. At one point, I’d decided that I was going to try and read at least one book a month—I never got around to it.
“Have a good day at school, darlin’?” Thaddeus asks in a deep southern drawl.
I look up into a pair of gloomy, gray eyes.
Thaddeus, my best and only friend, looks like he stepped right out of Gone with the Wind and talks like it, too. Old-fashioned clothes of a man with money cover his tall and willowy frame. The lean in his laid back, silky voice hums. Picture Rhett Butler meets Matthew McConaughey—that’s Thaddeus.
He’s handsome and debonair with a presence that illuminates the room with southern elegance. While exuding masculinity, he still moves with cat-like grace. Screaming chivalry with a southern accent, Thaddeus radiates the warmth of true traditional southern culture.
It’s a rare thing in these times to have the pleasure of knowing a person who understands the meaning of loyalty and honor—a person who carries himself with the quiet dignity of a man full of legendary southern hospitality.
As knowledgeable as an older gentleman, his twenty-year-old smile holds many historical secrets. His sad, gray eyes are aged from the troubles of a Confederate soldier in the Civil War. I’m not sure if he died in the war, since he never talks about himself. But I do know he’s the only person in the world who understands me and the library is his permanent home.
“Today was crazy strange,” I pick at a piece of lint on my shirt.
“Wanna talk about it?” he asks with a smile.
“I wouldn’t have come in here and bothered you if I didn’t.”
“You never bother me, sweetheart,” he moves closer. “I’m all ears,” his mischievous smile reaches his glowing eyes.
“Two people tried to talk to me today. One was a new girl who apparently likes being treated like crap. I’m not judging—I know some people get off on that, but she got her ass handed to her in gym class.”
“That’s not ladylike language, darlin’.’”
“Oh yeah, sorry,” I smile apologetically. “Anyway, I had to rescue her with a quick decision and a rubber ball. Hopefully, she got the point. The second person didn’t technically talk to me. He kind of just stood there and stared at me all weird like. I kind of just walked away from him.”
“Him?” Thaddeus asks, drawing up his brows in question.
“Yeah, remember that kid I told you about from back in the day? The one that was on the playground that day—his name’s Adam and he’s in my history class. I don’t know what he could possibly have to say to me. It doesn’t matter, like I said, I turned away before he could say anything. Now I kind of wish I would’ve stuck around to see what he wanted, but I panicked.”
“Sounds to me like you’ve taken a likin’ to this Adam,” Thaddeus jokes.
With fluid movements, he floats to the other side of the room.
“Yeah…I think not. I don’t crush. Never have and never will,” I leap out of the chair and head towards the door. “I’m going to get a jump-start on some homework.”
I walk out of the room without waiting for his reply. I never worry about Thaddeus following me since he never leaves the library. I’ve questioned why many times since the first time I met him when I was six-years-old, but the question’s never been answered.
Having my grandma and Thaddeus is a good thing. Especially considering that since I was thirteen, my grandfather’s been a little loopy. Grandma says she thinks he has Alzheimer’s disease and that I should get him to go to the doctor. Yeah, right! Getting him to go to the doctor is worse than pulling teeth.
I’m grateful to have my little, strange family, but I’d still like to know more about my parents. I only know what my grandparents tell me, which isn’t much since they pretty much refuse to talk about them.
From what I could dig up, I know my mother met my father in a mental institution in Jersey and got pregnant with me. She wasn’t in the right frame of mind to take care of an infant, which explains how I ended up with my grandparents. It’s a pretty simple story, but the fact that they never talk about it makes me think otherwise.
My mother’s name was Rose McPherson and she was the only child of my grandparents. As for my father, his name was Richard and that’s all I know. From what my grandfather told me, my mother died in the institution when I was four years old. What happened to my father, I couldn’t say.
I have a dream of one day meeting them. Perhaps one day I’ll visit the institution and run across the spirit my mother. Supposedly, I look just like her so I don’t think she’d be very hard to recognize. I’ll just look for and older version of me with ghostly, gray eyes—shouldn’t be too hard to miss.
I run upstairs and crash into my grandfather’s room to let him know I’m home. He’s a difficult man to understand. Even before he started to become delusional he talked in circles. He would stand in the middle of dinner and say things like, “The blue fire burns, too!”
I never tried to understand him; I don’t need to understand him to know he’s awesome.
He’s always done the best he can to take care of me. Even now, with his old age and crazy thoughts, he still manages to help me out every now and again—most of the time without even realizing I’m there. It’s like taking care of me is second nature to him. He’s the ki
ndest, most giving person in the world.
We have matching blue eyes—Siberian Husky eyes, my grandma calls them. I bet in his younger days he was quite a looker, but these days you can barely see his face since it’s covered in a long, gray beard.
He used to be a very knowledgeable man, always reading something about science or philosophy. But every day he goes further away from reality. The thought of being alone when he’s truly gone is frightening, but since he hardly ever talks to me anymore, I’m pretty much already alone.
“I’m home, Pop!” I holler into the room before shutting the door.
I fling open my bedroom door and step in. My room’s nothing to write about, but it’s my own private space so that makes it special. I painted the walls a light purple when I was fourteen, so it’s the only room in the house that’s seen anything new in many years.
My full-size bed takes up most of the space and the old black iron bed frame gives the room a gothic look. There isn’t much else; a dresser with a mirror, my black bedside table, and a few odds and ends on the walls. Like I said, it’s not a perfect space, but it’s mine.
I shut my bedroom door behind me and jump onto my bed. I reach down and open the drawer to my bedside table pulling out the yearbook from the year before. It opens automatically to my favorite page—Adam’s page. I stare at his picture and smile.
I wonder what it would be like to have a real conversation with him. I wonder what he thinks of me. Does he think I’m a freak like everyone else?
I’ll never know. I’ll never approach him, and after I walked away from him so rudely today, I can’t blame him if he never even looks at me again, much less talks to me.
I guess that’s a good thing. I know having any kind of relationship with anyone would be virtually impossible. I’m fated to be the cat lady—I’ll grow old with no one to love but of a bunch of old, mean cats. I’ve also accepted the fact that if one day, someone does decide they’d like to get to know me, they’ll soon leave when they see what I really am.
Chapter 3
Wicked Fate (The Wicked Trilogy) Page 2