Mrs. Langley sits at the foot of my bed and is silent for a minute before saying, “People can change. Sometimes it just takes an . . . event for them to wake up and realize certain things, in order for that change to occur.” Her voice obtains a hard edge. “Of course, it's not always for the better.”
Now that her face is closer I can see sadness still etched there. Mr. Langley left Mrs. Langley about four years ago. He left her for some airhead waitress that had gotten lost and ended up in our town. Being the kind woman that she is Mrs. Langley offered her food and shelter, not knowing how severely punished she’d be for her kind actions. Mr. Langley fell in love with the woman and took off with her. I feel bad for reminding her about Mr. Langley and want to apologize but the moment passes quickly.
“Thank you. For bringing me up.” I want to thank her for everything else she’s ever done for me, but I don’t know how to put my feelings into words.
“You’re welcome. I didn’t think you’d want to suffer through a dinner with Lexi.” She sighs sadly. “I know how she can be.” Mrs. Langley pauses before adding, “Don’t forget the girl she once was though. Tragedy can change people, just not always in the best way.”
“I’ll never forget the old Lexi,” I murmur.
I listen to Mrs. Langley’s leaving footsteps until I can’t hear them anymore. Then I change into my pajamas and crawl into bed. The taunt voices fading as sleep fills my head.
Sunlight blazes through my window the next morning; forcing me to wake up sooner than I’m ready to. I blink and the foggy cloud in my head sluggishly exits. The clock reads 7:30. Only a small part of my brain registers this as I lay back down. Bells start ringing in my head, reminding me of the ones at school. I lunge out of bed and throw on some clothes. I get a glimpse of my hair as I pass my mirror. My hair is somewhere between curly and straight. If I brush it it’ll become a puffy mass, which would be worse than going to school without brushing it. Right? I throw my hands up. I don't have time for this. I race downstairs. I decide to skip breakfast, grab my backpack and race out the door. I hop on my bike and start madly peddling to school. I can’t be late. Don’t be late, don’t be late, don’t be late, pounds around my head.
When I reach the building I crash my bike into the stand and jump up the three concrete steps. I wrench open the doors and fast walk down the hall. Great, the doors are closed. They only close the front doors when classes have started. I race down the hall to my first class. My teacher’s back is turned and I softly open the door to my English class. Someone snickers, “Did you fall down the stairs again?” as I sneak to an empty desk at the back.
“Tardy Miss Fleming,” the teacher says in a monotone voice. “And so close to the end of school too. Teenagers. Always get lazier near the end of the year,” he mutters.
“It wasn’t her fault,” Matthew says. “She was probably lying knocked out at the bottom of the stairs. At least we hope so.” Everyone laughs and Mr. Parson turns away from the blackboard, adjusts his glasses and looks at me closer. I barely flinch. I don’t have total immunity to their jokes, but this has happened often enough for me to ride it out emotionless.
After the laughter has died down, my gaze skims around the room and locks with the new boy’s. I don’t know if his sympathetic look offends me or touches me. I turn away. I don’t need sympathy from someone who doesn’t even know me. But I still find my gaze traveling back to him. Mr. Parson clears his throat. “Lissa you appear to be fine so once we’re done observing each other we’ll start the lesson.”
A mortified blush creeps into my cheeks so I cover it by bending down and digging through my backpack for my English book.
* * * *
Fawn and I eat lunch outside every chance we get so as to avoid the vociferous lunchroom and possible Lexi harassment. Today is no different. My stomach growls as I pluck the grass beneath me.
“I’ll share,” Fawn offers.
“No thanks. It's my own fault,” I sigh.
Fawn’s lunch is only a thin sandwich. There’s no way I’d take some of it. I give her the best smile I can muster, then go back to picking the grass.
“I could share with you.”
Both our heads jerk up at the sound of his voice.
“I have plenty,” he says.
I swallow my thumping heart and ask in the sturdiest voice I can, “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Of course. I have a couple sandwiches.”
I faintly see nervousness flickering in his eyes as he takes off his backpack and sits beside me. He takes a plastic wrapped sandwich out of a brown paper bag, giving me a crooked smile along with the sandwich. I grab it and hope he can’t see my shaking hands.
“Thank you,” I say earnestly.
“No problem. I’m Ryan,” he says, his eyes never moving away from mine.
“Lissa.”
Ryan takes a big bite and begins chewing slowly before taking a long drink of water from the bottle next to him. Ryan looks at me as if he is going to say something then changes his mind. Fawn’s eyes gleam mischievously; I’m definitely in for a teasing later. I take a bite and look around us, all words having escaped me.
Lexi struts out of the building then, her usual group of friends tagging behind her, watching her as if she’s some celebrity. Annoyance prickles on my skin and twists into anger when Lexi walks our way. I watch Fawn shrink inside her own skin. Naturally I straighten myself out, ready to play defender.
“Hey Ryan,” Lexi coos. Ryan looks up at her and to his credit, he doesn't get starry-eyed; especially considering he probably has a clear view up her dark green mini-skirt. Ugh. Lexi flutters her lashes and gives him a sugary smile.
“Hi,” Ryan says in a tone of indifference.
Lexi opens her mouth but Mark, her boyfriend, calls her. Poor Mark. I can tell by the annoyance flashing in Lexi’s eyes that he’s going to get a scolding the minute she has him alone.
Lexi ignores Mark and says to Ryan, “If you’re ever bored or anything you can drop by my home anytime. Just look for the nicest house and you’ll find me. Trust me it’ll be the only one in this burgh. Later.” Lexi waves with her fingers and turns so that her hair twirls in the air. I roll my eyes.
As Lexi’s overbearing presence evaporates Fawn’s rigid back slumps with relief. None of us seem to know what to say so we sit in silence, quickly gobbling down our food. The bell rings and I hurriedly make my way inside, calling a goodbye over my shoulder instead of waiting for Fawn.
Fawn leans on the bike rack, watching me untangle my bike from the bike beside it, an unfortunate side effect of having been thrown into place this morning.
“By the way, thanks for abandoning me this morning with that boy,” Fawn says in a pretend upset voice.
I look up at her. “You’re a big girl. Besides Ryan seems like a gentle person, I knew you’d be fine with him,” I tease.
“Do you want to go swimming or shopping? We can ask my brother to drive us.”
“Uh . . . no. I have . . . things to do.” My words are halting as I struggle to come up with an actual reason. I look at Fawn to see if she can tell. Suspicion flickers in her eyes. I want to find that panther, but I can’t tell her that. Plus I know I shouldn’t go looking for it because it would be like asking to die. It would be able to find and kill me before I’d even know it was there. But isn’t that how it is with things you're supposed to leave alone? They only entice you more. And there’s definitely something very enticing about that cat. It’s not that I’ve never seen a wild cat like it—it’s something else. I don’t know what it is and that’s what I want to figure out.
“All right. Guess I’ll see you later,” she says reluctantly.
“We can hang out tomorrow,” I say, hoping to smooth over her suspicious look. Fawn gives me one last glance before heading off down the street. I watch her go. Maybe I should just hang out with her. Finding a mountain lion can only end one way. I blow out a breath. Like I wouldn’t go later.
Chapter 4
Cautiously I drag everything upstairs as quickly as I can, glad our floors never squeak. I dump everything out of my backpack and fill it with the chunky packaged meat. As I’m shoving everything in I wonder if I should be telling someone where I’m going. If I do get mauled, at least they’ll have an idea as to where to find my body. But the only people I can tell is Dad and Fawn and that doesn’t work because then they’ll try to thwart my plans.
I zip up my pack then escape to the forest as fast as I can.
When I’m halfway to my spot I start laying down meat, wrinkling my nose at the sharp, bloody smell. It occurs to me that the panther might snatch me while I’m laying out the meat, but I continue on, my pulse starting to race faster with every red square I put on the ground. Ten creepily silent minutes pass before the hairs at the nape of my neck start to stand up. Forcing myself to keep breathing normally I nervously peek over my shoulder. Nothing. But my beating heart doesn’t slow.
“Looking for me?”
I cry out and whirl around, tripping in the process and falling hard on the ground. Meat flies into the air then falls down around me. The panther’s emerald eyes stare calmly at me. I choke out another shriek and rapidly shuffle back, running into a tree.
“Please, no screaming,” the cat says with irritation.
I stare at the cat, my breaths coming in heavy gasps. I feel weak with fear and astonishment. Cats can’t talk. No, they don’t talk. The cat slowly sits, never taking her eyes off me. This isn’t real. I close my eyes, logic and truth battling inside me. Logic says that this isn’t possible, but truth is sitting right in front of me. My eyes snap open.
“Still here,” she says in a singsong tone.
Okay, okay—breathe, passing out won’t help. Then I’ll just be easy prey. I stare at the cat. This is what you were looking for dummy isn’t it? a voice in my head chides.
The cat is still looking at me, examining me closely. Her curiosity is clear, but there’s something else as well. I shake my head. Animals talk on T.V. and movies all the time. Of course it’s always the voice of a person and there is a huge difference between a dog or cat and something that could kill you within seconds.
The panther sighs. “I didn’t think you’d be so surprised.”
“You’re—you’re not going to eat me?” The question sounds dumb but valid in my position.
Her brow furrows. “Do you want me to?”
“No. Obviously. But you’re a . . . some kind of dangerous cat—a wild cat. You don’t speak you kill . . . things.”
She flicks an ear. “Yes. It's how I stay alive,” she says pointedly.
“Right.”
The cat flicks her tail and makes a throaty purr for a minute. She leans forward and sniffs a piece of meat, pulling back in disgust. If that meat doesn’t appeal to her, I just might be more appetizing. I press my back harder against the trunk.
“How are you talking?” my voice trembles slightly and I scold myself for it. The cat tips her head.
“I’ve always been able to. My name is Darklily. And we need to talk.”
Darklily. I contemplate between running—I wouldn’t get far—and giving the expected response. My muscles have gone slack now that the adrenaline has left me. “Lissa. You’ve always been able to talk?” I ask disbelievingly. Maybe she’s a science experiment that got away from the scientists.
“Lissa,” she repeats, ignoring my question. Darklily comes closer and circles me once, her nostrils flaring. I can now see that her snout is sprinkled with little white dots, and she has two large white spots on the back of her ears. Darklily comes to a stop in front of me, eyes delving into mine. It feels like she’s picking apart my soul, searching for something. I look away.
“You’re the one I’ve been looking for. We have somewhere we need to be.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, now completely bewildered.
Darklily sits down and wraps her tail over her paws. Sitting she is a head taller than me. I stand. Her head comes to about the middle of my chest.
“You’re a huge cat,” I mumble. Her size is impressive and I have no clue what type of cat she is. I’ve eliminated every breed I know of. Which is easy because of her black coat and oddly placed white spots.
“You’re a small person.”
“No, I mean bigger than normal.”
Darklily shrugs. “Not where I come from. Look, a very powerful enemy is threatening to take over my world. We were winning the fight against him, but then things turned around. Now, if nothing is done quickly our home will be destroyed. So I have come for your help.”
Okay. Something funny is going on here. I squeeze my eyes closed then open them and scrutinize her closely. I can’t see any signs that it is a robot. But who would be crazy enough to pull a joke—a stupid one at that—in the middle of nowhere? Besides a certain person with long legs and blond hair, no one would gain anything by scaring a lone girl out in the woods. Unless that person is recording everything to humiliate me later, publicly. There’s no way I’m letting that happen.
“I have things to do, so if you don’t mind, I’ll be leaving.”
Distress fills her green eyes. “But I’m not done talking and we must leave soon,” she protests.
“Keep the food. I don’t want it. Bye.” I grab my backpack and run home.
* * * *
It’s been two torturous days since I’ve been in the woods. I’m constantly on the lookout for videos of me talking to a robotic cat like a crazy person. I risked striking up a conversation with Lexi and casually mentioned panthers—or whatever kind of cat Dark was—hoping Lexi’s reaction would clue me in on whether or not she’d pulled a prank. She just brushed me off.
After that I was puzzled. If Lexi wasn’t behind the talking cat then just maybe it was real. But that’s hard to swallow and I decide I need to talk to someone. Someone like Trevor. Technically we might not be friends anymore but I’m sure that if I tell him it’s important he’ll listen.
I decide to check the library first. Our library sits near the northwest corner of our town—that means it’s in one of the town’s more secluded spots. It has low ceilings and small chandeliers that only give off a yellow glow, walls painted a blue like the oceans depths, and a smell like a house's basement. The wooden bookshelves, made of a light colored wood, are numerous and somewhat cluttered. But the books are impeccably clean and sorted into very specific categories. A stranger could walk in here and would probably get confused, never finding the book he was looking for. But the three librarians would quickly offer their assistance, then the jumbled mess of shelves would become perfectly clear. The three women have been here for years, how they manage is a whole other story—one that I do not know.
When Trevor and I were younger he would always hang out in the Old History section. It’s never used, so he could effectively hide if he didn’t want to be seen or found. I figure now wouldn’t be any different. Hopefully. I try not to take the stairs two at a time as I head to the library’s second level. My heart thuds in time with the pound of my footsteps. I’m uneasy about speaking to Trevor again, but I ignore my nerves. I check the other aisles along the way just in case. One can neve
r be too careful.
Trevor is where I’d anticipated he’d be. He is seated in a faded yellow bean bag chair that looks too small. He’s bent over a large pad of paper, a pencil in hand. I tiptoe over and sneak a glance. A large black wolf is snarling viciously; saliva dripping from peeled back lips, its lava-red eyes aflame with hatred. Behind it on a large rock jutting up to the sky is a silvery ghostlike wolf howling to a full, glowing white moon.
“That’s really good,” I say, not wanting to say that I find it kind of creepy.
Trevor doesn’t even flinch at the sound of my voice. And I thought I hadn’t made a noise. Trevor just grunts. A few minutes pass with only the sound of the pencil scratching rough marks on the pad. I watch his movements. His drawing and pencil strokes are packed with anger.
This observation doesn’t help me at all though. I purse my lips when Trevor doesn’t acknowledge me beyond his grunt. “Sooo, I need to tell you something. Well, talk to you about something.”
At last Trevor looks up at me, his face closed off. “This better not be emotional girl stuff,” he grumbles.
“It’s not girl stuff and it’s important,” I say, hoping the insistence in my voice will get him to fully pay attention.
Trevor shrugs and continues to sit there, pretending like I’m not bending over his shoulder. I sigh. Other subjects begin crowding my head. Trevor broke off our friendship and never told me the reason why. It’s his fault we aren’t friends anymore. But did he ever think about being friends again? Sure I’m not boy and he wouldn’t want to roughhouse with me, though that never stopped him in the past, but we could find other things to do. Like go to a theme park or go to the movies or—
“It’s kind of hard to concentrate with you leaning over my shoulder,” Trevor says pointedly.
Shift (The Pandorma Adventures Book 1) Page 3