by KD Knight
"Pardon? Couldn't resist what?"
He squinted slightly, but maintained his stare. "What do you want?" He said, leaning casually against his locker.
"Nothing." I crossed my arms, tucking my moist palms inward.
"So, you followed me out of class, stood behind me for the last minute for 'nothing'?" He raised his eyebrows in amusement.
"I wanted to ask you a question."
"What?" He said curtly.
"I don't like your attitude."
"I don't think that qualifies as a question." He turned his back to me. "Run along, new girl. I'm not interested."
"You are rude and arrogant. Your head is so gassed, I'm surprised your feet are still on the ground."
He turned swiftly, his chiseled jaw line clenched, his eyes no longer black but grey like the sky before a storm.
"I knew it. Your eyes, they do change colour!" I said, stepping forward. "How is that possible?"
"You don't know?" He said raising one brow. "You really don't know, do you?"
"Don't know what?"
"Interesting." He folded his arms and leaned back against the locker.
"What don't I know?" His elusiveness was becoming more annoying than his attitude.
"Go away," he said, leaning close. "Like I said before, I am not interested."
I couldn't decide between kicking him in the shin or tucking my face behind my books and running away. After standing there for a few more moments I decided to walk away and pretend as if I had never seen or spoken to him.
As I turned to leave, out of the corner of my eye I saw caramel coloured hands creeping around the cuff of Boothe's crisp white shirt and wrapping tightly around his waist. I reached the end of the hallway before I looked over my shoulder. The girl's eyes and mine met briefly. It was the girl from the beach, the girl with the wet hair and runny mascara. Based on her icy glare, I realized that she recognized me too.
"Foreigna," She yelled above the noisy hallway.
"Beef Patty Princess seems sour today," Lisa said, suddenly appearing at my side.
"You've got to make more noise when you walk. Where did you go anyway?"
"To the bathroom. I asked you to wait for me, don't you remember?"
I remember hearing her voice, but I wasn't paying attention to what she said.
"Beef Patty Princess?" I stopped by the water fountain.
"Nadya McPherson. Her dad owns The Beef Inn. You know the commercial 'no need to fuss with the kitchen knife, come to Beef Inn, we'll fix you up right?’ Never mind. I was just thinking her face looks like she just ate a bag of sour limes."
"I'm to blame for that. I kind of ran into her at Hellshire Beach on the weekend. Let's just say I didn't make the best first impression."
"What happened?"
I hesitated for a moment. Lisa's been nice, but nice doesn't mean I can trust her. Then again, this may be my mother's paranoia taking over. I can't truly experience a normal life while living in fear. The only way to get past that roadblock is to go against the warning bells ringing in my head. I have to go against my instinct to retreat like a hermit crab.
"I kind of wet her, messed up her hair and makeup," I said finally.
Lisa let out a hearty chuckle. “How did you do that?”
“Long story.”
"Well, she's not one to forgive, so let's hope that all the toxic fumes from her hairspray make her forget."
"I think this can be settled with an apology. I don't need enemies my first week at school."
"I don't think that's a good idea. She's going to trace you."
"Trace me?" The only tracing I could think of involves children and crayons.
"She's going to cuss you, tell you off, carry on bad." Lisa looked at me as though that was terminology I should have known.
"It was my fault, whether she wants to cuss or not. I should have apologized when it happened. I'll go over and say I'm sorry, and we'll start fresh. I can't see us being friends, but at least we won't be enemies."
The final warning bell rang loudly through the hall, signalling that we only had two minutes to make it to our next class. I battled the downstream flow of students. Nadya turned to face me as I approached Boothe's locker. Boothe looked at me briefly through the corner of his eye but continued his activity as if neither of us were there.
"Hi. I want to apologize for Sunday at the Beach. It was an accident. I didn't mean to get anyone wet."
"Accident? Is that what you call embarrassing me in front of everyone? I planned that party for weeks. You come, flashing around the water like a likkle pickney." She scowled as she gave me a head to toe assessment.
"I understand you're upset. I'm trying to make peace here," I continued.
"I don't want to hear it. It's too late to beg for my forgiveness. So, you and your nerd friend can run along," she sneered.
I'm not sure which one of her words set off a spark in my chest, but by the end of her sentence, I was on fire. "There is absolutely no reason for you to be rude, especially to Lisa. She had nothing to do with what happened at the beach," I responded sharply.
"What are you going to do about it?" She stepped too close for personal comfort.
She now stood only inches from me. All I could think of was how much I wanted to dump her in the garbage can. But that would be vile, and I'm sure I would regret it after I’d calmed down.
"That's what I thought," she said, satisfied by my silence.
"I have definitely met my attitude limit for the day." I started to step back. "I've been to a lot of schools and each school had a girl like you. You think you're better than everyone else, so you can do what you want and treat people however you want. Well, at the end of the day, it's all about you making yourself feel better by intimidating people. I'm not scared of you."
"You should be." Nadya bumped my shoulder as she stormed off through the crowd. Boothe was gone as well. Some students idled by their lockers, whispering to each other. I had inadvertently made a scene. Again. I hate being the center of attention.
"You've got bite." Lisa said as she approached my side. "It's really hard to keep yourself in check when someones up in your face like that."
If only Lisa knew how right she was.
"You didn't have to stick up for me. But thanks."
A nod was all I could manage with the fire raging through my chest. I have to find my inhaler.
~Boothe~
Chapter Five: Duppy Know Who Fi Frighten
{A Jamaican proverb: A ghost knows who he can scare}
Ninety-nine-point-five percent of the population at Kingston Academy would describe this place as a sombre environment, where academic excellence is the only goal. For five of us—Marcus, Lisa, Mark, Me, and now Jane—it's a social experiment. Kingston Academy is where we live out our teenage years, side by side with one we are taught to hate and hunt, the only Nephilim in the mix, the distant descendant of a fallen angel, Marcus.
I assumed that when Dr. Coy allowed Marcus to come to this school, he anticipated that this experience would rehabilitate him. Maybe he figured that if Marcus associated with Normals and Eshkars like Lisa and Mark he would abandon his destructive habits. For the three years that I have been at this school, instead of getting better, Marcus's behaviour has only gotten worse. Despite my best efforts to stay out of this ongoing feud between the Eshkars and Nephilim, I constantly find myself pulled right back in because of Marcus.
"Look what I got my hands on," Marcus said, smiling wickedly. He slowly unrolled his fingers to reveal something small and red. "I got it from one of my suppliers."
"I'm not interested." I snapped as I pulled my textbooks out of my bag and threw them into my locker. The hallway was full of students making their way to their first period class. The last thing Marcus or I need right now are witnesses.
"It's a bomb," He said, still smiling.
"A what?" I shouted, startling a few students who stood nearby. "Are you crazy?" I grabbed his arm and pulled him against t
he lockers. The locker dented, chipping the grey paint.
"Easy, Sampson." Marcus shrugged off the jolt. "It's a fake, all the bang with none of the boom."
With an agitated sigh, I returned my attention to my locker. "Let me guess, you're going to set the fake bomb off. You'll whisper to a few Normals that there's been a terrorist attack, and mass hysteria will take care of the rest."
"I was planning on throwing this in the principal’s office and having a little morning fire drill. But your idea is so much better."
"Using your weapon is against the rules" I was wary of possible eavesdroppers. I grabbed the bomb out of his hand and threw it in my locker, covering it with my football uniform.
Marcus rolled his eyes dramatically. "I never thought I would hear that from you." He said, faking disappointment. "What happened to you, Boothe? You're no fun anymore."
"Sorry to disappoint." I finished unloading my books, but continued to shift things around my locker, trying to settle my thoughts.
"Why is my power called a weapon and yours called a gift? That's discrimination." Marcus barked.
"Where do I start?" I turned to address him. "Last week you made the cook believe that there were maggots in the stew peas. She was crying for an hour, thinking she had fed this to faculty. Two days ago, you got Rayon from math class to set fire to the music room…"
"Okay, okay." He held up his hands in defeat.
"Rayon was expelled, Marcus. Don't you think you're taking things too far?"
"So, you don't want to help me bomb the principal's office?"
I didn't answer. He let out a short, throaty laugh then suddenly grew quiet. His not-so-hidden dark side had surfaced, turning this seemingly jovial boy into a dark, calculated and malicious creature. Within seconds, his eyes transformed from dark brown to blood red, the universal sign of a Nephilim.
"Ah, come on." His voice seemed to resonate from somewhere deep in his chest. "We can do this together, just like before." He stared up at me, his eyes glowing. Suddenly, looking into his eyes, his thoughts became clear to me. I could see his plan unfold. We would wait for the principal to leave the office, he usually does this around 9:30 a.m., and then I’ll enter through the glass doors and whisper to the secretary that some worthless Normal is in trouble in the hall. As she leaves the office, I’d throw the bomb in the principal’s office then stand back and watch the mayhem. There's no way I would get caught. Even if I did, it's a fake bomb, how much harm could that be?
"Stop!" I yelled, throwing him against the lockers. "Get out of my head!"
Marcus let out a deep-chested laugh.
"Keep it up and I'll show you what I find funny." I pressed my forearm firmly against his chest. With a little more pressure I could make both his lungs collapse.
At first thought, you would expect that the descendants of angels would be good. Good beings don't run from heaven and hide amongst humans. Good beings don't pollute an innocent race with destruction, violence, and malice. No one would wrong me for taking him out, that's why we Eshkars exist. We are the answer to the Nephilim problem.
The shrieks of the students around me reminded me of the prying eyes.
"Look me in the eye." I said in a hushed voice. "Don't you ever try to use your weapon on me again."
He held up his hands in surrender. I relaxed my pressure, allowing his feet to touch the ground once again. He took a few staggered breaths then looked up at me, his eyes still deep crimson. "Normals are beneath us, Boothe. They are nothing. You and I are powerful creatures." He looked down briefly to straighten his uniform. "Normals," he spat. "They're like ants."
"I don't believe that." I grabbed my backpack and started down the hall towards my first period Ancient Civilization class.
"Yes, you do." He increased his pace in order to keep up with me. "That's why you and I make such a good team. We both have the blood of Normals running through our veins. It's that Normal side of both of us that empathizes with their fragile bodies and weak minds. But our heavenly side, our powerful side…"
"One, you should not be talking about heaven. And two, you and I are not the same. Our ancestors were given their supernatural powers to rid the world of your kind. Just because I tolerate you doesn't make us equals." I said over my shoulder.
"Okay. Okay. You're an Eshkar. I'm a Nephilim. But both of us have been divinely touched, divinely blessed by the hand of God. It's time that we truly join…"
"Stop talking." He was a few paces behind me, spouting his we-are-one argument.
A hallway speckled with idling students is not the place to bring up this topic. Besides the five of us, the rest of the student body are Normals, people born without any supernatural talents. Our existence has been and should continue to be unknown to them. Yet, here Marcus is, walking through the halls of Kingston Academy, sharing our secrets with everyone within earshot.
I stopped in my tracks and turned to face him. "You are not supposed to be here. Your ancestors had their place in heaven and weren't supposed to leave it! They rebelled and came to earth, that's what makes us different."
"Is rebelling what makes you different, Boothe?" He ran his hand over his chin. "Is that what makes you openly associate with a Nephilim and turn your back your own kind?"
I opened my mouth to deny his accusation but he quickly cut me off.
"When was the last time you hung out with another Eshkar?"
The answer is almost never. In fact, I go out of my way to stay away from them. "Shut up, Marcus." My tone sent a loud warning.
"When I showed you the bomb, you had me red-handed. I was about to use my 'weapon' to hurt a Normal. Do I have your rebellion to thank for not reporting me to that loser Coy?" His blood red eyes twinkled as he spoke.
"I did stop you!" I said through my clenched teeth.
"But didn't arrest me, despite having more than enough cause, and I can guarantee that you won't report me to Coy. Why?"
"You know why! Because I want nothing to do with this fight!" With that, I continued my course towards my first period class.
"You've said that before." He caught up with me quickly. "I did a little digging recently and there is more to your ambivalence than simple disinterest."
"Ambivalence? Big word for someone who barely shows up for class."
"I think you won't turn me in because of what happened to your mother. She was killed, wasn't she?"
Instantly my blood began to boil. I grabbed him by the throat and threw him against the cement wall. White powdery dust from the ceiling fell around his face, landing like dandruff flakes on his shoulders. I tightened my grip around his throat as I inched his body off the floor. His eyes were dark red, like the colour of a dried pool of blood. He didn't yell for help or beg me to stop. He just looked at me with a mocking grin.
Again, Marcus took things too far. My birth mother dropped me off at my grandparents’ doorstep when I was seven months old. I was later told that she was killed in some sort of accident that no one has been able to clarify. It's been a daily struggle not to think about my birth mother and the nagging questions I have about her life and death.
"Don't you ever talk about my mother, ever!" My face was only inches from his.
"This is the Boothe I want to see—angry, ready to avenge, willing to take charge when the situation calls for it."
Marcus was adept at manipulating and controlling people's thoughts and actions. Some call him an influence peddler, but that doesn't quite capture him. He does more than sell you on an idea. He carefully assesses your desires and weaknesses and uses whatever avenue is required to control you. For some people it's as simple as bribery. For others it's the offer of power. For me it was my weakness, my mother. I must be careful that he doesn't find any other chinks he could wedge his foot in. I released my grip and he fell to the floor, laughing.
"Influencing is an art." He said, straightening his collar. "It requires rigorous practice and ongoing training to stay on top."
"Practice on me again
and I will…"
"Okay. Okay, no practicing on you. I'm bored of you anyway."
"Good." We were steps from the Ancient Civilizations classroom. Senseless chatter escaped the classroom and invaded the otherwise quiet hallway.
"Maybe," Marcus whispered as we walked into the classroom. "I could try Jane Miller. You wouldn't mind if I practiced on her?" Marcus carefully assessed my face.
Why would I care? “Jane's an Eshkar. I'm sure she can take care of herself."
He stood at the front of the room and looked directly at her. Jane seemed uneasy with the attention and started to shift her eyes around the room. "I haven't seen eyes like that in a long time."
She was a naturally beautiful girl, with brown almond shaped eyes, smooth tamarind coloured skin and full lips. She was petite, hiding her figure under an oversized uniform shirt and knee below knee length skirt. Unlike most of the girls around her, she preferred the simple look, pulling her jet-black hair into a ponytail, not fussing with makeup and only wearing one piece of jewelry, a necklace. What made her captivating were her eyes.
"Striking, aren't they?" Marcus’s voice snapped me out of my fixation. "The sharpest shade of silver I have ever seen on an Eshkar. It's a good thing that Normals can't see this or they'd be all over her…"
"Yeah, she's alright." I slid into a seat in the front row.
"Say the word and she's all yours." He proceeded to sit right next to me.
"I’m not interested." I wanted as far away from the Eshkar life as possible. I didn’t want anything to do with the lifestyle that killed my mother. "But I do think she's too good for you. Pam or Collette look more like your type." I pointed to the girls sitting in the row behind us. Marcus looked over, flashed a bright smile and waved. The girls giggled and waved back.
"They're too easy. I need a challenge. You should get in on this. There's nothing sinful about a little healthy competition. We both use our best game and see which one of us Jane falls for."
"I'll pass."
"If that's what you want." His voice got low. "You are entitled to make your own decisions. But when things start rolling, don't interfere."