by DL Kopp
So breakfast wasn’t a total waste.
I spent the morning hours on my balcony, staring out at the ocean, trying to hate it as hard as I could and failing. There was something wonderfully grim about it—a vast, bleak desert made of water instead of dirt.
Using a normal notepad and pencil, I began to write.
Alone out here, alone inside
It’s all
the same
Day in, day out
With the cycling moon
Endless tides of sorrow
I bit the end of my pencil, bending the metal under my teeth. The tang of metal stirred me from my ocean-induced hypnosis, and I dodged the movers to put the notebook on my shelf. It was too noisy to concentrate anywhere near them, but at least my bed would be ready for the night.
Deciding to explore the house, I made my way through all the bedrooms on the second floor. Every door was large and menacing, but unlocked, and the other side proved to be a disappointment each time. For all that the manor was ancient, it sure was boring.
Making my way downstairs, I continued to try the doors, finding closets, bathrooms, a living area. There were at least four fireplaces. Dozens of windows. An apple orchard out back, which I had absolutely no urge to explore. There was even a library, but a cursory investigation yielded only boring science books. There were movers everywhere, building and rearranging, and my mom yelling above it all to make sure everything was put together just as my dad would like it.
“I hate my life,” I muttered, heading into the narrow servant’s hall running behind the kitchen.
A door I suspected to be the pantry caught my eye, and out of habit, I tried to open it.
Locked.
I stepped back to stare. The only locked door in the house, and it was probably hiding food. Seriously?
I knelt to peer at the lock. It was comprised of heavy steel—the only industrial-grade lock I had seen in the house. Tracking its edge with my eyes, I realized the frame was steel, too, and recently painted to match the rest of the house.
A sudden voice barked at my back. “What are you doing?” My dad grabbed my arm. “Get away from there!”
“Hey! Don’t touch me!”
He dragged me from the hall, through the kitchen and dining room to the entryway. He moved so quickly that I stumbled to keep up. “You idiot girl! What do you think you are doing?”
I jerked my arm out of his grasp. “I was exploring this prison you’re making me live in! You have a problem with that?”
My father shoved a finger in my face. “You do not belong at that door. Understand? Stay away from it!”
“Fine!” I spat. “I don’t want to be anywhere near your stupid door anyway! Keep your door, your house—your entire state for all I care! I hate it here!”
I stormed out of the house, to the front yard, and kept walking. Where I was going, I didn’t know. Georgia would be an awfully long walk, but in that instant, I was angry enough that I was certain I could make it.
But then I realized my poetry was still in my room, at the mercy of my horrible parents, and that I couldn’t abandon it.
“I hate my life,” I hissed under my breath.
Chapter Five
Of course, an even more hellish fate awaited me.
High school.
Coos Bay High was the intimate gossip mill I expected it to be. It consisted of one bland building that looked like a cabin someone had expanded, so the two-hundred students were packed tight. The halls were smaller than my bedroom, so no one had to work to spread news; everyone listened when someone had something important to say.
But of course, I didn't know that right away. I had to be dropped off first.
“All your paperwork should be done,” my mom said. My dad, luckily, had opted to stay with the lab at home. I hoped I never saw him again. “They have your transcripts. Do you want me to go in with you anyway?”
“No,” I hissed. “Isn't this bad enough?”
My mom smoothed my hair, and I flinched away. “You don't know the way yet. You can't drive.”
I knew she wouldn't let me drive even if I'd been living here my entire life. I'd aim for a tree, and I probably wouldn't miss.
“God, Mom!”
I stepped out of the car and held my arm back to push the door with force.
“Love you, sweetie!” she called.
The crowd in the parking lot burst into peals of laughter. Tears stung my eyes, and I kicked the door closed. It left a satisfying dent in the panel.
My mom waved cheerfully, honked twice, and drove off.
The day was cool, although not cool enough to justify a hoodie. Still, I wished I'd worn one, so I could hide my face from the eyes of the crowd around me. I flipped my hair in front of my face and watched the world through the strands. It was the best concealment I could provide on short notice.
Still, it took some effort for me to walk forward through the parking lot.
Everyone watched me. It was probably my imagination, but every girl seemed disgusted – probably because their hair was coiffed perfectly and generally bleached – and most of the guys seemed ready to laugh. I thought I spied interest on some of the faces, but that was definitely a delusion.
I waded through the sea of pale faces until I hit a solid form.
“Hey!” a deep voice cried out. Then, as a skinny face took a closer look, his voice took on a softer tone. “Hey...you're new, aren't you?”
“Obviously,” I said.
He held out a hand. “Rich. Rich Coos. Sound familiar?”
“No. Should it?” I didn't take his hand.
Rich laughed. “You're only in the town named for my family, silly. Do you need me to show you to class?”
“I need to go to the office,” I said, then ran toward the north end of the building.
“It's on the other side!” Rich called after me.
I choked back a sob and turned around. Even though the sun had come out for a little while, water started falling in soft droplets.
The woman in the office took one look at me and smiled condescendingly. “You must be Calliope,” she oozed. “I have your papers.”
She held them out, and I took them. I wished violently for a paper cut and was disappointed when the paper didn't rake across my skin of its own accord.
“Do I need to do anything?” I muttered. I hoped she wouldn't hear me, and I'd get to leave.
Unfortunately, she seemed to speak teenager. “No. Your teachers will take attendance.”
I grunted, then pushed out the office door.
During the fascinating conversation, the bell had run, and the halls were empty. I looked at my schedule, and groaned. Three classes in one day? And a different three the next? What kind of school was this?
“It's block scheduling,” a voice behind me said. This voice was smooth, musical, nothing like the brutes in the parking lot. “It'll drive you nuts at first.”
I looked up into the face of a god.
He was lean and pale, much like the rest of the school. But unlike the golden goofballs I'd seen, he was also dark and gorgeous. His black hair was well-styled, if a little oily, and his eyes were equally dark. I wanted to reach out and see if his skin was as soft as it looked; he seemed like he bathed in lotion. I dreamed of skin like that.
“Hi,” I breathed. “Yeah, I'm new.”
“I figured,” he grinned. “I'm Octavius. I was the fresh blood around here until you turned up. What's your first class?”
“Um...” I looked at the schedule. “Advanced Poetry Workshop.”
“Cool, me too. Walk you there?”
My tongue felt too huge for my mouth, so I stared at his plump blood-red lips and nodded. He offered up his arm, and I just about swooned on the spot, so I took it.
“Where are you from?” he asked. His voice seemed to dance down the halls.
“Um,” I said.
“You forgot where you're from?”
“No,” I shook my head. “I just..
.didn't sleep well.”
Octavius nodded. “Oh, I get that. Some nights, I'm so jazzed after band practice that I can't think straight, much less sleep.”
“You...you're in a band?”
“Lead vocalist,” he said, jutting a thumb against his chest.
“You sound like it.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Sound like what?”
“Like your voice is beautiful.”
I realized what I said, and my cheeks set on fire. He gave me a gracious smile. “That's nice of you to say. I just hope the record companies feel the same.”
“Georgia,” I said.
He looked so puzzled he was nearly cross-eyed. “Georgia.”
“Sorry! Where I'm from!”
Octavius laughed. “You have a bit of an accent. I was wondering.”
Stupid, stupid! I must have sounded like a hick to him! He was the most perfect thing to ever run into my life, and I was yammering on like a country bumpkin!
We stopped, and I stared up at him. “What's wrong?”
“We're at the classroom. I thought you might like to know before we barrel in.”
“Oh!” I pushed my hair out of my face. Octavius looked startled. “Did I do something?”
“No,” he said. “Just...your eyes.”
I smiled, and he beamed at me.
“There,” he said. “Now you're ready.”
And we went inside.
Chapter Six
Like the rest of my life, poetry class was miserable.
All the kids in the room stared at me when I came in. The school was small enough that they immediately recognized me as an outsider, and their eyes were judging me. Were my hips too big? My hair too long? My skin too pale?
And of course the teacher had to humiliate me further with an introduction.
“This is Calliope Crestone,” she said, and I gave a feeble wave to Octavius’s radiance in the back row. He was slouched over his seat, hair falling over his eyes, and his lips were curved into the only smile in the classroom. “Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?”
I stared around the room, and my heart dropped into my stomach. What was I, a seal trained to bark on command? I didn’t think so.
So I ignored my teacher and sat at the only empty desk in the room, which was tragically on the other side from Octavius. She gaped at me with a round mouth like that of a dead fish, aghast that I would dare refuse to do as she bade.
I didn’t care. I cast a glance at Octavius over my shoulder, and he winked. My heart fluttered.
We started with a writing exercise my teacher scrawled across the board in messy cursive – write a poem about your spring vacation – and I bowed my head over my desk to work. Around me, girls chattered and boys complained about having to write so early in the morning.
I glanced up at the window and the rivulets of rain dribbling down the other side, and began to write.
The words spilled out of me, cascading like the ocean.
Displaced
Dejected
Jaded and faded
A new world
A prison of stone
Free me,
Sorrow’s symphony
I realized my eyes were stinging, and I tried to wipe away the tears with the back of my hand and make it look like I was yawning. Rich Coos glanced at me and offered a wide, toothy smile.
Occupying the remaining minutes of the assignment with doodles around the page, I watched the clock inch by and was relieved when the teacher said, “Okay, time’s up!” But my relief disappeared when she added, “Form into groups of three to four people and get ready to share what you have written!”
Oh dear Lord.
“Your name is Calliope, right?” a bubbling voice thrilled above me, and I looked up to see a girl with cascades of red hair and freckles clutching her notebook to her chest. “I’m Rita! You’ll be in my group!”
“Uh,” I said brilliantly, casting a glance over at Octavius’s desk. It was empty.
She snatched my hand and tugged me over to a group in the corner. Rita introduced the two others to me with all the enthusiasm of a football announcer: “This is Jana! She is such a good poet!” Jana smiled at me shyly, her brunette hair pulled into a braid over her shoulder. “And this is Rich! His family—”
“We’ve already met,” Rich said. He still had that stupid toothy grin on his face.
“Hi,” I said.
Jana sat forward on her chair. “I’ll read my poem first.” Rita clapped her hands with delight. “Ready? Okay. ‘Green fields of endless splendor/Awaken in me such a candor/I love my trips to Ireland/Way better than trips to Disneyland.” She stopped dramatically and gazed about the group.
“Wow! That was really good!” enthused Rita.
I stared. Really? That was supposed to be good?
“What do you think?” Rich asked me.
“That was great,” I said flatly.
Jana inclined her head. “Thanks. I appreciate it. Why don’t you read what you wrote, Calliope?”
I couldn’t imagine sharing my prose with these louts as a pleasant experience, so I steeled myself for it, lifting up the sheet to hide my face as I read. “Displaced/Dejected/Jaded and faded/A new world/A prison of stone/Free me,/Sorrow’s symphony.” And then I set the paper down and tried not to look any of them in the eye.
The completion of my poem was met with stunned silence.
“You… wrote that?” Rita asked. “Just now?”
“Yeah,” I said. My cheeks were hot, and I flipped my hair over my face to hide the flush.
Jana scowled, but Rita’s face broke into a grin. “Holy crap, that was amazing! That might be even better than Jana’s poems! What do you think, Rich?”
“That was incredible,” he said. “But that’s basically what I expected from such a pretty girl.”
I rolled my eyes. Of course the words that came from the depths of my soul were amazing, but the false flattery was entirely unnecessary. Jana interrupted me mid-eye roll by saying, “I didn’t like that at all.”
“Really,” I said.
“It didn’t even rhyme!”
I sniffed. “Real poetry doesn’t.”
She glared at me, and then at Rita, and then at Rich. “You can’t seriously think that was any good.”
“Don’t be jealous, Jana,” Rich said. “You’re still okay.”
“I hate you all!” she announced, flinging her papers to the floor of the classroom, and then stormed out into the hall.
I smiled. I liked her.
Casting a glance over at the doorway, I saw Octavius staring at me, his eyes dark and intense. For an instant, I couldn’t breathe. His gaze was so gloomy, burning hot against my flesh.
And then Rita was saying my name, and I took an instant to flash a shy smile at her.
When I looked back at the door, Octavius was gone.
Chapter Seven
I didn't see Octavius again until lunch, which came after the second period of the day.
What passed for a cafeteria in this poor excuse for a school was a large chamber that looked like an oversized living room. The walls were wood-paneled and bounced off every single sound that hit it, until a few dozen voices became well over a hundred. I was mildly surprised to see that there weren't ugly plaid sofas or deer heads on the wall.
Rita had been in my second class – Advanced Calculus 2 – and felt the need to point out every single element to the cafeteria.
“There!” she yelled, gesturing toward the buffet line. “That's where you get your food!”
“Duh,” I said under my breath.
She didn't hear me. “And there's the door! And that's a window!”
I decided more drastic measures were in order. “What about the tables? Everyone separates off into different cliques, right?”
Rita gave me a blank look. “Cliques?”
“Just...who are all these kids?”
“Oh.” She looked at the tables. “I don't know too mu
ch about them.”
“Why not?”
She broke into a smile as we stepped into the food line. “I guess I don't pay that much attention!”
“Right,” I said.
It was up to me to figure out the social dynamics of the school, although it didn't appear too tough to crack. Rich was at a round table with a bunch of other guys, and Jana was hovering by his elbow, trying to get him to talk. Nearby, some kids at another table shifted around huge cases: definitely the band. There were some preppy-looking girls on their other side, close to what looked like the rich guys, but not so close that they looked desperate. A longer table behind them had a couple kids with hair covering their miserable faces.
I could relate.
The food of the day was some disgusting concoction that resembled spaghetti. Rita eagerly filled her plate with it, while I pulled the plate away from the server as fast as I could get away with. The only excuse for salad was some wilting leaves that were brown on the edges.
I sighed heavily.
“Aren't you hungry?” Rita asked. “Spaghetti day is the best!”
I shuddered to think what other offerings I'd be forced to deal with in the future. “No.”
Rita didn't seem to notice my scowl and asked, “Where do you want to sit?”
Unfortunately, that was the exact moment that Rich noticed my presence. He stood and beckoned, and despite the fact that Jana gave me a look that could wilt flowers, Rita headed in their direction.
I started to follow when I caught the hint of a sweet note on the air.
Octavius.
He was on the complete other side of the room at a table I hadn't noticed. He sat with a bunch of other guys clutching different musical items: some drumsticks, a guitar pick, a keyboard.
Octavius flipped his hair over his shoulder and looked my way. He flashed me a smile, and my knees went weak.
I made my way to their table before I realized it.
“Hey,” Octavius said as I walked up. “You survived!”
I blushed. “Hey. Can I...?”
“Sure.” He smacked the arm of the guy next to him. “Make some room, will you?”