Mark of the Seer

by Kay, Jenna

  That's when I saw him.

  He was standing just outside the door, standing as still as a statue. His hair was a glossy black and his skin was barely above a pale shade. He was dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, looking like the average, normal teenage boy. Except I knew there was absolutely nothing normal about this boy. I could tell that by the way his eyes glowed a bright blue; Eyes that were staring straight at me.

  “Hey, we got lunch together, Clarity,” I heard Brenton say somewhere deep in the tunnel, but I didn't acknowledge him. Not because I didn't want to, but because I couldn't. It was like I was in a trance, just at the sight of this strange but gorgeous boy. People were walking into the classroom, walking past him as if he wasn't there. I found that to be strange as well, because this guy was a total hottie!

  I tried to speak but found I could not. My tongue felt as if it had grown twice its normal size, feeling way too heavy to occupy my mouth. Next to me, in the background, I could her Kora talking, probably to me. I didn't say anything back. I just felt it necessary, in some odd way, for all my attention to be directed at this boy...a boy I'd never seen, nonetheless.

  His mouth moved as I heard my name being whispered. It was the only sound that I could hear clearly through all the echoes and noises around me. The weirdest thing was that when his mouth moved, whispering my name, it sounded like he was right next to me, even though he was standing outside the door. For a second I thought I felt warm breath on my ear, hearing my name from the most beautiful voice I'd ever heard.

  “Hey, Clarity, didja hear me?” Kora asked, and just like that, everything snapped back to normal. The tunnel was gone along with the echoes, the temperature normal. All the noises were clearer as my head cleared along with it. I let a breath out, long and hard, not realizing I'd been holding it. I turned my attention to Kora.

  “W-what'd ya say?” I asked clumsily.

  “I said Kevin's in here, too.” She through a thumb behind us, her eyes gleaming with excitement as I looked back to see him next to Brenton.

  Brenton's expression was full of concern. “You OK?” he asked me.

  I smiled, nodding. “Yeah,” I lied, “just tired is all.” I turned back around, my eyes searching for the boy at the door. To my disappointment, he was gone. The bell rang and the teacher bustled in the room, grabbing chalk and telling everyone to settle down. Getting right down to business.

  I spent the next hour wondering about what had just happened to me. There was something strange about him, and I knew I was going to have to find out exactly what it was.

  No matter what, I had to find out about that boy with the glowing blue eyes.

  Chapter Four

  The school day went by in a turtles pace, and now that I'd made it to work it felt like time had stilled. To my distinct annoyance Janey Thomas, my fellow cashier, was asking the most popular question of the day.

  “What's going on between Kora and Kevin?” she asked, flipping her strawberry blonde hair over her shoulders. “I saw them at lunch today and they were, like, acting like the best of friends, which is so totally weird because they've never even looked at each other, let alone talked to one another. Then Casey tells me he saw Kevin walking her to her car after school. Plus the whole school’s buzzin' about how she's cheating on Nick. So, what gives?” Her hazel eyes extensively bored into mine, showing suspicion.

  My head was spinning as it tried to digest Janey's fast moving mouth. She didn't just talk—she talked a lot, and that was just the way she was. And truthfully, with all she said and asked, I had no clue on what was going on with Kevin and Kora. So I quickly decided to clear Kora's name of her alleged cheating.

  “I don't know what's going on between Kora and Kevin, but I do know she's not cheating on Nick.” I paused, glancing up from the magazine I had been flipping through. “She broke up with Nick Friday night.”

  Her eyes grew wide, her mouth agape. “She broke up with Nick?” she questioned, astonished with my admission. I nodded my answer. “Wow,” she expressed, clucking her tongue, “I didn't know she had it in her.”

  “Janey,” I said, my eyebrows shooting up in double arches, “he was a total jerk-wad to Kora. It's a good thing she dumped his sorry, self-centered, conceited butt.”

  “No, no, no,” she replied, instantly regretting her choice of words. “I didn't mean that breaking up with him was a bad thing. I think it's been a long time coming! I just didn't think, ya know, in Kora's position, that she could afford...ya know...with all the security and stuff Nick gave her...”

  I knew exactly where she was going.

  “What you're trying to say,” I interrupted, a weary smile caressing my lips, “is that you didn't think she could break away from all the meaningless crap that Nick showered her with because she's...poor.” I whispered the last word.

  Her face flushed, immediately embarrassed.

  “Y-yeah, well, yeah.”

  I glanced back down at my magazine. “Well, she surprised us both—she's stronger than she lets on. Besides, all the material stuff Nick gave her was just him trying to buy her love. That's it.” I wasn't surprised at all with Janey's way of thinking—her upbringing had been the exact opposite of Kora's.

  Janey lived on the rich side of town in a three story mansion. She drove a brand new Mercedes convertible and had three of her daddy's credit cards in her purse. She didn't even need a job. The only reason she worked was to show her parents that she could work a “normal” job that “normal” people worked.

  Kora, far on the other hand, lived in a run-down trailer park close to the county line. The trailer was a two-bedroom, one bath mess of mold, dirty dishes, and carpet with holes in it. Also, it harbored a recliner with a permanent drunk woman passed out in it, usually holding a lit cigarette. Kora also had a “normal” job working forty-plus hours a week at the Garlandton Theater to support herself and her mother, since her mother could not hold a job because of her many addictions.

  So in this bleak reality, comparing two very different and opposite lives, Janey would never understand where Kora comes from and vice-versa.

  A moment went by before the bell by the door rang, a signal to us workers that we had company. It was Casey, Janey's boyfriend, walking in for his shift (thirty minutes late). Now all three of Baker's employees were present, not counting Mr. Baker, who was “busy” in his office.

  “Hey, guys. I'm here,” Casey announced, giving Janey a quick kiss on her cheek. His platinum blonde hair was styled in messy spikes.

  I checked my watch. “Wow, Casey, I'm impressed. You're only thirty minutes late today.”

  He grunted, shooting me with a sour look.

  “Why are you so late, sugar plum?” Janey asked him, her voice nauseatingly sweet.

  He sighed as he put on his yellow work smock. “I got detention for being late for Calculus.”

  “On the first day of school?” I questioned, baffled. “Just how late were you?”

  “Um,” he stammered, calculating his thoughts, “maybe. Twenty minutes?”

  Janey and I responded using the same words simultaneously. “Twenty minutes? Are you insane?” We looked at each other, then exploded with laughter.

  “That was friggin' weird,” Casey told us.

  “You're friggin' weird,” I shot back sarcastically.

  I watched Janey and Casey a minute as they put on a show of kissing and baby talk, making me gag. Putting my magazine down, I crossed my arms at my chest.

  “Ya know,” I began, glaring icily at the two of them, “seeing you guys together reminds me of something...something important.” I paused, my finger tapping my chin, my eyes staring into the empty air. “Oh yeah,” I said, looking back at them with eyes made of icicles, “I'm seriously ticked at both of you for stranding me here Saturday...by myself...to do everything...by myself.”

  Janey was the first to react. “Wait, Clare, I had a legitimate excuse. I had to babysit my little sisters because mom and dad had business to take care of that da
y.”

  I stared at her skeptically.

  “Honestly, I had no choice! So please, don't be angry with me. I'll make it up to you. Please, don't be mad!” She clasped her hands together, as if begging me for forgiveness.

  She had a major problem with insecurity, which I could not comprehend because she was beautiful and rich. But her insecurity blinded her from her true self, causing her to be shy and not have many friends. That was why she was freaking out at the moment, because she thought I was actually mad at her, which I really wasn't. I just loved giving her a hard time.

  To put her mind at ease, I laughed and grabbed her praying hands. “Okay, listen. I'm really not mad at you. Seriously, don't leave me hangin' like that again. I'm used to that,” I pointed at Casey, “skipping out all the time.”

  “Hey,” he said, puffing his chest out. “I really was sick.”

  Janey snorted. “Yeah, from a hangover.”

  “Speaking of Saturday,” Casey said quickly, intent on changing the subject. “Did you guys see Don Freeman today? His hand is royally busted! There's no way he'll be playing football this year.”

  “If you ask me that's what he gets for being a moron,” Janey remarked with sneer.

  I threw Casey a questioning glance. “What happened to his hand?”

  “Weren't you there?” he asked.

  “No, she wasn't,” Janey answered for me, studying her manicured nails. “She was too busy making out with Brenton in the field way behind the barn.”

  I turned my head slowly, my right eye twitching with vexation. “Thank you, Janey, for blabbing my business.”

  She shrugged, still enthralled with her over priced nails. “Just postin' the truth, baby doll.”

  “You are such a pez head,” I said jokingly.

  “So, do ya want to know, or what?” Casey inquired, grabbing my attention.

  “Know what?”

  Frustration edged its way into his voice as he said, “About Don's hand!”

  I cracked a grinned. “Yeah, you may proceed with the epic saga of ‘Don's Hand’.” I crossed my eyes at Janey, winning a giggle from her. I loved getting on Casey's nerves—he was so easy to tick off. He deserved a little payback, and I was more than willing to give it.

  “Okay, I'll tell ya,” he said, getting his frustration in check. “As you know at every party it's wild and pretty much everyone gets wasted. Well, Don was especially wasted Saturday night.” He paused, making sure I was listening. I gestured for him to keep going. “Anyway, do you remember the huge disco ball hanging from the rafters of the barn?” I nodded a yes. “Well, his football buddies had this grand idea that he should crawl up onto the rafters and swing from the disco ball.”

  “What?” I asked, appalled. I pictured the huge burly Don swinging on the disco ball like it was a horsey. “I know he's stupid, but even the stupidest of the stupids know that swinging on a disco ball hanging from the rafters of a hundred-year-old barn is stupid.” I've heard and seen people do some strange things while intoxicated, but this incident takes not one piece, but the whole cake.

  “Exactly,” Casey agreed. “But here's the thing. Instead of the disco ball cord breaking away from the rafter, it's the whole she-bang.” He paused dramatically, adding, “So you got Don, then the disco ball, and then the rafter falling down. The whole thing sounded like an explosion goin' off.”

  In my head I remembered hearing a crash coming from the barn, right before “I love you” drifted out of my and Brenton's mouth, and a two hour make-out session proceeded. Now I knew what had caused it.

  “How did his hand get busted?”

  “Oh, oh, get this!” He told me, morbidly excited. “When the rafter broke apart, it splintered, causing several sharp pieces to jut out. The sharpest piece pinned his hand to the ground, going straight through meat and bone. It took five guys to pull the smashed rafter off of him to get his hand loose. He went to the hospital, and they said he's gonna need five surgeries before he can use his hand again.

  “Also, he was cut up all over his body from the broken glass of the disco ball.”

  “It was his writing hand, too,” Janey pushed in, her voice dripping with exaggerated sympathy.

  I stared at her in bewilderment. After Casey's little tale of Don Freeman's hand being stabbed by a sharp piece of wood, she chose to point out that it was his writing hand that was busted. Not that he could have broken his neck, paralyzing him. Or that he could have been impaled by the sharp rafter, killing him instantly. Oh. No. The whole incident was so tragic because now he would have to write with his weak hand, or get a cute cheerleader to write for him.

  Boo. Hoo.

  “What's goin' on out there?” Mr. Baker suddenly barked, waddling out of his office.

  Casey straightened his smock. “Just getting ready to stock the back, sir.” I almost let out a giggle when Casey gave the old man a cheesy grin. He was such a butt kisser.

  “I don't pay you three to stand around and gossip,” he snapped harshly, a bead of sweat glistening on his forehead. “Just because it's dead in here don't mean there ain't any workin' that needs doing. Miss Thomas,” he said, pointing a chubby finger at Janey, “go and assist Mr. Anderson in the back—I'm sure he could use some help.”

  Janey's face brightened. “Yes, sir, Mr. Baker.”

  “Yeah,” Casey added. “I really could use some assistance.”

  Hurriedly, the twosome walked to the stockroom, not giving Mr. Baker time to second guess his orders. Sometimes I wondered if the old man was clueless, or just plain losing it. Why in the world would he put those two alone in his stockroom? There was absolutely no way that any work would be done back there tonight—unless you counted tongue wrestling as work.

  He turned on me next. “Miss Miller, I know that customers are few tonight. And since there ain't no customers, I want ya to clean this store top to bottom.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Baker.” I forced a smile and bit my tongue. For some odd reason I wanted to rile him with a snarky comment, but he was too cool of a boss.

  “All right, then,” he said, pulling his pants high above his waist. “I'll be in the office if ya need me. Oh, and Miss Miller?”

  “Yes, Mr. Baker?”

  “Make it sparkle.” He smiled and waddled back to his office, shutting the door.

  I stared after him, bemused. Make it sparkle? Yeah. Whatever!

  So with my orders bestowed on me I busied myself with making the store, uh, sparkle. Dusting and arranging shelves, washing windows, cleaning toilets, disinfecting counters. Doing whatever I could to keep myself busy, hoping time would go by faster. Also, doing whatever I could to not have to go to the stockroom. I totally didn't want to walk into something there.

  Gross.

  After a couple of hours, without a single customer, I was down to sweeping floors. The music playing over the intercom was weighing my nerves down. Mr. Baker never changed the radio from the oldies station. The oldies did seem like the right station to play, since the store was still stuck in the fifties. Looking at the clock on the wall I almost jumped for joy—thirty-five minutes until closing!

  I continued to sweep the floor, my goal to have it mopped right when we closed so I could get home and into bed. My hope on that goal vanished with the ringing of the bell, sounding in a customer. After two hours of no customers, one has decided to arrive right before we closed. UGH!

  I dredged up a fake smile, even though I didn't have much energy left in me to make my face work. Not only had it been the first day of school, but I'd just worked my butt off cleaning, making the store sparkle and smell lemony fresh. Literally, I felt like someone had beaten me with a stick.

  Turning around to greet the customer my smile dissolved, forming into a frown. The customer turned out to be Nick Reece, and there was no way I was going to waste a smile on that ignorant turd.

  He walked up to me like he owned the place, smiling arrogantly. His hands were in both pockets of his designer jeans, his red silk shirt was f
ashionably un-tucked. Wisps of his dark blonde hair fell over his intense green eyes, his bright white teeth almost blinding me under the fluorescent lights. Yeah, he was a good looking guy but his attitude stank worse than dog farts.

  “Hello, princess,” he said, smirking. “Doing a little sweeping, I see.”

  “Hello, Nick the Douche,” I retorted, throwing in my pet name for him. “Doing nothing but taken up space, I see. Business as usual, huh?”

  In the past my mouth has been known to stir up trouble, harboring a whole mess of vulgar words. That was why I kept it closed most of the time, to try to get along with people. With Nick, though, I always found it hard to control my mouth, causing me to say whatever popped in my head. And usually there was nothing nice to be said.

  He glared at me, his eyes as cold as a winter day. “Funny as always, Clarity. Funny as always.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What do ya want, Nick?”

  He took a step closer, an arms length away, way too close for me.

  “I want to know why you broke Kora and me up. Everything was goin' good, but you kept runnin' your mouth, telling lies about me.”

  “What lies?” I interjected angrily.

  He ignored my question. “You've never liked me. You didn't want Kora to be with me because you were jealous. You told her all this crap about me. You broke us up.” He pointed a finger at me.

  Jealous? Was he insane?

  “You know...I don't have time for this.” I took a couple of steps forward. “Face reality, Nick. I didn't break ya'll up—you did.”

  Startling me, he grabbed my arm and pushed me back against the wall, knocking the breath out of me. The broom I'd been sweeping with fell to the floor, the sound of it echoing through the store. His hands found my shoulders, squeezing them roughly, holding me tight against the wall. My first thought was to scream, but I didn't want to show any weakness. I wasn't going to let him know for one second that I was afraid. I stared at him with stormy eyes.