“Nope. I’ve got it,” I say, walking out the door, but she’s already helping someone else.
Each classroom number is beside the teacher’s name on the list. The hard part: figuring out which hallway to take. There are so many. I walk down one hallway and I swear three more hallways branch from it. The stench of old peanut butter wafts into my nostrils. I don’t like the smell of older schools.
The tardy bell rings. A couple of students in the hallway obviously don’t care if they’re late; they’re too busy making out. One of the teachers storms around the corner and begins yelling at them. He then turns and looks at me.
“You! Get to class!” I hear him mumble something along the lines of, “What is wrong with these kids?” as he stalks down another hallway, checking for more tardy students.
I really shouldn’t ask for help, because I’m too stubborn, but my conscience gets the best of me.
“I’m new and don’t know where to go. Maybe you could help me?” I call behind him.
He stops in the middle of the hallway, like he has second thoughts about helping me, but comes back and snatches the piece of paper out of my hand.
“Walk down this hallway,”—he says, pointing toward the northern hallway—“and take a right. You should be able to find it from there.” He stuffs the list back in my hand.
If he had been at my old high school, I would’ve told him where to go.
My first class is Chemistry with Mr. Martin. He actually has the audacity to call on me for the answer to a question.
Luckily, I know the answer.
The rest of the students in the classroom watch me. I feel like I can’t escape their judging eyes.
After the bell makes its fast-paced clanging noise signaling the end of this class, everyone’s out of their seats and in the hallway before I can get my book in my bag. I check my class list as I walk out the door—English is next. English is always one of my best subjects. At least it’s better than learning elements from the periodic table.
I notice a locker combination scribbled on the back of the piece of paper: 28-10-42-5. My new locker number is 213. I decide to test it out. Of course, that requires finding it first. I look at the numbers on the lockers at the edge of the hallways to see what they begin with. It doesn’t take long for me to find the right hallway…and receive curious glances from fellow students.
Everyone knows when fresh meat has arrived.
The door is open when I get to English. I walk in and notice the teacher isn’t there. One-by-one, the students file to their desks, staring at me as they sit down. I fidget, flipping my notepad open and pretending I’m reading something. In reality, I draw a picture of the golden eyes in the woods outside of Randy and Beth’s house.
Finally, Mr. Everett walks into the classroom, coffee in hand.
“All of you can pass your homework from last night to the—” He freezes, realizing I’m standing beside his desk, like a lost puppy. I hand him my slip of paper.
He glances at the slip and says, “Everyone, this is Candra Lowell. Where are you coming to us from, Candra?” His features are much more mature than Mr. Martin’s. With his stylish good looks and clean cut appearance, I can already guess that he’s the teacher that girls—maybe even a few guys—might have a crush on.
“Charleston,” I reply.
“Charleston, huh? You’re a long way from home. What brings you here?” He bites his lip. “I’m sorry. Don’t answer that. It’s none of my business.”
Random giggles erupt across the classroom, more than likely from his admirers.
“You’re right. It’s not. But, so I won’t have to answer the same question a hundred times today, I’ll tell you. I live with my aunt and uncle now because my parents couldn’t handle me getting into trouble.”
Everyone might as well know the truth. They’ll all either make up incorrect assumptions and wild stories, or they’ll know what really happened. The sooner I can tell everyone why I’m here, the sooner I won’t have to repeat myself.
But the whispers get me. I can handle name-calling, or bullies, but not whispers.
“Okay, why don’t you take a seat in the desk by Benjamin Conway?” He nods toward the back of the room.
I give him a confused look while searching for an empty desk, not having the slightest idea who Benjamin is. Mr. Everett notices and points him out for me.
Benjamin is stunning, if a guy can even be that. His hair is the color of a dark, moonless night, and his skin has been kissed by the sun. The fact that he wears a button up, black shirt—rolled to his elbows—doesn’t help me any; it only makes him that much more attractive.
I hesitate before willing my legs to move in his direction.
If he heard what Mr. Everett said, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t look at me until I’m almost at my desk. When our eyes meet, something strange happens. My stomach does a flip and every nerve ending burns, like I’m swallowed in a sea of flames.
His eyes bulge, almost poking out of his head. And his eyebrows meet his hairline.
He’s as shocked as me.
Nobody else matters in the room. It’s just us.
My short daydream is sucked back into reality when I trip beside my desk and land face-first on the ground. I manage to wheeze out an, “Ow!” The room erupts into another fit of laughter. I, however, lay face down, wanting to cry.
“Well, Ms. Lowell, if you’re done tripping on your shoelaces, I can begin my lesson,” Mr. Everett jokes.
Like that helps. The class roars in hysterics. I’m a walking circus today.
“Errr,” I stammer. My voice has a nervous edge. “I’m done.”
My cheeks burn. Hell, my whole face burns. Although I can’t see it, I’m pretty sure it’s as red as a fire hydrant.
In my peripheral vision, I notice Ben staring at me. He doesn’t laugh like the other kids, just stares, which makes me more uncomfortable. Stray pieces of hair fall across my face, shielding me from his gaze. I purposely shake them so they cover my inflamed cheeks.
Before I know it, class is over. I don’t even know what the teacher talked about. I’m too embarrassed about my tripping incident to concentrate. I stop by my locker to drop off my books before heading to lunch. Students walk by and murmur. They’re talking about me. I just know it. Another kid walks by and bursts out laughing.
God, I hate high school.
The cafeteria is large and packed full of at least twenty rectangular tables with blue stools attached. There’s a deck outside where students can sit—something we don’t have back home. The aroma in the air bites at my nose, bidding me to eat. Although my stomach gnaws at my backbone, the food doesn’t look appetizing. Mushy greens, watery potatoes, burnt chicken fingers, and two-day old pizza aren’t my idea of a nice lunch. I cut in line to buy chocolate milk and find an empty table.
Half the lunchroom glares at me. Do I really look that solitary? I feel that way.
I’ve made it this far, just two more classes before I’m out of here.
With a few more snickers and looks, I want more than anything to be invisible. I fiddle with my chocolate milk container before downing the rest. Standing to throw it away, I feel the heat crawl up the back of my neck and, finally, into my cheeks. It’s like all of the glares so far have accumulated and hit me at once.
Then I think about Benjamin, and feel my face grow hotter. Everything from his gaze to the clothes he wore in class flashes through my head. What’s with him? There’s something…different. I can’t explain why I felt the sudden stab of uneasiness the closer I got to him, but it was definitely there.
The bell rings, and I make my way through the ocean of students to my third class of the day, Algebra. It’s on the opposite side of the building from my other two classes.
They should really have a map for this place.
I begin to wonder if they stuck me in these stupid classes because of my grades back home. This is torture. Not the kind of torture from the Medieval Period, but the kind where they try
to eat away at your soul…slowly, mentally.
Fortunately, I find my way to Mrs. Raulston’s classroom without a hitch. She and I trade—her book for my class list. She instructs everyone to turn to chapter seven as she flips the light switch and begins running the projector. The discussion is about ellipses, parabolas, and hyperbolas.
Boring.
I’m already exhausted, and it’s not even the end of the day yet. If I can lay my head down for five minutes…
Something strikes my desk. I almost crash onto the floor.
“Candra Lowell!” Mrs. Raulston bellows, like a crazy old woman with a high-pitched voice, taking the “well” in “Lowell” to a whole new octave. “I will have you know that I do not tolerate anyone sleeping in my classroom.”
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep. Honestly.”
“Do not let it happen again. This will be your only warning,” she says, sounding more and more like she belongs in a dramatic play of some sort. Her nose is stuck so far up in the air that it should be against the law. And what’s with her goggles making her bug-eyed?
I don’t like her. She’s like an alien being from another planet and I want to run over her with my non-existent car. My lips curve into a wry smile at the thought.
My extraterrestrial teacher keeps a hard eye on me the rest of the class period. I’m relieved to finally be out of there when the bell rings. How many more weeks of her?
My last class is Geography. It’s not hard at all to look at maps and locate countries, states, and capitals. By far, this will be my easiest class, and an easy way to wind down the day.
Mr. Williams seems like a very nice man. Nothing immediately jumps out at me as far as his disposition is concerned. His features are average—not too tall, cute, but not overly handsome, and he looks like he could afford to eat a few more meals. He never raises his voice, even as students are filing noisily into their seats.
I’m busy analyzing my new teacher’s personality traits when I hear a soft pssst. I glance to my right. A boy is trying to get my attention.
“Hey,” he says.
I look up to make sure Mr. Williams isn’t looking in our direction.
“Hey.” I smile.
“You must be Candra,” he whispers, leaning across the aisle that separates us.
“Yeah. What’s your name?”
“I’m Blake.”
“Nice to meet you, Blake.”
He’s cute. His height is shorter than most of the guys I’ve seen that day, and his blonde-brown hair wisps over the tops of his ears. But it’s his eyes that catch me off guard. They’re the most brilliant blue I’ve ever seen.
“My girlfriend, Jana, saw you earlier today and said you looked pretty outcast, so I figured I’d say hey.”
“Umm…thanks.” Yeah, like that doesn’t make me feel even more awkward.
“You’ll like her,” he continues. “She’s usually in this class, but she had something to take care of today. She should be here tomorrow.”
“Oh, cool.”
That’s the first attempt anyone has made at talking to me all day. He seems like a nice guy. I notice some of the other students listen to us, but turn their attention back to the front of the classroom once our murmured conversation is over.
Mr. Williams finishes up his lesson, as the students prepare for the final bell to ring.
I’m glad the day is over. I walk with the drove of students out the side doors and into the parking lot. I stop long enough to take a breath.
“Candra! Wait up!” someone yells behind me.
I turn to see Blake jogging in my direction.
“So, how’d you like your first day?” he asks.
“If you subtract the fact that I was late for my first day of school, got called on for an answer in first period, tripped over my own two feet in second period, sat by myself at lunch, fell asleep in third period, only to have my desk smacked with a ruler, then I guess it wasn’t so bad.”
“Nope, sounds like you’ve had a great first day.” He grins.
I slide my hands in my pockets. “You know, you’re the first person who’s talked to me all day.”
His face lights up. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
He shrugs. “Better than nothing, I guess. The kids here will warm up to you in no time. You seem like a pretty cool girl.”
“Thanks, Blake.”
“Hey, don’t mention it.” He blushes. “Well, I have to get home. Do you need a ride or something?”
“No, I’ll walk. But thanks.”
“Well, see ya tomorrow then.” He tosses me a wave over his shoulder.
“Okay.”
I watch as he vanishes into the sea of cars leaving the parking lot. He’s not exactly what I’d consider a friend just yet, but it’s a start.
Most of the cars exit the parking lot before I begin walking home. I watch some students lag behind so they can chat with their friends. One girl touches up her lip gloss in the rearview mirror. A couple leans against a car, playing tonsil hockey. A few guys sit on the back of a dilapidated truck, like they’re about to throw a tailgate party.
I laugh while walking through the parking lot. Today’s been totally nerve-wracking, but it didn’t turn out as bad as I expected.
Chapter Three
The next day at school isn’t too bad, either. Jana, Blake’s girlfriend, never shows up. Blake won’t give a reason. He just says she’s “busy,” and talks about her through most of class. I don’t know why, but I’m really anxious to meet her.
The next thing I know, class is over, and I wait on a bench by the curb for the parking lot to clear out, just in case someone accidentally runs over the new girl.
A few leaves blow across the sidewalk on my way home, which makes me think about Mom. She used to tell me how beautiful it is here when the leaves change colors. Soon, I’ll get to experience the beauty myself, since autumn is just around the corner.
I twirl the silver heart locket between my fingers, thinking about how I should call Mom and Dad, but I don’t know if I’m emotionally stable enough for that yet.
When I got home from school the previous day, I picked up the necklace, still lying on the floor. It means a lot to Mom, and there has to be a reason she wants me to have it.
Too busy with my thoughts, I haven’t noticed the footsteps behind me, falling in sync with mine. How long have they been back there? One glance over my shoulder and I realize it’s two guys from school. I’ve seen them in the hallways, but don’t have any classes with them.
“Nice view from back here, sweetheart,” one of the guys says.
Oh, great. They’re those guys.
I don’t respond or acknowledge what he says. I continue walking up the sidewalk and through a subdivision of middle class houses.
“Not going to talk to us? C’mon. We’re nice guys.”
“We’re, like, the welcome party,” the second one says.
“Just wanted to tell you you’re not welcome here.”
Both laugh and I think I hear a slap of hands. I continue to ignore them and quicken my pace.
Suddenly, a hand clutches my arm with frightening strength and whirls me around. Both guys have dark features, reminding me of someone else I know, though I can’t place my finger on who. The one who grabs me has the most sinister eyes I’ve ever seen. Almost as if evil took up residence somewhere behind his pupils. Flat. Cold. Unreadable.
“Too good to talk to us, huh?” he spits.
“Let go of my arm,” I snarl through gritted teeth. If I have to fight these two, there’s no way I’ll win. My only hope is to scream for help and hope someone hears me.
My stomach teeters, like I’m on a boat. I might hurl at any second. I’m scared shitless.
“When I speak to you, you answer me,” he says, getting way too close to my face.
“I said ‘let me go’.” I try pulling my arm out of his grasp. “When I tell you to do something, you listen
to me.”
Bad idea, Candra. Really bad idea.
His grip tightens, and I’m about to scream. Something sparks, like electricity, between us and he wails, falling to the ground. The other guy reaches for him, trying to help him up.
He points a finger at me and says, “Mark my words. You’ll regret this.”
“Is there a problem?” a husky voice asks from behind me. I turn to see my hero.
It’s Benjamin.
My mouth falls open. Where’d he come from?
“Fine. Just fine,” the Boy with the Vacant Eyes replies, before I have a chance to open my mouth. He narrows his eyes at me. “I’ll deal with you later.”
“I think you need to leave her alone,” Benjamin warns. There’s an edge to his voice, like he’s controlling rage.
The two guys shake their heads and smirk. “Mom and Dad won’t be happy about this one.” They turn and leave the way they came.
Benjamin’s jaw twitches. He stares in their direction, even after they’re long gone.
Finally, I ask, “Mom and Dad? You’re their—”
“Brother? Yes,” he confirms.
I glance in the direction they had gone, but can’t see anything past the six-foot fence surrounding the home we stand beside. “Are they always like this?”
Benjamin nods. “You could say that.”
“Well, uh, thanks for saving my ass, I guess.”
“Let me know if they bother you again.” His eyebrows furrow, and it’s like his eyes put me under some sort of spell.
I lose my senses. My head goes numb. Everything fades around us.
I shake my head to lift the curse. “I hope you don’t get into any trouble. I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you around.”
Like nothing just happened, he fades around the corner and out of sight. Standing in place for a couple of minutes makes me look as dumb as I feel. He’s not coming back. There’s no point in me waiting for him. I’ll have to wait until I see him again.
My own, personal hero, I think. Not that I need one, but there’s something about him that I find comforting.
When I get home—my new home, anyway—Beth’s making dinner. She pokes her head around the corner as soon as I walk through the door.
Silver Moon (Silver Moon, #1) Page 2