Kiss Of Fire (Imdalind Series)

by Ethington, Rebecca

  I began to wonder how I could get rid of this girl. At first, her over-exertive happiness was fun, but she was starting to sound like a cheerleader. I looked around wondering if I could find a quick escape away from her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her quiet voice losing its hyperactive quality. “I’m coming on too strong, aren’t I?”

  I just stared at her, unsure of what to say.

  “Hi, my name is Wyn; I just moved here with my brother, Ilyan, who has taken care of me since my parents died,” she said in a deeper, slower voice that seemed more natural for her. “I turned sixteen in January, but don’t have a driver’s license yet; I prefer to get around on my skateboard. My favorite band is Styx, which I know is way before my time – but I can’t help it - I love them. I like rice pudding with raisins and think ice cream is too sophisticated for me. I like to read, but not so much that my brain turns to mush. Oh! and I love long walks on the beach with handsome men with rippling biceps.”

  We laughed together; it was the strangest introduction that I had ever witnessed.

  “Well?” Wyn asked when the laughter had died down. She was staring at me, waiting for me to introduce myself in the same way.

  “I’m Joclyn,” I began, my nerves swimming in my legs. “I live with my Mom; my dad took off when I was little. I turned sixteen last week, but I prefer a long board to a skateboard.”

  She grinned from ear to ear when I said that, glad for a connecting tie.

  “Ummm… I love Fruit Loops and late-night British comedies. I don’t have a favorite band, but I like to listen to music when I’m doing homework.” I ended lamely, as if asking her a question.

  “And the guy?” Wyn prompted.

  My insides turned to jelly as an image of Ryland flashed through my mind.

  “Oh, you know: tall, dark, and handsome and all that jazz,” I answered, flipping my hand to the side.

  “Well, I guess you’ll do.”

  “Do?”

  “Seeing as it’s my first day, I need a friend, and I like you the best out of all the irritating cheerleaders and pompous nerds I have met today.” She smiled, and I couldn’t help but reciprocate.

  I had always purposefully ostracized myself, but there was something about Wyn that made me want to know her better. Of course, in the back of my mind, I wondered how long it would take her to figure out something was wrong with me. Everyone always did, even without seeing my mark. I had always been just a little bit “off”.

  “What class do you have next?” she asked, jumping to her feet when the bell rang

  “Advanced Drama.”

  “Oh, goodie! Me, too!” She grabbed my hand and towed me out of the now empty cafeteria, jabbering about how lucky she was to have found me on her first day. It wasn’t until we had left the cafeteria that she realized she had no idea where she was going and opted to follow rather than lead.

  I led her down the hall as she continued to jabber about how her first day had gone and all the irritating people she had met. I smiled at her description of our very eccentric American History teacher. “Small, withering Mardi Gras attendee” fit him.

  I hesitated outside the door of the drama room. I had been placed in the advanced drama class by mistake this year, and as such, it was a class filled with seniors, meaning that the notorious Cynthia McFadden was in this class. While it was unlikely that most people would mention anything about the cast list for Hamlet, I knew her kind. The probability that she would say something was high, and I preferred to steel myself against it.

  The drama room was a large sunken performance space surrounded by tiers of carpeted risers that rose up from the center of the room where you entered. Ms. Flowers, the drama teacher, always kept the room dimmed during performance time with stage lights blaring, but during class time we were treated to fluorescent lighting that made every soda stain on the carpet pop out. A large thrift-store couch sat right in the middle of the lowest tier, looking out on center stage. Most of the students lounged on the different levels as they prepared for class to start, leaving the couch for Ms. Flowers use. Wyn ran off to find Ms. Flowers while I went to my usual alcove.

  “Well, if it isn’t Smelly MyHoodie,” Cynthia McFadden’s voice echoed around the large space, causing several heads to turn. I crinkled my nose at her poor attempt at name-calling, waiting for the deeper onslaught.

  “We missed you on Friday, at rehearsal… Oh wait, I forgot. You didn’t get a role.” If anyone had read a book on how to be the quintessential high school diva, it was Cynthia. She had mastered this role better than she would any other. From perfectly plucked eyebrows and hair, hours in preparation, to overpriced shoes and backpack, she looked like a snob. It was more than her looks though. How she spoke, how she talked, it was all done to be anyone’s high school nemesis or hero. If I had to pick, I would have to say she was my nemesis, although the term is a bit dramatic.

  Even though Cynthia was a year older than me, she had been one of the first in elementary school to realize there was something wrong with me. I hadn’t always hidden behind hoodies, and in 1st grade, Cynthia had seen the same thing in me that had made my dad take off. Maybe it was the way I held myself, how I never talked too loudly, or the fact that I liked to climb to the top of the baseball fence. Something just bugged her, and she made it her business to get everyone else to see it, too.

  I attempted to let her taunt roll off me, sealing my lips together to prevent a rebuttal. I growled to myself as I attempted to walk past her; I wasn’t one to create confrontation.

  “Hey, I’m talking to you.” She grabbed my arm hard hindering my escape and then jumped back as if I had shocked her.

  I turned toward her, keeping my jaw shut tight, ready to take whatever cruel punishment she had ready for me.

  “You stupid, little girl. I’m so glad my graduation is a month away, and then, I won’t have to smell you anymore. Too bad everyone else has to put up with you for another year.” She looked at me expecting a reply, but I couldn’t think of what to say without my entire face turning red and a string of expletives pouring out.

  “Why don’t you just go hide up by the stage lights, pretend you’re flying and casting magic, or whatever it is you do up there, you little freak.” She flipped her long bleached-blonde hair and turned away from me only to come face-to-face with Wyn.

  Tiny little Wyn had her hands balled up in fists at her side, her face flushed red. Even though Wyn’s full height only came to Cynthia’s chest, the look on Wyn’s face caused Cynthia to take a step back. I was concerned Wyn would say something stupid that would cause criticism for the both of us.

  “At least she can get up there and keep her clothes on,” she said, “or is that too much of a challenge for you?” Laughter and whistling sounded throughout the large room; even my jaw fell in surprise at her forwardness.

  Cynthia stood still as Wyn pushed past her, grabbed my hand and pulled me to sit front and center in the room.

  “Thanks,” I whispered as we sat.

  “No problem, anything for my friends.” Wyn flashed me a wide smile before turning to face Ms. Flowers who was now beginning her lecture on the senior showcase, in which Hamlet would be featured.

  I am not sure how much I heard of what she said; I kept looking toward Cynthia who was still fuming. Ms. Flowers caught my attention as she began to prepare for the show by separating everyone into groups: the cast of the show, costumes, set, and props. Each group sat together, the cast with their noses upturned. I rolled my eyes at them and moved to stand by Wyn in the “set” group.

  We spent the rest of class reading through the script and making a list of set pieces. No one in our small group was excited about our task, and with five minutes to go, we had broken off into different conversations.

  “Thank goodness school is almost over. I have about a season worth of Castle to catch up on,” Wyn moaned as she threw herself back onto the rough carpet we sat on.

  “Castle?” I asked.

&nb
sp; She raised her eyebrow at me as if I had committed some form of heresy by not knowing what she was talking about.

  “Yes, Castle. The TV show. Crime drama - starring Nathan Fillion: only the yummiest man to grace the screens of the television.” She gasped at my obvious lack of understanding.

  I had no idea what she was talking about.

  “At least tell me you know what ‘Firefly’ is?” she pleaded.

  “I don’t watch TV, Wyn. I mean, I turn it on sometimes, but I never really watch it.”

  “I’m going to educate you. You need a good dose of several of life’s necessities. Besides, Nathan Fillion is really nice to look at.”

  I laughed, the bell drowning out the sound of my voice.

  We left the room and retrieved our boards from the office. By the time we got outside, word of Wyn’s confrontation with Cynthia had spread and students were giving her thumbs-ups and high-fives as they passed. All the attention went into Wyn like energy from a live wire and soon she was bouncing up and down. I laughed as I watched her, her enthusiasm leaking over into me.

  “I can’t believe I did that,” she repeated for the hundredth time.

  “Well, it seems to have gone over well with the student body.” I laughed as yet another student waved to her. Our school did not have a small campus, and word must have traveled faster than usual. I couldn’t help but laugh as she bounced around yet again, adrenaline from her conflict with Cynthia still coursing through her.

  “Oh, yes, well done.” I could recognize that sneer from a mile away. “So, you and your foul mouth seem to have made you a few admirers.”

  We both turned to face Cynthia McFadden who was surrounded by half the football team once again. The moment Cynthia spoke, an eager group of onlookers materialized out of thin air, hoping for some action. I took a step behind Wyn out of habit.

  Wyn opened her mouth to say something, but we never found out what. All the football players gathered behind Cynthia began to point away from us, several of them taking off in that direction. Cynthia looked like an angry kitten at her posse’s departure. But when she turned, her little fit stopped and she began to smooth her hair. I turned my head toward what everyone was staring open-mouthed at and my heart plummeted to my toes.

  A bright, yellow sports car I knew all too well had pulled into the teachers’ parking lot. Ryland leapt out of the car, his dark, curly hair bouncing. He pulled off his Whittier Academy blazer and draped it over one shoulder, revealing a tight-fitting, white V-neck T-shirt which showcased his strong arms. He looked like an ad for cologne or men’s underwear. My heart kicked into overdrive; I couldn’t move.

  “Oh no, oh no no no,” I groaned, causing Wyn’s head to whip in my direction. “He promised he wouldn’t…”

  “Do you know him?” she asked, her voice laced with a combination of entertainment and worry.

  I couldn’t bring myself to answer her, only nod numbly as Ryland scanned the crowd for me.

  “Well, I will leave you to it then,” she said. “See you tomorrow, Joclyn.”

  I didn’t even register Wyn’s departure; I was still staring at Ryland as he searched for me. He glossed over most of the student body, giving them all a chance to notice him and his expensive car. Finally, he found me and began moving in my direction. The second his eyes met mine, my shock melted away, leaving me feeling blissfully numb, my heart calling out in sheer joy to see him. It took a moment, but even that melted away as I registered everyone looking between us, and my joy deteriorated into a half-hearted anger. He waved at me, and to my horror, Cynthia McFadden waved back, her blonde hair flipping in an obvious attempt at flirting. Ryland moved past her without seeing her, pushing her to the side, and my anger melted away into laughter. He rushed to me then, sweeping me up in his arms and spinning me around as if this was some strange scene from a chick flick.

  I couldn’t help but laugh at his actions, the movement sending my stomach into cartwheels. He pressed his cheek against mine as we spun, his deep chuckle echoing in my ear.

  “I’m in so much trouble, aren’t I?” His warm breath tickled my ear as he whispered to me.

  My heart sputtered. “You have no idea.”

  “Then, I might as well do the thing thoroughly.” He set me down again and kissed my jaw line. His lips lingered for a second longer than they should have, freezing me into place. I just hoped I didn’t look too much like a deer stuck in the headlights.

  If my heart had been having troubles before, it was nothing to how I felt now. I couldn’t move as my head began to swim around me, my legs feeling like Jell-O.

  Ryland wrapped his arm around my waist and pulling me beside him. My body melded into his as he led me forward, towing the long board behind us. He kissed my temple before placing me in the passenger seat, his lips burning against my skin even after I lost contact.

  Ryland walked around the Lotus much slower than he usually did, as if he were giving everyone one last chance to see me in the car and him with me. Most of the football team stood together, staring the car down. Cynthia Mcfadden stood in the middle of them, her face flushed red with anger, her arms folded across her mid-section. But it wasn’t her face that caught my attention, it was Wyn’s.

  She stood behind the crowd, hiding behind a large conifer tree next to the red brick school. Her mouth moved as if she were talking to someone out of sight. Her face was screwed up with what could only be described as a furious worry. The combination of anger and concern did not sit well with her and only made her look like she was about to catch fire.

  I looked toward Ryland as he hopped in, a huge smile on his face. By the time I looked back to Wyn, she had disappeared.

  “Let’s get out of here!” Ryland sang, kicking the car away from the curb and speeding down the street well above the speed limit.

  ---

  If it weren’t for the yells of excitement that echoed around the school hall, I might have been punched. I swerved to the side at the noise and saw the angry little fist whip through the air in front of my face. My quick movement upset my balance, and I tumbled to the ground, my hood falling off my head as I landed hard on my tailbone. One little punch and the crowd gathered around me. I saw the eager faces jostle over each other in their attempt to get a better view, many of them yelling “catfight” over and over again. I looked away from them, unsurprised to see Cynthia pacing in front of me, her face screwed up in furious anger.

  Seeing her fuming form made me cringe. Hell has no fury like a woman’s scorn. Ryland’s dismissal of her yesterday was going to cost me big.

  “So, you thought you could show everyone how popular you are by paying some rich stripper to come pick you up?”

  “He’s not a stripper.” The words escaped me without warning. While I should have been surprised that I had chosen to stand up for Ryland before myself, I was more surprised that I had responded to her taunts; I hadn’t done that in years. That fact didn’t escape Cynthia’s notice either; her face lit up in joyous expectation for the coming fight.

  “Prostitute, stripper. It’s all the same.” She walked up to me, her high-heeled foot swinging wide in a poor attempt at a kick. I swung out of the way, sliding against the floor into the crowd who stood me up and pushed me toward Cynthia. I rammed into her hard, the push from the crowd giving her the perfect opportunity to slam a tiny, angry fist into my stomach.

  I cringed, but it didn’t hurt much. I had been sucker-punched harder by Ryland when I was eight and we were fighting over Ninja Turtles. Without any warning, Cynthia began clawing and slapping at my face, the only exposed skin on my entire body. I yelped in a panic and tried to fight back as best I could, but it was no use. She was hell-bent on turning me into her scratching post. I pushed her away from me before her attack could get any worse, the palm of my hand slapping hard against her cheek.

  “Leave me alone; at least I have friends who will stand up for me.” It was a lame retort and I knew it, but I couldn’t think beyond the burning in my face.<
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  “Well, he sure isn’t your boyfriend. After all, who could love an ugly, useless, insignificant little nothing?” She hit me hard in the stomach, and this time, I doubled over, the wind knocked out of me. I heard the crowd around us yell as I fell to my knees, my eyes watering.

  Cynthia walked up to me and lowered herself down to whisper in my ear; her bottom stuck out precariously and several of the boys whistled.

  “Your own father didn’t love you, why would anyone else?”

  My blood boiled under my skin. The truth of her words dug into me and fueled the intense pain and anger I always kept hidden. I could feel the necklace grow warm against my skin, the warmth fueling my intensity. Without thinking, I slammed my hand into her stomach in a pointless attempt to hurt her, to get her away from me, to humiliate her somehow. But instead of her scuttling across the floor on her ridiculous heels like I had hoped, she flew ten feet straight into the air. Her back slammed against the ceiling tiles before she fell like a rock to the ground.

  The crowd went quiet.

  I stared in horror at Cynthia’s motionless form; my heart thumped wildly as I desperately tried to make sense of what had just happened. I didn’t know what had happened, but I did know I needed to get out of there.

  I didn’t even bother to meet any of the curious stares that were trained on me; I didn’t stop to check if Cynthia was alright. I just grabbed my bag, shoving the few things that had been scattered around the hall back into it and took off.

  I held the bag against me as I power-walked away, my head down in my normal attempt to blend in. I hadn’t lost control like that in a long time; okay, I hadn’t lost control like that - ever. Throwing someone ten feet in the air? That didn’t just happen, right? I had heard of women lifting cars off injured people and defending themselves in times of danger; it didn’t seem likely, but that must have been what had just happened to me.

  I could feel the angry warmth leech out of me as I walked; my skin, less persistent in its attempt to crawl away. The necklace that always seemed to echo my moods so perfectly faded from a white, angry heat into a warm, calming sensation.