by Azzurra Nox
The cold water rushed to his toes like eager ants crawling towards a picnic basket, and he sucked in his breath. It took awhile to get used to it. Stepping into the water till it was up to his waist, he laid the board flat, and lay on top as he began to paddle waiting for the moment that he could stand up and ride a wave. These moments were always exhilarating for him. The sun peeked out, as the water rolled and he quickly stood up on the board, bending his knees. It wasn’t a big wave, but it always felt thrilling no matter the size. He looked ahead, up at the beach. Slowly, more early surfers were approaching. No one at school knew that he did this. They all labeled him a Goth, and avoided him because of his menacing aura. He always wore a black trench coat over his school uniform, something that Father Bob wasn’t fond of, but couldn’t tell him to not wear because it wasn’t strictly written into the school’s dress code. He didn’t mind not having that many friends at school, apart from Sydney. In a way, he relished in his outcast position because he didn’t feel pressured to have to fit in. It was much easier to be the odd one out. Although he knew that someone like Sydney wouldn’t have been an outcast if it weren’t for her birthmark.
His concentration broke, and he fell off the board going underwater. The water was ice cold. He resurfaced, grasping for his board, wondering what time it was and if he had enough time to catch another wave before having to get ready to go to school. The sun played peak-a-boo behind the clouds, idly caressing his dyed midnight blue locks. He brushed them out of his eyes, and got back on the board, paddling back out. It was hard for him to concentrate that morning. Maybe because Sydney had called late last night saying that she couldn’t make it out to surf with him. She had gotten home past her curfew and wanted to sleep in, and then was going to spend the afternoon studying with Jon. Studying, sure, he thought. He knew what guys like Jon were up to. They were the type who weren’t satisfied with one girl, but had to constantly be on the search for another. But he didn’t even bother to say that to Sydney. He didn’t want to burst her bubble. In retrospect, he knew that it must feel thrilling for her right now to have the attention of someone, especially a guy that most of the girls at school fawned over. Although he never truly quite understood why they did since he had that unabashed “I don’t give a shit about anything,” attitude to him. But maybe that was his charm, he reasoned.
He looked out at the ocean, waiting patiently for the perfect moment to jump up and ride the wave, wanting to feel free for those last few moments before going to school. Once he was back on the board, he planted his feet firmly down, curling slightly so that he could grip the board beneath him. Then crouched a little as he rode the wave, looking out towards the beach. Something caught his eye. A girl. From the distance he could only make out her black hair and black and red striped sweater. As he got closer he readily recognized the thin female figure, it was Hope Peters. She was near the beach, he couldn’t make out what she was doing but he could see her drawing something into the wet sand with a stick. He wondered what she was up to, especially at this hour. Again, his concentration broke, and he fell off his board with a loud splash, the cold water filling up his ears as he tried to swim his way up, hands rummaging for the board at the surface, taking hold of it. Curiosity struck him, so he swam in the direction of the shore, wanting to see what Hope was doing. He had never seen her on the beach before and the way she dragged the stick along the wet sand was something that sparked his interest.
The wind hit him as soon as he got out of the water, and the parts where the wetsuit didn’t cover his body, he could feel the skin turn ice cold. He shook the water out of his hair that without all the hold of his usual gel and hairspray combo fell down his neck and across his forehead. Annoyed, he pushed it off his face, and walked along the beach with the board in his hand. Hope was only a couple of feet away from him. He looked down at the sand where she had drawn what looked like to be a pentagram. She was far from the other people, so no one would think of messing with her. He watched as she sat down in the middle, taking out three white candles from her book bag, making sure they were firmly planted into the sand, before she pulled out what looked like to be a mirror and two containers. Connor didn’t want to startle her, so he walked quietly, almost stealthy.
“Hey,” he broke the ice. “What’s up?” He knew the kids at school taunted her for being a witch, but he never thought that she was truly interested in witchcraft.
She stopped what she was doing, almost frozen in mid-action. “Go away,” she told him, “It’s none of your business.”
“Don’t tell me you’re doing that Hocus Pocus shit that people like Dior make fun of you for,” he set down his board, leaning down to remove the band around his ankle that kept him secured to the rope.
“Just leave. What are you doing here anyway?”
“What does it look like?” he motioned at the surfboard and the wetsuit he was wearing.
“Yeah, but usually Goths don’t surf.”
“This one does. Besides, what’s with this deal of being constricted into one box? We’re dynamic creatures. We fit into more than one mold.”
“Nice speech, now get lost.” This time her voice was harsh. He was taken aback by this, knowing how she usually was apologetic in any given situation.
“Woah, what’s with the attitude?”
“I’m trying to get something done and you’re distracting me.”
“What’s with the candles and those bottles?”
“You won’t understand.”
“Then explain. Starting from, what’s in those bottles?” he looked at the two unidentified containers with suspicion.
“You’ve never seen salt and lemon juice?”
“Not stashed away in what looks like peroxide bottles.”
“I didn’t have anything else to put them in.”
He watched her light up the candle to her right, as she closed her eyes, murmuring something to herself. Even though he strained his ears he couldn’t make out the words. She lit another candle, again, muttering to herself in a hushed voice after she did so. Finally, she reached for the third candle and did the same. He wanted to say something but didn’t want to break her concentration and watching her in action was somewhat amusing him.
She grabbed the bottles, pouring the lemon juice and salt upon the mirror. Her fingertips grazed the glass, rubbing along the concoction in circular motions. Her voice was low as she chanted, and he could only make out the last portion of the spell, “Mirror, protect me.” Now, she grabbed for a cloth from her bag, and readily cleaned off the mirror of the two substances. Then, grabbing a rock she broke the mirror in little one inch pieces. Once she was done, she blew out the candles, and removed them from the sand. She quickly threw the two containers into her bag, along with the mirror pieces, getting up from her spot on the sand.
“You done?”
“Yes, and you should keep this with you at all times,” she told him approaching him with one of the mirror pieces in her hand.
“What’s it for?”
“It’s a protective agent. Keep it with you if you don’t want to end up like Blake or Jake.”
“What do you mean about that?”
“Nothing, just don’t take it off, okay?”
“Sure,” he muttered taking the piece of glass into his hand, his hair dripping wet, as the wetsuit clung to him like a second skin. “By the way,” he quickly added before she could turn to leave, “Are you going to Dior’s party Saturday?”
“I refuse to go to any party with a name like, Don’t Get Dead, Get Partied. Two of her closest friends died and she’s celebrating. It’s appalling. Besides, I’m sure her invite wasn’t valid for someone like me.”
“I know what you mean. I’m not that keen on wanting to go either. It’s not really my kind of scene.”
“Is it anybodies?” she replied lifting the bag from the ground. He noticed how her hands were red on the surface as though she had been continually scratching on the skin.
“I guess not,
but its high school. A lot of them want to fit in.”
“Trying to fit in is suicide,” she said, then bit her lip as though she regretted having made that statement in lieu of recent events.
“Do you really think Jake committed suicide?”
Her face turned red at the question, as though a slow ire crawled up her body and reached her brain as she spoke, “I don’t know what to think. I don’t want to talk about it,” and quickly walked past him. Stunned, he wanted to say he was sorry, although he wasn’t sure what for. As far as he knew Jake Fisher and Hope Peters were never close. They weren’t even friends! That’s why her reaction baffled him so much. He shrugged, inspecting the shard of mirror she had handed to him, and started to walk towards his car. It was getting late, and so he tried to hurry, unlocking the car, and throwing the surfboard inside as he peeled the wetsuit off of him, suddenly feeling very cold the second his skin hit the early morning ocean breeze. He pulled on a sweatshirt, and looking in the rear view mirror, placing his lip piercing back and taking the black eyeliner he rimmed dark, panda-like circles around his eyes. He would have to change into his school uniform at home after a quick shower. Connor couldn’t help but grab the mirror shard again, fascinated by it, and what Hope had implied it would do. But was it true? He set it down in the cup holder, and looked over at the book his father had given to him recently. Cut Here. It seemed to be his genre, seeing that he was into horror novels, but couldn’t help but find the first chapters eerily familiar. The girl in chapter one reminded him of Blake. The school flirt that dies mysteriously, only that Blake’s death wasn’t much of a mystery. A lot of students had seen her take flight. What a waste, he had thought. She was such an attractive girl, and to launch herself from the Bell Tower was insanity. He never thought that any of the Three Bees had an issue so grand that they’d wish to take their life. All their lives seemed so enviable from the outside. His fingers traced the red letters of the book title, his thoughts drifting for a few moments before he put the book away and headed home.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The party was already in action when Jon drove up Dior’s mansion with Sydney. Posters splattered with glitter and block letters announced, DON’T GET DEAD. GET PARTIED! He shook his head in disgust finding the theme completely inappropriate considering the two people that did recently die were her close friends. Then again, maybe true friendship wasn’t up high on her list of priorities. And he shouldn’t feel too smug about it, considering how his own friendship with Lena had imploded over a number of reasons. He knew that he shouldn’t have allowed himself to get too close to her. Experience should’ve taught him that he always lost what he loved most. It was a running trend in his life. Beginning with Robert and continuing on since then.
There was a large fountain filled with punch that had a Grim Reaper waving a scythe, whilst two young men swallowing sticks of fire entertained a group of teenagers on the patio. Red rose petals adorned the walkway like droplets of blood. A few people he knew from school drove around the estate in golf carts shooting at each other with water guns, their laughter echoed behind them, long after they were out of sight.
“She really went all out for this,” Sydney mused breaking into his thoughts. “We don’t have to stay long if you don’t want to.”
“I hate parties.”
She bit her lip, looking down.
Suddenly he felt sorry for his brisk statement and quickly added, “I know you wanted to come. At least we can say that we’ve been to a typical teen bash when we’re old and grey,” his hand reached out for hers giving her a squeeze, wanting to tell her that everything was all right. But was it? His heart felt like it was being slowly sliced piece by piece each passing day that he didn’t speak to Lena and the notion that they had grown apart so much was tearing him in two. Part of the reason why he had agreed to taking Sydney to the party was because he knew that Lena would be there with Michael. That fact alone was both a blessing and a curse. Jealousy always gripped him tightly whenever he saw the two of them together. He almost felt like Grendel, a literary dragon, at the grips of Beowulf, the hero, seizing his throat tightly lulling him to asphyxiation.
“You seem distracted.”
“No, I’m fine,” he quipped, parking the car. He sat motionless for a moment, trying to focus on how he shouldn’t let his jealousy get to him. Jon didn’t have a good feeling about Michael. Anyone who wraps themselves in mystery only means they’ve got something to hide. Besides, he’d never trust someone who drove a Ducati.
“Let’s go,” he told Sydney, getting out of the car. While the two of them walked, they noticed how the pool area was full of teens. People showing off on the diving board, whilst others drank colorful drinks decorated with miniature Asian umbrellas. He wondered if the cocktails were alcoholic seeing that they were all minors. But he could never tell with Dior. Her parents didn’t seem to ever be around to control what she did.
“Jon!” Dior exclaimed, walking over from the patio to come join him. Her black dress was tight. Too tight. It was probably designed that way to accentuate her curves, but instead of finding her sexy, he wondered if she was suffering from cut circulation.
“Are you alone?”
“Actually, we’re together,” Sydney stepped up from behind him. Jon couldn’t help but smirk, watching Dior’s giddy expression turn sour at the news. She quickly found a futile excuse to dispense the two, as she walked away.
Jon laughed at Dior’s speedy exit. “You were excellent. You should’ve seen the way her jaw dropped when you said you were with me.”
“Yeah…it’s because no one can believe it. They don’t know what you see in me.”
He quickly tried to patch up his faux pas by saying, “No, Dior’s just got a big ego and thinks every man should worship her. It has nothing to do with how you are. Although, trust me, you’re far more fascinating and beautiful than Dior will ever be,” he pulled her in for a quick kiss. His lips were still on her when he saw Lena walk past with Michael. “Let’s go,” he told her, grabbing her hand and heading towards the house. This was a teenage party, he was certain that someone had surely sneaked some booze mixed with the soft drinks. All he knew right now was that he wanted to be numb. Numb to his feelings for Lena, numb to the clawing feeling he felt at the base of his heart. He wanted to be emotionless. Alcohol would aid him in that. They walked past the spacious living room where he saw many of his classmates walking past him with drinks in their hands and he figured that the kitchen was near. Sure enough, the seniors had a keg there whilst others were mixing what looked like to be rum with coke. Jon sandwiched his way through the crowd of teens around the counter, trying to steal two drinks for him and Sydney. When he managed to grab two, he returned to Sydney. The first swig was like a hot shot straight to his stomach. Drinking on an empty stomach didn’t quite help the feeling. They had ventured to the ballroom area where a DJ was spinning records. He decided to sit down, even if he knew that Sydney would love to dance. And she did. He watched her dance amidst the crowd. She was different lately. More free. At least that’s what she seemed to him. Jon continued to drink, and every time he finished a glass he got up to get another one. The alcohol was making his brain feel fuzzy and dulling the pain inside him. Sydney’s dancing was fluid, like she was made of jelly. He lit up a cigarette and got lost in thought until he heard a familiar voice.
“You still haven’t been able to kick that habit, yeah?”
“Where’s your knight in shining armor?” he responded.
“Why must you be like this?” Lena’s voice held a tinge of annoyance. “I only wanted to talk to you because I miss you,” she said that part so softly that Jon didn’t hear it above the loud music.
“What did you say?” he shouted.
“I said, I missed you!”
“WHAT? THE MUSIC IS TOO LOUD!”
“I MISS YOU!”
Those three little words held the power of possession. The moment she uttered them he couldn’t help but fe
el embraced by a strange warmth. What was happening to him? Was she making him soft? Impossible. He stood up, wanting to get away from her. Forgetting that Sydney was there, and would worry if she didn’t see him, but in his state, that was the last thing on his mind. Suddenly, he needed air. His throat felt constricted as though the oxygen flow was made impossible. He pushed his way through bodies packaged in designer duds and inhaled a deep breath once he reached the gardens. Lena had followed him outside.
“What do you want?!”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I messed everything up between us. I miss our friendship. I miss when you, Milly, and I would hang out together and do things together like real friends.”
She looked frailer and paler than usual under the moonlight. The music, although loud, seemed far away from them now but his only thought was to put one foot in front of the other as though he were on a secret march.
“Newsflash, Milly hates me and you’re better off without me too, so just leave me alone.”
Everyone seemed to be at the front of house, leaving hardly anyone out in the back gardens. Dior’s estate must be big, because he couldn’t readily see a fence to indicate the end of their property meaning that there was more land spread out.
“No.”
He continued to walk, blindly. Without a real path or destination, pushing random oleander branches out of his way as the alcohol was having a strange effect on him. He tried to close his eyes a moment, to focus on the pink and fuchsia flowers instead of the see-saw feeling playing in his stomach.
“When I showed you that picture at the hospital…I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Was Robert your brother?”
“He is my brother. My twin brother.”
“Where is he now?”
“Gone.”
This time he turned around to face her, stopping in his tracks. He hadn’t realized how far away they had gotten from the mansion until he noticed that it looked distant and the music had grown fainter. It gave him the false illusion that they were alone. They were the only two that mattered at that moment and nobody else existed.