by Azzurra Nox
“Honor?! You don’t understand…I can’t do this!”
The voice on the intercom was congratulating the finalists, whilst Jon was still shaking his head, acting as though he had just been announced to be on death row.
“Jon you’re so weird. Most guys would love this.”
“See? You’re becoming just like them!”
“Like who?”
“The Honeys,” he hissed sitting back down.
“How dare you say that? I don’t know what’s your problem!”
“I’m not going. I don’t care,” he grumbled, writing down the notes from the board.
Lena shook her head, and rolled her eyes. What could possibly be so terrible about being nominated for Prom King? She really didn’t understand him at all. But at least he stopped talking about how they were going to meet Madoka Yoshimoto. She was still iffy over the execution of Jon’s plan.
The rest of the morning went by in a drag. Jon made no attempts to talk to her, and she didn’t bother to say anything to him once the lesson was over. If he was going to be difficult, she would let him be. His mood swings lately were worse than being on an emotional roller coaster.
There was commotion in the halls because of the announcement. Everyone congratulated the nominees for their accomplishment. She couldn’t understand someone not wanting to be nominated for the Royal Court, because although she found such things silly, it must feel flattering. Perhaps it was something she wondered about because she knew it would never happen to her. This thought didn’t sadden her, it was merely a fact. Upon seeing Dior, Bailey and Bethany she was reminded of their earlier conversation. How they had asked her to try out for the cheerleading squad and readily recalled her response, how she couldn’t do that. That’s exactly what Jon had said about being nominated. Maybe the feeling was the same. This lingering sense of being inadequate to fill a role that wasn’t meant for you. Abruptly, she finally understood his outrage. Maybe she and Jon weren’t so different after all.
Chapter Six
The rest of the morning had gone by in a buzz fueled by the excitement of his classmates around him. Sydney greeted Jon with a kiss at the news of his nomination, and began talking about the possibility of what to wear. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had no intention of going, although his true intention slipped when Dior congratulated him.
There was an art show that afternoon. The event showcased the work of select students. Sister Rose had chosen his series of photographs of Sydney that he had titled, Beauty. He hadn’t told Sydney that he had chosen to submit photographs of her for the show. He wished for it to be a surprise. A way for her to see how he saw her. And he perceived her utterly beautiful. The artworks had been set up in the library.
Jon was headed in that direction. He was supposed to meet Sydney there. On his way to the library he noticed Amelia walk towards him. He was about to say hi, when she walked right past him in a daze. Ever since she got attacked at the beach she hadn’t been the same. Her red hair looked disheveled and lately she kept mumbling nonsensical phrases and looked rather ragged. The first couple of weeks he feared that she had gotten into drugs because whenever she spoke to people nowadays, she looked right through them. Her speech indicated that she wasn’t really paying attention. Her eyelids held a strange lavender color, like that of someone who hadn’t slept for days. Guilt ravaged him. He figured that he had something to do with her strange behavior. He knew that she hadn’t taken their breakup well. Actually, that was an understatement, she had been devastated. Jon knew this, and it tore at him a little but he didn’t know how to fix it. How could he ease her pain? Chasing these thoughts away, he found Sydney waiting for him at the entrance.
“You said you had a surprise.”
“I do.”
“Oh, I can’t wait!” she grabbed his hand squeezing it. He liked this about Sydney. The way she could always appreciate the little things. To be thrilled over something small.
A medium crowd had gathered around the wall where the photographs were displayed. Hushed whispers filled the room and heads shook in disbelief. Jon furrowed his brow not understanding what was happening. Then he saw Lena approach him.
“It’s better that you don’t see…” she had a sympathetic look in her eyes.
He made his way through the crowd, ignoring Lena’s warning. Sydney walked right behind him. The vessel on his temple throbbed in anger as his breathing quickened.
“No…no…” he muttered. He turned to look at Sydney. Her eyes were glistening with tears. “Don’t believe it,” he told her. “Please don’t.”
She was shaking, and he tried to hug her. Comfort her. But she pushed him away. Everyone was quiet. They were watching a train wreck in slow motion and didn’t have the guts to look away. Sydney’s sobs were like tiny punctures in the pit of his heart. He never wanted her to hurt like this. He turned back to the photographs framed on the wall. His vision blurred from the ire that slithered into his being as his eyes traced the way his artwork had been profaned. On the photographs depicting Sydney, the word, “FREAK” had been spray painted on them. The black paint drawing on the birthmark she had on her right side, even if the profiles were taken from her left. Without thinking, he tore them down.
“Who did this?!” He swiftly turned around to repeat the question. “WHO DID THIS?!”
Soft whispers. No one admitted to anything.
Dior was the only one to speak up, “I don’t know for sure, I’m not accusing anyone but I did see Amelia rush out of here after viewing your exposition.”
“Amelia?!”
“She’s not sure!” Lena interjected.
“You stay out of this,” he quickly dismissed her, reverting his attention back to Dior, grabbing her by the shoulders, “Are you sure it was Milly you saw?”
Dior’s eyes widened in surprise by his sudden reaction and could only manage to nod at his question. He left her at the side, Sydney’s teary eyes seemed to beg him not to go looking for Amelia but he disregarded her. If he had ever felt a tiny bit of affection for Amelia, it now turned to stone. How dare she treat Sydney like this?! He was seeing red, as he ran out of the library, calling out her name.
On his way down the hall he punched and kicked a few lockers in anger. Students and teachers from others classes poked their heads out to see what the commotion was all about. Sister Agnes stepped out, not understanding Jon’s outrage and questioning him about it. But he ignored her. A girl with a blonde bob hurried past him. Bethany.
But his mind was set on finding Amelia and didn’t care. She was probably hiding out up on the roof. No matter what others were shouting behind him, he couldn’t stop himself. She had gone too far. She had no right to do that. No right at all. He was bursting with the need for confrontation.
He was on his way towards the stairs when he noticed a slight mist crawling out into the hall that made him stop in his tracks. A strange vapor slithered through the cracks of the partially opened Girl’s Locker Room door. Gym class wasn’t in session during that time. But that didn’t stop Jon from hesitating to enter. The sound of running water pervaded the entire entrance, and he wondered if a girl was showering. Curiosity got the best of him and he trespassed. It was the one place that many boys at St. Lucy Academy desired to see, but never came close to.
The tiles beneath his feet were slick with dew while the room was pregnant with a thick fog. With hands outstretched to touch his surroundings, he stopped when he heard a faint murmur.
“Is anyone there?” he called out.
The sound of the blaring water hitting the tiled showers was almost deafening. Then he saw what looked like to be a pendant of some sort sitting on the sink counter reflecting light in a sea of shattered glass. He picked it up. Marred of its primal function the mirror no longer held a reflection. Something else was on the counter, and upon closer inspection he noticed that it was an empty bottle of lye. Garish drops of ruby adorned the immaculate white floor and quickly turned into a messy streak
of red down the corridor where the showers were located. His blood turned to mercury, and the overwhelming scent of sweet flowers overtook the room in a sticky balmy blur.
A faint whimper broke through the sound of the running water. Jon willed his legs to push forward, even if they felt like two tree trunks attached to his body. His movements were slow and cautious. He followed the red streak down the tiled corridor till the red came to an abrupt halt in front of a folding plastic door. Fear sank its fangs into him like a deceiving lover, and he held his breath as he tore the door open. The mist cleared up and his knees buckled at the sight before him.
“Milly…” he gasped.
A strained choking sound emitted from the girl’s lips, her eyes not cast upon him, but rather she looked beyond him, her attention fixed on something else. Her eyes widened in a fit of terror whilst the faint sound of fluttering wings took hold of the little cubicle. Instantly, he snapped his head towards the sound. But he saw nothing. Jon’s eyes were wet. The tears blurred his vision. Everything became a kaleidoscope of red. He was numb. He didn’t have any answers. He wished he did.
Chapter Seven
The third death hit St. Lucy Academy with a metal fist. Students shuffled meekly out of the church after spending the afternoon at Amelia Stevens memorial, as the school counselor handed out brochures on how to cope with loss. Hope leaned against the huge secular tree on top of the hill, looking down at the school below. Her fingers gripped the bark tightly, as though the strength of the tree could sustain her from toppling over from the million thoughts that galloped intermittently. The construction on the gazebo was finished by a few days so all the plastic around it was gone, and flowers adorned the wooden edges. Faint harmonica notes traveled in the wind bringing a sad tune towards her. No one had to tell her for her to know that Jon was there.
“Sometimes, it’s easier if you talk about your loss,” she said in a neutral tone. The tune stopped, indicating that he was listening. She continued to look down at the school, watching the students walk aimlessly in direction of the entrance, returning to class.
“What do you know about loss?” his tone bitter.
She left her position near the tree and walked behind the gazebo. He was seated on the grass, pulling up strands of it and clutching it in his fist. There was a fury in the way he uprooted the grass like he was gutting a dead animal.
“I know how it feels to lose someone you care about.”
“Oh yeah? Since when?”
“Since Jake died.”
“You weren’t close to him.”
“You don’t know everything. We were.”
“Oh…I’m sorry,” his tone indicated the embarrassed sorrow, “I just can’t think straight anymore.”
Sitting down next to him, she closed the gap between the two of them. Their knees brushed together. A small human contact that made his lips move upwards for a mere second before they returned to the grim frown he had etched since the day Amelia died. A lock of his dark hair fell over his eyes, giving him the aura of a tortured artist. The the sun danced upon his hair and washed down his face. His blue eyes looked like two crystals that reflected the anguish in his heart. Maybe that’s why he pulled out his Ray Bans and quickly hid his eyes behind the black lens.
“It’s all my fault that Milly’s dead.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. It’s because I left her.”
“Staying with someone you don’t love does them more harm.”
“You really think that?”
She nodded solemnly as she tucked her hair back behind her ear.
“I feel like I’ve created a mess.”
“Humans thrive on chaos.”
“You’re sounding like an existential philosopher now.”
Hope laughed softly. Soon, Jon followed suit. It felt good to let the tension out. The knot in her shoulder loosened as the one in her stomach. Days following Amelia’s death had been filled with tension at school. Students walked by in the halls in silence. Another student dead in a span of a couple of months was too much for everyone to handle. Whether they were close to the victims or not, it didn’t matter. What counted was the fact that there was something sinister happening at St. Lucy Academy and no one could pinpoint the genesis of the problem.
“Have you seen her lately?”
“Who? The mysterious girl?”
“Yes.”
“Not so much. Not since I’ve been casting protective spells.”
“But it’s not diminishing her power.”
“She’s a strong entity.”
“You know why they keep finding that book Cut Here after someone dies?”
“Why?”
“The author, Madoka Yoshimoto has seen her. She describes her as some sort of death angel in that book.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. Somehow they’re linked. I have a feeling.”
Jon was playing with a pendant around his neck. It was an oval mirror with spider webs around it in silver. The style wasn’t familiar but the piece of glass was. Then it hit her, it was similar to the one she gave Connor on the beach, telling him to never take it off.
“Who gave you that?”
“What?”
“The pendant.”
“It was Amelia’s.”
“Why didn’t you go to her memorial?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“But you dated her.”
“It’s because I dated her that I couldn’t be there. I couldn’t stay in that church and talk about her in the past tense,” his voice cracked but he quickly cleared his throat. His fingers lazily caressed the pendant like he was stroking someone’s arm in a lovingly manner. They were quiet for awhile. The silence broke when he pulled out a Marlboro and lit it up. A clicking sound when he snapped the Zippo shut. He studied the inscription on the side of it as though the words could give him strength. Tilting her head to the side, Hope was able to make out the phrase, “You can make it last forever, you.” It must be a lyric, she thought. Maybe it was a gift from Amelia. It sounded like something she’d relate to.
“I’m planning to put another protective spell on prom night.”
“Why that night?”
“There’s a full moon.”
“Right. Spooky,” he joked.
“Do you want to help?”
“I thought you liked working on your own. Especially after Michael and Lena crashed our little party last time.”
“I do. But that’s because no one else knows about that girl except you, Lena, and Michael. At least you won’t think I’m crazy.”
“I’m in.”
“Shoot!” she exclaimed as a thought just hit her, “You’re up for Prom King, you wouldn’t want to come that night.”
“Are you kidding? I’m not going.”
“Really?”
“You betcha. I’ll pick you up.”
“No,” she quickly fretted not wanting to admit that she didn’t have a driveway for him to arrive to. “I’ll just meet you at the school.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“Okay,” he shrugged nonchalantly. She studied his profile. He had a rebel look to him, and understood why all the girls were mad about him at school. There was something compelling about him. His hands looked strong, but artistic. She had seen the photos of Sydney before they were marred by Amelia’s black paint. He had captured Sydney’s beauty in a way that none of them at school had ever seen her. Amelia’s jealously was almost understandable. Hope looked away, afraid that he’d notice her staring. She diverted her eyes elsewhere. Something caught her eye. There on the school’s roof stood a thin girl in a school uniform. Her red curls appeared on fire against the black of her blazer. When she turned around, Hope took in her breath. She squint her eyes. Impossible. But the girl looked very similar to Amelia.
“What’s wrong?”
“What?”
“You look agitated.”
“No, I’m okay.” Looking back over to the roof, the girl was gone.
A couple of crows flew over their heads, their caws a song of sorrow. Legends hint at the use of crows helping souls cross over. She remembered the Greek myth of Coronis and Apollo. A cheating Coronis managed to garnish Apollo’s fury with her adulterous ways. Apollo enraged at the crow he had left behind to watch her during his absence, was furious that the bird hadn’t pecked out the other man’s eyes in retaliation. His fury was such that he placed a curse on the bird that stripped its white feathers turning them black. Ever since the bird has been a symbol of evil and deceit, although Native Americans viewed the creature in a more noble respect, believing that the crows aided souls on their transition between life and death.
Jon stood up, throwing the cigarette down on the ground and using his shoe to butt it out. There was a calm between the two of them. No words were necessary for her to understand that he was ready to go back to school. Ready to face those classmates he was trying to avoid all day.
“I’ll come with you,” standing up herself, dusting off her skirt.
“I have Chemistry right now,” he said checking his watch.
“I know.” They began to walk down the hill.
“How do you know?”
“We’re in the same class.”
“Really? That can’t be true!”
“Yes. It’s okay if you never noticed. Most people don’t.”
“No. I don’t pay attention to most people to be honest. I’m a jerk like that.”
She laughed, nodding in agreement. “You kind of are.”
“I think this is the third time we’ve really spoken more than a few words.”
“It is.”
“We should do it more often.”
“We should.”
There was a slight breeze, raising her skirt, and she held it down but failed to see a piece of bark on the ground and tripped over it. Quickly, Jon broke her fall. His arms felt strong and reassuring, his clothes lingered with a musky scent. Probably some kind of designer cologne, she assumed.