[Imdalind 01.0] Kiss of Fire
Page 6
“You need to remember that he is your friend, Joclyn, not a boyfriend.” She avoided my question. “Give your heart to someone who can take it and not break it, honey; because in all honesty, I’m not sure what Edmund would do if he found out.”
And that was the real reason anything between Ryland and me could never work.
Edmund would kill me.
5
I had been picking at the remains of my cafeteria pizza for about the last ten minutes, my eyes unfocused and looking off into space. I could hear the ebbing noise in the cafeteria, a sure sign that lunch was almost over, but I wasn’t going to move until the bell rang. I sighed as another piece of pizza crust fell away from the whole and onto the plate.
I had been lost in thought for most of the day, my mind jumping back to my roller-coaster of a weekend. No matter how many times I revisited each event, I still couldn’t make sense of it. Crazy father, awesome best friend who keeps trying to kiss me, and a mother who—although she is right—wants me to stay away from Ryland forever. I sighed again, in hopes that some of the stress would leave my tensed body.
“You must be new, too.”
I looked up from my decimated pizza as a girl plopped down across the table from me.
She was small for a high school student, her frame appearing almost delicate and breakable. However, her large, brown eyes did not seem young; instead, she almost looked like she had seen and experienced too much of life. She had shoulder length, auburn hair that gently curled around her heart-shaped face. When she moved her hand onto the table, about thirty hard plastic bracelets clinked against the melamine surface. I had to smile at her choice of clothes; the “Styx” t-shirt was obviously vintage and looked like something my mom would have worn in high school.
“What makes you say that?” I asked, recovering from my shock.
“Well, you’re sitting alone.”
“Ha,” I laughed humorlessly. “You are the new one. I always sit alone.”
“I’m Wyn.”
I took her extended hand and she shook it over-enthusiastically, plastic bangles clinking together. “Joclyn.”
She grinned as if my name had made her happy.
“I just love your name!” she squealed, her joy was either infectious or nauseating—I couldn’t decide. “It’s like something out of 17th century literature. Who were you named after?”
“I don’t think I was named after anyone.” I lied. I was actually named after my dad’s favorite aunt, but I wasn’t about to share that with the obnoxious girl I just met.
“That’s lucky. My full name is Wynifred, and my mother named me after some ancient relative who is supposed to be a queen,” she chattered.
I began to wonder how I could get rid of this girl. At first, her over-exertive happiness was fun, but now 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, and 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; however, 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 for 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’s 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 of 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 first 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 fenc
e. 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 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 was 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.
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 it.
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. When she turned, though, 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 faded 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 morphed 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 pulled 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. It wasn’t her face that caught my attention, though, it was Wyn’s.
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 and 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 throw 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.