Secret of Words

by Allyson Huber

  “See why it’s ridiculous to run, Mara? Don’t worry, though. You’ll be in Lybrazil before you know it. You’ll waver to my side eventually.” Mara’s eyes began to close without her permission, but she couldn’t gather the strength to open them despite her whirling mind. Never. The last undeclared thought died in her mind as she lost herself into the indomitable darkness calling to her.

  Chapter One

  I never considered myself different, but I never really considered myself a part of the crowd either. No, I didn’t value popularity or isolation. I knew that people noticed me because I was the new kid, and I wasn’t following any of the usual ploys that new kids followed because I was a loner, and I did my own thing. I didn’t try to climb my way through the social ladder, and I kept my head down. While my facade suggested that I didn’t really care for school, I still managed to get through it with fairly stellar grades considering.

  With that intelligence came agonizingly boring classes, which I cared little for, hence the lack of interest in school. In most of my classes, I burrowed in reclusive thoughts, letting the rest of the people learn the coursework while I blended into the background. My lack of care hindered me, which I knew, but moving on had been hard on me. It was almost like I had to redefine my place in society and figure out who I wanted to be yet I still truly had no idea what that was. Fortunately, people left me alone, and I left them alone, a deal that I didn’t even have to bargain for.

  There are things about myself that I don’t understand and that I’m always ruminating over. I wouldn’t say I tortured myself over my lack of unknowing, but it bothered me nevertheless. One thing that seemed to bother me, in particular, was the role of my mother in my life. She left me when I was only five years old, and I can hardly remember anything about her. I can remember the unimportant stuff like the color of her hair and the last few words she ever said to me, but that’s it. Sure, everyone can pull off the lame excuse that I’d been too young to remember more or that maybe after over nine years of absence from her, my memories of her had started to trickle away, hence, becoming further and further away from me. Maybe, if I hear it a few hundred more times, I’ll believe that I really will never be able to remember my mother ever again.

  I have trouble fitting in at school, and that is not only because of my silence. At my old school, I was more open with everyone and shared everything. I would always raise my hand in class and speak out my opinion because I felt like I was wanted there, which came from five years of living in the same place with a small population of people. Even then, any friendships I made there were weak and breakable. At this school, everything was totally different. The roots of weak friendship and comfort I had at my old school didn’t exist here, and I was thrown to the dogs to be criticized. Here, the faces were a blur of hidden names and hidden faces I’d never even bothered to look into my memory.

  I guessed the reason I never made strong friends lies in myself. I’ve always been a deep thinker, more enamored with my thoughts than the potential of making new friends. When I’m upset about something, I never admitted it, and when I’m happy about something, I thought about it silently. It was sort of like a habit, an unbreakable habit that just stuck to me like glue. I also knew that by holding my thoughts inside, they built up. Sometimes, it had a bad effect on people around me and myself, but usually it just kept me sane.

  Today was a normal day. It would follow the same pattern as every other day had been for the past week or so I thought. I wished that was the case. As I walked slowly across the long, crowded hallway in the direction of my locker, I weaved by the endless stream of students coming back and forth. My last period of the day was finished so I was looking forward to the long weekend ahead. It was the beginning of November, and the weather was so cool, slowly transforming the world into spidery trees and the lightest touches of snowfall. This was my favorite time of year with the beautiful array of colors on the trees slowly transforming into a winter wonderland. I nearly knocked over a teenager with shaggy brown hair while thinking about the changing weather, but he moved to the side just in time.

  “Sorry.” I muttered, before continuing on my way.

  I had moved here from Kansas right before the beginning of the new school year. My dad had wanted us to move a year before, but it never happened, so finally, we actually made it to Virginia. I liked it here well enough; the school was better, and the teachers and kids were friendlier. I tried to stay open-minded about our move because I knew it was what Dad wanted, and, anyways, I couldn’t really change his decision since we were already here.

  Dad and I didn’t share a strong father-to-daughter relationship, but rather a mutual respect for each other. We talked very little to each other, and it was mainly small talk. His work kept him busy most of the time, and my schoolwork kept me busy enough as well. Usually, we just left each other alone. Even during meals, we were usually in different rooms. My father would watch some repetitive old reruns of shows from ten years ago while I headed to my room to eat in peace. We both had our own priorities that didn’t involve each other; that was my way of explaining it. I personally thought it was hard for him to understand me. As a teenager, he had been one of those jocks that girl’s fawned over, one of those teenage boys I had little respect for. He had an endless supply of friends and parties while I did hardly anything with anyone. We didn’t have anything to talk about anyways, except for schoolwork, and I’d made it clear that I didn’t want to listen to him complain for hours about his work.

  I rummaged through my chaotic locker for the books I needed over the weekend, and I packed them deep into my backpack. My eyes wandered around the multitude of faces I passed in the crowded hallways. Loud laughter echoed around the pathway as I weaved through the crowd once more.

  “Natalie?”

  My head jerked up as I looked to see where the voice was coming from. I recognized my English teacher, Mr. Robinson, with his thick-framed black glasses, messy brown hair, and tucked in rugby shirts. Truthfully, I didn’t really understand Mr. Robinson. The rugby shorts and the intelligent-glasses thing seemed to contradict each other. Besides, he was known to be one of the jock teachers that talked about sports with students for half of the class period. My class talked so much in general that Mr. Robinson spent most of his time trying to shut them up. I didn’t think any teacher on Earth could shut up half of the people in my class.

  “Yeah?”

  “I was wondering if you’d like to check this program out,” Mr. Robinson replied, handing me a yellow flier.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a contest for essay writing. You can earn a considerable amount of money if you win too. I read your essay, the one on historical, ineffective military tactics, and thought it was good.”

  It was an essay filled with a handful of decisions of famous political leaders that had failed, which had been the assignment for every student in the class. Since most of us had the ‘pleasure’ of taking World History this year, all of our teachers were trying to connect it with everything- our reading material, assignments, projects, everything.

  “Oh, thanks. I’ll check it out.” That essay itself took me at least three hours to complete, and I had no interest in putting more work on my shoulders, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “Good. Don’t forget to complete the worksheet I handed out in class for homework.”

  “I won’t.” Have I ever?

  Mr. Robinson walked away towards the office while I examined the poorly designed flier, deciding to give it the benefit of the doubt. It looked worthwhile enough if I had enough time on my hands in the next few weeks, which I probably wouldn’t. I took one last glance towards the office before folding the flier up and stuffing it deep into my pocket. By the time I got home, it would find its way into a nearby trashcan most likely, I think. I walked by a group of friends, grabbing the zipper of my bright, sky blue jacket and pulling it up and down a few times until I noticed a girl giving me a weird glance. Sometimes, I ha
d a tendency towards nervous habits without even realizing it. Seeing the girl’s expression, I dropped my hands, tucked them in my jacket pockets, and walked absentmindedly towards double doors leading to the buses. Someone held the door open for me.

  “Thanks,” I said, smiling.

  I trudged towards the yellow buses, examining my surroundings. It was a beautiful day out there with a clear sky and a cool but comfortable temperature. The air smelled faintly sweet, and the wind whipped my hair around a bit from behind. Walking out of school for the day was always a relief.

  “Hello, Natalie.” Mr. Smith, the bus driver, turned to face the direction of the steps, smiling at me. His skin was tanned and wrinkled, and his blue eyes stood out prominently against his skin. His white hair was sticking up a little bit, and it was sort of messy like he hadn’t checked a mirror this morning.

  “Hi,” I replied, walking by him, and looking for an empty seat. A lot of the seats were already taken, but I managed to find a seat in the center of the bus. I sat down and dumped my backpack next to me before lying my head on the back of the seat, relaxing. After a week of school, a calm bus trip would be nice. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and opened my messages. I had one new text and it was from Olivia, of course. Olivia was the only one of my friends from Kansas that had tried keeping up with me after the move. She was fighting a losing battle since I hadn’t replied to her in almost three days, but all power to her. Honestly, I didn’t blame them for not contacting me. Kansas seemed hundreds of miles away, and we were freshmen in high school. It wasn’t like we had a ton of mobility to visit each other.

  “May I sit here?” A girl’s voice broke through my reverie.

  “Uh, sure,” I replied, surprised that someone had asked to sit next to me. It looked like I wasn’t going to enjoy my own seat today or, perhaps, that relaxing bus ride. I picked up my backpack next to me and settled it on my lap, scooting over so the girl could have room. She settled down next to me, and her hands folded neatly on the top of her backpack that was sprawled over her legs.

  I recognized the girl. She had been in my first period class this morning and the teacher had introduced her as Emilie. She hardly talked the whole period, but she had spent a lot of time looking around at the other students. During that class period, I’d watched most of the popular crowd trying to bring her into their posse and the boys flirting with her. Emilie was pretty with choppy, shoulder-length cut of platinum blonde hair and mysterious blue-gray eyes. Her hair had been cut so choppily that it almost looked like she’d done it herself, and I’d noticed earlier that she had the quickest pair of eyes that seemed to absorb everything all at once. Emilie attracted attention by her personality, too, I guessed, not only just because she was pretty. She’d shown little care for getting to know anyone in the class, just like I had when I first started, but she made an impression by saying little.

  “Emilie Rhodes, right?” I recalled, not out of curiosity, but just to make conversation.

  “Yes, Natalie, isn’t it?” Emilie asked, glancing at my necklace a few times.

  “Um, yeah.” My hand flew to the necklace, surprised. The necklace was completely gold with a circular charm. On one side of the charm was crashing waves that fought into the center of the necklace against the flaming fire on the opposite, clashing side.

  The necklace was the only possession I had left from my mother. When she left, some of her last words to me were, “Keep this. Wear it at all times. It is your protection.” She had placed it around my neck and grabbed her black suitcase, walking out on us. I remember her cold gaze falling upon me as she walked out the door with her back turned, leaving me alone. Even now, I could remember the terrible feeling of disgust when she left. Those moments were fuzzy to me as though they had been permanently effaced from my brain. I could still hear her cool, crisp voice muttering things like ‘It’s for the best’ under her breath and the part where she uttered that ‘We shall be reunited soon.’ That was about all I could remember of her, but what a lie that last sentiment had been. Ten years later and still no sign of her return.

  “Excuse me for asking, but your necklace is so interesting. Where did you get it?” Emilie’s eyes lifted from the necklace to my face.

  A simple question, I guessed, but the wording was way off compared to what I was used to. Teenagers these days would’ve said something around the lines of ‘Hey you, where’d you get that.’ Then, there would be a discussion about their favorite clothing brands and where they liked to shop. Since I was arguably more of a tomboy, I cared little for these nuances, though, as it wouldn’t stir any enlightening fashion discussion from me anyways. I looked at my backpack, letting my necklace fall from my hands and thud against my sternum.

  “Uh, it was my mother’s.”

  “Was?”

  “She left almost nine years ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, did she give this to you?”

  “Yes. My only possession left of her.”

  “That’s horrible… Did she give it to you right before she left?”

  “The day of.” I frowned at her; this Emilie girl had a lot of questions for a stupid necklace, and they were oddly specific. She smiled nervously at my fierce gaze and turned her head away, fingers tapping against her backpack. Maybe, I was too hard on her, though. It seemed like she was trying to start a conversation and this was her approach to it.

  “Where did you move from?” I asked, breaking the few seconds of silence between us.

  “Far away,” She replied vaguely before the corners of her lips lifted in a strange, ironic smile.

  “I just moved in August,” I added, deciding not to read into her weird expression.

  “Really? That’s cool. Did you want to move?”

  “Sure, I guess. It’s all right here. Dad wanted it, at least.”

  I stuffed my hands into my pockets, the back of my head resting on the seat cushion.

  “What brought you here?” I asked her.

  “Well, I honestly won’t be here for long. There’s something I have to finish, and then I’ll leave.”

  “What’s something?” I asked, raw curiosity in my voice. It was rude to ask her since she’d put in effort to avoid saying the particular ‘something,’ but I couldn’t help myself.

  “We are trying to find a lost friend.” She replied carefully, “The thing is, I’m not sure if we can find them or not, so it might as well be a lost cause.”

  “A lost friend? I might be able to help.” I felt as though her answers were terse and she wasn’t fully answering my questions at all.

  “There’s no need. If we are meant to find them, we will.” Emilie gave me a conspiratorial wink, and I looked away, confused by her behavior.

  Since I couldn’t find anything else to say, I pulled a strand of my blonde hair behind my ear and turned to the window. Why was Emilie so strange? Maybe she was nervous. After all, it was her first day here. I remembered my first day too. People stared at me like I was an alien or something. All day I had walked around feeling everyone’s eyes on me. It wasn’t that big of a school really, only a few hundred. I tried to ignore the stares, but it had just kept nagging me over and over, and I’m sure she was experiencing similar behavior. The next few days got better, and eventually it just stopped. A few people tried to become friends with me, but I remained fairly quiet, true to my nature. It wasn’t that I didn’t want friends. It was just that I wanted to get more used to things and I wasn’t ready yet.

  “I’m getting transferred into most of your classes, I think,” Emilie said as she examined a book, Loréisen, she had pulled from her backpack.

  “What’s up with that book title?” I asked.

  Instead of replying, Emilie shoved the book deep into her backpack before hastily turning towards me and smiling. “You have Robinson, Vernard, and Tanner, right?”

  “Yeah, I have Mrs. Lynn too. You know, French. I started taking it this year, but it’s my worst class. Anyways, why aren’t you-” I’d meant to
ask why she wouldn’t explain the book, but she interrupted me, first, with purpose.

  “Ma français est très bien.” Emilie said fluently.

  “You’re taking French too?”

  “My mother was a French instructor. I learned a little bit of common French from her. Foreign language is easy for me, anyways.”

  “Was?” I asked curiously, my eyes wandering to the window. “Oh, my stop.” The bus slowly paused on my street, but I still had to walk down to the cul-de-sac.

  “Nice meeting you, Emilie. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Emilie moved from the seat so I could get out and head towards the door.

  “Not so quick.” Emilie laughed before explaining. “My stop is here too. I’m getting picked up at the stop in a few minutes.” I gave a quick wave to the bus driver before my feet landed on the asphalt, and the cold wind ripped at my thin jacket.

  “Which house is yours?” Emilie asked as she got off the bus beside me.

  “It’s the one at the end, the very end.” I pointed towards the new house far down the street. While it was hard to see from here, the green shutters stood out from this distance all the same.

  “Oh cool,” Emilie said. “I’m getting picked up here soon… I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” She stopped walking, while I continued, pondering another set of strange words. Why wouldn’t she just get dropped off at her house since she’d been riding the bus?

  “Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I shook my head, deciding that wasting time pondering anymore was pointless, and walked towards my house, kicking the sidewalk with my black Converse chucks. We had a nice-sized house since my dad had a lucrative job that paid well. He was a successful, specialized lawyer with a primary focus on divorce. My house was a bit weedy in the front yard with large patches of green clover. Apparently, my dad had forgotten to hire a gardener lately.