Oberon Academy Book One: The Orphan

by Wendi Wilson

  I was found on the steps of the Thorne Library, wrapped in that very blanket, on Christmas morning almost seventeen years ago. There was no note, no indication of where I’d come from or who I belonged to. The librarian found me and took me to a local hospital. Even though there was extensive news coverage—a newborn found on Christmas morning was just too ironic—no one came to claim me.

  Children’s services took over, naming me December Thorne, after the month and the place I was found, and I was put into the system. I never knew what had happened, how I came to be with no parents, just a dumb white blanket with blue and pink stripes, until I was twelve and peeked at my file when the social worker stepped out to bring in my new foster parents. My fourteenth set of foster parents.

  That was the beginning of my sullen, angry phase. I’d always assumed I was an orphan. That my parents had died when I was a baby, leaving me with no family to take care of me. But that wasn’t the case at all.

  Someone left me on those steps. It was Christmas, and instead of celebrating our family and the joy of a new baby, they slunk into town under the cover of darkness and left a newborn, out in the cold, wrapped in nothing more than a thin, white blanket.

  That foster family, my fourteenth home, could’ve been it for me. They were nice, hard-working people, unable to have children of their own, who only wanted to give me what I so desperately craved—stability, comfort, and safety. It could’ve been a dream come true.

  But my twelve-year-old self was angry and disillusioned, and I became a holy terror. I refused to speak to them for weeks, then when I finally broke my silence, I used nothing but foul language at an unacceptable volume. I was not proud of the way I behaved, and I paid the price.

  Three foster families and two stints in a group home later, I ended up here, in this house of fear and loathing. Gretchen and Todd were only in it for the money...a stipend from the state that was supposed to go toward my care, not that I ever saw a dime of it.

  I looked down at the shampoo, toothpaste, and deodorant lined up on the floor, wishing I could go back and shake my twelve-year-old self. Tell her to stop being so infantile and appreciate the place where she was. Tell her there were worse places to be.

  Besides, for all I knew, my parents were dead. Anyone could have left me on the steps of that library.

  I shoved the blanket back into its hidey-hole, replaced the floorboard and gathered up my new products. I pulled a pair of baggy jeans and a button down flannel from their hangers and draped them over my arm to hide my loot.

  Moving my metal chair away from the door, I opened it and stuck my head out. Gretchen was nowhere to be seen and I could see the bathroom door was open. I darted over and shut the door quickly, pushing the button on the doorknob. It was the only room in the house that had a lock.

  I needed to hurry because, while I was allowed to rinse off in the shower, Gretchen didn’t like me wasting water and would come banging on the door if I took too long. I turned on the shower and, as the water heated, stripped out of my clothes and tossed them to the floor.

  I wet my hair, lathering it up before using the excess shampoo to wash my body. As I rinsed off, then stuck my head back under the spray to get my hair clean. I couldn’t help but smile as my hands squeaked across the black strands. It felt so good.

  I silently sent thanks out into the universe. Thanks that I wasn’t caught stealing. Thanks that, in a few moments, I could really clean my teeth. Thanks that I grabbed unscented shampoo because, in my haste, I hadn’t even paid attention. If I walked out of the bathroom smelling like flowers, the jig would be up, for sure.

  After I shut off the water, I slid the shower curtain back and stepped out of the tub. Careful to stay on the rug so no water would drip on the floor, I dried off with a thin towel before wrapping it around my hair. Once I was dressed, I looked at myself in the mirror.

  Haunted blue eyes stared back at me and, even when I forced myself to smile, no pleasure shone in their depths. Shaking off my melancholy, I opened the toothpaste and dabbed some on the tip of my finger. I didn’t have a toothbrush, so I had to improvise. I scrubbed my teeth until my finger squeaked against the enamel, then rinsed out my mouth.

  Lifting the hem of my shirt, I swiped on the deodorant, then grabbed my dirty clothes from the floor. I wrapped my new treasures inside the shirt before wrapping the dirty pants around the outside of the bundle. Then I slipped from the bathroom and rushed back into my room.

  Gretchen was sitting on the bed. Waiting for me.

  “I want you to stay away from Todd,” she said without preamble.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said clutching my bundle of clothes and contraband against my chest.

  I knew better than to argue or try to defend myself. Better to just submit. It was easier that way.

  “I know you’re jealous,” she continued. “I know you want what I have. A home. A man who loves me. A place where I belong.” She stood up and moved in, bringing her face close to mine, so close I could see the age lines that branched out from her upper lip and the corners of her eyes. Time had not been kind to the woman, who wasn’t even forty yet. “No one will ever love you, December Thorne. You’ll never have a real home because you are nothing but a giant…ugly…freak.”

  With that, she flounced from the room, slamming the door closed behind her. I breathed a sigh of relief that she didn’t seem to smell the manufactured mint flavor on my breath from the toothpaste. I would’ve been in a world of hurt if she had.

  As I put my bath products back into their hiding spot, I replayed her words in my head. Her malicious words might’ve hurt me when I was younger, but they no longer had any effect on me.

  I’d heard them too many times.

  And the truth was the truth. I knew I’d never have any of those things she taunted me with, so their loss was no real loss at all.

  All I had to do was survive. In just over a year, I’d be eighteen and out of the system. On my own, where no one could disappoint me but me. I’d get a job, have my own house and my own money. I’d buy everything I needed and maybe even save up for a bar of chocolate.

  That was my dream. Not some fairy-tale home, complete with family and the love of a good man.

  I only needed myself…and to be anywhere but there.

  Chapter 3

  3

  I escaped the house without further confrontation. I jogged across the bare dirt yard to the road before settling into a steady gait as I headed toward the high school. Kids were darting back and forth across the lanes, laughing and shoving each other in the kind of comradery I had never shared with anyone.

  I watched in fascination as girls skipped forward, teasing the boys then dancing away before they were caught. It was like one of those old nature documentaries we watched in ninth grade, the ones that filmed birds with bright feathers preening and hopping around, trying to impress potential mates with their eye-catching plumage. The way male birds did before most of the animals died off during the Great Famine.

  That was before the Zephyrs appeared, offering us a lifeline. The first humans to come into contact with them thought they were some sort of aliens. They were feared and reviled, assumed to be evil with their dark hair and black eyes.

  What was left of the world’s armed forces tried to protect us. They tried to shoot the creatures, to bomb and gas them, but nothing worked. A simple wave of a hand made the bullets fly away. Blowing a puff of air from their lips made the poisoned gas dissipate.

  When the wings popped out—black, delicate things that looked like they wouldn’t lift a bird—and the Zephyrs began to fly around, healing the land and cleaning the water, we knew. We knew they weren’t aliens from another planet, but a being that had been here all along.

  A magical being, thought for centuries to be make-believe, a myth from the old world, had appeared with the answers to all of mankind’s problems. They were revered, heroes come to save us from ourselves. And they were given whatever they wanted, all their terms met. />
  Even after decades of being trapped under their oppressive thumbs, letting them control everyone and everything, humans still treated them like royalty. Like saviors. Like gods.

  I wasn’t so enamored. I thought it was too little, too late. Why didn’t they show up earlier? Before most of the plants and animals and half the human population died out? If they were so powerful and benevolent, why didn’t they prevent this from happening?

  With that thought, I looked around at my surroundings. The large, brick building that served as the high school stood in front of me. To the left, nothing but dirt. To the right, dirt. Both sections of dirt were split by a cracked and faded blacktop road that was pretty much useless, since no one had cars anymore.

  No, they didn’t save us. They came in and took over when we were at our lowest point. They conquered us and we thanked them for it.

  Of course, I would never say that out loud.

  Realizing the time, I rushed up the steps and into the building, the crisp fall air chasing me inside. Keeping my eyes downcast, I quickened my pace, making my feet carry me to my first class as quickly as possible.

  I used to look at the other students, meeting their eyes and offering a friendly smile. But no more. I learned the hard way that kids are cruel, and poor kids bitter with their lot in life are the cruelest of all. If their nasty comments and mean pranks made the others laugh, the torture would never end.

  And nothing was funnier than taunting the penniless foster kid, a giant of a girl who wore men’s clothing and got all the answers right in every class. I was the perfect target.

  “Nice shirt, December.”

  The girl’s voice came from somewhere behind me. I squeezed my eyes closed and pinched my lips.

  Lauren Blackburn. Beautiful. Popular. Nasty disposition. If schools still had football teams like in the old days, she would have been homecoming queen. If they elected student officials, she’d have been president. Everyone loved her, and those that didn’t pretended to out of fear.

  “You look like a Christmas tree,” she added when I didn’t respond.

  Oh, like she’d ever seen a Christmas tree in real life. Cutting down trees was a crime, punishable by life in prison, at best. The death penalty, at worst. Deforestation was part of what put us on the path to extinction in the first place. Until the soil and water fully healed, every single tree was a precious commodity.

  Without moving my head, I let my eyes drop to my chest. The red, green, black, and white plaid did look a little festive. One corner of my mouth lifted into a smirk. If that was the worst Lauren Blackburn could come up with, it was going to be a good day.

  “Oh my God, did you actually wash your hair?” she taunted when the comment about my shirt got no reaction from me.

  I sucked in a breath, then prayed she didn’t notice. I didn’t need people talking about me, discussing my personal hygiene. On the off chance something got back to Gretchen or Todd, I would be in major trouble. They took away my soap and shampoo as a punishment weeks ago, and I never got it back because Todd used all the extra money to buy Lox. Gretchen, running out of her own stuff, kept mine for herself.

  Lauren chuckled, but the sound held no humor. She made a comment about me trying to impress someone, as if having clean hair was some sort of girlish ploy. Another girl snickered, and they went on to make guesses as to which boy I was crushing on so hard that I had to go to such great lengths to attract them.

  My eyes flitted to each person whose name they tittered out, taking in their features. A few were cute, some not, some were funny, kind, smart, or some combination of the three.

  But none of them held any attraction for me. I had just never been interested in any of the boys, or girls, at school. And none of them had any interest in me, either. I just, sort of, existed alongside them. An object to torture with their adolescent games. Never a friend. And definitely never a potential girlfriend.

  By lunchtime, everyone was staring at me. Particularly the guys. They’d study my face, glance at my hair, then let their eyes rove down my body and back up again. Damn Lauren. Being the focus of so many people’s scrutiny was not what I wanted.

  * * *

  I had been either reviled or ignored by every student at that school for the last year, yet one childish game instigated by the mean girls put me in the spotlight, garnering attention I did not want or need. I was feeling claustrophobic, smothered by the curious stares. The lewd gazes. And the spiteful hisses.

  I didn’t have any money for lunch, the same as every other day, so I slipped out the side entrance as I usually did. My first few days at Sycamore High—a school named after a tree that went extinct decades ago—I had tried. I really put in an effort to fit in, to make friends.

  After three days of sitting at an otherwise empty table, feeling like the center of attention, yet somehow completely ignored, I decided to skip the tortuous lunchtime ritual and explore the grounds, instead. That’s when I found it. My retreat. My safe haven. My hideout.

  An old shed, dusty and full of cobwebs after years of disuse, became my sanctuary, my solitary retreat where I could just be. I snuck out that first weekend, my oldest and most-stained shirt stuffed into my backpack, along with a couple of old candles I found in the Holts’ bathroom cabinet.

  Making sure no one was around, I snuck onto campus and slipped into the shed. I used the shirt to dust away the dirt and cobwebs. A plastic crate and an old street sign—a relic of times when everyone drove cars everywhere they went—served as a table, on which I placed the candles.

  A few books I found in the burn bins when I went “school shopping” were stacked on the floor next to a musty roll of leftover carpet that served as my chair. I couldn’t believe my luck when I found the books. They were old, the pages yellowed and wrinkled with water damage, but to me, they were priceless.

  Paper was a product of our past, a textile that contributed largely to the destruction the human population wreaked on the planet. Everything reading and writing related had been in digital form for ages. Of course, I could never afford my own personal tablet, having to use school-loaned equipment that only supported homework and class lessons. I’d never been able to read for pleasure before.

  I slipped into my hideout and plopped down onto the carpet roll. Using an old lighter I found in the gutter, I lit the candles and grabbed a romance novel from my meager collection. It was very melodramatic and a little corny, but it was the one I loved best out of all of them.

  About a girl kidnapped and swept away by a pirate king, it held a level of escapism that the others lacked. The heroine was impoverished and lonely, like me. Her abduction ultimately brought her adventure, self-discovery, security, and love, and while I could do without the love part, the adventure and security appealed to me and touched me on a soul-deep level. I’d read it four times already.

  What seemed like a moment later, a buzzing sound rang out from the school building, letting me know the lunch period was over and I needed to sneak back inside and head to my next class. Closing the book with a sigh, I placed it carefully back on the stack and stood.

  Opening the door a crack, I peeked through the slit. Not seeing anyone, I crept out and hauled ass to the main building, slipping in through the same side door I’d exited from. I moved into the flow of people with my head down, my eyes on the floor.

  Everything was back to normal as I navigated the hallways. I didn’t feel any eyes on me or hear any of those malicious snickers. Hope bloomed in my chest. Maybe the others had grown bored with their games, and I was back to being invisible.

  That bubble of hope burst as I entered the classroom and took my seat. Lauren Blackburn sauntered in and took the desk in front of me, her blonde curls swinging around and nearly swatting me in the face. She held her personal tablet up in front of her face and slightly to the left, ensuring that I could see the screen as she pretended to use the camera function to fix her hair.

  But there was no image of her face on the screen. Inste
ad, a popular social media site was pulled up, the screen constantly changing as comment after comment popped up under the initial post. My eyes widened as I focused on the photo in the post.

  A swath of long, black hair disappearing through the door of my hideout.

  My eyes snapped to the poster’s handle, narrowing as I read Lauren’s name next to a picture of her smiling face. The caption over the picture of me read, who is December Thorne meeting in that nasty old shed? And what are they doing in there?

  A zip of equal parts fear and despair zipped through me. Fear that Gretchen and Todd would somehow see the post, earning me a severe punishment, and despair that my secret haven was not so secret anymore. My eyes scanned the comments section, where the replies were adding up quickly. Guess after guess as to who my secret lover might have been. Rude remarks about my appearance…my face, my height, my body, my clothes.

  Crude suggestions as to what my imagined partner and I might’ve been doing while everyone else was eating.

  I could feel my heart gaining speed, pounding against my sternum in a syncopated rhythm—thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump.

  My breathing accelerated to match my heart’s pace, and my fingers began to tingle. I’d never had a panic attack before, but I imagined it must’ve felt something like that.

  All I could hear was the blood rushing through my ears, and all I could see was Lauren’s head full of perfect blonde curls in front me. They bounced as her shoulders moved up and down. Some rational part me recognized that she was laughing, which raised my blood pressure several extra notches. I could almost feel the blood boiling under my skin.

  I wanted to strike out at her, to grab a handful of her hair and yank it out by the roots. My mouth fell open at the sense of satisfaction the idea gave me. I’d never been vengeful or bloodthirsty, content to keep my head down and let the little things roll off my back.

  But this wasn’t some little thing. Lauren had not only made me a target for ridicule with that picture, she’d exposed my hideout, my safe haven. The only place I could go to be alone and just be…me.