Ever (2 page)

Today, I feigned interest in my sandwich, even though, as usual, it was squashed.
My sandwich has been squashed every day since I can remember,
I mused, tuning out the conversation. I took a reluctant bite. Eventually, something else caught Val’s attention.

“Oh my god… There he is!”

She was, of course, talking about Jaren Wilder. By virtue of his long blond hair and flip-flops, he appeared to belong to the Surfer crowd. I noticed, however, that he didn’t hang with them. He used to hang with his brother a lot, but Slade had graduated a couple of years back and moved to college. Jaren kept to himself, or sometimes we saw him talking to the Populars—girls, mainly. He wasn’t an Outcast, because he was Popular. What did that make him? I guess he was some sort of Super Sexy Untouchable or something. Not that I was intentionally trying to keep track of Jaren, but my eyes always went to him of their own accord. I wasn’t the only one.

Val sought to be the first one to locate him during the lunch period. Over time, I had deduced the rules of this weird game. The first girl to say she “liked” a guy could talk about him as though she was dating him. Anyone else expressing interest risked some kind of social retaliation.

From day one, Val had made it clear that she was the only one who could talk about Jaren. The rest of us could volunteer information as long as it was innocuous, or we risked her wrath. Tentatively, we offered comments like, “I heard Jaren was absent today,” or “Jaren is wearing that blue Volcom shirt you like so much today.” Studying him out of the corner of my eye, I couldn’t fault Val’s taste. The guy was gorgeous. He was also older, aloof and unaware of our very existence. What was the point of lusting after Jaren? It could only lead to heartache.

“Everleigh! Are you even listening to me?” Val’s tone communicated that I was hanging onto my participation in their circle by a very short thread.
Do I care?
I guess in a weird way, I did.

“Sorry, I was mentally murdering Mr. MacFarlane,” I said, trying to recall what she had asked me moments earlier. My comment obviously met with approval, as the three of them tittered in agreement.

“He is such an asshole.” Dara watched me tear open a Snickers bar.

Dara was so thin, her socks hardly stayed up, yet she chose to live on Diet Coke and celery sticks, convinced she was a behemoth and afraid of gaining an ounce. I was addicted to sugar. Part of me rationalized my sweet tooth as a fruitless attempt to put on the weight necessary to develop boobs. Not sure why I wanted them, anyway. I guess I figured I would stand out less if I resembled the other girls in my grade, rather than a pre-pubescent boy. In any case, I needed sugar and I needed it often.

“Yeah, MacFarlane is an ass,” Val agreed as she smoothed a shimmery gloss onto her lips. Her black doctor-like purse always contained an assortment of products that she routinely stole from the grocery store across the street. Val always had her mom’s credit card and cash in her pocket. I think she stole stuff for the rush.

I watched her rub her lips together, admiring the way the color looked on her lips. My own mouth looked to be permanently stained with a hint of blackberry juice, making it seem like I was wearing an odd-colored shade of lipstick—yet another thing that I hated about myself.

“Anyway, I asked you if you wanted to come with us to the Third Eye after school.”

The Third Eye Bookshop—the ultimate gathering place for misfits. The prominent 18 and Older sign that hung on the door made this idea all the more attractive. I considered my options. I could study all afternoon for my math midterm or break up the day by checking out the bookstore first.

“Sounds good,” I said, unaware that after that fateful afternoon, I would never be the same again.

CHAPTER TWO

The Third Eye

T
he rest of the school day could not end quickly enough. My tie-dyed P.E. shorts did not go over well with Mr. Bynner, who made me run an extra lap around the track as the rest of the class snickered. When the final bell rang, the four of us piled into Val’s car. Val kept careful track of the Populars. She knew who they talked to between classes, what they were wearing every day, who they sat with at lunch, and who they partied with on the weekends.

“Madison thinks she’s so hot, but her ass is huge.” Val snorted.

Dara and Naomi were quick to agree. Why did it make us feel better about ourselves when we talked smack about the Populars? It was almost like some weird biological phenomenon.

“Just look cool,” Val instructed as arrived at our destination—a small building constructed to resemble a cottage.

Whatever, Val.
Again, I wondered why we were hanging out again. Maybe she hadn’t forgotten, but at least Val seemed like she had forgiven me, and it was easier now, masquerading as friends.

The door opened with a creak and the cloying aroma of Nag Champa incense greeted us. Thin ribbons of smoke trailed through the dim interior. The walls were lined with black shelves housing books and all kinds of other things. At the front of the store, tables were littered with trays of loose stones, oils and other items. The scene jolted my memory. Gram had been really into stuff like this. In fact, there was a trunk of stuff in the garage that she had left for me. I just wasn’t ready to look inside it yet. We waltzed in past the cashier, who didn’t even bother to look up from whatever he was reading. So much for looking old enough to get into the place.

“Look, they have books about magic!” Val headed toward the section labeled Wicca, and Dara and Naomi followed her. I tagged along a few steps behind them, my mind wandering back to the trials of the day. I guess I wasn’t paying attention when I brushed against a shelf containing a bunch of jars. One jar swayed, dangerously close to falling. I reached to catch it, and of course, the cap was loose.

I managed to save the jar, but the cap fell to the carpeted ground with a muffled thud. Some contents inside the cap spilled out as I retrieved it, smearing my hand. I replaced the cap and shoved the jar back onto the shelf, hoping no one had seen my near accident. I rubbed my hands on my jeans. Could I be any more awkward? I never failed to break a plastic hanger while checking out the underwear selection at Marshall’s, I tripped over my own feet at the most inopportune times, and I dropped books and other things so often that being a dork was probably just expected of me at this point.

As I mused over my tendency to publicly humiliate myself, I passed several long narrow aisles of books, incense, candles and aromatic oils. I reached the back of the store. Against the back wall, a thin rope stretched horizontally across a simple red velvet background to display a collection of necklaces. I went up on my tiptoes to look at the prices and, horror of horrors, I began to lose my balance.

Oh God, not again!
I stumbled toward the display.
I’m a walking train wreck.
My hand caught the edge of the red background that framed the jewelry. The entire display slid to one side as I struggled to stop it from falling. No such luck this time. The display slipped through my fingers and fell to the ground with a tinkling crash.

I’m going to end up working here to pay off all of the damage
. I frantically attempted to replace the items. Suddenly, I became aware that I was not alone. As I scrambled on the floor to pick up the fallen jewelry, my eyes fell on a set of moccasins decorated with turquoise beads. The moccasins were attached to a pair of legs. I looked up to see a woman standing above me. Even though her hair was gray, she somehow had a youthful face. I stared. There was just something about her—maybe she reminded me of my grandmother who had passed away. The woman was amused by my plight, as evidenced by the slight upturn of her lips and the twinkle in her eyes.

“I—I am so sorry,” I stuttered.

“At last,” she chuckled.

At last?
That was a strange comment. The woman motioned for me to follow her through a purple velvet curtain to the right of the display I had knocked over. She obviously worked here and I was in deep shit. I followed her silently, wondering if she was going to call my mom.

Beyond the curtain it was very dim. A hand painted sign sat on a wooden table that proclaimed Psychic Readings by Sylvia. I shoved my hands in my pockets to stop them from shaking.

“I’ve been waiting a long time,” the mysterious woman, presumably Sylvia, said.

She opened a cabinet to reveal a set of crystals that put the ones in the storefront to shame. They reflected off one another, creating a mesmerizing dance of playful hues. One crystal in particular caught my eye. It was a large smoky quartz that was nearly translucent. It reminded me of one I had seen before, but I couldn’t recall where. Maybe Gram had one like this? Without thinking, I reached up. As the skin of my fingertips made contact with it, the pendant and attached chain fell off the bar into my hand. Startled, I immediately tried to replace it but the clasp was stuck. Panicked, I looked at the woman.

“I guess you break it, you buy it?” I asked nervously.

“It must leave here with you today,” she replied, shutting the cabinet.

Oh, crap, I hoped I had enough money to pay for my godforsaken clumsiness. “How…how much is it?”

“It is not for sale,” the woman said. I met her eyes and found that I could not place the shade. Were they blue? Gray?

“You will take the pendant in exchange for a promise.”

“Wh-what?” I glanced behind me. Maybe this lady wasn’t playing with a full deck.

“You must promise that you will listen.”

Listen to what?
Is she serious?

“You will hear and you will listen.” She fixed me with an intense stare.

“Hear and listen, okay,” I repeated uncertainly.

Wow, this Sylvia lady was totally nuts. I bobbed my head up and down as I backed out of the small alcove, feeling an intense urge to remove myself from the store before the entire establishment came crashing down around my ears. Stuffing the pendant into the pocket of my jeans, I rushed past Val, pushed the door open, and made my way to her car. I gulped in deep breaths of the twilight air, wishing with all my might that I could just be a normal girl with a normal life.

The others sauntered out of the store. I struggled to make relevant comments during the conversation to distract myself from the fact that I had nearly destroyed the place. My encounter with the psychic woman sat in my memory like a boulder. As we drove back up the hill, I was miles away. I was drained and I felt like I could sleep for years. Val dropped me off in front of my house but I didn’t go inside right away. My mom was probably home by now and I needed a few minutes to clear my head.

The moon was making its way out from behind a cloud as I retrieved my house key from my bag. At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. My hand, streaked with a shimmery substance, glowed iridescently in the pale moonlight. I tried to rub the stuff off on my jeans but it didn’t come off. I recalled the near disaster at the bookshop, and how some of the substance in the jar I had nearly knocked over had spilled onto my hand. I taxed my brain to remember the words on the label…
Vulgar-something?

Out of nowhere, my cat rushed between my legs to get into the house as I opened the door, startling me. I could hear dishes clinking in the kitchen as my mom emptied the dishwasher.

“Hey, Mom. I’m home.”

“Hey, honey,” Mom called. “I have chicken and rice in the fridge for you.”

“Thanks. I have to study. I’ll eat later.”

“Sure.” The kitchen sounds resumed.

I had to bypass the living room in order to get to my bedroom.
Wheel of Fortune
played on the television
.
It was a program my grandmother and I had often watched together. Just the theme song was enough to make my eyes prickle with grief. I missed Gram.

So much.

In fact, maybe…just maybe her passing tipped the scales for me—sending me into a world that lacked color. It was strange how I had never realized, until just now, that her death had preceded my descent into emotional isolation.

I muttered something about homework and ducked past my mom to the haven of my room. Thankfully, my mom seemed to be too engrossed in watching the timeless Vanna White turn her letters. I couldn’t handle the sounds. I headed to the bathroom to wash my hands. After liberally soaping and rinsing, I peered at my hand closely, satisfied that the substance had been washed clean away.

I plopped onto my bed and stuck my earbuds into my ears, intending to listen to my favorite beats for just a few minutes before getting up to eat dinner and study. I felt totally drained, but MacFarlane’s midterm was scheduled for tomorrow and I needed as much study time as I could manage. In preparation, I pulled my notebook from my bag and set it next to me on the faded bedspread. I closed my eyes just for a minute.

The moonlight shone into my window and lit upon my open palm as I dozed, illuminating an eerie shimmer that I was unaware still gleamed from my hand.