Fractured Light (4 page)

Mr. Steele walked by me, and the faint smell of his cologne sent my head spinning. My knees weakened, but gratefully I was sitting down so I did nothing but slump further into my seat.

I removed a pen from my backpack and attempted to write, but when I looked down there was nothing on the paper. I shook the pen hard and began to write again, but still nothing came out. I stared at it for what seemed like an eternity, with Mr. Steele’s soothing voice in the background, until I realized I hadn’t been writing with a pen at all. In my hand, I gripped my mascara.

I looked around and saw Mike Miller staring at me as if I’d just shaved my head. He rolled his eyes and looked back toward Mr. Steele, who had returned to the chalkboard to continue his math dance with a piece of chalk. I quickly shoved the mascara back in my bag and felt around for a real pen.

My fingers grazed something soft, yet stiff. Wondering what it could be, I took hold of it’s small form and pulled it out. It fit in my palm like a lucky rabbit’s foot, but there was nothing fortunate about it. My teeth clamped down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. It was all I could do to keep from screaming.

T
HE BELL RANG
. I
BLINKED ONCE
. M
Y BACKPACK STILL SAT IN
my lap, squished between my stomach and the desk. I tried not to think of what was lying dead inside. Gratefully, Mr. Steele left the room first, followed by the rest of the class. As soon as they were gone, I pushed my bag away, jumped up, and rubbed my tainted palm against my jeans.

A familiar head poked into the room. “What are you doing?” May asked.

“Trying not to freak out.” I inspected my hand for blood.

“Why? What happened?”

“I found a dead mouse in my bag.”

“Oh no! Let me see.” She opened my bag and began to search it.

“You like dead mice?”

May frowned. “No, I just want to make sure it’s really dead. Maybe it’s just knocked out.”

“It’s definitely dead. Why do you care?”

“I kept them as pets when I was younger.”

“Is that sanitary?”

“Sure. My mom bought them for me. It was the only pet we could afford.” She pulled out a white mouse by its tail and held it up. Its head had been almost severed. A bloody string of skin, or maybe a spinal cord, kept it from falling off. “What happened to it?” she asked.

I looked away. “I don’t know, but it’s disgusting.”

May dropped it into the garbage. “It’s probably been in your bag since last night. Poor thing didn’t have a chance.”

“Yeah. Poor thing.” I felt real sorry for it. “Let’s go wash our hands.”

After I scrubbed and rescrubbed my hands, we left the bathroom. “You ready to go to lunch?” May asked.

“Aren’t you having lunch with Sean?” Sean was the pot-head she’d been sitting by earlier.

“No. Maybe tomorrow. Of course Cindy wants me to hang out with them, so we’ll see.”

“Who’s Cindy?”

“You remember Cindy, don’t you? She was Lady Macbeth in the play last year.”

“Yeah, I remember.” The drama crowd.

“Do you want to go out for lunch or eat here?” May shoved her books into her locker.

“I don’t care.”

“Let’s leave then. I hate school food.” She eyed my backpack. “Do you want to put your bag up?”

“No, let’s go,” I said and followed her out.

I was lucky to have a friend like May. I wouldn’t call her a best friend because both of us had an unspoken agreement that we couldn’t get too close—to anyone. Where I masked my desire for anonymity by being anti-social, she did it by being everyone’s friend. She knew everyone in school, but not one person could call her their best friend. And though she did spend more of her time with me, it still wasn’t enough to make someone think we were close.

Our connection was a strange one, but it made more sense to me than most people’s relationships. When I’d first moved here last year, May had been my lab partner. We’d only known each other for a few weeks before that day when we both realized the other was different.

May, who always smiled, sat unusually quiet and somber. I noticed right away, but because we weren’t really friends, I did nothing beyond asking her how she was doing. If I’d been my mother, I would have immediately pulled her aside and found a way to help her. But I wasn’t my mother. My mother’s outgoing compassion is what got her killed. That wasn’t going to be me.

When Mr. Allen had handed out our experiment involving a liquid-filled beaker, I passed it to May while I read over our assignment. I became vaguely aware that the beaker in May’s hand had begun to boil on its own. I quickly glanced around the room to see if that was what was supposed to happen, but all other beakers remained still. I looked back at May who was staring out the window with a serious expression on her face, oblivious to the boiling solvent.

When I leaned over to get her attention, the beaker suddenly exploded into a round ball of fire. My long hair immediately lit up, followed by shocked screams from everyone in the room. I slapped at my head to put the fire out, ignoring the pain as flames licked my palms. The teacher rushed over to help, but through all the commotion I couldn’t tear my eyes from May. She was staring at her hands with pure horror and I had no doubts that, somehow, she had caused the beaker to explode.

When the teacher began to escort me to the nurse’s office, May finally snapped out of her trance and insisted on following us. I jerked away from her when she reached for my hand. Not in anger, but because I had to keep my hands on my head to prevent anyone from seeing what I knew was about to happen. Even as I moved away from her, I could feel the hair beneath my hands growing.

Of all the strange things about me, this one was the most difficult to explain. For no matter what happened to my hair, it always grew back and always remained the same shocking blonde. I’d tried everything from dying my hair to shaving it off, but nothing worked. My mid-back-length, crazy hair refused to be anything else.

Once inside the nurse’s office, I convinced Mr. Allen to return to class, but when I tried to get May to return too, she refused. When the nurse came in and asked me to put my hands down, I did so hesitantly. From under my hands my long hair spilled down past my shoulders, completely unscathed.

May gasped. “How is that possible? Your hair was on fire!”

I shook my head, hiding my burnt palms in my lap. “Nope, I’m fine. It just looked like it.”

The nurse examined my head. “You look fine to me. I don’t know what all the fuss is about. Do you feel all right?”

“Actually, I have a massive headache. Can I go home?”

The nurse glanced at a clock on the wall. There was only twenty minutes left of school. “I guess it will be all right. Will you be able to drive?”

“I’ll take her home,” May said.

My eyes flashed to hers, and I could tell she hadn’t bought my story. On the way to her car, she suddenly grabbed my burned hands and turned them over.

“I knew I wasn’t crazy.” She stopped. “So why does your hair look fine now?”

I looked her square in the eyes and asked, “How did that fire start?”

She looked away, and I continued walking toward the parking lot. She caught up to me a moment later. “My car is over here.”

We didn’t say a word to each other the entire way home, but the next day I suddenly had a new friend, a strange one, but a friend nevertheless. We never spoke about that day again, but that bizarre occurrence had bonded us.

I was about to hop inside the passenger seat of May’s beat-up Plymouth Colt when I heard a whistle. Passing directly in front of us drove Adam and Mike in a sporty-looking red car. The new kid who had saved me earlier sat in the back.

“Hey Adam!” May waved.

Adam waved his hand out the open window. Adam and his gang were jocks. May occasionally hung out with them too.

“By the way,” May said after starting the car. “I found out who the new kid is. His name is Christian Knight. He moved here from Portland. Apparently, he was the star quarterback there. Coach is really excited, but Alex is super annoyed. It means he’ll have to be second string, and he hates not being the center of attention. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying to be interested. I hadn’t grown up with these guys, so I didn’t know them like May. But I didn’t point that out.

“The new guy’s pretty cute. I bet Erica makes him her boyfriend within a week. She thinks just because she’s a cheerleader she can get whoever she wants.”

“Isn’t Erica your friend?” I asked, knowing May spent time with her.

“Not really. We had a class together is all. She’s too fake for me. Know what I mean?”

I shook my head no, but May kept talking. “Leah asked me if you were trying out for the basketball team again.”

This got my attention. “Yeah, I’m trying out.”

I liked Leah. She was one of the few girls on the team who still spoke to me. She, along with a few others, participated in every girl sport Highland offered. These were the ones who knew my athletic abilities, and either thought I wasn’t a team player or was simply lazy. For the most part I was a good player, if not the best. But when the moon disappeared, I could barely walk, let alone play basketball. How could I explain my “condition” to them? They’d never understand.

March twelfth. That’s when it happened. I was barely fourteen. I thought that was kind of late; my mother had been twelve. I wish I were talking about my period. That would’ve been much easier to deal with.

Other girls knew nothing about real change. Sure their bodies might change, and their tummies cramp, but whooptiestinkin’-doo. So they’ve become a woman. They knew nothing about transforming. But I did, and believe me it went well beyond the side effects of puberty.

The day of my transformation, I’d never felt so alive and full of energy. I was on point, on fire; I could do no wrong. We’d played soccer during P.E., and I swore the ball and I were one. I scored nine goals, surprising everyone in my class, including the teacher who happened to be the varsity soccer coach. She begged me to try out, insisting she’d never seen anything like the way I played. Neither had I. It just came so easy. My body moved faster than ever before, and my movements were precise. It was an incredible feeling.

Because of my sudden, amazing soccer skills, some of the older girls invited me to a movie that night. Feeling on top of the world, I accepted without question, something I normally didn’t do. But on that day I didn’t analyze. I embraced my decision even to the point of suggesting we go rock climbing before the movie. They seemed surprised as I’m sure they thought me a weak, shy freshman who bent at the slightest breeze. Not that day, though. Like I said, I was on fire.

At the community rec center, I schooled the girls on rock climbing and afterwards engaged in a conversation with a much older boy. I could see awe in the eyes of the girls. I wasn’t used to being looked at with admiration. It was a good feeling.

During the movie, I couldn’t sit still. My body refused to be motionless. Without saying good-bye, I rushed from the theater and away from my new friends. As soon as my feet hit the pavement, I ran.

I felt the full moon rise behind me. Its light tingled my skin, but I didn’t stop to wonder how that was possible. Instead, I ran harder and faster, my eyes on the forest ahead. The muscles in my body began to vibrate and pulse with new life. It was the life my mother had told me to prepare for: the day I became one with Light.

But I wish she would’ve told me how much the moon would affect my body. When the moon was full it wreaked havoc on my muscles and only exercise helped relieve the painful sensation. That’s why I played every sport I could. Of course, the vast amount of energy and heightened abilities came with a price. After the full moon disappeared, my body was useless. My teammates couldn’t make sense of my strange behavior. Half the month they loved me, the other half they wished I were dead.

“When are tryouts?” May asked, bringing me back to the present.

“Um, in a few weeks, I think.”

“I’ll have to come to the basketball games this year. I heard you were something else to watch.” She turned left into a Burger King.

“Whatever. I’m sure you heard a lot more than that.”