Authors: Michelle Warren
I sprint full force, but my legs are blocks of ice now, frozen and numb. A million pins and needles shock my muscles, contesting the task of running. With each step, I think they might crumble and break apart like shards of ice.
Pushing the pain out of my mind, I concentrate on picking my knees up higher and lengthening my strides. I will myself forward into the Arctic wind. My breathing deepens, and my lips tighten and crack from the icy gusts surging in and out of mouth. Beats of my heart throb with anxiety. My new necklace, which has jerked out of my jacket, clangs repetitiously against the metal buttons of my coat.
I slip. My legs slide awkwardly beneath me, but I catch myself before hitting the pavement. I don’t look back. There’s no time. Thumping footsteps fall heavy on the salted sidewalk behind me. They’re closer; I can hear them, smell them.
Lurching upward, I reach deeper to run faster than before.
My face warms from breathing too rapidly, and my nose begins to run. My eyes water, but I keep moving as fast as I can.
My next obstacle is crossing the busy intersection ahead. I don’t have time to stand at the curb and look both ways before crossing. Running out into traffic and possibly being crushed by a speeding car is my only option. I have to choose: death by car, or death by the Grungy Gang.
My head whips from left to right, as I run to the curb. One foot slams down onto the asphalt. A truck flies past me. The side mirror narrowly misses my face.
Crosswinds funnel down the street, blowing my hair into my eyes and blocking my vision. Horns blare at me, but I keep moving, hoping that there’s still enough time for me to dodge one more lane of traffic before I reach the median.
When I look up, a new person rushes toward me from the darkness. The Gang is corralling me like a farm animal into a trap.
I keep moving, regardless. One person is not going to stop me from reaching my destination. Determination surges through me. I decide I will plow him over before giving up. They’ll never expect that.
My foot pounds the center median, and I launch myself into the next two lanes. That’s when I collide with the oncoming silhouette. He flings his arms around me, right in front of an unstoppable, speeding semi-truck. The last thing I register is an Illinois license plate, inches from my face.
::16::
Confrontation
Metal crashes into metal. Horns wail. Piercing screams rip through the darkness, and finally there’s yelling. It’s wrenching and painful, but it’s not mine. It belongs to someone else. The hair on my arms prickle with goose bumps. I can’t see anything, which makes everything worse.
Somehow, I’m floating through a tunnel as dark as ink. The shadows encase me, wrapping isolation around my body, constricting my muscles. I didn’t will myself to wander, which now that I think about it, I should have. It would’ve been the perfect escape. Now it doesn’t matter because I’m positive that I’m dead.
It’s strange. Death feels exactly the same as wandering. Black nothingness rolls around me. Bright lights appear at the end of the tunnel.
So cliché
. Fingers of illuminated beams crawl into the darkness until they reach me.
I’m definitely dead.
Maybe Mom will be waiting for me?
I realize that the tunnel hasn’t closed in on me as I initially thought. Instead, someone’s arms are wound tightly around my waist. Their face is buried in my neck. I can’t see them, but I’m definitely not letting go.
“Mom?” I say.
It has to be her.
Even though she doesn’t move or respond, I return the embrace and hold firm. Tears stream horizontal and roll off my cheeks into darkness behind us.
Together, we’re drawn forward. The force of both of our bodies act as an anchor, pulling up and over the edge of the light. We land into what seems like a wonderfully soft cloud.
I look up to see her, here in our heaven. With my mom here with me, I’m happy to be dead.
When my eyes focus, I don’t see the woman I stared at in a photo my entire life. Nor do I see a pair of violet eyes that mirror mine. I only see the mystical green eyes of a boy. A boy I have put entirely too much thought into lately. Our gazes lock for an innumerable amount of time.
“Are you okay?” he finally asks. His accent rolls off his tongue like the sweetness of honey.
I nod, but don’t verbally respond. He’s on top of me. His warm breath, his body, his legs are tangled with mine, and his arms are wrapped around me like a blanket. I can’t breathe. I’ve never been this close to anyone in my life, and I can smell his seductive aftershave. I inhale the scent again, momentarily drugged by his presence. My eyes flutter.
When I look at him, he’s staring at me. I must look like an idiot. My face flushes with blazing heat, and I react from complete embarrassment.
“Get off!” I push him. He elbows my rib when he moves. I automatically roll in response. He falls off of me with a thud then moans.
Where am I?
I look around the dark room expecting to see the evil lair of the Grungy Gang. Instead, I’m lying on a sofa, not a cloud, and British Stalker Boy is strung out on the floor below on his back. He stares up at me expectantly.
“You could thank me, you know?” he says.
I look down at him and frown. I roll off the couch and stand over him. My feet straddle his torso. I pick a foot up and shove it into his chest. To hold him in place, I press down. The tip of my boot nudges into his neck, where I put the full weight of my body onto his throat.
“Thank you for what—for almost killing me?” I ask.
“Are you mad? You nearly died out there!” he chokes out. His anger erupts at my ungrateful attitude.
He halfheartedly tries to get up, but lies back down with a laugh. “Do you really think you can hold me here?” he smirks, amused.
I nod, yes, confidently, but of course I’m not sure.
He grabs my ankles with both his hands, ripping them out from underneath me. The rest happens in slow motion, or at least it does to me. My body is airborne, flipping sideways, and my legs circle over my head. His hands cradle my back and head until I land gently on the floor.
To the outside observer, I’m sure it happened much faster. They might have cringed when he tossed me so easily, like a rag doll, onto the floor. I can see he’s trying to prove a point, but not by hurting me in the literal sense. Only my pride is hurt. With his stealth switch of our positions, I now lie under his feet with the air knocked out of me.
From this angle, his lean muscles and height are accentuated. He doesn’t bother to restrain me on the floor. The shock of being thrown here so easily is enough to hold me in place. I struggle to catch my breath.
“Who are you?” I ask with a growl.
He laughs again, smug. “Surprise, Miss Parrish, I’m your Protector!” He bows ceremoniously.
“What?” I snap up from the floor, my hair flies forward into my face. But British Boy is already stomping away, reaching to open a pair of French doors that lead from the study into the open lobby of the Academy. I realize I’m sitting in the room Mona and I waited in earlier this morning for Gabe.
The doors fling open, crashing against the walls. The glass rattles within their panes. A blonde girl, with a look of disgust on her face, stands on the other side. With her arms locked across her chest, she eyes me up and down. Pathetic, she says
the word with her eyes. British Boy pulls her away into the main atrium and they disappear into the sound of a wild party.
I still don’t know his name, who the Grungy Gang is, or why they’re hunting me, but at least I know he isn’t my stalker—a real one. And he isn’t available.
Figures.
I haul myself off the floor and back onto the couch. My body melts into mush, and I let out a long exaggerated breath. I allow myself time to asses the events of the previous ten minutes.
First and foremost, I can knock British Stalker Boy off my list. I know who he is now, my Protector—I sniff.
That would explain the pull I feel toward him. The same pull I feel toward Samantha, but stronger. Stronger in a different way. How can I help it if I’m also attracted to him?
At least I can be happy he isn’t going to kill me like I originally thought. Now, I only have the Grungy Gang to worry about... and whoever else is on my list. I flip through the remaining names in my head:
CC, Max, Frances Germ Bum, and the Grungy Gang.
I’ve knocked so many items off the list in just one day. Only four more to go, but I can hardly get excited about that at the moment.
I stand up and walk over to the window, pull back the curtains, and peek out. Cars sit in gridlock one block away. Sirens wail, and red lights flash repeatedly onto the buildings surrounding the mayhem. The accident is hidden from here, but I realize I probably caused it. The scene gives me an instant shiver. I narrowly escaped being crushed by a semi, and with no help from British Boy. I would have been well beyond the danger if he hadn’t tackled me into the road.
I think.
“Protector—ha!”
I scan the city scene: the people on the street, the buildings, the cars, and the courtyard. No one scary lurks in the shadows. My heart still races in my chest from the running and my meeting with my Protector. He must know something about the Grungy Gang, but I’m too ticked to ask him now.
At this moment, I need to pull myself out of my frenzy. I take a deep breath then move my attention to a nearby mirror.
I’m a wreck!
I run my fingers through my hair, smoothing out the worst of the tangles. I straighten my clothes, so I won’t look like I’ve just been tackled by a rugby player. I rearrange my necklaces, including the one just gifted to me by Mona. I pull a tube of lip gloss from my pocket, smooth the peach goo over my lips, and smash them together.
I’m slightly calmed, but still perturbed with my so-called Protector when Gabe pops his fake, butter colored curls into the study. “Hello, possum. Don’t you look—” he stops, reaching out to rearrange a misplaced piece of my hair and tucks it behind my ear, “perfecto!”
“Thanks,” I say, relieved that I know someone at this party, even if it’s just Gabe.
“Come with me.” He drags me forward, pulling me out into the main atrium, just as he did earlier today.
“How did you know where to find me?” I ask.
“Bishop.”
“What bishop?” I look around.
“Max Bishop, silly. You know, your Protector.”
“Max Bishop.” Max—the name from my list. I should’ve known. Now I’m down to three items:
CC, Frances Germ Bum, and the Grungy Gang.
I have a sinking feeling they’ll be the hardest mysteries to unravel, but I don’t have too much time to wallow in my negativity because Gabe is shuffling me into the back atrium between the large sweeping stairs and the pool. He fluffs my hair one last time before patting me on the head like a puppy.
“Stand here. It’ll be the best spot,” he says.
“For what?” But he doesn’t hear my question. He’s already meandering around the group on a mission to host a party.
Not just any old party, mind you. In front of it, seeing it for myself, I have to acknowledge, it might be the party of the year, as promised.
::17::
The Academy
Circus. If I have to describe the scene in one word, that’s what it would be. There are so many things going on at once that it’s hard to focus on any one thing.
I break it down, concentrating on what stands directly in front of me. First, I fixate on the wall of people. Bodies move in silhouetted shapes with blue and purple lights of glowing fog behind them. Bouncing together with the throbbing music, their arms beat skyward. The deafening sound of the music resonates in my chest. I can’t guess how many students are dancing. They’re compacted too tightly with their bodies intertwined, but there are many more than I expected.
When my gaze cuts through the smoke and the multi-colored confetti flittering through the air, three spotlights from the ground pop on, searching the space above the pool. Their beams eventually collide, landing on the ceiling. The music slows and ebbs into an introductory choir of horns, regal in its composition. Every eye in the building looks heavenward and fingers point.
Centered above the pool, a swing garnished with long, flowing green fabric and flowers descends from the ceiling. On it, perches Gabe. His silver sequined jacket facets in the light like a disco ball. I’m positive that’s his intention—to be the centerpiece of the party. I don’t understand how he appeared there so quickly, but I assume he wandered there.
Two acrobats, on separate lengthy silk ribbons, slide down on either side of him. Their bodies arrange in dramatic poses. When they reach a level position with Gabe, they begin to perform, gracefully rolling themselves into their fabric and swinging their bodies in a choreographed aerial dance.
Gabe lifts a glittering microphone to his lips; his free hand holds onto the swing. “Hellooo, my little spring chickies,” he bellows.
The crowd erupts in applause and laughter. They adore him.
“Welcome to my Super Spectacular Saturday Soirée!” He waves his microphone through the air in an arc. Gabe pushes his weight forward, and the swing sways back and forth.
Watching him suspended in mid air, my body tingles with nervous energy. I hate heights. Even watching someone else so high bothers me.
“There are a lot of new members among us this evening. So let’s make sure we all get acquainted! Mingle, mingle, mingle!” Gabe says. The swing, in full motion, seesaws back and forth. Long sheers elegantly trail behind it and ripple through the air.
“And let’s all have a Gabe-fabulous time!” he exclaims, right before he flips himself over the back of the swing and disappears into thin air. Only a ring of sparkling dust hovers where his body once sat.
“Wasn’t that amazing?” Gabe asks, appearing right in front of my face. I jump back a step, sucking in a breath of shock. I look to the swing where he sat a split second before. My eyes fall back to him where similar halo of shimmering dust wraps him now.
“But...” I point to the swing. “The dust—sparkling dust?” I look back and forth between the two clouds. I’ve only seen dust sparkle in one other place—wherever the Grungy Gang appears.
“Wander dust, my love. The beautiful residue of our gifts.” He smiles and extends his arm around my shoulder.
“Don’t worry, in a week nothing will surprise you,” he says.
I laugh out loud. “I highly doubt it! But if you say so!”
“I do!” he announces resolutely.
As we walk, we pass Terease. She’s positioned herself away from the commotion. With her solid stance and her arms crossed, she reminds me of a bouncer at a nightclub, prepared to regulate if anyone dare cause trouble.
Gabe swings me away from her as though protecting me. “Let’s try to get you acquainted with everyone, shall we?” He pulls me through the crowd and stops abruptly when he finds who he’s looking for.
I can only see the shapes of people because everyone towers over me. Then, without notice, someone stands in front of me. I recognize her immediately by her wide, bouncing curls.
“Macey!”
“Sera!”
We jump up and down, screaming as we hug. Having a friend here is a relief.
Gabe retreats before I have a chance to thank him. He seems to be looking out for me, for which I’m enormously grateful.
Macey and I meld back into the crowd, carving out our own little space to dance. I feel so free, letting my arms and body sway to the upsurge in the music from the DJ.
Video images of old movies project onto the crowd. The entire scenario can easily be mistaken for a wild nightclub, the kind Ray and I used to walk past in Miami not very long ago.
Gabe is a genius. Even if I hadn’t agreed to living at the Academy today, I would have changed my mind after tonight. Who wouldn’t? The school is an absolute playground for students, catering to their every whim.
Macey and I dance ourselves dizzy within an hour. She pulls me off the dance floor, drags me up the main stairs, and across the walkway that overlooks the atrium and the pool.
From above, the unified mass of people moving mesmerizes me. Multi-colored globes of light float across the up-lit surface of the pool. So much thought has gone into the details. I shake my head. The party seems as unreal as my new world.
“Oh, I forgot,” I yell over the music. “I saw Quinn. He’s here!”
“I know!” Macey says. Her eyes bulge, spelling trouble.
“What?”
“He’s my Seer!” She smiles wryly.
“Macey, that’s awesome!”
“No, it’s totally drama!”
“Why?” I yell over the music, bobbing my head.
“It’s Xavier!”
“What about him?” Maybe she and Xavier hit it off at his house on Friday, and she doesn’t like Quinn anymore.
“Xavier’s my Wanderer!” she yells.
My eyes are as wide as hers now as I process the drama that’s going to eventually unfold. “Oh, no!” I laugh, covering my mouth with my hand. She gives me a nudge of displeasure.
“It’s not funny, Sera! What am I going to do?” She’s serious for a moment, but then she laughs with me.
“You’re Xavier’s Protector?” It makes sense. She’s built in such a way that no one would ever mess with her. Although, this makes me wonder who Wanderers need protection from? One particular group of people come to mind, and I shudder.
“Yep! Can you imagine having a girl for a Protector? What a blow to the ego!” she yells.
“Does Xavier seem cool with it?
“Yeah—totally—until he realized that Quinn is our Seer!”
I laugh again. I can’t help myself after thinking about the predicament Macey finds herself in. “You poor girl. So many men in love with you!”
•
When I wake up the next morning, I feel miserable. My head throbs with a migraine, and my mouth is as dry as cotton.
I roll over on the bed and reacquaint myself with memories of last night. After the party, a group of us walked home together. Trudging straight up the stairs into my room, I collapsed, lifeless, onto my bed, not even bothering to change my clothes or pull down the sheets.
Now that I’m awake, I’m uncomfortable. I shake out of my jacket. Shedding it immediately makes me feel ten percent better. I stretch out my toes and quickly curl into a ball. Through one blurry eye, I see that my hair is mashed up into a rat’s nest on one side of my head. My mascara has dripped and dried back onto my face, or maybe that’s drool. My face is sticky either way.
I moan, shoving my face under my pillow.
“Seraphina!” Mona hollers from another floor.
“Uh,” I croak.
“I made brunch. Come now, you can’t sleep the day away!” Her footsteps pound the floor as she ascends the stairs.
“Why not?” I say to myself and shuffle quickly under the covers. She’ll have to drag me out of this bed by my toes.
The door frame cracks. I roll over. Mona leans against it with her hand on her hip. She snickers.
“What?” I ask, my eyes barely open.
“Rough night?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “You’re an absolute wreck!”
“
Thanks.
”
“You’re very welcome.” She walks over and sits on my bed. “Gabe called. He wants us to meet him this afternoon so you can see your new
maxi pad
.”
I giggle, thinking of silly Gabe. The thought puts me in a slightly better mood. Now I feel twenty-five percent better.
By noon, I’ve regained control of my unfortunate appearance and my migraine. It only took two headache pills and an extended hot shower.
I’ve gotten dressed, made the bed, and packed my miniscule amount of new belongings into a borrowed duffle bag. Swinging the bag over my shoulder, I almost lose my balance. Maybe I’m not quite one hundred percent yet.
Still too tired to pick up my feet, I shuffle down the hall and down a flight of stairs to the second floor. Mona appears, exiting a room in front of me. One I have never bothered to investigate. There are so many closed doors here it seems normal. She shuts the door and spins around. She jumps when she sees me.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you there,” she says. The moment is awkward—for whatever reason, I’m not sure.
I blow it off. Right now, I’m too drained to be curious about what she’s hiding behind that door.
“I’m ready to go whenever you are,” I say, holding up my duffle bag, supremely proud that I’ve made it this far into my day.
We arrive at the Academy. Gabe is punctual and all business when he meets us in the atrium. Mona immediately steps away to get my entrance paperwork at the school office.
“Wasn’t last night amazing?” Gabe flutters around the lobby until I concur with a nod and a smile. His energy is absolutely endless, and it makes me even more tired just watching him.
The lobby is overflowing with new students and a few parents. Excitement swirls through the air. After last night’s party, who wouldn’t be inspired?
Students stand in line for the elevator. They tug real luggage behind them. Gabe, ever the gentleman, takes my meager belongings and tosses them across his back as we stroll toward the colossal staircase.
Somewhat leery, I eye the statues flanking the first steps, wondering if they’re Animates as well. Slender, bronze, goddess archetypes in flowing togas hold baskets of lotus flowers and stand on marble slabs.
I step precariously onto the first step, waiting for one of the women to move or make a noise. Then I take the next step. The statue I stand nearest screeches. Metal grinds over metal. She readjusts her stance, as though the basket she’s holding is too heavy.
Gabe ignores them and continues to prattle about last night. And I recall that yesterday, the baskets sat at the women’s feet. They
have
moved since I saw them last.
Gabe rushes back down the stairs and grabs my arm to drag me forward. “Come on, girly! We don’t have all day!” he says.
“The good news is,” he explains, “you’re on the second floor.”
“Great,” I say, indifferent. I’m already contemplating a nap.
We walk past several large murals. Gabe chatters about them, but I’m not listening. I was happy to learn on the walk here with Mona, that I could turn my unique, super-memory off at will. If I can’t choose my dreams and thoughts while sleeping during Night School, at least I can during my waking hours.
We arrive at the end of a long hall lined with marble archways. Gabe opens the door. I expect what I’ve always seen in movies: dorms of colleges, small and cramped, with characterless furniture, the kind that looks like sterile office furniture.
“This is your pad,” he announces as he waves me through the open door. “You’ll share this space with your team members.” He swivels and smiles.
Three things shock me. One: that I will be forced to live with Sam, who, for some unknown reason hates me. Two: my other roommate will be my off-limits, drop-dead gorgeous Protector, Bishop. And three: I’m looking at a dorm room that’s an apartment, comfortable and homey.
Gabe sputters over to the butterscotch covered sectional and rubs his hand on a pillow. “Suede!” he says, clearly over-excited by the fabric. A huge TV faces the couch, and all the latest electronic gadgets accompany it. A kitchenette runs across the back wall, exposed brick and arched windows sit behind it. Wood counter tops gleam from across the room.
“It’s an apartment!”
“Yes, of course. What did you expect? And your room, it’s over here.” He prances to the door in the back corner, opens it, and gestures for me to follow.