Wicked Fate (The Wicked Trilogy) (4 page)

“Two people tried to talk to me today.
One was a new g
irl who apparently likes being treated like crap
.
I’m not judging—I know some people get off on that, but she got her ass handed to her in gym class.”

“That’s not ladylike language,
darlin
’.’”

“Oh yeah, sorry,” I smile apologetically. “Anyway,
I had to rescue
her with a quick decision and a rubber ball. Hopefully, she got the point.
The
second person didn’t technically talk to me. He kind of just stood there and stared at me all weird like.
I
kind of just walked
away from him.”

“Him?”
Thaddeus asks, drawing up his brows in
question.

“Yeah, remember that
kid I told you abo
ut from back in the day? The one that was on the playground that day—his name’
s Adam and he’
s in my history class. I don’t know what he could possibly have to say to me.
It doesn’t matter, like I said
,
I turned away be
fore he could say anything. Now
I kind of wish I would’ve stuck around to see what he wanted, but I panicked.”

“Sound
s to me like you’ve taken a
liki
n
’ to this Adam,
” Thaddeus jokes.

With fluid movements, he
float
s to the other side of the room.

“Yeah…I think not. I don’t crush. Never have and never will,
” I leap
out of the chair
an
d head towards the door. “I’m going to get a jump-
start on some homework.”

I walk out of the room without waiting for his reply.
I never worry about Thaddeus following me since he never leaves the library. I’ve questioned why many times since the first time I met him when I was six-years-old, but the question’s never been answered.

Having my grandma and Thaddeus is a good thing. Especially considering that since I was thirteen, my grandfather’
s been a little loopy. Grandma says she thi
nks he has Alzheimer’s disease and that I should get him to go to the doctor. Yeah, right! Getting him to go to the
doctor is worse than pulling teeth.

I’m grateful to have my little, strange family, but I’d still like to know more about my parents. I only know what my grandparents tell me, which isn’t much since they pretty much refuse to talk about them.

From what I could dig up, I know my mother met my father in a mental institution in Jersey and got pregnant with me. She wasn’t in the right frame of mind to take care of an infant, which explains how I ended up with my grandparents. It’s a pretty simple story, but the fact that they
never talk about it
makes me think otherwise.

My mother’s name was Rose McPherson and she was the only child of my grandparents. As for m
y father, his name was Richard and
that’s all I
know. From what my grandfather
told me, my mother died in the institution when I was four years old. What happened to my father, I couldn’t say.

I have a dream of one day meeting them. Perhaps one day I’ll visit the institution and run across
the spirit
my mother.  Supposedly, I look just li
ke her so I don’t think she’
d be very hard to recognize.
I’ll just look for and older version of me with ghostly, gray eyes—shouldn’t be too hard to miss.

I run upstairs and crash into my grandfather’s room to let him
know I’m home. He’s
a difficult man to understand. Even before he started to become delusional he talked in circles. He would stand in the middle of dinner and say things like, “The blue fire burns
,
too!”

I never tried to understand him; I don’t need to und
erstand him to know he’s awesome
.

He’s always done the best he can to take care of me. Even now
, with
his old age and crazy thoughts, he still manages to help me out every now and again—most of the time
without even realizing I’m there
. It’s like taking care of me is second nature to him. He’s the kindest
,
most giving person in the world.

We have
matching
blue eyes—Siberian
Husky
eyes, my grandma calls them. I bet in his younger days he was quite a looker, but these days you can barely see his face
since it’s covered in a long
,
gra
y beard.

He used to be a very knowledgeable
man, always reading something about science or philosophy.
But every day he
go
es
further away from reality. The th
ought of being alone when he’s truly gone
is frightening, but since he hardly ever talks to me anymore
,
I’m
pretty much already
alone.

“I’m home
, Pop!” I holler
into the room before shutting the door.

I fling open my bed
room door and step in. My room’
s nothing to write about, but it’s my own private space so that makes it special. I painte
d the walls a light purple
when I was fourteen, so it’s th
e only room in the house that’
s seen anythin
g new in many years.

My full-
size bed takes
up most
of the space and the old black iron bed fram
e gives the room
a gothic look. T
here isn’t much else;
a dresser with a mirror, my black bedside table, and a few odds and ends on the walls. Like I said, it’s not a perfect space, but it’s mine.

I shut my bedroom door behind me and jump onto my bed. I reach down and open the drawer to my bedside table pulling out the yearbook from the year before. It opens automatically
to my favorite page—A
dam’s page. I stare at his picture and smile.

I wonder what it would be like to have a real conversation with him. I wonder what he thinks of me. Does he think I’m a freak like everyone else?

I’ll never know. I’ll never approach him, and after I walked away from him so rudely today, I can’t blame him if he never even looks at me again, much less talks to me.

I guess that’s a good thing. I know having any kind of relationship with anyone would be virtually impossible. I’m fated to be the cat lady—I’ll grow old with no one to love but of a bunch of old, mean cats.
I’ve also accepted the fact that if one day, someone does decide they’d like to get to know me, they’ll soon leave when they see what I really am.

Chapter 3

I
s That A Dog or A Horse?

It’s
Friday, which means
I get
to spend my day
hear
ing snippets of conversations about weekend plans. By the end of the day, I’ll know what girl is going on a date with which guy.

I’ll spend most of my weekend writing or
talking to Thaddeus. Perhaps I’ll be out in the gardens napping un
der an old oak tree, or actually
having a conversation with my grandfather. These days
,
I’m happy
if he remembers my name.

That’ll be my weekend; that’
s eve
ry weekend. It’s getting old,
really fast.

Sometimes I dream a
bout being a normal girl. I’
d love to know what it feels like to just do cus
tomary things—go on a date, maybe prom. But the thought of having a bucket of pig’s blood poured over my head, like in that movie
Carrie
, makes my stomach turn. It could happen. I wouldn’t put anything past the idiots I go to school with.

These are things regular teenagers don’t have to worry about. It must be awesome
to just
live
, to not
have to worry about losing control and hurting someone with your
mind.

The dreaded l
unch line once again looms
in front of me
. Today, I grab
an ap
ple and a bottle of water
.
I seem to be missing my appetite.
I pay the gate keeper at the he
ad of the line before I go to my table.

I stop dead in my tracks.

S
omeo
ne’s already there. Brown eyes and bouncy curls stare back at me. Bernie’s sitting there like it’s what she does every day…it isn’t. I know this
,
because I’m the one who sits there every day, usually alone.

This puts me in an awkward position. Do I go sit at my table with her
,
or do I walk outside and leave her be?

Every eye in the cafeteria is on me—again.

Thank you girl-named-
Bernie! I adore the at
tention of the entire cafeteria…
not!

Instead of giving the people a show, which is what they’re all ho
ping for, I make a quick
turn and change
my course. Leaving my table and Bernie behind,
I walk to the c
afeteria doors. I feel her gaze on my back and guilt rears its ugly head. I consider for just a moment, turning around and joining her, but I push the door open and leave the room.

Once I make it
into the courtyard beside the cafeteria
,
I relax.

The new girl’s definitely nuts.

The silence that greets me
, compared to the brain-
abusive noise of the cafeteria
,
is a godsend. I find myself in the midst of a secret haven; a little courtyard wit
h benches and tables. It’s reminiscent of my gardens at home
,
except it’s well manicured.

A few quiet studen
ts with their faces stuck in
a book sprinkle the
silent zone. The air surrounding me is
pleasant and calm. I decide in this moment that I’ll pick a bench and make the out
doors my new lunch spot.
It’s a slice of heaven in an otherwise stressful place.

I see a little alcove
shaded by a dogwood tree; I walk over to it, toss my book bag onto the bench, and make mys
elf comfy while pulling out my iP
od. Pencil in hand and notebook in lap, I start
writing as I nibble
on
my apple.

He will always question what I already know.

And the makings of a love story will soon begin to grow.

I’ll let you lead me in the dark and close my eyes to light.

With visions of only y
ou, my love, that fills my head at night
.

The sunlight is beaming down on me.
It’s not too hot out and there’s a breeze so it’s nice.
If a day
could be perfection then today’
s that day. I finish my writing and stuff my notebook back in my book bag. The sun feels fabulous on my skin
,
so I lift my face and close my eyes.

A
shadow takes over and I feel
the heat disappear from my cheeks. I miss the warmth as soon as it’s gone and silently, I cuss the person who’s blocking the sun.

Maybe if I don’t open my eyes they’ll just go away.

Against my will, my eyes
pop
open and
Adam’s face comes into focus. My heart has its usual reaction when he’s near, which means it’s trying to burst out of my chest. It’s not a good feeling.

My h
eartbeat is thumping in my ears, blocking out all of the other noises around me. It makes me paranoid that he can hear my rushing heart.

A
flash of
adrenaline rushes through my veins as my
sympat
hetic nervous system goes into over-time. B
ut instead of grabbing my s
tuff and engaging in a fight-or-flight reaction,
I sit there like an idiot.

Again, he makes me feel like a deer caught in the headlights.

My natural inclination is to run, but I need to know what he wants. I refuse to spend another night awake wondering why he’s all of sudden trying to talk to me. I get up the nerve and look him in the face.

Adam Wes
tcott is gorgeous—plain-and-simply put. He’s tall, dark, and handsome, the epitome of a teenage girl’s dream.  His lofty frame
towe
rs over me and his wide muscular shoulders engulf my tiny width
.
He makes me feel smaller than I actually am.