Wicked Fate (The Wicked Trilogy) (7 page)

“That’s because they are,” I roll my eyes.

I can’t tell her that Tommy Milson is the biggest asshole that’s ever walked the halls of Summerville. I know first-hand just how much of a jerk he can be.

In seventh grade, he spent an entire week calling me “
boobalicious
” in front of everyone when I started getting boobs. He almost lost his pinky finger when his
hand was slammed in his locker by a sudden gush of wind in a hallway with
no open doors or windows. Oops! The little punk deserved it—and more.

Other than the fact that she has horrid tastes in guys, boy talk with Bernie is kind of fun. I don’t think I’ve talked so much in my entire life and I’m not even the one doing the talking.

She talks so much in fact, that I know almost everything about her in a matter of days.
Like Bernie’s whole name is Bernadett
e Elizabeth Lane. She’s sixteen-years-old and she
moved here from Colorado with her mom, Lesley, and her brother
,
Benjamin.

Her brother, who’s eighteen, recently became a student at
The College of Charleston
, which is why
they moved here. I met him briefly
once
when he came to the school to give B
ernie lunch money. He’
s really cute and seems a
s genuinely nice as Bernie. Seeing them together makes me a little jealous of the familiar relationship they share. I have my grandfather on the rare occasions when he’s lucid, but it’s not enough.

Bernie has her license and a little red Ford Escort. Once, she gave me a ride home from school and I almost got sick. I told her that it was because I hadn’t been in a moving vehicle in so long, but I’m positive it was her wild driving that made me nauseated.

More interesting tidbits on Bernie—she loves chocolate, Chinese food, and her favorite thing to do is go to the movies.

“You’ve seriously never been to a movie theater?” her eyes are wide as saucers

“I’ve seriously never been to a m
ovie theater,” I laugh at Bernie’s facial expression, “d
on’t have a coronary.”

“Mage…
how is it humanly poss
ible that you’re almost sixteen-years-
old and you
’ve never been to the movies?”

“Easier than it seems apparently,” I shrug.

“Okay,
this has to be remedied immediately. I say we go this weekend. Yo
u got any plans
?” s
he asks, as she picks up a wayward
basketball and throws it across the gym back to the boy who lost it.

“I don’t know. I’ll have to check my calendar,” I joke, “of course I don’t have any plans.”

“Cool. Then I’ll be by Saturday around five. We can stuff our faces with Chinese, and then hit the movies
. I’m sure they’ll have someth
ing decent playing,” she blows a brown curl from her face
.

Completely against my character, I’m crazy excited about our movie plans.

There is a down side to all of this, and it’s the fact that people have been acting really shitty towards Bernie.  She doesn’t seem to care, but I can’t help but feel guilty about it.

Chapter 5

It’s a Bird
! It’s a Plane!
It’s….Adam!                                 

I woke up this morning feeling altered. This isn’t a new occurrence for me. Things have been changing within me for many years. Subtle changes, mind you, but still changes all the same. 

Moving a rock with my mind when I was a little girl was kind of a big deal, but over the years those small things became huge. 
In fourth grade, I accidentally started a foo
d fight in the cafeteria after I launched a hamburger at Christy Carrington. She was calling me names—I didn’t like it.

Middle school was the most eventful for me. I think puberty somehow played a major role in that. It might also have something to do with the fact that kids get crueler with age. I was constantly doing things I couldn’t control out of anger when someone teased me.

In seventh grade, Ethan Samuels got a face full of mud after a random gust of wind knocked him over. I’d accidently stepped on his untied shoestring causing him to almost trip. He called me a clumsy bitch really loud for everyone to hear—they all laughed hysterically. It pissed me off, especially since I was in the process of trying to apologize.

Summerville experienced a
small tremor
that same day. The tremor and the strange wind that knocked Ethan over happened at the exact same time.
I didn’t p
ut two-and-two together then, but looking back
, and a
fter all the strange occurrences I’ve had since, I know I caused that tremor.

I have no idea
how I do
these things. In the beginning,
they were completely random. Something would upset
me and things would just start happening
. It has the opposite effect
,
too. When something good happens to me
, good things happen around me.

The good things are never as obvious
as the bad—like that day after class when Adam stopped me to talk. Being so close to him made me feel warm inside and so the cloudy day turned sunny. No one even notices things like that, I know I never did. It wasn’t until it the weather changes became overly obvious, that I started noticing the tiny things. Either way, my mood seems to be the deciding factor—good or bad.

Thankfully with age, I’ve learned to
control
my temper. B
y
my
freshman year of high school
,
I
pretty much
had it down to a science. Maybe it’s because by then no one
bothered with me, or maybe I’
d honestly figured out how to control myself. Of course
,
by then everyone thought I was a complete freak.

The really
craptastic
part is
Adam
, the only person who’s even noticed me for the last eight years, hasn’t approached me since the
day in the courtyard when he gave
me back my drawing. I’m relieved and aggravated at same time. He brings out bipolar tendencies in me. I want him to stay away, because being around him makes me so anxious, but at the same time I love the thrill of being near him.

Still, he never even looks at me
anymore, much less talks to me. It’s my luck that he’d stop trying to talk to me as soon as I decide I want him to.

Today’s Friday, so Bernie and I finalize our weekend plans as we leave class
.

“Okay, so
I’ll be there around six. First, we eat and then we go to the movies. Oh my G
od
, t
his is going to be so much fun!” her excitement is contagious.
“You sure you don’t want me to give you a quick ride home?”

“I don’t think my stomach can take that right now,” we laugh, “I got some stuff to do anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I step out of the school doors and into the da
ylight. As usual, Sire’s waiting for me in the wooded path
. He always stays just out of sight
,
which is a good thing. The last thing I need is this monster of a dog drawing more attention to
little ole
me.

Instead of going home, we walk side-by-side to the closest store for a few odds-and-ends
.
Lucky for me, necessities are within walking distance of my house. Most teenagers would gripe about having to walk, but I do some of my best thinking on the long walks to shop.

I reach down and run my fingers across Sire’s soft fur.
I’m
pleased with the way this year’
s turning out. Having a friend isn’t quite the appalling situation I thought it would be. The fact that I’ve gained
two new friends in the last few
weeks is very gratifying.

A car comes by a little too quickly; its tire plunges into a nearby puddle and splashes the bottom of my jeans and my badly worn shoes with muddy water.  Sighing out loud, I pick off a few wet leaves. New shoes are a must.

I don’t rush in the store, after all, who would I be rushing home to? Sire finds a secluded spot by the store and waits. He seems to enjoy watching people with shopping carts in the parking lot. As crazy as it sounds, no one even seems to notice him when he tucks himself away and waits—even with his massive size.

I pick up essential household items, things a normal teenager would have no clue about. Laundry detergent, soap, and toothpaste…oh my! Most kids don’t even know where their toilet paper comes from. If I don’t buy it, I don’t have it.

Before going home I stop by the local consignment shop to see about getting myself a better pair of shoes for movie night. I don’t find any, but I do find a really cool
hoodie
with a purple skull on the front. Since it’s my size, I grab it and go to the counter to pay.

The older lady behind the counter smiles at me as she rings me up. Using a wrinkled hand, she pushes a piece of dull, blonde and gray streaked hair behind her ear.

I notice a man standing behind her and accidently I look him in the eye—gray eyes. Quickly, I divert my attention to something else in the store.

“Hey. Young Lady, can you see me?” the ghostly man asks.

I pretend I don’t hear him as I mentally kick myself for the slip. I never look a strange ghost in the eye.

“You can, can’t you? Listen. Please tell my wife that the key to our safe is in the red vase in the kitchen. Please! I know you can hear me! Please tell her,” he says frantically.

The lady hands me my new jacket in a generic, white plastic bag and smiles. Her eyes are sad and I know by looking at her that her husband has recently entered spirit form. She’s still mourning his death and apparently having money issues.

Further behind her, there’s another counter with papers scattered everywhere. A calculator with a tape full of her calculations sits on the counter beside a checkbook. When I look at her again, I see right away that her smile never reaches her worried eyes.

“Please, tell her,” he repeats.

The safe the ghost man is talking about could very well end her obvious money problems. I speak before I think.

“Ma’am, there’s a red vase in your kitchen.”

Her brows pull together in confusion, “Yes, I do believe there is. How did you know that?”

“The key to the safe is in that
vase
,” I turn and walk out without an explanation.

Behind me I hear the man thanking me.

“Hey, come back here! How do you know that?’ the lady calls out.

I can’t seem to get out of the store fast enough.

The little bell over the door dings as I rush out. Once I’m out of the door, I run. Looking over my shoulder, I see that the lady isn’t following me.

Without paying attention to where I’m running, I slam straight into a wall of muscled heat. My face connects with scented masculinity as my bags scatter all over the sidewalk. I feel myself being repelled by the collision, but before I get knocked onto the concrete sidewalk two warm hands grab my arms. I get pulled into a hard embrace that softens once I find my footing.

The physical contact sends an electrical wave through my body.

“Are you okay?” a deep voice asks from above me.

My face is pressed against a hard chest. I close my eyes and breathe in an outdoorsy scent mixed with male cologne. When I open my eyes, a pair of red lips with an even redder tongue sticking out seems to be taunting me from his vintage
Rolling
Stones
t-shirt.

Quickly, I pull away and look up. I’m met with familiar green eyes as Adam smirks back at me.

“Sorry,” I murmur.

“No worries,” his smile is lazy and lopsided.

My eyes go to his mouth and I take note of his adorable dimple. His smile gets larger when he notices me staring.

I jump back, needing to break the contact between our two bodies. He lets go of my arms. So that I don’t have to look at him again, I drop down and start stuffing things back into my bags. Soon, I see two tan arms in front me helping as he leans over me and picks up the things that I’d dropped.

“You don’t have to…” I stop when I see that he’s picked up my new
hoodie
.

He holds it up. It looks minuscule next to his large frame.

“Cute,” he shoots me a cocky grin as he folds it neatly and hands it to me.

“Dude, come the hell on! Quit flirting and let’s go!” we’re interrupted by a small group of guys across the street.

Older guys I’m assuming, since none of them look familiar to me. One of them flicks a cigarette into the street and Sire runs over and sniffs at it.