Authors: Fabio Bueno
Things that would embarrass, shame, or ridicule the most compose
d monk simply don’t affect him.
It’s neither
charm
,
because he has none
,
nor the linebacker’s body
,
because he only uses it to intimidate other freaks of his approximate size. He just exudes this unshakeable confidence
…
I guess he’s so certain of his entitlement that others must feel stupid doubting it.
I envy him like hell.
Since nobody is talking to me, I look for Sean. But he’s already
sucking
face
with some girl I don’t know
.
Like Boulder, Sean always gets girls. He was a kind of groupie wrangler for Boulder, the football star. Which meant Sean got second choice too. His reputation only increased.
I need to stop comparing myself to them. It’s
reeea
l
ly
bad fo
r
me.
However,
I don’t feel like a loser. I’m very practical. I can’t have self-esteem issues if I don’t have self-esteem in the first place.
In the opposite mood of everybody
else
at
the part
y
, and bummed
that
I’m not Boulder, I go
outside, ambling toward
the dark street. The house is huge
—
a
n
estate, really
—
and no neighbors are close enough to complain about the noise. I weave between the badly parked cars on the road
,
on
my
way to
the
Volvo. I parked it away from the house, already thinking about an early escape. The chilly air makes my breath visible under the distant light of street
l
amps. I’m almost back to my car
when I see an unmistakable red bike.
Sitting on it, Jane sips a beer, and smokes a cigarette as only
someone who’s had years of practice
would.
The cold night air do
esn’t bother her: she wears
a camouflage tank
top.
She nods to me and says, “Got lost, Drake?”
“H-Hey, Jane,” I stammer.
She
has
never talked to me before. “My car,” I point to the Volvo a little down the road, behind her, but she doesn’t turn her head.
I’m not going to lie:
she terrifies me
. First, I truly believe she’d beat me up
i
n a fight, even though I’ll never admit it to another human being. Secondly, I wouldn’t put
it
past her havin
g a
butterfly
knife or something
,
and
being skilled with it. And thirdly,
I think of her as a woman. I mean, to me, she’s not
a girl, but
a woman. For some reason, that intimidates me.
“Skye left you, huh?”
s
he says
and takes another sip. When she sees my quizzical expression, she adds, “Word travels.”
“She left the school,” I say.
“Come on, talk to me,” she taps the
space next to her on the
seat of the bike. I obey,
mostly
because I believe I have no alternative.
“Beer?” s
he asks.
S
he has a cooler bag hanging from the s
ide
of the bike. I
just shake my head.
Jane
shrugs
and takes another sip
from hers
. “Are you okay?”
“Why
do
you
hate each other?” The question
bursts out of me. Great, another holiday for my brain.
“Skye? Didn’t she tell you?” Jane raises her eyebrows. “I hooked up with her ex.
British
dude
. G
oes to U-Dub.”
She sees my surprised face and
asks, “She never told you?”
I shake my head. S
he reaches into the cooler and produces a bottle.
“I don’t think this is the time for drinking,” I say.
“Drake, this is the
perfect
time f
or drinking
.” S
he
pops
the cap
w
ith her keychain bot
tle opener. She puts the beer
in my hand
. “Come on, have one. It’s good stuff
. I
mported
.
”
I stare at the label
. I
t’s
in German, I guess
. I’m angry at Skye
—
she wasn’t truthful. I’m angry at Boulder
—
I’m not him. I’m angry at myself. I take a sip.
I
’ve
tasted beer before, but I don’t remember it being this bitter. “It’s strong,” I say, not caring that I sound like a wimp.
“I told you. I
t’s good stuff.
”
She raises her bottle toward mine, and we clink them
in an unspoken toast
.
She
downs
her
s
and
fishes another
one out of
the cooler
.
The terror is gone, and now I’m kind of feeling
cool, being friendly with the
most
badass girl in school. Actually, she’s not as scary as I thought.
“Are you still together?” I ask. “I mean, you and the guy?”
“
Connor?
Sometimes.
”
I fe
el small. Boulder and Jane, these
large
r-than-
life people
,
live in another world, a fuller world, more exciting, more grown-up, more… everything. I felt
I’d have a chance to experience
it when Skye spent the day with me, but here I am, back to my ordinary existence. I take another
sip of my beer, which doesn’t taste as bitter now. Jane watches me.
“You look so young,” she says.
“
What are you talking about? We’re in the same grade,” I say
.
“Yeah, but I’m twenty.”
“Really?” I take another sip. “Why are you still in high school?”
She looks at her crimson
fingernails. “I got left behind,” she says
. H
er voice
has just the slightest quiver
.
I
cock my head involuntarily. “You look good for your age.”
Jane turns to me, a hint of a smile on her
full
lips.
“Oh, you’re so cute I could eat you up
,
”
s
he says in a baby voice, while she pinches my cheek.
She stares at me for a
second, and then her natural voice comes back.
“Actually, maybe I will.”
I’ve
never see
n
her so close. She’s got th
ese unique features
. I mean, I knew she was hot: her tight leather pants leave nothing to
the
imagination. But now, sitting next to her, I notice Jane as I never did before. Her
short
black hair
actually bring
s
attention to her
angular
face. Her
sunken cheeks are balanced by
light
gray
eyes, thin eyebrows, long eyelashes.
And her
strong
nose, full of personality,
matches her serious
mouth.
She holds my gaze, and I feel embarrassed for staring. I look away and take a long swig of my beer. From the corner of my eyes I see her finishing her cigarette,
flicking it to the ground,
and staring into
the night.
Under the moonlight, a silver tattoo on her shoulder blade seem
s
to glow.
A
heart pierced by a dagger.
I’m a little buzzed now, but I don’t panic. The
chill
, the darkness around us, the presence of this strange woman by my side
:
they all reinforce the impression I’m in this different
place
. I feel
simultaneously
empowered and
intimidated
. I want to explore this new world; I wan
t to know it
s secrets.
As if reading my mind, Jane turns to me. She throws her bottle to the side of the road.
In the
otherwise
silent night, the sharp noise of shattered glass sounds foreboding.
She reaches for mine
and does the same with my bottle
. Her hands
go
behind my neck. She
gently
pulls
my head toward hers, until our
lips
touch
.
I surrender. I don’t know where
she’s taking me
, but I don’t care.
Jane’s
kiss
is
very
Jane
-
y
. Her tongue aggressively searches for mine
, her breath smelling of beer, nicotine, and cherry
—
I
’ve
never imagined it as a tantalizing combination.
After a while, things become more intense.
She bites my lips, my neck; her hands search inside my
shirt
. Her body scent is minty, earthy
. S
he’s a force of nature.
We move away from her bike, going at each other, wrestling, pulling and pushing, angry. It feels wrong and right at the same time. I’m buzzed, suspended from reality. Somehow I open my Volvo and we stumble inside, a mass of two bodies,
thirsty
, wanting, longing.
That’s the last thing I remember.
London at night is mysterious and cozy at the same time. Even inside the house, I can
imagine
the city flowing around me: workers coming home, dinners getting ready,
friends calling friends,
happy people filling the pubs
after a
long
day
. The city is
a
creature: it breathes, it lives, it has its triumphs and regrets. It’s
around
me, pulsing, making me part of its existence.
It
just
feels
right
.
I’m not at the epicenter of ancient magic, but I’m close enough. I feel more attuned with magical energy here.
In a sense, it makes me
feel like I truly belong
with my Sisters.
I leave my room and
stop in the hallway. Uneasiness
takes over me, as if my own old house is a stranger.
Our
house
is elegant, pristine, and lifeless. Everything is so put together
it resembles a
movie
set
.
Doors and w
alls are white,
but
the doors
have
details in gold
:
tiny suns and moons in
bas-relief
.
I look down to the floor below
to
the foyer
,
a solemn chamber, with its
chandelier
adorned with several crystals
and
the light carpeting next to the door
.
By the lateral walls, tables with intricate carvings are crowned by porcelain vases inhabited by fresh flowers, picked just this morning from the back garden. Tasteful pictures
by
insufferable artists
(
friends of Mum
’s
)
hang all over the ground floor walls. My gaze follows the staircase
—
white and gold, of course
—
before resting on the door of Mum’s room.
Since I lived with Mum, I had my True Sight tingling permanently on. I could sense her comings and goings, and yes, that includes her
sneaking lovers into the house or adjacent hotel rooms late at night.