Natural Selection
Book One
Forces of Nature
4 Corners Press
Copyright © 2011 by Elizabeth Sharp
Published in the United States by 4 Corners Press.
www.4cornerspress.com
Smashwords Edition
ISBN: 978-1-4524-7669-8
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
To Tori, the real "Amelia", for being a constant source of humor and inspiration.
I need to say thank you to my husband, for putting up with the weird questions without having me committed. Thank you for putting up with no clean clothes, dishes stacked in the sink and the vacuum gathering dust in a corner. I don’t think you really had an idea what you were getting into when you said, “I do.”
Thank you to all the friends who got neglected to give me time for the endless process. I love you all and without you this book wouldn’t exist.
To the wonderful members of the writing group, it's been so exciting taking this journey together. I am humbled and proud to have shared in all of yours as you have shared in mine. Without you I would have floundered out long ago.
A big shout out to the wonderful ladies at 4CP. Thank you so much for all you do. For loving me despite myself.
And lastly, I have to thank my mom, who encouraged me to write my entire life. She always had good things to say while still pointing out the problems. And that’s not counting all the non-writing things she’s done to get me here. I love you Mom.
As the sun sank lazily towards the horizon, I knew I was in trouble. My mother always had a strict policy about being home before the street lights came on, and I didn’t stand a chance of making it. I hitched my bag of soccer gear higher on my shoulder and poured my heart into sprinting down the street. If only we hadn’t lingered after the game, waiting until the guys’ varsity team finished practice while Evelyn made goo-goo eyes at them. I shouldn’t have agreed to stay for one more round of milkshakes during our traditional post-win dinner at Margie’s, the local greasy spoon. Maybe, I should have accepted the ride Evelyn’s mom offered. I propelled myself still trying to beat my curfew—I didn’t want to start high school grounded.
I was what you might call a goody two shoes. I always did what my parents told me, got straight A’s, and never met a rule I didn’t follow to the letter. I always looked both ways before crossing the street, I didn’t run with scissors, and I didn’t take candy from strangers. Or talk to them, either. Ever. I was also painfully shy, with insecurities bred into my bones. As the youngest in my family, I had some pretty big shoes to fill. My older brother, Alexander, excelled at making trouble, and my older sister, Sariah, climbed the social ladder with grace and beauty. I was the plain Jane, bookworm who wanted to fade into the wall. I was only in soccer because Evelyn begged me to join so she could put the moves on the coach’s son. This summer it was soccer, last summer swimming lessons at the Y—she always had some new adventure in store for me. Evelyn had been my best friend for twelve years, which is practically forever when you’re two weeks shy of fifteen.
The streetlights flashed on with an ominous click. I stopped with a disgusted groan, my hands on my knees and my breath coming in painful gasps. If I wasn’t going to make it, I saw no reason to kill myself trying. I dropped my bag on the ground and tried to suck in air that my body had been deprived of in my desperate cross-town dash. My copper-colored hair escaped its tiny ponytail and was clinging to my sweaty scalp. Illinois in August wasn’t exactly the best weather for running.
I heaved my bag over my shoulder and strolled the rest of the way to my house, dreading my mom’s reaction. Was she worried? How much trouble was I going to be in? How late did your teenage daughter have to be before you could call the cops? As our two-story white house came into view, the ominous glow of the porch light warned me my tardiness had been noticed.
As soon as I opened the door I found my mother. Yup, I was in trouble. She stood in the hall in a red V-neck t-shirt and khaki shorts with her arms crossed beneath the generous bosom I had yet to develop. I was a late bloomer, still not having had my first period. In fact, I trailed behind my classmates in physical development in a lot of ways. Mom assured me all the women in the family matured at an unusual rate, whatever that meant. Yet all I had to do was look at my sister, and I had my doubts. I hoped to live up to her hotness, but I wasn’t holding my breath.
“You’re late,” she snapped, her eyes quickly scanning me head to toe in the instant assessment only Moms can do. I was always struck with how much I look like my Mom. Her copper hair was a little curlier than mine, and her features a little less padded. But no one ever doubted her as my mother.
“Sorry, Mom. The game ran late and Evelyn flirted for like ever. The waitress at the diner took ages and…” I trailed off, never one to make excuses and pass blame on to another. Growing up at the bottom of the pecking order, I’d learned to own up to my mistakes so no one doubted a denial. “You’re right. I’m late. What do you think, one week grounded?”
My mother sighed in irritation, but the left corner of her mouth twitched up into an almost repressed smile. “Sometimes I need to be the mother here, Amelia. It’d be nice if my fourteen-year-old would act like one once in a while.”
“If you’d prefer, I could go out maybe find somewhere to get stoned. Oooo, maybe some jock, who hasn’t destroyed his gene pool with steroids, would be willing to impregnate me,” I offered sarcastically, backing towards the kitchen. I turned around with a cocky grin knowing I wasn’t going to be in any trouble. My mom aimed a half-hearted smack at the back of my head as I walked into the kitchen.
My sister stood at the counter smearing jelly on a slice of bread and licking the excess off her fingers. She rolled her eyes realizing I, once again, skated on the same offense that had cost her a good third of her summer freedom. She always seemed to take it personally that I was so compliant. But everything evened out, since I harbored resentments of my own. Sariah’s thick, white-blond hair fell to her butt in soft Victoria’s Secret curls, and she had almost-black, green eyes. A body like hers most certainly impassioned the ancient sculptors’ attempts to create perfection. She was a fashion diva and a makeup guru who woke up first thing in the morning looking perfect. She’d been the most popular girl at our high school since the seventh grade. I knew for a fact she lost her virginity at thirteen. I, based on the amount of action I’d seen— insert cheesy cricket-filled silence here—was going to die a virgin. A boy outside my family had never even asked me to dance!
I ignored her, grabbing a bottle of water and jumping up to sit on the counter. After a long chug, which drained almost half the bottle, I gave her by best “nyah-nyah” expression and stuck out my tongue. She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by our brother Alexander—though we only call him Xander—entering the room. With mischief dancing in his bright blue eyes, he snatched the peanut butter and jelly sandwich Sariah had just put together. He jumped up on the counter kitty-corner from me and dared her to object with his eyes.
“Am I surrounded by heathens?” Sariah asked, her eyes narrowing. I could almost imagine her as a cat with her ears laid back and tail lashing. Xander shrugged and took a giant bite of the sandwich. I laughed as the ridiculously thick layer of peanut butter Sariah is fond of coated the roof of his mouth. He made silly faces trying to get it off. Still giggling, I hopped down and poured him a glass of milk. He downed it in one drink then took another, slightly smaller, bite.
“Pig!” Sariah hissed at him.
“Witch!” Xander mumbled around his full mouth.
“Alright, settle down; separate corners,” I yelled, the diplomat as usual. Wasn’t that supposed to be the job of the middle child?
Sariah shot Xander a hateful expression as she pulled another slice of bread out of the loaf and started over. I took another long chug of my water then tossed the empty bottle into the recycling. I made a mad dash for the fresh sandwich, but Sariah snatched it away before I could nab it.
“You ready for your first day of high school, Lia?” Sariah asked as she took a bite of the freshly made peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She rolled her eyes in exaggerated enjoyment and took a delicate sip of milk.
“Sure. It’s just another school year. I can’t imagine the geography will make it that different,” I said with a shrug.
Xander gave me a crooked grin, and Sariah’s eyes widened. They glanced at each other, their brows raised in similar surprise. Sariah shook her head, grabbed her sandwich and milk and walked out of the kitchen mumbling. Xander hopped down off the counter and started to head out too, but he stopped and turned at the door.
“Seriously, Lia, things are going to be way different soon. You have to be prepared for anything. And not just at school. Your whole life will change.”
Well that wasn’t ominous or anything, I thought as he left the kitchen. I dropped down off the counter and put away the sandwich makings Sariah left out. I took a sponge and wiped up the jelly Xander had dripped and took a couple of quick swipes where my own hind end had been. My neatness had grown into an obsession over the last year.
With the kitchen clean, I flicked off the light and headed to my room. The familiar greens and browns of my room were comforting. My bed sat between two windows on the east wall so I woke to the early morning sun on my face every day. A quilted comforter the color of moss on an old oak tree covered the neatly-made bed, and green curtains were tied back to reveal ivory colored lace. The room hadn’t originally included a closet, so my dad had built one long ago—a walk-in with bars for clothes and shelves for everything else on three sides. In the alcove created by the construction I had a massive vanity, the old fashioned kind with a padded bench where you sit while doing your hair. My dad had adapted it so lights, incorporated to look like flowers blooming on the vines carved in the old wood, shone beautifully.
I rummaged in my dresser for a couple of moments and found my pajamas. Grabbing my shower caddy from the table by the door, I headed to the bathroom. I turned on the water, waiting until it got to the perfect temperature before adding Sweet Vanilla bubble bath. Climbing into the warm water, I opened my latest novel. I liked the kind actually rooted in reality, which had nothing to do with sparkly vampires of questionable sexuality. This one was a collection of horror stories called Sensing Evil. Finishing one of the spine-tingling stories I climbed back out, my toes pruney. I toweled off and applied my favorite almond scented body butter before dressing. As I walked down the hall with my hair still wrapped in a towel, I overheard my parents’ quiet voices drifting up.
“We’re going to have to say something soon, Nancy.”
“It’s too soon. I haven’t seen any signs she’s changing. It’ll only freak her out if we tell her too soon.”
Interesting, which “she” were they referring to? Was it one of us or someone else? Could it be something else entirely? You can’t come into the middle of a conversation and expect to draw the proper conclusions. I started to head to my room again, but their continued voices made me pause.
“You realize what can happen if we wait too long.” I couldn’t mistake the worry in my dad’s voice. He had never been overly emotional, and curiosity made me take a quiet step towards the railing.
“I think we still have time, probably until next summer.” My mom insisted, almost pleading with him to agree with her.
“We have to get her out of sight for a while to keep people from asking too many questions,” my father said on a sigh. “Perhaps, we should send her to be with my mom for the school year.”
Who did they need to get out of sight? My mind went to a Lifetime movie about a girl who got pregnant and was sent away so no one would find out. I couldn’t imagine that being the case, but why else would they need to hide someone away? Somehow, I suspected I was the topic of this conversation. Well, at least I’d be closer to Normal. Even in my head the local joke didn’t sound that funny. I didn’t want to go to Bloomington or Normal for an entire year!
“Frank, she doesn’t suspect anything about this family, let alone that she isn’t human!” my mother hissed.
I gasped, my grey eyes getting bigger. I heard footsteps coming out of the living room, but I was gone before anyone saw me. My eyes screwed shut, I leaned against the door in my room. I heard someone climb the bottom two steps and stand still for a moment. Then came the quiet rumble of my father’s familiar baritone, though I couldn’t make out the words. The person at the bottom of the stairs, presumably my mother, walked away towards the kitchen. After a slow count to one hundred, I sighed and opened my eyes. Pulling out the bench to my vanity, I lowered myself carefully. It wasn’t rickety or anything, but with a little caution, I might be able to pass the beloved furniture on to my own granddaughter one day.
I quickly dried and combed my shoulder length hair straight back away from my face. I tossed the comb down and stared long and hard into the mirror. I focused on the chubby cheeks and baby face, searching for some sign that I might actually be growing out of this runtness. I was so sick of looking like a perpetual ten-year-old. Deciding it was the same face that had been staring back for the last four years or so, I stood and grabbed my book from the end of the bed. I flopped down on my stomach and started to read. I had a couple of hours before I needed to get to bed and worrying about things I couldn’t change wasn’t going to help me sleep.
I’d only made it a couple of pages into my book when a strange dizziness came over me. I had trouble breathing and my vision doubled. I slammed my window open and stuck my head out as pain hammered the inside of my forehead. After a few deep gulps of night air, it seemed to pass. My skin suddenly felt too small and tight. Was I having a panic attack? I chalked it up to my worry, picking my book up again. I vowed not to let myself dwell on this. Tomorrow would bring better things for me to worry about anyway.
I arrived for my first day of high school fairly early. Evelyn met me at my new locker. Her brown hair was smooth and straight, and her swooping bangs disguised a long face. Her overly large lips were covered in hot pink gloss, and her fairly linear eyes were surrounded by lots of black eyeliner. She wore a sassy red and white sundress with brown sandals—making me feel a little frumpy in my green polo, jean shorts, and bright green Chucks. We walked to class together since we both had the same English class. I liked the teacher, and English was always a good subject for me.
Second period, I had P.E. It was the first time I had a gym uniform, which I self-consciously changed into. I seriously hoped no one would notice my flat chest or scrawny body. Our school gave students a choice between weight lifting, calisthenics, yoga, and sports. Because of this, all four years were mixed into one class for whichever track they chose.
We filed into the gym where the teacher had the lower classmen stand on the half court line and the upperclassmen on the three point line. After calling attendance, he paired us off randomly into teams for badminton. Since when is badminton a sport you played in gym? I patiently waited as he called names off the list, but found my mouth suddenly dry when I finally heard my name called off in an emotionless voice.
“Amelia Hoffman and Nathanial Peplow.”
Nate was my brother’s best friend and two years older than me. I had a huge crush on him when I was younger—really the only boy I’d ever liked. I thought I was going to marry him until he started to be mean to me about three years ago. I guess once he discovered girls it was inevitable he would realize I was one of them. The worst part about it was a part of me still wanted him, it was a little tiny part that I shoved into a corner to cry itself to sleep.
Reluctantly I walked up to Nate, who shuffled his feet and gave me a chagrined smirk without meeting my eyes. I shrugged, refusing to let my heart flutter in my chest. His brown hair had gotten longer over the summer and fell into his gorgeous eyes. I’m not talking emo, and certainly not Justin Bieber, just long and shaggy—and kind of hot. Hating myself for lingering on someone so not worth the effort, I pushed the thought aside. He only noticed my existence to make it miserable. Nate towered over me—trapped in a ten year old body everyone towered over me. He was solid with strong features that made me think of classic Hollywood leading men. “Not helping!” I mentally sing-songed at myself.
“What was that?” Nate asked, still not meeting my eyes.
Heat flooded my cheeks, and I muttered something noncommittal while staring at my scuffed up Converse. I have never been more relieved in my life than I was when Coach MacDonald assigned us each to a court and passed out our birdy-thingy. I threw myself into the game ignoring all the awkwardness and pent up emotions that wouldn’t leave me alone. Nate and I were nearly unstoppable. It almost seemed as if I could sense where he was. I knew if he would be there to lob the shuttlecock back or if I needed to, but I refused to linger on the strange awareness—calling it a sportsman sixth sense. Hey, denial isn’t just a river in Egypt!
At the end of the period it wasn’t a surprise we were at the top of the boards. Nate slapped me a high five and pulled me into a bear hug—my feet lifted off the ground as he spun. The minute his hand touched mine a bolt of electricity went through me, and when his arms closed around me it got worse. Every muscle in my body went rigid with pain. My skin felt like it was shrinking and my head pounded. My world shrank to a tiny pinpoint, and all I could focus on was the glowing presence that was Nathanial.
As he set me on the ground my rigid body turned to liquid and I slumped to the floor. I was only vaguely aware of him scooping me up and shouting something as he ran out of the gym. I expected him to take me to the nurse’s station behind the office, so I was shocked when I heard the school doors slam shut behind us. He placed me on the ground beneath a stand of trees across from the door, his hands gentle on my face.
“Come on, Lia. Come on back to me.” He said in a voice that echoed strangely in my ears. He pressed something cool and damp into my palm, and then ran his hands up and down my arms briskly. Slowly the pain receded and awareness returned, my body still felt like Jell-O. “Take it easy, don’t try to move yet.” Nathanial said quietly, his hands never leaving my skin.
“Wha…” I mumbled, blushing at the slurred voice before swallowing and trying again. “What happened?” That sounded better, but my voice was weak and strained like I had spent too much time screaming.
‘Shhhh. It’s ok. I’ll explain later. You need to rest now.”
We sat for a few minutes—him murmuring and rubbing my arms, me trying to figure out what was going on. I studied his face from beneath my lashes, the concern in his eyes obvious. I concentrated on trying to twitch a finger or wiggle a toe. My heart raced in fear as I wondered how long until someone else came to help. Was I dying? Why couldn’t I even wiggle my toes? “Seriously, Nate, what the hell happened? Shouldn’t you take me to the nurse? I should probably go to the hospital.”
“Trust me, you don’t want anyone here to know about this, Lia. If you wanna call your mom and have her come get you, that’s fine, but you can’t tell anyone at school about this. I’m so sorry. I thought I had it under better control. I just got kind of emotional, and it’s harder to control when I get emotional…” He trailed off, looking at the ground miserably. He tore the head off a blade of grass and tossed it before looking back up at me sheepishly. “I promise I didn’t do it on purpose, Lia.”
“Whoa, wait. You haven’t called my mom or anything? What…” I trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought. I wasn’t good with confrontation. When I get angry my tongue seems to get tied in knots and embarrass me. It’s very hard to make a valid point in an argument while stammering. “What did you do to me, Nate? And why exactly can’t I go to the hospital?”
“Well, more or less, you just got struck by lightning.”
“Wait, what?” My brain stopped processing for a prolonged moment unable to wrap around that one. How the hell had that happened? “So basically I was filled 1.21 jiggawatts? Can I travel through time now?”
Nate shook his head with a crooked grin. “You haven’t gone Back to the Future, McFly.”
“Ok, seriously, how did it happen?” I felt something close to panic welling inside me. This was crazy, right? I couldn’t really move, and he was telling me he somehow generated enough electricity to render my nervous system useless? On the freak-out meter—I was burying the needle in the red.
“I don’t really know how it happens, but sometimes when I get excited I get this… charge, I guess.”
“Electrifying!” I snapped a little hysterically. I wasn’t sure if this was my standard brand of sarcasm meets smart ass or my brain attempting to deal with something that should be dismissed. I should have been calling him crazy and running away, right? Oh wait, I could barely move my legs! “Seriously, Nate, this isn’t right. I think maybe we should call my mom. Like, now. Or better yet—an ambulance.”
“Will you give me five more minutes? If I don’t have you on the mend by then, I promise to call anyone you want me to.”
I stared at him for a long minute, trying to radiate all my fear and panic. He merely pleaded me with his eyes, and somehow I caved, nodding. I knew it was crazy, stupid even, but part of me said I should stick it out.
He didn’t speak. He slowly untied and removed my shoes, then my socks. Holding my left foot in his lap, he rubbed in small circles starting at my toes and slowly moving up my leg. Once he got to my lower thigh he dropped the leg with an awkward clearing of his throat and started on the other. As his strangely gritty fingers gently kneaded my flesh, there was a strange tingling. At first I thought it was more of the weird electricity he generated, I considered pulling away. Then I realized this tingling was more of an awareness of his touch, a feeling I didn’t want to analyze. But whether I wanted to acknowledge it or not, something was different between Nate and me.
Thankfully, I didn’t have time to dwell on it before my skin prickled with pins and needles as sensation returned. I clumsily climbed to my feet with Nate’s help. After some uncoordinated shuffling, I was able to move on my own. I pulled away from him uncertain what to think.
“I’m so sorry, Lia. I didn’t realize you were so close.” Close? He hugged me! How much closer could I be? “I think you should stay away from me for your own safety.” Nate said, meeting my eyes for the first time in this whole ordeal. I loved his eyes. They were a warm brown, like sunlit honey, with a vibrant yellow-green ring around his pupils. A girl could lose herself in those eyes. I gave myself a mental shake, refusing to allow a gooey moment with the boy who just about killed me a short time ago. Besides, I didn’t want to be that girl—the one pining away for some guy who never even noticed her.
I glanced at my watch, though it felt like we’d been out here for ages, it had only been about fifteen minutes. But I was late for my algebra class. Of course it wouldn’t break my heart to miss that class all together, but good girls, like me, don’t skip class. Since we’d rushed so hastily from class, we were both still in our gym uniforms. I seriously contemplated calling it a day and seeing if my Mom would come get me, but I had some classes in the afternoon I was really looking forward to. Besides, I wanted to be lab partners in Biology with my friend Mariah, and if I didn’t show up, the teacher could pair her up with someone else.
“We should go get dressed. How much trouble do you think we’ll be in?” I asked as I started toward the school doors.
“Not as much as we would be in without these puppies,” he said, pulling a pad of hall passes out of his pocket and gesturing to them like Vanna White.
“Do I even want to know how you got those?”
“A good thief never reveals his sources.”
“Too bad you aren’t a very good one. You’re not even on par with a juvenile delinquent.”
“Oh, you will eat those words, Miss Hoffman. I’ll give it to you from both barrels until you quiver with awe at my skillz.”
Our eyes met as we both grinned, and we stood with just an open door between our bodies. For a brief moment, I let myself imagine his heart fluttered as much as mine. In that moment, I could picture us holding hands and sharing an ice cream sundae. Then my more realistic side surfaced reminding me of my mixed feelings. Not that long ago, I would have run away, if I could have moved, yet here I stood entertaining impossible fantasies. I cleared my throat and awkwardly said goodbye before heading into the girl’s locker room.
I pulled out my regular clothes, and began to peel off my uniform. That’s when I noticed the smears of dirt on my arms. I remembered the coolness in my hand and on my arms as Nate rubbed them, and how I felt a surge of energy at the touch of his slightly gritty fingers. A quick glance down at my legs showed more smears there. So it wasn’t some weird connection. It was something in the dirt. I mentally tossed ideas around as I scrubbed the worst of the dirt off, and dressed quickly. I brushed and recaptured my hair in its elastic band, then swiped on some Chapstick before grabbing my books and reluctantly headed to math class.
By the time I got there, I had missed nearly half of it, but Nate’s forged note said I’d been in the nurse’s office. The teacher, Mr. Orson, looked like the music teacher from The Simpsons, bald on top with long white hair and beady eyes. Trying not to giggle imagining him in a grey sweater and bow tie, I grabbed an open desk near the window and tried to pretend I had a clue what he was talking about.
I didn’t think the day would ever be done. My afternoon should have been fun with a home economics class right after lunch, and a creative writing course rounding out the day. Biology actually seemed interesting to me, which surprised me. And Mariah was so grateful to see me, I felt bad for considering leaving. Apparently, her first day of high school wasn’t going so well. But my mind wasn’t focusing as I kept pondering my strange morning.
Xander was already in his car when I got there. I climbed in and buckled up before he peeled out of the parking lot, with an unnecessary squeal of tires that left him grinning ear to ear. I rolled my eyes but held my tongue. On the ride home he chattered away about the antics of our fellow students, but I only half listened, my mind still churning.
As I walked into the house, I dumped my backpack on the bottom step and headed straight into the kitchen, barely noticing when Xander slammed the door behind himself. I rummaged in the fridge for something to eat, settling on a chicken leg from last weekend’s dinner. I gave it a test sniff and it seemed ok, so I threw it into the microwave. Xander snagged a bag of Doritos off the microwave and plopped in a chair at the breakfast bar to eat them. I poured us each a glass of Coke while my snack nuked, then grabbed the chicken. Not bothering with a plate, I ate it out of the Tupperware, flinching as the hot meat burnt my fingers.
“So how did your first day go?” he asked around a mouthful of chips.
“A little shocking,” I said, smiling a little. I don’t know why, but I knew I couldn’t tell him what had happened with Nate today. I spent the bulk of my time trying to figure it out—I don’t think I heard a word my algebra teacher said. What practical use would I ever have for polynomials and non-linear equations anyway? So what if I’d have to tell Mr. Foxworthy that I was not smarter than a fifth grader! But aside from radioactive materials buried in the school courtyard contaminating the soil, or salmonella in the chicken nuggets causing a shared delusion, I was coming up nil.
Xander gave me a funny look, and I tried to derail his train of thought. The day had been pretty average after algebra. I had nothing to distract my brother from what I wasn’t willing to share. If I told him the truth, I knew he would freak out. Xander had always been very protective of me. I decided to use half-truths and let him lead himself astray.
“There’s this guy—I’ve known him for a while now but there’s never been anything between us. Today, when I was around him, there was something… different. I don’t know how else to describe it. He kind of scares me, but I can’t stop thinking about him. How do I know if I’m feeling something real, or if I’m just getting a stupid crush?”
Xander was quiet. One side of his face quirked like it does when he’s really thinking about something. It might seem odd for me to talk to my brother like this, but he and I had always been very close. Nathanial was the only thing I didn’t feel I could talk to him about. Xander hadn’t taken too kindly to his six year old sister announcing she was going to marry his best friend, and ever since, he had done everything in his power to keep me and Nate apart—to the point that Nate rarely came to our house. It had gotten worse this past summer, since Nate got back from summer camp. It was some sort of military “make your boy a man” kind of camp. He came home a different person—all hard and muscular and manly. He caused quite the stir among the girls at school, and a couple of them had already set their sights on him. As if I needed another reason to keep a lid on my feelings, there was no way I could compete with that.
“Well,” Xander said, rubbing his chin with his forefinger, “is he dangerous?”
My forehead tightened, and I cocked my head in confusion and surprise. I don’t know what I expected him to say, and I had no idea how to answer that. Was he dangerous? Had today been a fluke, or was Nate some sort of threat to the girls of Lincoln? But my mom always trusted him, and she was usually a good judge of character. “No, not really. I don’t think he’d hurt me on purpose, at least. But he is capable of seriously hurting someone”
Xander gave me a big grin. “Well then it’s a no-brainer, girly. You should stay as far away from him as possible. I don’t want a criminal record, and it will be unavoidable if he hurts you.” He stood up and walked around the island to where I stood and put his hand on my arm. “The only guy a girl can trust is her daddy—and her big brother, of course.”
“Did you seriously just quote Grease? I think I’m gonna have to revoke your man card.”
Xander winked and gave me the double guns as he headed out the back door. It wasn’t long until I heard the distinctive thud of him shooting hoops in the driveway. I washed the empty Tupperware and our glasses, folded up the Doritos bag and put a chip clip on it, and wiped down the counter. I couldn’t help a wry smile as I collected my book bag off the bottom step and headed upstairs to do my homework.
I couldn’t believe teachers gave homework on the first day, but I had a sample test for algebra to “establish what we already know”, a five hundred word essay on what writing means to me, and a conjugation worksheet for Spanish. No matter how hard I tried to focus, my mind kept wandering back to the gymnasium this morning. Finally deciding I wouldn’t be able to focus unless I tried to figure something out, I grabbed my laptop off the top of my dresser and sat on my bed Indian style. I ran my hands over it admiring the pretty green skin with a tribal butterfly on it. My parents gave it to me as the traditional eighth grade graduation gift, and I absolutely loved it. Placing it on my knees, I opened it and clicked on the browser. Since I had no other ideas, I started by Googling electricity. After scrolling through a page of scientific explanations, I tried several other phrases, like “people who generate electricity”, “electrocuting people”, and “electric power”, but the closest I got was an article about people generating massive amounts of static electricity and I knew this was so much more. I remembered Nate referring to it as “getting hit by lightning” so I searched that. I tried several combinations until the phrase ‘lightning man’ brought up a comic about a superhero who could generate electricity after being struck by lightning. It reminded me of a movie I’d seen a long time ago about a boy who was struck by lightning and got strange abilities, but also remember blowing it off as a bunch of hogwash. I let my mind linger on the idea for a moment before pushing it aside. Realistically, people can’t generate electricity and that’s all there was to it. I decided I must have fainted for some unknown reason, since that was the only rational explanation. It didn’t explain the pain or the way my body was immobilized, but what did I know?
I thought about what I knew of Nate, which wasn’t much. His parents died when he was pretty young. He lived with his Mom’s best friend—who he called his aunt. She was a stewardess for an airline and would sometimes be gone for weeks at a time. Nate stayed with us during her absences until about four years ago when he was allowed to stay by himself. He started coming over less, seeming to prefer to have Xander hang out at his house. I always assumed it was because they preferred the privacy, but now I wondered if Xander knew something I didn’t. Should I talk to him and find out what he knew, or would he go after Nate? The questions swirled in my mind until I came to the conclusion I trusted my brother. He wouldn’t be friends with someone who was dangerous—at least I didn’t think he would.
Whatever happened, I wasn’t going to figure it out today. I tossed my laptop to the end of the bed then picked up my homework and started on those conjugations.
Time passed in a blur, and before I knew it, September was past. Nathanial got a different partner in gym and refused to talk to me, so I blew it off. I had told myself enough times that I just fainted that first day of school I was kind of starting to believe it. All in all, life was returning to normal. The month barely mussed my hair in its passing. My fifteenth birthday came with a small barbeque attended by my family and a few friends. Sariah went through about eight boyfriends—a slow month for her. Xander dated and dumped a couple of girls, but that was hardly noteworthy. Evelyn dropped soccer and talked me into trying out for cheerleading. She made the team but I did not, which I didn’t have the heart to tell her was a good thing in my opinion. I swore to her I didn’t mind, but she still considered quitting. I kept telling her to stick it out because she was just the cheering type, so she did.
I spent a lot of time by myself, but I’d always been a solitary person. I loved to sit in the low branches of the cherry tree in our side yard with a good book in my hands. I didn’t hear anything more from my parents about adoption or changing schools, and I decided I misunderstood what they’d been talking about. All in all the month passed without any significant place markers other than my own denial.
Before I knew it, Homecoming was upon us. After much nagging by Evelyn, I gave in to an entire weekend spent tracking down all the perfect elements. That was how I found myself in a white, Gunne Sax peasant dress with a blue quilted front panel, a wide embroidered belt, and the sleeves trimmed with matching edging. My hair was loose except for three braids—one on either side of my face and one pulled back in the middle. I sat impatiently in Algebra with my chin in my hand as Mr. Orson blathered on about quadratic equations. I listlessly kicked one fringed ankle boot and gazed dreamily out the window at the rain drenched baseball diamond.
I noticed Sariah running across the field in tight, white bell bottoms with pink embroidered flowers, and a matching pink fringed crochet halter top that didn’t really meet the school dress code. Her artfully mussed curls beneath her braided headband didn’t seem to flatten even in the persistent drizzle. Behind her ran Scott Ferguson in a tie-dyed t-shirt. I saw my sister turn to him with a smile, then jump and wrap her legs around his waist as he shoved his tongue down her throat. His hand fumbled between them at their waists and I colored realizing what they were doing. I must have made some sort of noise, because all of a sudden I was the center of attention in a very unpleasant way.
“I’m sorry, Miss Hoffman. Am I disturbing you with my silly class? Why don’t you go tell the principal all about it?”
I scoffed. I didn’t understand how one simple outburst warranted such a harsh banishment. I never caused any sort of disturbance in any class, let alone this one. Blinking tears from my eyes, I meekly gathered my things. With slumped shoulders I slowly walked to grab the discipline slip Mr. Mason was holding out with a huffy impatience. Taking my pass, I walked as slowly as possible to the principal’s office. Mrs. Soberlo had a reputation as being very strict and impatient; she was one of those former teachers who rose through the ranks and wanted revenge for all the punks who had made her life miserable over the years. Handing my slip to the secretary, I sat glumly by the door waiting for my suspension—or worse expulsion. I was lost in thought when the young police officer entered and began to speak in hushed tones. The office was fairly small, and she had a loud voice. I couldn’t help but overhear what they were saying.
“Did the station call to report the death of Mariah Carter? I believe she was a freshman from Mt. Pulaski?”
The secretary nodded her head sadly and handed a manila folder to the officer. I struggled to contain my shock. I’d known Mariah since junior high when we’d been in the same Constitution class. Something about her appealed to me, and we clicked like I’d found a kindred spirit. She was one of the few junior high friends I still spoke with. I noticed her sudden absence, but it had only been a two days—not unusual for a high school student. I couldn’t stop the soft gasp from coming out, or the tears that stung my eyes. I knew if a cop was asking questions, it was bad. I wondered if she was in some sort of horrible accident. Cops don’t investigate simple things.
The officer turned to me and smiled. She was a pretty black woman that reminded me of Regina King, with short purposely messy hair and a metallic pink-gold eye shadow that made her eyes stand out. “Did you know the victim?” she asked in that cold off-hand way you only hear in cop shows.
My sluggish brain couldn’t make it past that one word. My thoughts came to a screeching halt. “Victim?” I couldn’t speak more than that single word. A thick feeling appeared in the back of my throat, and my stomach knotted as tears threatened to spill over my eyelids.
“Mariah Carter. Did you know her?” the officer said, glancing at the secretary as if expecting the indifferent woman to jump in and help. “What’s your name, miss?”
“Amelia.” I could barely whisper. “Hoffman. Mariah has been my friend for a few years. We’re lab partners in Biology,” I added weakly. I was having trouble breathing, and the room seemed to be spinning. I glanced at the secretary, hoping for some sort of rescue, but she just watched me impassively.
The female officer knelt in front of me placing her hand over mine. Her eyes widened a little and I knew it had to be cold to the touch. All my extremities felt chilled. She gave me an apologetic smile and stood, pulling me to my feet. She turned to the secretary. “Do you have a quiet room where I can speak with Miss Hoffman in privacy?”
The secretary shook her head and put on her best superior face. “I’m sorry, officer, but we don’t allow the police to question students without a parent present.” Her grin was rather sickening. The policewoman let out an exasperated sigh and stepped out of the office to make a call. The secretary picked up her handset and waited a moment before speaking in clipped phrases I didn’t bother to try and understand.
It wasn’t long before Mrs. Soberlo came out of her office. She put her hand on my shoulder, and I looked up, feeling like I was moving through molasses. “We can discuss what brought you here another time, Miss Hoffman. I’ve spoken to your mother, and she says if you are willing to talk the police, you can. I can call her to come in if you’d rather wait for her, but I will sit with you to make sure someone is looking after your rights.” I nodded numbly, and she stepped out into the hall, returning a moment later with the policewoman in tow.
“Come along, Miss Hoffman,” the principal barked. I hopped to my feet and obeyed. That wasn’t a tone to be argued with.
Mrs. Soberlo led us down a carpeted hall in the office to a small room where staff meetings were held. As I numbly followed, I heard the cop behind me still talking on her cell phone. From the little I could overhear mixed with what I knew from every cop show I’d ever seen, I figured she was calling in her partner. I knew he had to be some old guy who would be able to retire if he could just solve this one last case. Inside, Mrs. Soberlo sat in one of the fabric covered office chairs and had me sit next to her. The policewoman introduced herself as Regina Simms. I swallowed nervously, and it went down wrong making me cough. Officer Simms went to fetch me a glass of water. She returned with a Dixie cup and a young man in a dark suit. I could tell by the badge clipped to his belt he was probably a detective. So TV let me down again.
“I’m Detective Laurent,” he said, setting a manila folder on the table opposite me. His immaculately groomed dark hair and youthful face seemed at odds. He was rather bulbous with a large nose and a fleshy face. He shook hands with the principal, then me. His palm was hot and damp, and his grip was loose and timid. “I understand you knew Mariah Carter?”
I numbly nodded, unable to speak through the shock. The whole situation seemed unreal like it had been staged by some poor author trying to hurry a plot along. I took the water and attempted to swallow a sip, but my throat felt swollen.
“Were you close?”
“Kind of. Things have been different since we got to high school, but we used to be really close.”
“How would you describe her?”
“She was just kind of average, like me.” I watched him eye me up and down, and I remembered my Goodwill finds. I flushed, my lips compressing as I looked away.
“Average? This is average? Isn’t this more what the kids are calling New Age?” I let my eyes flick to his face briefly, but the look on his face reminded me of a predator stalking prey. I swallowed, my gaze darting away again.
Mrs. Soberlo came to my rescue. “It’s Spirit Week, detective. Most of the student body is dressed similarly to Miss Hoffman. Don’t they train you to do this kind of stuff? What does Miss Hoffman’s appearance have to do with anything? Her friend died, and I would appreciate a little decorum. She doesn’t need a cocky detective getting snarky with her!”
Go Mrs. Soberlo! I eyed the distinguished woman, clearly having underestimated her. She was tall with short, grey hair heavily peppered with white. She wore a nice suit, rather harsh in its cut, but it worked on her tall thin frame—I bet Jamie Lee Curtis would play her if they ever made a movie of her life. The detective noticeably cringed, and Officer Simms hid a grin behind her hand. I looked between him and my principal, squirming uncomfortably. Mrs. Soberlo sat with her arms crossed and a stern look on her face saying he had better keep in line. I understood how she had gotten her reputation with the students, but I was grateful for it right now.
“Very well, Miss Hoffman. I apologize.” He didn’t really sound like he meant it, but I shrugged and looked at my hands fidgeting in my lap. My principal merely arched an eyebrow at him. “Yes, mm,” he said, clearing his throat and tugging on his tie. “Was Miss Carter into anything—unconventional?”
“Like drugs? I don’t think so—”
“Not drugs, Miss Hoffman, more like… what are the kids calling it these days? Goth, maybe?”
“Like funky hair colors, tons of eyeliner, and black lipstick?” I scoffed, imagining Mariah's oxford shirt and khaki pencil skirt she’d been wearing the last time I saw her. “Um, no. Far from it.”
“No fascination with the occult?”
My eyes widened in alarm. What in the hell was going on here? “No! I think she was in the choir at the Methodist church.”
The detective’s brow furrowed, and he glanced at the female officer. She shrugged picked up the folder in front of him, walking around the table towards me. “I want to show you a photo taken of the victim’s room. The image is graphic and might be alarming. If you don’t think you can handle it, we’ll understand. I know Garret can be kind of awkward, but I assure you he’s a good detective. He just wants to figure out what happened to your friend.” She gave the detective a hard glance, and he grimaced and looked away. “Once you see the pictures you’ll understand...” She paused, shooting a disapproving frown at the detective. “…unorthodox behavior.” She glanced at Mrs. Soberlo and waited for nod, then turned back to me.
After that build up there was no way I could say no. I owed it to Mariah to give whatever help I could. I nodded, and she set a black and white 8x10 in front of me. A lump filled my throat, and I tried not to see the blood. The body wasn’t in the photo, but I could tell something horribly violent had been done to my friend. It could have been a still from a horror movie. At first wasn’t able to see past the blood, but eventually the rest of the picture registered. Lead settled in my stomach as I realized why they’d been asking about the occult. A strange symbol had been painted on the floor.
I recognized the ankh at the top, but the other symbols I didn’t know. There were remnants of a black candle in each point. I felt sick to my stomach and light headed. My hand shook as I shoved my hair out of my face. Officer Simms gripped my shoulder trying to comfort me, but I had to get out of that room. Iciness pulsed through me, and I tried to push the horrible picture away. When my hand got near it, it felt as if I was attempting to reach into a fire. I had no idea how a simple photograph was making me ill and weak, but it was. I looked away, however my eyes kept skittering back. I couldn’t understand what I was sensing. I tried to glance at other things in the picture, but my eyes were repeatedly drawn to the black lines. No matter how much I wanted to look away, that symbol was all I could focus on. Whatever it was had power. I wondered if someone was harnessing that power for their own sick purposes.
I licked my lips nervously, unable to meet the detective eyes. A thick, waxy feeling settled into my belly, and I struggled not to retch. I placed my hand over my mouth and tried to breathe deeply. “That’s not the Mariah I knew.” Mrs. Soberlo placed her hand over mine, and I tried to smile. I wanted out of that tiny room and away from the terrible picture. Instead, I fidgeted and pressed my lips tight, fighting the oily surge in my stomach.
“I don’t think Miss Hoffman has any information for you, do you Amelia?” Mrs. Soberlo met my eyes, her brown ones soft and kind, giving me a little strength.
“We were kind of friends, but we rarely hung out except at school. I wish I could help you, but I really don’t know anything about this.”
“Thank you, Miss Hoffman,” the detective said, eyeing me oddly. I wasn’t certain he entirely believed me, but I think he was afraid to push me with Mrs. Soberlo there—which probably made him a smart man.
As I opened the door I turned back to him. “Should I be worried, Detective? Is there a psychopath out there stalking teenage girls or did Mariah get caught up in something awful?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, Miss Hoffman.”
I made myself walk out of the room and the office beyond. As soon as I was in the hallway I started running and didn’t stop until I was outside in the rain, breathing deeply with my hands on my knees. Mariah’s death was upsetting, but I didn’t understand this reaction. I’ve never been prone to overreaction, but something about that symbol made my insides turn to mush. It scared me more than the idea of somebody killing teenage girls. And that made things even worse.
I was saved from dwelling on it too long by hands grabbing my shoulders. My face was pressed into a muscular chest and the tears finally spilled—so hot I thought they would burn me. We stood a long time with the rain slowly soaking us as strength flowed into me from hands gently rubbing my back. I knew it was Nathanial. I recognized that mysterious connection I felt at his touch. Suddenly, the soggy Dashiki shirt he wore was too much, and I needed his flesh against mine. I reached under the thin fabric and placed my hands on his bare back, but it wasn’t enough. I pulled away, fighting the need to tear his clothes off—not in a sexual but just to feel his skin. I met his eyes and saw a peculiar expression I couldn’t begin to decipher, something deep and powerful lingering there. His expression turned grim, and he reached out toward me, but I backed away, shaking my head. I didn’t understand what was happening between us, and I was still a little afraid of him. But more than that I was terrified how far things could go while I was so emotionally raw. Turning around, I ran down the street heedless of the rain or the puddles slowly soaking my skirt.
Something was wrong with me, and I didn’t know what it was. I needed my mom in a way I’d never needed her before, and I was prepared to run the whole way if need be. When I saw the familiar gold sedan pull up to the curb, I nearly sobbed in relief. I wasn’t sure if the school had called her after my hasty departure or if Nate did, and I honestly didn’t care. I collapsed into the passenger seat and buckled in, hugging my knees to my chest. I almost wanted my mom to yell at me for having my feet on the seat. I think I just needed something normal to put the whole mess into perspective. She stared ahead in silence as we drove through the lightly populated streets toward home. I began to shiver, so cold I didn’t think I would ever get warm again. She reached out and placed a hand on my knee and turned the heat up. Her smile was meant to be reassuring as we pulled into the driveway, but it couldn’t penetrate the haze.
I felt like a little girl again as she helped me change into dry clothes and gently dried and combed my hair. She did all the right things in the way only a mom knows how. Before I knew it I was telling her all of it: the police at school, the symbol and its strange effect on me, even trying to tear Nate’s shirt off so I could touch his skin. By the time I ran out of things to tell her, we were curled up in my bed with my head pressed to her chest so I could hear her heartbeat, her arms wrapped tightly around me. After I stopped talking, we lay there for a time in silence listening to the rain on the roof.
“There’s a lot you need to know, Lia. Stuff about you and our whole family. It’s been coming for a while, but I’ve been trying to put it off as long as possible. I think it’s time you knew. Let me call your father and get him home.” With that she stood and walked out of my room, leaving me alone with the rain on the roof and a growing sense of dread.
When Dad got home about twenty minutes later, he came into my room and sat at the foot of my bed the way he had since I was a little girl. He held my eyes with his own moss green ones, and I felt safe. Nothing bad could happen to me when daddy was with me. We sat in silence, his hand on my knee until Mom came back with a glass of Coke for me. Dad gave me a weak smile as Mom settled next to him, her grey eyes lingering on me for a long moment. My heart dropped when I recognized the sadness and regret churning there.