HYBRID

by Emery Skye

  "You scared the shit out of me!" I shriek louder than necessary, but the adrenaline is rushing through my veins. "Why do you have to eat so fast? No one is going to take your food from you!" I collapse into my seat and sigh in relief.

  His red, watery eyes sparkle with amusement.

  "What?" I bark tersely.

  "I'm sorry, Lexi. One question?" He asks and his lip twitches up.

  I know he's baiting me, but I'm too worked up to care. "What?”

  “What were you planning to do with this?" He lifts the water bottle and I realize it's practically empty. I roll my eyes and throw an apple at him. He catches it easily, just like I knew he would.

  "I see how it is. You guys forget all about me or what?" I jump at the sound of Caitlin's voice. She gazes down at Pierce and I through her green doe eyes.

  I jump from my seat and bring my only other and absolute best friend into a huge, suffocating hug. Caity's thick auburn hair is in a messy, loose braid, spilling over her shoulder. She giggles.

  " I guess that means you didn't forget about me," she teases and squeezes tight. I inhale the sweet smell of honey and chamomile that matches my best friend so well. In my time of need, Caity offered the greatest calm in my life; and with the help of Pierce, was able to bring me back to this world.

  Pierce clears his throat and I release Caity from my stronghold. Those emerald green eyes shine brightly behind her thick, black eyelashes. Caity’s beauty is second to none.

  "Hello, Caity," Pierce says so formally I want to smack him. "How was your break?" he asks in a posh tone. He's been acting strange since he returned from break and turned eighteen.

  I watch as little wrinkles form in worry near the corners of her eyes. "What's wrong?" she asks serenely, like a stream flowing on a pleasant summer day.

  Caity encompasses benevolence; sometimes I wonder how the two of us are friends. I'm moody with a tortured soul and she’s a saint.

  "Nothing," I say tersely.

  Her kind eyes search mine, so I offer up what I have, "Pierce scared me," I glower in his direction.

  "Is that true, Pierce?" she asks with a hint of motherly authority.

  His brow furrows. "It wasn't my fault. I choked," he counters.

  Caity rolls her eyes. I laugh at the expression that anything but matches her personality.

  "My break was wonderful," she coos, taking a seat by the large bay window. Caity is from Ireland and went home for the holidays. "Ireland is so beautiful, I'll never understand why mum and dad left," she says and stares at the wall behind me.

  Caity doesn't have much of an Irish accent having moved here before she turned ten, but sometimes, I hear it peek through.

  "How was yours, Pierce?" She tilts her head expectantly and I notice her pale complexion has a little redder tint than normal.

  "Fine," he snaps.

  Caity’s frowns.

  Between the three of us, Caity’s the most delicate, but Pierce treats me that way. Shows how blind guys can be.

  "Did you do anything fun?" she prods with a half-smile. I want to tell her to quit while she's ahead. I've asked Pierce a hundred times how his birthday was and what he did, but he never answers me. He even told me to leave him alone about it.

  "I didn't do shit," he bites.

  I jump to Caity's defense. "Don't be an ass, Pierce."

  He glares at me, while Caity calmly declares, "That’s okay. Pierce has a right to his privacy."

  She places her hands in her lap. I know she’s sad.

  "What about you?" she looks to me with loud, expectant eyes.

  "It was fine. I didn't do anything much. I hung out with Nana for a couple days and then came back," I recall my pathetic vacation. My Nana was glued to the TV screen watching some paranormal TV series, while she drank too much coffee that was more like pissed-off tea.

  Caity frowns.

  "Anything fun?" she asks hopeful.

  "I got a lot of work done," I say.

  "She also played a lot of poker," Pierce cocks his head.

  I glare at him. Playing poker at the local bar is not how Caity would have wanted me to spend my break. She frowns upon my antisocial tendencies, but what can I say? I have a gift for gambling; I’m observant, remember, and need the money for life after high school.

  "That explains the added red, I suppose," she observes. She shakes her head, then her face relaxes into perfect composure. "I knew you were up to something, Alexis. I'm not dumb, ya know," she sips her tea, which I'm sure contains one chamomile and one green tea tea-bag.

  "I know you're not dumb," I assure her as I fidget with the black sleeves of my hoodie. "You're the one who went to Ireland. You should be telling us about all the great things you did," I smile and use the last card up my sleeve—deflection.

  She spills. I was upset when Caity told us she wouldn't be able to call while she was away, but it's great to hear everything now. She tells me about all the cool places she visited, the time she spent with her cousins, Alster and Alby. I'm grateful Caity's parents didn't name her Alby. I laugh as she describes them. Every year, it seems like the twins get fatter and frecklier from her descriptions. Of course, Caity would never call someone fat, that would be hurtful and Caity never does or says anything to hurt anyone.

  Caity describes her trip to the Irish Film Institute in detail. I wonder why she wants to study art and film when she's clearly a pianist, but I don't argue. She's had her eyes set on being the next great director since I met her. She's a hopeless romantic, who wants to create love on the big screen. As much as the sentiment makes me nauseous, I hold back my insults.

  I cringe when she brings up Trinity College. It’s not because it doesn’t sound amazing. It does.

  Trinity College sounds like an oasis of peace and beauty the way she describes it, with its mix of classical and contemporary buildings interspersed with elegant gardens.

  But all I can think about is how we're going to be separated next year when she moves to Ireland to attend Trinity and I'll still be here, probably working multiple jobs and trying to make ends meet. I'm not jealous, I'm sad she'll be gone.

  "Sounds great," Pierce grumbles unenthusiastically and I want to smack the bitterness out of his mouth. When we spoke this morning, he was almost like his old self, but now he's back to the after-break prickly guy.

  "It was," she replies with a smile. She stares into my eyes like she's peering into my soul. "You should have come with me," she tells me as she places a her fair-skinned hand on my wrist. "There were a bunch of rugby boys who," she pretends to fan herself, "are so handsome."

  I laugh. "I'm not trying to get a guy, Caity," I warn.

  "I know," she frowns, but her eyes still sparkle.

  "Stop trying to set her up," Pierce tells her.

  Caity turns to him with newfound resolution, "Pierce Aiden Thatcher," she says, "you will not act like a meanie anymore."

  I laugh at her word choice.

  He pauses; and drop his chin, like a child being reprimanded. "I’m sorry, Caity," he apologizes.

  She smiles, "It's okay."

  "God's not going to strike you down if you use a cuss word,” I say sarcastically.

  She glares at me as she adjusts her off-the-shoulder azure sweater.

  Pierce reaches into his backpack and hands me a package of pencils. "Thought you might need these.”

  Caity giggles and Pierce laughs, killing any leftover tension.

  “I never will understand how someone can lose so many pencils,” I say to myself. “You'd think I eat them.”

  They laugh harder.

  The morning bell rings, emanating through the dining hall. We collect our bags: Caity and I sling ours over our shoulders and Pierce puts his on his back.

  "See ya' at lunch?"

  "Yeah," I pause, something nags at my mind. "Well, actually, I have some work to do at the stables today." As a scholarship kid, my giveback to Fairmont consists of working at the school's world-renowned stables, or at least the tea
m here was world-renowned once upon a time. Now it's mediocre.

  I haven't ridden since my barn burned down, taking my best friend with it. The clouds of depression swell. These thoughts used to cause immediate paralysis, now, they only work depression deeper into the crevices. I'm not sure which is worse.

  Pierce's eyes seem sad as he turns toward me, his big letterman style jacket stays stiff next to his broad upper-body.

  His sandy-blonde hair shimmers in the sun.

  It's a shame that I’m too screwed up to ever even consider dating. No, he deserves more than I could ever offer. My eyes sting.

  My shrink tells me these thoughts are unhealthy. I get that, really, I do. I understand that I am more than a basket case, but it doesn't change the way I feel. It's like people think slinging together some scholarly words and backing it with a pretty piece of paper and a title has the power to ward off terrifying or self-destruction emotions. It doesn't.

  "Come on, Lexi...working at lunch?" He rubs his hands and cups them by his mouth. Caity’s shivering in her brown suede boots, clearly freezing. I want to tell them both to get a real coat, but know my efforts are futile.

  Pierce hardly ever wears clothes that one would consider acceptable by normal people standards and Caity's always cold no matter what she wears. I tell her to eat more and get some meat on her bones, but it sounds hypocritical since she's only a little smaller than me.

  "Dinner?" I counter and shoot him a cute smile that I hope says, "I'm sorry."

  "Yeah, yeah," he grins.

  THREE

  Main Hall is nestled along a hillside. It’s almost an exact replica of the Stanley Hotel. I know this because my parents were married at the Stanley and I've seen their wedding pictures. Parents. It seems that the first day of classes are riddled with thoughts of my diseased parents.

  “Watch it,” a football hits my shoulder. I clutch the burning muscles.

  I grab the football off the ground and chuck it back at the couple of teenagers. They’re at least thirty-five yards out, but I hit one of the guys square in the chest.

  He rubs his chest as his friend glares at me and shouts, “FREAK.”

  I shoot arrows with my eyes and continue onward.

  I pass the snow-covered courtyard. Mountains of snow falls from the roof as I approach the large wraparound patio. A great balcony juts out from the main structure on the second floor and a smaller balcony on the third floor. Three large American flags fly from up on the roof; one sits at the center and the others on each side.

  When I walk into philosophy, most of the students have already taken their seats. I follow suit. Caity sits next to me and I'm grateful for her companionship. No one sits near us and I prefer it that they don't. Most people avoid being near me. I know the things they say about me: I'm a freak, demon, witch. I've heard it all. Kids are mean, but when there's a girl with eyes like mine— well, I might as well wear a target on my back.

  Caity giggles and the honeyed tone of her voice lingers in stifling air.

  "What?" I ask.

  She smiles. "Lexi, are you upset?"

  "No," I say.

  "Then, why do you look like you're about to go on a murderous rampage?" she dips her rounded chin down.

  I try to smile, but fail. "Alexis, stop acting like a sour puss and show off those perfect teeth of yours."

  I finally smile.

  "Better," she beams.

  Mr. Hininger strolls in as the last bell rings; everyone quiets down. Caity and I both turn to the front. He's one of the few teachers that I like. He's brilliant and easy-to-follow. He’s also ancient with thinning white hair and milky-white skin.

  "Good morning, Class," he mutters quietly. So quietly that I doubt anyone in the back of the room heard him. "I think we all could use a little bit more help with this early morning 'Ethics in Philosophy' class. Tough stuff."

  He tells us we'll be studying ethics from deontological, ontological and other various perspectives. Occasionally, he writes on the board or takes a sip from his Styrofoam cup with one very shaky, frail hand and more than once, I catch myself cringing at the possibility of it spilling. It's no secret the contents are hot.

  He's opening his book when a girl walks in. I recognize her from my English class last year. She's a cute, short, quirky brunette. Emily, I think her name is. She hands Mr. Hininger a pink slip.

  "Now?" He asks. He hates disruptions. Tardiness is worse than an altogether absence.

  "Sorry," she squeaks. He raises his hand and Emily cowers. I catch the movement no matter how slight and I fleetingly wonder about her life outside of Fairmont.

  "Ms. Tolis," I glance at him in disbelief. I notice a worried expression on Caity's face. "You're needed in the Administration Building."

  I retrieve the note from his decrepit fingers, he shoots me a stern look and I hope I pass back an apologetic smile. However, you never know considering how horrifying Caity made my expressions out to be. "You should probably grab your things, class is about over."

  I read the note. There are few reasons why anyone ever went to the Admin Building: one, disciplinary action; two, family matters; three, paperwork. Maybe there was a problem with my scholarship paperwork or something.

  I walk out the large double doors and trudge up the path towards the Admin.

  Damn this place and their stupid hills. You either have to climb up or slide down a hill to get anywhere. They couldn't make everything flat, could they?

  After nearly slipping on ice four times, internally battling my anxieties about this pink slip, and fifteen minutes later, I finally make it to the stairs in front of the Admin Building. I stop and stare at the stairs in disdain, but quickly shield my eyes from the blinding sun.

  I moan and groan because I hate stairs and the cold stings my lungs with every breath. You'd think I'm a chain smoker, but I'm not. I begin my ascent slowly and cautiously. I spot a boy at the distant top.

  He's drinking from a flask. I flinch in derision.

  He watches me as I climb the wide, cement staircase and I swear he's wearing a cocky half-smile.

  I slip. I try to grasp the rail, but it's too late and ineffective. I lose my footing and feel myself falling back. My stomach lurches into my throat. I let out a stifled scream when, like lightening, I am jerked back up. The boy holds my arm. His hand easily covers my entire bicep, even in the hoodie.

  I look up at him. He's two heads taller than me; I stand about five-foot-six. I jerk my arm out of his grasp, stung by his closeness. I'm not the type of girl who gets flustered by guys, but the way he's looking at me, like I'm prey, is nothing short of unnerving.

  "Th…thanks," I stutter like a moronic imbecile and mentally smack myself for sounding immature.

  "Not real graceful, are you?" He smiles a cocky side-grin. He stands confidently, the way only arrogant guys stand. He has dark tan skin; something a Coloradan doesn't see much of in the cloudy mountains during this wintery time of year.

  Faint scars journey up his left cheekbone, along his jaw and one down his neck. His dark brown, almost black hair falls in waves around his ears and his black as soot eyelashes caress his thick black eyebrows. His eyes are a pale cerulean, like the bright sky. They instantly remind me of...my brother's. It's eerie how similar they are.

  "Chase," I say so quietly I almost don't hear it. I don't know why I say it. Chase is gone. My brother is gone. But, those eyes-- his eyes...

  "Who?" The nameless guy asks bringing me out of my stupor. His thick black eyebrows lower on his forehead.

  "Nothing. No one!" I snap.

  He raises a dubious eyebrow, seemingly surprised by my outburst. I'll admit, I'm surprised too.

  He steps toward me. I step back, matching his stride. His eyes sparkle with a dark, playful gleam.

  My skin is suddenly much warmer on this January day than it was before.

  He takes another step and I match him, again and again; we move like two boxers in a ring. I can't take any more steps when I back against
a wall. He moves closer and now the heat is blood-boiling.

  My heart pounds loudly in my chest and I curse this stupid reaction that makes no sense to me. Normally, I'd smack a douche-canoe for entering my personal bubble. Hello? Was the concept of "personal space" that hard to understand? I don't think so.

  We are in a stare-down and neither of us has blinked. I'm torn between wanting to smack or kiss the look off his face.

  Kiss? Whoa, Lexi. Where did that come from?

  "Back up,” I tell him.

  "Really?" he breathes and I can smell a sweet minty aroma as it engulfs my senses.

  I inhale deeply to regain composure. "Really what?" I bite the words.

  “Is this any way to treat the person who just saved your life?”

  I harrumph. “I would’ve been fine. You hardly saved my life.”

  His eyes narrow. "You didn’t enjoy being saved by me?" he asks. I'm not sure if he's playing with me or being a prick.

  "You didn’t." I sneer.

  His brow furrows and I think I've surprised him for some odd reason. "What if I told you that you did?"

  "I'd tell you to find yourself a good shrink," I fake a smile.

  He tilts his head to the side and his lips tip down. If I were playing poker, I'd say this guy got a shitty-as-hell hand.

  "As much fun as this is.... Well, it's not. Later." I don't know why, but I need to get away from him.

  "Lexi," the front desk assistant looks up and greets me with an overzealous grin. "There you are." There's the notorious British accent I'm all too fascinated with.

  "Hi, Miss Lawry. You sent for me?" I’m a little pissed she jerked me out of philosophy class. It's hard enough for me to get by in my classes when I attend them.

  I hand over the slip and take a look around. The Administration Building is the oldest on campus and was once a bed and breakfast, I’ve been told. It's a two-story building, quaint. Behind the front desk are two French doors. Steps beyond the doors is a mini kitchen and various little offices for each of the school counselors, with the nurse's station on the lower level.

  I have gotten well-acquainted with the nurse's station and grimace when thinking about my last trip there: four stitches in my knee from plowing down the stairs and busting it open.