“Seems logical. If the point of running away is to see if anyone notices, and someone does, there’s no longer any point in running away.”
“Makes sense I guess.” She bit in her lip. “Maybe I’ll go wherever you’re going.”
Cameron shook his head and looked up at the sky and the crisscrossing of the stars and the far off glimmer of distant planets. “It’s too late now. I’ve missed it.”
Myra’s smiled died. “I didn’t know you were on a schedule.”
Cameron shook his head. “It’s not a big deal. There will be other nights.”
Myra smiled at him. “Maybe there will be.”
And they left each other, Myra heading home, and Cameron climbing the roof back to his empty room.
Two
Grounded
Myra slammed the front door closed behind her. As loud as she could. On purpose.
Onna walked by, still awake even though it was late, her pink pajama shorts too short. She pressed her bunny rabbit cell phone to her ear and motioned for Myra to be quieter.
“It’s just my sister being loud….” she said into the phone. She stood in front of the fridge, rifling through its contents, pulling out her favorite raw steak cubes. The refrigerator light illuminated her perfect, almost sculpted features and silken onyx hair.
She and Myra looked alike to most people, except for their yin yang hair colors. But to Myra, they couldn’t be more different. They were both light-a-match hot, but not in the same way, and not for the same reasons.
Onna covered the mouth of her phone and peeked over the fridge door. “Mom’s home,” she said.
“For how long?”
Onna rolled her eyes in response.
Myra climbed the stairs and peeked through the door to their mother’s room. She was home. Not that it made any difference to Myra at all. It wasn’t like she was going to wake up in the morning to her mom making bacon and asking if she wanted to come along to run errands. Dana wasn’t a real mother. She was a salary, the one who paid bills and left shopping money. She was a pair of shoes by the door and an empty cup of coffee in the sink. A post it note on the fridge. The voice after the atonal beep on Myra’s voicemail.
Myra closed the door to her room and twisted the lock shut. It was dark until she flipped the switch. Posters of too many bands cluttered the walls, drowning the room in black and green and purple. She kicked off her combat boots and plopped on the bed, wishing she was more tired, wishing she had someone to talk to about the conversation she’d had with Cameron Anders. She’d seen Cameron before, of course. He came to some herd events since they were kids, even though he was a blue dragon. He was there sometimes when Onna wanted to hang out with Cale. But Myra’d never actually heard him say a word.
By the next day, she was more than ready to bail on the herd gathering. She knew it would be hot out, and her makeup was already leaky, her hair frizzing no matter how she tried to straighten the almost platinum blonde tresses. She brushed her bangs down and stared at the mirror.
“What’s the point?” she told herself. She had no reason to look good other than to satisfy her own standards. And today was a don’t-feel-like-it day.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” Onna said, sneaking to Myra’s dresser to steal some of her twin’s scarlet rose blush.
“Why would you think that?”
Onna fluffed the brush over her cheekbones. “I don’t know. You haven’t been into…you know…anything fun.”
“Maybe I have a different idea of what’s fun.”
“Like sitting at home all day?”
“Yep.” Myra glared at her sister, but Onna didn’t seem to notice as she touched up her mascara, her chest tight and her tone glib. “I never ever leave the house. I’m just sitting in my room for days on end.”
“Exactly,” Onna said, missing the sarcasm. “You’re the weirdest girl I know, Myra, I swear.” She pointed the black mascara wand at her sister. “I mean look at you. You’re even more beautiful than me, and you’ve got the most magnificent fashion sense. But you just…you lack in the charm department. You’re too blunt. You scare people.”
I scare people? Myra knew dragons who literally ran the other way when they saw Onna coming. She was loud, jealous, and quick-tempered. “Oh wow…I had better strangle my personality before it ruins all your parties. Don’t want people to get to know me the way I am or anything.”
Onna made a face at her. “Feisty, too.” She batted her lashes, double checking them in the mirror.
Of course she’s double checking. Cale will be there. To her sister, there was no one else. Myra could remember the first time Onna had tackled the Anders brother at a herd gathering. She’d decided, from that day on, that he’d be hers. Hadn’t worked out for her quite yet.
“Myra, you’ve got to try. Being sweet makes people like you, and you won’t get there without trying.”
Myra bumped her sister over so she could touch up her lip stain. “I like how I am, Onna. I’m not going to pretend to be sweet.”
“Then don’t complain that people don’t want to be around you.”
“I never even mentioned anything like that.”
“I’m just saying. Cale would probably like to hang out more if my sister wasn’t leering at everyone from across the room.”
“Hang with Cale without me, then.”
Onna sighed. “I don’t want him to think it’s like a date or anything. You’re my buffer.”
Myra rolled her eyes. “God forbid he realizes you like him.”
Onna pursed her lips and put the mascara down. “Feisty, Myra. Very feisty. That’s why I would never expect you to understand.” And she walked out.
Myra sighed as she pulled on her go-to spiked gladiator sandals. The herd gatherings weren’t so bad, and honestly, she wouldn’t mind the food. People mostly left her alone anyway. She’d just stand in a corner and ‘leer.’
When she got to the Anders’ house, the smell of meat on a grill wafted over to her. She filled her plate and made a beeline for the empty picnic table. No one bothered to say anything to her. She didn’t have anything to say to them. It would all be the same. “Oh hi hun, how’s your mom? How’s your sister? You’re becoming such a beautiful young dragon. Too bad you aren’t a social butterfly like your sister. The two of you would be unstoppable.”
As she licked the barbecue sauce off her fingers and scarfed down the last of her ribs, Myra couldn’t stop stealing glances over to the steps near the back of the patio. Cameron sat there, in the shade, a book in his hand. His eyes scanned the pages, moving so quickly they almost vibrated. He flipped a page every few seconds, his lips in a hard line, turned down at the corners.
Myra stood up, tossed her plate away and, for reasons she couldn’t fully explain, let her legs take her over to him.
“Hey.”
He didn’t look up, his eyes still darting over the pages, his brows furrowed in concentration.
“Hey,” she said a little louder.
He glanced up, surprised. “Me?”
“Yeah you…hey.”
“Oh. Hey.”
“Let me see your book.” She held out her hand.
He closed it and passed it to her, a flicker of confusion in his blue eyes. He bore the same fresh cut on his lip as he had the night before.
She turned it over in her hands, reading the back of it. A lot of lengthy words about the theory of entropy and matter’s natural tendency to pummel towards chaos and self-destruction. She felt her brain go sluggish just trying to piece the sentences together.
“Is it good?” she asked.
“Not really.”
“Then why are you reading it?”
“So I look busy.”
She smiled and gestured to the party. “You must hate this.”
“More than almost anything.”
“Because you don’t belong here.” She sighed and crossed her arms so she could hug herself. “It sucks.”
“You could fit i
n.”
“No.” She shook her head, and her hair swished around her shoulders. She tucked it behind her ear, revealing a small scar on her jawline. “I can’t.”
He decided to let it go. “Did they notice you’d left last night?”
“No. Did you get caught sneaking out?”
“No.”
Myra played with the lining of her pockets. “So then…want to run away with me tonight?”
Cameron blinked at her. “Are you making fun of me?”
“What? Why would I be making fun of you?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I don’t get red dragon jokes.”
She shook her head. “No joke.”
“Alright then.”
“Hey…” she remembered right in time, “may I ask you a question?”
Cameron sort of smiled at that. “You may.”
“What happened to your face?”
“There was an altercation.”
Myra’s eyes widened as she sat on the step beside him. “Mac?”
Cameron reeled. “Mac? No not my father. That’s not his character type, psychologically speaking. But Rory and I do not often get along.”
“What did you do to him?”
“Why are you assuming I did something to him? Why not the other way around?”
“Because you look kind of smug.”
“I do not.”
She pointed. “There it is. The corners of your mouth are turned up just a little even though you’re trying to look serious.”
Cameron did smile then. “You’re clever.”
“You’re cute.”
He wrinkled his nose at her. “Did you just call me cute?”
Myra rolled her eyes. “You know, most boys would be happy to have a pretty girl think they’re cute.”
“Cute…? Like a squirrel? Or a baby bird?”
“No, Cameron. Like a boy.”
“Oh.” He bit in his lip. “Well thank you.”
She nodded. “Have you eaten yet?”
“I already ate this week, thank you.”
She gawked. “Blue dragons only eat once a week? I eat constantly.”
“If a blue is purely academic and less active, we could go for up to three weeks without food or water. Besides, I would never eat here. It’s embarrassing to eat in public.”
She leaned in a bit, her blonde hair slipping over her shoulder. “Really? Why?”
Cameron stared at her, then looked away. How could he explain? There was no way to share all the nuances of blue dragon society with her. And even if he had the time, she wouldn’t want to listen. She’d be bored. She’d think he was too different, too strange, too blue.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said.
Myra crossed her arms. “Oh so now you’re just done talking to me?”
“Yes.” He tried not to inhale. She smelled like lilacs. The empiricist in him wanted to examine the source of the fragrance more closely.
“Seriously, Cameron?”
“Yes.”
And she stared at him, looked at him up and down before she stood and walked away—back to her own table.
Cameron wished his punishment was over so he could go inside, so he didn’t have to look at her sitting alone. But there she was. Stuck in a world of people too unlike her to know she was even there.
Three
Pockets
Cameron pulled his desk in front of the broken door and sat so he could push his sneakers against it. Rory, enfuriated, rammed his shoulder into the makeshift contraption with all his might, forcing Cameron to wince in rhythm.
When the door finally opened a few inches, Rory stuck his arm through, scrambling to reach his little brother.
“I’m going to kill you, Cameron!” His sweaty, red face pushed into the crack between the broken door and the wall.
Cam said nothing. Just kicked his legs so Rory’s arm was pinched in the door.
“Are you crazy?!” Rory screamed, trying to remove his arm.
Cameron saw Cale’s eye through the slat in the door, peeking in above Rory’s head.
“You okay, Cam?”
“I’m not the one with my arm in the door.”
“Rory!” Cale started.
“No!” Rory huffed, rage taking his breath away. “He deserves it. The little twit deserves it.”
“You can’t keep beating up your baby brother, Rory. And you’re too old to get grounded. Act like an adult.”
Rory’s bulging eyeball glared through the door. “He just had to. He just had to start blabbing to make me look like an idiot in front of her. He did it on freaking purpose.”
“I did not intend to stunt your sexual endeavors. I was only making conversation. That’s supposed to be polite.”
“You wanted me to look stupid.”
“That’s merely a byproduct of conversing with someone much smarter than yourself. It’s not my fault you appeared stupid. It’s yours.”
Rory roared and shoved at the door, almost making it inside. But Cale managed to peel him away and push him toward the staircase.
“Go outside and punch something that isn’t your brother’s face, Rory.”
Cameron finally relaxed his legs at the sound of the front door slamming. Cale sighed and looked in through the crack.
“Cam....”
“I know.”
“Did you do it on purpose?”
“I never actually do it on purpose, Cale.”
“But Rory can’t understand that. And you’ve got to come more than halfway. You should know better.”
“You’re right. As usual.”
Cale paused a moment, wishing he didn’t have to be right about things like this, wishing his brothers liked each other even a little bit.
“We can fix this door tonight if you want. Maybe get you a few more deadbolts so you don’t have to use your own body.”
He was teasing. It got a shadow of a chuckle from Cameron.
That night, he sat in the back of Rory’s truck and tried not to stare. The others weren’t distracting enough. Onna was up front, squished in the cab between Rory and Cale, no doubt trying to talk Cale into proposing, even though they were just seventeen. Cale had his hand out the window, more than likely feeling the air currents, imagining what it would be like to find a rider, to fly.
But Myra wasn’t hiding the fact that she was staring. She sat facing Cam, her arm hugging her leg. She wore her combat boots again, the laces tied all the way up, covering nearly half of her black leggings. Her hood was pulled over her hair, loose tendrils whipping across her fair skin. She wasn’t smiling, certainly not flirting—simply murdering him with her eyes.
“May I help you?” He finally asked.
“I didn’t think you were talking to me. Am I worth a conversation all of a sudden?”
Cameron winced inside. “You’ve misinterpreted—”
“Doesn’t matter if a girl misinterprets. I feel how I feel. And how I feel is worthless.”
“Well, you’re wrong.”
“Doesn’t matter if a girl is wrong. She never is.”
“Then what am I allowed to say?”
“You can say you’re sorry for hurting my feelings. I’ll be mad at you for a little longer, and then I’ll decide whether to forgive you or not.”
“I don’t like apologizing.” He frowned.
“Then you don’t like being forgiven.”
Cameron raised his eyebrows. “You come to very sound logical conclusions, Myra.”
“So?”
“So I like it.”
A smile played at the corners of her mouth. She looked up at him from beneath her bangs. “That’s too bad.”
“Oh?”
“We’re here.”
She jumped out of the back of the truck, landing deftly, as a red dragon should, and walked into the store behind the others, her hands safe in her pockets.
“What are we doing here, again?” she asked.
“Getting me a new bedroom door.”
“What happened to your old one?”
“Rory ripped it off its hinges during the lucky jersey debacle.”
She chuckled as Cameron caught up to her. Side by side, they took their time through Walmart, let the others rough house ahead of them.
“They are so loud,” Myra commented.
Cameron looked sideways at them. “You should be too.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a red dragon trait, Myra. And you, I’m quite sure, are a red dragon.”
She stopped, took her hand out of her pockets and pointed a finger at him. Her nail polish had changed from black to a deep purple.
“I’m going to set you straight right now, Mr. Anders, because you’re obviously too dumb to know you offended me. You can’t just lump people all into the same category because they’re the same race. It’s unfair. Yes, I may have red dragon tendencies. And yes, I love my people. But I am more than that. I’m a dragon. I have the freedom to take different interests, to acquire different tastes. My race is part of who I am. I am not my race. Is that clear?”
Cameron bit his lip to keep from saying what he wanted to say. That her tirade was factually, existentially, anthropologically and sexually stimulating. Instead he just nodded.
She let him walk on in silence, still by her side.
“Sorry,” she said after a while, once they were near the electronics section. “I just…get rubbed the wrong way sometimes. I don’t always think the same as my sister, and people don’t understand that. Especially since we’re twins.”
“It makes sense to me,” Cameron said. “It’s most likely that you sought to forge your own identity, separate, perhaps opposite from your sister, at a very young age. Onna probably never had to think that way, since you were so adamant that you were different. Your distancing yourself meant that she didn’t have to try as hard to be her own identity. You’d already taken yours out of the picture.”
Myra grinned. “Apt. Apt analysis, Dr. Cameron.” She paused at the howls coming from somewhere in the megastore. Her sister and the other reds were still enjoying themselves. “And now for my trick. I say that you, in some small ways, try to fit in with your brothers. But the very act of trying distorts any hope that you might actually accomplish it. And so your ‘trying’ and failing comes off as a deliberate attempt to sabotage and instigate. The harder you try, the worse you are alienated.”
Sole: A Blue Novella (The Core Series Book 2) Page 2
