Blue Moon

by Alyson Noel

“Ever,” Mr. Munoz says, as I stand beside him, gaping at Roman’s empty seat as my stomach fills with dread.

  “You’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

  I glance at him, knowing he wants to discuss my attendance, my missed assignments, and other irrelevant topics I don’t need to hear. So I run out the door, racing through the quad and right past the lunch tables before I stop on the curb, gasping in relief when I see him. Or not him, but rather his car. The sleek black BMW he used to prize so much, that’s now coated in a thick layer of dirt and grime and parked rather awkwardly in the no-parking zone.

  Still, despite its filthy state, I gaze at it as though it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Knowing that if his car’s here, then he’s here. And all is okay.

  And just as I’m thinking I should try to move it so it doesn’t get towed away, a throat clears from behind me and a deep voice says, “Excuse me, but aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

  I turn, my gaze meeting Principal Buckley’s when I say, “Um, yeah, but first I just have to—” I motion toward Damen’s poorly parked Beemer as though I’m doing a favor not just for my friend but for the sake of the school as well.

  But Buckley’s less concerned with parking violations and more concerned with repeat truancy offenders like me. And still smarting from our last unfortunate encounter when Sabine pleaded my case from expelled to suspended, he squints as he looks me over and says, “You’ve got two choices. I can call your aunt and ask her to leave work so she can come down here, or—” He pauses, trying to kill me with suspense even though you don’t have to be psychic to know where this is going. “Or I can escort you back to class. Which would you prefer?”

  For a moment, I’m tempted to choose option one—just to see what he’d do. But in the end, I follow him back to my class. His shoes pounding the cement as he leads me across the quad and down the hall before depositing me at Mr. Munoz’s door where my gaze lands on Roman who’s not only occupying his seat but shaking his head and laughing as I slink back toward mine.

  And even though Munoz is used to my erratic behavior by now, he still makes a point of calling on me. Asking me to answer all manner of questions regarding historical events including those that we’ve studied and those that we haven’t. And my mind is so preoccupied with Roman and Damen and my upcoming plans that I just answer robotically, seeing the answers he holds in his head and repeating them pretty much verbatim.

  So when he says, “So tell me, Ever, what did I have for dinner last night?”

  I automatically say, “Two pieces of leftover pizza and a glass and a half of Chianti.” My mind is so ensconced in my own personal dramas it’s a moment before I notice he’s gaping.

  In fact, everyone’s gaping.

  Well, everyone but Roman who just shakes his head and laughs even harder.

  And just as the bell rings and I try to bolt for the door, Munoz steps before me and says, “How do you do it?”

  I press my lips together and shrug as though I’ve no clue what he’s talking about. Though it’s clear he’s not about to let it go, he’s been wondering for weeks.

  “How do you—know stuff?” he says, his eyes narrowed on mine. “About random historical facts we’ve never once studied—about me?”

  I gaze down at the ground and take a deep breath, wondering what it could hurt to throw him a bone. I mean, I’m leaving tonight, and chances are he’ll never remember this anyway, so what harm could it do to tell him the truth?

  “I don’t know.” I shrug. “It’s not like I do anything. Images and information just appear in my head.”

  He looks at me, struggling with whether or not to believe. And not having the time or desire to try to convince him, but still wanting to leave him with something nice, I say, “For instance, I know you shouldn’t give up on your book because it’s going to be published someday.”

  He gapes, his eyes wide, his expression wavering between wild hope and complete disbelief.

  And even though it kills me to add it, even though the whole idea makes me want to hurl, I know there’s something more that needs to be said, it’s the right thing to do. Besides, what could it hurt? I mean, I’m leaving anyway, and Sabine deserves to get out and have a little fun. And other than his penchant for Rolling Stones boxers, Bruce Springsteen songs, and his obsession with Renaissance times—he seems harmless. Not to mention how it’s not going to go anywhere anyway since I specifically saw her getting together with a guy who works in her building …

  “Her name is Sabine,” I say, before I have a chance to overthink it and change my mind. Then seeing the confusion in his eyes, I add, “You know, the petite blonde at Starbucks? The one who spilled her latte all over your shirt? The one you can’t stop thinking about?”

  And when he looks at me, it’s clear that he’s speechless. And preferring to leave it like that, I gather my stuff and head toward the door, glancing over my shoulder to say, “And you shouldn’t be afraid to talk to her. Seriously. Just suck it up and approach her already. You’ll find she’s really nice.”

  forty-one

  When I exit the room, I half expect to find Roman waiting for me with that same taunting gleam in his eye. But he’s not. And when I get to the lunch tables, I know why.

  He’s performing. Orchestrating everyone around him, directing everything they say and do—like a bandleader, a puppet master, a big-top circus ringleader. And just as the hint of something nudges at the back of my mind, just as an inkling of insight begins to take shape—I see him.

  Damen.

  The love of every single one of my lives, now stumbling toward the lunch table, so unstable, so disheveled and haggard, there’s no mistaking that things have progressed at an alarming rate. We are running out of time.

  And when Stacia turns, makes a face, and hisses, “Loo-ser!” I’m stunned to realize the taunt is not meant for me.

  It’s directed at Damen.

  And in a matter of seconds, the whole school joins in. All of the derision once reserved just for me is now directed at him.

  I glance at Miles and Haven, watching as they add their voices to the chorus, then I rush toward Damen, alarmed to find his skin so clammy and cold, those once high cheekbones now alarmingly gaunt, and those deep dark eyes that once held such promise and warmth, now watery and rheumy and barely able to focus. And even though his lips are horribly dry and cracked, I still feel an undeniable longing to press mine against them. Because no matter what he looks like, no matter how much he’s changed, he’s still Damen. My Damen. Young or old, healthy or sick, it doesn’t matter. He’s the only one I’ve ever really cared about—the only one I’ve ever loved—and nothing Roman or anyone else does can ever change that.

  “Hey,” I whisper, my voice cracking as my eyes fill with tears. Tuning out the shrill taunts that surround us as I focus solely on him. Hating myself for turning my back long enough to allow this to happen, knowing he never would’ve let this happen to me.

  He turns toward me, his eyes struggling to focus, and just when I think I’ve captured a glimmer of recognition—it’s gone so fast I’m sure I imagined it.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I say, tugging on his sleeve, trying to pull him alongside me. “What do you say we ditch?” I smile, hoping to remind him of our usual Friday routine. Just reaching the gate when Roman appears.

  “Why do you bother?” he says, his arms folded, head cocked to the side, allowing his Ouroboros tattoo to flash in and out of view.

  I grip Damen’s arm and narrow my gaze, determined to get past Roman whatever it takes.

  “Seriously, Ever.” He shakes his head, glancing from Damen to me. “Why waste your time? He’s old, feeble, practically decrepit, and, I’m sorry to say, but from the looks of things, not long for this earth. Surely you’re not planning to waste your sweet young nectar on this dinosaur?”

  He looks at me, blue eyes blazing, lips curving, glancing at the lunch table just as the shrill of taunts hits the next le
vel.

  And just like that I know.

  The idea that’s been nudging me, poking around the edges, and trying to get my attention, has finally been heard. And even though I’m not sure if I’m right, and knowing I’ll have no choice but to slink off in shame if I’m wrong, I take in the crowd, my eyes moving from Miles to Haven to Stacia to Honor to Craig to every single kid who’s just going through the motions, following along, doing what everyone else says and does without once stopping to question, without once asking why.

  Then I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and focus all of my energy on them when I shout:

  “WAKE UP!!!”

  Then I stand there, far too ashamed to look now that all of their derision has switched from Damen to me. But I can’t let that stop me, I know Roman’s performed some sort of mass hypnosis, putting them into some kind of mindless trance where everyone’s doing his bidding.

  “Ever, please. Save yourself while you still can.” Roman laughs. “Even I can’t help you if you insists on continuing.”

  But I don’t listen to him—can’t listen. I have to find a way to stop him—to stop them! I’ve got to find a way to wake them all up, get them to snap out of it—

  Snap!

  That’s it! I’ll just snap my fingers and—

  I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and yell as loud as I can:

  “SNAP OUT OF IT!”

  Which only results in my classmates going wild, their ridicule hitting the next level as a profusion of soda cans are hurled at my head.

  Roman sighs, looking at me when he says, “Ever, really. I insist. You’ve got to stop this madness, now! You’re making a bloody fool of yourself if you think that’ll work! What’re you gonna do next, slap all their cheeks?”

  I stand there, my breath coming in short shallow gasps, knowing I’m not wrong, despite what he says. I’m sure he’s got them spellbound, hijacked their minds by some kind of trance—

  And then I remember this old documentary I once saw on TV, where the hypnotist brought the patient back not by slapping or snapping but by clapping on the count of three.

  I take a deep breath, watching as my classmates climb on top of the table and benches, the better to pelt me with their uneaten food. And I know it’s my last chance, that if this doesn’t work—well—I don’t know what I will do.

  So I close my eyes, and yell:

  “WAKE UP!”

  Then I count from three to one and clap my hands twice at the end.

  And then—

  And then—nothing.

  The whole school goes silent as they slowly come to.

  They rub their eyes, blinking, yawning, and stretching as though awakening from a very long nap. Gazing around in confusion, wondering why they’re on top of the table with the very same people they once deemed as freaks.

  Craig is the first to react. Finding himself so close to Miles their shoulders practically touch, he bolts for the far end. Reassuring himself with the company of his fellow jocks, reclaiming his manhood with a punch on the arm.

  And when Haven stares at her carrot sticks with a look of absolute disgust, I can’t help but smile, knowing the big happy family is back to their normal routine of name-calling, eye-rolling, and snubbing each other in favor of their usual cliques, returned to a world where animosity and loathing still rule.

  My school is back to normal again.

  I turn toward the gate, prepared to take Roman down, but he’s already gone. So I grip Damen tighter, easing him across the parking lot and into my car as Miles and Haven, the two best friends I’ve missed so much and will never see again, follow along.

  “You guys know I love you, right?” I glance between them, knowing they’ll freak, but it has to be said.

  They look at each other, exchanging a look of alarm, both of them wondering what could’ve possibly happened to the girl they once pegged as the Ice Queen.

  “Um, okay …” Haven says, shaking her head.

  But I just smile and grasp them both to me, squeezing them tightly as I whisper to Miles, “Whatever you do don’t stop acting or singing, it’s going to bring you—” I stop, wondering if I should tell him how I just saw a flash of bright lights and Broadway, but not wanting to rob him of the journey by always looking ahead, I say, “It’s going to bring you great happiness.”

  And before he can even respond, I’ve moved on to Haven, knowing I have to get this over with quick, so I can get Damen to Ava’s, but determined to find a way to urge her to love herself more, to stop losing herself in others, and that Josh is worth hanging on to for however long it lasts. “You have so much value,” I tell her. “So much to give—I just wish you could see how bright your star truly does shine.”

  “Um, gag!” she says, laughing as she untangles herself from my grip. “Are you okay?” She squints between me and Damen. “And what’s up with him? Why’s he all hunched over like that?”

  I shake my head and climb inside, having no more time to waste. And as I back out of my space, I look out my window and say, “Hey, do you guys know where Roman lives?”

  forty-two

  I never imagined I’d be grateful for my sudden growth spurt and newly bulging biceps, but it’s because of my new size and strength (not to mention Damen’s emaciated state) that I practically carry him all the way from my car to Ava’s front door in just a handful of steps. Supporting his body as I knock on her door, fully prepared to break it down if I have to, but glad when she answers and waves us both in.

  I head for the hall as Damen stumbles along with me, pausing just outside the indigo door and gaping at Ava when she hesitates to open it.

  “If your room is as sacred and pure as you think it is, then don’t you think that will only help Damen? Don’t you think he needs all the positive energy he can get?” I say, knowing she’s conflicted about admitting the “contaminated” energy of a sick and dying man, which is just so ridiculous I hardly know where to begin.

  She looks at me, holding my gaze far longer than my diminishing patience would prefer, and when she finally gives in, I barrel right past her, getting Damen settled on the futon in the corner and covering his body with the wool throw she keeps nearby.

  “The juice is in my trunk, along with the antidote,” I say, tossing her the keys. “The juice won’t be any good for another two days, but he should be much better tonight, when the full moon rises and the antidote is ready. And then you can give him the juice later, to help rebuild his strength. Even though he probably won’t even need it since it’ll all reverse anyway. But still—just in case—” I nod, wishing I felt half as confident as I sound.

  “Are you sure this’ll work?” she asks, watching as I pull my very last bottle of elixir from my bag.

  “It has to.” I gaze at Damen, so pale, so weak, so—old. And yet, he’s still Damen. Traces of his amazing beauty still present, marred only slightly by the acceleration of years resulting in his silver hair, his nearly translucent skin, the fan of wrinkles surrounding his eyes. “It’s our only hope,” I add, waving her away as I drop to my knees, the door closing behind me as I smooth his hair off his face and gently force him to drink.

  At first he fights it, thrashing his head from side to side and keeping his mouth firmly closed. But when it’s clear that I’m not about to give up, he gives in. Allowing the liquid to flow down his throat as his skin warms and his color returns. Emptying the bottle and gazing at me with such love and reverence, I’m overcome with joy just to know that he’s back.

  “I missed you,” I murmur, nodding and blinking and swallowing hard, my heart bursting with yearning as I press my lips to his cheek. All the pent-up emotions I’ve fought so hard to keep in check all this time, now rushing to the surface, bubbling over, as I kiss him again and again. “You’re going to be okay,” I tell him. “You’re going to be back to your old self very soon.”

  My sudden burst of happiness withering like a popped balloon as his gaze turns dark and sweeps over my face.


  “You left me,” he whispers.

  I shake my head, wanting him to know it’s not true. I never left him—he left me—but it wasn’t his fault and I forgive him. I forgive him for everything he’s ever done—or said—even though it’s already too late—even though it doesn’t really matter anymore—

  But instead I just say, “No. I haven’t. You’ve been ill. Very ill. But it’s over with now and soon you’ll be better. You just have to promise to drink the antidote when—” When Ava gives it to you—the words I can’t bear to say, won’t say, not wanting him to know that this is our last moment together—our final good-bye.

  “All you need to know is that you’re going to be fine. But you need to watch out for Roman. He’s not your friend. He’s evil. He’s trying to kill you. So you must regain your strength so you can take him down.”

  I press my mouth to his forehead, his cheek, unable to stop until I’ve covered his entire face with my kiss. Tasting my own salty tears on the curve of his lips, as I breathe him in, hoping to imprint his scent, his taste, the feel of his skin, wanting to carry the memory of him wherever I go.

  But even after I tell him I love him—even after I lie down beside him, pull him into my arms, and press his body to mine—even after I remain there for hours, lying right alongside him as he sleeps—even after I close my eyes and concentrate on melding my energy with his, hoping to heal him with my love, my essence, my very being, trying to impress some small part of myself onto him—even after all of that—the moment I move away, he says it again.

  An accusation from his dream state, intended only for me.

  “You left me.”

  Not realizing until I’ve said my final good-bye and closed the door behind me, that he’s not referring to the past.

  He’s prophesying our future.

  forty-three

  I head down the hall and into the kitchen, my heart heavy, my legs wooden, and every step away from Damen just makes it worse.