by Kristie Cook
With that parting kiss, he stepped back and disappeared into the forest.
I stood there blinking. Then, like someone had flipped a switch, reality flooded back. Fear, confusion, and a sensation like withdrawal rose and plummeted, colliding with everything inside me. My body shook. I felt emotional and raw.
I walked back to the house in a daze. As real as it felt, I knew my brain was inventing Torin. I had stayed at a mental hospital for several weeks after my mother had been murdered. The doctors there said minds are capable of unbelievable things. People who suffered through tragedy and wanted to escape from the harshness of reality would create entire worlds more actual to them than the real one. The doctors told me I was probably creating these people and creatures to hide from the loss I felt from her death. That had to be what was happening. Torin could not be real. He couldn’t …
EIGHT
Kennedy and Ryan had called me a dozen times since the previous day. As much as I loved them, I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. I should have known they would not put up with my silence for long. They came over after school, before Mark and I left for our appointment at Silverwood.
They hugged me and made me feel better, as they went through all the emotions I had gone through—shock, anger, and even a little grief. They couldn’t believe what had happened and how I was being treated.
“This is so not fair. You didn’t do anything. They don’t even have any proof. This can’t be legal,” Kennedy exclaimed. “We should fight them. My mom could help.”
Kennedy’s mom had been a lawyer before she put her career on hold after Kennedy was adopted. Two years after, Mrs. Johnson got pregnant with Halley. There was no doubt they loved Kennedy, but I could tell she felt the difference between her and her sister. Deep down, she felt she didn’t belong to them, not really. Something I understood.
I shook my head. “No.”
“No?” Kennedy crossed her arms, looking confused.
“No,” Ryan piped up. “She’s right. I know what it feels like to be an outsider in this town, even though I was born and raised here.” Sadness crept over Ryan’s features. Because Ryan had come out in high school, dealing with all the discrimination and nasty comments on a daily basis, made me adore him more. At least his mom was supportive; his dad was still hoping Ryan was going through a phase. “Fighting them will only make it worse. You can’t win against these people, especially against someone like Kallie Parson. I know.”
I couldn’t blame my circumstances on Kallie, but I had no doubt she was one of the people who made a statement against me and even less doubt she had her minions do the same.
I was used to girls like her. Growing up, I never had a lot of friends, and after my mother’s death, I had even fewer. People tended to keep their distance, like they sensed something wasn’t right with me. I also had an undeniable instinct to keep people at arm’s length. Kennedy and Ryan were the first ones to really break through my walls. Even though there was still a lot I kept from them, they knew more about me than anyone.
When I first moved here, they had immediately taken me in, acting like we had been friends all our lives. It was something I never experienced before. We were kindred spirits in a way. The fact none of us felt like we really belonged drew us together.
Before they left, they promised they’d call or text me every day, and we’d spend the weekends together. I used to be fine on my own, but now I felt sick at the thought of losing them. They were my family. They were where I belonged.
When Mark and I drove to the facility, I was surprised how modern it was, with its wall of windows and solar panels on the roof. It looked nothing like the jail I thought it would.
We parked the car and headed through the large glass doors of the main building. Mrs. Sanchez greeted and showed us to her office. She was a little thing, about five-foot-two, but from the stern expression on her face, she was definitely feisty and not someone to screw with. She had short golden blonde hair cropped close to her head. It fit perfectly with her pantsuit, glasses, and strong, no-nonsense attitude.
“Welcome, Mr. Hill, Ember. Please have a seat.” She motioned toward the chairs. I almost laughed at how quickly Mark did as he was told. She had the kind of authority adults, kids, and probably animals, obeyed. I liked her right away. I didn’t get the vibe she was a bitch; she merely didn’t put up with any crap. Tough but fair.
“Thank you for staying late and seeing us on such short notice,” Mark said.
“No problem. I practically live here, and I know you must feel anxious and have a lot of questions before tomorrow.” She settled into a chair behind her desk. “So Principal Mitchell has basically given me the rundown. In my honest opinion, I think it is a bunch of bull-honky; but he is settled on it, so there you go.”
Except for my friends making me laugh earlier, she put the first genuine smile on my lips since this whole debacle began. Thank goodness someone else could see through the bullshit.
Mark seemed relieved as well. “Nice way of putting it. I wasn’t so nice.”
“Yes, well, I thought it would be improper to say what I really feel.” A slight smile, but it quickly dropped and her face went back to her stern look. “We can’t change their minds, so we must deal with the situation at hand.” She opened a file and handed Mark and me some literature about the place. “We offer many different options here at Silverwood. We try to accommodate as many unique situations as there are unique people here.
“You will be here Monday through Friday, eight to four. There are no exceptions. Our rule is you check in and check out with a faculty member. We run a tight ship around here. We have to.” Her face softened a little. I think she knew I didn’t belong here.
“Rules don’t mean you won’t have fun at Silverwood. We have a lot of activities. You’ll have classes from eight until noon, lunch from twelve to twelve-thirty, group counseling and individual counseling from twelve-thirty until two, then outdoor exercises and activities from two until four. We understand most of the kids who end up here don’t learn the typical way, so we don’t run our school program like ordinary schools. We do a lot of outside classes and projects, and we try to make the students know they belong and matter.
“Kids are here for many reasons. We run the gamut. A few simply come once a week to talk to one of our counselors. We have many who can no longer remain at home and live here permanently. Also, we have students who have committed crimes or struggle with drug or alcohol abuse problems. All ages and types. I don’t feel we have any bad kids, merely misunderstood and mistreated ones.”
I nodded my understanding.
She took us for a quick tour around the facility so I could get my bearings. The main room where I’d be was large, bright, and open. Glass windows lined the entire west side from top to bottom of the building, making use of the natural light. Through the windows I could make out some picnic tables and a basketball court that broke the line of the forest outside. Turning back to the room, I noticed there were no individual desks but instead there were long tables. Behind the tables, dozens of bookshelves sat in rows like a library. In the far end of the room were four high-topped counters lined with microscopes and other science equipment. Maps of every country hung on the walls around the room. It was not a classroom but a learning center.
Mrs. Sanchez walked us out to the parking lot and shook my hand. “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Ember. I think you will be happy here.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt, but at least she made me more comfortable in attending Silverwood. No matter what, the choice of me being here was no longer in my hands.
NINE
Wednesday was my first official day at Silverwood. Mark drove me to school to be sure I at least made it to the parking lot.
I looked out the truck’s window at the facility. “Okay, I changed my mind. I don’t care how long it takes, I’ll get my GED or maybe do school online.”
“Having a little dÉjÀ vu from the ghost of school-time past?
You go through this every time you start a new school.” Mark shook his head as we slowed to a stop in front. “You’ll be fine. You’re strong, Em. You won’t let something get the better of you. You have too much of your mother in you.”
“Wow, hello, manipulator.”
Mark chuckled. “Guilty, but it’s not any less true.”
“Have I told you lately that you are a cruel, cruel man?”
“Yeah, this morning when I tried to wake you.” Mark got me up extra early so he could drop me at Silverwood and still be to work on time. I would arrive ahead of time, but I didn’t mind. I wanted to get situated before the other kids showed up.
“Right.” I nodded, then leaned over and kissed Mark’s cheek. “I love you.”
“Love you, too. Now go prove Sheriff Weiss and Principal Mitchell wrong.” He pointed toward the school. “Remember I can’t leave work till four-thirty. I have a meeting, but I’ll come straight after.”
“No worries. I’ll start on my homework or something.” I opened the truck door and slid out. “See you later.”
Mark waved and took off. I turned to the front of the building, sucked in a deep breath, and slowly moved for the entrance.
As I reached the door, a motorcycle tore into the parking lot, making me jump. I whipped around and caught a glimpse of a guy in worn blue jeans, a black leather jacket, and scuffed boots. He passed too fast for me to see anything more, but something in my stomach twisted. I was a bundle of nerves anyway, so I ignored it and continued inside.
I checked in with Mrs. Holt, who gave me a rundown of how my classes worked. It reminded me a little of elementary school, since all the students were in one class and never changed rooms. Except here there was no main teacher. We were on our own and worked on subjects at our own levels. Responsibility for yourself was something they wanted you to learn. Several teachers and tutors went around working with each student and focused on individual trouble areas.
Mrs. Holt walked me to the main classroom. “I’ll introduce you to Mr. Kemp.”
I was confused when we approached a person whom I thought was another fellow student studying.
“Mr. Kemp?” Mrs. Holt tapped on the young man’s shoulder. When he turned, I saw why I had been mistaken. He appeared to be in his early thirties. Dressed in jeans, t-shirt, and chucks, he was shorter than me, slim, with short, curly, dark brown hair and brown eyes. His face was happy and open. He was nothing like any teacher I ever had.
“Mr. Kemp, this is Ember Brycin, and it’s her first day here.”
“Oh, yes, Ember. Mrs. Sanchez told me about you. Welcome.” He shook my hand, looking at my eyes curiously. Mrs. Holt nodded at both of us and slipped out of the room. “And please call me Tim. We like to keep it on an even and personal level here.”
“Thank you,” I replied. He kept looking at my eyes. “It’s okay. I know my eyes are strange.”
“They are very unusual.” His cheeks shaded slightly at getting caught staring at me so blatantly.
“Well, they match my personality.”
Tim grinned and motioned to a chair. “Have a seat. Your last school sent your files, so we know what classes you were taking. Today we need to figure out your learning style and the best and most productive lesson plan for you.” He folded his hands on top the table. “I know everyone hates being the new person, so we’ll try to get you past that. We are big on everyone being equal here. No one’s better than anybody else.”
He got out of the chair and moved to the back of the room to retrieve the paperwork. I was left alone to watch the kids trickle in. At eight o’clock, eighteen students of various ages filled the seats. My hair and eyes invited stares, but I tried not to feel intimidated. Some of them had the street-tough “I can cut you” thing about them, and I had no doubt they could. There were a few who had the classic, druggie look—overly skinny, stringy hair, dark sunken eyes, who couldn’t sit still in their seats and who bit their nails down to the nub. Three had the all-black, gothic emo-look, and another four were pretty average-looking, although I know looks could be deceiving.
There were no bells or anything telling me when class started or ended. But at noon, students stopped what they were working on, packed up, and left. I looked around, not sure what to do, but after several more people left, I followed suit. I put in my iPod and headed for the cafeteria.
Being alone never bothered me, and I think it’s what made people at my old high school uncomfortable. Okay, it was one of many things making them uncomfortable. I could happily sit by myself and draw, but the average teenager didn’t seem to understand that about me. It made me a target at school. I got a lot of things thrown at me and was whispered about behind my back. Because it didn’t bother me only seem to cause them to be more uneasy.
I sat at one of the round tables dotting the lunchroom. The cafeteria was on the same west side as the main study room. Similar glass walls dominated the one side, letting in the hazy sunshine.
I was pulling out my lunch when a girl standing in the lunch line near me picked up a plastic fork and sprang on the goth-looking guy in front of her. I jumped back as they both crashed to the floor, sliding into my table, in a jumble of arms and limbs.
“What the hell you starin’ at, you stupid freak?” the short but curvy Latino girl bellowed. She held the plastic fork at the guy’s throat.
“Certainly not you, bitch,” goth-boy hissed back at her as he tried to break the fork in her hand. Instantly, the security guards who walked around the school making sure people didn’t do shit like this pounced on the two and tore them a part. They spat violent threats at each other as the guards dragged them in opposite directions.
Wow! Okay …
“She does that all the time. You’ll get used to it.”
I looked to my left to see who had spoken. A tall, lanky boy who couldn’t have been older than sixteen smiled at me. He had sandy-blond hair with puppy dog hazel eyes. His skin was smacked by puberty. He had a sweet, boy-next-door face and an ah-shucks smile, which immediately made you feel protective of him, the way you would a younger brother.
“Keep your eyes down when you’re around her, and you should be okay,” he said. “She thinks every look in her direction is about her, like everyone is out to get her or something.”
“Good to know. Thanks.”
“I’m Josh. I’m in morning study with you.”
“Ember,” I replied. “I remember you. You were sitting by the window.”
“I was.” His smile widened.
“You stood out because you were one of the few who didn’t look like they wanted to kill me,” I added.
Josh laughed. “Don’t let my charming looks fool you. I am terrifying. Okay, so maybe only in the World of Warcraft. But there I am feared.” He looked away blushing. “I just proved I’m a dork.”
“Don’t worry. I’m one, too.” I smiled.
“Probably not something that impresses the ladies, though, huh? The counselors are trying to get me to cut back on my gaming hours. They think I want to escape reality into a world of make believe where magic … elves, trolls, orcs, and druids … exist. Now I’ve officially said too much.”
“That’s okay,” I said laughing. “Have a seat.” I motioned to the empty spots around me.
“Thanks,” he responded, planting himself on a bench. “So what’s your schedule for the rest of the day?”
“After lunch I get my head probed. Then there is some outdoor thing … not sure what it is.”
“Cool, we’re on the same schedule.” His smile got even bigger, which I didn’t think was possible. “The outdoor thing is called O.A.R., Outdoor Adventure Rehabilitation.”
“Exploring therapy. Great.” I said dryly.
“No, that’s the probing.” He snickered as he pulled out a sandwich.
“We are talking about mental probes here, right?”
He grinned at me, stuffing the sandwich in his mouth. “Sure.”
After lunch, Josh and I he
aded to our therapy session. We started in group therapy. Then, after about an hour, we went into individual therapy. Dawn, my assigned counselor, sat across from me for thirty minutes, thinking we were already progressing well with my treatment. I forced my lips into a smile and not a smirk. I was good at fooling people. I learned early on how to talk without really admitting or saying anything. I got used to hiding the strange happenings or things I saw. Finally, time was up, and Josh and I walked out toward the O.A.R. meeting spot.
“So what do we do in these outdoor activities anyway?”
“It varies. Last fall we helped landscape a retirement home close by or played ‘Capture the flag.’ It’s all about team building and boosting our self-confidence. They also like us doing a lot of volunteer work … helping out the community, stuff like that. It’s pretty cool. The couple who use to run it went to Arizona to be with their family. I’m not sure who will be in charge now.”
Josh and I reached the designated spot, and despite the freezing temperature and misty rain, it was a beautiful site. It was a clearing in the woods with log benches circling a deep fire pit and a stage that sat not too far off to the side. There were more wooden benches lined in front of the stage, probably used for the summer and weekend camp programs.
By two o’ clock, there were about fifteen of us waiting. I was looking around at everyone, wondering what they did to get here, when my skin started to tingle. A shiver rushed up my spine.
Someone moved in close behind me, trying to get through the throng of people. A burst of heat encompassed me, arousing any part of my exposed skin. It felt like heaven. I leaned back, longing to soak in more of the warmth. My neck craned as I looked for the source of the heat.
My heart stopped and my blood flushed cold as my eyes clasped onto the towering figure moving around me. I knew that form. It was not one you’d forget. His toned body couldn’t hide underneath his baggy jeans, loose navy blue pullover hoodie, and a beat-up black leather jacket.
