Prophecy Awakened: Prime Prophecy Series Book 1

by Tamar Sloan

  I give myself a mental slap and return to my inner checklist. There is my first-day jitters. Oh, and I forgot to take my multivitamins this morning. Didn’t I hear somewhere that the moon is in Sagittarius…

  Tara elbows me in the ribs, saving me from my spiralling lame excuses. “I just updated my status. Look.” She holds up her phone for me to see. Scored a sweet gig, escorting the hot new notable around JH. eden st james is in da house! Why would she call me hot? I draw in a sharp breath as I register that my name is on Facebook! I withdrew myself from social networking back in Boston. The lancing comments that were flung at me, particularly when people had the protection of anonymity, had cut deep. I feel the blood drain from my face as I stare at the screen. So much for flying under the radar. Right now I’m a great big bleep on the screen!

  Tara notices my pale complexion. “What’s wrong?”

  “Ms. Channon!” Mr. Rosenberg’s gravelly voice calls across the room. His bald head bobs over on matchstick legs. “Are you aware of our cell phone policy?”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, sir. My mother sent me a text about my sister’s cello lesson this afternoon. I should have waited to look at it. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Tara bats her long lashes, looking contrite.

  Surely he’s not going to get sucked in by that blatant buttering up. Mr. Rosenberg puffs out his pigeon chest. “Put it away. I don’t want to see it again.” I blink once, twice. Apparently Mr. Rosenberg doesn’t mind being Tara’s piece of toast.

  “Of course not, Mr. Rosenberg.”

  Mr. Rosenberg returns to the front of the class. Tara waits a few moments before turning to me.

  “You just went albino on me there for a second. What happened?”

  Thankfully, those few moments have allowed me to pull myself together. “Just saw the next question.” I shrug. “I really don’t believe that it’s ‘interesting’ that polynomials behave differently depending on whether they have odd or even exponentials.” I wonder absently if Jacksonville High has a fencing team, because I could qualify for the Olympics.

  “Gee, you take your math seriously!” Tara doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it slide. “Unlike Luke over there.” I follow the direction of Tara’s finger. A dark-haired boy has his elbow resting on the table, his head in his palm, eyes closed. I’m pretty sure he’s asleep. Mr Rosenberg is focused passionately on the board, his arms gesticulating wildly as they trace the wavelike graphs. Tara and I cup our hands over our mouths, suppressing our giggles.

  I take a moment to realize that I don’t recall having this much fun in math since we measured flour to make play dough with Mrs. Moore. Actually, I had forgotten what it’s like to talk to someone whilst in a classroom. Or a school.

  Once the bell goes, my stomach sinks at the thought of recess. Scrutinizing eyes. Gossiping lips. Expectations fortified or vanquished. Not the most appetizing of fare. My new knight in shining armor saves me again when she offers for me to accompany her to the art room.

  “I get the place to myself every Monday recess and some days after school. It’s too hard to work on stuff at home.” I imagine Tara’s brood of younger siblings may make that a little difficult.

  “Sounds good to me.” I try not to sound too enthusiastic.

  In the art room, it’s apparent Tara is in her element. She hurries over to an easel, where a large painting is resting. She removes the cover and steps back, eyeing it critically.

  “I’m making it for Mitch’s birthday.” She glances at me nervously. “What do you think?” she asks, biting her fingernails.

  My muesli bar stops midair. This effervescent girl is asking for my opinion? I hope it’s good, I’m not a very good liar and I don’t want to offend the first person to show me some measure of hospitality for some time.

  I step cautiously toward the painting. It’s a detailed and vibrant depiction of two wolves dominating a snowy landscape. The sweeping paints outline a reddish-brown wolf standing in front of a larger black wolf. The darker wolf is affectionately licking the muzzle of the red wolf, whose ears are back, eyes closed, mouth slightly parted. Tara has captured its look of blissful contentment with soft, fuzzy strokes. The black wolf’s blue eyes gaze reverently as it strokes the red wolf with its tongue. I stare at the painting for long seconds. The expressions are virtually human, the connection unmistakable. I almost feel like I’m intruding on a private moment. In the corner is a small backwards r, which I figure is Tara’s signature.

  “It’s amazing. How could he not love it?”

  Tara is watching my face with a keen intensity. She nods, apparently satisfied with my reaction.

  “It’s almost finished…” She picks up a paintbrush, instantly absorbed in the precise finishing touches only a creator can divine.

  I’m not bothered. Actually, I’m relieved. It’s nice to relax away from prying eyes. So far I’ve met my three requirements for a first day. One, maintain my grades. I’ve already spent the weekend scanning the subject outlines and making notes on upcoming assignments. This one I can do. Two, not get irreversibly lost. So far so good. Admittedly, there are only a few scattered buildings and I’ve had a guide, but I’ll take what I can get. Finally, not set off anyone’s freak-o-meter. At this stage of the proceedings, I’m feeling hopeful.

  Then I remember Noah’s stunned expression. I scowl and my mood drops several notches. I use the remainder of recess to munch on my muesli bar, trying to translate my rumpled timetable.

  The ringing of the bell breaks the companionable silence. Tara jumps, and knocks over a small pot of paint.

  “Sneezing hotpockets! Not again. Sorry, Eden, I’m going to have to clean this up before Mrs. Malibu gets back. Are you okay to get to biology?”

  “Sure, I remember where the labs are.” I think. Tara showed me the labs just after I met…him.

  I offer her a hand, but Tara shoos me off, so I head to the labs on my own. Biology with the infamous Mr. Dougherty. Surely he can’t be that old, could he?

  I promptly break my second new-school-rule, and manage to get a little lost. It means I’m a couple of minutes late. Now I have to enter after everyone else, meaning, once again, I’ll be the focus of attention. I don’t want to know if Mr. Dougherty leans toward kindly Mrs. Dougal or merciless Mr. Rosenberg when it comes to introductions. I enter with my head down, wearing my books like a shield, and quickly walk to the back of the room where I find a lone bench. I sit down with a small sigh. Crisis avoided.

  Mr. Dougherty, a small, gnarled man, is sitting at the front bench, deeply immersed in a textbook open in front of him. I look closely at him. He’s very still. Deathly still. Deep wrinkles line his leathered face, reminding me of an ancient ridged mountain that has been eroded by time. His sparse, grey hair seems to spring from the top of his serene head like a fountain. I can almost hear his joints creak as he slowly and deliberately turns a page. Tara was right; I think he could be older than Yoda. Curiously, one would expect that the classroom would be loud and jostling as the students wait for the teacher to reign in order. But the students talk quietly amongst themselves, their books out and ready.

  I remove my text and shiny new writing pad, prepared to wait. I sneak a peek around the room from beneath my lashes. And that’s when I see him. Noah. He’s sitting on his own several rows up, leaning forward on his elbows as he speaks to the students at the bench in front of him. The position bunches his shoulders, showing defined muscles beneath a loose-fitting tee. Even across a room I feel the urge to look longer, deeper. My breath hitches, and my eyes make the small leap back to my book.

  Sneezing hotpockets, all right! Why did he have to be in my favorite class? Correction, what used to be my favorite class. I keep my head down, pen up. The less I look at this guy, the better. I refuse to make any more of a spectacle of myself. I just walked straight past him, and he never said a word.

  It’s obvious what he thinks of me.

  2

  Noah

  Wow.

  And I mean W
. O. W!

  With feet rooted to the spot, jaw possibly sitting beside them, I stand and stare.

  The girl in front of me is tall, almost as tall as me, and lean. I know I’m not meant to notice, let alone appreciate the curves in all the right places. But I do. My eyes flicker past mahogany hair tied back in a loose knot, flushed skin, slightly parted lips, but it’s her eyes that draw my attention. As I connect with eyes as deep and green as the forest I’ve grown up in, every muscle fiber locks on impact. My lungs freeze, and my heart pumps hard inside my suddenly tight chest. Who was it that said eyes are the windows to the soul? Because that wise, old mortal certainly knew what they were talking about. Those mysterious forest green pools are profound. Kindred. And soul deep.

  In a heart beat I know that something just changed. Deeply and irrevocably. That in the space of a few thundering heart beats something got rearranged…no realigned.

  And I want in.

  Amazingly, she’s gazing, wide-eyed, right back.

  Suddenly, she drops her gaze to the floor, blushing. That amazing feeling that had sparked is abruptly severed, and I let out the breath that had been captured in my too-small lungs. Tara introduces us. Eden. Her name swirls in my mind, and I savor it. I duck my head, willing her to look at me again, but even when I say “hi,” she just mumbles, staring at the floor.

  Did I imagine what just happened? I’d frown if my face wasn’t still slack with shock. I’m left trying to grasp the feelings that had felt so real just a few moments ago.

  All of a sudden, Tara pulls Eden away. I have an overwhelming impulse to call them back, follow her, anything. Questions are flying through my mind, and they all start with ‘What the...?’ Mitch grabs my arm before I get the chance to do something completely crazy and stupid, and we continue down the hallway. Mitch has that skip in his step he always gets after seeing Tara.

  While I’m left dazed and disorientated, and I wonder if I’m swaying like a drunk.

  All through first and second period, my mind replays the scene from this morning. Those wide, green eyes. The flash of attraction that grabbed me — hard. I realize it’s a good thing no major disasters had headed our way, because my feet had turned to lead and welded to the ground. And it felt like she was just as floored as I was. But then she shut down like the Millennium Falcon about to be assailed by storm troopers.

  In biology, I’m still mulling over the puzzle, and what to do about it when she shoots past, head down, clutching her books to her chest. She’s in biology. And I know opportunity has just been served to me on a shiny silver platter. I shift a little in my seat, turning to watch her walk to the back of the room. Her scent, wildflowers warmed by the sun, hangs in the space she leaves behind. I breathe it in, stretching my lungs to capacity.

  She sits at a back bench, and busies herself with her books. Mr. Dougherty is doing his usual beginning-of-class ritual. ‘Centering’ he calls it. I know I have a few more minutes. Now that I have a few uninterrupted seconds, I notice the unique almond shape of her eyes, tipping slightly up at the corners. I almost expect to see elven ears poking through the dark hair framing her cheeks, contrasting against her clear, pale skin. It’s like Snow White and that elven chick from Lord of the Rings had a love child. Not physically possible, seeing as they are both female, or realistically possible, seeing as they are both fictional characters. And the girl in the back row is definitely, alluringly alive and breathing.

  I try to channel The Force to get her to look at me. But apparently you have to actually train to be a Jedi, because she just stares down at her book. I know I need to talk to her—a proper introduction. Try to get to know this girl. I push my stool back.

  “Hey, Noah.” Jordan moves from the bench in front of me and holds up a fist, white teeth gleaming in his ebony face. I fist pump him back, my shoulders admitting defeat as I drop back onto my seat. “So, we’ve got a new girl, huh?”

  “Yeah, I noticed.” Jordan is half off his stool, looking over my shoulder, not even trying to be discreet. I resist the urge to turn.

  “Nice bit of eye candy.” Jordan’s black brows wiggle beneath his curly mop. I bristle, although it’s nothing I haven’t heard from him before.

  “Yeah, I noticed.”

  “Boys are so shallow.” Darlene groans from beside Jordan, rolling her eyes. She turns and leans skinny arms on my bench, her freckled face leaning forward. “Noah, would you look over my assignment for me?”

  I lift an eyebrow. “The one that was due two days ago?”

  “Yeah.” She hunches her shoulders, wrinkling her freckled nose. “That one.”

  I sigh. “Sure, email it through.”

  “Thanks, you’re awesome.” She beams, brown eyes winking merrily. She returns to her laptop. I suspect that’s the assignment on her screen.

  Mr. Dougherty finally joins the land of the living, rising from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate. I turn squarely to the front, knowing the window of opportunity just shut. He lifts the textbook from the desk, slowly running his finger down the open page. I almost want to go and give him a hand.

  “Ecosystems.” The word hangs in the classroom for several seconds. “A community of living organisms working in conjunction with the abiotic components of their environment.” Mr. Dougherty speaks slowly and thoughtfully, each word calculated and purposeful. Seeing as he’s too ancient for PowerPoint, we all know to take notes or miss out. He walks up and down the aisles between benches, scratching his papery chin, keen grey eyes, assessing how engaged his class is.

  “Mr. Brand, what do I mean by abiotic?” he addresses Jordan beside him. He calls everyone by their formal title, something about affording the same respect given him.

  “Non-living components sir, like air or water,” Jordan responds promptly. Mr. Dougherty is known for his pop questions, and no one wants to be caught out in front of his peers. Smart kids come prepared for Mr. Dougherty’s classes.

  “Excellent, Mr. Brand. All linked together through fascinating nutrient cycles and complex energy flows. The ultimate circuit of conversion and succession.” He’s really getting warmed up now. He’s almost speaking at normal rhythm.

  I glance back at Eden. Unlike the rest of the class, she’s staring out the window. I turn to see what’s caught her attention. A blue jay is perched on a branch not far from the window. A smile tips up the corner of her lips. She touches a finger to the window. Expecting to see the bird flit away, my eyebrows leap up when it takes two hops toward her. Eden’s smile widens, and she presses closer. The bird, unafraid, jumps to the window sill, flitting its brilliant blue wings and twitching its tail. I think it’s flirting with her! Am I allowed to get jealous of a girl I just met, with a bird that could bath in my breakfast bowl?

  “Ms. St. James.” Mr. Dougherty heads to the back of the class. I cringe; not even the new kid is safe from Dougherty’s perpetual quiz.

  “Mr. Dougherty,” I call out, but he sails past. I don’t know if he didn’t hear me, or ignored me.

  Oh no. Eden is about to find out that spacing out in old Dougherty’s class holds the natural consequence of social embarrassment. The blue jay flits away in alarm. He knows what’s coming.

  Eden turns to Mr. Dougherty, her hand quickly picking up her pen. “What is the primary energy flow of any ecosystem?”

  A slow blush creeps up Eden’s creamy skin. So it’s not just me that has that effect.

  I’ve just opened my mouth to jump in with the answer when she says in a quiet, clear voice, “Solar energy, sir. Energy from the sun generally enters through the process of photosynthesis, providing the continuous input of energy necessary to sustain ecosystems.” My jaw drops open an inch.

  Not just a pretty face, huh? Eden St. James has a brain between her non-elven ears.

  “Exactly!” says Mr. Dougherty, waving his textbook like a preacher holding a Bible. He continues his monologue, spurred on by Eden’s stellar response. Jordan flicks me a quick thumbs up, eyebrows raised. I stare as E
den, not bothering to see how the class responds to her answer, returns to her book. Why does it feel like the turtle just withdrew back into its shell? I scrape my stool back as I shuffle my books, attracting puzzled frowns from those around me. Eden’s head remains firmly buried in her shell.

  It’s almost the end of the class before I get on old Dougherty’s radar. He’s waxing slow lyrical about the differences between food webs and chains, when he comes to stand beside me.

  “Mr. Phelan, can you name a food chain close to home?”

  As I’m asked the question, an idea forms in my mind. “McDonalds?”

  Jordan chuckles quietly, whilst Darlene frowns at me. The rest of the class is silent. The furrows above Mr. Dougherty’s eyes defy gravity as his eyebrows shoot up amongst the wrinkles, making him look like a shocked shar pei. From the corner of my eye I see Eden’s head shoot up. Finally! I hadn’t thought as far ahead as what to do with her attention, so all I end up doing is staring back. Beside me, old Dougherty takes a deep breath. Uh oh.

  “Mr. Phelan.” I reluctantly raise my eyes to his. “My classroom is not a place to gain social distinction, and it’s certainly not a behavior I expected to see from you. As said by the great Martin Luther King, ‘nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity’.” His wiry brows drop low. “We don’t need to corroborate that statement. Please review chapter six.”

  My gaze lowers to the hands clasped on my book. He turns to the remainder of the class. “The national park on our back doorstep is known as one of the few remaining, nearly intact, temperate ecosystems on Earth. As was uploaded last night, it will be your next major assessment task.”

  Phew. I survived. I feel a little bad for letting Dougherty down. Wow, that mutual respect thing really does work. I’ll make it up to him, once I put my plan in motion. I glance back at Eden. Her tilted, emerald eyes are still on me, but the moment I turn, she darts back to her book. Definitely turtle-like.