by Abra Ebner
Frustrated, I looked down the aisle, seeing Jake Santé. He had been the boy that helped save Wes from class a few weeks ago by lying about taking me to the nurse after my fake seizure. Jake stared at the teacher as though he were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. I shook my head, finding his stereotypical nerdiness comical—a momentary relief from my boredom.
I stretched my talents until I could hear his thoughts, draped with excitement over each word that passed Mr. Jackson’s lips. I began to think about the way Jake often thought of me when I was near him. His thoughts were always… endearing, if that’s what you’d even call it, but most guys’ were. With Wes as my boyfriend now, he no longer showered me with admiration the way he first did when he used to flirt with me from a distance. It was only natural to miss such praise. My indulgence in the thoughts of other men was harmless, let alone unavoidable. The least I could do was enjoy them, right?
I watched Jake lick an excess of saliva from his lips, his massive braces and thick glasses still as detrimental to his popularity as ever. Granted he wasn’t the best boy to receive a compliment from, but in retrospect, it was like enjoying art. You had to appreciate the differences, at least in some way.
Drowning myself in the complexity of Jake’s world, I began to think about how funny it was that physical objects could determine someone’s popularity, as they did for him. I always admired confidence, though, and Jake never cared what anyone said about him. To me, he was free—a rare thing, and something worth taking the time to study.
“Emily…”
I broke away from my staring game, my head snapping forward. Mr. Jackson was glaring at me. “What do you think?”
I hadn’t heard a thing he’d said, but it didn’t take much to hear what he was thinking about what he’d said and what he wanted for an answer. “I think the Conquistador’s conquest in the Americas was justified. They wanted to beat the Europeans to the land.”
It wasn’t the exact answer he was looking for, but I liked to stir controversy.
“And… Jake?” The teacher turned away from me. “What do you think of Emily’s view on the conquest?”
Jake sat up, eyeing me and then looking to Mr. Jackson. “I think they should have left the natives alone. They brought disease to the area—small pox, chicken pox and measles, not to mention the widespread outburst of rabies.”
Mr. Jackson grinned from ear to ear, content with Jake’s perfect answer. I rolled my eyes. Jake looked at me again, smiling smugly with his giant braces exposed. I held back the desire to giggle—or was it gag?—as his endearing thoughts gushed over every curve of my body.
“Great answer, Jake.” Mr. Jackson stood tall, looking between the two of us.
I sank in my chair. No. Please, no!
“Pair up everyone. We’re going to debate these two answers. Jake. Emily. You two will be together on this. I like where the tension is going.”
I shut my eyes, despising Mr. Jackson even more than I did the day he challenged me for answers on the renaissance—non-stop—as though he knew I could read his mind and he was testing that hypothesis. The whole class stood, quickly pairing up with best friends. Jake stood, grappling his books and nearly tripping over every one of the three desks between us before reaching me.
“Shall we go to the library?” he asked.
Jake was breathing hard, the wind of it falling against my skin. Swallowing hard, I refused to breathe through my nose. I didn’t want to know what his breath smelled like, and though I tried not to, I imagined it to be something resembling last night’s macaroni. I shivered, thinking that I needed a shower as soon as I got home.
“Uh… Sure,” I replied through clenched teeth. At least there would be more clean, fresh air to be shared in the library.
I grabbed my bag off the back of the chair, following him out the door.
He walked beside me down the hall, his stride suddenly more confident. “This assignment should be easy.”
I lifted one brow. “You could say that.” Easy to him was finding the answer, but to me there was nothing easy about it. It was Jake, and I had to be his partner.
“I’m a Santé,” he went on. “My ancestors are from South America. Being a native, we know a lot about the invasion of the Conquistadors.” He cleared his throat. “It’ll be like talking at a family reunion.” His voice had suddenly grown deeper.
I nodded arbitrarily. “Great,” My voice was flat, too distracted by my determination not to breathe through my nose and the sudden change in his voice.
Jake snorted, his back no longer hunched over and his movements smooth. “I get it, Emily. I know you’re not impressed by me.”
I was shocked by his directness, and I suddenly felt bad. “No, it’s not…” I clenched my fists. I’d never made fun of him—at least not like other people did.
“I don’t have many friends, not here at least.”
I wanted to drop dead with guilt, but I couldn’t tell if making me feel bad for him was his ploy or not. Searching his mind, it didn’t offer any answers. I stared at him boldly, concentrating as hard as I could.
Stop that.
I heard his voice inside my head. My shoulders jerked back and I halted in the hall. “What?” I gaped.
Jake turned and looked over his shoulder. “What?” He shrugged. I know what you’re doing.
There it was again. I blinked, further shocked. “Wait, how did you…” I stopped myself, not wanting to sound crazy.
Because.
I stood frozen, glaring at his eyes behind his giant black frames. “How did you do that?” I demanded this time, convinced this was real.
He leaned casually against the lockers. “Do what?” This?
“Yeah, Jake, that. How’d you talk in my head?”
“What are you talking about…” Crazy? he challenged.
Half his words were out loud, the other half in my mind, but it was hard to discern which was which. “I’m not crazy.” I hated when people called me crazy.
His face was emotionless for a moment, but then a smirk grew across his cheek. “What? You thought you were the only one?”
My brows stitched together. “What do you mean?”
Mind reader?
“I’m not a mind reader!” I squealed, my voice trying to remain low.
“Right, so then what was that? How did you hear me? If you weren’t a mind reader you wouldn’t have heard me.”
“Shut up, Jake.” I crossed my arms against my chest, turning away from him. I wanted to go back to class and demand I get a new partner.
“Wait,” I felt him grab my arm, his touch shockingly hot.
I stopped, unable to wriggle free from his burning grasp. “Let go!”
“Just… chill out, okay?” He was leaning close, his voice a whisper.
“It’s sorta hard to chill out when you feel like fire!” I spat.
“Try.” Jake’s tone had changed completely. The raspy, asthmatic breathing was gone.
My chest was heaving, and finding that getting enough oxygen was becoming a problem, I was forced to breathe through my nose. I expected the worst but was surprised to find it was actually pleasant, like warm apple cider. The warmth of his touch and the oddity of his scent began to make me feel strange.
“Let go.” I demanded.
Jake let go of my arm, but I could tell he was poised to grab me if I were to run. He stared at me for a long moment, the stupid smirk on his face never fading. “Want to get out of here?”
I clenched my jaw, hopelessly unnerved. “Not with you.”
Jake laughed. “Relax. I’m not trying to freak you out. I mean you no harm.”
His thoughts once again combed over every curve of my body, but I no longer found it endearing. “Clearly you do,” I challenged.
The thoughts stopped. “Sorry. Can’t help it.” His apology lacked sincerity.
I snorted with disgust.
“You really can’t blame a guy for thinking it. But in all seriousness,
I mean you no harm. Besides, Wes would kill me. Especially with being what he is.” He said it with an exasperated sigh.
I ground my teeth together until my gums hurt. “What do you know about Wes?”
He tilted his head. Enough. His mind replied for him.
I weighed my options, but what options did I really have? Library, or finding out more about what Jake knew, or rather, what he was. I wasn’t buying the fact that he was simply a mind reader. Then why the change in tone?
“Come on,” he urged. “You can trust me, I swear. I’m no Gregory Gordon.”
My eyes narrowed at the mention of that name. “Shut. Up,” I seethed. “Shut up!” My reaction came completely from the hip. It was a name I never wanted to hear again.
“Can’t believe you didn’t see that one coming,” he mocked.
I turned away from him, making up my mind to leave.
“Wait, wait, wait.” He ran behind me. “I was just kidding! Come on, Emily. Aren’t you curious about me? About Winter Wood?”
I froze at the mention of Winter Wood. “Winter Wood?” He’d pinned the tail on the donkey—forget that—he’d nailed the darn tail on.
“Yeah, Winter Wood.”
I licked my lips, drunken with the idea of this place that no one seemed to want to tell me about. I twisted on my heel, once again facing him.
His brows were raised. “I knew that would make you stop. Come with me and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Jake sounded like a text book kidnapper, but I reminded myself that this was Jake. I’d known him since kindergarten. I’d practically seen him in diapers. What was the harm? “Fine,” I agreed, but I still wasn’t sure that was the right answer.
Jake smiled, his thoughts wandering back to my body.
“Jake…” I lifted my finger in warning. “One more thought like that and I’m bailing.”
He laughed, his lips pressing against his braces. “Just because Wes would kill me for trying to steal you away, doesn’t mean I can’t mentally praise the company.”
I turned away, disgusted. “Gross,” I murmured under my breath.
He followed after me, hooking his arm with mine.
I flinched, but allowed it.
“Let’s go.” He swiftly led me down the hall and out the front doors.
A twinge of shame tickled my stomach, but I ignored it. Something about Jake made me curious, and I wanted to know what that thing was. Forget the tickle. This was the most interesting thing that had happened in days.
Wes:
I leaned my head against my hand as I propped it on my desk in English, peering out the window at the football field beyond. The book in my other hand lay open, the pages stationary for close to ten minutes now. I was afraid to admit that I was overwhelmed with grief, something that had festered over the past few days. It was a grief I’d already felt for the loss of my parents; a grief I didn’t want to feel again. I was trying to forget them.
Why had I let Max’s claims to their existence take root in my thoughts? It was wrong of him to lead me on the way he did, and it only made me hate him more. I drew in a deep breath, turning my head and glancing sideways at Jane beside me.
She turned a page, then another. I felt her heart beating, steady and calm.
She rolled something around in her lap. I strained my gaze, trying to see what it was. She was holding a lump of folded paper, her fingers caressing the fibers with loving possession. I knew what it was all too well, having seen any number of them pass hands the last few weeks. It was another note from Max.
I clenched my jaw, looking back at the words in my book as I leaned back to stretch. From the corner of my eye I saw something move outside the window. Glancing back at the field, the owl that had been on my car this past weekend, and all week, was now perched on the fence just outside. She had freshly landed, still adjusting her weight between two feet.
I laughed to myself, shaking my head. Her persistence was admirable. Every day, without fail, I saw her. She had become a source of happiness to me, and seeing her had become something I looked forward to—my secret.
Too burnt out on school to pull myself back, I continued to indulge in her presence. Her eyes were narrow, a bright yellow that pierced right through me. She fluffed her white and grey dappled feathers, tilting her head with interest in her gaze. Something about her relaxed me, as though she had become my silent reminder to stay calm. A muse, I thought, but my thoughts were quickly stolen by intruders in the background.
Two people walked briskly across the parking lot behind the owl. I pressed my brows together, squinting to see who it was. Despite my calm, I felt suddenly tense, and a part of me wished I could acquire a set of eagle eyes just for the moment. I huffed. Eagle eyes or not, my gut still knew. Only one person at this school had hair that was that red.
Emily.
It flowed freely behind her, her arm wrapped with that of another boy. I found myself anxious, and I certainly didn’t recognize the guy she was with. I grew tenser, a million thoughts rushing to mind. Was he a dealer? Another man? I released a long hard breath, trying to remain calm as my muscles ached, each fiber winding tight. It was no one, I told myself. He’s just a friend from class. But friends from class didn’t lock arms. Friends from class didn’t skip school together. I looked back to the owl. Maybe it was someone borrowing a book from her?
I grumbled. Who was I kidding?
My eyes shot to the clock. There were fifteen minutes left of class, and judging by the position of Mrs. West near the door, there was no escape. She scanned the room, her sharp eyes not unlike those of my feathery stalker outside. I began to shake my leg and it clanked lightly against the leg of the desk. Jane shot me a dirty look, urging me to be still.
“Wes, stop that,” she hissed under her breath.
My leg stopped shaking, but my palms began to sweat instead. Steam poured across the surface of the resin desktop where they were flushed flat, fingers spread. I looked behind me, seeing that everyone was nose deep in their books and unaware of my building anxiety. The owl outside lifted it’s wings, flapping them flagrantly as though to get my attention. I looked back at her and she stopped. I glared, trying to convey an uninterested expression—like she would notice that.
She opened her beak to squawk, but I couldn’t hear her call. I saw a red car leaving the lot, my anxiety peaking. I knew that Emily had to be the passenger. I groused under my breath, discreetly pointing at the owl and then the car. The owl watched me with her head tilted, trying to understand.
“Go,” I mouthed, my voice barely following in a whisper. “Go.” I flicked my finger.
The owl took off then, her wings flapping wildly as she tilted back and rounded over the parking lot, just as the small sports car turned onto the main road. I watched the owl do as I asked, amazed by her above-average intelligence, and a little shocked she’d actually done what I’d implied.
I guess she really did like me.
Jane:
I rolled the note over and over in my hand under the desk. I’ll be there to pick you up, I promise, is what it read. I tapped my fingers on the book, rushing through the words in front of me and trying to retain as much information as possible, though my mind was undeniably distracted.
I wanted to know what Winter Wood was, and I wanted Max to quit skipping class and leaving me to fend for myself. His absence was not allowing me the chance to discuss this apparent magickal city with him, as I’m sure he knew. I saw Wes watching me from the corner of my eye. I ignored him. What had Max said to him? What was it that had Wes so visibly disturbed all week?
Wes’s leg began to shake nervously. I glared at him. “Wes, stop that,” I hissed, quickly looking to make sure the teacher hadn’t noticed.
Wes’s foreseen death invaded my mind, quickly changing from being murdered, to getting hit by lightning, and then to a bout of extreme anxiety ending in a heart attack. He was dramatically freaking out—my attempt at concentration was useless.
G
iving up, I let my full attention fall on him. His hand was flicking about, finger dancing in the air. His gaze remained on the field outside. I wanted to laugh, but quelled it, carefully peering over his shoulder instead. To my surprise, there was a large owl perched on the fence. I frowned, watching as it took off and rounded the lot. Wes’s attention turned back to the book in front of him, until he noticed me gawking.
“What was that?” I mouthed.
He just blinked, at a loss of words, keeping it to himself. I hated when he played dumb.
“Jane. Wes. Please stop talking.” Mrs. West’s voice was like ice as it ran down my spine.
I blushed, my eyes darting back to the words in the book, trying to act attentive. Wes also went back to reading, and I wished for a moment we could talk telepathically—it didn’t happen.
The bell finally rang a few minutes later. Wes shot out of his seat, slamming the book shut and shoving it in his bag. He dashed for the door, not bothering to address me.
Hurrying to keep up, sweat began to form on my brow. I stopped him before he all but darted out of the room, snatching his arm at the last possible second. “Wes, wait. What’s going on?”
He didn’t want me to stop him, tugging against my restraint. “Do you need a ride?” he blurted, his body practically shaking with anxiety.
I was confused. “Er… no. But, what’s—”
“I gotta run, Jane. I’m sorry.” He slipped out of my grasp, moving for the door.
I scrambled to follow, the door hitting me on my way out. I winced, but shrugged it off. “Wes, what’s going on? Just tell me.” I tried to grab him again, but he shrugged out of my grasp. I had to practically run beside him down the hall, dodging one student after another. “What’s up with the owl?” I was breathless.
