by Skye Genaro
"I missed out on some, let's say opportunities that were available to me if I'd grown up in that foster family. I always wondered how that could have turned out." He yawned. "Anyway, my offer stands. You can't avoid an enemy you can't see. I might be able to help you find what you're looking for. Think it over. I'm going to bed."
*******
The next morning, I found Jaxon in the kitchen, eating dry cereal out of the box and paging through my Economics textbook. He gave me an I'm-not-a-morning-person nod.
That was fine by me. I hadn't lost a wink of sleep thinking about his proposition. I didn't want his help. This was a personal matter and he would only get in the way, with his smart aleck comments and arrogance. Besides, he'd been gone for nearly ten years. What could he possibly offer?
Jaxon's value was limited to one thing, and that was making my one, true fantasy a reality. In it, Connor and I would go to school together and have a normal boyfriend-girlfriend relationship. We'd live as soulmates right now, not in some unknown time in the future.
The one person who could make that happen was sitting at my breakfast bar with a cranky, morning face.
I poured myself a bowl of cereal and ate, casting the occasional glance at my houseguest. There were untold mysteries behind those brown eyes. Scheming. Planning. He had a lot of decisions to make—where he was going to live and how he'd support himself here. I didn't discount the possibility that his plotting included stealing lunch money from elementary school kids. He seemed like that kind of guy.
If I wanted to change his mind about transporting me to Connor's time, I'd need to come up with the right enticement and deliver my request carefully.
"I'll give you five hundred bucks to take me through the portal!" I blurted. Milk spilled over my chin. Smooth I was not.
He gave me a bored look.
"You need the money," I said. "Kimber will let you stay here for maybe one more night. All I'm asking is that you drop me off at the West Region lab. Then you can come back here and, I dunno, live out your life as a fugitive in my sucky time. What do you think?"
"I think if I had the choice between shooting myself and hearing you whine about McCabe's kid for one minute longer, I'd take the bullet. His dad would only kick you out again anyway."
I slumped over my cereal. My trip back was not going to happen.
Jaxon pocketed a few bananas and oranges from the fruit basket. "I need you to drop me off on the southeast side of town on your way to school."
I dumped my hardly-eaten bowl of cereal down the sink. "That's going to make me late."
He sighed. "So take me to a bus stop."
"What's in southeast?" I asked.
His knee rolled back and forth while contemplated the floor, the counter, the air in front of him.
"People I know."
"Your foster family?"
"Hell no. Well, sort of. I thought I'd see if my foster brother is around. I don't care about the rest of them."
My laptop sat on the breakfast bar. I flipped it open.
"What's their last name? I can see if they're still at the same address."
His aura tightened around him, protective. "Don't bother. I'll figure it out."
"Are you sure? I can map out their address for you."
"Positive."
So much for extending the olive branch of friendship.
I drove us through my neighborhood and toward town. Rain pelleted the pavement and bounced a foot. We got to the bus stop at the bottom of the hill where commuters huddled beneath the plastic shelter with their umbrellas thrust outward against the wind. They looked miserable.
I kept driving and turned onto one of the bridges spanning the river.
"Taking pity on me?" he asked.
"Yes," I answered.
"Go up a few blocks and take a right." I caught a whiff of gratitude from his aura, if nowhere else.
The last turn took us into a neighborhood that had seen better days probably twenty years ago. Houses were small. Paint peeled off the siding and weeds grew out of clogged gutters.
"Anywhere in here is fine," he said.
I pulled to the curb.
"You never said if you wanted my help or not," he said.
I gave him a long look, trying to understand why he cared what happened to me.
"I'm not exactly your favorite person, and that goes both ways, so why do you care about the factions? Or what they want to do to me?"
"Maybe I like the idea of spending more time with you," he replied with a sly grin.
God, I wished he'd let up with the charm act. "Aren't you afraid of them?" I asked.
"Nope."
"Then pardon me for saying so, but you're certifiably nuts. Or you must have had a lot of training in West Region to be that brave." A new thought occurred to me. "Are you actually worried about my safety?"
He let out a surprised laugh. "Let's get one thing clear. I'm not here to protect you. Never was on my agenda, never will be."
His tone stung. "Oh, please. Like I even need your protection. And don't forget, you're the one who offered to help me. I'll pass."
"Good luck with the factions," he said.
"Good luck tracking down your brother."
"Foster brother." Jaxon stepped into the downpour.
Chapter 6
I parked in the school lot two spaces away from Becca and Lucas. They leaned against a red Mustang convertible, their tongues angling down each other's throats. Watching them sparked a twinge of loneliness. She had her guy and a whole new crowd of friends. That was more than I had. I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.
"Hey, Echo, wait up!" Becca peeled herself off her boyfriend and jogged to my side. Her fingers were warm on my arm. "I'm sorry I was such a bi-otch yesterday. It's just, all this Wiccan stuff was…I dunno. I totally overreacted. I guess I thought I had something special, you know?"
Her apology fell flat. What did she think, that I was keeping secrets from her just for fun, to make myself feel special?
"You're right, there's a whole lot I haven't told you. You know why? It's private. A lot happened between me and Connor that I can never explain, not to anyone."
I headed into the building. She hooked my elbow. "I'm sorry. I never should have yelled at you yesterday. I guess I was a little jealous of him."
"Well, you've got a boyfriend of your own now."
"No, I mean he was taking up all your time. You and me hardly hung out anymore. You used to tell me all your secrets, you know? I know you had some odd stuff going on and it's none of my business, but I'll listen when you're ready?" Her face was wide open, hopeful.
"Thanks," I said, warming at the notion of having my friend back.
We stood there for an uncomfortable minute.
"So," she stalled.
"So."
"Oh!" She held up a set of car keys. "I got my license! And look what my dad bought me!" She pointed at the sleek, red Mustang convertible where she and Lucas had been making out. Becca had gotten her dream car.
"Congratulations. It's beautiful."
"It's so new, I'm afraid to leave it in the parking lot. It doesn't even have license plates yet," she said. "Hey, Lucas has basketball practice most mornings so if you ever want a ride—"
"I'd love to," I cut in.
We chattered until the final bell cut us apart.
******
During my free period, I went to the library and checked out the yearbooks from the past three years. That seemed like a good way to search for the girl I'd met two days ago. I tossed them in my book bag with my usual gobs of homework.
As if I didn't have enough going on, that afternoon, I started my new part-time job. Mind you, I didn't want this job, but Kimber got tired of watching me sulk around the house during winter break. She'd left me not-so-subtle hints about job openings. One day, I found the Smoothie Shack phone number written on my bathroom mirror with lipstick. Point taken. I applied the next day and got the job.
The Smoothie
Shack occupied a space in one of the downtown complexes not far from Pioneer Mall and was a favorite after-school hangout for Lincolnites.
The shop was divided into two parts, the juice bar and The Cave. The girls usually hung out at the bar, sipping fruit drinks that they spiked with Diet Red Bull. The guys played arcade games in the darkened back room, The Cave, coming to the counter to refill sodas and flirt with the girls.
I showed up for my first shift a few minutes late. My manager was a pimply-faced senior who worked his way into management by putting in extra hours over the summer.
"If you show up on time and get the orders right, I'll put in a good word for you. Management has its perks, you know. Free smoothies and game tokens."
He'd forgotten to introduce himself, so I took a wild stab in the dark and assumed his nametag read Joe for a reason.
Joe handed me a t-shirt with the Shack logo and a baseball hat. After I changed, he gave me a sixty-second tutorial on how to make smoothies (fruit, ice, special powder, know how to use a blender?), a short cash register lesson, and left me behind the counter to fend for myself.
"You can do homework between customers," he said, and he took off to watch a Mortal Kombat battle in The Cave.
I didn't have any customers so I found a corner table and pulled out last year's yearbook. If I'd been asked to sit with a police sketch artist, my description of the girl would have been embarrassingly thin: hair that might have been short and brown but I couldn't be certain because it was under a hat. Big eyes (of course, she was ten shades past freaked out), ashen skin (another sign of being terror-stricken), and no unique, memorable features.
At first, I took my time on each page, looking closely at every photo, trying to match it with what little I remembered. By the time I paged through the sophomore class, I was skimming faces. By junior year, all the pictures blended together in a wash of color.
At the counter, someone banged on the service bell hard enough to suggest we should evacuate the building.
"Hellooo. Anybody here?" The voice of the she-devil broke my concentration.
"Yeah?" I slid to my place behind the cash register, my eyes slitty, ruffled by the idea that I was forced to be cordial to the one person who least deserved it.
Raquelle's eyes glided over me. "Oh, it's you," she said, my appearance obviously pushing her day into the unbearable zone. Her eyes were rimmed with red like she'd been crying. Raquelle never cried, not even when her dog died, so right away I assumed the worst.
Her dad, Mr. Crane, had been in the hospital for weeks. Nobody was sure what happened, but Connor and I shared the same theory, that Solomon, the man who had attacked me, had attacked Mr. Crane, too. He'd been injured badly and by the grief on Raquelle's face, his health had taken a bad turn.
Her eyes gave me a judgmental pass, like she wasn't sure her smoothie order would be in capable hands.
"Something happened to my dad," she said unexpectedly.
I glanced to my left, then right.
"Yeah, I'm talking to you. Don't act all surprised," she said. "That's why I'm such a hot mess." She air-circled her face with a finger. "I've been up at the hospital."
If she'd had anyone else to dump her drama on, no doubt she would have ignored me. "What happened?" I asked.
"Somebody got into my dad's room last night and tied off his oxygen tube," she said. "Like, put a knot in it."
My eyes bugged. If her dad was using a machine to breathe, tying off the oxygen tube was as good as trying to end his life.
"Is he okay?"
She nodded. "The machine's alarm went off. A nurse ran in and fixed it."
An alarm was going off in my head, too. First, a faction girl tried to end her life. Then, someone tried to end Mr. Crane's. Connor was convinced Mr. Crane was in the faction, and I wondered if there was a connection.
"Do you know who did it?" I asked with more eagerness than I intended.
Raquelle scowled. "Some psycho, obviously." She scanned the handwritten menu hanging above my head. "It's been a long day and I'm hungry. I want a Mango Tango smoothie, extra protein powder. And make sure you use low-fat fruit."
There was no point in rolling my eyes. "Fruit doesn't have any fat in it."
"Then why does my fruit yogurt always say it's low fat? Huh? Just make sure you grab the right mangoes. I've been stuck eating hospital food all week and my jeans are digging into me." She tugged at her waistband. The denim left a red line where it cut into her hip.
A better person might have explained that it was the dairy, not the fruit, that was low fat. But hey, I'm no angel.
I reached deep into the cooler. "Oh, lookee here. All the fat free mangoes are hiding in the back." I dumped a scoopful into the blender along with the other ingredients and frappéed the lot into submission.
I slid the plastic cup and a straw across the counter. She gave me an inquisitive once-over. "You weren't really going to jump off the bridge today, were you? That would have been pathetic."
"Nope. Just checking out the view."
"Uh-huh. You're obviously dying for attention. Why don't you join the Debate Team or something?"
I worked up a friendly smile. We were actually having a reasonably civil conversation. No snide remarks, no passive aggressive threats. This was the perfect time to pump her for information.
"Who would possibly want to mess with your dad's oxygen? I thought everyone liked him," I said in my most helpful tone and swiped a towel over the spotless display case.
She shrugged. "The hospital swears it wasn't anyone on their staff, but who else would be there after visiting hours?"
"Has he had any, I dunno, strange people visit him?"
"Why do you care?"
"Just trying to help."
She eyed me suspiciously. "Just ring me up so I can get out of here." She fished out her credit card.
"Four-fifty," I said, punching cash register buttons to initiate the transaction. The digital screen gave me an empty stare. I tried another series of buttons. No luck. "Shoot. I'll be right back."
I hurried to The Cave entrance and squinted into the dark, looking for my manager. Slowly, sluggishly, an agonizing presence slithered into my aura. Tarry energy stabbed the back of my throat. Faction energy.
I immediately felt hot and sick. I sidestepped out of the arcade and behind the counter.
"I don't have all night," Raquelle whined. Then, "Why do you look all pasty?"
"Um…" I stuttered. With one eye on The Cave entrance, I tried the register again. It rang up the purchase. She swiped her credit card. My mind raced. Should I leave the building? Hide out in back until everyone left?
"What's with you, lately? You used to be almost kind of cool, before I had to dump you from the Partychicks."
"Shut up, Raquelle," I hissed. I needed her to be quiet. I had to think what to do next.
"Excuse me?" Her voice hit a high C. Nobody told Queen Bee to shut up.
"I said…"
A group of kids strolled out of the arcade and into the shop. They laughed and chattered. All except one. A small, hooded figure in the middle of the group peered over her shoulder and held my gaze.
I quit breathing. The large eyes and fair skin. She looked like the girl from the bridge. As they left the building, I skirted the counter and went after them. The door wouldn't budge. I shook it, and the deadbolt rattled. The door had been locked from the inside. Not by me, so how?
I flipped the bolt and ran outside. The winter air bit through the thin fabric of my work shirt. My breath came out in cold, white puffs as I searched up and down the sidewalk. The kids were gone. Behind me, the girl's pain rolled out of the store like a receding tide.
I went back in, my chest tight from the bitter cold and the close encounter. While I willed my racing heart to slow down, I caught movement on the handwritten menu board hanging above the counter. Below the Mango Tango smoothie listing, a blue whiteboard pen floated in the air, scrawling out a message:
Jump befor
e it's too late.
Chapter 7
My limbs filled with ice.
Raquelle was so busy watching my near meltdown, she missed the voodoo happening right over her head.
"God, you are such a freak," she said.
My whole body shook. "If you find out what happened to your dad, will you let me know?"
She sniffed. "Why don't you stick to worrying about your own parents? Oh, that's right, your dad is never around and Kimber isn't your real mom. No wonder you were hanging over the West Vista bridge."
I spun on her. "Enough with the suicide jokes. It's sickening."
"Jumper," she said.
My manager came in from The Cave, and that may have been the single thing that prevented me from strangling my very first customer. "How's everything going out here?" he asked.
"Excellent," I said, pasting on a smile.
"Hoppity, jumping wonderful," Raquelle answered, and pushed through the exit with one hip.
Joe saw I had the counter covered and went back into the arcade. Quaking, I set the stepstool beneath the menu and erased the words in blue.
*******
On the drive home from the Smoothie Shack, I slumped behind the wheel, trembling uncontrollably. It wasn't the message on the menu board, or Raquelle's heartless taunting that had gotten to me. Something else, unfamiliar and haunting, settled in my bones, darkening the core of who I was. I could not put my finger on it.
I got to the top of the hill on the highway leading home and glided down the other side, picking up speed and passing cars until I was wheel-to-wheel with a semi in the next lane.
The road beyond my headlights contracted to a dark point. That was my future, too. A narrowing tunnel with no bright light at the end.
The truck next to me barreled down the hill, its trailer bobbing and weaving over the dashed yellow line between us. Its blinker signaled it was about to move into my lane. I suddenly hoped I was sitting in the driver's blind spot.
That's when I realized something in me had snapped.
Before the incident at the bridge, when the girl took my hand and tried to coax me onto the railing, I had never, ever considered ending my life. It was unthinkable. In the past months, I had lived through, and survived, heartbreaking loss. Much of it had been unbearable, and at times I'd hated my life, but I always came through it okay.
