Silver Moon (Silver Moon, #1)

by Rebecca A. Rogers

  Silver Moon

  REBECCA ROGERS

  Copyright © 2011 Rebecca A. Rogers

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 9780615477442

  DEDICATION

  To those who taught me to never give up. You know who you are.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I wouldn’t have done this without the support of my friends, family and co-workers. You guys believed in me when the world didn’t. For that I am eternally grateful.

  “All of us are God's creatures…just some are more creature than others.”

  – Unknown

  Chapter One

  The bright blue motel gets smaller through the back window of the car as we drive away. I sleep on and off for a few more hours, which works out perfectly, because it’s awkward trying to chat with my parents. What would I say? Oh, thank you Mom and Dad for sending me away indefinitely.

  Um, no.

  They’re adamant about this, about sending me away. All I did was trespass on private property to hang out with a few friends. It’s not like I killed someone. Now I’m subjected to spending the rest of senior year with my aunt and uncle in Connecticut.

  I think about Sean and Layla, my friends back home, and about how much I’m going to miss Charleston. My days were spent with them—skipping school, playing pool at Mickie J’s until long after the sun went down, and pretty much staying in trouble. It didn’t matter where we went, trouble followed. I still remember the last conversation I had with Sean before I left home.

  “Hey, you. What’s this about your parents sending you off?” he asked.

  “How’d you—”

  “Layla told me.”

  “Yeah, Connecticut. Can you believe that?” I huffed. Boxes upon boxes were stacked together. I could barely squeeze by them to sit down on my bed.

  “It’s all good,” he joked, then fell silent. “Candra, you won’t forget us, will you? No matter what we’ll always be here for you. So, if you run away and somehow make it back down here, then you can come over and hang.”

  I chuckled. “Thanks, Sean. That means a lot.”

  “You will come back, won’t you?”

  “I hope so. I don’t think I’ll last a year up there.”

  “Just put on your happy face. The sooner they realize you are well-behaved, the sooner you come back.”

  “I’ll do my best. No guarantees, though.”

  “Someone’s coming.” Sean lowered his voice to a whisper. “I have to go. Let us know as soon as you get up there.”

  “Bye, Sean.” My words came out strained, lifeless.

  “See ya, Candra.”

  Dad eases the car into a gas station on the outskirts of West Hartford. He steps out to pump while Mom mentions running inside. She asks if I want anything to snack on, but I’d probably puke it back up. My nerves are getting the best of me. I give her a simple “no”.

  “How much longer?” I ask when she slides back in the passenger seat.

  “Not too long, sweetie. We should be there within thirty minutes.”

  We take Exit 40, which veers off I-84 to Ridgewood Drive. The streets are lined with Colonials and Victorians, of all different shapes and sizes.

  Dad makes a few more turns before pulling into a driveway.

  “This is it,” Mom says.

  My stomach does a somersault.

  The house is a white Colonial, and rests off the main road—like, really far off the main road. Vines snake around the front, hugging the house. It does sit on the edge of the forest, I remind myself. The front lawn is immaculate and clean cut. Rows of hedges are lined under the front window. Large trees line the driveway.

  Randy and Beth come down the front steps to greet us.

  “It’s so good to see everyone, and nice to see my niece again,” Randy says. His short, dark brown hair compliments his lean build and tall stature. Beth is short, like me, and has chestnut hair that falls in loose waves around her shoulders.

  I’m still pessimistic about the situation.

  “Come inside,” Beth says. “Dinner’s on the stove, but I’ll let you all get situated before we eat.” She curls her arm around me, smiles, and leads us inside. I catch a whiff of her perfume, which smells like fresh flowers—soft, sweet.

  A white, wooden staircase sits off to the right as we enter the house. Pictures hang on the wall leading up to the second floor.

  “Is my bedroom up there?” I ask.

  “Silly me!” Beth says, smiling. “Of course it is. I bet you’re exhausted!”

  “She shouldn’t be. She slept most of the way,” Dad says.

  Nobody asked you.

  Beth doesn’t acknowledge what he says. Instead, she grabs my hand and leads me to the second floor, motioning toward my room.

  “Here we are,” Beth says, gauging my reaction as we enter the room. “We didn’t know how you’d want to decorate it, so the room is kind of bland at the moment. We’ll go shopping soon and get you whatever you like.”

  “It’s nice,” I say. The walls are painted creamy beige and the bed, positioned against the far wall, has a cherry-finish. A matching dresser sits against the wall to the right of the door, and a mirror is propped against the closet entrance, next to the dresser.

  Everyone stares at me. I walk over to the one and only window. The view is on the right side of the house, facing the woods.

  Great. All I get is a view of a bunch of trees.

  “Let’s leave her,” Beth whispers to the others, like I’m deaf or something.

  I stay at the window, completely fixated on the woods. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing special. I just can’t stop staring.

  As crazy as it seems, for a split second my mind tells me I belong here.

  Weird.

  Mom and Dad bring up my duffel bag and boxes. Dad quickly leaves the room. When I turn to look out the window again, two eyes stare back at me from just inside the tree line. I gasp loudly. Eyes like beams from a flashlight. No animal would watch me like that.

  “What is it, Candra?” Mom asks.

  I can’t move. “There—there was—a—someone.”

  Mom laughs. “You’re tired, sweetie. Why don’t you come downstairs and get some food in your system? Beth’s a really good cook.”

  I watch the eyes gradually disappear.

  “I’m n-not h-hungry,” I stammer, turning around to face her, nearly staggering backward.

  Mom’s shoulders drop. “Get some rest, okay?” She reaches up and pushes a stray piece of hair behind my ear.

  I pull away before she has a chance to do a mother-daughter thing. I don’t feel like listening to how much she’ll miss me, or how she and Dad don’t want this to happen.

  Blah. Blah. Blah. I don’t need a damn therapist.

  She gets the hint, because she barely nods and leaves the room without saying a word.

  I collapse on my new bed. I’m not tired at all—just don’t feel like sitting through boring conversations at dinner.

  School starts for me on Monday. I don’t want to think about what that’ll be like or how other students will react to the new kid in town. I’ll think about it later; I have too much on my mind already—like those crazy eyes outside my window. What kind of animal has eyes like that?

  I sit up and the room sways. Maybe Mom’s right. Maybe I should eat something. Carefully, I stand and walk toward the door. The edges of my vision smudge and turn black.

  Oh, God, I think.

  That’s the last thing I remember.

  ~*~

  I wake to someone plastering a cold, wet washcloth across my forehead. Lips move, but I can’t hear or make out the words, let alone see who it is.

  I try rolling my h
ead around, but it feels like dead weight and hardly budges.

  Finally, sound fills my ears, and vision returns to my eyes. Mom’s the one at my head, and everyone else stands around me.

  “What happened?” I groan, rubbing my eyes.

  “We heard a loud crash and came up here. You were passed out on the floor. I told you to eat dinner, didn’t I?” Mom says.

  I nod my head slowly, careful not to become dizzier than I already am.

  Mom stands and walks toward the door. “Now come downstairs, and I’ll fix you something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry,” I tell her. Jeez, how many times do I need to repeat myself?

  Her eyebrows fold together. “Now is not the time to be stubborn, Candra.”

  “Really, I’m not. I just want to unpack and go to bed.” I try waving her off, but it doesn’t do me any good.

  “I’ll bring you something,” Mom insists.

  I roll my eyes and grumble, “Fine.”

  Dad helps me up, while Mom rushes downstairs and grabs food. I still feel woozy and disoriented. I’ve never passed out before, and I hope I never will again.

  When Mom returns with a piping hot bowl of beef stew and crackers, I take my time spooning the mixture into my mouth. She sits at the end of the bed, watching me. Everyone else has left the room.

  I frown. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

  “I’m going to miss you,” she says.

  My stomach flips, but I can’t break down; it’s not on my agenda. So, I roll my eyes and make circles with my spoon in the stew. “Okay,” I respond.

  “Your father will miss you too.”

  Yeah, right, because the whole purpose of me being here has to do with you missing me, loving me, and looking out for me. I don’t say it aloud, though.

  “Hmm…that’s nice.”

  “We know this is really hard for you, honey, but it’ll all work out in the end.” She pats my foot.

  I twist my legs away from her. “Nothing you say will make me forgive you two. You could’ve just grounded me and saved yourselves some money. I guess it’s easier to ship me off and let someone else take care of me rather than having to worry about it, right?”

  Mom bites her lip, and tears threaten to spill, but she holds them back. “Get some rest, and we’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Whatever.”

  I hand her my tray and she gingerly accepts it and leaves the room. I slam the door behind her, pounding one fist, then another against the frame. I don’t want to unpack. I don’t want to do anything. Sleep is the only thing to do. It’s my only escape from this hell I’m living in. So, I collapse on my bed. My eyelids become heavy, and, soon, I plummet into darkness.

  ~*~

  By the time I wake the next morning and stroll downstairs, everyone’s eaten breakfast and my parents’ luggage is waiting by the front door.

  “What’s all this?” I ask.

  Mom jumps up from her chair in the dining room. “Your father and I decided to leave a day early. We have some stuff to take care of back home.”

  “Right,” I huff.

  Mom ignores me and picks up a suitcase. She and Dad make their way out to the Honda. She looks like she’s going to burst into tears at any second. After loading their luggage into the trunk, she walks over and gives me a hug.

  I have to be strong. I won’t break down.

  Especially after all they’ve put me through this past week.

  “I’m going to miss you so much,” Mom says. “I know this is hard for you, adjusting to a new town and everything, but I think it’ll work out for the best. Listen to Randy and Beth. Help them with whatever they need. Please stay in touch. Let us know what’s going on.”

  “Why? It’s not like you won’t talk to Beth, anyway.” I look down at my Chucks, wishing I can take back the comment. I feel bad for treating them like shit. I mean, they are almost being too nice to me.

  My throat tightens and throbs, making it that much harder to hold back tears, or to say anything at all. I don’t want to look at Mom for fear of breaking down.

  Dad drapes his arm around Mom’s shoulders, and pulls her to his chest. He gives her a comforting hug.

  “We’ll miss you, kiddo. Take care, all right?” he says. He’s never been the mushy type. If he can avoid goodbyes altogether, he will.

  I don’t look at him, either. Instead, I retort by saying, “Yeah.”

  Mom reaches into her front jean pocket and pulls out a white envelope. “This is for you. Don’t open it until we leave.”

  I take the envelope from her and eye it. What the hell could she possibly have to say to me in a note?

  Mom and Dad turn to hug Randy and Beth, and then get in the Honda. Dad starts the engine, while Mom rolls the window down. She sticks her hand out the window and waves, as they speed down the driveway.

  I wave, which looks clumsy, but I know they don’t see it.

  So, this is it. A new beginning.

  “Candra?” Beth gently asks. She sounds like she’s checking to see if I’m still breathing.

  I don’t reply. I turn on my heels and dart through the front door. Upstairs, I slam the door behind me. I don’t want to talk to her or Randy. I don’t want to think about my parents leaving me with people I barely know. I don’t want to think about the challenges I’ll face come Monday.

  My hand tightly grips the envelope Mom gave me. I rip it open to see the contents—a folded letter and a silver heart locket. I open the letter and begin to read.

  Candra,

  I know you don’t understand why we did this, but you will soon. This was the hardest decision we’ve ever made. I’m leaving this silver locket in your possession now. It was my mother’s. Please take good care of it. Inside the locket are pictures of your father and me, so we will always be close to your heart.

  Please call me as soon as you can.

  Love always,

  Mom

  One tear slides down my cheek, followed by another. Once they begin to flow, they won’t stop. Before I know it, I’m doubled over—crying so hard I’m sure the whole neighborhood can hear me.

  All of the emotions from the past few days catch up to me. I pull my legs to my face and wrap my arms around them. The tops of my jeans are damp and smudged with my black mascara. The words stay strong replay over and over in my mind, but I can’t be strong anymore.

  I chuck the locket across the room, where it hits the wall with a clank and falls to the floor.

  I cry until there isn’t a drop of water left in my eyes, and my throat aches from my shrill sobs.

  Chapter Two

  High school. The worst part of my life. Some say it’s the best, but I wonder what planet they’re from. If I can get through the long days without any morons making fun of the new kid, then I suppose it might be a tolerable.

  Beth gives me simple directions on how to get to school by foot. I’m glad she doesn’t mention my disgusting display of emotions from the previous night, because it won’t happen again. Last night I swore to myself that I’d make this work, even if it takes every ounce of strength to get myself out of bed and to school every day. I just need to get through this year, and then my exile will be over. I’ll go home.

  I stand in front of the high school, watching students mass through the main doors. Everything in me says turn around and run—run fast and far. But I know change is what I’m here for.

  The school reminds me of a penitentiary with its all-brick façade. Walls seem to disappear into their flat structure. Four areas of the building form bulky squares, rising above roof level. The only area that has any form to it is a large, circular building to my right.

  Oh, God. This really is a reformatory.

  The sign on the front lawn is brick, with a white board set in the center. Up top, it reads: CONARD HIGH SCHOOL. Below the name, plastic letters say: Welcome Students! But the first “t” in “students” looks more like an “l”. Idiots don’t know how to spell. Of course I’d ge
t stuck here.

  My personal prison sits back from the principle road and sidewalk. Trees with gnarled trunks and long limbs stand authoritatively along the way to the main entrance. Green grass splays across the lot, dotted with patches of yellow and brown. Birds whistle to each other through the trees.

  I force my legs to move.

  Breathe, I tell myself, counting my steps.

  There are only a few students left outside, scurrying in before the first bell rings. I need to find the office. Walking toward the two main doors, I hang out for a minute, still uneasy about this whole going-to-school thing. Back in Charleston, I skipped classes.

  I take a deep breath and make my feet move. Some kid bumps into me, then turns around.

  “Watch where you’re going,” I grumble.

  His eyebrows rise. “Yeah, uh, sorry.”

  For a split second, I feel like a complete bitch.

  “Where’s the office?” I ask.

  He points toward the front doors and says, “In there. On the right.” Then he jogs inside.

  Students crowd around the front counter; one guy is trying to get a couple of classes changed, another looks to be faking some sort of illness, and I’m not sure what the others are there for. I push through all of them. The old woman behind the counter seems startled by my approach.

  “Can I help you, dear?” she asks. Her black-rimmed glasses slide down her nose every three seconds, and she forces them back up to the bridge. They magnify her eyes so much she looks like a bug.

  “I’m new and need to get a list of my classes.”

  “Name?”

  “Candra Lowell.”

  She turns and walks to a back room, mumbling my name the whole way. I swear it takes her ten minutes to print the list off of a computer that’s older than I am.

  “Here you go, hon,” she says, handing me a list. “Do you need help finding your classes?” She reminds me of a white-haired robot, with her routine gestures and monotone voice.