by Eliza Nolan
Dad might've kept the house spotless, but when it came to my bedroom, we had an arrangement - I kept my door closed, and he left my mess alone. The odd layout of my room made it nearly impossible to keep clean, anyway. It was just big enough for my twin bed, a dresser, and a small nightstand. Not a corner to stash things in. However, the closet had a window and was big enough for me to cram a small desk in there, so I used it as my office.
I climbed over the pile of clothing on the floor that needed to be washed, and deliberately faceplanted into bed.
Maybe tonight I would finally get some sleep.
* * *
I rush down the wooded path as fast as I can. My legs throb and my lungs burn as I push forward through the night.
I should be heading in the other direction, away from danger, but my survival instinct is overpowered by an even deeper need. A need so primal I can't name it; I only feel its pull and have to obey.
A man's yell cuts through the forest. I race even faster towards the bloodcurdling sound.
But when I get there, it's too late. I hide behind a tree at the edge of the clearing.
Light from a bonfire illuminates a group of men in hooded cloaks. At their feet kneels a teenage boy. He's wearing jeans and nothing else. Blood drips down his chest from fresh cuts. One of the men stands over him, a bloody knife in his hand. The boy wavers on his knees and collapses to the ground. The others move away, leaving him where he lies, motionless.
They near my hiding place at the edge of the clearing, forcing me to duck back.
"Do you think she's still looking for us?" one says.
"I'm sure she never got this far," another answers. "We took the only boat. How could she have made it to this side of the swamp without a boat?"
"It doesn't matter. What's important is that she never follow us again. It's time to teach her a lesson."
The shuffle of their feet fades as they head towards the swamp.
The only sound left is the racing thump, thump of my heart, so loud I'm sure all the creatures in the forest can hear. I tiptoe out into the clearing and, seeing no one else, rush over to the guy. Still breathing, he is curled up in a ball on the ground. His body is covered in a mixture of dirt and his own blood. So much blood!
"Hey." My voice comes out in an unsteady whisper. "Are you okay?"
He turns to face me and I startle when I recognize him.
My hands shake as I reach out to him. I brush his shoulder with my fingertips and sharp pain shoots through them and up my arm. It's like a million pin pricks at once.
I jerk my hand away, crying out.
* * *
I jolted upright in bed, clutching my still aching hand to my chest.
As the pricking sensation in my arm faded, I wiped away the sweat from my forehead. My room was cold, so why was I sweating? I lay back down, pulled the covers over me, and tried to forget the image of him dripping with blood. I knew it was just a dream, but it felt so real. And so familiar.
It was the same as my other dreams. The same hot, humid air, the same sweet smells, the same forest, the same urgent panic.
But this time I'd found the thing I was supposed to stop - a seriously disturbing cult ritual.
And I knew the boy.
Graham.
Chapter Three
"Your hair is totally fab, Julia, but you look like crap. You have got to get some sleep," Samantha said.
"Thanks," I grumbled, too tired for our usual snarky banter.
"Sorry, Jules." She wrapped her arm around me and squeezed me into a one-armed hug. "Was it the dreams again?" she asked as we moved through the crowded hallway.
"Yeah, only this time it was different. Instead of just running through the swamp looking for something, I actually found it," I said. I told her about the guys in cloaks who cut up Graham.
"Guys with cloaks? Julia, I think you need to cut back on the black eyeliner; you're finally turning into a full-fledged goth."
We stopped at our lockers. Samantha spun her combo lock a few times, then paused. "Graham was shirtless, though." She raised her eyebrows. "That's pretty hot." She popped her locker open.
My cheeks warmed. "Ye…No, I…He was all curled up on the ground, covered in blood. I wasn't thinking about that."
"Mmmm," Samantha said. "I am."
I jabbed her with my elbow.
"Kidding. Relax." She jabbed me back. "So, did you finally figure out what was going to happen if you didn't stop these cloaked men from whatever they were doing?"
"No." I shrugged. "But I guess we'll find out since I didn't stop them in time."
"If the world ends, Julia, I'm blaming you."
We both laughed.
"See you at lunch?"
"Absolutely." She closed her locker and headed to class.
Clara was already in calculus when I got there. Her eyes brightened when I entered. "Oh, I love the red streaks," she said, smiling widely as I took the seat next to her. "Where did you get it done?"
I pulled a lock of red hair in front of my eyes and smiled through my morning daze. "Thanks. My friend did it."
She leaned forward on her elbows. "Did you get my note yesterday?"
"Yeah," I said. The exhaustion gripping on to me loosened slightly. Finally, I got to ask about the P.S. "I…There was…You wrote…" I paused. How could I ask what I wanted without sounding boy crazy and pathetic? "I didn't realize Graham liked me. Not in a girlfriend way or anything, but you know, just liked me; if that's what you meant. I mean…" I stopped, hearing Clara's giggle.
"I saw you at lunch yesterday; you couldn't keep your eyes off him. He's my brother, so eew." She shivered, then pepped back up. "But as long as I don't have to date him."
Crap. Apparently, subtlety was not one of my strengths.
"But it looked like he was having a great time with Libby at lunch." I prodded further. "I wondered if you knew something I didn't. I mean, Libby's all beautiful and popular, and I'm, well, just me." I twisted a bit of hair through my fingers.
Clara laughed. "What do you mean 'just you'? You're Julia. You're cooler than you give yourself credit for."
"I'm not sure if you're just being nice or what, because I know I'm not all that. I guess what I'm wondering is if he's said anything to you that would…well, that would make you think he likes me." It felt so junior high the way it came out of my mouth, but I really didn't know how else to say it. I bit my lip.
She paused, blinking, then said, "Gosh, no, not really. Graham keeps to himself about girls and all. He hasn't said a word about you or anyone else."
"Oh." I slumped back in my chair.
Her lips turned down in a sympathetic frown, which made me feel pathetic, so in an effort to redirect her I said, "So, what happened to Graham? You wrote that he'd been through a lot."
"When we were in Charleston..." She trailed off. "You know, maybe I shouldn't have said anything." She looked down, then shook her head. "Sorry. I guess I forgot that some of our stories are for Graham to tell. Just, please, know that he's fragile."
I nodded, but had no idea what could possibly make him "fragile." From what I'd seen, he was calm and confident.
I dug in my school bag, pulling out my textbook. "But I think you're wrong about your brother liking me. Have you seen the way he is around Libby?"
"Whatever you say." Clara laughed.
* * *
Samantha wasn't in the lunchroom when we got there, so I let Clara pull me over to the same table as yesterday. Nate, Graham, and Libby joined us again, begging the question, how much longer would Libby be willing to sit with us? How much longer before she wooed Graham to her table with her friends?
Graham listened to Libby's bubbly description of some wild party she went to last weekend, laughing at all the right parts. Yet, every once in a while I caught him glancing over at me. I grabbed the neck of my shirt to make sure it wasn't on inside out or backwards, and rubbed my nose just in case - heaven forbid - I had something extra hanging there. Because he
wouldn't be looking at me out of any kind of interest, would he?
I thought about last night's dream. I could still hear his yell echo through the night, see the blood drip down his chest, feel the sharp pain when I reached out to touch his skin. But it was just a dream. It didn't mean anything. Well, maybe it meant that I liked Graham, and that my subconscious had a really weird way of dealing with boys I liked.
"Seriously, Julia?" Samantha said, coming up from behind and making me jump. "What's wrong with our old table?" She fixed me with a hard stare, her eyebrows joined in the middle.
"Hi," I said, ignoring her question and mood. "Samantha, this is Clara and her brother, Graham."
Clara put on her Southern hospitality smile and waved.
Samantha gave Clara and Graham a chin-up nod and sat down next to me, leaning in. "When did you become this big social butterfly?" she asked under her breath.
"We can't just hide over there at our lonesome table all year. Clara's nice; she's cool."
"Sure, in a Southern belle kinda way," she mumbled.
"No secrets." Nate nudged me.
"Sorry. BFF stuff," Samantha said over my head. She stood up. "I have to make a call. Later, Jules." She headed for the front door.
I considered following her, but maybe she could use the time. Let her figure out whether or not she wanted to be alone. I looked around the table. I had no desire to bond with Libby, but Nate, Clara, maybe even Graham, I didn't need to be a one-friend-girl for the next year. I didn't want to be, either.
* * *
"Slow down, Julia!" someone shouted as I made my way to ceramics.
I scanned the crowded hallway for a face I knew - one that would call out my name, anyway. But there was no one. They must've been calling to another Julia.
A few steps down the hall a hand grabbed my arm. I turned to see who it was, tripped, gracefully flailed my arms to catch my balance, and fell. The hand holding my arm tightened to catch me. When I regained my footing, I pulled away. Oh no, it was Graham. Did I have to do that in front of him? Honestly, could this get any worse?
"Sorry. You okay?" he asked in his raspy voice. His crystal blue eyes radiated kindness.
"Yeah," I said.
His eyes travelled down to my neck. My breath hitched and I immediately put a hand to my throat. My fingers touched Mom's necklace, which was usually kept tucked under my shirt. It must've come out when I bumped into him.
He reached out, his fingertips brushing against my skin, and picked up the small charm, turning it over in his fingers. "It's beautiful," he said. "Why do you hide it?"
"I don't know." I really did like it, but I'd always worn it beneath my shirt, so it was closer to me, I guess. Explaining that took way too many words, though, and his touch had sucked up every one of them from me.
I watched his hand, so close as he held the necklace. I swallowed and looked up at him. There was something dark in his eyes, but also familiar. He held my gaze for a moment before he let go of my necklace and took a step back. Something tugged at me as he moved away.
"Didn't you hear me calling back there?"
"Yeah, but I didn't see you."
"Can I walk with you?" He nodded in the direction of class.
"Sure."
He motioned for me to lead the way, so I headed once again down the hall, and Graham fell in step beside me.
Samantha wasn't in class yet when we arrived, so I walked over to an empty worktable and sat down. When Graham took a seat next to me, his faint, sweet and musky scent took me by surprise. It made me forget about everything else, and I mentally measured the space between us. Such a short distance never felt so far. I fought the urge to move closer.
I stole a glance at his face only to catch him watching me. My cheeks flashed hot, and I tried to remember if I'd run a brush through my hair that morning. I not-so-subtly ran my hand over my hair, and relaxed. It was mostly snarl free.
When class started, Samantha still hadn't shown. She was probably just running late. Mr. Smith was somewhat relaxed with us since we were always in his class after school working on our projects, so showing up late wasn't a huge deal.
Graham hadn't taken ceramics since grade school, so Mr. Smith asked me to show him the basics of how to make something on the wheel.
"So, you're gonna teach me how to make bowls fly?" He smiled.
"You saw that?" Lord kill me now.
"Yeah, I thought about reporting you for bowl abuse. But that thing was way better than anything I could make, even after it hit the ground."
I had to laugh.
Graham and I each got a hunk of clay, loaded up with all the tools we needed, and grabbed two potter's wheels next to each other.
"So, how does West High measure up to schools in the South?" I asked in a sad attempt at making conversation.
"It's hard to compare the two. For one thing, we went to private school in Charleston." He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal, just different.
"You were one of those private school snobs?" I teased.
"Nah, I wasn't one of those kids. But I went to school with a lot of 'em. Most kids at my school were what you call 'Bluebloods.' They came from old money, and could trace their Charleston roots back over three hundred years, to when the area was first colonized.
"Since I wasn't one of them, they wouldn't associate with me. Clara and I hung out with the few northerners or 'Yankees.'"
"You were an outcast?" I pressed my lips together. A place where someone like Graham didn't fit in?
"Yeah, I guess. If by 'outcast' you mean someone the other kids avoided like the plague." His lips turned up in a smile.
I stared at him with his striking eyes, swoon-worthy body, and charming personality, wondering what kind of place could be so exclusive Graham wouldn't fit in. Hell, they probably wouldn't even let me through the front door.
When class ended, Graham walked me to my locker again. It wasn't until he'd left me to go to his next class that I realized Samantha hadn't made it to ceramics at all. We didn't hang out every night after school, but it was Friday, and we had tickets to D-Gr8ted. I dug in my bag, found my phone, and texted her.
Where RU?
No response. No surprise since she didn't always respond to my texts right away.
I went home and got ready for the show, taking an extra-long, hot shower to wash all the school day off. I put on my makeup - which was more than just black eyeliner, thank you very much. I gave myself smoky eyes, and painted my lips bright red to match my new hairstreaks. I tried to find something that wasn't a black t-shirt to wear, just to show Samantha I could diversify, but in the end, I pulled on my usual black tee. Comfort was my favorite accessory.
By the time Dad dropped me off downtown in front of the club at eight, Samantha still hadn't texted - seriously bad. Not only was it not like her to leave me hanging this long, but she had my ticket.
The line to get inside went halfway around the block and I walked the whole thing twice looking for her. I found Starr and a bunch of other people I knew, but no Samantha.
Crap.
I headed over to Starr and a group of our friends. "Hey." I waved.
Starr half smiled, her eyes remaining cool. Strange for her, since she was a serious sweetie.
"Have you guys seen Samantha?" I asked, pulling my hair back out of my face.
"Nope," Starr answered for the group. Huh.
"Hey, Julia," Jeremy called from just down the line. He was a jerk, but we hung out in the same crowd, so I tried to be nice. Which is more than I could say for him.
"Yeah," I said.
He came over, and actually smiled at me. For once.
"Can I borrow twenty from you?" he asked. Well, that explained the smile.
I huffed. "No." If I had an extra twenty, it wouldn't be going to him.
"Then what good are you?" He spat on the ground in front of me, then walked past, shoving me with his shoulder as he went.
I staggered.
Starr looked afte
r him as if she was considering saying something, but there wasn't much to say. It was the kind of crap we expected from him. I tried to shrug it off. It didn't matter what an ass like Jeremy thought.
A message pinged in my phone, and I pulled it out to find a text from Samantha. Finally.
So sorry. Can't go to D-Gr8ed.
Noooo. I'd been waiting for this show forever. We had been waiting for this show forever. Samantha had my ticket. I refreshed my phone, looking for another message from her. She'd better be kidding.
Another message pinged in.
@hospital w/family. Nana's sick. Sorry.
I squeezed my eyes closed and pinched the bridge of my nose. Here I was worried about my ticket and she was at the hospital with her favorite grandma. I texted back.
Hope she's ok. Hugs. U need me?
No. I'll be ok.
The line started moving, and my friends shuffled along with it towards the door.
"You coming?" Starr asked.
"Not unless you have an extra ticket," I said, but of course none of them did. The show had been sold out forever. My only option was to go to the hospital and get my ticket from Samantha. Just considering the idea filled me with guilt. And if I went, I couldn't just grab the ticket and leave, I'd end up staying there with her. She said she didn't need me, so I really just had to leave her to be with her family.
Which meant, no ticket, no show.
Crap. I wrapped my arms around myself. All those chores I'd done over the past month to make this happen, yet here I was, helplessly watching my friends go in without me.
When the door closed on the last people in line, I headed for the bus stop. It wouldn't be fair to call Dad, he'd probably only just got home from dropping me off.
I crossed the street and headed down the sidewalk. The streets were packed, which I guess was normal for a Friday night in Downtown Minneapolis. Not that I ever got to see it at this hour. The mix of elegant dresses and suits of those heading to the theater district and others cruising the bar scene in their own take on Friday-night casual weren't my usual scene. I crossed my arms in front of me and kept my head down, in an effort to blend in.
Up ahead, base-heavy, Top-Forty music blasted from a brewpub so full of college kids that they spilled out onto the sidewalk. Two guys wearing baggy shorts and baseball caps held up their drunk buddy, probably out to get him some air. They might as well have had a blinking sign above their heads that said "Frat boys."
