Downcast (Olympus Falling Book 1)

by Cait Reynolds

  “Why do you think you’re not very good?”

  “Because, I’m not. Trust me. I absolutely fail at capturing things the way I want, the way I see them.”

  “How do you see them?” My questions were no longer about protecting me from his inquisitiveness. They were now genuinely about this unexpected side of the tall boy with the shadowy eyes standing in front of me.

  “I see everything in incredible detail,” he replied. “The texture of concrete, the way people stir the air around them when they move. It’s like I can see layers of colors and more edges and angles to everything. Painting just doesn’t show that as precisely as I want. I’ve tried watercolor, oil, acrylic, pastels, everything.”

  “Maybe you should try photography,” I suggested.

  “Photography?”

  “Yeah, I mean, with digital photography and Photoshop and everything, you should totally be able to get the effects you want. You know, capturing stuff exactly as it is, but distorting it so that you show it exactly as you see it.”

  Haley nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a good idea. I hadn’t thought of photography. Honestly, I was going to try sculpture next.”

  “Sculpture?” I laughed. “You mean like with a hammer and chisel?”

  “Why not?“ he replied, smiling. “There are statues that look incredibly realistic, like the person was frozen mid-step.”

  “Okay, Leonardo. Whatever. You know how long it would take you to learn how to make a statue like that?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Neither do I, but it would probably be a really long time. It might not even turn out all that good, and boom, you’ve just wasted two tons of marble or whatever.”

  Haley laughed, and I relished the smoky sound of it.

  “You don’t think I could do sculpture?” he asked, a smirk on his lips.

  “Honestly? I think it would probably be an epic fail.”

  “An epic fail involving two tons of marble.”

  “Exactly. At least if you suck at photography, too, you can eBay your camera.”

  “Wow, you really have no faith in my artistic abilities, do you?” he chuckled.

  I shrugged, fighting a small smirk of my own. “Call me a realist. Maybe even a pessimist.”

  “Oh, the irony that I’m the optimist, then,” he said, smiling at me.

  It was too easy to get lost in that smile, especially when his eyes added their own invitation.

  “Do you have any talents I can denigrate?” he murmured.

  “Nope,” I answered smugly. “I don’t really have any hobbies other than gardening, but I’m wicked good at that. It’s how I got my job at the store.”

  “Oh? What store?”

  “The Whole Foods off Wiscasset Road.”

  “Ah. What do you do there?”

  “I’m the goddess of the Floral Department.”

  Haley’s eyes widened for a moment as if I had said something shocking. He then laughed again, shaking his head.

  “What’s so funny?” I demanded.

  “Nothing is funny,” he replied as his laughter died down. “It’s just that you are perfect, and it’s completely frustrating.”

  It was my turn to do the wide-eyed shocked thing.

  “Hey, Steph!” Morris called from the end of the hall. “Just FYI, your mom is waiting outside.”

  Well, that was a mood killer.

  “Gotta go,” I said abruptly, grabbing my bag and slamming my locker shut.

  “Wait!” Haley exclaimed reaching out to grasp my arm, but I was beyond his reach.

  “Have a good weekend,” I muttered, dreading the lecture that would be coming from Mom about texting her if I was going to be late coming out of the building.

  “I’ll see you,” he said, his voice soft but carrying perfectly to my ears.

  ***

  Shocker of all shockers, Mom didn’t say a word about me being late. She simply drove us home, and I was happy to just lean back and close my eyes, thinking very hard about how not to think obsessively about my week.

  "Are you alright, Stephanie?" Mom asked as we pulled into our driveway, her voice sharp with worry.

  I dragged my eyes open and threw on a painfully cheerful smile for her.

  "Yup," I replied. "Just relaxing."

  "Is school that stressful for you?"

  "No," I reassured her quickly. "Nope, it's just nice to go home at the end of the day."

  "You could take your GED and stay home," Mom reminded me for the fifty-millionth time since I had turned sixteen. "You wouldn't have to be around all those other children all day long."

  "I'm learning a lot more through my teachers than I would with just a GED," I countered.

  "Well, I mean, we can always get you books from the library."

  "But, if I want to go to college, I'll have a better shot with a full high school education."

  Mom frowned. "I'm not sure you're ready for college. Those places are dangerous. Remember how we talked about how there’s all kinds of drinking and drugs, and young women are attacked all the time? You agreed with me that most college kids are out of control. Besides, college classes are stressful, and you know your health goes downhill when you are stressed. Why don't you take one of those online courses first? I can help you pick something appropriate this summer."

  I bit my lip to keep myself from responding. Hard. Otherwise I would have ended up in some kind of hypoallergenic isolation chamber with only Barney the dinosaur to keep me company.

  Then I saw it. My opportunity.

  "Did you ever go to college?" I asked trying to sound innocent.

  Mom frowned and slipped a side-glance at me.

  "I...," she began, hesitating and looking at me again. "I did not."

  "You didn't?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "It...it wasn't necessary."

  "What do you mean? Did your parents not want you to go? Or did you just not want to go?"

  "Stephanie, what are all these questions about?" There was a hot snap to her voice I'd never heard before.

  She turned off the car and walked toward the house, probably assuming this conversation was over. As far as I was concerned, it wasn’t, though, and I was going to let her know, too. I was ready for a fight, every nerve in my body buzzing with the righteous rage I had buried for so long.

  "If you didn't go to college," I asked, following her into the house. "How did you meet my father?"

  "Stephanie!"

  "It's a fair question, Mom."

  "Stephanie, I've told you. We do not talk about your father." Mom scrunched up her face tight, distorting her features like a funhouse mirror.

  "Yeah, but you never told me why not."

  "Because we don't." Her movements grew stiff and jerky, and I could see the whites of her knuckles as she clenched her hands into fists.

  "I can only imagine a couple of reasons why you wouldn't want to talk about him."

  "Stephanie, stop this instant!"

  I summoned the logic and reasoning of my Inner Helen and let Mom have it. "Did he knock you up with me when you were a teenager then leave you? Or, did you marry him then divorce him? Did you even know him? Was he a one night stand?"

  My mom's face went white, and she was so incandescent with anger that her eyes practically glowed.

  "Or, was he a nice guy?" I went on recklessly. "Did he love you? Were you the one to leave him? Does he even know I exist? Is he even still alive?"

  "Stephanie," she warned me in a low, menacing voice.

  "What's his name?" I hissed back. "I turn eighteen tomorrow, and I don't even know my father's name!"

  "This is not appropriate for a child to ask, Stephanie!"

  "I'm not a child any more. I haven't been for a long time. And tomorrow? Tomorrow, I'll be a legal adult."

  "You are still my child, Stephanie. You will always be my child. Nothing will ever change that."

  I jerked back a little. The sound of her voice as she sliced
up the word "always" announced that she was balanced on the knife’s edge between patience and rage. Okay, maybe it was time to de-escalate somewhat, but I was still going to make her talk to me for once, not just talk at me.

  "I'll always be your daughter," I agreed in what I hoped was a much more reasonable tone of voice. "But I'm growing up. I want to be an adult, out in the world."

  Mom looked stricken, but I held onto my courage and kept going.

  "I want to go to college, to live on campus like other students. I want to meet someone special, fall in love, get married and have kids. I want to have a career. I don't know exactly what I want to do yet, but that's what college is for. That's what meeting other people is for. You'll always be my mom, but soon, I am going to leave home. I am going to live my life."

  There, I was pretty proud of myself. That was a totally sensible speech. I hadn't been rude. I had been honest and fair. I just wanted the chances every other normal kid had. That can't have been asking too much.

  Mom tensed her shoulders and locked her jaw. Apparently, yes, I had asked too much.

  She narrowed her eyes at me and closed the space between us in two steps. Her chest rose and fell with heavy heaves of breath, and her lips curled, pulled back in a fearsome grimace. Her arms shook as if she was holding herself back with a tremendous effort. Instinctively, I took a step back. Mom had never raised her hand to me, but I wondered if this would be another first in a week that had already contained so many firsts.

  Sweat trickled down the back of my neck. When had the kitchen gotten so hot? Was I running a fever?

  "You will not disrespect me like this, Stephanie Starr," Mom snarled, her eyes narrowed and cheeks pale with rage. "Go to your room. Now. You are not to leave until I say so."

  My jaw was so tight that it hurt to speak.

  "It doesn't have to be like this, Mom."

  "GO TO YOUR ROOM!" she roared in an almost inhuman voice, the sound growing instead of fading, ringing and filling the room until there was no air left to breathe.

  I didn't wait another second. I spun around and fled upstairs, my backpack banging against my back as I took the steps two at a time. I paused for a moment when I got to my door, trying to calm my wild heartbeat and listening for her downstairs. I heard the clang of metal and the running of water.

  I let myself into my room and shut the door behind me. Staring at the doorknob, I remembered there was no lock. My heart pounded like iron bells as I realized there was no way to keep her out. A gasped-out sob shook through me, surprising me. How could I have come to a point where I would lock my door against my own mother?

  There was no denying it, though. Mom’s behavior was frightening me, not because she was angry, but because she was somewhere beyond anger now. At some point, our fight had stopped being about my history and had become about my future.

  The element of physical fear was a new thing for me, especially when it came to my mom. I couldn’t absolutely say that I felt in danger from her, but I couldn’t absolutely say that I was completely safe, either—not with the way my instincts were all jittery and shivery.

  My instincts probably weren’t responsible for the wild way my thoughts had spiraled into a crazy scenario of a butcher-knife wielding Mom bursting, screaming, into my room. That was my mind, as usual, taking my anxiety way too far and showing me jumping out my window, crashing into the bushes below—probably with a sprained ankle—and limping down the road to the neighbors' houses, screaming for help.

  My brain was an awful place, and I was an awful human being. How could I even be thinking such horrible things about Mom? How could I believe that she would endanger me in any way? I couldn't believe I had upset my mother like that – and that I was feeling guilty about standing up for myself for once in my life. I couldn't believe I had been so stupid, all these years, to never ask about my father or other family. I was a stupid, awful, ugly, awkward person.

  Crying seemed like a really good option, and the tears were just starting to flow when I heard a step on the stairs.

  I froze.

  I waited.

  Silence.

  Then another step.

  Another minute ticked by.

  One more step.

  Each step came with agonizing slowness, and I stood completely paralyzed as I listened for them to stop at my door.

  The floorboard in front of my door creaked. I waited, my eyes glued to the doorknob. I held my breath, waiting for the second when the knob would begin to turn.

  Another step. And another. The footsteps were moving away from my door and toward Mom's room. I heard her door shut, and for the first time in my life, I heard the click of the lock on her door.

  I began to shiver uncontrollably.

  A deafening, house-shaking crash of thunder rattled my bones, and I nearly bit my tongue off while trying to stifle a scream. I looked outside to see that the sky had grown black and green with the heaviness of a thunderstorm. Within seconds, heavy rain was drumming on the roof and spattering the windows.

  Another crack of thunder and flash of blinding lightning blew out the electricity in the house. I backed up to the footboard of my narrow bed and sank down to the floor. I wrapped my arms around my knees and shivered, breathing loudly to keep from crying.

  "Okay," I whispered to myself. "Think. Think. Be like Helen and figure this out. Mom's just really upset. She's not going to hurt you. She'd never hurt you."

  Why wasn't I believing myself? What the hell was wrong with me? Why was my gut screaming to make like a boy scout and be prepared?

  "You're just tired," I said, forcing myself to my feet. "It has been, like, the longest week of your life. Your birthday is tomorrow. You've never fought with your mom before. You're just a little wound up right now."

  I tottered over to the window, watching the raindrops meet their death against the glass panes. The storm clouds had helped dusk along, and it was almost completely dark out now. Still, there was just enough light that I could see the outline of my dead garden and the branches of the big evergreen that was to the right of my window.

  Resting my forehead against the cool glass, I whispered, "It's okay. Everything's going to be okay. It's all going to be fine."

  Tiredly, I glanced out at the storm and something in the evergreen moved. I squinted into the gloom, but it was no use. Grabbing my cell phone from my bag, I use the light of the screen as a flashlight. It made for a sucky light, but it was enough for me to see a big black bird sitting in the shelter of the branches, calmly watching me watch it.

  Despite myself, I smiled a little as I remembered Haley reading “The Raven.”

  Seeing the stupid bird made me feel a little better, like I wasn't quite so isolated. I watched the bird blink in the light of my phone for another minute, and I found myself relaxing somewhat. A power outage in our old house during a thunderstorm wasn’t anything unusual. I’d just use the emergency candles I kept in my bedside table for that reason. By the time I turned off my phone, I felt almost okay again. I shook my head and turned away from the window, trying to laugh it all off.

  "Quote the raven," I said out loud. "Do your homework, and nothing more."

  And that's what I did.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I WOKE UP to the sound of thunder and lightning splitting the sky for the millionth time since the night before.

  The storm had gone on all night and into the morning without stop. Didn't storms usually last only a few hours at most? I'd have to ask Morris on Monday.

  Monday. School. Normalcy.

  Too bad this was only Saturday.

  Yawning and stretching cautiously, I slowly pieced together my memories of the night before. I remembered doing homework on the bed, a small candle on my night table providing just enough light to work by. I remembered jumping every time the house creaked and groaned. A couple of times, I had gone to the door and listened for the sound of Mom moving around. I couldn’t decide if the fact I couldn’t hear her was more or less terri
fying than hearing her.

  At one point, I glanced at my cell phone and saw the time tick over from 11:59 p.m. to 12:00 a.m.

  "Happy birthday to me," I muttered.

  I’m the girl who turns eighteen on a Friday night—no, a Saturday morning—trapped in her own house in the middle of a storm. Eff my life.

  The wind had picked up and whistled through the trees. I heard branches break and hit the roof and sides of the house. I wondered if we were due for a tornado, as we did get them in Western Massachusetts once in a while.

  Nervously, I went over to the window and looked out into the dark. I used my cell phone again to provide a feeble light.

  "Whoa!" I exclaimed softly when I saw the black bird sitting on the same branch in the evergreen. "Crazy!"

  The bird tilted its head as if it could hear me, which, of course, it couldn't. But, it made me feel a little better to pretend that it did.

  The sharp notes of breaking glass shattered my moment of calm, and the gong-like sounds of metal being struck hard reverberated in sync with the pounding of my heart.

  "Oh my God!" I gasped.

  Clinging to the window, I glanced back out at the bird, who sat there in the tree, watching me.

  "Stay," I whispered, feeling desperate but stupid for using a dog-command on a bird that couldn't hear or understand me.

  An angry scream ripped through the house, and I sank down to the floor by the window, my thoughts paralyzing me. Was that really my mom screaming?

  The house went eerily silent after that. As the hours went by, my fear-frozen brain could only run in circles, thinking that staying by the window was a good idea because if anything bad was going to come knocking on my door, jumping out the window would be my best option. Periodically, I peeked out the window, flashing my phone’s light to find the bird, always perched in the same place.

  I wondered why the bird wasn’t flying off, especially in this storm. At least, it should have been closer to the trunk of the tree where the branches could shelter it better from getting wet. Wait, did birds get wet, or did their feathers protect them? Or was that ducks…weren’t ducks birds?

  And that's when I had fallen asleep.