Dark and Twisted

by Heidi Acosta

  “That’s it, I’m breaking up with him. I don’t have a choice.” Liv’s bottom lip quivers.

  “No, you’re not.”

  She takes my hand in hers. Her fingers are ice cold, I start to rub each one like my mom used to do for me when I was little and would come in from a day of playing in the snow.

  “You’re my best friend, Eden. He doesn’t know anything about you or your family. How could he say those things? Bad blood! You are not your aunt. You’re nothing like her.” Her voice cracks on every other word.

  “He didn’t mean to be cruel, Liv. It’s just the truth.”

  “That doesn’t make it okay to say it. You shouldn’t have to be punished for Essie. I wish your grandmother had taken you in when your mom and dad—” She gazes at our hands, that are intertwined like when we were little.

  “But she didn’t,” I state, cutting her off, “and I’m happy for that. She made my dad and Essie’s life miserable growing up. I wouldn’t choose any different if I could. If I’m not accepted by a group of people because my aunt is mentally ill, then I don’t want to be a part of that narrow-minded world. I’m happy just the way things are.”

  Liv pulls her hands free and wraps her bony arms around my neck. “Maybe I don’t want to be a part of it, either,” she murmurs, squeezing me.

  “No, don’t say that.” I think about how truly lonely it can be, and I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy—if I had enemies. I certainly wouldn’t wish it on my friend. I have my books and my characters, and I can create worlds to escape to. For Liv this is her life, being the best at high school is all she has. No, I cannot take that away from her.

  “Look, don’t worry about it.” I squeeze her back and look over at Jaxson, who is watching me. I shiver and Liv pulls me closer.

  Chapter Five

  I try to slip into English undetected, but I have bad luck on my side today.

  “Miss Day, my desk. Now.” Mr. Wissian pokes his desk with a long, boney finger.

  “Why hello, Mr. Wissian. I didn’t see you sitting there. That is a lovely sweater you have on today.” It’s the ugliest sweater I have ever seen. It looks like it was knitted out of cat fur. Where in a teacher’s contract does it say one must try to find the ugliest sweater ever knitted and wear it proudly?

  “Flattery will not get you far with me. Did you complete the paper?” He looks at me through smudged glasses.

  “Well, you see—”

  He holds up his hand, cutting off my excuse. “Save it for your next class, which I’m sure you are teetering on failing as well.”

  I wrinkle my nose at him because he is right.

  “That essay might be the most important paper you’ll ever write in your life.”

  Talk about being a drama king.

  “I will give you until next Friday to turn it in. Now go take your seat.”

  I shuffle to my desk and take a seat. Thankfully, Buck is not here to torment me.

  A shadow passes over my desk, and I glance up to see Cardelian standing in front me, looking absolutely perfect.

  He runs his hand through his golden hair, rumpling it more than it already is. A tight white shirt shows off each muscle, making me sit up a little straighter and stare at him.

  “Tough break with Mr. Wissian. I can help you write that paper if you like.”

  He smiles down at me, and I fight the urge to pinch myself because I must be dreaming. Cute boys don’t talk to girls like me, yet here he is. He can’t be real. Even though I am flattered, I know how cruel high school can be. If he doesn’t want to become an outcast, he should head for the hills and get as far away from me as possible. I glance around the room, making sure no one is looking in our direction.

  “Thanks, but I think I got it.” Now go. Go be popular and beautiful and let me admire you from a distance. Shoo.

  His face drops, gone is the consistent smile he always wears thanks to me. “Well, if you change your mind, I’m sort of an expert on the subject.”

  “Thanks.” I give him a weak smile.

  He sits down at the empty desk next to mine, stretching his long legs across the aisle. Tapping the bottom of my desk slightly with his foot, each tap puts my nerves on edge. I’m unsure of what to do with myself, so I look down at where Buck so nicely carved the word ‘Freak’ into my desk it as a reminder.

  As if on cue, Buck strolls into class. He has on his lucky jersey that he refuses to wash in fear that he will lose the luck. He plops down in the desk behind mine. “Hey, freak.”

  He leans in, and the smell of beef jerky turns my stomach. I try to ignore him and stare forward.

  “Today is our first practice, wish me luck.”

  I roll my eyes. Why he wants me to say it is beyond me. Maybe he really believes the practices will make a difference. No matter how many practices they have, they still suck. The only change this year is the new wild card, so perhaps they might have a chance of winning.

  “Too bad for you.” I groan knowing, I will regret this, but I have to ask.

  “What do you mean, Buck?” I turn to him, shoving his elbow off my desk.

  “Too bad you’re to fuggly to be on the cheer team. Maybe if you wore a bag over your head?” He flicks my ponytail with his finger.

  Cardelian reaches over, catching my chin in his hand, running a thumb across my cheekbone, and capturing a stray eyelash.

  “Make a wish.”

  My heart pounds as I blow the lash off his finger. He holds my chin for what feels like an eternity before turning to the front of the room. I glance back at Buck, whose mouth is agape.

  He looks as dumbfounded as I feel as he shakes his head, leans back, and mumbles, “Freak,” under his breath.

  Mr. Wissian clears his throat, glaring at me as if I’m the one holding up the lecture that he has yet to begin. I pick up my pen, showing him that I’m fully prepared to pay attention this time, which is a lie. Not surprisingly, I can’t concentrate in class. In fact, I can’t even concentrate on my writing. Between the smell of Buck’s feet propped up on the back of my chair insulting my nose and the smiles Cardelian keeps giving me every time I look over at him, my head is spinning by the time class ends.

  Why the sudden interest in me? Cardelian has plenty of girls that would be happy to occupy his time. I try to convince myself that it was all in my mind and Cardelian doesn’t like me. He’s just a nice guy who feels sorry that Buck enjoys tormenting me—like how I felt for Eddie. But, I don’t need to be protected. I’m perfectly fine handling myself.

  As soon as the bell rings I try to bolt out of class before Cardelian can to talk to me again and make me feel all warm and fuzzy or before Buck says something rude to me, but I’m not fast enough.

  Buck grabs a hold of my bag, yanking me backwards. “Where are you off to, loser?”

  I stumble, trying to right myself before I go crashing to the floor. “Ummm, seeing that school is not over yet, I’m on my way to my next period.”

  This amuses Buck for some reason. He smiles at me, showing off a mouth full of crooked teeth.

  “Art, right?” Cardelian asks from behind me.

  Art. I think that is what I have. Most of the time, I spend this period holed up in the back of the library working on my novel, since art is not my forte. Heck, school is not my forte.

  “Do you mind if I walk you to class?” Cardelian asks.

  Buck’s mouth drops open, and I roll my eyes at him. Cardelian has both of his hands in his pockets with his text book nestled between his arm and hip. His hair has fallen into his eyes, making him look even more alluring—if that’s even possible. He stares down at his feet like he’s shy or nervous, which of course is ridiculous. Why would he be nervous? More importantly, why on Earth would he want to walk me to class?

  “Why?” Buck snorts.

  I resist the urge to elbow him in the gut, even though I have a perfect shot. Buck is still clutching my bag strap, and I wish he wouldn’t. It’s threatening to tear more, and I don’t th
ink it can handle another safety pin.

  “I’m heading in that direction, and I just thought you might like the company, but if I’m overstepping …” He glances at Buck.

  Oh hell no. “No,” I say quickly.

  Buck snorts again. “Dude, if you want to travel down that road of crazy, it’s your funeral.” Tossing his hands up in the air, he backs out the door. “See you around, freak.”

  I shake my head in Buck’s direction as he leaves. God, he is so aggravating.

  Cardelian follows me out into the hallway, it looks like he’s going to walk me to class. Thankfully, we wasted enough time that the halls are pretty much empty.

  “He likes you, you know that right?”

  I glance at him out of the corner of my eyes. “Who?” I ask skeptically.

  “Buck.”

  He says it in such a matter-of-fact tone that I almost believe him. The years of torture from Buck surfaces and I laugh.

  “Yeah, right. More like he loathes me. For as long as I can remember, Buck has tormented me. When we were kids, he was either stealing my peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches or putting worms in my hair.”

  “He does.”

  “Please.”

  “Really. I see the way he looks at you, and trust me, there’s no loathing in his eyes. He’s always touching you or sitting next to you. He likes you.”

  Cardelian is beautiful but delusional. “No, he just sits that close so he doesn’t have to work so hard to irritate me.” Buck has been a pain in my side as long as I can remember.

  “I can’t blame him,” Cardelian says.

  My head snaps in his direction.

  “That he likes you. I mean, I can see why he does.”

  I don’t know what to say or do. I’ve never had a boy compliment me before I wish Liv was here so I could ask her what to do. She would know the right witty comeback for me to say that would keep him guessing. I have never been good at flirting like Liv is.

  “Ummm, I think this is my class.” I point like a little kid at the door in front of us.

  “Yeah, okay. I guess I will see you around then, Eden.”

  He hesitates, with one hand on the door behind me, as I stare awkwardly at him. The second bell rings, and I lean into the door, propping it with my hip.

  “Bye,” he says, letting go of the door. It lightly knocks against my hip.

  “Toot-a-loo,” I blurt out. Oh, my god. I am a freak. I want to die—just crawl into a corner somewhere and die.

  He smirks back at me. “Toot-a-loo.”

  I watch him walk away before stumbling into my class. You know how, in the movies, a girl leans up against the door to catch her breath and reflect on how the night went after she has been kissed good night? That is exactly how I feel. I want to lean against the door and sigh.

  “Take a seat at the back of the room,” Ms. Heart sings, waving me in with a flick of her long, willowy wrist.

  There are only three seats left. Great. One is next to Juliet, who is giving me the evil eye. I wouldn’t dare. One empty seat next to Ralph. Um … no, thank you.

  “Quickly, Eden!” Ms. Heart says from behind me.

  My only other choice is to sit next to Jaxson. He looks the same as he did earlier—hood up, hair hanging in eyes that I know are cold, calculated, beautiful, and allusive. Each step towards him makes my blood feels like it is freezing. I shiver and drop my bag, refusing to let him intimidate me.

  I clear my throat, announcing my arrival, but Jaxson doesn’t look up from his sketch book as his pencil glides over the paper. Fine, I can ignore him too. I sit down, my knee brushing against his. A shiver runs through me, and I jerk away. With my legs properly under the table and secure from any more accidental knee bumping, I try again.

  “Hi, what are you working on?” I peek over his shoulder to try to see, but he turns and blocks my view.

  I’m invisible to him. I want to get his attention, but how? How would Liv get guys to fawn over her? I’ve seen boys do her bidding with a sway of her curvy hips or a flutter of her long lashes. I, however, was cursed with the height of a troll doll and the body of a twelve-year-old boy. I am never going to get his attention by flipping my mousy brown hair. Besides, I will probably do it wrong and just look like I am suffering from a seizure.

  Whatever, if he doesn’t want to talk to me, then I don’t want to talk to him. I pull out my notebook. I’m still having trouble developing the main male character. So far, he is a hot, sexy zombie, but I can’t seem to give him a face. Each time I write one, it’s wrong. I know that he is tall, dark, and handsome, but he needs something more.

  Tapping my pen, I glance over at Jaxson and realize he would make the perfect zombie. His skin is pale white, a stark contrast to his raven hair and indiscriminate piercings. Two silver studs sit on his bottom lip, a barbell is nestled in one of his dark eyebrows, three black earrings of various sizes travel up his left ear, and another barbell runs from the slightly pointed tip of his ear to the middle.

  I scan the rest of him, searching for traits I can write into my zombie. His wrist is cuffed in black ink, and the sharp edges of a snowflake tattoo pierces his pale skin. I sit up straight, my interest piqued. He is not old enough to get a tattoo, but there it is, as alarming as he is.

  “Stare much?” Juliet snarls as she passes by the table, making me jump and knock my notebook to the ground. Great. All I need is for her to see me looking at Jaxson like a stalker. I reach down to grab my book, but before I can touch the ground, he holds my tattered notebook up for me.

  Jaxson locks eyes with me, and his stare is so intense that it sends a small shiver down my spine. I try to look away, but once again, I can’t. There is something unforgiving in the way he is looking at me. I squirm under his scrutiny. There is something dark and threatening that darts behind his eyes.

  “Thanks.”

  He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me.

  “I’m a klutz,” I mutter nervously, trying to take my book back.

  He holds on tight—still not speaking, just staring. Cold shivers run down my spine, and my heart is beating so wildly that it feels like it’s about to pound right out of my chest. Finally, he lets go and turns back to his work.

  Holy crow! That is the most intense thing that has ever happened to me, and I don’t know what to make of it. I feel strange like I am just waking up from a dream. He is so drastically different from anyone I have ever met, even from his brother. They are as opposite as the sun and the moon, fire and ice, day and night.

  “Your turn, Eden,” Ms. Heart says, obviously agitated.

  I look up at her blinking.

  “Today, Eden!” she snaps when I don’t react fast enough.

  Apparently, I’m supposed to do something, but what that is, I’m not exactly sure. I stare at her, trying to get my bearings. I steal a look at Jaxson, who is still working on his sketch like nothing weird just happened between us.

  “Huh?”

  She pulls the edges of her orange sweater tight around her middle. “Go collect your supplies,” she says shortly.

  “Now?” I’m afraid I won’t be able to walk because my legs feel like Jell-O.

  Snickers from Juliet’s table float in my direction.

  “Yes, now! Eden, stop irritating me and go get your supplies.”

  I crane my neck to see what Juliet has gathered, but her big butt is blocking my view. I will have to wing it. I go to the supply closet and grab paper, colored pencils, glue, and a healthy amount of glitter. You can’t go wrong with glitter, right? I return with my finds, dumping them on the table between Jaxson and me. I lean a little bit closer, and my face is next to his bicep as I try to peer over him.

  He smells delightful— like a mixture of rain with a light hint of pine—as if he walked through the woods this morning. I take another deep breath. I’m busy smelling him like a weirdo when he shifts again, giving me a better view of his paper. I watch in amazement as he moves the charcoal in quick strokes across
the thin, white paper. He stops at times and rubs his thumb across a newly formed line, transforming it into purposeful smudges and shadows. He has created something beautiful, something haunting.

  The skeletal branches of a tree reach up the length of the paper into a winter sky. The thin trunk of the tree twists in and around itself in a revolting manner. It seems to come alive, winding on the paper. It’s mesmerizing, and somehow, I know that it means more to Jaxson than a dying tree. I’m sure it represents a part of him, but what?

  The spindly branches curl in and out towards the edge of the paper as if it’s in pain. Beckoning me closer, a sudden desire to feel it overcomes me, and my fingers reach out, hovering over the paper. I want to touch it, want to stop the hurt. I can help it. I can help him.

  “Don’t.” He grabs my wrist, my fingers dangling dangerously close to the paper.

  I look up at him, blinking.

  Cold electricity dances across my skin where his fingers touch. It rolls off him and seeping deep into my bones, my blood crystalizing. I yank my hand free pulling it to my chest. How did he do that?

  Chapter Six

  I am debating if I should do my homework now or cram everything in at once on Sunday night when I hear a loud bang coming from the basement. I cringe, knowing Essie is down there with her stock pile of food and makeshift weapons.

  “Essie,” I timidly call down to her, afraid she might be having one of her episodes. She doesn’t answer me, so I take a deep breath and head down the stairs, wondering what mental state I am going to find her.

  Dad had planned to turn the basement into a man cave, and Mom had agreed, but only if she could have a section of the basement for an office that had sky blue walls and mahogany shelves to house all of her books. I would sit at the top of the stairs and listen to them laugh as they painted. Back then, I thought it was nauseating. Now, I would do anything to hear those sounds again. I try to avoid the basement at all costs because I don’t want to see the half-painted walls or the blue splatters on the floor. Each one is a reminder that they are gone.