by Alana Siegel
“Max.” His name slipped out before I could think of another lie. My mother sighed and the rest of the table was silent. I looked down at my plate again. My hands lay still on the table.
“You don’t have to make up stories, Liv. I’m always here for you. That’s what moms are for.” She reached out and put her hand over mine. It was comforting. I knew I was lucky to have my family. They were my support unit, and I knew whatever Max threw my way, I would be ok.
“V, of all the girls who live in this house, including the two cats, you are top four,” Dad said. He winked at me from across the table.
“Alright, enough mushy stuff. Your turn to help wash dishes, Chopped Liver!” Derek said throwing his napkin at me, laughing at his own play on words with my name, and catapulting himself from the table.
“I’m done,” Derek said picking his plate off the table to clear it.
“Come on, Derek, you’re not that DUMB,” Dad said.
“I said DONE, not DUMB!” Derek tried to clarify, but Dad was already laughing at his own joke.
* * * *
Chapter Five: Time to Accessorize
I woke up the next day feeling refreshed. My Page-A-Day Quotes Calendar told me to “Finish each day and be done with it.” With the support of my family, I intended to do just that.
That morning I picked out a bright yellow skirt to match my sunny disposition. The sky was clear and the ground was free of puddles when Mom dropped me off at school. I knew I started the day off right when I didn’t even glance in the direction of the smokers’ corner.
I sorted through the piles of books in my locker, gleefully remembering that we didn’t need our lab books, and waited for Helen to meet me before walking to Biology class.
I gazed down the hallway, the bright autumn sun streaming through the windowed double doors standing guard at the school’s side entrance. The light burst through the glass panes, trying desperately to reach farther than the tiny alcove of the entrance. Failing, dark shadows covered the faces of students trying to get to their first class. The black silhouettes walked towards me.
Despite my inability to see any of their features, I made out Helen, ten feet away, as she made her way out from behind a sophomore couple linked by their hands. She strode toward me, a light bounce to her step.
I pushed my right shoulder away from the wall, pivoting around to greet Helen as she approached at the same time that a sudden force from behind slammed into my back.
“Umph. Ouch!” Regaining the grip on my books, I turned, half grimacing, half scowling to see who had blindsided me. A small wiry little boy bounced off of me and scurried away. His slightly taller buddy, who had no doubt pushed him into me, laughed from a few feet ahead of him.
“Stupid freshmen,” I muttered as Helen reached me. And the day had started off so well!
“That kid totally ran into me.” I complained, absently rubbing the flushed skin where his elbow had connected with my right arm. Goodbye sunny outlook.
She eyed the two boys over her shoulder as they escaped into a nearby classroom, “Liv, are you okay?”
Letting out a sigh I said, “Yeah, I’m fine. I better not bruise there, especially with homecoming just a week away.”
The homecoming dance. It was all I could think about these days, consuming every spare thought between writing papers, the kickline performance, and studying for midterm tests. It was on my mind constantly, thinking and rethinking every aspect of the night – the dress I had finally picked out last weekend, how I was going to do my makeup and style my hair, and the upcoming shopping trip I had planned to find the perfect jewelry to seal it all together.
Everything was coming together nicely in my head, except for one small, little problem, okay, big problem. I didn’t have a date.
I couldn’t have picked a worse time to break up with Max. My lips, already a tight line, took a small dip downwards at the ends.
I turned to Helen and asked, “How come we don’t have guy friends who can be my date to the homecoming dance?”
Ignoring the frown on my face and the frustration in my voice, Helen gently informed me, “My brother is more than willing to go with you.”
Brad O’Reilly, popular senior and star of the Pandora High School football team. After all these years I still couldn’t have a normal conversation with him without stuttering. With his Irish good looks, athletic body, and O’Reilly family charm, he would be the perfect accessory to my nearly flawless ensemble.
Giddy with excitement, images danced around in my head. I pictured him sliding a brilliantly pink rose over my hand coming to bloom on my delicate wrist. Walking into the elegant banquet hall, my right arm looped through his left, there would be stares of envy and whispers of shock swimming around us. My arms would lock around the back of his head and his hands would be holding on to my hips as our feet slid gracefully across the dance floor.
My eyes shining, a smile spread slowly across my face, and Helen pushed on enthusiastically, “Yeah! AND my mom said Sean can go to the after-party!”
The visions I had conjured came so fast, I hadn’t even thought to ask which brother Helen meant. Her one statement shattered my fantasy, crushing my dream, dissolving my hope.
Sean was only a freshman. How could I bring a freshman to the homecoming dance? What would people think? Wouldn’t they laugh and point instead of stare and whisper? Would they make comments about how pathetic I was that I couldn’t even find a date my own age? That I had to resort to my best friend’s little brother?
Not only was Sean two years younger, but he was also a few inches shorter than I had in mind for my dream date. He had a few inches on me, but it was hard to say if it was enough. With heels on, I’d be lucky if we were even the same height.
My fear was that I wouldn’t be so lucky, and I’d be looking down on a little brother rather than looking up at my prince charming. Now that would ruin homecoming pictures. If my red hair wasn’t enough to make me stand out, the fact that I was towering over my date definitely would.
But I guess if it came down to it, a younger, shorter date was better than none at all. I just hoped it wouldn’t come down to it.
I forced a smile even though I knew Helen could see right past it and said, “I know. Thanks, Helen.”
“You know Sean will be fun. He gets along with anyone, and he can dance!”
I grinned, thinking of Sean’s performance at my Sweet Sixteen last September, as Helen kept up her case for bringing her baby brother to the homecoming dance. She rambled on, caught up in a mixture of her innate desire to please and her own excitement for the night we had been planning for the last few months.
“I thought we should take pictures at your house before we meet everyone at Ryan’s for the group photos. The party bus comes at six thirty p.m., so I was thinking I’ll head over at six…”
Her voice was far away at this point. I knew she had asked me a question but I couldn’t for the life of me recall anything she had just said. When I didn’t answer, she turned to me, confusion etched in the creases on her forehead.
She followed my wide eyes, trying to find the source of my anxiety. Standing outside our next classroom was the reason my whole body had tensed up. Chelsea Steinem; all four foot eleven of her. She wasn’t even five foot tall but she scared the hell out of me.
A quick glance at her, and you’d think she was harmless. Pin straight and dirty blonde, her hair fell carelessly past her bare shoulders. Her skin was a creamy white.
She was short and thin with a false trace of delicacy. Her eyes, the color of icy sapphires, played to her light hair and popped against the soft blend of freckles that framed them. She was pretty. And that made it even worse.
But when you looked closely, behind those blue eyes was a fierceness. At that moment, they bore down on me, slicing through me, a sharp blade cutting into my self-esteem. My confidence bled out, until all I could do was grasp my books a little tighter, a hopeless shield in this one-sided battle.
Quickly,
my eyes fell, concentrating on the cracks weaving their way through the ceramic tiles of the school’s tired hallways. Winding from different directions, they all came together. Tiny breaks over time chipping away until whole pieces of tile had broken apart. Focusing on this, I kept my head down as we passed Chelsea.
“Don’t let her bother you, Olivia”, Helen muttered under her breath. She slipped her arm through mine, guiding me more quickly toward the open doorway of our classroom.
Not quickly enough. Looking directly at me and speaking loudly enough for us to hear, Chelsea took a jab at the yellow skirt I had decided to debut this morning.
“Someone should have told me to bring my sunglasses to school today!”
Even though I expected some sort of scornful comment, I flinched. Chelsea had been throwing verbal punches at me all month. She was dating my ex-boyfriend, and I was the one taking the hit. The truth was, I had broken up with Max, and he still wasn’t over it, which only meant Chelsea hated me for it.
Knowing Max, I was sure he was comparing her to me. It wasn’t my fault, and yet somehow, I was stuck dealing with her response to it. If she weren’t giving me hell for it, I would actually have some sympathy for her. Letting out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding, I let Helen pull me into class as the bell sounded for the next period. I was relieved to arrive at Biology.
All the science rooms were set up with the original furniture from the 1950s. There was one lab station made of rotting wood and six decades of paint shared between every two students. Worn spots of black lacquer were peeling away so that you could see the different-colored layers marking the years, like rings of bark on a tree. Each lab station was equipped with a sink and a gas nozzle and bolted to the floor in rows of three by four.
Mr. Stackhouse was a nervous and intense teacher who felt a strong connection to his subject and nothing else. He was known to talk for the entire period gazing only at the materials in his hands. Perhaps to counteract his nerves, Mr. Stackhouse kept the temperature cool and the lights dimmed while he taught. It gave the classroom an eerie, lagoon-like feel. At the moment, I didn’t mind the moist darkness; it gave me space to regain my composure.
I was lab partners with Jaime Forte in honors biology while Helen went to math down the hall. Relieved to meet Jaime at our station, I mumbled hello and dropped my books. She returned my greeting with a genuine smile and a quick wave of her hand. My relationship with Jaime wasn’t deep, but it was consistent. If she noticed my apprehension, she didn’t let on, and that’s what I was comforted by as I stared at my books and said nothing so I could bring my breathing back to normal.
Cliff Adams came up behind us, his hand grazing the upper section of my back to get our attention. I immediately felt anxious again, but Cliff was completely at ease. Like we were all best friends, he put his hands in his jeans pockets, crossed his ankles, and rested against the lab desk.
“Ready for the big game this weekend, Jaime? I heard the other team’s pitcher is a monster,” Cliff stated. Jaime’s shoulders relaxed as she eyed Cliff playfully.
“Are you serious? Of course I’m ready! You think she’s better than me?” A smug smile that only appeared when discussing sports crept up on Jaime’s face. She kicked his shin and crossed her arms. He gave her an affectionate jab in retaliation.
Feeling obligated to follow Cliff, Justin Benz moved a little closer to our group. His fake attempt to be social with Jaime and me was not convincing, but at least it lifted my spirits and distracted me from the dreadful mood that was threatening.
I watched him walk over and our eyes met for a brief second before he hunched over. All his attention was focused on the aged Swiss army knife he was using to pull apart the steel wire in his hands. He seemed to be trying not to be noticed; even his dark jeans and black hooded sweatshirt looked like camouflage to mesh in with the background.
Staring absentmindedly, I found myself daydreaming that he sauntered over to confess his eternal love for me, right before pinning me against the lab station, running those rough hands through my hair, and sending me right to heaven with an earth-shattering kiss. Oh, a girl can dream, right?
Cliff’s voice interrupted my daydream, playfully taunting Jaime, “Don’t worry, we can always save you the embarrassment of losing, and take her down before the game.” Jaime reached over to punch him in the arm.
Justin was obviously not interested in any form of conversation so I sat uncomfortably on the sidelines and watched Jaime and Cliff play fight. Sports were not my expertise, and I couldn’t help the jealousy I felt over their bonding.
Before having to endure another moment of feeling like the outsider, Mr. Stackhouse got the attention of the classroom. Cliff gave Jaime one last karate chop, shuffled past our table, and jumped a chair to get to his seat. Justin walked casually away as if there was no grouping to begin with.
Mr. Stackhouse began his lesson for the day and in a monotone voice stated, “Metaphysics investigates principles of reality transcending those of any particular science. It is concerned with explaining the fundamental nature of just being in the world.”
I looked through my pile of papers to make sure I was keeping up with the lecture. As I organized the cluttered items, I noticed a shiny object peeking out from under the notes. Was it there when I sat down? I was distracted by Cliff and Jaime’s play fight so maybe I didn’t notice and had thrown my books on top of it.
Mr. Stackhouse droned on, “A central branch of metaphysics is ontology, the investigation into what types of things are in the world and what relation these things bear to one another.”
Intrigued, I stared at the piece of silver. Despite its thinness, the metal chain swirled and interlocked with itself, creating a strong patchwork of braided stitching. Had I seen something similar?
The metal glowed like it had recently been buffed. Curious and unable to concentrate, I used the back end of my pen to drag it out from under my notes. If it was dirty, I didn’t want to risk getting my clothes messy.
It looked clean enough to touch so I picked up the flat, rhombus-shaped charm that hung at the end of the chain, flipping it between my fingers. The edges felt worn and the charm appeared ancient. In the center of the rhombus was a simple etching of an upside down ‘U’ with a line under it. I couldn’t put my finger on what culture it might have been from.
It looked similar to the ohm symbol Derek used to represent electrical resistance on his physics homework. I brought it closer. Maybe it wasn’t from modern times. It seemed closer to the Greek letter omega or Libra’s scales of justice from astrology.
I felt a sudden urge to put the necklace on. It was like the necklace had been waiting for me, looking for me. I swore I had never seen it before, but somehow, I could tell it was meant for me.
Lightheaded, I felt beads of sweat layer on my forehead as I continued to hold the necklace. A tingle ran up my spine and over my scalp. I watched the blood rush out of my finger tips and felt my heart beat faster. My palms were clammy, but my skin was snow white and the muscles in my hand were stiff.
I looked at the intricate, maze-like design on the chain, dainty yet strong at the same time. The metal was cold and pulsating. I could feel the rhythmic vibrations through my body. The pulsating was enhanced by the charm’s brightness. There was something powerful seeping into my fingers. I couldn't see it, but I could feel it. And then I knew; I must put the necklace on.
As quickly as I could, I pushed my hair aside and closed the clasp behind my neck. My entire body convulsed, but I refused to take the necklace off. All at once it felt like the ground was shaking, and the room was spinning. My vision was blurred. The writing in my notebook appeared fuzzy.
The necklace had taken over all my senses. I felt like I was standing at the other end of a long tunnel, and Mr. Stackhouse’s voice was barely reaching me. In one last attempt to gain back my control, I grasped the desk, smelled a faint aroma of roses, and then everything went black.
* * * *
> Chapter Six: Surprising Concern
Ms. Wolf’s nurse’s office was cold and sterile. The smell of rubbing alcohol filled the room, and the clang of metal lids on glass jars stocked with q-tips and Band-Aids was unnerving. The memories of my past visits to the nurse’s office added to my discomfort. I entered her office each time, suffering from common illnesses like a headache, bee sting, or pink eye, and expecting a consoling smile and caring fixes. Instead, Ms. Wolf was impatient with my complaints and unwilling to admit her inexperience. Without fail, she prescribed Pepto-Bismol in every case and sent me on my way before the next class.
Today, I had no memory of entering her office. I could tell I was lying on the makeshift bed in the far corner of the office; I felt the back of my calves sticking to the vinyl cushions. I didn’t want to open my eyes. I took a small breath, bringing air through my nose, holding it for a second, and slowly letting it out again. Nothing hurt. I tested my lungs one more time. I even wiggled my toes, just to be sure. The mysterious truth was that I felt great.
I pictured the room in my head. The nurse’s desk was in the opposite corner, covered with pictures of her grandchildren. The walls were painted Pepto-Bismol pink to match Ms. Wolf’s favorite cure-all.
Embarrassment kept my eyes closed and my body as motionless as possible. Had I really fainted in Biology and been carried off to the nurse’s room while the whole class watched? I lay still, listened to the commotion around me, and tried to pretend it was a dream.
“You need to educate the group of them, Mandy. There is an uncommonly large number of them,” a man standing nearby said. He must have been about ten feet away, but his hushed voice carried. It sounded like a serious conversation, and they obviously thought I couldn’t hear. It wouldn’t hurt if I kept still a little longer.
I heard footsteps as someone came up next to the man and responded, “I will, Mr. Dimon. But do you think it has something to do with Prometheus?” I recognized the voice as Ms. Magos’s. She seemed timid which was unusual compared to her commanding and authoritative voice during class. Who was Mr. Dimon? Mr. Dimon…Mr. Dimon…oh right! Mr. Dimon was the superintendent of the school. The last time I saw him, he was lecturing about the trials and tribulations of parenting at a recent school conference. He never cracked a smile. I was definitely keeping my eyes shut.
