by Alana Siegel
“There has been increased activity in the Midwest, but not here. Still, the agents have not been able to find Prometheus’s location. The concentrated amount of power is dangerous to this school, especially in Olivia’s case,” Mr. Dimon concluded. Me? Dangerous? He must have that wrong. And who was Prometheus? I didn’t have time to wonder. I could hear two more people walking over. The nurse was a short, stumpy, stubborn woman, and I recognized her waddle as she approached.
“Hello Mr. Dimon, what brings you to my neck of the woods today?” the nurse asked, not bothering to whisper. I imagined her fussing with her short grey fifties-style curls, trying to impress the superintendent.
“Just dropping by to see my favorite nurse, Ms. Wolf. But now, Mandy and I have to run.” I heard two pairs of footsteps walk out of the room.
My heart sank when the nurse began asking the other person in the room for details about my little incident. No, this was definitely not a dream.
“Was Mr. Stackhouse talking about childbirth? We always get one or two girls feeling sick when he teaches that lecture.” I couldn’t hear the person’s response, but Ms. Wolf shuffled around me, accepting the answer.
“Was it the lesson on blood types? Some students can’t handle seeing blood,” Ms. Wolf inquired. Again, I didn’t hear the response.
“Well, maybe a little Pepto-Bismol will cure her,” Ms. Wolf announced, aiming her voice in my direction. On that note, I pretended to wake up and open my eyes, adding a groan for good measure.
I was surprised to see Jaime on the chair sitting next to me. Lab partners were one thing, but deep concern and medical aid crossed our usual line as acquaintances. She leaned forward, looking relieved to see me awake.
“Looks like she’ll be well before next period,” the nurse declared, slightly smug, as she left us to complete paperwork at her desk.
“What happened?” It was all I could think to say. I leaned on my elbows, the vinyl cushion now sticking to the skin on my forearms. She bent forward.
“You passed out in biology class.” I fought the temptation to roll my eyes since I had already gathered that much information. The last thing I remembered, I was sitting at our lab station…
I gasped as I reached for the necklace that hung weightlessly around my neck. Jaime raised her eyebrows and inched closer. In one swift motion, she was sitting on the side of the bed, reaching for the necklace.
As a gut reaction, I crawled away from her reach and toward the pepto-colored wall, but Jaime was quick and managed to cradle the necklace in her hand. When I persuaded myself that she wasn’t going to yank it off my neck, I looked up at her face. Her forehead was creased, her eyebrows were knit together in deep thought, and her brown eyes were intense as she analyzed the chain and charm in wonder. A low, surprised gasp slipped out of her shocked, open mouth. I let her examine the detail for awhile until I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Jaime, it’s just a necklace,” I said, trying to escape her grip. I didn’t believe it myself, but I fought the wavering tone of my voice in order to convince her. I couldn’t stand the close examination. Somehow, it made me feel exposed. Without letting go, she finally withdrew her eyes from the necklace and looked up at me.
She asked, “You felt the pull, didn’t you? You found the necklace last class? Or, should I say, the necklace found you?” Her eyes were wide and expectant.
I made a noise to convey that she was being absurd, and tried to brush off her odd questioning and get up from the bed. It was obvious that her scrutinizing was making me uncomfortable, but that didn’t stop her. She wouldn’t let me pass.
“Did you feel the rush of power when you put the jewelry on? Did it take control of your motor skills and send your head spinning?” The words rushed out in a hopeful whisper. Now I was the one concerned. The only time Jaime was only outright confrontational was on a sports field, and at those moments I was standing on the sidelines, one hundred yards away.
We both glanced at Ms. Wolf to see if she was listening. Typing at her computer and humming to herself, she didn’t seem alarmed by our sudden quarrel. Again, I struggled to get up from the bed.
In one last attempt to make me understand, Jaime held up her right hand, palm down, to my face. On her wrist hung a bracelet with the same maze-like design that adorned the chain of my necklace.
Now it was my turn to gasp. I could not believe there were two pieces of jewelry like this in the world. There were two pieces of jewelry that claimed its owners. Jaime explained exactly how I felt when I put my necklace on. It could only mean she had the same reaction.
I reached out to touch the silver jewelry. The metal looked very old, yet somehow renewed. I stared at the engraved charm, a flat oval piece of silver connected on two sides by the thin, braided chain. A simple etching of an arrow was on one side.
Just like my necklace, her bracelet was truly beautiful. I ran my finger over it, and a light reflection echoed my passing. Unsure of how to comprehend what I was seeing, I pulled my hand back and looked at Jaime again.
“It’s some sort of sign,” she whispered, but I was shaking my head before she even finished her sentence.
“No, no, no, don’t be silly,” I said. I was insistent in my denial, but Jaime wanted to convince me. She turned her hand around and grabbed hold of mine.
“Olivia, you felt the rain pelting the cafeteria when Max and Chelsea were fighting at lunch. You heard the thunder and saw the lightning. Most of all, you saw Max create it,” she told me, a look of desperation on her face.
“He had a ring that looked just like ours, and while causing rain storms, he glowed the color red,” she whispered as I stared at her in disbelief. Was it possible that none of that was my imagination?
“We’re different. We recognize things that others don’t see,” she finished, stating her evidence. Her eyes were wide, waiting for my reaction. The bell rang and saved me from having to talk about it.
Without confirming Jaime’s theory, I got up from the bed, leaving her to stare into space. I made it three steps before I heard her call my name, but I didn’t plan on stopping. A stampede of shoes welcomed me into the hallway. I wandered with my vision unfocused, trying to figure it out when someone approached me, bellowing, “Olivia! I’m glad you’re alright. We were so worried.”
I looked up just as something tall and hard knocked the wind out of me. After a few seconds of struggle, I realized I was in a big bear hug. I pulled my head away, gasped for air, and recognized Cliff Adams’s face inches from my own. Stunned, I stood there looking at him. Just an hour ago we had nothing in common and little to talk about, and now he was looking at me with a mix of concern and…adoration?
Justin stood a few feet behind Cliff. Who was the ‘we’ that Cliff was talking about when he said, ‘we were so worried?’ Was Justin worried?
“Thank you, but I’m okay,” I said. I pushed against his chest, but his arms held tight around my waist.
“Oh! You smell like roses,” Cliff cooed. He leaned in, touched his nose to my hair, and took a whiff. A small crowd was beginning to gather around us, laughing and pointing. Jaime appeared in the doorway to the nurse’s office.
“Go find your own prey to feed on, Grizzly Bear,” Max shouted from down the hall. He had a knack for showing up at the worst time. To him, it looked like Cliff and I were in an embrace, not the surprise death grip that it actually was. Certainly, Max was going to interfere. If I was no longer his girlfriend, I wasn’t going to be anyone else’s girlfriend either.
To make matters worse, Cliff was on the football team. Max had once explained to me his reasoning for hating all athletes. He believed they were born with a silver spoon in their mouth, constantly being praised, and expecting him to bow at their feet. In his mind, the football players were on the same level as his mother’s boyfriends. It didn’t matter that Cliff was kind-hearted, the opposite of what Max believed.
The turn of events piqued the interest of the kids surrounding us. I could feel anothe
r storm brewing. I needed to stop this fight before it started.
I managed to slip out of Cliff’s grip without saying another word. His whole chest contracted as his arms fell down to his sides. Deeply hurt from my rejection, he hung his head as if I had picked him last to be on my kickball team. Jaime was watching and I could see she was as dumbfounded as I was.
“I have to run to class,” I said right before walking down the hall as fast as I could in the opposite direction.
Before turning the corner, I looked back. Crisis averted. Max had already disappeared in the other direction, Cliff seemed back to his usual friendly self, as if I had never rejected him from any happiness, and Justin stood by Cliff’s side, staring at me. Embarrassed, I walked away as fast as I could.
* * * *
Chapter Seven: A Meeting Is Arranged
Opening my notebook, I leaned against the cold, metal surface of my locker and scanned my homework before my next class. The pink binder framed my short essay responses on the branches of government. Hearts and flowers danced along the corners of the page, connected by Victorian-style swirls drawn with blue pen in my last class.
The previous period was spent giggling in the library with Helen. I had successfully convinced her that we needed to study for an upcoming quiz during lunch. I knew it was wrong to drag Helen into my hidden agenda, but I needed an hour to escape before facing Jaime and Max again. I didn’t want to tell Helen that I was hiding from mystical symbols and antique jewelry. I would sound crazy. It would be my little secret.
I wrapped my fingers around the charm on my necklace. Using my right shoulder, I pushed myself off my locker to walk down the hall. Without looking at where I was going, I turned straight into an oncoming horde of freshman girls. Refusing to break rank, the short, tubby girl on the end, with a messy pony tail and thick-rimmed glasses, stepped on my new silver sandals when I wouldn’t move out of her way.
Instead of getting mad, I smiled at the return to normalcy. Once again, I was just another student dealing with everyday teenage life. The bell ushered me into my seat for Global Studies without having to speak to anyone.
“Max Smarr, who was the famous pyramid in Egypt built for?” Ms. Magos leaned on the edge of her desk and faced Max. Wearing a smug look and a disconcerting smile, she tapped her three-inch black heels impatiently.
As she crossed her arms, we all turned to Max to wait for his answer. He was only a few desks away from mine. Making it to class on time, he flat-out ignored me. Either my absence at lunch helped him forget the issue with Cliff, or he was saving his energy for a bigger fight later. I happily took it as a sign of peace, for the moment.
Max leaned back in his chair, aloof from the rest of the class. His thick hair was just long enough to cover his eyes, and he ran his fingers through it to brush it out of his way.
“Barack Obama,” he answered in a monotone voice, without glancing up. The class exploded into laughter. We learned about King Khufu weeks ago, but Max never missed a chance to push Ms. Magos’s buttons. He exerted the least amount of effort and completed the bare minimum for assignments which meant he danced along a thin line between passing and failing her class.
Ms. Magos slowly rose from her stance against the desk and paced toward his. A chill went up my spine and the air, smelling slightly like lemon, began to sizzle as I listened to the clicking of her heels on the floor in my direction.
“Good try, but no.” She tapped her finger on her chin, pretending to be thinking hard. “Obama…Obama...isn’t that the guy who’s taking your girlfriend to the homecoming dance?” Again, the class erupted into laughter. Max’s head whipped around, and his fingers grasped the desk. Unable to look away, I saw the air around him turn a foggy, red color.
Although he was still leaning back in his chair, the features of his face reflected anger instead of boredom. He pressed his lips together and snarled at her. Ms. Magos smiled innocently. She knew that would get his attention. The class was still relaxed and giggling, but the air felt thicker to me.
“If you want to astound us with your knowledge on current events, come on up and take the stage, but didn't your mother ever teach you to respect your superiors?” I cringed when Ms. Magos mentioned Max’s mom.
It brought back sad memories of a Saturday night, a few months earlier. From my memory, I pictured Max and me sitting on the dilapidated brown couch in the rundown living room of his house. The wooden coffee table in the center of the room was covered with dried circles from glasses and mugs placed on it without coasters, the dusty lamps projected dull light that barely lit the room, and the only shiny new object was the big-screen television that Max begrudgingly turned on after admitting his mom only bought it to please Bob.
We sat a few feet apart on the couch because I was mad at him.
“You lied to my parents’ face. You told them that your mom would be home,” I said, nervously twisting the sunken fabric on the arm of the couch and facing the television.
“So what? She’s not here. What are you upset about? Don’t be such a baby,” he said, facing me.
“I can’t believe how easy it is for you to lie to someone’s face. That’s what I’m upset about,” I turned to him and shouted before turning back to the television.
The truth was, that was only part of the reason I was upset. Mostly, I was uncomfortable being alone with him in his house. I knew what was on the mind of a sixteen-year-old guy. I had strong feelings for Max, but as a girl, I wasn’t sure I was ready to take our relationship to the next level. Max knew how to win an argument, and I was scared I would bend to the pressure.
The argument was a lost cause when we heard the front door swing open. Max’s mom stumbled in. Her hair was disheveled and her mascara leaked black lines down her cheeks.
Max leaped from the couch and had her in his arms before her knees buckled. As he helped her to the couch, the strong scent of alcohol blew my way. Max spoke to her calmly and rocked her back and forth to soothe her sobbing that shook her whole body. Feeling wildly out of place, all I could do was sit there and stare.
“Mom, what happened?” Max demanded in a stern whisper.
“Bob…broke…up…with…me,” she managed to say between sniffles. “He cheated on me with some younger woman and then left us,” she moaned. I winced at her choice of words. Her behavior reminded me of a reckless young woman rather than a mother. It was appalling on every level.
Max released his embrace, got up from the couch, and began pacing.
“Mom, he was worthless. We don’t need him,” he tried to reason with her. She wasn’t convinced.
“But I loved him,” she whispered irrationally. I saw the worry on Max’s face. Instead of pointing out her terrible judgment of character, he wrapped his arm around her waist and carried her up to bed.
That night, it finally sank in how different my family life was from Max’s. Max and his mom’s relationship was a sore subject. It seemed like Max was more of the parent than she was.
Back to reality, I watched Ms. Magos standing in front of Max, looking down at him with her arms crossed. She was stepping on shaky ground.
Max was struggling with his next decision. His sneaker bounced under the ratty shreds on the bottom of his jeans. Should he insult her and risk getting kicked out of the classroom or should he storm out before being sent to the guidance department again?
An evil smile appeared on his lips, and he looked her right in the eyes. His checks reddened. “Isn't it rude to discuss the personal lives of your students?”
Ms. Magos let out a hearty laugh and walked back to her desk. The crisis that was brewing was averted. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Max’s foot stop tapping as he turned to stare out the window again. Even the air felt calmer to me, and I relaxed into my seat.
Class droned on at its usual pace. I rested my chin in my left hand, and took notes throughout Ms. Magos’s discussions. There were only a few weeks left of the quarter, and therefore, only a few more pieces of inform
ation I had to retain for a midterm test. Mr. Rowling would probably go easy when he graded our English papers, but not Ms. Magos. During class she joked around with the students, but she graded us on a college level.
Taking a break from my notes, I scanned the room. Most kids seemed distracted, doodling on their paper, braiding their hair, biting their nails. It was the usual afternoon lull. I spotted Justin and Cliff, and I felt my heart beat speed up, and my stress level build.
Justin turned in his chair and looked directly at me as if I had whispered his name. His seafoam eyes met mine, and I couldn’t turn away. As always, his expression was hard to read. In the current circumstances, I was sure he wasn’t sending happy thoughts. Not only did I manage to constantly get in his way, but he might have to spend time with me now that Cliff included me on his list of close friends.
“Who can give me an example of how television has affected political campaigns?” Ms. Magos asked, making her way down my aisle. I snapped my attention back to my paper and kept my hands busy. .
“What do you think, Miss. Hart?” I froze. I wasn’t paying attention to the last few minutes of her lesson. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. I hated to be put on the spot. I was rarely wrong when I had to write the answer on a test, but speaking in front of a class full of my peers made me second-guess my answer. I took a deep breath before giving her my response.
“Nixon’s Checker’s speech,” I managed to say just loudly enough for her to hear.
“Yes, Olivia. You are right,” she said. I took a quick breathe of relief as she turned and walked toward the chalk board. I may have answered the first question correctly, but I knew the grilling might not be over. I kept my eyes glued to the back of her head to prepare for the follow up question she always asked.
