Bird Song (Grace Series)

by S. L. Naeole

  The start of class wouldn’t be ignored today as Mr. Danielson began handing out packets of paper: our next classroom exercise. I took mine without bothering to open it up, choosing instead to watch as Robert leafed through his lazily. I knew he’d have thoroughly finished reading it before I even completed the first paragraph of instructions, so I simply waited, my eyes scanning the classroom carelessly. Instantly my gaze stopped on the only other pair of eyes that chose to ignore the packet.

  Erica’s eyes were narrowed into angry slits, her mouth ironed into a harsh, aging line. She was glaring at me with an unbelievable amount of anger and vehemence; I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up again.

  She looks like she wants to kill me. I didn’t need to do or say anything. Robert had his hand protectively at my back, the room suddenly growing still and cool. Mr. Danielson walked over to the thermostat to adjust the temperature, just enough of a distraction to cause Erica to point her gaze elsewhere.

  Her mind is clouded with rage. I’ve tried several times to pinpoint the source, but she’s so angry, so full of hate for you, I don’t know which end is up. It’s rare to find someone so focused on something so destructive, it blocks out all other thought and memory. Robert’s thoughts told me nothing new. Her face said everything. She hated me. Hated me without any room for rhyme or reason, and I still had no clue as to why.

  I will find out, Grace. I will get to the bottom of this before she tries a repeat of her attack on Stacy.

  I smiled sadly and wondered when exactly had my life as being nobody’s friend turned into being someone’s mortal enemy.

  ADMIRERS

  As the days dragged on, the same scenario repeated itself: I’d flow through the first five classes without incident, then enter sixth period with Erica’s dagger-like stare stabbing me at every possible moment, ending only when Robert caused an environmental or emotional diversion, or when Mr. Danielson finally had enough of being ignored. Robert could only see black rage in her head, and it was affecting his moods, so he simply stopped delving into her mind. Lark became extremely protective over Stacy, even as she and Graham appeared to grow closer.

  By the time Valentine’s Day rolled around, we had entered into a routine that would have seemed very ordinary if it weren’t for the building tension between what had by then become known as Team Stacy and Team Erica. No one else in the school knew that Stacy’s attack had been meant for me, and Stacy and I both agreed it should remain that way. Erica had yet to be punished, and while Stacy’s parents worked on a litigation strategy, Stacy, Graham, Lark, Robert and I made it a point to always keep Erica within our sight to prevent anything else from happening.

  Of course, the arrival of flowers put a kink in things. I say flowers, but in truth, it seemed like an entire forest had sprung up around Lark as one by one, she was inundated with bouquets by boys who had chosen to spend their hard earned allowance money on her. We had barely made it to our table, her arms full of roses and carnations, the heady aroma thick enough to make even the diehard flower fanatic nauseas, when yet another round of boys showed up with flowers for her.

  “You should re-sell those flowers,” Stacy suggested as Lark quipped about how not even she could carry all of the bouquets and singletons that covered the table and spilled over onto the floor around us. “It looks like every florist in Heath owes their day’s profit to you.”

  I smiled at Lark’s frustration, thankful for the single lily that Robert had presented me with this morning. “You know, I think we’re the only two girls here who actually feel sorry for you.”

  Lark huffed. “If you felt sorry for me, you’d help me carry some of these around.”

  Stacy shook her head while laughing. “I don’t think so. Graham didn’t even bother to get me a card, so suddenly walking around carrying twenty bouquets of roses and baby’s breath is going to feel even more awkward and inadequate.”

  Lark turned her head to me, the question on her mind sounding like a mournful song in my head and I almost relented. Almost. “I’m sorry Lark, but I have Biology next, and all of those flowers will only get in the way of trying to keep Mr. Branke’s hands to himself.”

  Lark pouted, the face so unbelievably precious it drew forth another round of flower-laden boys, each one professing their extreme like, lust, love, and one even admitted to her being an obsession. Each time she graciously thanked them and then turned down their requests for dates. All around us, I could feel the air of jealousy and envy growing thicker and thicker. “I can see now why you hate this holiday,” I murmured as I pulled some of the flowers out of her arms.

  “It’s more than just this,” she responded as she sighed and dumped the rest onto the seat beside her. “I mean, these boys cannot help feeling the way that they do. It’s part and parcel to what I am, and so a great deal of their behavior is involuntary, which makes it far less flattering than all of those girls believe it to be.” She nodded her head towards a particular table several feet away from us filled with just girls whose eyes were all glued to the stunning and ethereal Lark.

  “Human males aren’t capable of telling me no, and they certainly cannot help themselves when it comes down to a choice between me or their girlfriends. It’s not something I say out of ego, because it’s not me, Lark, that that they’re interested in. It’s the hidden divinity that draws them in. It’s the same thing for Robert. He’s got no control over the way girls react to him; they never tell him no and it’s that power that gives us the ability to pretty much live and do what we please. Very rarely will a human ever defy us, which is why you’re pretty special, Grace.”

  I felt myself flush at the compliment. “You didn’t think so when we first met.”

  Lark laughed at that as we both recalled the short confrontation that had occurred. “You’re right. You caught me off guard. I hadn’t expected Robert to have told you so much so soon, and yet you weren’t trying to suck up to me like I had expected. I think that angered me more than anything else. I don’t like being surprised.”

  Stacy chuckled, her head bobbing up and down in agreement. “That’s true. I can’t even begin to imagine what that must feel like for you; you know what everyone is thinking, and then Grace shows up throws something at you from out of left field…that’s a total mental plot twist!”

  “What’s a total mental plot twist?”

  The three of us looked up at Graham. And his tray of food. “Are you actually going to eat all of that?” Stacy asked as he sat down and we took in the enormous mound of unrecognizable mush that he had piled on his plate.

  “I’m hungry. Besides, your mother made this, although I’m definitely hoping that your cooking skills aren’t as bad.”

  Stacy’s lips pursed, the insult taking a stronger, tighter hold on her than the hint of a possible future together. “My mother didn’t cook this slop. She makes the desserts, like that piece of pie that she wrapped up for you.” She reached over and snatched the plastic-wrap covered plate from his tray and placed it in front of herself. “But, if you think that she’s such a lousy cook, I’m sure you won’t mind if I eat this instead.”

  She pulled the plastic wrap off and, using her hands, lifted the pie to her mouth and took a large bite out of it. Graham was left gaping at her, his fork poised in mid-air, the “slop” oozing from between the tines.

  “Now that is good pie,” she said after swallowing the last bite. “It’s too bad that the desserts are usually the first to go, otherwise you’d be able to go back and get another slice.”

  Lark and I couldn’t help but laugh as Graham looked dejectedly at his now cold lunch, the spot where the pie had once sat seeming to shout out its emptiness, and sighed. “I deserved that, I guess. Sorry.”

  Stacy shrugged her shoulders and reached into her backpack, pulling out a brown paper bag. “Here,” she said as she tossed the bag to him.

  He caught it just before it landed in his food. “What is it?”

  “Just open it.”

&n
bsp; He pulled the bag open and let out a whoop of joy as he pulled out another plastic wrapped piece of pie. “Thanks, Stace!” He jumped up and placed a quick peck on her cheek before returning to his seat to quickly devour the dessert, sighs of satisfaction the only sound out of him for the next few minutes.

  “You’re welcome,” she said in a soft voice. His reaction should have made her smile, blush, something…instead she seemed disappointed, sad even.

  “So, what’s with the garden?” Graham asked when he was done inhaling his pie. “Did somebody die?” He looked at the flowers that surrounded Lark, wrinkling his nose as the smell began to mingle with the odor that emanated from his lunch tray.

  “It’s Valentine’s Day. Guys do this sort of thing on days like this when they like a girl,” Lark replied, her voice annoyed.

  Graham snorted. “Yeah. Right. It’s more like this is the sort of thing that guys do when they want to get into a girl’s pants.”

  “Oh really?”

  Graham’s face grew ashen as he turned around. Robert was standing behind us, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression stern, though upon closer inspection a slight twitch of a smile could be seen at the bow of his mouth.

  “Well, it’s not like you got Grace anything,” Graham pointed out, the flowers in my hands all bearing tags that read Lark’s name quite obvious to anyone who was looking.

  Robert slowly lifted the cellophane and tissue paper wrapped bundles out of my hands and placed them onto the ground behind me, leaving one ribbon wrapped stem lying in front of me. He picked it up gently, turning it around and staring at it, the sheer, sapphire and silver ribbons dangling well past the stem. I hadn’t noticed how well it complimented the ring that glinted on my finger, the deep blue stone still void of the once brilliant star that had once occupied its center.

  “You got her that?”

  Robert nodded, his hand gracefully laying the flower into my own. “It’s not an entire florist shop, or a piece of pie, but it’s something I know that Grace would appreciate.”

  I lowered my head to hide the flush on my face. Robert sat down beside me, his hand lifting my chin to look into my eyes as he continued. “And while some boys do use gifts to try to lure their paramours into giving up certain liberties, most don’t. I don’t. I wouldn’t know what to say about you since I’m fairly certain that you haven’t given Stacy a gift yet, but if you truly believe what you say, I suppose it’s a good thing that Stacy’s been left wanting this year.”

  My eyes grew wide at the insult, the insinuation. I heard Stacy gasp, felt the shock in Lark’s mind as her thoughts stung my mind. What I didn’t hear was the rebuttal from Graham. He should have been livid. He should have jumped to defend himself, or at least defend Stacy.

  Instead he apologized, grabbed his tray, and left without saying another word. How could you do that? I glared at Robert, my eyes having never left his. How could you embarrass him like that?

  His eyes turned into cold steel and the temperature in the air around us changed to match. He’s embarrassed because he knows I’m right, Grace. He left because he couldn’t face that fact. His comment was asinine and his behavior unacceptable. But I didn’t say what I did to hurt him, or you. Sometimes people need to have their mistakes pointed out in order for them to be rectified.

  I opened my mouth to say something. Anything. But what could I say? He was right. And I was angry at him for that.

  “The fact that you two are so eerily silent should be enough to clue me in that you’re fighting, but if you don’t mind taking it off mute so that I can defend myself if my name happens to come up, I’d really appreciate it.” Stacy looked at the both of us. She could have been quite calm, or she could have been furious; I had no clue as to which because the look on her face was totally unreadable.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I-we weren’t…”

  She waved her hand in front of me. “Look, I know it was one hundred percent about Graham, so don’t get all freaked. Robert, I appreciate what you said, but I don’t need you to defend my honor, or whatever it is that you were trying to do. I can take care of myself, okay?”

  Robert nodded, his mood lifting somewhat, the air slowly warming around us. “I guess I overstepped my bounds. I forget that not all girls are damsels in distress.”

  “No one here, anyway,” Lark snarled. “If you’re feeling useless, why don’t you go out and flick someone in the head? Create a nice little head wound that you can try and heal so that you keep your nose out of other people’s business?”

  She stood up, the movement so quick her chair went flying out behind her and slammed into the back of the cafeteria wall. The sound caused everything else around us to stop. “You might think you’re perfect, Robert, but you’re not. Remember that.”

  Stacy and I looked at each other as Lark stalked off. We both could almost see the thoughts running through each other’s mind, and instinct took over all other form of judgment. I looked at Robert apologetically, looked at the stack of flowers piled up all around our now empty table, and turned to follow his sister.

  To my and Stacy’s surprise, she hadn’t disappeared with the speed that she was accustomed to. Instead she stalked towards her locker at the leisurely pace of someone like…well, me. She had foregone the walking stick, instead choosing to vocally count out any steps so that should anyone ask how she managed to make it to her locker without it, she’d be able to answer truthfully.

  Of course, the attempt at human actions ended as soon as she reached her locker. Without a second thought, she ripped the combination lock cleanly from the door, the mechanism holding the lock seemingly melting like butter. Her door opened with a lazy squeak, and Stacy and I witnessed something that we both knew no one had ever seen before.

  Lark’s hand was shaking. I stepped towards her and took her hand into mine. It felt unnaturally cool, as though her icy demeanor had transferred into her flesh. I followed her gaze into her locker and felt the catch in my breath even as I recognized the very same one in hers.

  A pink beribboned box of charcoal sticks was propped upright, a sheet of paper covered with tiny bumps lay at its side. Lark’s free hand reached inside to retrieve the note while I released her other hand so that she could skim the surface with the pads of her fingers. “I wish that these came in different colors so that you could feel the colors that you’ve brought into my life. Until then, at least you can use these to show others what you feel,” she read, the sheet of paper starting to flutter beneath her fingertips.

  “Who is it from?” Stacy asked as she peered at the blank sheet. “Does it say?”

  Lark shook her head. “That’s it. It has no name on it.”

  “A secret admirer! Well, this is much better than flowers, I’ll give you that,” Stacy said, her nose wrinkling at the residual smell of the numerous blooms that clung to us as we stood alone in the hallway. “I wonder who it’s from.”

  I remained silent, as did Lark. How does one go about telling their friend that their boyfriend, who hadn’t given them anything for Valentine’s Day, was the secret admirer of another? I looked at Lark’s face and tried to gauge what her emotions were. She looked ethereally beautiful as always, but there was something I couldn’t detect hidden in her eyes. It was like a fog had rolled in and blocked everything from sight.

  “It doesn’t say who it’s from,” Lark said softly as she folded the sheet of paper up and tucked it back into her locker. She closed the door gently, pressing it in when it wouldn’t seal properly, and then simply walked away. I started to follow her when the bell rang. Soon she was swallowed up by the masses of bodies that filled the hallway; students trying to rush to class in a mad dash at trying to forget what it was that had been labeled “lunch”.

  “You don’t think that she’s upset about what Graham said, do you?” Stacy asked as we walked towards our respective classes. I shrugged my shoulders, not wanting to look into her face for fear that she’d be able to see the lie that I cou
ldn’t voice. “I would be if it had been me. Robert was right. It is a good thing that Graham didn’t get me anything. I mean, we’re not really that serious anyway. Not like you and Robert. You’re all in love and crap. I like Graham, but I don’t think I know how to get past that and into something more. Like isn’t really enough…you know?”

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  “I mean, you and Robert—you two were meant for each other. It’s like when Robert was born, God had you set up on a shelf for later, the yang to his yin. Graham’s not my yang.”

  I laughed in spite of myself. “No, he’s definitely not your yang. I don’t know if he’s anyone’s yang, but then again I was stupid enough to think that maybe he was mine, so what do I know?”

  As we neared Mr. Branke’s class, Stacy turned to face me. “Grace, you made the classic mistake of falling for your best friend. It’s perfectly normal and doesn’t mean you don’t know anything about who is and isn’t meant to be with each other.”

  She waved goodbye as she walked towards her class, leaving me to ponder what she had just said. I couldn’t help but smile. She had said that I was perfectly normal. No one had ever said that before.

  ***

  At the end of the school day, when everyone else’s heads were full of dancing and party dresses, mine was filled with chocolate covered raisins and a gross-out comedy fest at the theater. Robert had managed to save my flower from the mountain of blossoms that Lark had left behind in the cafeteria and I carried it safely in my bag as we rode home on the back of his bike.

  So have the plans changed?

  The plans…No, the plans haven’t changed. We’re still going to the movies.

  So, when are you going to tell me?

  I felt my head jerk back at the question. Tell you what?

  As we approached my house, I saw that the driveway was empty. Janice’s car wasn’t in its usual spot, and I knew that Dad wasn’t home either. Robert pulled the bike into the drive and turned off the engine. “Why you lied when you told me you didn’t know why you didn’t like this holiday.”