Chapter One
Karly
I was nervous, even though I told myself a million times I wasn’t.
It seemed silly. Here I was, twenty-one years old and barely moving out of my parent’s house. I should’ve been on cloud nine, especially since I was moving to the party capital of the country, if not the world. Who didn’t want to live in Las Vegas, Nevada, celebrating it up during their college years? Me, that’s who.
I could still remember every word of my refusal letter from the Academy in San Francisco. Dear Karly, we are sorry to inform you . . . The rest didn’t really matter after that. Sure it had been upsetting, but there were other schools with art programs. I could still do what I wanted.
The denial stung, though.
I watched the yellow paint strips blur into one as I drove down the highway. There wasn’t actually anything exciting to see, a lot of dirt and rocks—the same thing I saw every time I drove anywhere outside my tiny hometown. My car was probably the most interesting thing on the road. A car suddenly came from nowhere, speeding like the devil was on its heels. It shot around me so fast that dust clouded around the front of the car, my foot automatically slamming on the brakes and my hand shooting out to steady the laundry basket buckled into the passenger seat, multicolored bags stuffed around it and on the floor for further stability. The dirt finally settled, the crazy driver nowhere in sight, and I was on my way again. Every now and then I would glance out the rearview mirror, but the backseat was full of trash bags and boxes, which held the rest of my belongings. I kept forgetting, however, and would become disoriented when there was nothing to see. I felt like I had the tiniest bit of room available to myself, squished into the driver’s seat with my purse on my lap. Someone once told me it was illegal to drive with all of your windows blocked like that. I agonized I’d get pulled over—something I’d never experienced— but there weren’t even any cops around. I really was in the middle of nowhere.
My parents didn’t want me to move. They were most likely sitting in the living room right now, plotting ways to get me to come back. I’m sure they wanted the best for me, but they were actually suffocating me.
They were the reason I’d put off applying to the Academy right out of high school. Somehow, I’d been convinced I needed to stay home and get my associates degree at our local community college. I tried not to blame them for the rejection, but sometimes I couldn’t help it. Maybe if I’d applied earlier, I would have made it. I had a hard time not dwelling on the past.
When I wasn’t accepted into the Academy after graduating with my general education degree, they tried to get me into nursing. Our small college had a program—they wanted me to stay home longer—but I finally found a streak of confidence and told them no. I was tired of feeling like I was missing everything. All my friends had already left town, and I was there all by myself. Like before, I was sure they only desired the best for me. They had a hard time understanding art was best for me.
So I started searching for a new college. There were several possibilities, but I wanted someplace with a good art community, as well as a great program, and close to my home in northern Nevada. When I’d finally settled on the university in Las Vegas, I was afraid to tell my parents. They’d been there once, and my father’s words still echoed in my mind—things like “den of iniquity,” and “Satan’s lair.” My parents were kind of religious.
The night I told them I was going to move, we had a huge fight. They accused me of wanting to party instead of focusing on school. It was repeatedly hammered into me that Vegas was “Hell on Earth” and I would become a prostitute by association. They tried to scare me with stories and videos about the Mob as well. I probably watched one hundred episodes of CSI with them. In the end I told them I didn’t want to stay at home any more, and I was going no matter what they said. I was relieved when they finally agreed. True, I might be a legal adult, but I still liked to have my parents’ support.
In the hazy distance, I could see Las Vegas appearing before me. The Strip stuck out like an oversized diamond with all of its fancy, over-the-top resorts. I couldn’t even imagine what it would look like in an hour or so when it was all lit up at night. The road became progressively more congested as it moved into the city. Nervousness poked at me again, and I hoped no one was staring at my tiny car, packed full of stuff. I felt like the scene from A Goofy Movie when everyone breaks out into song, using the junk from the car as musical instruments. Heaven help me if anyone starts singing.
I wanted to live in the dorms at the university, but they were already full by the time I called. After asking around and leaving messages with a few apartment complexes, explaining I needed a place to stay, I found an opening in a building close to the college. I agonized over whether the three girls I’d decided to live with were drug dealers or murders. But they seemed nice enough on the phone.
Good grief. My parent’s brainwashing attempts were working.
I struggled to pull the directions out of my pocket. Unfolding the paper, I tried to decipher my scribbles. I already didn’t understand the city streets. Some of them had so many signs it was impossible to miss them. Other’s came and went so fast you never knew they were there. It was my luck the street I needed was one of the latter. The knot in my stomach grew exponentially as I found a place to turn around. The last thing I needed was to get lost.
Finally, I pulled into the parking lot of my new housing complex after what felt like an eternity of missed signs and U-turns. I crept around the two story building, scanning for the right number. When I found it, I parked the car and turned it off.
And then I sat there.
I already had a key—the girls had mailed one to me—but I was too scared to get out and start my new life. I really wished I was in San Francisco.
Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my purse and backpack. Quickly, before my courage ran out, I got out of the car, locked it, and walked up the stairs to the second level of the tan building. Apartment number forty-two—my apartment—was past the stairs on the right. I stopped in front of the door for a moment and knocked. When no one answered, I took a deep breath, unlocked it, and walked inside.
I paused in the doorway, taking everything in. I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but was surprised at how normal everything appeared. I wanted to go straight to the nice, light-brown couch in the living room, made of that cool micro suede stuff, and stretch my car-cramped muscles. In the middle of the room was a coffee table with a few books and candles on it. I already knew I’d enjoy the big, flat screen television hung on the far wall. As tempting as it was to sit and relax, I decided to continue my examination.
A matching brown table was off to the side of the triangular kitchen which was angled really cool into one corner. I walked into it, running a finger along the island that held the sink and counter and formed the base of the triangle, facing out to the rest of the apartment. The other two sides were made up of cupboards and more counter with the normal appliances spaced perfectly apart. I loved the way everything felt super chic and out of the ordinary. I headed towards the hallway on the right of the kitchen, assuming it led to the bed rooms.
“Hello?” I called. There was no reply.
I moved towards the sleeping area, catching my reflection in the bathroom mirror on my left. Stopping to wipe a smudge of mascara away, I surveyed myself. I looked tired—my brown eyes a little red from driving so long. My light brown hair appeared pretty good in its ponytail, the ends touching my shoulders. I hadn’t worn much make-up, and my red t-shirt and jeans were wrinkled, but I figured I was good enough to meet people.
The two rooms at the end of the hall, created an “L” shape. I softly knocked on the door of the first and slowly opened it. Everything was covered in pictures and both beds were obviously taken. I closed the entrance and opened the next, seeing my bed right away; it was completely bare, nothing on the walls around it. My roommate’s side was much like the other room.
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sp; I tossed my purse and backpack onto the bed and went back outside. I wanted to get my stuff moved in while they were gone so I wouldn’t be a bother. It would also help a lot if I could get most everything in before dark.
Trudging somewhat across the thick carpet, I headed back to my car, not knowing exactly where to start. Packing everything had been super easy, shoving it wherever it would fit in the vehicle. As I stared at the mass chaos through the windows, I realized I’d grossly underestimated how hard it would be to pull everything out of its place. Maybe I should have made a list of the order I put everything in. But I didn’t because no one does that, and there was no remembering how I did it now. I took a deep breath and opened the back driver’s side door, praying there wouldn’t be an avalanche.
Gratefully, I moved everything in quickly. Every inch of the room was occupied by items needing my attention. The bare mattress of my bed overflowed with black trash bags bulging with clothes and an extreme amount of shoes. Pictures of family, along with my art leaned against the walls, waiting to be hung. In the corner, a pile of metal poles and racks would soon resemble a closet rack. Bedding, knick knacks, ironing board, iPod dock, free weights and various other odds and ends littered the floor—all expecting to find a home in my small assigned space. This was going to take awhile, so I paused and went to the kitchen for a cold drink. A note addressed to me was propped on the black, granite countertop.
Karly~
Welcome to your new home!
We went out for the night, won’t be back till late. Sorry!
Help yourself to any of the food. There’s a good Chinese place down the street too, if you wanted to go out.
~Jenny, Jessie, and Julie
I took another deep breath and decided not to worry that my name didn’t fit in with the others.
I had enough worrying for the day.
Chapter Two
Zeus (The God Chronicles #1) Page 2
