I was good at dribbling. And I had my spot. Otherwise, I sucked at basketball.
Free throws were definitely not my strength.
One dribble. Lined up to the box. It dropped straight in the net. Wow—perfection for once.
Sam raced behind me and threw the ball over my head. Hers bounced off. I tried hard to hide a smirk.
Sucked into the game, filled with an adrenaline rush, I easily retrieved my ball and rushed to the free-throw line. Meanwhile, Sam darted to get her ball, which had rolled onto the street.
The tall attractive blond didn’t even notice her. His eyes were on me as I lined up again to make the shot.
I missed, but the ball bounced off the rim to me. Feeling the guy’s gaze on my back, I moved over to my spot and threw. The ball headed to the net at the exact moment Sam’s did.
Mine landed off, but Sam’s bumped it in.
I’d won. I bit my lip as my heart sank. This definitely spelled trouble.
“Tara!” Daniel’s sharpness drew my attention to my driveway. The garage door of my house rumbled open, and Daniel stood under it. He rubbed his temple. I could sense he feared I was digging myself back into a hole with Sam.
For once, I was grateful for his interference. Perfect timing. It was my chance to get out of there and escape any backlash.
“You’re going to be late,” Daniel said.
My presentation. I wasn’t going to have time to email it to Montrose. Darting to my bike, I grabbed my helmet and strapped it on, then picked up my bike and straddled it.
Daniel shook his head, and I rolled my eyes.
“I emailed your speech to Montrose.” Daniel headed into the garage. “Good luck.”
Relief flooded me, but I didn’t show it. “You shouldn’t enable me,” I said.
“A simple thank you would be nice!” he yelled at me.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Pushing off, I moved the bike up to speed. The tall attractive guy who’d inspired the knockout game with Sam hadn’t gotten into his car yet but leaned against the hood with a book in hand. I avoided looking straight at him, because that was dangerous.
A second later, I couldn’t help myself and glanced over my shoulder.
There was no denying the smile of admiration on his face as our gazes met. It turned into something a little cockier and more flirtatious.
Grinning to myself, I picked up speed. It was probably a good thing I’d never caught his name.
If I ever ran into him at school, I was going to have a hard time keeping my eyes off. Hopefully, I never came across him again.
All morning, I followed my usual routine of avoiding my classmates' eyes and getting as quickly from one class to the next. Still, I watched around for Sam’s tall new flirtation, though I never ran into him.
Was he new to the school? A senior I’d never noticed before?
During lunch, from my loner seat as far from Sam’s table as possible, I kept looking her way. He wasn’t there.
Maybe he didn’t even go to school here. A disappointing relief. A temptation that would bring in Sam’s deepened ire was not much of a temptation.
After lunch, I headed to language arts, reviewing my notecards, mostly to avoid my classmates’ eyes. All I ever saw in them was pity or hostility. I was nervous enough about my upcoming speech, and I didn’t need more to strengthen the dark source already wrapping around my stomach.
This would be my first time speaking in front of a group since spring. Hopefully, it didn’t end in a fiasco like the last one had.
Those five minutes were so vivid in my mind. My former friends had bombarded me with inappropriate questions, then laughed and mocked me while I floundered, and the teacher made no attempts to stop them. In fact, I’m pretty sure she laughed with them.
The memory haunted my steps now, twisting anxiety around my chest and causing dark source to stir in my stomach. I should have asked to write an essay instead.
“Tara.” Two girls blocked the way, and I looked up as Delilah, the taller of the two, knocked my shaky hands. The gesture sent all the cards flying. Briefly, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, struggling to hold back an angry retort.
Dark source could make me really nasty to people.
“Now that wasn’t nice, Dell,” Samantha said. Her golden hair, tucked up in a messy bun, framed her face like a crown, heralding her most popular girl status. Sam pointed. “Clean them up for her.” Mischief flashed in her brown eyes. I knew that look too well from when we were besties.
“Not necessary,” I said.
When I stooped to do it myself, Sam grabbed my arm. “Dell knocked them. She should pick ‘em up.”
I jerked my arm out of Sam’s.
With her own conniving smile, Delilah knelt and quickly gathered the cards.
They didn’t need dark source to make them nasty.
Samantha twisted a loose hair into her bun. “You know, I always thought it must be hard for you,” she said casually, as if we were still friends.
I rolled my eyes when she paused, baiting me to respond. “What was hard?”
“Living unloved in a house filled with people entirely unrelated to you.”
“My mom is related to me.”
“You were adopted.” Sam scrunched up her nose. “When was the last time you even talked to her?”
Coldness shot through my chest, making negative source spike. I stuffed my hand into my pocket where there was a crumpled math worksheet. Unseen to them, I directed a handful of my growing dark source into it, and the page became a pile of paper dust in my pocket. It relieved the darkness slightly.
“Pretty sad, huh?”
Delilah handed me the stack of notecards she’d collected. “I hope your presentation goes better than last year.” Her smile was way too sweet.
They had to be up to something, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.
I grabbed the cards from her, then looked at Samantha. “Someone hacked my account last spring. I wasn’t the one who wrote those messages to you.”
“Then explain the picture of you in Jerrick’s bed,” Sam said.
I shivered. That photo was not what Jerrick had made it out to be. I freed him of a demon, and he tried to kill me. The truth would sound crazy to a non-alv. I opened my mouth to try to give some sort of explanation.
“Save it for someone who cares,” she interrupted, then turned around.
“Whore,” Delilah hissed at me before following.
Why’d I even try again?
Tears burned my eyes as they headed down the hall toward the music wing. A year ago, I would have been going with them to choir.
Nerdy Furdie stood outside Montrose’s classroom, having watched the encounter. Because he was another alv, I’d tried befriending him last year out of pity, but he’d wanted more than friendship.
Anxiety twisted my gut. “Did you have something to say, too?”
“I know what you did, even if they don’t,” Ferdinand said quietly. Along with our teacher Montrose, Ferdinand was the only other alv at the school.
They weren’t half-bred changelings like me. Both were pure, which meant they stored their source—never having to release it. Their source enabled one of the alv gifts. Ferdinand’s was animal telepathy, allowing him to understand and control animals. Montrose’s, like my adopted brother’s, was enhanced strength and agility, which came in handy for fighting demons and playing basketball.
Ferdinand towered over me, making me cringe away. “You know, you could have so much more fun with your negative source than you do.”
“Don’t bother me,” I said.
“Bother?” A sour smile stole across his face. He chuckled and shook his head.
I imagined he was thinking about last year. “You’re the one who crossed the friendship line. Not me.” I slipped past him into class and sat in my front row seat near the door.
I placed my binder down on the table with the notecards on top of it. Since they were out of order, I tried
to reorder them, but my hands were too shaky.
My seat at the front right meant I would go first. This speech counted as half the assessment for the unit on Gatsby. Language arts was usually my best subject, but this could tank my grade.
Now was not a good time to let my bitter source flow out of control. I closed my eyes, trying to empty my mind so I wouldn’t think about the speech or everything that had happened. Like usual, an errant thought crept its way into the blank space the exercise created. Why can’t Sam let it go? Even if she didn’t want to believe I was innocent, why keep bullying me? I’d left her alone.
Someone entered, stopping in front of me. “Tara?”
Startled someone was talking to me, I opened my eyes.
One of my classmates, Jack Spalding, crouched in front of me. His red hair and amber eyes were a perfect fiery combination. His mom had watched me in elementary school while my parents worked. Back then, we used to tell everyone we were twins, even though we didn’t look alike. Now, he was one who always had pity for me in his eyes.
“What do you call a popped balloon?” he asked, beginning to smile.
I rolled my eyes, looking at the smartboard. “That joke was stupid when we were kids.”
“So?”
“Deflated,” I gave in.
His grin widened. “And what do you call a blown-up balloon?” He gestured with his arms.
Lifting one eyebrow, I finally smiled. “Oh, you’ve added to it?”
Montrose entered. “Jack, get to your seat...” His voice trailed, and I knew he’d realized Jack was talking to me.
Jack stood. “So what do you call a blown up balloon?” he prompted again.
“Inflated?” I asked.
“Nope.” He clapped his hands in front of my face, making me jump. “Poppable.”
I smothered a chuckle. His banter brought a wave of sweet source. “Clever.”
“No, it’s not, and you know it.”
I grinned. Even when we were little, he’d hated seeing me upset. I’d hated Mom for moving me away from him after Dad’s murder and never letting me visit.
It was one of several crimes I still hadn’t forgiven her for. It didn’t help she wasn’t even my real mom. That one abandoned me at the hospital on Valentine’s Day, right after I was born.
The bell rang. Lydia entered the classroom as it finished and came face to face with Jack. He blocked her way to her seat. There was an awkward tension between the two, who’d gone out together until last winter.
Jack moved out of her way.
In elementary school, the three of us had been best friends, along with another boy named Benny, who’d moved even further away than I did. By the time we rejoined in high school, Jack and Lydia were in different social groups than me, plus they were dating, and we hadn’t spoken much.
With a backward glance at me, Jack made his way to his seat, and Lydia sat down behind me.
“Are you all right?” Lydia asked.
Her question reminded me I was Jack’s charity case. Not his friend. Not anymore. “Yeah, fine.” I resolutely faced the front of the classroom.
Montrose rolled away from his computer to face us across his L-shaped desk. “Why don’t we start from the back corner this time,” he announced. “Ferdinand?”
I breathed a sigh of relief. I wouldn’t be going first, which gave me time to reorganize my cards. Jack’s joke had done its work to cheer me a little.
“You always start from the front!” Ferdinand complained.
Montrose nodded his head backward. “Get up here.”
Grumpily, Ferdinand made his way from the back.
“I don’t have any slides from you,” Montrose said.
“I didn’t make any.” Ferdinand looked at the one card in his hand. “The Great Gatsby is a stupid story about a man who is in love with another person’s wife.”
I drew my notecards toward me, but something about Ferdinand’s comment sparked memories from my sophomore year. I’d felt so confused over my best friend Samantha dating our mutual friend Jerrick—someone I’d crushed on for years while she crushed on his older brother.
“Gatsby wastes everything going after her,” Ferdinand continued, “and in the end loses everything.”
Only I wasn’t like Gatsby. I’d supported their relationship the best I could. Someone else had hacked my online account and stolen my middle school journal, sabotaging me to make it look like I was a jealous best friend. It didn't help to find out Jerrick had a crush on me also.
Ferdinand headed to his seat. That was the end of his presentation?
“You didn’t follow any of my instructions,” Montrose said.
“I hated the book. Why would I waste my time preparing a speech on it?”
“Go to the library and write an essay on it instead.” Montrose turned to the computer.
With a growl, Ferdinand used the back exit to leave the classroom.
“Lydia?” Her presentation displayed on the smartboard.
Lydia bounced up. Her strawberry blonde hair was styled to perfection in waves around her shoulders. I used to think she looked like an angel, and always made her play that part in make believe games as kids.
She and Jack had been such a perfect couple. For the millionth time, I wondered why they’d broken up.
As Lydia spoke, I reorganized my notecards and realized quite a few of them were missing. My heart pounded. Delilah must have stolen them. I should have guessed. At least I could use my slides for reference, but Montrose wanted us to look out at the class, not backward. He would take points away from my score if I looked at them.
My palms grew sweaty and my stomach twisted with bitter source. It turned my apprehension to nausea, and I was sure I’d puke once I stood.
Definitely time to get out before my name was called.
But Lydia finished and returned to her seat behind me. My presentation appeared for all to see.
“Tara,” Montrose gave me a reassuring smile.
Swallowing bile, I evened out my notecards, ill-prepared to die with Gatsby.
Snickers passed around the room, and Lydia prodded me from behind. “No one is going to kill you,” she whispered.
I knew that, right?
“Vamanos!” Kenny said with a bad accent.
Breathing in deeply, trying to control the swirling negative source in my stomach, I disengaged from the desk and turned around to face the class. Sixty eyes of all shapes and colors focused on me, and I imagined irrationally they were guns, ready to shoot when I messed up. There were no questions and answers this time. Just start. My throat tightened, then my hands started to shake. “Um…” I choked and dropped all of my cards. Mind went blank.
“Come on, Tara,” Jack whispered encouragingly.
I’d practiced over and over again yesterday for my foster brother Nathaniel. I knew my cards. They were fine to lie there, but they were my safety net, my route to avoid the deconstruction of their eyes.
“Manage it, Tara,” Montrose whispered.
Manage my source. I knew what he meant by that comment, but others wouldn’t. Most people knew nothing about alvs. But unlike my source, which was wild, complicating my emotions, his source stored within him. He didn’t get how hard it could be, especially when negative source was building. Especially when my peers glared at me in judgment.
No one in here hated me. I tried to reassure myself. Montrose, a family friend, had made sure of that after last year’s drama, though I hadn’t asked for the meddling.
I gripped the pendant on the necklace; it was one Dad had given me. Doing so sometimes stirred positive source, because it brought me the memory of his love. It worked a little.
Using the slides as my guide, I jumped into my presentation. So much for those points.
As soon as I was done, I got a hall pass for the bathroom.
I was so distracted by my epic failure in language arts, I walked straight into the bathroom, not paying much attention to where I was going.
/> Something wasn’t right. Why was there a urinal—crap. I’d gone into the boy’s bathroom.
And a tall, lanky young man was washing his hands.
It was him—the stranger from that morning. The blond, gorgeous guy looked over his shoulder at me with a smile. His green eyes were amazing, something I’d missed that morning.
Of course I had to combine failure with embarrassment.
My stomach cramped with the negative source swirling inside me, and I almost threw up on him. Not the way to officially meet him.
“Sorry.” I turned around.
He laughed. “I take it you’re not a boy.”
“Nope.”
Once out, I immediately ducked into the girl’s bathroom. Which, heaven-sent, was empty. I didn’t check to see which stall was the cleanest. I didn’t have time.
Not even a second later, I was bent over a toilet, vomiting my recent lunch, some of the dark source leaving with it. Sitting down on the floor, leaning against the stall door, I closed my eyes and waited for a second wave.
I needed some way to cleanse.
I toyed with my necklace, thinking to the moment Dad had given it to me. No holiday had brought on its giving. I stared at the words on it, running my thumb over the inscription. Daughter of God.
Repeating those words in my head inspired a warm wave of positive source. It always irritated me.
“Dad, I still miss you,” I whispered. I forced myself to my feet.
Now my presentation was over, hopefully I could return to being unnoticed by everyone. Sam’s crush had to be gone by now, too.
Gargling water at the sink, I tried to rid the death taste from my mouth to little avail. Since no one was around, while I washed my hands, I released some of my dark source into the stream of water, making it a murky color. The relief was instant. Then, closing my eyes, I allowed the natural coolness to settle over me, and for a minute, I visualized myself outside near a creek.
The exercise worked to provide me with a trickle of positive source.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I turned off the water, took a paper towel, dried my hands, then used up more of my dark source to turn the paper towel to dust. I smiled as it disintegrated into the trash bin, knowing few people ever got to see that happen. Dark was still left over, but I felt infinitely better.
The Changeling's Source (Evedon Legacy Book 1) Page 2
