EXCERPT
Chapter 1
“Never love anybody who treats you like you’re ordinary.” ~ Oscar Wilde
Today, I’ll be fearless and not worry about who likes me, or doesn’t. Living daily with my form of normal has its challenges. I say bring ‘em on.
The week of Spring Break begins today. Well, it starts at the end of the last class. In seven hours, the start to the countdown for graduation and my new life also begins. When that last dismissal bell rings, I plan to slip into the void of freedom I’ve always dreamed about.
Except, today is different. I feel it in my bones, as my Nana would say. The kind of ache that isn’t physical, but the kind I’ve known all my life. Ever since I stopped taking the hyperactivity meds a few years back, I get these feelings I can’t describe every now and then. I guess today is one of those days.
I’m different. Most days I seem outwardly normal, but what is normal these days? Being out of the ordinary doesn’t mean I’m weak or inferior or a total geeky girl, except maybe to the popular kids. I call them pops. You know, short for the popular kids. They’re perfect every day. Just ask them. They’re more than ready to explain ad nauseam how much they are the anointed ones at Crestview High. Me, I don’t care, though for once I’d like to feel…normal like them…cool cars, trendy clothes, and money in my pockets.
Don’t get me wrong, I know who I am and what I can do, and where I’m going in life, at least for the next couple of years. After that, the world is wide-open. I don’t need a group for an identity either. I have a couple of good friends and a pretty much okay family who lets me be me, no matter how nerdy and plain looking I am.
After a tumultuous few years on earth, and a diagnosis with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) at the age of six, I settled down to an obedient, mild-mannered girl by the time I hit puberty. Always did what I was told for fear of being expelled from school and even was suspended. Once was enough of a lesson to square away and put school first. I wish I could let go, be reckless, get into trouble and get a thrill from shocking everyone by my behavior. Not happening.
I sigh, learning to accept my fate as a person who’ll never be more than what I am now, a good girl with no life. A weird kid who won’t be anything important to anyone. That’s my destiny.
Despite the troubles, I’ve learned to fit in, though I wish to be a rebel. I don’t pretend to be someone I’m not, and choose not to give into the pressures of teenage angst because wasting energy on such useless conditions doesn’t solve anything. Life’s too short. I made that choice a few years ago—with the slight exception of staying within the parameters my parents set, mainly my mother. My father lives thousands of miles away, and doesn’t keep in touch enough to matter. Soon, all those boundaries and disappointments will come down or fade away, and I’ll be free to set my own walls of protection.
The fantasy pops like a soap bubble on a summer day. Who am I kidding? Freedom to live my life, my way, always comes with a price, and I’m broke.
Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I shake my head. I let out another soft breath, inspecting my uninteresting lengths of brown hair in the mirror. I hate my hair. It’s straight. I mean straight as a broomstick, and thick with no curls with bounce. I had a permanent once. Big, big mistake. The memory always makes me shudder.
My mom thinks boys love long hair. How would she know, especially the ones in my school? They certainly don’t like me and make fun of the way I look. She always tells me, “It makes you look young. I wish I could keep mine your length.” Some good deal. I look fourteen instead of almost eighteen. I still don’t like my hair and neither do boys, but telling my mom that will only get a round of self-esteem talk.
Out of frustration, I pull my hair back into a high ponytail and wrap a scrunchie around the whole mess of hair. I’m too tired to deal because the never-ending dream woke me up twice during the night—the first time around two and the last time around five. I tried to go back to sleep, if only for an hour, but the vision haunted me.
Shaking the residual creepiness off, I head downstairs, trying to think of something happier. Didn’t work. A momentary sense of foreboding sweeps over me, leaving behind a chill on my skin. Something is off this morning and has nothing to do with the dream, at least not this feeling of sadness thinking about boys not noticing me. I’m outgoing, but not enough to be an accepted pop girl. I’m smart, but not when it counts for getting into college. I’m nice and caring, but no one wants my help. I think I’m going to be a loner the rest of my life.
I grit my teeth and try not to care about the lack of a boyfriend and a social life. Boys don’t define me, but I desperately believe in love. My mom passed that onto me despite the divorce. When I was very young, my world was perfect, happy, and I had no worries. The unconditional love my parents showed me fed my independence, compassion, and uniqueness. But, I grew up, and life got in the way with bullies telling me otherwise. Now, or in a few months, I can make my own way and find my own love, on my terms and forget the popular kids influencing me. I hope to fight for things that matter, to teach others to be good leaders and good friends, because that’s what I am. I just need the chance to show the world who I really am.
With graduation around the corner, I’d soon be on my own and I’d leave all the stuck-ups behind. I can’t wait, and bounce down the last few stair steps.
I enter the kitchen and grab the half-filled gallon of milk from the refrigerator. The sound of hi-heels clicking on the tile floor announces my mom entering.
“Hey, good morning, sweetie. Sleep well?”
“No, not really.”
“Why not? Worried about exams today?”
I mentally debate to tell her about my nightmare visions and decide, why not? “I had the weirdest dream that kept me in and out of sleep almost all night.” Something about waking up and feeling the last swirls of it in my head continues to give me the creeps. I’ve had visions through dreaming, but this one left a strange sensation prickling my skin.
Mom brushes her palm along my shoulder and leans in for a quick peck on my cheek, making me momentarily forget how tired and uneasy I am this morning.
“Don’t let it bother you. Shake it off. Probably just your subconscious worrying about school. You’ll do fine.”
“Yeah.” I take a gulp of milk. “If you say so.”
Mom frowns. “Larrna? What’s the matter?”
"What? I’m fine.” Okay, she knows I’m grouchy in the morning and we don’t have meaningful conversations until at least eleven o’clock. We go through this routine every time, but does she change up the conversation? No!
“Is your brother up? I didn’t hear him shuffling around upstairs.”
“How should I know? I didn’t pull the Alex watch this morning. He’s a big boy.”
“Larrna? That’s enough. I’m leaving for work early today and don’t have time to drive him to school. I need you to take him.”
“Really? He can’t catch the bus?”
Mom frowns again. “You know that’s not a good idea. Now, stop the bratty attitude. I need your help with this.” She stuffs the laptop into her tote bag and unplugs her cell phone from the charger. “I’ll probably be late tonight. I can pick up a pizza and maybe we can watch a movie. A dine-in family night we haven’t had one of those in a while. What do you say?”
“Sounds good.” I chug the remainder of milk and rub the residue left on my mouth with the sleeve of my hoodie.
“Great, you can pick what to watch, but nothing bloody or scary.”
Too bad. I could go for a slasher flick.
“Well, I’m going to be late, if I don’t get out of here. I’ll be showing property most of the day, but text me when you get home from school. Okay?”
“Okay, okay. I know the drill, Mom.”
Mom shakes her head at me. I know I’m not the best daughter, but I didn’t have the patience for her this early in the morning. Three tests today can put one in a foul mood. My sour attitude is the extent of my rebelliousness. I should be the good girl, right?
“Go check on your brother. I’ll talk to you later.” She opens the door to the garage and steps halfway out before walking back toward me. “Good luck on your tests today, sweetie. I know you’ll ace them.” Mom gives me a goodbye kiss on the cheek. I’m shocked with the gesture and her parting words. I can’t remember the last time she wished me luck on any test, not since middle school.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
Ready to leave, but having baby brother watch, I hustle back upstairs and knock on his bedroom door. “Come on, Alex. We’ll be late. Move it.”
I return downstairs. Another fifteen minutes goes by before he shows his face. He grabs a generic, processed pastry along with an apple juice carton from the pantry, and then stuffs both into his backpack. We were going to be late, something I hated. Switching the lights off and locking up, we finally are on the way to school via my ancient Toyota Camry. The bane of my existence, second-hand cars, clothes, and attending a rich-kids high school where I don’t fit in. Like every single morning recently, my assessment of life sucks.
Did I mention I can’t wait to have school behind me and a job with money in my pocket?
Most days, I consider myself reasonably smart, although maintaining good grades is a struggle because my attention span lasts a nanosecond. I’m talented, but no one seems to notice. And, of course, the skills I keep hidden can’t prove my point. I’d say I’m weird. Everyone knows that and, just in case I forget, I’m reminded daily.
No one knows my secret and I can’t tell my best friends. The kids would treat me like I’m a freak, adding to my geek factor. I have special abilities and deep down I want to offer them for the world, if I can figure out what use they could do besides creep people out. World peace, hunger or war won’t be won over by moving a ball across the floor using only thoughts. I resigned myself a long time ago to never share the truth until I could safely show Mom and Alex first, maybe Dad if he ever bothered to visit.
Who am I kidding? No one can ever know. What I am is afraid. For years I thought my lone talent was moving objects and was proud of the ability, but surrounded by smart and popular kids who offered more than my little skills wasn’t worth much in the real world of Crestview High. If the pops think I’m weird now, they’d freak out and probably report me to the police first chance they got if I use my special ability.
The blast from a car horn, loud enough to pierce through the quiet in the car, breaks the spell tearing me from my crazy thoughts. I make the turn onto the school’s main street, falling in behind several other cars. At least we aren’t as late as first thought, even though Alex overslept again and I had to drive with him to school. I should’ve let him stay home, but if I had, Mom would’ve scolded me, not him, for not doing as she asked. Being the oldest sucked at times.
I glance at Alex in the passenger seat. His mouth gapes open, an obvious sign he’s asleep. I shake my head and tap the brakes. The car directly ahead squeezes into a space I wish I could’ve fit my sedan into, but no such luck. The only spaces remaining are always near the back of the building. Once, just once, I pray good fortune falls my way and I can park close to the entrance near first bell and my locker.
With a deep sigh of frustration, I canvass the area for a spot closer to the exterior doors, another reason I hate being late.
For the past few days, I have had an itchy, skin-crawling feeling of something not right. More than the way I felt earlier when I came down the stairs at home. What exactly was it? The nightmare vision, or something else entirely?
I’m not worried about school, per se. Or, today’s tests like Mom suggested—they’re easy-peasy classes—but a gnawing in my stomach has had me on edge, and I don’t know why. Last night, I tried to figure out the feelings and after a couple of hours thinking, concluded that the only plausible explanation was the mouth swab tests that worried me were the one taken six weeks ago. That could’ve been the anxiety I felt before I fell asleep, but the nightmare changed that opinion this morning.
They were the only break in the drudgery that’s my boring life, along with the dreams of me fighting at a hospital-like building. Although, the place in my nightmares didn’t seem like any hospital I’d been in. My fear of the future must be the culprit and not the actual test results from the swab test.
I asked about the purpose of the test, as did Mom. The school nurse told us the tests were routine and not worry. Mom wouldn’t let it go. Finally, the nurse–her face all winched up like a prune, told her, “They are a safety check for a new strain of a neuro-virus.”
Mom didn’t like the answer and refused to sign the release. Good old peer pressure, along with seeing the opportunity to feed the rebel in my soul, I convinced myself and Alex to take the test. Still, something in the back of my mind isn’t a hundred percent comfortable with why the school pushed so hard on behalf of the Feds. After donating, I knew nothing more than the day I presented Mom the consent form, and since have felt a little cheated and guilty for going behind her back and signing her signature on the form.
After the hub-bub settled. I searched the internet and found nothing except a site espousing a rumor that the government was testing for genetic correlations to a new flu mutation. I could understand the disease part, but genetic? I thought the only people interested in that kind of information would be my family—you know, who our ancestors were, not government officials.
Maybe today we’ll get the results and this creepy feeling will go away so I can enjoy the week vacation.
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