Annabelle's POV

“Alright, here’s the usual weekly wage,” Kara says to me as she hands me a stack of crispy bills that flutter a little bit, due to the artificial wind caused by the air conditioner. I don’t even have to count to know that the amount is two hundred-forty even.
I work for five hours every week day and for eight hours on Saturday for the hourly wage of seven twenty-five. If I went and checked my math for the weekly total I would end up with two hundred thirty-nine dollars and twenty five cents, but Cara doesn’t like to distribute change in paychecks so she just rounds it up to the nearest dollar. She probably doesn’t realize that with all her employees this costs her five dollars or more every pay day, but I wouldn’t waste my breath on it.
If I add the twenty dollars I get weekly for washing Cara and Buck’s vehicles and deduct the twenty five that I spend every month for necessities such as hairspray, deodorant, and my favorite strawberry scented shampoo, it leaves me with two fifteen to put in my bank account every week. It’s into the second week of August now, and I have around four thousand, three-hundred fifty. I could have gotten a car by now; I actually already have my hardship license, but I haven’t bought one yet because I want my first vehicle to be special. I want to be able to go to school at least knowing that I won’t be made fun of.
Speaking in school, Cara has enrolled me at Hampton Point High. I don’t know anyone there, but I’m used to not knowing anyone because I was always moving around. It’s a small town around here, but from what I’ve heard the student population is fairly large to accommodate eight hundred or more. The sophomores are supposed to be one of the biggest classes. I’m not entirely sure, but I’ve tried put off worrying until summer vacation is over.
My anxiety about the start of school begins to build, but my thoughts are interrupted because a large metallic bang followed by a few nasty curse words disrupts the normal buzz of cleanup time. Heads turn to see Uncle Buck picking up an old piece of machinery; within a few seconds the chatter resumes.
I get up from where I’m sitting and set down the newly refilled salt shakers in the place of the old ones. Then I continue down the rows of tables like before and refill all the accommodations for the next day. Of course, there is still a lot to be done. The silver-ware has to be rewrapped in the colorful cloth napkins we keep about, the menus must be restacked, and the checkered floors must be either vacuumed or mopped. I’m starting to groan mentally when Uncle Buck comes around the corner with his machine, followed by Colby.
“Hey, Annabelle, do you want a ride home? I-”
“No thanks,” I cut him short. He frowns down at his shoes. Colby Kolas is nice, but I’m simply not looking for a boyfriend right now and I have more than one reason to think that he has a crush on me.
“Why not?” Uncle Buck demands.
My voice falters as I rack my brains to search for a plausible excuse. “Oh, I-it’s just that there’s so much work to do, and-”
“Nonsense, Anne. You’ve been working all day. We’ve got it covered here. Why don’t you go ahead and let Colby take you home?”
“Fine,” I mutter, careful not to let Colby see the burning look in my eyes. As Uncle Buck ambles off, I turn on my heels and utter something that sounds like, “Let me get my purse,” before I give him one last smoking glare. When I gather my things and walk out to the parking lot, he’s already waiting for me in his bright red jeep. The head lights are on even though it is just getting dark out. Reluctantly I climb into the passenger’s seat and buckle up, avoiding his gaze the whole time.
It becomes painfully obvious that he has a crush on me, considering I can see him staring at me in the window reflection, but I refuse to look at him. It makes me uncomfortable to feel his eyes boring into my side. I cover my hands with my blue jacket sleeves and fidget uncomfortably with my thumbs. He turns on the radio to some rap song and turns it up so that I can hear it.
“So, how’s everything with you?” He asks after a few silent minutes of driving. I continue to stare defiantly out the passenger window, pretending to not hear him. He sighs and turns the radio down to ensure that I won’t have an excuse to ignore him this time. Then he repeats his question, only it’s slightly reworded to compensate for the awkwardness.
“Fine,” I mumble, annoyed by his show of interest.
“Not much of a talker, are you?” He says, catching my eye in the rear view mirror. I see a hint of amusement in his eyes, and I become even more irritated at the fact that he finds it funny. I smile a little to myself when I think about wiping the smirk off his face with a few of his little ‘secrets’, but then I opt against it. Better to save that one for a rainy day, I think.
A few more moments pass and the jeep finally comes to a stop. Colby cuts the engine. “Well, here we are,” he says nonchalantly. It’s more than almost too nonchalant. “I’ll wait here until I see you get in safely.” I roll my eyes and slam the door shut with just the right robustness to come off as mad but accidental. I take the spare key from underneath the mat and let myself in. After a few seconds I hear the sound of tires crunching on pavement, and reassured that he’s gone, I run upstairs for a shower, and let the days events wash down the drain.
Showers have always calmed me. I’m not sure why, but nothing gives me a better feeling than knowing that my body is immaculately clean and smells of strawberries. Showers are my solution to everything, and often I catch myself taking one in the morning and one again at night if I’ve been especially stressed.
After I get clean I brush my hair and my teeth, and head off to bed. If I can get to sleep before Kara and Buck get home I can be well rested for tomorrow, but to my dismay I see the flash of lights through my window blinds and the familiar grumble of Buck’s old beat up Ford. With a sigh I realize that sleep isn’t an option anymore, so I pull out a recognizable cheap notebook from underneath my bed and begin writing.
August 17, 2009
It’s been pretty hectic. I worked for eight hours, as usual.
I pause, stifle a yawn, and continue.
I haven’t had any trouble from IT in about three days, other than the normal. So far there haven’t been any signs of a major bridge collapse.
Just the memory of it makes me squirm uncomfortably, but I keep writing anyway.
There haven’t been any bus crashes either, and no house fires in this area. Everything’s still kind of fuzzy.
I can’t think of anything to say after that, so I close the notebook, stuff it back under the metal framing of my mattress, and turn on the little television to the news anchor on channel four. Suddenly a man dressed in a navy blue business suit appears on the screen and prepares to get ready for the weather forecast.
“Partly cloudy with a twenty percent chance of rain,” I murmur from the edge of my bed.
“Alright folks, lets take a look at the weather,” the man dressed in blue says with a fake cheery smile and an enthusiastic voice that irritates me. Virtual statistics pop up behind him. “Tomorrow’s forecast is...partly cloudy with a twenty percent chance of light rain!” I groan. Why did I have to be right all the time?
I’m sure you’re wondering how I knew all that. The truth is that I have a unique ability that no one else has. I can predict certain things, and I’m also fairly good with reading thoughts (hence Colby’s dirty little secrets). It’s not your typical talent, but then again, I’ve always been strange.
You would think that I’d be happy about this, but I’m not. I’m not normal and my whole life is affected by it. I can’t be in a room with too many people, I can’t sleep at night, and I have random visions that I can’t control. I get terrible headaches and there’s nothing I can do about it. The worst part is the isolation.
I don’t try to read people. What they think is attracted to me somehow, like a magnet. The visions work the same way, though I have a bit more control over the small predictions. It does come with its perks, though. For one, school couldn’t get any easier because I always know when there’s going to be a pop quiz, and I can always cheat on tests by fishing the answers out of someone smart. All I have to do is keep myself entertained.
I abruptly refocus my attention on the television because I get the feeling that I need to pay attention. The man in blue is still talking, his unnecessarily perky face contorted in what looks to me like a painful smile. I watch with fascination as he drones on about the weather, wondering how he manages to smile so big and not get his face stuck that way. “...And Monday and Tuesday will be sunny with intermittent clouds. Here’s Jennifer Miles reporting live from a major structural collapse in Seattle.”
The screen flashes and the scene changes to a lady wearing a formal pinstripe suit, but this doesn’t hold my attention for long. What grabs my interest is the smoking scene behind her. “Thanks, Rob. I’m currently at the scene of a massive catastrophe in down town Seattle, where the main bridge linking I-thirty and I-thirty five appears to have given way. Eye witness accounts rectify that between forty to forty seven vehicles were taken down with it. The casualty rate is said to be double that.”
I stop breathing and sit still as a statue. All the warmth bleeds from my body in one swift gasp. The lady continues to describe the incident in a grim voice that doesn’t even try to be cheerful, and I stop paying attention to what she has to say.
I have been having a dream about a bridge collapsing for about a week now. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since it came around on Tuesday, and it’s currently Saturday.
This isn’t the first time that this has happened to me; In fact, I get this a lot. I don’t see why I would need to know any of it, seeing as I can’t do anything about it, but I guess it doesn’t help to ask why. If all of my questions were answered then maybe I wouldn’t currently be watching my premonition come true on KARK.
I turn off the TV and fall backwards on my bed, staring up at the plaster speckles on the ceiling that I must have counted at least a thousands times. The long night still isn’t over.

*

*

*

The rest of the week passes by with only a few complications. For starters, I haven’t had another revelation, but of course the big bad world is going to throw something else at me...Ever since the jeep ride five days ago, Colby hasn’t shut up.
He’s everywhere I turn: By the door when I come in for my work shift, in the walk in freezer, and even closer to me when I cook, and if that’s not bad enough, I also have to listen to him drool over me in his thoughts. When I turn the corner I know he’s staring at me; I catch him thinking, Man, she’s so hot, or look at how skinny she is!
Not that this isn’t all very flattering, but I don’t let it get to my head because what Colby sees isn’t what everyone else sees. While my appearance can be best described as small and spindly, I don’t consider myself pretty. My eyes are catlike, my facial structure is small, and my unruly hair hangs down without grace, despite my efforts to do something with it.
Right now I’m at the mall in the town near Spinnet. I’m going clothes shopping for the start of school. Regardless of my arguments with Kara, she’s insisted on taking me and buying me some new clothes. “I want you to look presentable,” she said, “and you may not be my daughter, but I still don’t want any kids running around at Hampton Point with worn down jeans and raggedy old sneakers.”
It’s true that my blue jeans are worn down. One of my best pair has a hole in the knee and has faded to an almost white color down past that. I haven’t bought a new pair of shoes since before the accident, and with all the work I’ve put in it’s a wonder that they haven’t fallen completely apart yet. (Although I confess, the tops have come partially off at the toes.)
She dropped me off about thirty minutes ago with two-hundred dollars, and knowing that I wouldn’t voluntarily use any of it, she has refused to come and get me until I’ve spent ‘every last drop’. It’s only eleven o’clock now, and I’m wondering around because I have no idea where anything is.
I don’t know my way around because unlike other kids, I don’t have the time or lack of sense to go blow money on a shirt that’s going to fade in a few washes anyway. Mom always taught me to be cautious of what you spend, and even though I have the means, it was the way I was raised and I can’t reverse it. That’s why I feel so out of place as I walk past display windows with expensive clothing. I look at a few of the names until I come across one that doesn’t look as sleazy as the rest.
After about thirty minutes at Wet Seal I wind up buying a white lightweight jacket, a pair of jeans, a heavier black jacket that has white fur lining inside and around it, and a few new girly undergarments. Then I move on to Aeropostale and buy six pairs of multicolored socks, three t-shirts, and three more pairs of jeans. At American Eagle I find another three shirts, two of them collared, and another pair of pants that hug my legs.
After all of this I check the clock. It’s only 12: 30 and I still have another two hours to kill, so I walk over to a shoe store and buy a nice pair of tennis shoes and a plaid pair of converse. I stop by the hair salon and get my hair washed, trimmed, and dried, and then I buy some more make-up. I glance at the clock again.
It’s around 1:30, and Cara said that she wouldn’t be by until at least 2:30. Plus, I still have another fifty dollars in my pocket. I start walking around, and my stomach growls. I grimace a little and start looking for a place to eat. At the far end of the mall there’s a little shop called Starbucks. I go over and purchase a coffee and then some soup from the store next to it, before sitting down at the far table in the corner.
There’s hardly anyone here besides the teenager in the back that just sold me the chilled coffee, and he’s out of hearing distance, so I get a little peace of mind. However, it doesn’t last long, because a group of three boys come in, snickering about something. I immediately try to lay low. They don’t look like the type I want to befriend.
A tall blonde guy gets a glimpse of me and elbows a ragged looking kid with long, mangy brown hair. I duck a little in my seat and look down at my coffee, but I know it’s too late. From the corner of my eye I see the third guy point at me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, giving me an unpleasant feeling that you can only understand when you’re being studied by someone you don’t know, intensely at that.
I can’t hear them talking, but I can hear them thinking and it isn’t pretty at all. My heart skips a beat as I realize that they’re coming toward me. All I can do is swallow and sit there, furtively hoping that I turn invisible.
“Hey,” the blonde guy says. “I haven’t seen you around. You new?”
I nod and look away, thinking about how it sucks that I don’t have the ability to disappear.
“Well, we’re just hangin’ around here. You wanna chill with us? I’ve got a nice truck. You could come check it out if you want.”
I blink, incredulous of the question. Its one thing to fantasize in your head, but another to openly ask someone is another thing completely. I didn’t think I looked like that type of girl, or at least I hoped not. My vocal chords froze.
I’m saved the necessity to speak, because just then a security officer comes past and sees them. “Hey!” He shouts. “I thought I told you three that you’re banned from this section of the mall!”
They all turn around and begin to walk away with the officer. The brown haired guy twists back and says, “I guess I’ll see you later.” Then he winks and mouths ‘call me’, holding his hand up to his ear in an imitation of a cell phone.
The guy that was working in the back must’ve reappeared and is watching the whole thing with pursed lips. He hesitates a little and begins talking. “Those guys are nothing but trouble.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” I say with little expression. I’m still dumbstruck. “Who were those people anyway?” By now my blood has begun to boil at the fact that these boys thought they could just walk up to me like that.
“The blonde’s name is Harvey. He’s on parole right now for god knows what... All three of them go to Hampton Point.” He stops wiping down the counter and looks up at me. “But that’s not the one you have to worry about. The brown haired guy is more of a threat. Name’s Dylan, and he’s got a bad reputation with girls. Especially at school.” He leaned in a little closer, looking around to make sure no one was nearby. “I once heard that he raped a girl at a party. He got taken to court but he won because they couldn’t prove it.”
I feel my eyebrows rise. “Really?” He was thinking-I mean he does look like he could do that...” I let my voice trail off.
“Yeah, it’s a good thing I happened to have my radio on me, or Doug probably wouldn’t have caught them.”
“Wait,” I say, surprise taking my insides again. “You called that security officer?”
His eyes light up a little bit. He takes a black walkie-talkie from his side and puts it on the counter. “Yeah,” he says indifferently. “Doug gave it to me in case something like that happened again.”
I stand there for a minute, taking this in. He interprets my silence as an inquisition and continues. “This isn’t the first time they’ve done it. In fact, the mall officers have problems with them on a regular basis.”
Suddenly, I see something strange. A blonde headed girl about my age, maybe a little older, power walks past the doorway, wearing a hoodie. About halfway she turns my way and quickly turns her head down, and for the split second I swear I can see glowing writing on her face...

She pulls her hood down and quickens her pace before disappearing from view.

“Hey, did you just see that?” I ask.

“See what?” He says, looking puzzled.

“That girl,” I say, pointing towards to entrance.

“Oh, that. Don’t worry about it; she was probably just one of those emo kids that hang around here.” He eyed me quizzically. “Why?”

I look at him in disbelief. “You mean you didn’t see anything...strange about her?” I ask. “No weird...uh, tattoos?”

“No...?” he says. I must just be seeing things, I think to myself. I decide to change the subject.
“Why doesn’t he just kick those boys out?” I ask.
“He’s tried, but his letters to the mall board don’t seem to be having any effect. The most he can do right now is try and keep them out of certain sections of the mall.” He crosses the counter and goes to refill the salt shaker.
“That sounds annoying,” I say, looking at him as he pours a fine white stream into the glass container.
“They’re a pain,” he agrees. We both stand there in silence for a second, me watching his progress, until he finishes.
I wonder what her name is, I hear him thinking.
“Um, my name’s Annabelle,” I say awkwardly. “You can call me Anne.” I extend my hand over the counter.
“My name’s Kyat.” He takes it and gives it a friendly shake. His hand is rough but warm, and after a second I pull my own hand away. “Where do you usually go to school?”
“I’m starting at Hampton Point tomorrow,” I say unexcitedly.
“Really?” he says. “I go there too!”
“Does that mean that I’ll see you?” I ask. “It would really help to know someone.”
“Yeah, definitely.” He pauses, clucks his tongue, and continues. “I drive a blue Chevy pickup.”
“I wish I drove.” I sigh. “I’ll probably be riding with Colby Kolas.” I try not to show the dismay in my voice at the small prediction I had made earlier this morning.
“Colby? How do you know Colby?”
“Oh. My aunt owns this diner where we both work-” I start.
“Cara’s Diner?” He finishes.
“Yeah, that one,” I eye him suspiciously. “How did you know that?”
“Get out! You’re that niece that Cara’s always talking about!” His enthusiasm fades. “Oh, I used to hang out there sometimes. Carolyn and my mom are good friends.”
I think back to all the times that Cara went over to her friend Ashley’s house. She had tried to get me to go and meet her son (which I remembered to have started with a K and was a really weird name to have), but I’ve never been one for making friends. I don’t really care for dealing with strangers.
“Not to be like those other guys, but if you need a ride, I’ll drive you to school in the morning. I know how to get to Cara’s and everything. It’s on the way to school from my house. Besides,” he grins at me, “Colby Kolas is annoying as hell and I’m probably doing you a decency, huh?”
I think about it. Kyat seems really nice, and I know I’d do pretty much anything to get away from Colby. “Ok,” I concur. “I’ll have to take you up on that one.” My cell phone rings, and I look at the small LCD screen and recognize Buck’s number. “I’ve got to take this,” I say.
“Sure,” Kyat replies. “I’ve gotta get back to work anyway. So I’ll pick you up tomorrow around seven?”
I nod my head and smile, walking out of the shop to answer. “Uncle Buck?”
“Hey,” comes a muffled, staticky voice from the other line. “I’m going to the hardware store and I figured I could swing by to pick you up, if you’re done shopping.”
“Sure,” I say. “But Cara told me I couldn’t come home until I spent all the money she gave me.”
“Don’t worry about that. Do you have everything you need?”
“Yeah,” I answer.
“Alright then. I’ll be there in an hour or less.” I hear a click on the other line and my phone shows that it’s disconnected. Dismayed, I walk around again, boredom showing in my stride. Soon enough I see a store that I like and I go inside.
I guess I pick all the emptiest shops around, but that’s just my nature. I’m not much for crowds. As I’m looking through the clothes racks, an unexpected impulse to run takes hold of my insides and I get that familiar feeling that I’m being watched. Slowly I turn around and see the same three boys peering at me a few shelves over. I pretend that I didn’t see them, but my stomach begins rolling and I immediately leave without buying anything.
When I merge with the crowds again outside the store, a feeling of safety washes over me, but that doesn’t last long either. I see the gang leaving from the glass display window, so I quicken my pace and dodge into a popular retail outlet. I don’t even pretend to be interested in the clothes items this time. I just find a rack to hide behind and wait, hoping that I won’t be spotted.
As I’m keeping a look out I think about it. Maybe it was just coincidence that I wound up in the same place. I would like to believe that, but it seems pretty much impossible to run into them on the opposite side of the mall in another random store. My stomach does a back flip when I see them outside, and my fear is confirmed.
I’m being stalked.
It takes the boys another seven or eight minutes to find me. I watch as they comb the place, and when they finally spot me I’m already walking out. I start panicking a little bit and force myself to take deep breaths.
This game of hide-and-go-seek lasts for another forty five minutes, but there’s a difference: to them it’s a game and to me it’s nauseating. A few times I consider going back to the food court where Kyat works, but I know that I’ve already stalled him enough and I don’t want him to get fired because of something that I ought to be able to take care of myself. After all, it certainly wouldn’t be fair to drag him down into it...
Pull yourself together and stop being such a big baby, I reason. You can handle this. I’m not a complete weakling; I can defend myself, and I know to SING when in this type of situation.
Don’t be ridiculous, I argue with myself. These boys have the potential to harm you. Use whatever you have...Even if it means an unfair advantage.
I don’t get much more time to argue because I’ve finally reached the end of the side of the mall. There aren’t any more stores. The only place left to go would be outside, but I bite my lip. I know how much danger that could be. As they get closer I stop thinking about the sense in it and just do it. When I’m outside, I curse and completely regret it-because it turns out that the door doesn’t lead to the parking lots. It leads to a closed off back alley.
Of course. With my luck, it would end up a back alley.
I survey my surroundings quickly. There’s no other exit that I could take, and even if there was I wouldn’t have enough time to take it. It would have to come to a stand off here, they would get what they want, and I might be happy to walk away with my life.
Sure enough, the boys come out of the door, one by one. The dark haired guy takes a step forward with a smirk on his face. “Well, hey there again! I didn’t think we’d see you here.” He grins viperously.
“What a coincidence,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Now, don’t be like that,” he says, taking another step forward.
“What do you want?” I hiss.
“Relax,” he says.
“Yeah, we just wanna talk to you, you know, have a little fun,” the third boy with short hair says with sugar-coated sarcasm. I know exactly what’s coming, and I see that self defense alone isn’t going to help me. I wouldn’t be able to beat them all off...
“We even offered to let you see Dylan’s truck.”
I turn around and spit on the ground, not just out of spite but out of seeing all the disgusting, horrible things that are going through their heads.
“Now, listen here,” the blonde says. By now he is already only a few feet from me. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way-”
I act quickly and take advantage of his open posture with a side swipe to the face. I rip the side of his cheek with the nails on my free hand and punch him as hard in the gut as I can with the other. You know that you haven’t landed a very good punch unless your hand hurts after that, and mine feels like it’s broken from the impact. I try to blink away the tears forming in my eyes from the pain. I take a step back towards the wall.
Suddenly I see something out of the corner of my eye. Turning around, I see a black figure on the roof above me, crouched down, almost hugging the roof. His hood is pulled down so I can’t see his face past the tip of his nose. He puts a finger to his lips, motioning me to stay quiet.

“You...l-little...” He spits, gasping for air. He gets off the ground and straightens himself up, holding a hand to the left of his face. “Just for that, me first.”
Help me, I think, glancing around.
To your left, Annabelle.
His scowl turns into a lusty sneer. I look up again just in time to see the hooded figure; was I really seeing it?
Your left, I hear again. If you value your life...do as I say. I move away from him and closer to the other two, even though it was against my instinct to want to go anywhere near them. The shadow on the rooftop slowly stands upward into a crouching position. He lets go of something and an avalanche of metal comes down with a screech, narrowly missing me. I blink, not sure what just happened, and make a run for it. Ignoring the screams and clutching my shopping bags, I run for the door, not once looking back.

I hear footsteps behind me, and I run to the door, desperately hoping in my mind that it wasn’t one of those boys. I feel a hand on my shoulder, but when I touch the door and spin around, there’s no one there. It’s all I can do to open it.
No one seems to notice me as I walk swiftly to the other side of the mall and through the wide doors that lead into the parking lot; in fact, it’s like what just happened was a terrible daydream. I jump nearly ten feet in the air when my cell phone rings, and then sigh in relief at the caller ID. It’s just Buck.
“Hello?” I answer.
“I’m here,” he says.
“Which side of the parking lot are you on?” I ask, my eyes straining. “I can’t see you.”
“Here, I’ll pull over.” Sure enough, Buck’s white Ford pulls up in front of me. I open up the passenger door and take one last look at the mall. Chills travel up and down my spine. I get in, close the door, and lock it. My head hits the back of the seat and I take a breath of relief.

Safe.

Annabelle's POV

The ride home is quiet and almost peaceful. Uncle Buck, with his simple, down to earth qualities, is one of the only people who can stand comfortable silence. Unfortunately, Kara isn’t so down to earth. I’m immediately attacked with questions when I get home...and to make things better, Colby.
“Hey there,” Colby says from the couch. From the smile on his face I can tell that something is up.
“What are you doing here?” I growl in a low voice.
“Just had to drop off a package from the Diner. By the way, I’m giving you a ride to school tomorrow,” he says with a silly little grin.
“No, you aren’t,” I reply just as smugly.
The smirk quickly leaves his face. “What do you mean? I’ve got it all set up with Kara-”
“-Kyat is taking me,” I say. I really hate it when I have to butt in. He stares at me for a minute with angry frown, and he knew he was bested again. Cara walks in from the kitchen with a wooden spoon in her hand.
“Oh, there you are, Anne. Did you get everything you need for tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve met Kyat?” She asks earnestly. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”
“Yeah, he works in the mall’s food court,” I say. I throw another smirk Colby’s way, and even though I really want to stick my tongue out, I resist.
“Nice boy, that one is,” Buck says as he comes through the door carrying a metal toolbox. “Lad used to chop firewood for me on the weekends.”
“I don’t have a problem with you riding with Kyat as long as you buckle up,” Kara says absentmindedly.
I can’t resist this time. “Guess you should be going now, Colby.” I walk to the door and open it, smiling.
He stands up and goes to the door. “Well, I guess I should go. Call me if you change your mind, Anne.” He turns around in the doorway and winks.
“Bye,” I say as I shut the door in his face, ignore the two left in the room, and start making my way to the stairs.
“What do you have against that boy, Anne?” She asks in amazement.

“Nothing if he didn’t continuously try to force himself on me,” I growl.
The morning comes after a long, restless night. I get up, fix my hair and makeup, and gather my supplies for school. I walk outside and plop down on the front steps, my bag with me, and wait for Kyat. He pulls up, as if right on queue.
He beams a familiar smile at me, but before I can even reach the passenger side he has already gotten out of the driver’s seat, walked around, and opened up the door for me. “Ladies first,” he says with a bow. I climb in. He turns the key in the ignition, starts the car, and we back out of the driveway.
“So, are you nervous about your first day?” He asks, adjusting the rearview mirror.
“Definitely,” I reply. I let out a gust of air that I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding.
“Don’t worry. You’ll do great. Everyone will love you!” He smiles.
I sit for a minute, mulling over this. “I don’t know about that. I’m not really very social.” I cluck my tongue.” Besides, I’m not sure that cliques work the same way here in Spinnet as they do in North Carolina...”
“Aw, don’t worry about it. You’ll be fine as long as you stick with me. My friends aren’t the snobby kind.”
“Who do you usually hang out with?” I ask. Hopefully it wouldn’t be.
“Hmm, let me think.” His brow furrows in concentration. “Neko, Rue, Stephanie, Gracie, Renee, and Dane.”
“Oh.” As expected, I don’t know any of them. “What about Colby?”
He laughs. “No one knows about him,” he says, his eyes flickering over to me for just a second. “He doesn’t really have a particular friend. It depends on who he wants to annoy for the day.”
“At least you don’t work with him,” I murmur.
“I used to,” he admits. Before I can ask any questions, he turns up the radio to Viva La Vide, one of my favorite songs, and glances apologetically in my direction. “Um, I don’t know if you listen to this or not, but I can change it if you like.”
“It’s ok,” I say. “I love Coldplay.” Before the song is finished, we pull into the school’s parking lot. I notice that there is a building in the front being constructed, but other than that the lot is fairly empty.
“Hope you don’t mind,” Kyat says. “I have to get here early sometimes. Today I help the office organize handbooks.”
I feel my eyebrows rise a little. “You work here?”
“Sometimes I help out with the computers. Other times I just do paperwork.”
“Wow. I didn’t think that they would let you, since you’re so young and all.”
“Well, we’re short a few people here in Spinnet. Small town, you know?”
I look outside. There are about three people, presumably students, standing or sitting around the main building. According to the truck’s built in digital, school doesn’t start for another thirty minutes.
“Did you hear about those kids at the mall?” He asks.
My heart skips a beat.
“What?”
“Those kids out at the mall yesterday. You know, the ones that tried to talk to you? Here, it’s in the paper.”
He hands me a copy of the Sentinel Record, the local newsprint. On the first page, in bold print, is:

Three kids found unconscious at Local Mall

My throat tightens a little as I read the article.

Harvey Standings, age 16, Dylan White, age 15, and Hayden Darnell, age 15 were found lying unconscious under debris of scrap metal at Silverton County Mall on August 15, 2009, with multiple bruises and lacerations. According to Detective Anthony Turner, the boys were in the back alley without authorization. The metals had been contained in four black trash bags and were there as part of the mall’s delayed roofing project. “It was a freak accident,” Turner says, “and those boys had no business to be back there. I doubt it if anyone will have any lasting injuries.”
While one of the boys, Darnell, gained consciousness shortly after being found, the others were not as fortunate. Harvey Standings is now in St. Peter’s Hospital. Due to a concussion, he has not gained reconsciousness. Dylan White lies in a comatose state at Peter’s. It isn’t certain if or when he will wake up, but Case Manager Richard Lafayette reveals it could be an estimated three weeks to two months. Darnell’s parents are rumored to be suing the Regional Manager of Silverton, though Darnell and his Case manager have withheld other details. Lafayette has admitted that Hayden has spoken of another teenager involved. It is not definite that he will press charges.
I finish reading and feel the sudden urge to regurgitate my lunch.
Kyat notices the change in my facial expression, because he reaches over and asks, “Are you ok?”
“It’s n-nothing,” I stutter. “I’m just nervous.”
He smiles in relief. “Oh, that’s all? There’s nothing to worry about. I’m sure the kids here will like you just as much as I do, and I only met you yesterday.”
“True,” I say. I slap on the familiar, fake little smile that I hate to wear. I can’t dwell on this any more if I’m going to have a half decent day.
“Hey Kyat, can I, uh...can I have this?” I motion towards the paper.
“Sure. I don’t read the paper that much anyway. Well, I’ve got to go now,” Kyat says. We both climb out of his truck and walk to the main office building, me tucking the paper in my bag. The morning feels like afternoon as the sun illuminates the sidewalk. He leaves me outside to sit on a stone bench.
I shiver a little bit when I think about the previous day at the mall. I certainly hope that the boy with the shaggy brown hair or any of those other boys don’t say anything about me being in the back alley with them...
No. They won’t, because then they’d have to tell police officers what they were doing there in the first place. God knows that wouldn’t sit well with them.
I fidget with the zipper at the end of my book bag and stare down at my flip flops. I look up. The office building is the nicest of the three, though the paint is peeling away and the brick is chipped in places. The building west of me is a shabby, faded beige color, and the third building in sight is the one being constructed on. I lose interest in the dull architecture and try to think about something more optimistic, but nothing comes to mind. I take a look around at the other kids.
There are still only three others. The first two are in a secluded corner with their arms around each other. Out of politeness I turn away and try not to glance in their direction. The other is a male boy dressed in all black and combat boots, holding a book and pacing back and forth. I make a mental note to steer clear of his type. Back at my old school they were labeled ‘freaks’.
After a few more minutes of impatience, I remember my schedule and take out a small slip of white paper. I skim down to the bottom, find my locker number, and walk in the beige building. Intuition tells me that since this is the two story building it will be the one containing the lockers. The hallway is lined with metal cabinets, and it doesn’t take me long to find the one labeled 742. I stuff what little things I have into it and hesitate for a second. All the lockers look similar to me; every other row is painted in a rustic red and the rest are a periwinkle blue.
I take out the cork board from my purse and set to work at setting up my locker. I know that this isn’t a necessity, but everything is so bleak that it disturbs me. I spend the next thirty minutes on this task, so I’m a bit surprised when a bell sounds and a voice from the school’s intercom announces to meet in the auditorium.
Other kids pass by me, and I see more than a few heads turn (probably my curly hair), but I’m used to it so I give a shy smile and keep walking. I don’t have even the slightest idea where I’m going, but I follow the flow of students until I find my way in a small, stocky building. I hope to bump into Kyat on the way but I don’t see him, so I find a corner of the room and take a seat.
An important looking man, seemingly in his forties, clears his throat and begins talking into a microphone.
“Now as we all know, it’s the beginning of the first day of school at Hampton Point. Unfortunately we are pressed for time, so I’m going to quickly review the points in the handbook. Seniors, juniors, and sophomores, please turn to page one twenty-two and read the section on the school’s bullying policy...”
I’ve already tuned him out. Normally I would be paying attention, but there are at least three hundred other people in the auditorium and it hurts my head. I close my eyes and pray to God that this doesn’t last too much longer. If I’m around too many people for too long I’ll get a migraine. The sermon drags on and on for what seems an hour, but when I look at the clock I find that it’s only been twenty minutes.
Finally we are dismissed to our first period classes. I all but run out of the building, and when I dig out my schedule again I find that my first period class is World History with Doctor Sterling. I’m delighted to find that Kyat has this class with me. We spend the remainder of it writing down the rules and comparing class periods. I have first period, second period, third period, fourth period and lunch with him. Though I wish for more so that I won’t be lonely for the rest of the day, I know that this is a good half of the day or more so I make it a point not to complain out loud.
After World History comes Advanced English, and after English is Chemistry. Right as we get finished writing down lab safety rules in chemistry, I’m surprised to learn that Kyat also has Advanced Band with me. Apparently a mistake was made on his transcript, because he had asked to be in Wood Shop instead. He’s still cursing about it when the bell rings, so I suggest that both of us go to the counselor to try and get it fixed. A mistake was made on my schedule too (I asked to be in art instead of computer applications).
Much to our dismay, we wind up spending the entire fourth period waiting in the office. By the time the counselor gets free, we only have a little bit of time to fill out a class drop form before lunch.
“You’re just going to love my friends, Anne,” he’s saying with optimism. Somehow I’m doubtful that they’ll like me, but I slap on a smile anyway and try to reflect his enthusiasm. Something doesn’t feel right, but I ignore it and keep on anyway. We walk further and further away from the office and towards what looks like the cafeteria, and I’m thinking great. Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll randomly get struck with a lightning bolt before I make a complete idiot of myself.
Too bad for me that I can’t call down lightning. Guess it’s my lucky day.

Renee’s POV

Something seems odd about the new girl.
I can’t seem to place it, but from the moment she walks in the door I feel that something is definitely...dissimilar about her. Her curly golden-brown hair sports the slightest dark tint; her small face illustrates uncertainty and she has a skinny, but fit physique. On first glance I have the impression of one of those small, perfect porcelain dolls in Rue’s room-the ones she liked to collect that if you stared at too long, would force you to look away.
She’s an unusual light skin tone with small, pink lips, freckles, and long eyelashes. She has a natural grace about her; her voice is light and lofty, but not too high pitch.
“Hey guys, this is Annabelle.”
She looks down and blushes. “Call me Anne,” she says in a clear, smooth voice. I look across the table. Neko, Dane, and Cardin are looking up confused, almost as if to say, “Is she lost?” I can hear Rue gulp down a french fry beside me. Stephanie glances up with envy and quickly looks away when she sees me looking. I look across the table to Gracie and see that she’s just as surprised as I am to see this girl at our table; she even casts nervous glances at the boys as if to ask, are they fawning over her?
Kyat introduces us to her, pointing to each of us in turn. “This is Stephanie, Rue, Neko, Gracie, Dane, Cardin, and...Renee.” Her eyes rest on me; I notice something even more unusual. Her eyes are large and doe-like, and her iris a light honey-golden color. The color is so vibrant that they stand out the way that an umber colored person might if they had bright blue eyes.
Wow.
They linger on me a second longer and an eerie feeling washes over me.
Everyone at the table responds with a dumbstruck and unintelligent “hey” of some sort or another. As she blushes again, I give a questioning look at Kyat. He just shrugs it off.
Dane gives Neko a sly look, and Neko cues in. “You must be an angel...”
“...Cuz I think you fell from heaven!” Dane says, grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh honestly guys!” Stephanie growls. “One would think you two could forget about your corny pick up lines for two seconds.” She sends the two the If-looks-could kill glare. Either completely oblivious or intentionally ignoring her, they do knuckle touches across the table.
“This is Kara’s niece,” Kyat explains. We don’t usually get new students at Hampton Point, with the size of little rinky-dink Spinnet Hollow. A few kids from Silverton County come here, and that’s why Hampton has a somewhat mid sized high school, but no one really cares enough about our back water town to consider moving here. After all, they’d have to know about it first.
“Kara...as in Kara’s Diner?” Neko asks.
“Yep, that’s the one.”
“How long have you known her?” Dane butts in, moving closer to her, which makes Gracie practically lose it. Dane was kind of marked as her territory, and she didn’t like the possibility of competition. It would definitely be a new concept for her, I think glumly. I had once practically loved him, but as it would seem, I hadn’t even posed a bit of a threat. It had been clear who he chose: The blonde now staring at this new girl with a look that screamed daggers.
“Since yesterday,” he says, as if it is the most normal thing in the world to know a girl so well in such a short amount of time. I think of how ironic that sounds. From the way they came in, it did seem like they’d been friends for a lot longer. The girl sits down and rests her chin on her hands, even leans in a little toward Kyat, like that’s natural too. I dismiss it as one of those instant clicks you read about sometimes in books, where people just seem to know each other from the start.
“Wow,” someone breathes. For the rest of the lunch period, they bombard the new girl with questions like, “Where’re you from?” and “Why’d you move here?” I can say without remorse that I’m one of them. Well, it isn’t like we ever get new students around here, so of course I’d try to find out as much as I can. Besides, something feels seriously off about her anyway, and I’m pretty sure that no one’s eyes can naturally be that color. Neko and Dane prove to be relentless, and though she answers two or three, she mostly lets Kyat do all the talking. I can see that she’s not much for words normally. I sneak a look at Gracie once or twice. She has an odd expression on her face, like she’s not sure what to think of her. At first glance, it seems like the girl could be one of the extremely popular, plastic Barbie-Doll girls, but despite her exotic beauty, I figure she lacks the demanding personality. Gracie finally opens her mouth to speak.
“What happened to your parents?”
Everyone’s mouth drops, reminding me of those funny but scary gargoyles on the gothic cathedrals we learned about last year in history. Everything gets kind of quiet, and the two have a stare-off. At first they look as if they’re about to leap at each other from across the table (which would be hilarious to watch, considering the size of Gracie’s nails and the ravenous look on the face of this new golden-eyed girl), but then her face softens and she looks away, her eyes full of hurt. When I blink, the look is gone.
“My parents are dead,” she says finally. If I said before that everyone looked like their jaws were touching the floor then, they’re next expressions could easily double that. I shoot Gracie a death glare. Looking like she’d just been slapped in the face, she looks down.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way,” she says. “I just thought maybe they were like archeologists or something and moved around a lot, that maybe that’s why you were staying with your aunt.” Everyone instantly goes back to normal, thinking that she hadn’t meant the question to be cruel; but I know Gracie better. Figuring that it’d be a good time for an intervention, I speak up.
“So, um, if you don’t mind me asking, what happened to them...?”
That had been her plan. Grace knew from experience that I was always the one to talk her out of a fix, and if she wanted it bad enough, she always found an answer.
Anne looks away again for a second, and then says, “Car wreck. I don’t really want to talk about it. It was really nice to meet you, Renee.” Then, excusing herself from the table and giving Gracie a forgiving smile, she walks away into the warm August air.
The rest of the day goes by slower than I care for, because all I can think about is the strangeness of the day’s lunch. After an hour or so of contemplation, I come no closer to touching the strange feeling I got around her. It just doesn’t make sense.
I’m glad to be home after a long first day, but the day’s troubles don’t end here. I hardly have time to finish my supply list before my cell phone is attacked with I.M’s from Gracie.
Hey. Did you get a weird feeling off of that girl?
Yes! I reply. I kept shooting you looks.
Yeah, I noticed.
I laugh aloud. So Gracie had seen that.
Maybe it was her eyes?
No, she says. It was before that. Besides, they could just be contacts.
Right when she walked in the door is when I felt it, I feel the need to add.
Exactly!
Alright, so instead of calling her ‘that girl’, let’s assume she has a name. I wouldn’t want to be referred to like that. Would you?
Not really.
I think for a minute. I don’t suppose the feeling has anything to do with the whole our lineage tracing back to witches thing, does it?
It takes Gracie a second to process that one. Well, maybe she’s in trouble or something.
No, I say. I’m sure we would know it....
She attempts, unsuccessfully, to change the subject. So do you think any of the boys like her?
Why would you care? I retort.
I don’t know...is her response. Gracie is currently involved with Dane, and since, like the rest, he was making love faces at her, she probably doesn’t know how to take in the situation.
Now, back to the subject at hand, I type brightly.
Aw, why do we have to talk about that?
Why do you always try to change the subject? I counter. If it’s one thing I know, it’s that Gracie hates talking about her supposed ancestry. While I was a little more accepting of the fact that our great grandparents were supposedly powerful blood witches within the same clan, Gracie was a little bit more skeptical. If I know Gracie as well as I think I do, she’ll probably either randomly stop texting me or come up with some lame excuse to go.
Sure enough, I get a text from her that says well, I’ve got to go study for my history test. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Okay...But you know, that little incident today was completely uncalled for.
Sorry.

I lay down on my floor for a second, but this doesn’t really occupy me so I slip on my shoes and go walking outside for a while. Even that leads me back to the day’s events, and I keep thinking about ‘that girl’. What could she possibly be hiding?
I usually have the good grace to stay out of other people’s business unless it’s someone really close to me. I don’t know this girl and I’m already feeling responsible for her! I think with disgust. You’re being ridiculous. It’s the first day of school. It was probably just because of what Gracie said...
I make a mental note to keep tabs on the girl with the golden eyes, regardless.

*

*

*

The second day of school proves to be even more interesting than the first. With all of my supplies, I’ve already got a head start on the assignments, which leaves me with a little more spare time than I hope for. While I figure out how to better manage my time, Gracie provides a lot of distraction from my determination to figure out more about the new girl. It turns out that she’s started having problems with the relationship she’s in. Gracie always has endless boy troubles, which is actually a good thing for her. Both of our lives would be unbearably boring most of the time without a boy problem of some sort.
A few days pass by without any sign of the new girl. I take the time to correct myself on that, thinking Anne, but it doesn’t do much good. It’s what I’ve nicknamed her, and I’ve already got Gracie saying it too. As I look back on Monday’s lunch, I can’t help but wonder where she could be.
On Thursday there is still no sign of her. I’m just about to declare her gone when on Friday I catch her in my band class. She’s standing, facing away from me and talking to the director. You can tell that he’s troubled by the way his eyebrows are arching upwards and as I move in a little closer, I can make out a few words of the conversation.
“...Well, I have plenty of spots left for the trumpet,” I hear, “but if mallets and quad drum is really your passion, then...” I hear a few murmurs from the golden eyed girl. The director’s voice softens into something I can’t hear, and then as the bell rings everyone is in their seat. I take a spot between Gracie and Rue and watch the show.
The director clears his throat. “Everyone, this is Annabelle.” She looks down at her shoes and blushes furiously. “She will be joining all of us from now on, and until I can assign a permanent marching slot and prepare music for the quads, she will need to share folders with somebody in percussion. Of course, you will have to audition, Anne,” he says, stroking his goatee absently.
I look at Gracie and smirk from my seat over in the low brass section, knowing that she probably would have been ecstatic for a new trumpet in her section.
Suddenly, Anne’s eyes meet hers, and I see Gracie flinch and look away. She opens up her folder and tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, a sign that she’s nervous.
Hmm...of all things, a drummer...well, there goes any potential for an actual contribution to the band, I think to myself. I see the new girl look up in my direction, lips curling upwards as if she had heard what I was just thinking.
I blink.
Don’t be stupid, I reason. Let’s try to get through the day without making crazy assumptions. From a few seats down, she still wears an almost-smile. I shiver.
After fifth hour is lunch. When I get there, I see Kyat and Anne already at the usual table. Kyat throws a french fry up in the air and catches it in his mouth, making Anne laugh a little and smile. As I set my bag down, the smile quickly disappears and I wonder if I saw if for real.
Well, it’s now or never, I think, and I hold out my hand. “Again, my name’s Renee,” I say. “I didn’t get a chance to really formally introduce myself before.” The girl holds out hers and shakes it, then returns to her meal. I watch her pick at a salad. I hadn’t realized she was left handed.

“You’re left handed?” I ask.

“Ambidextrous,” she says. “Except when I eat. I prefer my left hand.”

“Let me guess,” Kyat says. “One of the many perks of being on the drum line?”
Again, a mysterious smile issues from her face, but I forget all about it as Rue, Dane, Gracie, and Neko all join us for lunch. Cardin comes in a little late.
“Sorry guys,” he says as he sits down with a sack lunch. Cardin is a good Christian boy with rich parents. He drives one of the nicest vehicles in school, a 2010 Chevy Camaro. It’s yellow and black like the one on Transformers, though he insists that he could care less about stupid action movies.
Most of lunch, we ramble on about the difficulty of Mr. Maven’s History test. I stayed up every night since Tuesday to prepare for it and allowed myself an hour’s worth of study time every night. Rue, Gracie, and Neko all talk about how it’s inexcusable to give such a hard test on the first week; I make the point that we had known about it since Monday, but they all just stare at me accusingly. I have always had natural book smarts where the rest are kind of lacking.
I make a mental note to ask where she had been for the past three days when I’m spared the trouble. “So, Anne,” Neko says through a mouth full of french fries, “Where have you been all week?”
“Sick,” she says.
I nod my head in understanding, but there appears to be something she’s not telling about it. Through years of observing and calculating, I’ve come to know people’s habits and how exactly they show what they are feeling. Though she seemed restless, lonesome, and indifferent Monday, she appears to be more at ease now. She even laughs a little in front of everyone as Kyat shoots a fry into Neko’s mouth from across the table, and I can feel her growing more comfortable with being around us.
The next two weeks shoot past in a blur. A few things happen, but aside from doing wonderful in all of my classes and celebrating my brother’s seventh birthday, nothing interesting takes place. I’m just about to collapse from boredom when on Friday I catch my break.
As I sit at my usual spot in the quartet that make’s up Hampton point’s saxophone choir one morning, I notice that Anne is separate and distant from everyone, which is unusual. Now that she’s been around everyone at the table, she’s opened up to the point that she talks, joins group discussions, and even smiles. I walk up to her and ask her if she’s alright, and she smiles a bit and nods her head, joining me to sit, temporarily, with the saxophones. As Anne goes to gather her music and put on her drums, I watch in amazement.
The school’s drum line equipment, having just been refurbished, looks somehow natural on her small figure. The tenors, which are a set of four marching toms I a row and one high drum at the cross bar, is snugly adjusted to fit the black Mapex carrier, and gives her a look that seems collected and sure. I see her stand around her section, which is composed of all guys besides herself, and exchange a few laughs as they urge her to play something on the toms.
She takes a breath and grabs her mallets out of her stick bag, and, with one very graceful motion, completes a one handed sweep back and forth across the surface of each drum twice. She switches hands and then tempos, substituting single strokes for seemingly more complex rudiments, ending with a blur of hands across them that I knew from friends as ‘The Butterfly’. The entire section starts shouting their approval and patting her on the back, and having just won over their support in less than two minutes, she smiles warmly. Gracie and I wait for her at the doorway, and the three of us walk up the stairs to the field and then split off into our sections. I keep the occasional eye out for her during my routine, having been impressed myself at her earlier performance.
Somewhere during setting drill, or the spots that each individual marches, something peculiar happens. While the rest of her section continues, she stops marching.
Her mouth is drawn in a taught line; her hands, still clutching her sticks, are shaking just a little bit, and her iridescent eyes are staring directly ahead, unblinking and unwavering, in some far away place.
“Anne,” I whisper, walking up to her. Gracie turns around from her spot where she’s standing and looks first to her then to me, questioning. I shrug and wave my hand in front of her face. Her forward gaze doesn’t shift, her eyes unblinking and vacant, and that scares me a little. I don’t want to draw attention to the others, so I wave my sheet music in front of her face.
This time she responds. Her eyes slowly refocus and she blinks, turning her head to me in surprise. “Hmm?”
“You were, ah, daydreaming?” I try.
“Oh, I-I didn’t realize I was...” she looks back to her music and quickly falls back into place, blushing as she looks away. I shoot Gracie another glance, but she goes back to her music. It doesn’t happen again, though she’s still remote and off in deep thought.
At lunch everyone talks about the football game tonight and how they can’t wait to go. I notice that Anne is still in space mode, so I wait until a break in the conversation and speak. “So, Anne, are you coming to the game?” Knowing she was brand new to this band, the director had excused her until she had the entire routine down. From my observation, she had just learned the music and drill perfectly, but still, I could see why she wouldn’t want to show.
She looks up. “Um, I don’t think so.”
“You should definitely come!” I say, drawing my breath inward. “Everyone else will be there. Besides, it’s a Friday!” A few heads nod in agreement, adding to the effect. “You don’t even have to march. You could just play in the stands with us.”
She stares at me bleakly. “I have a shift at the Diner tonight.”
“Cara will let you off for Fridays, now, if you’re staying in band,” Kyat says. “Besides, Colby owes me a favor if she doesn’t.” He grins at her.
With a weary, defeated look at me, she mutters a resignation. Kyat looks around, lowers his voice, and says, “So I hear that White is coming back.”
Everyone freezes and heads turn.
“Dylan White?” Rue squeaks.
“What about him?” Neko interjects. “He’s a no good, dirty, rotten girl user.”
“Oh my god,” Stephanie breathes. “You mean the guy who went to court last year for, uhm...rape?”
“Yes, that one,” Kyat says coolly. “He hasn’t changed a bit.”
“Well, how do you know that?” I ask. “He hasn’t been around here since his court date. Allyson’s got a restraining order on him.” I think about Allyson, the poor girl that was supposedly at a party that she hadn’t even wanted to be at.
“People change,” Cardin adds in his good, Christian manner. Kyat throws a glance at Anne for some reason, and she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. Her face turns white as a ghost.
Kyat looks around, and Anne nods at him. He lowers his voice and leans in. “I know because just three weeks ago, Anne ran into him and a few of his buddies at the mall.”
Eyes go wide as everyone stares at Annabelle. “You what?!” Stephanie says, eyes wide.
“Oh, it’s true.” We all sit captivated as Kyat tells the story of how Anne had come to the mall’s food court alone and how she was harassed until Kyat called Doug, the mall cop, on his hand held radio. I especially flinched at how later that day they had been buried alive in a ton of metal, leading to White’s hospitalization. The entire time Anne, who had been holding her tongue, was still as a rock, as if she was withholding information at her own expense. I gave Grace a questioning look but dismissed it soon after, reasoning that everything always had a habit of coming to light sooner or later.
“But that doesn’t explain why in the world he’s coming back here,” Rue says. “I don’t think a restraining order would allow that.”
“Order’s been lifted,” he replies. Kyat’s mother, Ashley, is the county judge and works up at the courthouse, and so he always had a way of knowing things.
“Why?” Gracie asks in revulsion.
“I don’t really know. She wouldn’t tell me why, so I’m guessing its official courthouse business or something. Allyson’s moved away so...maybe he caught wind?”
Cardin gets up to leave. “So I’ll see you at the game, then, Anne?”
She nods her head and catches my eye, before excusing herself as well.
Not two seconds later, I get a look from Grace, as if to say, what are you scheming? I play the blameless game and put on an innocent face. She rolls her eyes. I pretend that I didn’t see it and continue to calculate in my head, reasoning that maybe my plan to see her outside of school would bring me closer to figuring out just who or what Anne was, and somehow or another, Grace was bound to play into it.

There is always more than meets the eye.

Gracie's POV

“Do you love me or not?”
I’m laying on my bed, turned over on my stomach, one hand holding a cell phone to my ear while the other is outstretched to the ground below. I’m talking to Dane, my current boyfriend.
“Well, do you?”
I can’t think of what to say, so I say what I think he wants to hear. “Yes, of course I do.” I trace the white threads of my throw blanket and hope that I don’t regret this later.
The crackly voice on the other end instantly brightens up. “Then I’ll see you at the game?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I hang up then, not giving any time for him to say ‘I love you.’ Then I would have to say it back when I don’t know for sure if that’s a lie or not. I roll on my back and get up, sorting through my closet for something school spirited and suitable to wear for the homecoming football game, since we would be allowed to take our uniforms off at half time.
Dane is a tall, tan boy with curly brown hair and chocolate brown eyes. Though we technically broke up, we’re still together, and he still obsesses over me. I’m not with him because there’s another boy, one who I still love, though he’s already graduated high school and is off at college. I would be with him, but he hasn’t texted me in a few weeks and won’t answer my calls.
My summer with him was amazing; we did everything together, and we were by each other’s side almost every day. I was even convinced that he loved me, until one day it all fell apart. He just...stopped talking to me. Everything changed the day he left for college.
I eat, take a shower, put on the clothes that I picked out, brush my hair, apply my makeup, and look in the mirror again. I am a tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl, which is funny considering that all the rest of my family sports brown hair. “You sure as hell didn’t get that from the Van Dynes,” my father says sometimes. He joked once that they found me under a rock, but one look from my mom and he was silent about it.
My mom and dad are divorced now; I live with my mom and visit my dad often on the weekends, or at least I do now. There was a time that I broke off contact for nearly two years, out of anger for what he did to mom. How can anybody put their wife and kids through a divorce? There’s still a lot of emotion there, but I guess I can’t be angry after what he went through.
On the day that I started talking to him again, I woke up from a nightmare. I dreamed that he had been badly hurt, and when I went to ask my mom about it, the telephone rang. I was informed by my uncle that my father was unconscious in the hospital, and I went to see him. I was scared to death that he was going to die, but he lived. I’ve been around since then, which is more than I can say for my brother.

Strange things always tend to happen around me; appliances go haywire, pens stop working all at once, black cats seem to follow me. My grandmother was supposedly a witch, but I never got to meet her; my father says that there are no such thing as witches and that he left Aspen, Colorado to get me away from his “crazy, deranged family”, as he put it. However, once every few years or so, I see my cousin, Emmiline, when she comes to stay in town with her own dad, and she tells me stories of my grandmother.

Emmiline says she grew up practically raised by my grandmother, and although she never has brought up witchcraft, something strikes me as odd about her, in much the same way as Anne. Even though Em can come off as a bit uninterested in people she doesn’t know, she is the only other family member besides me to have blonde hair and blue eyes, although she’s not as tall as I am. I think about last time I saw her, two years ago, and remember how perfect everything seemed about her. Just like Anne...

Just like Anne.

My suspicions that Anne is a witch continue to escalate as I realize how similar the two really are. They looked nothing alike, but both seemed almost...flawless compared to other people.

Do I come off that way?

I excused the thought, focusing my attention back on my estranged cousin. While we were pretty close in the time that I did spend with her, I realized that there was definitely something she was hiding from me about our grandmother; In fact, I wasn’t even sure if she was hiding it. It kind of just went unspoken that we didn’t talk about our grandmother’s relations to witchcraft. It was probably more a matter of pride than anything else.

Renee Iverson is a lot like me in that instance, but her grandmother was killed mysteriously before she ever really got the chance to ask about it. Things happened with her too, much in the same way that they happened to me, and so we definitely have reason to suspect that our lineage has to do with it. One thing Renee says. Constantly, that her Grandmother used to tell her was, “There is always more than meets the eye.” It seems to be almost a riddle, especially the way she says it.
With little time to spare, I grab the keys to my green dodge truck and drive up to the school. I wait for a few of my friends to show up outside the band hall. The first person to show is Rue, and as the two of us are standing outside the double doors of the hall, Annabelle comes up with a stick of cotton candy. “Anne!” I say cheerily. “I didn’t think you would come.”
“Kyat made me,” she grimaces, with her uniform bag slung over her shoulder. A smile plays across her face. “I don’t know anything about football, so I’m afraid I won’t be much company, but I’ll play my tenors anyway!” She says excitedly. Rue and I look at each other and laugh a little.
“I’m confused,” Anne says. “What’s so funny?”
“We don’t come here to watch the game anyway, Anne,” Rue says as she grins at me. “We come here to socialize and...You know, do band geek stuff.” Rue plays the flute, unlike Renee, who plays the saxophone. I also play trumpet and Anne, being new to the band as our only tenor player this year, completes our diversity as completely different friends brought together with a cause-music.
“I was wondering why you two were standing here instead of heading to the uniform closet.” From her posture and cheery demeanor, I can tell that she’s in a much better mood than during school earlier. Whatever was bothering her before seems to have gone away. I look at the way she’s dressed and smile.
“Wow, you’re really festive,” I comment. She’s wearing an orange Aeropostale shirt, blue jeans, a black camisole, and an orange and black scarf in accordance with the Hampton Point colors. Her curly hair is wavy at the moment and hangs down her shoulders with a dark golden gleam, with an underlying black tent on the bottom. Her eyes are currently a honey color, flecked with a very slight shade of brown. I wonder if those are contacts or her natural eye color...I think silently. Anne smiles a little in my direction but doesn’t let on why she’s smiling, and I can’t help but wonder if I’d said that out loud.
Witch! My mind shouts.
We wait for Renee to show and dress in the girl’s restroom, putting our uniforms on over our normal clothes. During the march up, our director, Mr. Hawthorne, arranges the drum line, and surprises everyone by giving Anne the lead in the count-off. (The drum line is essential in the band to keep the time, so we know when to move our feet). We make our way around the track, the color guard first, bearing our orange and black colors in their outfits and on our flags, followed by the trumpets, which is my section. The flutes follow closely behind, followed by the low brass, and finally, percussion brings up the rear, with Anne in front. We watch the players run out of the artificial black smoke from where we are now seated in the bleachers, each bearing the Hampton Point jersey with their own number. Somewhere among them is Neko. Anne looks up and asks me, “Hey, isn’t Neko out there too?”
“Yeah, I think so,” I say.
“What number is he?” Rue asks.
“I’m not sure.”
I struggle to remember, and just as it comes to mind, both Anne and I blurt out “thirty three!”
“Wait, how’d you know that?” I ask suspiciously. I’d never heard Neko talk about football at the table, which was the only time she saw him, and she hadn’t even been sure that Neko was a player at all. How could she have known what his number was at the same time I did?
“Umm...I, uh...” Just then we spot Cardin coming toward us. “Cardin told me,” she says quickly.
“Cardin told you what?” he asks with an innocent smile.
“What jersey number Neko had,” Rue says, now mildly interested. From what we gathered, Anne wasn’t one to keep up with sports.
“No, I didn’t,” Cardin says. “I don’t even think I know his number. I only pay attention to the A-string.”
Anne looks at him, her eyes smoldering a little, with an edge to them that could cut something. “Yes, you did,” she says, looking straight into his eyes. “You told me the other day when you were walking me to my truck.” I notice the smooth monotone in her voice, almost like one of those hypnotists on television when they say, “you are now getting very sleepy.” I think about it and am just about to look away, having been the only one paying attention, when I see Anne’s pupils get bigger and smaller for an instant, like the twisting of a pen cap. I blink. A second glance at Anne’s eyes reveals only normalcy.
Cardin goes blank for an instant, struggling with something. “I...don’t recall walking you to your truck...”
“Remember?” Anne says, never changing the pitch in her voice, her eyes never leaving Cardin’s. I look at Rue, but she’s not really paying attention. She’s watching the remaining football players run through the smoke. “Your Camaro was parked next to my blazer. We were walking and talking about sports.”
Cardin’s pupils suddenly get really big, so big that you can only just barely see his green irises, and then dart back to normal size again before I know what’s happened. I rub my eyes, wondering if I inhaled any colored smoke from the fields or something. “That’s right!” He says. “I remember that. I was headed for the tennis court with Nick.”
Cardin plays tennis with Anne, but I’m still not buying it. Rue joins back in the conversation, and then soon everyone is casually talking again. I shoot Anne a look, but she just excuses it by pretending not to see. Dane, Kyat, and Stephanie also show up in the stands, although they don’t play an instrument (besides Dane, who is the center snare), and everyone seems to be having a lot of fun when Renee joins in.
“Took you long enough,” I mutter.
She looks up and smiles. “Something wrong, Gracie?” She asks.
“I’ll text you about it later,” I whisper. I don’t want anyone, including Anne, to overhear me. I throw my eyes in her direction. Renee follows my gaze to where she is sitting, next to her quads, and furrows her brow but doesn’t say anything. Soon everything is back to normal, and I almost forget about what I saw as the game progresses.
After awhile, Annabelle looks up and says, “I’m going to get some water from the concession. Does anyone want anything while I’m there?” She looks at me, as if calculating something.
Renee looks at me swiftly, motioning for me to go, and I act before I have time to think about the fact that I might be walking to the stands, alone, with a potential witch. “I’m kind of hungry. Here, I’ll go with you.”
God, what is wrong with me today? I mentally kick myself. We begin the walk to the stands. I scan the crowd until I spot an area that is clear of people, and I quickly pull her aside by her arm with a little more accidental force than necessary.
“Ow, Gracie, you’re hurting me! What-”
“Sorry,” I say apologetically. “I had to get you alone somewhere for a minute so I could talk to you.”
“About what?” She eyes me warily, but I can see she’s still on guard.
I catch my breath and look down at her, being quite a bit taller than her, and brace myself for how outrageously stupid I was about to sound. “Are you a witch?”
She looks at me with genuine shock. “Wait...What?!”
“Are. You. A. Witch.” I stare down at her.
“Grace, listen to yourself!” She exclaims. There’s no such thing as witches,” She says flatly, as if such a question were genuinely ridiculous.
“What was that back there, then?” I cross my arms.
A little shadow of shock and acknowledgement crosses her face, but it disappears quickly and is replaced by a practiced ignorance. “What was what?”
“The thing with the eyes!” I almost shout. “First it was you, and then it was Cardin!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says coolly.
“How can you not remember?!” I cry. “I saw it! You know, you’re just playing stupid.” I’m swallowing and am just about to ask further when I make eye contact with Anne again, and instantly I wish I hadn’t.
Her pupils get bigger and then smaller, readjusting themselves, again like a pen cap twisting. I want to look away, but my eyes seem frozen where they are. I try, but just can’t break free of it...
“Nothing happened. You didn’t see anything.” Her tone is cold and flat, and it chills me. Instantly I get the feeling of another presence inside my brain, and my head starts to pound as a stream of the last two hours fly past me, fading faster than I can remember them. I can feel her there, and I sense my memory being sucked away. Even worse is that I can’t do anything about it. My eyes readjust, and suddenly I can’t remember what I’m doing or why I’m even standing here.
“Gracie, are you ok?” Anne asks with concern.
“Wha-what are we doing standing here? The game’s about to start...” I look up at the scoreboard and see that we’re already almost into half time and would soon be out on the field playing the first portion of our show.
“You were on your way to the concession with me and you looked like you were getting all dizzy,” she says calmly. Almost too calmly. “You hit your head on the fence post. But I checked, you aren’t bleeding or anything. Do you want me to go get everyone?”
“No, don’t do that,” I mumble.
“You sure?” She looks up at me innocently. Too innocently, almost as if she was up to something. I shake if off and figure that it’s just my possible concussion talking, and though I don’t feel any pain from blunt force, my head starts to ache.
I shake my head. “Nah, don’t worry about it. Besides, if Renee finds out she’ll make a big deal about it.”
“Well, ok,” she says. “Are you still hungry?”
“Not really.”
“Me either,” she says. “Let’s head back.” After a few minutes, I notice that Anne isn’t happy anymore. She’s not smiling like she had been, and I can’t help but think that I missed something important.
We go out and march our show flawlessly, and I’m surprised to see that Anne is out marching on the field, having had only a very short time to learn both the music and the routine. The crowd applauds, and we are dismissed during third quarter. I shed my jacket, and then when I turn around, she’s not there.
“Hey, guys, where’d Anne go?”
Rue, Dane, Kyat, Renee, and Cardin all look around from their circle. “Damn,” Renee says. “I didn’t even notice she was missing.”
“That girl’s a ninja, I swear,” Cardin says, laughing.
“She said she wasn’t feeling well...something about feeling dizzy,” Dane says. “I told her to go on home and that I’d take care of her equipment. Hey Kyat, if I carry Anne’s tenors down from the field, will you carry my snare?”
“Done and done, brah,” he says coolly.
“Well, does anyone have her number?” I ask. “Someone should probably make sure that she’s safely at home, if she’s left the game.”
“Good idea,” Kyat says. “I’ve got her number.” He hands Renee his phone. She scrolls down the contacts list until she finds the number and punches it in.
A few minutes later, she reads us Anne’s reply. “Felt sick, home safely. Well, I guess that means she left.”
“Guess so,” I say.
Now the game is just about over, and so I hang my uniform back up in the closet and am walking to my car when something makes me stop dead in my tracks.
Dane is leaning on the fence where his car is parked next to mine. I see from where I’m standing that he isn’t alone. With him is a tall girl wearing scene clothing, her blonde hair streaked with blue and pink. She says something and he laughs. She gives him a flirty smile and he returns it, and as the two go to lean in, my heart starts pounding painfully. I’m thinking Oh my God, no No NO! He wraps his arm around her waist as she playfully twirls the hair covering the back of his neck. Then the two exchange a long, heated, heart breaking kiss.
“Dane?” I cry out. He looks up with a shocked expression, pushing the girl away from him. I recognize the girl as Valerie Baker, a girl with a bad reputation for flirting with guys and leading them on. He was involved with her at one point, but then she broke his heart, twice, and soon after, we were dating.
‘Were’ being the key word.
“Gracie! I-” He stutters, but he doesn’t have to say it. It feels like my heart is being ripped in two. Of course he never wanted me. He never would. In the back of my mind, I’d always known it.
“How could you?” I whisper. The tears start falling down my cheeks, forming little puddles on the pavement. “I thought....” My stomach rolls as the realization hits me. Everything between us had been an act. A stupid act where he’d only pretended to love me. Why hadn’t I seen that?
No matter. Neither did I.
“Um, excuse me, but your kinda interrupting.” Valerie smiles sweetly. “Where were we?” She reaches for his hand, but he pulls away and steps back.
“Grace, let me explain,” he pleads.
“There’s nothing to explain.” I reach for the silver chain bracelet around my wrist, the expensive one that had our names engraved in little hearts, and rip it off. I throw it at his feet and turn my back on them, disgusted and hurt at the sight. Struggling to hold any dignity I might have left, I walk over to my truck and drive away, without as much as a backward glance.
In the truck I almost laugh at myself. What had I been thinking when I said yes? That Dane was the sweet, Christian guy that I thought he was? Tonight I’ve seen through his act. It had been my fault for being stupid enough to fall for it. Who knows how many other girls he’d been seeing besides me?
No, I think angrily. Then I say it aloud. “No. I will not sit here like this and cry. I’ll suck it up, at least until I can get upstairs to my room. I’ll let it out there, and then I’ll forget all about Dane and never talk to him again.” The tears still come, but this time it’s out of anger. Before I go inside my house, I reapply my makeup and plaster on a smiling face.
Luckily, no one questions me. I tell my mom that the game was great, that I’m getting a shower and going to bed. She just says, “Good night, honey,” and resumes doing whatever it is she’s doing in the kitchen. I sigh at how clueless my mom can really be, but then I feel bad about it. If she knew I was upset she’d be the first to jump in and try to comfort me, but I don’t feel like dealing with anyone else right now. I just want to be alone.
In the shower, I let my tears mix with the water, and as I watch the water run down my pedicured toes and down the drain, I try to remember when I painted them. It had only been yesterday, but everything suddenly felt a century away from me. Why had I done it in the first place? To look pretty? I snort to myself. It didn’t matter whether I looked good or not because Dane obviously found prettier, more popular girls to stick his face to.
An unexpected wave of grief washes over me at the mention of his name. Who am I trying to kid? I had liked him a lot, maybe even loved him...and this is how he repaid me? By sneaking off with another girl, possibly more than once, possibly multiple times, with multiple girls? It’s like twenty questions, I think, only twenty girls instead. After a long, drawn out cry, I curl up under the covers in my bed and cry some more, hoping that when I wake up, everything that had transpired tonight might turn out to be a nasty nightmare and that my boyfriend (ex-boyfriend, I correct) wasn’t really doing this to me.
When I wake up in the morning, it’s still there. Not only have I failed to forget about the Dane nightmare, but I have a horrible block in the back of my head that hurts when I try to get around it. Sometimes I get that, but I usually remember what it is a few minutes afterwards. Frowning, I go downstairs and get some cereal from the kitchen.
“What’s wrong, Gracie?” Mom asks.
“Um, nothing,” I say. “Why?”
“I could see your ‘serious’ face from a mile away. You looked like you were gonna burn a hole through the back of that cereal box.” I glance at the box of apple jacks and we both laugh for a second.
“It’s just...I feel like I’m forgetting something. Something really big and it’s bothering me. Do you ever get that?”
“Sometimes,” she replies. “Don’t worry, honey, I’m sure you’ll remember what it is.” She clucks her tongue and then adds, “What were you doing when you started feeling like you forgot whatever it is you’re forgetting?”
“Whoa. Can you run that by me slowly?” I say through mouthfuls.
“Just stop worrying about it and it’ll come to you.” She grabs her keys. “I’ve got to go to the pharmacy now, honey. I may not be home ‘til late. You’ve got your house key?” I nod my head. “Alright then, I love you, and don’t forget to feed the dogs!” Mom’s out the door and pulling out of the driveway in a flash. I roll my eyes a little, though I know it’s not mom I’m annoyed at. In fact, I know exactly what and who I’m annoyed at, but I make it a point not to even think about it.
No. I’m not even going to go there. I’m not even going to think about...him. I silently make a pact with myself not to dwell on it. I’ll just avoid him at school and never think about it again. Maybe then my head will stop hurting.
Easier said then done.

Gracie's POV
Three days later, on Tuesday morning, I still feel it there. As I get ready for school I try really, really hard to figure out what’s so important, but no amount of contemplating or retracing helps any. It isn’t until band that I begin to unravel the unwanted barrier ticking in my brain.
“As you all know, tonight is the night that we perform in the Silverton County Classic.” Mr. Hawthorne is pacing up and down behind the piano with a troubled expression on his face. When he sees that not everyone is listening, he clears his throat in a loud manner and continues. A few disruptive trumpets beside me snap back to attention.
“Now, this is a very important event. I expect each and every one of you to be on your best behavior, not only as representatives of the Hampton Point Band but as The Pride of Our School.” (By “The Pride” he was referring to our mascot, which was a lion). “I am confident that as people you will want to create a decent image of our little town.
Every year this class requires tremendous funds to operate. The money that is made helps to buy new music, fuel long bus trips, and hopefully soon enough it will aid in the purchase of new percussion equipment.” The entire percussion section, including Anne, perked up and listened intently. “For our services tonight, we could be paid enough to hopefully cover that as well as the competition music. If we all play to the best of our ability, we may raise enough to even completely cover one of it. Drum line, I know you all want new gear.”
There are murmurs of agreement from everyone. “Here’s my offer to you guys. You win the Classic tonight, and I’ll make sure you all get something out of it, not just drum line. How does a field trip to a laser tag center sound?”
Murmers of excitement arise from the room.
“Then let’s go out there and kick. Some. Silverton. Ass!” Everyone cheers in agreement. I glance around excitedly, but when I look at Anne, I see that she won’t look directly at me. Suspicion arouses in my mind that maybe what I can’t remember was about her or at least had something to do with her. Something in my gut tells me that I’m right, somehow or another.
Does this have anything to do with Annabelle Todd?
Yes, a voice deep within me answers. One thing about me is that I have good intuition. I always know when someone I know ends up in the same store as me; In fact, I could usually tell you who exactly it is before I ever lay eyes on them. There are times when I can even picture a face and find that person through a sequence of random driving. That’s why I trust my gut so completely.
The remainder of the school day goes by in a blur. I go home, shower, and dress in loose fitting sweats and a tee. I look through my closet until I find my black flats, which I like to wear when I take my uniform off because they’re easy on my feet, and comfortable on long bus rides. I take a moment to admire them before I slip them on. Then I climb in my truck and pick up Renee from her house.
“Hey, Gracie!” She beams as she climbs in. “I love those shoes!”
“Thanks,” I say. “Hey, do you ever get that feeling that you’ve forgotten something?”
She frowns a bit. “Well, yeah, of course. I’m sure everyone does.”
“No, this is different.” I drop my tone a little, because we’re still in Renee’s drive. “I feel like it’s something really important. It’s almost like...”
“It’s almost like what?” I can see the interest on her face.
“I feel like something’s wrong with my brain, like someone’s been messing with it.”
She sits up straight and stares at me. “And you think it’s-”
“Anne,” I cut her short. I look around and lower the volume of my voice again, in case someone nearby were to overhear. “I was at the game last Friday, and I remember that Rue and I were the first ones to get there when up comes Anne. Then before I know it, Anne’s looking up at me and asking me if I’m ok, and the scoreboard’s showing that we’re already into half time.”
She looks at me. “So? You had a memory lapse, maybe? I read that some people have that all the time. It’s not terribly uncommon, you know.”
“Just hear me out,” I say. “I don’t know what happened. But Anne said I was getting all dizzy so she pulled me aside. I think during that time I figured something out, something that I wasn’t supposed to know.”
Renee sits there in consideration for a minute. “So you’re saying that you blanked out momentarily when you hit your head and forgot something that she told you?”
“Pretty much. But whatever it is, it doesn’t feel like something she would have willingly let me know about...and I don’t even know if I actually even hit my head.” I rub my temples.
She slumps back in the passenger seat and a calculating look crossed her face. “Here, you need to drive.”
I look at the clock. It shows five twenty. We need to be there by five thirty. “Renee, what is it?” I look at her troubled appearance.
“Just drive. I’ll explain everything on the way.”
I shift into drive, as commanded, and focus on the main road. “Ok, we’re moving. Explain.”
She takes a deep breath. “I think I have an explanation.”
“Well?”
“You’re saying that you had some kind of memory lapse in the middle of a game. That’s normal enough, right?”
“Right, I guess,” I confirm. “But I don’t see what that has to do with-”
“Let me finish. And the closest person next to you just happens to be Anne. Think about it for a minute, Grace. There’s got to be some kind of linking factor there. I mean, she shows up with Kyat and gives us both a really weird feeling, and then there are the other things.”
“Other things?” I can feel my eyebrows go up at that one.
“Sure. Like how she smiles to herself when nobody even said anything out loud, but how how it’s always when we’re thinking something about her. And don’t tell me it hasn’t happened to you, because I know it has to have. She seems really distant and different than, like, anyone else we’ve ever met, and she totally spaced out the other day in band! I mean, did you see me? I waved my hand in front of her and everything, and I got no response. Then her pupils did this really weird out/ in thing and, well that’s not normal.”
“Pupil thing? That sounds so familiar...”
“Think, Gracie. All the signs point to one thing.” She swallows and waits for me to fill in the blanks, but when I don’t say anything she says it herself. “Anne is a witch. Or a really good psychic, at least.”
I pull over into the almost empty school parking lot, Renee’s voice still ringing in my ears. Suddenly, I can remember everything about that night. I remember her and Cardin’s eyes, and then I remember pulling Anne aside to ask, getting only the stupid act, those cold, dark eyes staring into mine...
“Grace?”
“Oh my God, Renee, I remember it now.”
“Well, what was it?”
“I think you’re right. Anne really is a...psychic.” I explain the events to her and her own eyes go big with surprise.
“So what do you think we should do?” I finally ask.
“Well, if this girl is as powerful as I think she is, and if she can see the future, and I don’t know if she can, then we have no time to waste. We’ve got to bring it up tonight, when she isn’t expecting it, before she can go to sleep and dream about it.”
“Dream about it? What does a dream have to do with it?” I ask. “I thought premonitions could come at any time?”
“Well, yeah, but most psychics have visions in the form of dreams,” she says. “And if we aren’t careful, there’s no telling what we’ll get ourselves into.”
“You mean, what we have gotten ourselves into.” I snort. “I just hope that another one of your brilliant schemes don’t go wrong and you don’t create an enemy.”

*

*

*

“Renee, are you sure this plan is gonna work?”
“Trust me,” she whispers, “its fool proof. Just do what I told you and everything will work perfectly, ok?” She opens the door for me and we walk into the band room. I’m not surprised to see that she and Rue are already there, shining their marching shoes and talking back and forth in a casual conversation. She’s at ease, which is good. Renee and I hurry to retrieve our own uniforms as we join them.
“Hey Rue. Anne,” I nod. They nod back. As I’m lifting my travel bag over my head, I notice that Anne’s looking down at my shoes with an odd look on her face. When she looks down, I notice that she’s wearing the same exact black flats as me. “We’re wearing matching shoes!” I exclaim.
“Great minds think alike,” she says, smiling.
“Omigod, I call Rue on the bus!” Renee suddenly declares, winking at me in a manner that Anne doesn’t see.
“I guess that leaves you and me,” I state. “Unless you’d rather sit with one of the guys?”
She looks over at the boys. Dane currently has a kid from the saxophone section in a head lock and is threatening to spit in his hair, both laughing. She looks at me and says, “I guess so!”
We load the bus and endure a forty five minute ride to the Silverton County High School. This is the tricky part of the plan, the one where I’m actually not supposed to think about the plan or anything that could give us away. “Just think of a brick wall,” Renee had said, “or strike up an interesting conversation. Just don’t blow the plan.”
During the bus ride, Anne says little. I see that ‘striking up a conversation’ will be no easy feat, so instead I occupy myself by thinking about my favorite memories. I go back to my first Christmas, then my fifth birthday, and then my seventh Christmas, and keep going until I run out of things to think about. She’s slouched up against the seat with black head phones in her ear and appears to be paying no attention whatsoever to me, so I decide finally that I’m safe.
We arrive at the school, perform amazingly, and are headed for McDonald’s to eat before we know it. While we’re on the bus, Mr. Hawthorne’s phone rings, and he announces that we’re the winners of the Silverton County Classic. We all sing and cheer and, while we’re waiting around for our food in McDonald’s, while Rue’s still in the ordering line, we pick our time to strike. “Hey, Annabelle,” Renee calls to her.
She stops and says over her shoulder, “it’s Anne. You don’t have to call me by my full name.”
“Would you prefer golden eyed girl?” I mumble, and I’m surprised to feel Renee’s elbow in my ribs. “Oww!” I whisper angrily.
“Sorry, Anne. Anyway, Gracie and I need to talk to you about something.” I marvel at how easily she plays it cool, like she’s practiced this moment for a while.
“Sure,” Anne says, suspicion filling her quickly. “What about?”
I feel my mouth stretch in a grin, and when I look at Renee I see that she’s also smiling smugly. “We’ll finish our dinner and then tell you, ok?” I say. We get through the meal with her eyes darting back and forth between Renee and I, and we both do our best not to think about it. Finally, Anne gives up trying to read our minds and speaks.
“Ok, now this is really starting to bug me. What is it?”
“We’ll tell you on the bus,” I say.
“No, tell me now. I’ve waited long enough.” Renee and I just look at each other again and smile. In an almost inaudible voice, Anne says, “I have a proposition for you. I’ll tell you something about me, but only if you tell me now.”
“What kind of stuff are you going to tell?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
“You’d never believe me if I told you anyway,” she replies. By then I should have realized that she was just baiting us, and that she wasn’t really going to tell us whatever it was, but I fell for it. “Omigod, Renee, she knows that we know about it.” One look from Renee shuts me up, but it’s too late.
“Know what?” She asks, then she hears my thought and a dark shadow covers her face to try and mask the shock. Without so much as another look at either of us, she stands up, excuses herself by Mr. Hawthorne, and hurries quickly out the door and towards the bus.
“Nice going, Blondie,” Renee utters, her eyes full of venom at the fact that I blew the plan. I groan, and the two of us race outside after her.

Anne's POV

They know.
My mind is overcome with panic, and I can feel my legs start to wobble. I sit down quickly to avoid collapsing, latching my shaking hands to the bus seat for support.
“H-how to you know?” I ask with a quaking voice, my brown eyes boring into Gracie’s deep blue.
Renee speaks. “It’s obvious, Anne. The seclusion, the way you always know what someone’s about to say-”
“-the daydreaming in math class,” Gracie finishes. Both are looking at me, Gracie with concern, Renee with a smugness that doesn’t reassure me in the least.
“God,” I say, shrinking away a little. “Not here. Not now.” I glance out the window. The rest of the Pride of Hampton Point are already half way across the parking lot, a few singing and dancing and laughing to celebrate our victory, all the things that I should have been doing.
“It’s alright. We understand how you feel, Anne, really-”
I cut Renee off with clenched teeth. “We will not discuss this further.” I’m torn between losing my mind and losing my lunch, and I’m certain that neither are going to be a pretty sight.
“Well, we need some way to talk about it,” Renee says. “We’ll text you about it later. Here, I already have your number. Do you have mine?”
“Yes.” I break eye contact and look away.
“I don’t have yours,” Gracie says, handing me her phone. I suppress the panic in my head and let my fingers do the work. By the time I look down, they’ve already mechanically swept across the keypad and entered my phone number. I pass it back to her.
Suddenly the panic escalates, making me almost gag. The thoughts going through my head are mine and not mine. I’m hearing Gracie think Hmm. When I get home I have to remember to lock the windows, the usual nothing from Renee, and my own that are racing like mad.
What do I do? How did they find out about me? I couldn’t have been that obvious. My brow furrows a bit more, if that’s possible. No. Tons of people stare off into space in math class. Wait, maybe this is all a hallucination! Ha, yes, that’s it! I must have eaten too much for dinner and this is all a dream. I’ll wake up any second now.
I feel Gracie’s eyes on my back, but I don’t care. If I pretend not to notice, maybe she’ll stop staring. Sure enough, it only takes her seconds to lose interest in my curly brown hair. I hear whispers between her and Renee, and I pretend not to hear their whole conversation in my head. Hearing forbidden discussions that I’m not a part of is one of the few advantages of being different, and maybe it’s even a disadvantage at times. Some things, no matter how curious a thing, are better left unheard.
“-I don’t know if that’s very smart right now,” Gracie is saying.
“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s upset. Go sit next to her. It’ll give her a better chance to be acquainted.”
“Fine,” I hear, and I scoot over to allow her room. I try to focus on my own thoughts, but the band is entering. Bits and pieces of sentences and images start to swirl around in my head, and I slump up against the window and let myself get lost in the random memories. I hear Gracie sigh mentally, but I’m not centered on her at the moment. I don’t talk for the rest of the trip.
I nearly trip, dashing out the bus as soon as we’re back at the school. I wait for what seems an eternity before the director unlocks the doors. As soon as I’m inside I gather my things, place my uniform back in the closet, dig my keys out of my purse pocket, and am headed home before the two girls get another chance to bring it up again. I let my attention wander, but I remain tightly alert to the road in front of me.
What happens if they tell someone else?. I shudder at the thought. There has to be some other explanation. I’m not imagining this, I don’t think.
Without taking my eyes off the wheel, I reach down with my hand and pinch my side. Other than the little spurt of pain, nothing happens. I don’t wake up in my bed.
What if...they’re like me? I almost slam the breaks as I examine this possibility. No, I reason. If they are then there would have to have been some way that I would have found out.
I relax a little as I evaluate another possibility. They must have been talking about something else. Yeah, that’s it. And even if it were, I could always play stupid-
I don’t have time to finish that thought, because suddenly a deer jumps in front of my blazer. I slam on the brakes for real this time and watch the frightened figure shoot past my headlights. I sigh in relief, knowing that I narrowly escaped wrecking both the deer and my car. With shaking hands, I start moving again.
Within a few minutes I’m up the stairs to my room. It’s late, so I skip the usual news announcements, scribble a few angry words into my journal, and turn the lights off before climbing into bed, when something catches my eye.
Inside my journal, on one of the first pages, is a sketch I made a while back of two pairs of feet standing close by each other, with the same shoes on. I take the little piece of paper out and examine it, realizing that the shoes I had drawn were none other than Gracie’s ballet flats.
“My God,” I say out loud. I turn it around to find a date scribbled on the back. It was dated nearly a month back! I open my journal to then or close by, but nothing else comes of it. I open my eyes and look up, thinking about what this would mean for me; in the end, it turns out that there are no answers written on my ceiling to the questions I was stressing over, and with a gust of air I reach for my phone.
When I turn it on, I see that it’s gone crazy with text messages. I sort through them. One of them is an hour old from Kyat, only asking what the Chemistry assignment was, but the rest are from Renee and another number I could only guess to be Gracie. I had saved Renee’s phone number from the first game I marched.
I ignore Renee’s inquiries of Hello? Are you there? And why aren’t you texting me back? There are five of those in all. I delete them from my inbox and read another one from an unlabelled number, which I save in my phone as Gracie Van Dyne.
There’s only one text. It reads:
Ann? This is Gracie. Are you ok?
It’s relatively new, from about 8: 05. I try to ignore her misspelling of my name and look at the clock. It reads 8:11. I know that I’ll have to face the two of them sooner or later.
I’m fine.
I wait, but it only takes a half minute for a reply.
Is it ok to text you right now?
I’m not busy, I reply. But I’d really like to know what the hell was going on back there, how you found out, and what you want from me.
Oh, right, she says. I’m really sorry. We didn’t think you’d react that way. Your face turned really pale. You looked like you’d seen a ghost or something.
I’m fine now. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. I pause and then add: I usually have a good idea when that kind of stuff is going to pop up.
I’m sorry, Anne. Renee said we should talk to you about it.
Oh, Renee. That explains it. I grimace at Renee’s stubbornness. Once you get something into that girl’s head, its impossible to get it out. So how did you guys find out anyway?
We didn’t know anything for sure, she responded. We just made the connection.
What connection? I demand.
We’re like you, too.
I sit upright from the bed, looking at the screen again, but the text doesn’t change. We’re like you, it says. My notion has been right to begin with.
I’m not alone.
Is that why you asked me if I’m a witch? Care to explain how you’re ‘like’ me? I could hardly wait for the reply, my heart was beating so fast. The answer comes in a long text that takes over three minutes to reach me.
Sometimes I have dreams that lead to come true, and sometimes I can ask myself any question and get an answer. It doesn’t always work and I don’t have dreams very often. As for the witch thing, well, we don’t know for sure. Nobody really does, I don’t think. MY grandmother is supposedly a witch, but I never met her. Renee’s grandmother died when she was little, but from what she tells me, her grandma was involved with the occult stuff too.
Is that how you found out about me? I wonder.
Yes. But I only asked myself if you were like me and Renee. I can’t just go asking the winning lottery tickets or anything like that. It has to be a yes or no question.
Oh. I chew on this for a second. What does Renee do?
She’s a bit of everything. Sometimes she sees the future. Other times she cheats on tests in some way or another.
Oh.
What about you? Gracie asks. I sit a few minutes and think about what I’m going to say before I answer.
I can read thoughts, but only in waves. It depends on who’s close to me and how deep they are thinking. Other times I have premonitions. Electrical appliances don’t really like me and I get sick often and don’t really know why. I leave out the second half, being as vague about it as possible. There’s a pause of five minutes or so before she texts back.
So...since I sit next to you in Algebra 2 class, does that mean you hear everything I’m thinking? I detect a hint of embarrassment in the tone of the message, but I answer honestly anyway.
Yes, but not always. Sometimes I catch bits and pieces, or a whole segment if I’m interested.
You didn’t by chance hear anything personal, did you?
It depends on your definition of ‘personal’, I reply.
Personal, as in relationships?
I try to think of a way to get around the question, but I can’t think of any other way, so in the end I settle for truth.
Yes.
What was it?
I’d rather not talk about Dane being unfaithful, but I can tell you a lot of things just based on what I got from Algebra 2.
What?
I cluck my tongue and let my fingers get back to work.
For instance, the walls in your room are white.
Wrong, Gracie says with a little smiley face to the side.
Well, three of them are, anyway.
What?! How did you know that?! What’s the color of the fourth wall?
Purple, I answer almost smugly. It’s purple with nice white lettering, and your room is always messy. You have two dogs. At least one of them is an inside dog, and your closet is pretty big. It’s a fairly large room. Also, your mom works at a pharmacy, your parents are divorced, and your brother works on motorcycles for a living. Your angry at your dad, both of you, but you’ve learned to mostly let it go where Nathan is still angry. He hasn’t spoken to him in years. You play the trumpet as a release from all that. Sometimes you feel as if your mother doesn’t pay you any attention. You’re still grieving over your gerbil that died two months ago. His name was Patches and he was a nice cream color with a white belly and exactly three freckles on his left side. He’s buried in your back yard, next to the ferret you had when you were three. You hate rainy weather but love snow. Summer is your favorite time of year. You miss your family up in Aspen, although I haven’t heard much about that. Oh, and there’s another boy you love, off in college right now. I believe he’s about your height but heavy set, with dark blonde hair and blue eyes? His name is the same name as a common bird or finch, but I don’t recall it at the moment. You have beef with Valerie and hope she “falls off a cliff and hits every branch on the way down,” as I recall you thought.
My god...you really are a mind reader.
So you believe me? I inquire.
Yes.
Well, I didn’t leave you much room to doubt me. You guys came to me...I didn’t go to you.
A few minutes pass before I get a reply. True. Is that all you heard?
I look around the room, racking my brains for any excuse that I may have to end the exchange.
Well, I need to go. We’ve got school in the morning.
Ok, she says, but you should probably text Renee back. She’s going mad with questions.
Fine. Good night. See you in Algebra. If she asks about me, tell her I’m okay and will speak with you both tomorrow.
Good night...
I set my phone down for a minute, pick it back up, and set it down again. After a minute or so this routine gets old and fails to reduce my anxiety, so I reply to Renee’s text.
Sorry, I was ah...in the shower. Almost twenty seconds after I send the message, I receive one in response.
It’s ok. I didn’t mean to scare you like that, but Jesus Christ, you should have seen your face!
I can’t text right now, I say. My aunt says its bedtime.
Well, good night then. You do realize, of course, that I’ll be expecting you at lunch?
Yeah, I know. Good night. Without further delay, I turn off the cell phone, lay it on the night stand, reach under my bed, and pull out a little white bottle containing sleeping pills I stole from Cara’s cabinet nearly a month ago. I swallow two, lie down, and fall into the kind of sleep you can only get artificially.

*

*

*
I’m running.
It’s dark, and I can’t see anything. Where I’m at, there is no light except one far ahead of me. Breaking twigs and crunching leaves under my feet give me the impression that I’m in a forest. After a few minutes of running I can see the outline of trees, and an opaque moon shines through the woodsy canopy. At this moment, nothing else seems to matter to me but reaching that light.
I can’t remember who I am. I can’t remember my name or why I’m running. All I know is the shining white light I see before me. It seems so important, and I don’t know what it is, but I keep running with the intent of getting there. The sound of my breathing merges with the feel of my legs as they swing back and forth.
The light gets brighter for an instant, and then I suddenly remember what I’m doing. The light is coming from a street light, but when I step onto the road the night turns to day. It’s a freeway. There are two cars coming towards each other, my mom in one car, looking down in her purse for something, and the other a middle aged man of about forty. I try to run to them, knowing that both are going to die in less than ten seconds, but I can’t get there fast enough. It’s one of those dreams where everything is in slow motion.
Everything seems so real and vivid, like I’m actually there. I can really see a leaf, almost frozen in the air, can feel the sun on my back as it sets into nighttime. Can feel my horror; I can’t reach her in time. I scream for mom to look, but she can’t hear me through the rolled up windows.
The scene turns fast again as metal meets metal, and right as I reach out my hand, a bright light engulfs everything and next thing I know, I’m awake and Aunt Carolyn is peering down at me and helping me sit up, her hand supporting my back from beside my bed.
“Are you alright, honey?” My face turns red and I cough a little. I take the glass of water that Cara has offered me and sit up as I gulp it all down.
“I cough hoarsely, “Yes. What time is it?”
“About six in the morning.” She removes my hair from my face. “I was just about to pop in and check to see if you were awake yet when I heard this horrible, high pitch scream. I really thought you’d gotten bitten by a snake or broken a leg!” She exclaims.
“Gee, I’m sorry,” I say, my voice coming back to me. “I just had a bad dream, that’s all.”
“What was it?”
I think about telling her the truth, but I know that it’ll just make things worse for Cara, so I lie and say “I fell off a cliff chasing pie.” I lie through my teeth and am careful to break eye contact. The best way to lie is to appear as if your guard is down.
“Oh, how awful for you, Annabelle!” is her response.
If I had told you the truth, you’d be saying a lot more than that. You don’t have any idea, I almost say, but then I’m regretful about thinking that way. After all, my guilty conscience isn’t Cara’s fault, nor does it have anything to do with her, so instead I mutter a “yeah” and set the water on my night stand.
“You look positively sick,” she says with concern. “Here, I’ll call the school and get you excused for the day.”
I mull that over for a minute. It would be wonderful to lie here all day and avoid Gracie and Renee’s million questions, but I’ll have to face them sooner or later and besides, I just can’t afford to miss the chemistry assignments. I stretch a little. “No, Cara, really, it’s ok. I feel fine.”
She stops in the middle of punching a number in her cell phone and looks to me with surprise. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m feeling great. Getting up out of bed and hearing the twenty pops from my spinal column tells us both that it’s a lie, but I continue on with the lie anyway and ignore my groaning body. “You go ahead and go to work. I’ll be out of here soon.”
“Alright, sweetie.” Realizing my pain and anger at that address, she says, “Anne, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize-”
“It’s ok,” I say quickly, trying to disguise the hurt. No one has called me that since The Accident. It was my mom’s pet name for me. “Just go ahead.” Without another word she leaves the room. I hear the front door and a car door shut consecutively, so I rush to get ready and do the same. When I finally pull into the school, I groan out loud even though there’s no one to hear me.
Today is going to be a pain.

Anne's POV

Band comes by very slowly. It’s almost to the point of physical pain to wait for some three and a half hours for fourth period, and even then I’m dreading having to explain myself. I’m just beginning to thank my decision on coming to school today rather than ditching when in walks the two people I’ve been dreading. I lock eyes with both of them and they nod and motion me over.
Usually we have about five minutes after the bell to socialize and talk, but today we will have all period because there is a substitute teacher. Out in front is an old TV cart, meaning that we will be watching some movie or performance, but watching isn’t actually required. Everyone settles down, and when the teacher puts in West Side Story Rue squeals in delight and says, “Man, I love this movie!” The two get up and stand by one of the practice rooms, expecting me to follow.
Gracie closes the door. I take a seat on a row of stacked chairs. Renee sits at the old piano bench and Gracie remains standing. For just a brief minute there is no talking, each of us daring someone to break the silence, when Renee finally clears her throat.
“Well, naturally I’m sure we all have a few questions,” she says. “Since we nearly scared you to death yesterday, you can go first, Anne.”
I take a breath, having already planned what I want to say. “First off, how the hell did you two find out about me?”
“It isn’t that hard to figure out,” she answers. “Well, maybe to a normal, but to people like me and Blondie here it’s easy enough. We know how to read the signs.” Gracie frowns at the nickname.
“Signs?” I ask, wondering what in the world she’s talking about.
“Yeah, you know. The daydreaming, the inappropriate smiling, the thing with your eyes.”
“That reminds me,” Gracie says. “What did you do to me the other night?”
I gulp. This is going to be a tough question to answer without making anyone upset. Tampering with people’s memories doesn’t sit well with even me, the sole practitioner. “Well, there was so much suspicion, and I hadn’t realized that you were paying that much attention when you saw what you saw, so...I used a trick to get out of a quick fix.”
“A trick?”
“Well, that’s the only word I really have for it. Pretty much I, well, I took it off your mind.”
“Really?” Renee asks. “So you could make someone run into a brick wall on command?”
“I don’t know, maybe,” I answer.
“How does it work?”
“Well, I’m not sure on the mechanics. All I know is that I hear thoughts and I can gain access through eye contact.”
“That explains it,” Gracie says, groaning a little. “So what you did the other night was rearrange my head?”
“No, of course not!” I almost shout. “You weren’t going to let it go and I couldn’t risk my secret being out like that. It isn’t like I enjoy it. Sometimes it’s the only thing I can do to get myself out of tough situations. All I did was take away about two hours of the game to keep safe.”
“But what about Cardin?” She inquires. “I saw you do it to him too.”
I almost laugh a bit, even though this is clearly not a laughing matter. “All I did with him was go through and place a random memory there so that he’d remember what I needed him to.”
“So you can read, erase, and replace minds and memories?”
“Pretty much?”
“Is that all you can do?”
All of these questions are bleeding me dry, but I answer them anyway. “Well, I can predict the future based on thought patterns, but it’s usually not that much help because of how indecisive people can be.”
“So if you erased my memory, then why can I remember it?” Gracie seems to want to know everything about what I did. I’m afraid that she might think I’m some kind of monster and that I do this to people all the time, but in reality I hardly use these tools at all. If anything, I try to shut off my telepathy.
“I’m not sure what happens to a memory once the, uhm, process has taken place. I just kind of...will it away. And people forget.”
“Wait. So we never really forget forever?”
“I don’t know. I don’t do that a lot. In fact, I’ve done it less times than I can count on my fingers and toes, so I don’t know much about it. This is the first time that anyone has been able to remember something that they were supposed to forget.” I clear my throat. “Are those all the questions? Because my head is starting to hurt and I really want to get back to my quads now.”
They look at each other. “Sure,” Renee says. “But don’t you want to know about us?”
I’m sure I’ll find out eventually.” With that, I leave the practice room, taking my problems and leaving theirs.
I had been right, as usual.
Today really is a pain.

Renee's POV

“Ok, this is totally stupid.”
Anne and Gracie are sitting across from me, a fan of cards in Anne’s hand as well as Gracie’s. Both are looking at me with a combination of boredom and expectancy.
“Oh, hush and stop complaining.” I look directly at her from the curly brunette to the straight haired blonde, a wry smile springing on my lips. “This exercise is supposed to help, you know. To measure your psychic capacity.”
“Well, one, I already know my ‘psychic capacity’, and two, how is a game of gold-fish supposed to work when I already know what’s in your hand?”
“You’ll see,” I say, a smirk on my face. “Now, part one of this test is audibility. I’m going to think of a card, and you have to tell me what it is without any hints.” Anne gives me an is-that-seriously-all look, so I answer her back with a yes-it-most-certainly-is look of my own. “You go first, Gracie.”
“Renee, do you have any threes?”
“Gold fish. Your turn, Annabelle.”
She gazes at me, a smile forming on her small, pale lips. “Gracie, do you have any sevens?”
I hear Gracie mumble “darn it,” before handing over the blue backed card.
“Ok, so do I go again or what?”
I look at Gracie and she nods back at me. “Well, seeing as this is psychic gold-fish and you have the greatest advantage, you can’t go more than once. Gracie doesn’t have an immediate advantage, so she goes as many times as she wants. I can go up to two times in a row.”
Her brow furrows. “Ok, that makes sense I guess. But I still don’t see the point in this when you know I’m going to win.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” I say, winking at Gracie. “I’m feeling pretty intuitive today.”
The game continues on, and it proves to be an interesting. She goes to ask if I have any two’s, but I use her powers against her to make her think that I do. However, after a minute or two she figures out my trick and groans.
“What’s wrong?” I say with a smile. “Can’t figure out what’s really in my hand?”
She just frowns.
“Why don’t you just give it up and try playing normal goldfish like Gracie and I? We can all trick each other, and no matter how hard you try, you don’t know that we aren’t purposely lying.”
She rubs her temples. “It’s not that simple, Renee. I can’t not hear you.” I look at Gracie for a second; I’m waiting for her to tell me that it’s a joke, but the looks on both of their faces are so serious that all of the competition is drained out of me. I put the cards up just in time to see our fellow band ensemble come in through the percussion room door, and we get up and join our individual sections for after school rehearsal. We have a concert soon, and Mr. Hawthorne insists that we need all the work we can get. While we were waiting for the rest of the girls to get here, I figured the three of us might as well do something helpful.
This game had started out to be a test. I needed to get a grasp on how potent Anne was, but now I have a gut feeling that somehow, someway, she’s more powerful than she’s letting on.
My gut feelings are never wrong.

*

*

*

After Thursday’s literal card flop, I did a little research on Anne. I googled her, and since my dad is an ex cop and happens to keep all of his police file codes in the study room that’s supposed to stay locked (but isn’t, thanks to my ability to throw a lock pick together in fifty three seconds), I got access to the network containing personal backgrounds. There was no record of her there, which either mans that she’s under a false name (which I highly doubt) or I’m not dealing with a criminal mastermind. I did happen to get some basic information on her, however, like her birthday, her interests, her old friends, and a few old statuses off of Facebook.
All in all nothing really informative showed up from Facebook, but judging by the range of her friends I was able to estimate that she moved around a lot in the past two years. That enticed my curiosity: What job could her parents have been doing that requires such matriculation? And better yet, when and how had her parents died? Had she decided to stay with her aunt because she didn’t like to move? Or did her mom and dad just prefer that she stay behind? Were they really deceased or was Anne just twisting her story to cover something up?
The questions wouldn’t get out of my head, and when you’re a brainiac with no boundaries, as far as locked doors go, you’d be surprised at how little it takes to get the information you need. In minutes I compiled a rough stack of interest, though none of it seems to matter presently. I put the stack away with a sigh and make a mental note to talk to her soon about it. As my thoughts begin to drift, I start to wonder if she’s anything like I am.
Most people have the unfortunality of being a byproduct of carelessness and lack of protection. My parents were looking for a way to make their marriage last, so I was made as an alternative to divorce. The first year or so went by, and their rocky relationship just got worse and worse. They divorced when I was about a year and two months. Mom gained custody of me and I’ve been with her ever since.
My mom and dad both love me, and I’ve grown up to be much like both of them. I consider myself an eternal optimist, though I do acknowledge that my life has its ups and its downs. Sometimes I wonder if anyone else in my family is special like me, but no one else exhibits the trait, which means that it must be either a learned habit or it’s triggered by something in the environment. I may never know the answer, and not having the answers irks me.
The month of September went by quickly as the weeks flew past. Before I knew it, we were into the end of October, and presently it’s the third of December. Things quieted down considerably, but both Gracie and Anne grew to become really good friends. Then, one day, both the girls stopped attending lunch at The Table and decide to hang in the band room from there on, leaving Rue and I with the boys and Stephanie. I noticed how much better things seem to get for Anne, until something really unexpected happened.
Or at least something I won’t forget on my own, I suppose, since I still believe Anne has to be a witch of some sort or another.
Aside from looking more than a little anorexic, which I found out to be completely impossible (Anne can eat the equivalent of three Neko’s, and that says a lot), Anne was the epitome of perfect health. Then, one day, she wasn’t at school. No one knew why and I was a little stressed because not only did she usually never miss school, but she told me once that the only way she’d miss school was if she was coughing up blood. That had to mean something was seriously up. So, being the good student that I am, I waited until after school was out to text her.

Hey, r u ok?

I waited a few minutes for a reply and I got nothing. Exasperated, I tried again.

U weren’t at school today. What’s going on?

Twenty minutes passed by really fast, and still I got nothing in response. Instead of feeling generally annoyed, I took a few minutes to collect and organize my thoughts. After reasoning with myself, I figured it would be best not to worry about it. Anne would text me if anything was wrong. Wouldn’t she?
The rest of the night goes by without word from her, which really has me kind of worried, so I text Gracie in our usual abbreviated text lingo, and see if she’s heard anything.

Hav u talkd 2 Anne 2day?

No, comes a fast reply.

Do u kno y she wasn’t at skool 2day? She hasn’t texd me bak

No...I thot u knew? I textd her but she didnt text me bak either

I grit my teeth. Damn! Something must be seriously wrong. Or at least that’s what my gut says, and it’s usually not wrong.

Wel I gues I can just stop by the Diner 2moro and ask Kara wats up? Sumthns not rite abt this. Shes alwaz got her fone w her.

I kno...It’s prolly nuthn tho...she wl b ok, prolly just a stomach bug

Yeah probly

I stop texting after that and get ready for bed. All the while I’m wondering: what is going on?