Gasping, I wrenched upward and found myself covered in a sheet of sweat. Though there were no lights on, sun seeped through my window curtains and I could see that my bed held evidence of my horrifying night. I was twisted in bed sheets from rolling, the blankets were askew from thrashing and kicking. One leg of my flannel PJ pants were hiked up around my thigh and the hem of my beater was stuck in my bra. I'd always been a noisy sleeper, but this was one of the worst states I'd woken up in.
Nightmares. Always, always nightmares. Why couldn't I ever have sweet dreams? Why did I have to be chased by men in long black trench coats instead of butterflies and talking puppies? Then at least I wouldn't screw up my bed sheets again. I checked the clock and found it to be four in the morning, an hour and a half earlier than when my alarm clock would go off. There was no chance of getting back to sleep, not with my blood still pumping and heart racing like I'd run from California to New York.
Throwing myself back down onto the bed, I thrust my hands over my scalp and through my curly, unruly hair that must've made me look like a black-haired medusa. I rubbed my eyes hard and waited for my blood pressure to return to normal before I shot it back up by digging through my bedside drawer for my stash of Monster Energy drink. Mom banded them from the house. Only I needed my caffeine and sugar fix after such a killer dream like that.
And the worst part, my dreams couldn't just be the result of staying up late watching horror flicks or eating something funny before bed -- no. It had to mean something, had to have some sort of symbolic code.
It was too early to process the dream anyway, so I took out my Nightmare Journal -- I can't even call it a Dream Journal -- and scribbled down everything in my messy handwriting. Rick called it chicken scrawl.
Speak of the devil...
In through my bedroom door, without even knocking -- and he calls me unpolite -- came my brother in his boxers and sweatshirt. His copper hair was sticking out from his head like he'd been electrocuted and his blue eyes were half-closed and glassy.
He always knew when I was awake. It was almost creepy how acurate he was, as if he picked up my brain waves or was a telepath... Or maybe it was just being twins that made us so attune to each other. Only, I felt sort of cheated out since was a tall, lean, and muscular. Twins were at least supposed to look similar, right? No, of course not, Mother Nature had to pick on me and make me average height, average weight, and clumsy. Also, she gifted me with the freakishly profound dreams.
Rick yawned and moaned, "What is it now, Rae?"
"Hey, don't whine. You came here of your own accord," I said, taking another swig of my energy drink. It tickled my mouth with carbonation.
"Yeah, but I wouldn't come here if you weren't such an early riser," he said around another yawn. "Maybe you need to start being like every sixteen-year-old on the planet and be late for school."
He walked forward and I held out a Monster for him. He accepted wordlessly and I said, "Well, I wish I could. It's just these dreams..."
Rick rolled his eyes. "Oh, the dreams. God forbid they decide to sleep in."
I glared at him because it wasn't funny. I didn't want to wake up screaming. I didn't want to have disturbing, vivid dream. I didn't even ask to have dreams at all. If it were up to me, I wouldn't even have happy dreams. Sleeping is supposed to be a relaxing event, to unwind and recharge, not to be locked in a metal shark cage on a ship that was in flames with no way out -- that dream had kept me awake for days -- or even to have to watch a lion rip a man to shreds over and over like it was stuck on repeat.
The nightmares didn't take breaks. I had one every night, sometimes repeating the same ones in a row, only adding different details like my perspective or the color of something. I never knew what would change, only that the scenario would still be tragic and awful. I'd actually thrown up after nightmares before. When I was little, I'd called them night-frights or scaries, but now I knew then for what they were, nothing else.
After I'd finger-painted a picture of a dead body with cats gnawing at it -- it just looked like a stick-person with orange blobs attacking it, but I'd explained it to Mommy -- my parents sent me to a psych doctor, one who was trained in psychiatry and psychology.
For a while, everything was the same, even with the regular appointments and such, but then kids stopped playing with me. Their moms didn't want the disturbed child to scar their perfect babies, to infect them with my poisons. That's what all the other kindergartners would say, that I was poisonous. Cindy Shaw had been told by her mommy that I was, probably to put it in words that a five-year-old could understand, then told everyone else and suddenly my cooties were venomous.
And I was fine with that. I only ever needed Rick and that was all, so I was okay.
Until he stopped playing with me too since he was cute and charismatic. It was in fourth grade when he decided that associating with me would be bad for his image and when I still followed to him as he drifted away, I was embarrassing to him.
By fifth grade, I coped with being alone. At least Rick was nice to me at home (when his friends weren't over, of course) and he was around when I needed him.
"So what happened in the nightmare this time?" Rick asked me.
This was the first time I'd hesitated in telling him. It was just something about the dream that made me faint just thinking about it. My bones rattled at the thought of repeating it. After I recovered from the initial shock, it wasn't usually too hard to repeat the dream out loud as long as I was in sun light, but something with this dream was different.
Quickly, I lied, "The same thing with the drowning." My dream the night before, and several nights before even that, was of my drowning in a perfectly calm ocean and because completely paralyzed, only to have that awful sensation of not breathing. I thought my lungs were going to burst. The first time I had a dream, some miracle blessed me that Rick came in prior to my waking and shook me awake because my lips and face were turning blue.
Rick seemed to have detected my pause with the way he scanned me up and down suspiciously, but he soon just shrugged. He wasn't one to pry. Sometimes I wondered if he cared at all and just came in to my room because our twin-link kept him up and he wanted to hit up my stash of forbidden-beverage. After all, I had to hide my supply of godly ichor from the demonic force that kept it from us lethargic teens. I think that the only thing getting me through puberty are those Monsters.
Rick stood up, ruffled my hair, and began out my door, back to his room, back to his pleasant world of a million-text-messages-and-missed-calls-and-happy-dreams-of-making-the-winning-touchdown. Mr. Popularity couldn't bare to have dark circles under his eyes, at least ones that would stand out noticeably against his bronze-tanned skin.
Sometimes I wished I was Rick. Well, most of the time, even if he was a boy and a pompous one at that, but he had friends and goals and fun.
I had books and nightmares and my fat orange cat named Mr. Cheezy. And even Mr. Cheezy didn't like me so much. He only even gave me any acknowledgement because I supplied him with his fix of cat nip. The cat was a freaking drug addict who needed an intervention.
Every time I woke up from a dream, it was like a crude awakening to life. And every time I swung my legs out of bed, it was like having weights tied to my ankles. Even if I wasn't tired, taking on another nightmare was better than facing another day of reality.
I crushed my can of Monster and stood up, almost wanting to be falling endlessly in that black hole again...
Almost.

"I told you, wait ten minutes to leave the house," Rick said when he saw me throwing on my coat. The front door was open and he was half out.
"Come on," I groaned. "You make me do this every morning. I always end up just making it to homeroom in time because of how paranoid you are and today it's raining."
"It's just spring rain. The sun is even still out."
Rick started this routine when we were twelve years old. He'd carefully, inconspicuously masked our relation once we entered middle school and a lot of people forgot that we shared the same last name. When he's manipulated everyone to think that he and I didn't even know each other, people took it as a mild, unfortunate coincidence that we shared a last name. He was once asked if we were cousin, and he'd answered honestly: No. But he didn't correct them either.
No, we were twins. I am thirteen minutes older than him. Now, you might think, wouldn't there be some suspicions because we had the same birthday?
Wrong. I was born at 11:48 PM, so thirteen minutes later was 12:01 AM, making it the next day. See? We were twins and we didn't even have the same birth date. That's how different we were. We'd never be similar in anyway since he had that magnetic personality that drew everyone in and I was the polar-opposite, the poisonous, and pushed everyone away.
I grew accustom to it, but it was a real pain on days like these when Rick wouldn't let me leave the house at the same time as him.
"Please, Rick --"
But he was already out the door after giving me a hard look. He took our only umbrella too and it was pouring cats and dogs. I hoped he tripped and fell on the slippery steps at school and broke his arm, right in the middle of baseball season. Blackwell High's prize pitcher, out on medical leave. That'd be rich.
I almost smacked myself when I realized that I was wishing harm upon my twin brother, who, like it or not, was my blood and only real tie to the outside world or any form of friendship. It was hard to know that Rick wouldn't even bother with me at all if it weren't for our blood, but I've grown accustom to the hard cold truth that I got what I got, and I was grateful for even the flimsy twin tie between us.
I checked the hall clock and went through the preliminaries of looking out the window to see if anyone was walking by or seeing me leaving out of the same house as the great Richard Holmes. I stroked Mr. Cheezy once more before flipping up my hood and stepping into the rain. I'd brushing down all of my curls until my hair was just wavy, but now it was getting damp and I knew I'd have ringlets all around my head by the time I get to school.
And, as usual, I made it to school just in time for the bell. Then, I rush to my locker, faintly aware that Rick was taking his time and mingling since he got to school early and had time for that. Not that I needed social time anyway, but at least I wouldn't have to nearly get my finger caught in my locker because I'm moving so fast in order not to be late.
With the rain holding everyone up and clogging the halls, I heard the bell ring for homeroom, and knew I was late. Keeping my head down, I try to navigate through the students who didn't care that they were late for attendance. Since I didn't have friends, I focused all of my energy into schoolwork and academics so after suffering through hours of studying and planning to actually do something in life, I didn't need a tardy blemishing my record!
I burst into the room, hearing Rick announce carelessly, "Here."
I missed my name on the list. Radiance Holmes was called right before Richard Holmes. And that meant that our homeroom teacher Mrs. Talbot had already submitted into her computer that I was absent. There would be no way that Rick would've told the teacher, "Oh, she's here, she's just running late." No way, no how. I had to go through the embarrassing notions of having being the center of attention when I come through the door, breathing heavily, and explain to the teacher that I was, in fact, not absent, but tardy which would earn a scowl, a few mumblings of having to go through the effort of changing my status to "late" then shuffling to my seat in the corner while being watched and giggled at.
"I'm here, Mrs. Talbot," I murmur, just loud enough for her to hear.
The class was already grinning, snickering, whispering...I kept my eyes averted from them and watched Mrs. Talbot look up from her computer with distaste. "You're here? I just marked you as absent, you know."
I suppress a sigh. Let her totally forget that I'd never been late to class before in my life, not bothering to let me slide maybe since we had two months of school left and I was still without absences or marks of any kind, no. She has to give me a hard time, just because I'm me. Even the teachers don't like me, apparently. You'd think they'd be all over such a devoted learner like me, always doing extra credit reports even if I didn't need it, always getting A+ on ever pop quiz given, but no. Maybe it was my lack of class participation (I hated raising my hand) but they just completely wrote me off.
"I know," I responded quietly. "I'm sorry. I got out the door late and had a hard time in the halls this morning." I kept my eyes down. I didn't like the way she observed me, up and down, like I was nothing but a stray mutt who paced on her doorstep, howling to be let it.
"This'll have to be marked, you know."
I nodded. "I know."
I hated it how teachers felt the need to add "you know" to almost everything they said, twisting a question into an insulting statement, as if clarifying that you must not be stupid enough not to know, therefore inclining you to say that you do know when in fact you don't, but that'd be too embarrassing to admit. I could've been saying, "No, I don't know, considering I haven't got a single flaw on my record and you just let Courtney Howards slide a few days ago, who happens to have multiple tardies."
But I keep my mouth shut and shuffle to my seat in the back corner while I get laughed at the whole way. Jenna Hartman even threw a piece of gum wadded in its wrapper at me. I heard Rick laugh.
My heart hurt and I wanted to dissolve into myself.
I didn't want to care, but to hear Rick laughing when I was humiliated and it was all his fault, it just sent me over the edge. I couldn't not care about that and my eyes burned, but I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of crying. I waited until the bell rang again and to go to the girl's bathroom to cry. I even skipped a class for the first time. I figure that this was a day of firsts, so why not continue the streak? I wouldn't be surprised if later I'd get my first F.
Why not? Everyone, gang up on Rae, because she's clearly not damaged enough! Hit her with another blow, go ahead!
Eventually I got up off the ground of the last stall and walked out, rubbing at my eyes. If anyone asked, I'd just say my eyes were red because of spring allergies. Not that anyone would ask. That was just a passing thought. I didn't like any type of attention anyway.
The hallway was empty with just pieces of paper scattering the ground and broken pencils. The bells then rang and the halls stirred up into chaos of herds plowing through and stragglers hanging in small bunches or just ruckus in general. I made my way toward my newest class. I already completed my English courses for this year last year so I had an extra period that I could fill with anything I wanted, so I chose Poetry since I liked Robert Frost. I had that and Writing Theory for the literature portion of my junior year.
I walked into the warm, dim-lighted Poetry room, lined with posters of poets and stanzas and books, and I took my seat in the back. Already I knew something wasn't right. The rest of our small class seemed to know since they shifted and whispered in uncertainty. Mrs. Mariotta was never late for class, always in the room wearing her wildly patterned dresses when we were filing in. But she was nowhere to be seen.
The bell rang and there was still no teacher. Everyone was antsy. Should someone go down to the office? Or should we just let it go? She could've been stuck in traffic. Or had an emergency and the office was having a hard time finding a substitute. Only, my stomach was rolling in a way that said nothing was good to come out of this.
The door creaked open and it became so deadly quiet in the room that I could almost hear everyone's hearts thumping just as fast as mine. It seemed like a century before the door was fully open, but only a few seconds had passed.
And he walked through the door.
He was very tall with long legs and lean with strong shoulders and arms, and I could see that through his long black coat...
I wanted to scream. To scream until my lungs popped. He was the Shadow, I just knew it, he had to be with the hat and the coat and the white gloves. I'd expected and old English gentleman, maybe below the brim of the hat. When the Shadow, in solid form, took of his hat, though, he was young. He couldn't have been much older than the Seniors, I reckon. Maybe twenty-two. But he carried himself with maturity and he walked over to Mrs. Mariotta's desk and took off his coat and hat, dropping then onto the seat casually as if it was his classroom. He wore a white tailored shirt, tucked into his black slacks. His dark hair was longish, but brushed which is more than I can say for the majority of our student body.
"Good morning, class," he said with his deep, warm voice. It sent shivers down my spine. I'd expected his voice to be chillingly cold like his aura had given off in my dream, but instead it was as melting as a fireplace. All the girls in the class were swooning already. Well, except for me. I was scowling in suspicion and fear. He was slipping off his while gloves and he wrote on the bored in long, precise script the words Writing Poetry. His handwriting reminded me of the Elf language on Elijah Wood's ring in Lord of the Rings. I was jealous immediately. "I am Mr. Matthews and from today on, I'll be your Poetry teacher. Mrs. Mariotta asks me to wish you all a farewell due to her sudden retirement."
Sudden retirement? Just last week, Mrs. Mariotta (the one and only teacher who liked me) was talking about how teaching was her life and how it made her survive her son's depressing death. How could she suddenly retire?
I had no idea. But I could feel more mysteries roll off of Mr. Matthews in waves as he continued his lesson. It was something that wasn't good. Something that made me want to switch my class or interrogate him ruthlessly. I got that same sick feeling in my gut as in my dream.
I did not like Mr. Matthews.

"Okay, now anyone who needs help after school, I'll be here until four unless I otherwise mention," Mr. Matthews said as the bell rang and we all began loading our things into a pile and head for our next class.
Though I didn't want to admit it, Mr. Matthews's teaching was mesmerizing. He had a smooth voice that just grabbed my attention without me even realizing. Reciting the poetry came as second-nature to him and between poems, he'd write the different themes on the board along with syllable count and the forms of rhyming. And he'd crack jokes that I couldn't help but smirk at which was rare.
Mr. Matthews was gripping and charming.
I hated it.
I wanted to question him and get him to tell me his secret...Which, I wasn't sure what it was about, the secret, but I was going to figure it out since I knew he had one. It was just that twist of intuition in my stomach that I often had. I called it a hunch, but my hunches were always on the nose. It was really handy while studying and taking tests.
This was the first time I've taken so much interest in something. I had never been one for mysteries and the farthest I go for research was for a report or to figure out the significance of a nightmare.
I did know a kid who was a research god though. If I only knew Mr. Matthews's first name, then I had access to his schooling, his family, his record, his life. But I couldn't just walk up to a teacher and ask for their first name, even if he was just barely old enough to be a teacher.
Before I could notice it, my feet were carrying me to his desk where he was looking over our attendance list. During the lesson, he'd untucked his shirt and undid the top two buttons, giving off a really laid-back feeling. At first, he seemed to be at the height of decorum and nobility, but he seemed to act like any average guy his age with a nice shirt, pants, and coat.
"Well, hello," he said, looking up with a grin. "You're Radiance, correct?"
Any other time I would've just nodded, but for some reason I was compelled to say, "Just Rae."
A corner of his mouth tipped up further in a wide, but crooked smile. "Rae. Nice name. I'll make a note of it. So is there anything you'd like, Rae?"
"Yeah," I said, voice staying neutral and not really committal. "Mrs. Mariotta. Did you speak to her before you took her place?"
"I did. She's a remarkable woman, really. Now I stand in her shadow."
More like you ARE a shadow. A shadow in my nightmares, a shadow of what Mrs. Mariotta was.
"I hope that I can get my students to like me as much as she did. I came in kind of late in the year, though, so it'll be hard to win their hearts," he said, still with his easy smile.
"Oh, you'll have no trouble with that," I mumbled, half to myself. All the girls were basically drooling on their desks, and a select few boys too.
He raised an eyebrow in question and I explained, "You're young and fun. Laid-back, very nice, so of course every high schooler you have will like you."
Mr. Matthews sat on the corner of his desk like a kid would. "You don't sound like you do, though." He said it as if it were amusing.
I was struck with a sudden surge of confidence. "Well, for one, I loved Mrs. Mariotta as a teacher. For second, you're insanely young to teach a bunch of high school kids. For third, I can see right through you."
Normally, that would've earned me a scolding, but he still smiled and his eyes glittered with what looked like amazement. Like he was impressed with how bold I was. "And what is it that you see?"
I looked him up and down. Hard to detect from the back row, I could now see creases in the arms of his shirt. "You're a bit young to live on your own." Now he looked very surprised. "If you were living with a woman, she'd know how to iron sleeves without leaving wrinkles. You don't have dogs, either." I looked at his hairless coat. "No cats. You probably live in an apartment, being so young. It's probably messy since you're a man and one who doesn't understand the simple concepts of ironing. The long coat is hard to depict though...Maybe that's how you catch a woman's attention, with such a mysterious aura that the coat gives off. Good trick. The moment they show an interest, you can reel them in with your good sense of humor and charisma."
Wow, where'd THAT come from? When I read a person's personality, I keep that all in my mind, but it all came pouring out in his presence. I kept myself composed though.
A flicker of flat out astonishment flashed over his face, but it returned to a grin. "That's amazing. All completely correct. Well, the coat part makes me sound superficial, but fair enough. How appropriate to have the last name 'Holmes' I suppose, it does your namesake justice with your observations. But what does that have to do with you not liking me?"
"I never said that," slipped from my lips before I could catch it. Damn my sudden talkativeness. "You just assumed that I don't. I'm just saying that I know you're hiding something."
"You like a good mystery?"
"Not usually. I like to keep mysteries on the pages of a book rather than in my own life." Even if there are many. "I can't avoid them though."
"Good luck solving it." Mr. Matthews returned to his lesson plans, giving me a salute and an indirect dismissal. The bell rang and I knew I should've been to my other class already, but I was done caring about that. I walked out to the hallways and I knew my investigation of Mr. Matthews began there.
I created a strategy to figure out what was up with my poetry teacher being so intensely mysterious. Well, for me he was a mystery, everyone else seemed to take him for a fun, easy-going teacher. After all it doesn't take much to please a class of sixteen year olds; all he had to do was throw around some casual talk, a joke or two, maybe a small swear word and they all were hooked.
I didn't like it. He coaxed in their best interests and captured their affections. By the lunch, everyone was talking about Mr. Matthews.

I didn't sit with anyone at lunch. I sat at my own rectangular table in the corner, diagonal from the table where all the teachers herded together. They all were boring and didn't talk about much except midterms and upcoming standardized testing. You'd think teachers would have days’ worth of gossip, but I guess that was all saved for the teacher's tiny copying lounge and the place out in the back where most of them had a cigarette. But today, they were unusually talkative and I knew why: Mr. Matthews.
It was like he was an infection, taking over their minds and attention. Did everyone decide to completely dismiss the vandalism done to the courtyard? I'd rather listen to that monotonous noise than the repetitive adorations of the young new teacher. If they were going to talk about him, I wanted to hear progress and information about him, not just more questions and obvious gossip.
I was making a list in my notebook of the things I did know about Mr. Matthews, which wasn't much. Charismatic, Too nice, Annoying smile, Magnetic, Knows about Poetry, Maybe 22... It went on into the little details I'd picked up off of his clothing earlier. Then I listed questions I wanted answers to.
"How's the mystery going?"
The voice next to my ear made me jump so hard I almost fell out of my seat. My pen went skittering across the table and onto the ground. My heart was sputtering with the start.
Mr. Matthews chuckled. "I'm sorry, did I startle you?"
"What do YOU think?" I gasped, gripping my chest. Mr. Matthews meandered to the other side of my table, picked up the pen, and handed it to me, smiling that infuriating smile. "You might think about coughing or announcing your presence before freaking me out!"
"I'll consider it next time."
What makes you think I'm going to allow a next time? Why in hell do you think you can sit at my table and have the whole cafeteria's attention drawn to us? Why, dammit?
Out loud I said, "Whatever. Now, go sit by the teachers."
Yes, I was being testy, but now I couldn't even sit in the lunchroom at peace. Not one thing today happened on schedule like usual. Anyway, he didn't seem to mind my annoyance since he was still grinning like a fool.
"Nah, they're boring and they all sit like there's sticks shoved up their asses," he said with a distasteful glance at the teachers who were all looking over at us as well.
I scowled at him. "You're one of them. Anyway, who gave you permission to curse?"
Mr. Matthews shrugged, mouth settling into an absent smile that was less amused. He looked a little older when he was grinning like he wasn't told a hilarious joke. "So, you didn't answer my question."
"The mystery." Without any warning, he took my notebook. "How is it going?"
"Hey!" I proclaimed, grabbing for the notebook, but he twisted to the side to look at it, out of my reach. "Did I say you could take that?"
Mr. Matthews laughed and his amused smile was back. "Too nice? You think my smile is annoying? Magnetic-- what's that supposed to mean?"
I finally stretched enough and snatched the notebook back, feeling like I was fighting with Rick instead of my teacher. I could feel the weird stares from everyone.
"Yes, too nice. Yes, it's annoying. And magnetic? Yes, you are. You have that frustrating air about you that makes everyone like your company and want to talk to you," I answered, realizing how much I talked to him and how he squeezed every one of my thoughts out of my mouth.
"Is that true? Maginetic, huh? Cool, I guess, but I'm pretty sure the technical term is kindness. Oh, and I'm twenty-three, so you might want to correct that. And if you have questions, all you have to do is ask."
I narrowed a suspicious look at him, but he smiled gently and encouragingly, so I said, "How are you a teacher so young?"
"Started college when I was sixteen."
"Oh, so you're a genius?"
"Kind of."
I scribbled down onto my paper, Brainiac. "Now, first name?"
"How is that important?" he asked, genuinely confused.
I shrugged. "All of the teacher have IDs with their names to get in the building. You don't have one yet, so I'm curious."
Mr. Matthews scratched the back of his head and answered, "Milo. My first name's Milo. And my middle name is Nicholas, if that's of any interest to you."
I couldn't help it. I snorted and chuckled. MNM. Mn'M. That was funny and he just nodded like he expected me to laugh.
"Yes, yes, I know, my initials are a rainbow-colored candy. Now that we've got that over with, do you have any more questions?" he asked.
I looked at his lunch, white Styrofoam on a plastic tray. A person's appetite told a lot about them. While I had a salad and roll, he had a hamburger and French fries and a chocolate milk. Not a single piece of fruit or even ketchup. It was like he avoided fruits and vegetables. He had all carbs, fat, starches, and protein. Not even the milk was healthy anymore. He ate like a typical guy and if there was no woman at home to cook for him or balance his diet...
"You exercise." I didn't mean it as a question.
He nodded a confirmation. "I run and go to the gym."
Hence the strong shoulders and slimness. He was probably a fast runner since he had long legs. "You most likely win every race."
He arched his eyebrows. "How do you know I race anyone?"
"You're an in-shape guy," I said, once again against my will. "Tall. Naturally, you'd want to put your abilities to the test, anyone with the human instincts would. And you've got fairly long legs, so you'd have the advantage. Unless the opponent was Shaq."
"Alright, you've been analyzing me beta for beta, so how about giving me a chance?" he asked, leaning back with a soft smirk and looking at the half of my body he could. He stared for a few minutes which was really weird and made me uncomfortable. I fidgeted. Mr. Matthews opened his mouth to speak when...
"Mr. Matthews?"
We both looked up. It was Miss Nealson. She was a student teacher in Physical Education and was the same age as Mr. Matthews. She wore a pink pair of sweatpants with white stripes down the side and a zip-up sweatshirt over her cheerleading tee. She was also the co-coach of the cheerleading squad. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a cheeky ponytail.
I hated her a lot. She would unnecessarily push me when I was running laps. She'd purposely jog beside me, shouting, "Faster, Holmes, faster!" like I was some race horse lagging behind. She'd also not-so-discreetly imply I was fat. I am not fat, just curvy. I just weigh more than her because I actually have a pair of hips and breasts. I'm almost sure she pads her butt.
"I'm not so sure that we've met," Mr. Matthews said to her, putting on his charming smile.
"I'm Tara. I student-teach the gym classes," she said with a cheerleading smile, one that could be seen from the highest seat in the bleachers. "I just wanted to welcome you to Blackwell High. Why don't you come sit with us?" She nodded towards the teacher's table.
It wasn't like the teachers were prohibited to sit with the students, they just all migrated to that one spot and it was their unofficially assigned spot. Though I didn't like him, I didn't like Miss Nealson (Tara?) more, and what if he WANTED to sit with me? I even proved to myself I wasn't as quiet as I thought.
"No, thank you, I was going to sit here with my new friend Rae," he replied.
Yeah, so take that, you blonde, flat-chested--
Wait a second. Friend? Who said I was his friend? Maybe I didn't want him sitting here!
Maybe I did, maybe he didn't. Maybe I didn't, maybe he did.
Oh, my God, my head hurts.

"I need a favor." The words didn't sound appropriate coming from my mouth. After all, I was the independent nerd who didn't speak to anyone and most certainly didn't ask for favors.
But this was imperative. This favor was the crutch of my investigation and I couldn't avoid it. I comforted myself with the knowledge that it was all Mr. Matthews fault that I was doing this and that in the end I'd get my revenge. Maybe I could stage a rumor to get him fired or stuff meat into his coat then set rabid dogs onto him...
I shook off the dark thoughts. I was becoming poisonous again.
Matt Bell gave me a look. His look alone said "And what makes you think I'd want to do you a favor?"
I sighed and pointed out, "I did help you with midterms last semester."
Matt spun around in the swivel chair in the abandoned janitor closet. It took me two hours to track him down and I finally found a friend of his -- who didn't speak at all -- who pointed me to the janitor closet. I should've figured he'd chosen a place to hole up in the school with a rolling chair and his laptop. I wondered where he'd run off to to skip.
Matt shrugged. "You just did that to get out of the house and away from your brother's friends."
I paused and then narrowed my eyes at him. "How do you know about my brother?" No one knew that I had a brother.
Matt hesitated for a split second. But he just shrugged again and answered, "School records."
Of course the hacker knew this, I should've figured, but the way he said it made me think he wasn't being completely honest.
"Whatever, just stop poking around my records, kay?" I had an unnaturally short temper today. "I want you to look up Milo Matthews."
Matt froze in his spin. "The new teacher?"
"Yes, him."
Matt ran his hands through his spiky, unruly orange-red hair with black tips. He dressed like the typical skater bad-boy type. There were scuffs and scratches on the sides of his run-down sneakers, probably from stopping his skateboard on pavement. He wasn't the tallest guy in the world, so the bottoms of his skinny jeans were frayed from dragging on pavement. His fingers were calloused and had small burns, from either a cigarette or joint burning down too much. Or from using a lighter. Slightly yellowed teeth. Faint smell of whiskey.
"Already checked him out. Nothing out of the usual," he dismissed. He brushed his long bangs to the side and rubbed his nose -- sure signs he was lying. "Now run along, little girl, you're weird verbalness is freaking me out. How did you even know were I was in the first place?"
"Some kid in the hall. I've seen you with him before. Tall guy, dressed in all black, black hair, pale skin..."
Matt cursed and muttered, "Garret..."
I shrugged, knowing that I wouldn't get anywhere with this guy. Mostly, I didn't want him to explode. I'd seen him in passing at the counselor's office and it was no secret he had massive anger management problems. It was said he was actually medicated, but I can't really be one to stereotype since I had more than a couple prescription bottles in my bathroom mirror.
"Well, thanks anyway, Matt. Stay out of trouble," I said as I opened the door.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he murmured, turning back to his laptop which was connected to the school's wiring, I realized, the wire running into the wall. The kid was smart. If he had the proper software -- which I'm sure he did, he's a computer genius -- and the computer was getting connection through the school's wires, any traces would lead to the school and a wild goose chase.
And I didn't trust Matt Bell. If he wasn't going to tell me precisely what he'd found, I'd look myself through a commoner's means: Google.

No one could be this flawless. Not only was Mr. Matthews Boy Genius, he also graduated top of his class at Princeton as the youngest student there at the time. I don't know who would earn degrees like these in minimal time then become a teacher in a little old nowhere like Blackwell High. He had no criminal record according to the online police blotter where you could type in a person's name then see if they'd been in jail. Nothing came up.
Of course, he could've been on the run, using a different name, stealing an identity and leaving no trace for the police...
My dark thoughts were becoming more creative. Who am I kidding? I was just being paranoid.
I got up out of my bed, closing the laptop, and heading downstairs for a CapriSun juice pouch and cookies. I turned into the kitchen and halted at the sight of who was at the table.
My brother, Billy Bahr, Shawn Matthews, cheerleader Jenna Hartman, and cheer-captain Cindy --
Wait a second. Shawn MATTHEWS? As in, possible relation to Milo Matthews?
I didn't have time to explore that thought before I realized that I was supposed to be upstairs in my room, pretending that I don't exist so Richard's friends don't know we're related. Unfair? Yes, but he has to do the same whenever I have friends over.
Oh, wait. What friends?
Okay, so it is wholly unfair.
"What's the Freak doing here?" Cindy Shaw asked. That was just one of my many nicknames, I like to think of them as terms of endearment.
"Uh..." Rick sputtered, giving me an evil look, then saying, "She's our neighbor. She was just returning something that her family borrowed from us, right, Freak?"
I just stood there for a little bit, looking at them, my lips pressed together.
It's times like these that I wondered why my mother had no idea why I was diagnosed with depression.
I nodded numbly, turned, and walked in the direction of the front door, opening it, then slamming it shut loud enough for Rick's friends to hear. I was about ready to slump on up to my room as quietly as possible when I heard a voice say, "How long has she lived next to you?"
It didn't sound like the crazy out-there class clown Billy Bahr or Rick, so I knew it was Shawn Matthews. He was kind of quiet, but popular with the girls and on the baseball team. I crept up to the wall closest to the kitchen, and listening closely.
"Must be forever, since she's gone to school with us since, like, forever," Cindy Shaw said as if it was the equivalent to being locked in confinement with a leper.
"Yeah, she's a real creep. And you have to share a last name with her. I feel really sorry for you, Rick," Jenna Hartman said and I could almost here her hand make its way through his coppery-blonde hair. She had a habit of that; I'd always see her do it in the halls or in class or whenever they were making out in the basement -- a word to the wise, do not go downstairs when your brother and his girlfriend are. You're bound to walk in on something. Possibly him shoving his tongue down her throat. I almost puked.
"That's insanely weird, though. I mean, you live next to her AND you share a last name?" Billy Bahr chuckled.
"Hers is spelt different, I think," Rick said.
They all made sounds of agreement and then Billy cracked a joke about how their five brains couldn't amount to one and they all laughed. I didn't find it particularly funny, but maybe I just didn't have a good enough sense of humor. Maybe I was just too hurt.
What was this with being hurt lately? I never care before, why do I now?
I made my way up the stairs sluggishly, feeling the stamina go out of me and just all around awful. I curled up in my bed and closed my eyes, inventing memories of years when I wasn't cursed or poisonous.

"Why don't you tell me about school?" my shrink Dr. Cockney said. I started seeing him when I was thirteen and it took me a whole week to get past his name. Like any other thirteen-year-old, I was pretty perverted and couldn't help but smile at seeing his faux-gold nameplate once a week.
I'd sit in the waiting room with Garret Martin every week, chuckling quietly. Well, I'd chuckle, he'd just smile. Garret was the kid who pointed me to Matt's hide-out. I'd led Matt to believe I didn't know who he was, but that was because we had a connection that was best kept a secret to protect us from further ridicule-- we were both mentally disturbed kids who went to Mr. Cockney's office on Tuesdays.
It'd been a week since Mr. Matthews came to our school and he'd sit with me at lunch every other day. On the days he didn't annoy the hell out of me, he wasn't even with the teachers. He was somewhere skulking in the shadows, scaring children, boiling kittens...
Go away, dark-moments. I gave myself a mental slap.
"School is...school." Lately, I'd been talking to him even less which meant my conversation bordered on three words for every ten minutes. I was probably wasting my parents' money, but my mom was a doctor, best surgeon in the county.
I told my parents that I didn't want to go and that it was a waste of time and money, but they insisted, even if I didn't pour out everything like an emotional sap, I had to go.
Dr. Cockney leaned forward on his desk, taking off his glasses. He was older, chubby, and had salt-and-pepper short hair. His eyes were beady like a rat's and his mouth sagged into a constant frown. Just the poster-child of happiness, right?
Wrong.
"What's been eating at you, Radiance?" he asked.
"Rae," I corrected automatically. Damn, that was four words within ten minutes. I'd have to recalculate my ratios.
"Rae...I thought we were having a real breakthrough a couple weeks ago, but...you're acting like it's your first visit again. You've been seeing me once a week since you were thirteen and I thought we were becoming friends..." He continued to ramble, while I blocked out his nasally voice.
Breakthrough, since I was thirteen, thought we were friends, blah, blah, blah...That was all complete bullshit on so many levels. No, there wasn't any breakthroughs happening, I'd just led him to believe that by making false truths. I'd throw in an extra detail here or there to flourish or decorate the truth, spruce it up some to make it sound good. At least then he'd report to my parents with some hope. It's just I didn't have the energy to be generous in my stories today.
It was all hopeless. The dark thoughts weren't something that could be fixed and they branched off of my nightmares. Though dreams are supposedly surfacing images from your subconscious, I didn't believe that's where they came from at all. They came from a different source, I knew it. There was no way those images could be resurrected from my thoughts.
"...Do you understand what I'm saying, Rae?" Dr. Cockney asked.
I stood up, getting bored with his monotonous droning. He always said I was free to roam around the room. He didn't want me to think I was confined to a chair. He'd always begin with "Make yourself at home. What's my space is yours too...just don't puprosely break anything."
I wasn't some headcase that found satisfaction from throwing a picture frame to the ground.
I could tell that Dr. Cockney was surprised I took him up on his offer to move around, though. I never did before. But now I was examining, zooming on details and accessing Dr. Cockney in general.
"You're married, huh? Pretty wife," I murmured, looking at a photo with a woman and three children. It was the most recent one, obviously. The kids were all in their college years or beyond. "Three kids. Your first girl is a lawyer, correct? Son is a police officer, I'd venture and your youngest daughter is studying to be a...chef?" His eyes bugged a little bit. I was running my hand along the shelf against a wall, looking at each picture as the years passed. I came to a photo of a different man all together, probably in his late twenties. It was a military photo, the man stoic with his hat and uniform.
"This is your son, I'm guessing, but not from your wife. He's older than your other kids and doesn't look a lot like you or anything your wife," I lifted the photo, looking at the handsome boy a few more times. "He's in the Marines, obviously. Roughly estimating your age, I'd guess you were still in high school when he was born. Your sweetheart probably mooched off of you for eighteen years after that." I put the picture back down. I looked back to the flabberghasted Dr. Cockney. There was some hair on the cuff of his shirt. "You have an orange cat named Bouncy."
"H-how could you possibly know that?" he stuttered. It confirmed my notions.
He had no idea that a vet doctor form was on his desk for vaccinations for a certain feline named Bouncy Cockney. I bit back laughter. I just shrugged.
"You and I both know, Dr. Cockney, that you've been observing me for three years of my life now," I said. "I observed you within the last three minutes and know your life situations." I began pulling on my sweatshirt, feeling like I should've just kept my mouth shut like usual. "Nothing against your PHD from the University of California, but I'm just a code that can't be cracked."
I walked out of the door, passing Garret as I strut out of the office. I didn't realize he was following me until he hurried ahead of me to open the glass door for me. He shut the door behind us and held up his keys wordlessly. That's why I enjoyed Garret's company -- he said almost as little as me, maybe even less.
I nodded and followed him to his car.

Garret had long hair that blew out of his face when his window was open as he drove. His car's ceiling had a pirate flag stapled to it and rock band's stickers to the dashboard. The fuzzy dice hanging from his mirror were black and had a skull on a face instead of six dots. The visor above our heads had lines of CDs in slots and there were three bulging CD books on the floor and next to his dirty ash tray.
He didn't keep his car in great shape, but it wasn't a disaster either. A few empty packs of cigarettes, smashed or flattened, scattered the seats. It smelt like tobacco, but it wasn't nauseatingly heavy. He kept an air freshener connected to the AC vents.
He slipped a cigarette from his full pack into the side of his mouth, lighting it with one hand. "You smoke?" he asked, holding the box out to me. It was the first words he'd said to me since we got in the car.
I shook my head, he flipped the top shut, and threw them onto the dash. He took a long drag and turned up the radio so it was nothing but a quiet lull in the background. Surely, if it was blasted, it'd be hardcore and intense, but with the unusually warm and intoxicating scent of Garret's car that cradled me like a safe cocoon, it was actually a relaxing sound. I could unwind.
"What happened with old Dr. C***?" Garret asked. When I was thirteen and he was fourteen, he'd started calling him that. It would make me smile and he'd grin two.
I rolled my eyes and curled my knees up to my chest. I knew he wouldn't care about my feet on his seat, it was already stained and imprinted with shoe marks. "Let's not talk about it."
Expecting him to just drop it, I felt uneasiness in my stomach that said he wasn't going to. I looked over at him and his expression wasn't one of indifference, it was more deep in thought.
"My mom started my shrink visits when I was really little. I'd started talking to myself saying dark things, and I'd see people on TV and point to them and say they were going to die." He paused and I waited for more. I'd never heard more than a couple words from him. "It really started freaking my mom out when those people would have columns in the Obituaries later on. Call it intuition, but my family broke off ties with us, saying I was a demon or devil child." He shrugged. "It's not something you can cure, you know?"
I nodded, eyes open really wide. He was cursed with something that rivaled my own dark intuition. He was also incurable. Our curses were both indestructible and we knew that we'd be damned to carry them forever.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked quietly.
He was silent for a bit longer and I thought he'd just drop the question and keep driving. But again he surprised me. "I want you to know that even if you don't want to talk to the quack Dr. C***, I can listen...and understand the best I can. Sometimes you don't need someone to try and fix you, but someone to just listen."
I stared out the windshield, feeling like the only place that I would feel wholeheartedly belonging and accepted was in that car.
Garret just drove. We weren't going in any specific direction, I don't think, we were just sitting.
"I have nightmares," I said out of the blue.
Garret gave a morbidly amused smile, tapped his cigarette out the window of the car. "Welcome to the club."
"Well, I mean EVERY night I have a horrifying, blood-curdling nightmare that makes me wake up in a sweat, scream in my sleep...And they're all scarily profound. I have to keep record of them so I know I'm not crazy."
Garret took his time putting out his cigarette and then taking a sip of a coffee that was most likely cold. "Have you shown them to Dr. C***?"
I snorted. "God, no. He already knows I have nightmares, that's what made my mom make me go, but I never told him in detail."
"What do these nightmares mean?"
"Different things...I usually have to look up meanings of metaphors or in a dream bible to give me hints, but by the time I crack the meaning...something bad already happens..." I faltered at the end. "I had a dream about an American eagle soaring high above the trees, and I was tiny like Thumbelina, riding on its back, when it suddenly crashed into a huge wall of metal. It blew up." My heart thudded hard. "That was the night before September 11, 2001."
"Oh, Christ," Garret muttered, showing a flash of weakness in his walls of composition and graveness.
I nodded, knowing well how horrible it was. It was like I was a freak of nature.
"But not all my nightmares mean bad things," I conditioned. "At first they all seem terrifying, but after I break them down, they mean something like meeting someone new or...this is going to sound crazy...predicting someone's decision. I knew before my brother that he was going to make the football team freshman year as first string." Then I halted, realizing what I'd said. "Uh...did I say 'brother'? I meant...uh..."
"I know you have a brother, Rae," Garret said, making a right turn.
I felt my eyebrows pull together in confusion. "Did Matt tell you?"
Garret smirked. "Yeah. Something like that. That's how I found out, putting aside the obvious relation between the two of you. The obviously same nose, same last name, same blue eyes...It can't get much more obvious if you wore a shirt that said 'I'm Richard Holmes's Sister.' The people in our school are just too dumb."
I twiddled my thumbs and stared down at my palm's creases. I didn't have a response for that except my mental "Like hell we're alike! He's attractive, lean, athletic, and I'm not!"
"Why do you believe that you have to help your brother let the school think you're not twins?" he asked.
I paused. I did tell him about my night-frights, but for some reason this was more personal because even though the nightmares were apart of whom I was, this plucked a string deeper in my core. But I took a deep breath. "If I keep the secret...at least at home he'll spend time with me. If I don't them he'll blame me for everyone shunning him because who'd let him into the popular crowd if his sister's a freak...I need that friendship, that bond, with my brother even if it's a quavering one because that's all I have."
My eyes were burning and I forced down the tears harder. No way I'd cry in front of Garret. NO way, that'd be just a huge disaster. It's be my luck if I started whimpering like a baby just when I was about to make a friend. A FRIEND, for God's sake, I've never even had one of those before, I didn't want to lose my chance.
Mr. Matthews said I was his friend, but I didn't believe that for a second. He was a pest. Garret was comforting and understand. Mr. Matthews was nice, but he just irked me. His whole "lovable" quality made my stomach do summersaults. Garret was different.
"Your brother’s such a dumbass."
His words brought me up short and I was stunned into speechlessness.
"I mean, he's so worried about his image that he doesn't even realize the type of hurt he's inflicting on you." Garret almost sounded angry. "He doesn't even see how hurt your feelings are. I bet he wouldn't even care if he knew you were ready to cry over what a rotten jerk he is."
Oh great, he did see my tears. And then they began to flow down my cheeks freely, without a sound, just rain pouring out of my eyeballs. I couldn't even stop it, it was like the dam had broke. I hid my face in my knees.
I felt a hand slip into mine and I got suddenly nervous. I'd never held hands with anyone before. But his hand then disappeared, leaving tissue in its place. I wiped my eyes and nose.
"You could use a cup of coffee," Garret said. Not a question. A fact. And he was right, I needed coffee.
He pulled up in front of a Dunkin Donuts and he hurried around to my side of the car to open the door for me. He was really gentlemanly, so I didn't exactly know how to act.
We waited on the line without speaking. My tears yielded and I avoided eye contact. Wow, how embarrassing. He was so kind as to let me in his car and drive around, letting me whine, and I start to cry. Like a baby.
Garret got me coffee, a large and then a donut. I don't know how he knew my favorite donut was vanilla-iced with apple filling, because he didn't ask. Maybe it was a wild guess. Or maybe he saw me eat breakfast one morning.
My cell phone started buzzing like crazy so I looked at the screen, expecting it to be my mother and having no intentions of picking it up. Until I realize it's Rick.
Baffled, I flip it open. He'd never called my phone before. "Uh...hello?"
"Rae, where the hell are you?!"
Wow, what a time to actually be concerned. It figured that he'd ruin everything and become a brother right when I was with a new friend. "I'm out." There. Take that. Minimal info.
"Listen, Rae. Mom said I had to pick you up so I had Billy drive me all the way to the office, lying to him and saying I was doing a favor for my 'neighbor' only to find you NOT THERE!"
My teeth clenched together, almost instinctively. "You know what, Rick? You're not even worried about me, you're worried that your friend might've found out that I'm your sister! I'll get home my own way when I want to because I'm OUT!" And I hung up.
I'd never yelled at my brother before.
We've never gotten in a serious fight.
I feel slimy and rotten.
"Do you need to go home?" Garret asked we got back into his car, the scent of coffee swirling around me, easing my compressed headache.
I thought about it. Did I need to go home? "Keep me out as long as you want," I decided. Then something else hit me and I frantically added, "Unless you want me to leave you alone or something, I mean, if you have something to do or I'm bothering you or..." I faltered, watching his lips quirk up into a small smile.
"I'll keep you," he said, still smirking. "But I'm warning you, I might not give you back." He gave me a wicked, amusing look that made me smile and, for some reason, blush.

I'd spent the rest of the day with Garret, until the midst of twilight when there was barely any sunlight left and everything was covered with lavender or burnt orange. I'd called my mom after Garret said he'd keep me and said I was out with a friend. For a good minute, I'd thought the call was disconnected until mom spoke the words, completely coated with shock, "Have fun, and don't hurry home!" That last part she'd added with excitement. I knew her mind was saying My hermit daughter is out? And she has a friend?
But that didn't matter because I had so much fun. Garret and I went to an arcade where he beat the top score of PacMan and I got killed for times in one of those shooting games. Then he asked me if I wanted to get a picture taken at one of those tiny kiosks. I had to think about it, try not to be embarrassed by it, but figured that if I had a picture it was hardcore proof that I was having fun. I needed documentation for rare occasions like these. So we took the pictures. The first shot, we didn't know quite what to do, so we both were straight-faced and solemn. The second, we struggled to smile. The third, Garret stuck out his tongue (revealing a silver piercing) and I was wide-eyed, gaping in surprise. The last, we were genuinely smiling and laughing. The last one was my favorite. It printed out two copies, so I got a strip and so did he.
After the arcade, we went down to the beach. It was still spring and there wasn't anyone there, so it was just Garret and me. I ran along the string of beach, close to the tide, so my bare feet splashed in it as the water came in, spraying me with cool salt water. The sun was setting at that point, so I ran with the sunset, the yellows and pinks, oranges, and purples while the huge, blazing orb settled and nuzzled the rippling indigo water. My feet sunk with every quick step, leaving a path behind me. Curls flying behind me, slapping me in the neck with the breeze, rolled up jeans getting soaked and cooling my knees, I'd never felt so free before. It was like I was running away from everything that was weighing on my mind. It was magical. Then Garret and I sat on the dunes and watched the sun nearly disappear before we got back into his car. The best part was, we barely spoke.
I was almost depressed when it came to the point where Garret rolled up to the front of my house. My knees were curled up to my chest, jeans still rolled up, and my shoes sitting on the floor. He'd turned up the heat since it was getting chilly and I'd fallen in the water once.... twice. Alright, three times, but I never claimed to have the grace of a ballerina.
I didn't want to leave the warmth that the car enveloped me in. I'd made a friend and I didn't want to face the reality of home. I was still stuck in the very first dream I'd ever had. I still didn't believe that it was all real. But if this was what a dream was, I never wanted to wake up.
I walked in through my door and called in, "I'm home!" It was about dinnertime for my family, a little after 8. It felt weird coming home at that time.
"In the kitchen!" I heard my mom call and I entered the kitchen, steam from the pot warming me up, but not as well as Garret's car. My mom was beaming, stirring the pot with an expression that could've lifted the sun back up from the ocean. Rick was at the table, looking unhappy. Apparently, we were still fighting but Mom was oblivious. "How was your day?"
"Fun," I said, the word tasting weird. "I went to the arcade and to the beach."
"Who were you with?" Mom asked anxiously, acting like she was the one who had a wonderful day rather than me. Her enthusiasm was the perfect model for what I'd felt all day.
"His name's Garret."
Mom's smile wavered very slightly. "That boy from your doctor?"
"Yes."
Mom just kept smiling, but her eyes didn't sparkle as much. "Um...are you sure that's safe?"
I stared at her, astounded. "Uh, Ma, I go to the psych too...There's no reason to be cautious of Garret unless I'm going to be some sick hypocrite. Anyway, he's really nice and knows all about me." I'd never really defended anyone before, but I think I put up a good argument.
Mom backed down and went back to dinner.
I made my way for my room.
"Hey, don't you have homework?" Rick asked me, stopping me.
"Nope. Did it all in school on Friday." I turned for the stairs again.
"Don't you have that project that's due on Wednesday?" he asked, stopping me again.
What was this, the Inquisition? "It's done already." This time, I jogged up the steps without leaving room for him to stop me. I closed the door behind me and stared at the photos from the arcade for a while before pinning them to my tackboard. It was right between my due date for the project and covered my prescription.
Someone knocked on my door and I called, "Who is it?"
"Rick."
I paused. "Leave me alone." A-hah! Take that, you jerk!
"Too bad." And he marched into my room, acting like he owned the place. I glared at him.
"I'm not happy with you."
"Ditto."
"Then why did you come in?"
"To ask what the hell is wrong with you!" he proclaimed, hands clenching at his sides. "You must be crazy! First you yell at me on the phone, next you're spending the day with Garret the Goth! He's a freak, Rae!"
I glowered harder, standing up off my bed. "You deserved everything I said on the phone! You're nothing but a self-centered, ignorant, conceited moron with nothing but his own ass on his agenda! I don't know why I bothered obeying you for the last sixteen years of my life, because you don't give a damn about me!"
"That's not true!"
"Oh, really? It isn't? Okay, then name one thing you've done for me from anywhere between middle school till now," I challenged, crossing my arms.
Rick opened his mouth, finger poised in the air. He paused for a few seconds. He dropped his hand. "Alright, fine. I can't think of anything at this moment, but what have you done for me?"
I could literally feel my jaw unlatch in disbelief. My eyes must've been huge. "What have I done for you? I've done everything for you, ever since I was little! Every little move I made was centralized around you! It's always been about you, you, you, at my expense! I have no friends because you're Mr. Perfect, ridiculing me with your buddies! I'm late for school because you can't stand to be seen with you! I pretend I have no existence just so no one knows we live in the same house, that we're related, that we're twins! And you have the nerve to ask me what I do for you when ever since we were babies, you were the perfect lovable one and I was the leper! I don't even live for myself anymore!" I was screaming, I knew it. Well, it was about time for him to hear what I'd been thinking since we were in elementary school.
Rick looked awful. He looked confused, guilty, torn, angry...He was about to open his mouth when I cut him off and said, "Get out of my room. Right. Now." I was fuming.
"Rae--"
"This second, Richard."
He knew I wasn't screwing around when I used his full name. Without a word, he turned and walked out the door. I collapsed on my bed and sobbed. I was a horrible person, making my brother look like I that. I sobbed, skipping dinner and going straight to sleep. For once, my subconscious took pity on me and let me sleep dreamlessly. How nice of them.

Rick and I didn't talk all morning. I'd toasted only my own Pop Tarts, implying that he had only himself to rely on now, even his breakfast. I finished off the milk too. Maybe I was being spiteful or maybe I was finally gaining whatever independence I could muster up after the disaster the night before. But I was bursting with joy internally that I hadn't had a nightmare that night. I never knew how truly calming a black, still night could be. I was also bursting with regret for yelling at Rick, but that I tried shoving down and ignoring.
The doorbell rang. I figured Mom or Dad had forgotten something when they left for work, so I answered it. It was nothing like I'd expected.
"Good morning," Garret said with a small grin. Next to him was a familiar face, Matt Bell. "I was thinking you might want a ride and breakfast."
I checked the clock. There was still an hour before Rick would pressure me into leaving ten minutes after him. I wasn't so sure that would happen this morning, but I didn't want to stick around to find out. I nodded fervently, and spun around to grab my jacket from the hook, only to nearly crash into a glaring Rick.
"What're they doing here?" Rick asked, nodding at Matt and Garret. First words of the day and he couldn't even grant me the courtesy of decorum or a "hello". Fair enough. Two can play at that game.
I'd heard the line delivered in the hallways and on TV, but never had I planned on saying it. "None of your business." There it was. The utterly rude cliché for shoving someone out of a circle of knowledge. I snatched my sweatshirt and followed Garret and Matt out the door. Matt looked impressed. Garret was just as solemn as he usually is. I slammed the door shut behind me.
I slid into the passenger seat of Garret's car after Matt was kind enough to get the back. I buckled in and felt warm all over, like I was melting. Garret stuck a cigarette in his mouth, holding a hand out to Matt wordlessly. Matt handed over a lighter and Garret lit up. I could immediately see their friendship in how words weren't needed. It was socially known they hung out, but I sensed a deeper tie than that, a friendlier one. I was honored at how they let me into their group just by allowing me to go to breakfast with them.
"So, tell me what happened between you two?" Matt asked, sounding prepared for a good story. Garret gave me an apologetic look for telling him that Rick and I were in a fight, but I didn't care. I didn't care if the world knew.
"I got home, he was mean, and I reamed him out," I answered simply. Even Garret's eyes widened a little at that. Funny how no one expected I could be assertive. Well, no one was as surprised as me.
"Like, yelling, stomping, kicking?" Matt asked, looked even more impressed and amused.
I shook my head. "Just yelling."
Matt looked a little deflated, but said, "Oh well. Still, I'd pay to see you pissed off." He smiled. "It must've been great. I hope that pretty boy got what was comin' to 'em."
I didn't reply, just tapped my foot to the low music and looked around. Garret had cleaned up, thrown away the empty cigarette boxes. On the visors, he stuck our row of pictures in the rubberband holding the CDs up there. I smiled a little at Garret and he grinned back. I faintly heard Matt still talking in the background, strangely in a peppy mood, but I only focused on the road and the novelty of my smile.
Garret parked at a coffee joint. A bunch of kids from school were hanging out there this morning since it's close to the school. They didn't pay Matt, Garret, or me a second glance. I was grateful that I didn't get any attention for actually hanging out with other human beings.
Garret got me the same thing that he did the day before, which thrilled me. I offered to pay, but he insisted which made me even more happier. He was a gentleman at least. Oh, and then he made Matt pay for his own, which made me chuckle since Matt used the excuse, "But you paid for her!" Garret thumped him on the back of the head.
We claimed a cozy corner booth with a round table to eat at. There, I ate my doughnut and rank my coffee in perfect peace...
Until Mr. Matthews walked through the door. I groaned and tipped my forehead down onto the table to hide my face. I am not here, I am not here, I am not here...
"Oh, Rae! I didn't know you were here!" Mr. Matthews said brightly. I heard the chair across from me slide on the tile and glanced up to find Milo Matthews taking a seat with us. Garret didn't look particularly bothered by it, but Matt didn't look completely pleased. "Good morning, Garret, Matt. How is everyone?"
Garret nodded, Matt shrugged, I glowered. I didn't have a problem with openly showing my distaste for Mr. Matthews inviting himself to sit with me at meals. It just bothered me. He did it at lunch and now at breakfast. Next thing I know, he'll be ringing my home's doorbell around dinnertime. I internally knocked on wood.
"I hope you studied for your exam that I'm giving today, Rae."
My head shot up, heart-quickening. What exam? Test? What was it on and when did he announce it?
Mr. Matthews began to laugh and I did not think hyperventilating was very funny until he said, "I'm just pulling your chain, Rae. There's no test."
I felt my cheeks heat up and my glare darken. How dare he joke about academics with me! I felt like beating his face in until he stood and walked away. Then all I could do was shoot daggers at his back, hoping he felt it. I grumbled to myself, staring into my black coffee.
"I don't like that guy," I heard Matt mumbled and I grinned and nodded in agreement. Fianlly! Someone who shared the same point of view as me.
"He's not so bad," Garret said, slanting a look at Matt that I couldn't read. "You have to get used to him."
I felt my eyebrows furrow together. "You sound like you know him."
Garret just shrugged and sipped his coffee. I couldn't quite understand the meaning behind his words or why he thought I should get used to Mr. Matthews. If I had to choose one person in the world who would dislike the poetry teacher as much as me, it'd be Garret. After all, their personalities were polar opposites, entirely different. But Garret knew something. I knew it. My stomach was burning with the feeling.
The rest of breakfast was quiet for the most part until Matt started to light a napkin on fire and was asked to leave. He almost started a fight with the manager, a physical one, but Garret pulled him back by the back of his shirt like a mother cat holding her kitten by the scruff. I stood quietly in the shadows and then stepped forward while Matt was still shouting (something about his God-given right to burn stuff?) and tapped on my watch to remind him we had school. He was going to keep fighting until I put a hand on his shoulder and gently but firmly led him out.
I'd never had so much excitement during a single meal. Or in a single morning. It was strangely exhilarating and when we got to the car, chuckling, I almost considered it...fun.

"Uh...Hello?" I hesitantly said. I was tempted to turn and run. Why did I even bother speaking up? Why did I come up here again? I thought maybe he hadn't heard my voice, giving me a chance to escape so I began to turn stealthily on my heels, but...
"Rae? Oh, hey, come on in," Mr. Matthews said, waving me into his classroom where he ate lunch and wrote in his grade book. I have no idea why I decided to check in Mr. Matthews' classroom to see if he was there, but my gut was leading me and it sounded like a good idea at the time. No idea why, but it did. I must've been going crazy.
I very slowly stepped into the room, my brain screaming "ABORT MISSION, ABORT!" but my body kept going with the plan as if it was disconnected from my conscience. I didn't even realize that I had arrived at the front of Mr. Matthews' desk.
"Was there something you wanted to discuss?" Mr. Matthews asked, sliding off his glasses. He needed reading glasses, but they didn't look like a heavy prescription since they didn't make his eyes look like an anime character's.
"Um..." I shifted uneasily. "It's just, normally on Monday's you sit with me, so I just...wondered...where you...were." I had to force the last part out through my teeth. Mostly because I could see the triumphant satisfaction that lit up in his eyes. I stared at my feet instead.
"I thought you didn't like eating lunch with me?"
Oh, didn't I see that one coming. "I never said that."
"It was more than implied."
Alright, I opened myself up for that one. I just kept my mouth shut.
"No matter," he said, brushing it off. "I had papers I didn't grade over the weekend, so I have to catch up during my lunch hour. Feel free to take a seat."
I took the swivel seat that Mrs. Mariotta would use when she read in front of the class and pulled it up to his desk. I sat across from him, feeling very awkward as I watched him put his glasses back on and read over every paper. Up until now I just thought of him as a substitute, but watching him look over our work and scribble in the grade book, I knew for sure he was a teacher and that Mrs. Mariotta wasn't coming back. I didn't want to eat, my stomach was queasy, but I ripped apart my PB&J into chunks and ate slowly. It was quiet.
"So, how's that sharp intuition of yours?" Mr. Matthews asked, looking up from his specs. "Picking up anything new off of me?"
"If you mean your new cologne, it's more than obvious. Anyone that pays any small attention to detail could tell," I said. "I liked Stetson better. Not that I care," I added quickly.
"Sure you don't." He gave me the gentle smile, the one that made him look more his age. It didn't carry any hint of sarcasm. "Anyway, I never did get to read you, you know."
"Have fun trying," I said, looking forward to shooting down whatever attempts he made at cracking me. My psych couldn't do it after years, he wouldn't be able to in minutes.
Mr. Matthews stared at me, surveying me up and down slowly and carefully. It was like his eyes were stroking over every inch of my body that he could see. I had no idea why, by my cheeks filled with blood and I fidgeted.
"You're very conservative. You shut everyone out like clouds over the sun. You don't show anyone your true potential," he finally said.
I didn't deny it. "So, what? You're comparing me to the sky?"
"Not the sky." He shook his head, still watching me. "The sun. It's pure energy, pure radiance. It's light, it's warmth. Nothing would be beautiful without the sun." He paused. " Thy beams, so reverend and strong/ Why shouldst thou think?/ I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,/ But that I would not lose her sight so long..." He spoke the four lines so smoothly, they sounded like a song. I recognized the lines as a part of The Rising Sun by John Donne, but at first it didn't seem as such. It made me wonder, "Did I truly read it correctly?" but I knew they were the same words, didn't I? No, his words just infused them with even more beauty. "You've been eclipsed for a while now, haven't you?" he guessed, his voice still gentle and musical as if he were still reciting the poem.
It was as if he was a snake charmer, coaxing me to nod. And I did. It was against my will, but I did.
"Listen, Radiance, you don't have to be armored around me," he said softly, nearly a whisper. "You don't have to hide. You can just be you. Just Radiance."
And, for some reason, I started to cry. Just wet tears that rolled down my cheeks. I put my face down onto the table and I felt his large, smooth hand cover mine and I sniffled some more. Why did he care so much? Why did he want to see the real me? I wasn't even sure of whom that was anymore. I'd lost my identity and he was giving me the chance to unleash it again, but I can't find it. I was empty. I felt so lonely.
Mr. Matthew's hand now cupped my chin and tilted it up so my eyes would meet his. He gave me the most benign smile anyone ever has. "I'll cheer you up. Watch this."
I looked up as he reached into the pocket up his long back coat that hung on the back of his chair. He pulled out a deck of playing cards. He began to shuffle them better than any blackjack dealer. The shuffling sound reminded me of rough wings, like a bat's, flapping extremely fast. Then he spread them out in a row before me.
"Pick one," he said with a grin.
I gave him a suspicious look. If he thought I was some five-year-old, amused my parlor tricks, I wasn't stupid. There are plenty of logical reasons why if I chose a card and put it back in the deck that he'd find the same one every time. But I obeyed, taking a card. It was the eight of spades.
"Now," he said, turning around. "Put it anywhere back in the deck without me seeing." His back was to me, so I could tell he didn't see. I even looked to see if there was a mirror. There wasn't. I slipped the card in and I told him. He turned back around and began to shuffle the desk in the same confusing patterns as before.
Then something very strange happened.
He set the cards standing up vertically, and the stayed. This was just unusual since no cars tipped or fell over. They just stood there.
Then something even weirder happened.
Rising from the middle of the deck, all on its own, without Mr. Matthews touching it or me, was a card. It rose all the way into the air, hovering above the deck. Abruptly, it fell and landed in front of me. Cautiously, I turned it over and on it were eight spades. I gasped and looked up at Mr. Matthews with wide eyes. He was smiling.
"H-how'd you do that?" I sputtered, looking at the desk from all angles for wires or pockets in the desk. His hands rests in front of him, a distance from the cards which were closer to me, so he couldn't be manipulating them from there.
"A magician never reveals his tricks," Mr. Matthews said, using that old cliche'd phrase that drove me crazy. I was always that kid in the audience that didn't just accept it as magic -- I needed a deeper answer.
"But that was physically impossible! It goes against gravity, against Newton's laws, against physics!" I exclaimed, completely aghast. There was just no way! I took the cards and shuffled through them, looking at each one. It was a standard 52 deck of cards. Nothing strange about them.
"Sometimes, science isn't always the answer," was Mr. Matthews answer. That was all. "Was it at least cool?"
I nodded, unsure. "Yes, I suppose."
He laughed. "'Yes, I suppose'? That's an answer that would come from a Jane Austen novel, not a high school girl."
"It's proper English," I explained. "What did you expect? 'Yeah, 'guess so'? That's not my style." I smiled. "Thank you, though. For cheering me up."
"Your welcome."
The rest of lunch, we just talked. He finished his papers and I finished my lunch. At the end, I was almost sad to go.
Almost.
The card trick bugged me for the rest of the day.

I'm in a vacuum space. I can't hear. I can't see. I've forgotten what smell or taste is like. My entire body is numb, but it continues to float. I float in the pure, white, endless space I'm in. It's like outer space where everything is infinite, but you can't explore it. There's no oxygen, so I'm not breathing. I have no brain, so my heart isn't pumping. I'm just hanging there, aware of everything, but aware of nothing. I can see everything, yet there's nothing I can see. Everything is definite, but everything is uncertain.
I'm going to lose my mind. I know it. Floating here, where I know nothing and have no memories. I have no name. I don't exist.
The worst of it is I know I'm alive. All I can do is pray for death, pray for an end to this void.
I'm stuck in white. Everything is white. There's no black or grey or red or purple. I never liked the color pink, but about now, I'd kill for the color pink. And yellow. God, I wish there was yellow. I wish there was sun.
This is where I am, a place without sun. Nothing is beautiful and though everything is white, there's no light. Without the sun, I'm suffocating and cold. This isn't how I normally wait for the sun. We all do, we fall asleep, we rise when it returns. But right now, the sun isn't coming back and I'm freezing from the inside out.
And that's how I die.

I didn't wake up all tangled and rumpled. I wasn't a mess. I was straight as a board, as if I was lying in a coffin. My arms were directly at my sides, like I was in that floating space. It was the tamest dream I'd ever had, but in the same stroke it was most frightening. There was no clarity in it, nothing to assure me. I had no one else, I didn't even have myself. It was the loneliest dream I'd ever dreamt. And it was scary, so scary.
I curled up in my bed, feeling my arms and legs to make sure they were still there. I went over the square roots from one to twenty in my head. I hummed a song to myself. I did everything I could to be positive that I was alive and at home, in bed, with my parents in one room and my brother in another. I even recited my alphabet.
I was alive, at least for now.
And Rick didn't come to my room as I sipped my Monster. Maybe he hadn't woken because it was a dream I could cope with or maybe he'd woken but decided he wasn't going to sooth me. Not that he ever did any real soothing. He'd come in, ask me what happened, take an energy drink then leave. Oh well, I didn't need him anyway. I just needed the Monster and me.
I didn't fall asleep after that, whether it be because of the caffeine or the thoughts weighing on my mind.

Mr. Matthews had shown me a lot of magic tricks. He'd shown me everything from making a handkerchief never end as he pulled it from my sweatshirt sleeve to having a coin float and land on its head side every time. I always checked to make sure the trick was foolproof, that there were no wires or pockets or anything that could hoodwink me. He always seemed to manage the impossible.
"Please tell me," I begged one day at lunch, about a week after my sunless dream. It was reoccurring every night. "I won't tell anyone else, I swear. I just need to know."
"Why are you so eager to know?" Mr. Matthews asked, leaning back in his chair. "Why are you so ready to ruin the magic of it all?"
I pursed my lips and thought. "I just need to know. There needs to be logic in my life. After all, if there's no specific validity then there's nothing to truly believe in, nothing to be sure of."
He just smiled. "Why are you so hooked on logic?"
"Why are you so hooked on secrecy?" I challenged.
We just stared at one another for a while. Eventually, he said, "Alright, so here's the deal. If you let me look at your Nightmare Journal, I'll tell you how I do my tricks."
I'd, very reluctantly, told him about my nightmares a few days before. I'd let myself slip about going to a psych and when he pressed why, I had no choice other than to tell him. He took it well, but wanted to see my journal. No ever saw my journal except me. Now, he kept bugging me about it.
But this was a tempting trade. I really wanted to know about his illusions, so bad that I considered showing him my journal.. It seemed like a fair trade. Though, I wasn't sure if, in the end, it would be totally worth it. I was just so insecure about anyone seeing my Nightmare Journal. It was a diary for pouring out secrets, only mine was a book pouring out my horrifying dreams. I bit my lip.
"How about this?" Mr. Matthews said, seeing my hesitance. "This Saturday I'm doing a show for the spring fair. If you want to know how I do the tricks, bring the book there and meet me after watching." He eyes glittered. "It's one hell of a show, let me tell you. And I can show you around the fair to meet some of my friends."
"Friends?" I said uncertainly. I wasn't sure what Mr. Matthews' friends would be like.
"Yes, I have them too," he chuckled.
I considered it carefully. Mr. Matthews outside of school...how weird...I wasn't sure I should, but I was strangely compelled to condescend.
"Alright, I'll be there," I confirmed and the glint in his smile made me regret it immediately.

Garret came over for dinner in Wednesday night. It wasn't planned, it was all spur of the moment. He'd driven over to see if I wanted to go out to the diner since his folks (he didn't mention them often) were at some kind of meeting. He'd just rung the doorbell and my mother answered it when I was about five feet from grabbing the doorknob. I didn't want Mom to tamper with my growing friendship.
"Hello, you must be Garret!" Mom said immediately. I made gestures behind her to Garret, trying to get across the message that he in no way has to associate with her. Mom could be a little psychotic at times. She was just an overly perky person who was extreme shifts in emotion, but not in a bipolar way. It's just that when she's happy she's, overjoyed and when she's sad, she'd despondent. "I'm Linda, Rae's mom."
"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Holmes," he said with the utmost politeness. "Is Rae available tonight? I was wondering if I could take her out for dinner."
I was ready to launch myself for my coat, but Mom said, "Hey, why don't you eat with us?"
I thought a bomb in my intestines would be more agreeable than Garret eating dinner with my moody mother, my quiet father, and aggravating brother. But, unfortunately, the flawlessly nice Garret accepted the invitation and entered my home for the first time. My mom took his sweatshirt and hung it in the closet like she did only with relatives and elite guests. Garret, being my only and first friend, came under the elite guests group.
"You really don't have to stay," I told him quietly as Mom headed ahead of us to the kitchen so she could finish dinner faster. Garret and I hung back by the living room. It was painted a warm brown the color of milky cocoa and had a deep green sofa and red loveseats. There was also the recliner and ottoman for the couch. The floor was cool, white tile rather than rugs. He was looking over the place wordlessly.
Then, he said, "But I want to."
I raised an eyebrow. "Really? Why?"
He shrugged, but I sensed his ulterior motives. Garret had something up his sleeve. I eyed him suspiciously, but he looked just as innocent as always. Scrutinizing him I noticed, for the first time, that he had very dark green eyes. They were beautiful and stared down at me intently. Jeez, he was so tall, I felt like a munchkin from Oz next to him. His long dark hair was actually a brown so dark that anyone a first glance would think it was black, but if you put it up against my crow hair, you could see the difference. A silver chain hung around his neck, but the end was tucked beneath his shirt.
"You have really blue eyes," he said out of nowhere and I felt my eyes pop open. Was he looking at me as closely as I was looking at him? It made me suddenly self-conscious. I was used to being very observant, taking in every aspect of a person or thing when I glanced, but I wasn't used to being on the other end. I didn't like it when Mr. Matthews tried to read me and it made me even more chagrinned to find Garret doing the same.
"Um...yeah," I said, casting my "really blue eyes" downward, at my bare feet.
He suddenly sounded uncomfortable too as he replied, "They're nice."
"Thank you."
"Hate to break up the party, but dinner's ready."
Garret and I both spun to the source of the voice and found Rick leaning against the entryway, looking not pleased in the least. Well, too bad. He'd have to live with it. His eyes glittered dangerously and I felt kind of let down. Even the thing that Garret said was nice wasn't even special to me, I had to share with Rick my eye color. I hid my disappointment and nodded at Rick. "We're coming," I murmured and Rick did a once over of Garret before unhitching from the wall and leaving for the kitchen.
"He's such a jerk," I muttered and Garret nodded in agreement before following me into the dining area.
Mom had made lasagna and I was nervous that maybe Garret didn't like lasagna or was lactose intolerant or something bizarre like that. Thank God he wasn't. I was just overly nervous about my family eating with my friend. I was afraid that Garret would think my family members were freaks and then not want to come over anymore. I was even more afraid that my family would disapprove of Garret, though there was nothing to really disapprove of. As long as it didn't accidentally slip that he smokes or they see his tongue ring, all was good.
Garret sat beside me, Rick was at his usual place across from me and Mom and Dad were at both ends of the table. They seemed happy to have a friend of mine over, but Dad kept looking at him from head to toe. I got my observation habits from my dad who is a detective for the police as a living. They all call him Sherlock down at the station for good reason: he never misses a clue and can read anyone.
I really hoped he was only reading good things off of Garret.
"So, Garret, how do you like school?" Mom asked.
Garret nodded. "It's good. I'm finished with my credits."
"Oh, so you're already planning for college?"
"Yes, I'm a senior."
Apparently this was a surprise to my mother because her eyes widened a little. But she wasn't too bothered, because she went on to ask, "What kind of extra-curriculars are you in?"
"I'm a guitarist in the Music Club." Garret kept every answer short and sweet, but I could tell he wasn't used to the questioning.
"So you play the guitar?" Mom asked. "That's so cool! You know, Rae plays the piano."
I shook my head. "Not really. I'm not very good," I said quietly, eyes on my plate.
"Oh, don't be modest! You won the young pianist competition when you were twelve! You see, I'd forced her into it because she has those long, beautiful hands and she had too much spare time and she picked up very quickly! The teacher said she was the closest thing to a prodigy she'd ever seen. It was almost like she'd played her whole life."
My family didn't praise me much, but when they did it made me itchy all over like I'd broken out in a rash that covered me from head to toe. When I'd excelled at the piano, it was the one thing Mom could be proud of me for and I didn't even like it. I still tampered with playing even though I didn't take lessons, but it wasn't like I could forget.
"That's amazing," Garret whispered and I shrugged. "Can I hear you play sometime?" he asked and I shook my head slightly, but quickly.
"So, Garret, how's your friend Matt?" Rick asked, the sound of anger lying under his casual tone. This could not end well.
"He's fine," Garret answered, taking a sip of water.
"Did he come back from suspension yet?" Rick asked and I could see exactly where this was going. Everyone knew that Matt had been back from suspension for weeks now and he was just bringing it up to sabotage dinner.
"Suspension? One of your friends, Garret?" Mom asked, appalled.
Garret nodded, looking like he was just as disappointed. "Matt had a rough patch for a while. He has a tough family life, so he snapped. But it won't be happening again." Nice save, Garret. Good job.
Rick looked unhappy about Garret's smooth dodge on the subject of his friendship with a delinquent. I knew that wouldn't have sat well with my parents since, in a sense, Matt was becoming my friend too. When Rick brought up his name, I had a surge of defensiveness. Funny.
The rest of dinner was polite conversation. I learned some things about Garret that I didn't know: His parents were both lawyers, he was at the top of his class, his favorite director was Tim Burton, he loved to paint...He got along with everyone fairly well. More than me, even, and I'm their daughter! My fears were put to rest as Garret got into his car safely and my mom patted me on the shoulder and said he was a good boy with a genuine, non-psycho smile.
I smiled too and went to bed, fully prepared for whatever my conscience would serve me.

I was walking down a long, dark hall. Every step I took squealed like a hog with the shaky floorboards. It was as if I was walking on a floor with no foundation and it was threatening to break under me. I knew that if I didn't control my weight, I'd fall through and go God knows where. I tried to think "feather, feather, feather..."
On the walls beside me were gruesome paintings of dying people. In one, a hand was gripping a woman's long blonde, blood-stained hair and a knife was running across her throat, red spilling out. In another painting, a man's legs were cut off and he was dragging himself by his hands while bombs and fire blazed in the background. All the paintings were painted with deep crimsons and dark colors, all in the same macabre style. I didn't want to look at the pictures, but an invisible force directed my face to see them at all times.
A picture showed someone on fire from head to toe, skin baking and pealed raw. I wanted to vomit. Another was a painting of a young woman, chained to a wall, shredded clothes half hanging off of her with gashes all over her pale, thin skin. I wanted to cry, just like that girl.
Finally, I hit the very end of the hall where a black top hat was sitting, brim-up, without a table beneath it. It floated. I stood before it, heart thrumming as I saw another floating object beside it. It looked like a playing card, but when I flipped it over it didn't hold spades or hearts or diamonds or clubs. It showed a photo of a skeleton with the shadow of a Reaper behind it. Touching it burned my hand.
I reached into the black top hat and a bunny poked out the top. I looked under the hat once more to check for secret compartments just before the bunny jumped onto my face and began clawing wildly with scarlet eyes and fangs fit for a vampire. The tiny, dagger-sharp claws dug into my cheeks and I flailed to get it off. But the rabbit stayed latched on. I could feel the coolness of my own blood coating my face.
I tripped over my own feet and fell down into the boards, crashing through easily and falling into a grave. As the bunny scratched my face down to skull, cold, wet dirt was tossed onto me in shovel-fulls and I was buried alive with a bunny scratching off my face. I was drowning in damp earth and cold blood.

I thought about that dream all of Friday and Saturday morning. There was no rhyme or season to it so I couldn't find the significance. I researched the symbol on the card, but all I got was a bunch of websites on tarot and the card Death. I wasn't interested in that so much, more of the paintings. I kept looking up the names of the paintings that I had seen etched below the frame in my dream, but nothing ever came up. It was like my conscience was the artist and hell was its muse.
I had no idea what the rabbit thing was about.
I woke up Saturday morning after seeing the dream a few times already, but each time more paintings were added like the one of person in an electric chair. Each time, my heart would beat faster. Each time, it would be even more horrifying. I climbed out of bed, shaking off the terror and headed out the door and down the steps after scribbling an addition to my Nightmare Journal.
Then I froze. I remembered the date. Today, I was going to go to the spring fair and watch Mr. Matthews do a magic show and show him my Nightmare Journal in exchange for the tricks to his magic. I just needed to know and now I was willing to show him my secret book just to find out. I still wasn't sure if I was so desperate for knowledge that I'd give it up, but it was mystery to be unraveled out of many. At least this was progress.
I slipped into a pair of straight-leg jeans and a green sweater that hung low and had a stretched out neckline so it hung half-off one shoulder but I didn't care. The sleeves covered my hands and got in my way as I pulled on my sneakers.

Hopping down the steps, I met with Mom, Dad, and Rick in the kitchen. I took a handful of Cheerios and held them in my cheeks, then poured milk in too, thus saving an unneeded bowl. Mom gave me a disapproving look, but I'd done it since I was little so there was no breaking the habit now.
"What're you doing today?" Dad asked, pouring some cream into his coffee.
"Going to the fair," I mumbled, wiping my mouth with a napkin.
"With Garret?" Mom asked.
I paused and then shook my head. I didn't want Garret to think I'd let Mr. Matthews see my Nightmare Journal but not him.
"I've been meaning to talk to you about Garret, actually," Mom said, leaning against the counter and I froze. Oh no, this was not going to be good. Mom is wearing her serious face. "He seems like a perfectly nice boy, but seeing as you've never had a boyfriend before--"
"Hold on," I said, holding up a hand. "Boyfriend? Garret's not my boyfriend. He's just my friend."
"Are you sure? I mean, you've been spending a lot of time with him and it just looked to me like--"
I was shaking my head before she finished. "No. Garret's my friend."
Mom still looked unsure but said, "Okay, if you say so." She went back to her coffee and I made my way for the door. "When are you coming home?" she called to me.
"Don't know, but I'll be back before dinner," I shouted back and was out the door, on my bicycle and rolling towards downtown. I had my NJ (Nightmare Journal) in my backpack and for some reason, I felt like I had to hurry. I had no idea when Mr. Matthews went on and I didn't care if I missed his performance or not, but my gut said "hurry."
The fair was just starting in the big grass field in the downtown area. It’s where we held the autumn harvest festival and the Christmas tree lighting. It was a lot like our town square, only it was a big, open circle. Now it was set up with carts and games like a carnival and had attractions fit for a circus. I felt unusually cautious to enter after hurrying there, but I ignored my reluctance and looked around for Mr. Matthews. I was expecting him in his long black coat so I looked for a tall, dark figure among the bright, springtime colors.
My attention turned to a small stage that was set up for a band to play later (advertised on the fliers) but now had a man with a table and a chair on it. Even from far away on the opposite side of the field, I could tell that it was Mr. Matthews. I jogged across and melted into the watching group of people. Mr. Matthews was not in his black coat. He was wearing a faded pair of Levi's and a plain white T-shirt that showed off his sculpted arms and shoulders. A lot of the girls were paying less attention to the illusions and more to just Mr. Matthews.
"Now, play close attention," he said with a charming smile. That smile plus the casual clothes made him look so much younger like a laid-back college student and nothing like a teacher. He hadn't taken much care into his black hair and it hung in a shaggy disarray on his head. Where my hair was coal-black, his was blue-black which I could now see with the shiny glint off of it in the sunlight.
I'd never thought Mr. Matthews could look so...normal.
Alright, "normal" wasn't the word. "Attractive" would be more appropriate.
Mr. Matthews held up a handkerchief and shook it out. He made sure everyone saw both sides and he stretched out his arms to make it clear that he was wearing short sleeves. Mr. Matthews folding the hanky, shook it, put his hand in the folds, and pulled out an angelically white dove. He dropped the handkerchief on the stage and held the dove out on his hand. It sat there, fidgeting and turning its head. It flew up above his head, but landed on his shoulder again. A real, alive, breathing dove.
The audience was positively struck with awe. I'd never seen anything so amazing. Everyone burst out into applause, but he held up his finger to hold it. He bent down to pick up the cloth, draped it over the bird and brought down the covered bird between his palms. He clapped them shut and everyone gasped. When he opened his hands again, he shook the cloth out and the dove was gone.
I couldn't believe my eyes. No one else could either. Mr. Matthews smiled broadly. He shut his palm again and when he opened it, the handkerchief was gone. I became more eager than ever to show him my NJ and find out how he did those magic tricks.
That's all they were. Tricks. I knew that in my head, but my heart told me differently. There was something all together supernatural about Mr. Matthews "tricks" because they didn't only deceive the eye, but the brain as well. It went against everything natural, it bent the ordinary into something unrecognizable.
The next thing Mr. Matthews did was pick up a cup off the table. At least, it looked like a cup until he showed us that it was bottomless. It was more of a tube. He picked up the pitcher as well. "Ma'am, hold out your hands," he said to the young woman right in front of the stage, crouching down to her level. She obeyed and he poured some water onto her hands. "It is normal, everyday water, correct?" The girl nodded, then he handed her the cup. "Please show everyone that this cup, in fact, does not have a bottom." The woman stuck her fingers through the hole and nodded. "Thank you." He stood back up and held out the props once more before poured the water into the cup.
The water never went through the open end. He poured the water from high above it so everyone could see the stream enter the tube, but never exit.
He let go of the cup.
It remained floating as he poured the water and everyone gasped again. I even felt my own intake of air. Mr. Matthews retrieved the cup once again and flipped both the pitcher and cup over to show that the water was gone. Everyone clapped, even me. It was incredible, unbelievable.
"Now, for my last trick, I'll finish with an old fashioned one that we're all familiar with." He lifted the top hat from his table and placed it on his head, then shook it out. "Sir, would you mind checking this hat for compartments or pockets?" he asked the man beside the young woman he'd asked earlier. He must've been her father. I recognized him as a police officer around town. The man patted the inside of the hat and even placed it on his own head and he confirmed that it was just an ordinary hat.
Mr. Matthews took the hat back and reached inside, pulling out an albino rabbit with pink eyes.
My breath caught at memory of my dream, but I told myself it was just coincidence. After all, as all the girls were awwwing the rabbit and Mr. Matthews fed it a carrot, it didn't attack or become rabid or rip off a face. He just set it back in the hat, turned the hat upside down to display how empty the hat was once again and everyone went wild for his magic. I just stared. He bowed once more and everyone applauded even louder.
His eyes caught mine and he made a small gesture to approach him right after he said to everyone, "I'll be performing again in three hours, so enjoy the fair for now!" The crowd departed, whispering and talking about the show.
"How do you think he does it?"
"That was unbelievable!"
"There's no way he could've done that..."
"That blew slight-of-hand out of the water."
And there was much more. Everyone loved it and it left everyone questioning reality and intrigued and it had everyone thinking hard about the events. I had been exposed to Mr. Matthews' illusions before, but nothing compared to what he'd just performed. I walked up to him as he walked off of the stage by the side steps with sure look of stupor on my face.
"How did you like it?" he asked.
"That's it. I am completely stumped." I shook my head, awestruck. "That was beyond amazing, it was phenomenal!" I couldn't help but praise him and as his smile got wider, my heart stuttered. He really was very handsome. I grinned back. "It was magical."
Mr. Matthews' eyes cast downward for a moment, looking embarrassed and he looked even more beautiful. He ran his hands through his hair and shifted his weight. "Thanks. I'm glad you liked it. Come on, I'll show you around."
We walked side by side towards the lines of carts and stands. One was selling hot dogs and hamburgers while another was doing an assortment of barbeque. It was a hot day and the water bottle cooler was busy. A floral stand was using the springtime hype to have sales and deals. One table had games for kids to win prizes.
"Come on, I'll introduce you to a friend of mine," Mr. Matthews said brightly, gesturing over to the funnel cake stand.
The woman making the funnel cakes was a beautiful woman with long brown hair pulled into a bun, almond-shaped eyes that glittered chocolate brown and a warm smile. She looked to be in her thirties and was had a very delicate build so the bulging bump between her hips looked off-balance on her, but perfect at the same time. She gave off a motherly aura, so her being pregnant just seemed right. When she saw us approaching, she lit up even more and waved to us.
"Milo! I heard your show was out-of-this-world!" she exclaimed, handing some kid a big plate with a tangled cake and snow sprinkled on top. There were no other people waiting, so we stood across from her and she rested her hands atop her stomach.
"Yeah, I guess," Mr. Matthews (Milo?) said modestly. He shrugged and went on to say, "Cheryl, this is one of my students Rae Holmes. Rae, this is Cheryl Willard."
When he said that, I suddenly remembered that I was one of his students and he was a teacher. I shook her hand, ignoring this epiphany.
Something glittered in her eyes like a shooting star. "Rae! I've heard plenty about you, you're a special one." She gave a wink. "I almost didn't know you were a high schooler. I thought you were one of Milo's girls."
Oh, girls, as in plural...So, Mr. Matthews was a player, was he? I almost could see why.
He replied, "Don't make it sound like I constantly have different girls at my hip."
Cheryl rolled her eyes. "Okay, whatever, as if you don't." She playfully shoved his shoulder and smiled at me. "So, Rae, I've heard that you're somewhat of a genius."
I blushed and shrugged. I didn't realize that Mr. Matthews talked to me outside of school. That made me feel...really special, almost important. "I get straight A's," I admitted.
"I also hear you've got a knack for reading a person."
I nodded.
"If you wouldn't mind, could you read me? I'd love to hear what you come up with." She gave me the kindest, most inviting smile I'd ever seen.
I looked at her up-and-down. She was very normal with a plain long-sleeved light pink shirt made of stretch cotton so it fit her baby bulge. She had on a pair of normal blue jeans and practical walking shoes. Her nails were caked with funnel cake dough and her ears were pierced. Her chestnut hair was pulled up into a very mom-ish ponytail.
"You're about six months along, right?"
She nodded. "Five-and-a-half to be precise, but I'm a little big according to the doctor."
"And...you're half-Korean, right?"
Her eyes widened some. "Most people would assume Chinese, but yes, Korean."
"Those are obvious, though." I looked at the simple, but no-doubt expensive ring on her left hand. "But, this is your first kid and it’s a boy. You're husband is a lawyer or doctor, I bet."
Her eyes got bigger. "You're right. It is going to be a boy and my husband is a surgeon. How could you tell?"
"Your ring tells everything about your husband's occupation. And, you told me that you were slightly big for the month. It's obvious that it's all carried in the front and that usually identifies a boy." I nodded. "That's everything I can tell right now."
"You are very gifted, indeed," Cheryl said with that same smile. She turned to Mr. Matthews. "I thought you were exaggerating. At dinner, you made her sound like a psychic and you were totally right!"
"How do you know Mr. Matthews?" I asked, overly curious. If they had dinner, they had to be close.
Cheryl laughed. "Why, I'm his aunt! I'm married to his mother's younger brother."
Oh. That made sense. I felt like I should've figured that out.
Cheryl ruffled his hair. "He's my little magician of a nephew."
"Don't do that," he said, only half-teasing. "I'm not all that younger than you, you know." With him sticking his tongue out at Cheryl and patting down his hair, I could definitely picture them as family and him as the sarcastic, funny young nephew. It made my stomach flutter for some reason.
"Yeah, yeah, you keep telling yourself that," Cheryl said. "You should go visit your uncle. He's at the hospital fundraiser. They're doing a raffle for a gift basket."
Mr. Matthews nodded and we once again meandering through the fair-goers who were all smiling, having a good time and enjoying the spring. I felt the same way. I could feel the corners of my lips tilted up and the sun on my hair. It was a little late to tell myself I should've worn a tee rather than a sweater, but I would live. It wasn't a really heavy sweater anyway.
I kept finding myself observing Mr. Matthews. He was tall and handsome and perfectly college-boy chic. I could imagine him walking the campus, sitting in a lecture, entering a fraternity...Instead, he was teaching poetry at my high school, becoming the most infuriatingly positive teacher I'd ever had.
Now I couldn't even imagine him as the Shadow in my nightmare. Now I was not afraid at all like that first time he'd walked through Mrs. Mariotta's door. What I thought to be fear when I first met Mr. Matthews seemed to be something entirely different. Seeing him made me want to stand up and argue, stare at my feet, flush red, and run away all at once. In books and movies that feeling was always...
I severed that thought before it could burrow and fester itself into my mind. Mr. Matthews was my teacher and I his student and that is all.
To be attracted to him in the first place was morally wrong. A part of my brain was whispering He's only twenty-three...that's not old at all... and a different part was trying to overpower the other by screaming Are you crazy?! He's your teacher! A grown adult! He's probably a million times more experienced than you are and familiar with worlds you can't even think of!
I knew that both sides were right. I wasn't, in any way, going to pursue the whispering, evil side of my conscience.
Mr. Matthews led me up to the hospital fundraising booth. One man behind it, yelling out for people to buy raffle tickets, was an old, bald guy, with round glasses like Harry Potter. He wore his lab coat, but the younger guy beside him wore a plain tee and jeans, much like everyone else. He had short blonde hair and stubble along his jaw line. He had a strong jaw and a serious demeanor. He stood like a prison guard or celebrity security guard: Hands clasped behind his back, feet about shoulder-width apart, staring forward.
"Heya, Tom," Mr. Matthews said brightly.
The blonde man raised an eyebrow and Mr. Matthews quickly corrected himself, "Uncle Tom, I mean."
"Good morning, Milo. How are you doing?" Tom Willard said formally. He was wound tight, always aware. He might've been in the service for a while. "And who is this fine young lady?" So proper.
"This is Rae," Mr. Matthews said. "I told you about her."
I felt suddenly like I was under the beam of an interrogation lamp. Tom scoped me, up and down like I was a scientific subject in need of studying. I should've expected it from a doctor, but his gaze was penetrating and it made me very, very anxious.
"It is very nice to meet you, Rae," Tom said, then went back to staring forward. Mr. Matthews gestured for me to follow him away. Though he didn't seem perturbed, I was. When were far enough away for Tom not to hear, I found it safe to speak.
"What was wrong with him?" I asked, looking up at Mr. Matthews.
"Oh, that's how he always is. Don't feel weird because of it, that's just how Uncle Tom has always been," he explained, shrugging. "Anyway, he thinks my interest in your talents is unhealthy."
My eyebrows furrowed together. "Unhealthy how?"
"Uncle Tom looks too far into things. He thinks that if I spend too much time with you, I might develop a...crush, I guess you could call it. He'd always been against my teaching high school since the students aren't too much younger than me and he thinks I might get involved, get fired, and put in jail. Like I said, he exaggerates and now that he's seen you, a girl with potential to be jailbait, he's probably falsely affirming his own predictions." He sighed.
My stomach grew warm from the middle outward. To be "potential jailbate" was strangely flattering in a way and to be thought of as such by Mr. Matthews and even more so. He'd even implied that I was attractive in a sense and I had no clue on what to do with that.
"I promise not to seduce you," I teased and I couldn't believe it'd actually come from my mouth. Mr. Matthews began to bust out laughing and so did I. Though it was completely out of character for me, it was hilarious to think.
"Good one," Mr. Matthews said and his laughter descended as he caught sight of another booth. He muttered, mostly to himself, "No way, that can't be him," and began to quicken his pace. I followed behind and Mr. Matthews went ahead of the line before the Kissing Booth.
Sitting at the booth, taking the guy's shift, was Shawn Matthews, one of my brother's friends. I faintly remember wondering if there was any relation between him and Mr. Matthews and now, up close, I could tell there was. Though Shawn had blonde hair, they both had the same handsome face structure, nose, and grey eyes. Apart, they could've passed off as male models. Next to each other, they could've been mistaken for angels.
"I thought you were joking when you said you were going to take this job," Mr. Matthews said.
Shawn grinned. "I was. But once I thought about it, I figured it was a good idea. After all, all profits go toward the abused and abandoned animals." He winked at the next girl in line who'd been growing impatient. She was short, chubby, and had braces across her teeth. When he winked, she blushed and smiled broadly, showing off her pink-and-yellow train tracks. Shawn then saw me. "Hey, Rae. What's happening?"
I shrugged. "Nothing much."
"I guess so. You'd have to be so bored that you're close to death to willingly hang out with my brother."

Brothers! I knew it! A-hah, perfect!
Even if he's my brother's friend, Shawn is nothing like Rick. Shawn isn't really talkative, just around selective people. I didn't even see him talk much to my brother. And Shawn was nice to everyone, flirtatious with girls, but never a bully to anyone. He helped kids who tripped in the halls and was apart of the student council. And he knew my name, which was more than I can say for half of my teachers.
Mr. Matthews rolled his eyes. "I'm not all that bad."
"Dude, you like poetry. That's bad," Shawn replied and I couldn't help but chuckle.
"Whatever. But I need to talk to you for a minute."
"I'm kind of busy," Shawn said, taking a ticket from the chubby, brace-face girl as she settled into the stool across from him. She was fidgety with excitement to kiss the hottest guy in school.
Mr. Matthews sighed. "Alright. I'll tell you later when I come over. Unless, of course, you're in the hospital with Mono."
Shawn gave me and Mr. Matthews another grin before we departed again.
Mr. Matthews and I settled into the picnic tables after Cheryl gave us a funnel cake on the house and I bought a Cherry Dr. Pepper. I was having a good time, meeting new people (except Tom Willard, he scared me) and seeing all the different attractions. A clown had given me a big balloon flower in passing, so that was on the table next to my backpack which had been perched on my back all morning. It was nearing afternoon already.
"Thanks for coming," Mr. Matthews said, ripping a piece of cake off the big squiggly dessert. Powdered sugar coated the tips of my fingers. "I wasn't so sure you were going to show, but I'm glad you did."
I nodded. "I am too. That magic show was terrific, everything is so bright and fun, and I'm out of the house which is miraculous enough."
Mr. Matthews smiled. "I bet. So did you bring the book?"
I hesitated slightly, but nodded. "It's in my bag. But you have to swear that you'll tell me the secrets to your magic tricks if I show you." I held out my hand. "Shake on it."
He agreed automatically and gave my hand a hard shake. My hand tingled when it touched his hand, as if I felt his energy. I let go and unzipped my pack, reaching in and pulling out my Nightmare Journal. It used to be a plain hardcover notebook but I'd doodled on the cover sketches of eyes and thorny roses and just flourishes. In the center, in big sharpie letters it read RAE'S PROPERTY. DO NOT TOUCH OR ELSE YOU WILL PERISH. The binding was bent and worn from being opened so much over the course of three years. I flipped through the bent and tattooed ages, the time dating back to all the way when I was thirteen. Recently, I'd started gluing more paper into the back for space. Soon, I knew I had to get a new one.
I held out my journal carefully. It was fragile and personal and everything I didn't want anyone to see. But this was about more than just figuring out a few illusions; this was about growing and about trusting...My gut told me that I had to do this. That if I showed my book to Mr. Matthews then everything might change. Whether it is for the good or bad, I didn't know, but I needed change.
Mr. Matthews opened it up and read the very first page which I'd done as a diary entry, not really mentioning a specific dream. I'd wrote it to establish what the journal would be about and I could hear the familiar words in my head:
Nightmare Journal,
I don't know really how to begin. I've never really wanted to remind myself of all the stuff I see at night, but lately weird things have been happening. Different pieces of my dreams have been matching up in real life. Mom says its deja vu, but I disagree. Something really strange is happening.
The psych I'm seeing says that maybe I'm not even dreaming the scary things and I'm just coming up with them, making me even more disturbed than what everyone thought. I think he's full of s*** (this is my journal, I'm allowed to use whatever words I want). I know that I'm dreaming these things and this is my proof. I'm going to write down every dream I have right after I have it so at least I know that it's real and that I'm not crazy.
Garret knows I'm not crazy. He isn't crazy either, despite where we've been landed. He called our psych Dr. C***. His humor is what keeps me going back to Dr. Cockney's office and though Garret might be my only friend, I don't think I'm going to tell him about my journal. It might freak him out that I'm willingly recording the horror I go through. After all, he has no idea why I'm going to the psych, only that people that go are usually stereotyped as crazy but really just misunderstood.
After I'm long dead and gone, I want people to find this (perhaps my idiot brother Rick) and say "Hey, maybe she wasn't so crazy after all," because I know that when the time comes, I'll be predicting my own death in my sleep.
Radiance Geraldine Holmes
Mr. Matthews flipped through the pages, reading an entry here or there. I felt like I was on stage in my underwear. Those were my secrets, blatantly displayed before Mr. Matthews' eyes...My palms got sticky as I clasped them together, lacing my fingers in out and out of each other. It felt like he took three forevers.
"This is..." Mr. Matthews took a deep breath. "Heavy stuff. Pretty intense. I can see why you didn't want to show me."
I nodded, pretending to be focused on my nails.
"Okay, I'll tell you about all the tricks you want."
I looked up, excited.
"After the fair," he finished and I gasped.
"That's unfair!" I proclaimed, but he held up a finger.
"I swore that I'd show you. I didn't specify when."
That was so a rule-breaker. I glared as hard as I could. My nails dug into the palm of my hand as I curled my fists tight.
"Oh, don't be so worked up," Mr. Matthews said, patting one of my hands. "I promise. I'll show you after everyone is gone so no one else can see my secrets."
I guess I could understand that, but I still felt left down. After all, I let him see my Journal right away without conditions and now I had to wait. I tried to internally shrug it off, but that didn't stop it from bugging the hell out of me.
Mr. Matthews had already done his second show so he was free for the rest of the day until he had to do it all again the next morning for the second half of the fair. Mr. Matthews brought me to a game booth and gave me three balls. He wanted me to knock down the six stacked cans. I gave him a doubtful look.
"I'm weak," I said.
He said, "Come on, just try."
See, the cans had heavy weights at the bottom so with my weak throw, the ball was just deflected and some baseball player in his uniform passing by pointed and laughing, saying, "Damn, that Goth chick throws like a baby!" I hate people like that. The people that judge you before even getting to know you. I sighed and put the balls down.
Mr. Matthews paid for another round and with a Babe-Routh-worthy wound up, he knocked down all six cans, making one hit the kid running the stand in the head. I laughed in shock and high-fived him. I thought it was especially cool when he turned to the baseball player and gave him a smug grin and the boy's jaw dropped. He won a big purple dinosaur.
"Rae? I didn't know you were gonna be here," said a low, familiar voice coming from behind me. I turned around to find Garret, wearing his plain black hoodie with its hood up and a pair of dark jeans with holes at the knees. "I saw your bike at the front. You should've called and I would've given you a ride."
"I got here early, so I didn't want to bother you on your Saturday morning. It doesn't seem fair that you drive me everywhere." I was looking Garret right in the eyes. He's one of the few people I can make eye contact with without wanting to duck for cover.
"It's no problem, really."
I shrugged. "I need the exercise anyway."
Garret looked straight up, over my head and with a neutral look, gave Mr. Matthews a nod. "Hello."
"Nice to see you, Garret. How's everything?" Mr. Matthews responded. There was something thick in the air between them.
"Good," was the only reply Garret gave and then he went back to looking down at me. "We'll throw your bike in the backseat of my car later and I'll take you home, okay? I don't like you riding it all the way across town."
I smiled up at him. He reminded me of what a brother should be like. Rick had been going about it all wrong and now Garret was making up for it. It made me happy. "Thanks, but I'm staying a little after and helping clean up." There's no way that I'm letting Mr. Matthews get away with not showing me his secrets.
"But it'll be getting dark..."
"I'll make sure she gets home safe, Garret," Mr. Matthews said with his most assuring smile.
Garret didn't look assured. "Would it be okay for a teacher to be driving a student home late?"
Mr. Matthews smile widened, like the idea was amusing. "I'm getting a ride with my aunt and uncle, so I have an alibi, but thank you for your concern."
Garret glanced at his watch. "Alright, well I have to get going. My band is supposed to be setting up and I don't necessarily trust Darryl with my amp so...I'll see you later, okay, Rae?"
I nodded and he gave me a crooked smile before turned and walking towards the stage where a bunch of guys were buzzing around, unloading equipment from a van and handing it on up. Garret hurried over and took hold of a big black box and sliding it onto the stage-- I guessed it was his amplifier. I didn't recognize a lot of the boys, but they all dressed in dark tones and had piercings or body art. The banner being pinned on the face of the stage read THE ANONYMOUS.
"Do you want to head out for lunch?" Mr. Matthews asked, holding the purple dinosaur under his arm.
My stomach was empty with only the sugary funnel cake to keep it going, but I said, "I want to see Garret play."
Mr. Matthews eyed the stage closely, as if weighing the idea of actually staying. He didn't look pleased with the idea and I had no idea why considering most new teachers would jump at the chance to see students' interests or hobbies. Looking at him now, you'd guess he'd seen them millions of times and was getting bored with them.
"They'll be back again tomorrow," he said.
"Yeah, but I won't," I said. The next day I had spring cleaning from dawn to dusk with my mother which was not going to be any fun whatsoever.

Mr. Matthews sighed and said, "Okay, if you really want to."
"What's wrong with the band?"
"I just don't like rock and roll."
"That's complete bullshit." I didn't even know the words had come out of my mouth until they echoed in my head. My conscience had compelled me to say them, knowing that the words were true.
Mr. Matthews looked as shocked as I felt. For one, hearing me say it with such blatantly. For two, I was right.
"Okay, maybe it is," he conceded and held the plush animal between his hard forearm and chest as he crossed his arms. "Still, you should be hungry by now."
"Why don't you go get something to eat and I stay? After all, you're your own person and I am too." I had no idea why he was being so difficult. What was so wrong with sticking around to listen to some music? Why was he so opposed to me staying to see Garret? Especially when Garret was the one who'd encouraged me to get used to him, had said he wasn't so bad.
My head was spinning, but I began to march towards the stage until I was almost to the very front of the accumulating cloud of people in front of the stage. I could sense Mr. Matthews was following me, but I ignored it and focused on the beginning of the concert.
The stage had four guys on it. The drummer had his set in the back, cornering him by red and black drums. He was shirtless and had tattoos winding around his chest and arms. Off the my own right was a keyboardist kid with ripped up jeans and a plain tee. He was thin and lanky, but tall with long curly hair that concealed his face. The guy in the very front with the microphone had a guitar slung around his back and buzzed hair and pierced earlobes. One ear had three holes, the other had two and he was a lean guy, but with an average build. Then, off to the left, the tallest boy on stage, head-to-toe in black with longish hair was Garret and a sleek, midnight blue electric guitar that looked fit to his frame in front of him, like his torso was specifically carved to cradle the instrument. His hood was still up and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth which I'm pretty sure wasn't allowed, but he didn't seem to care.
Garret yanked the chain that he always wore out of the neckline of his shirt and pulled it off over his head to take the guitar pick off his necklace. I smiled, thinking about the few times I'd seen the chain but didn't know what hung from it. Now, as he shoved the charm-less chain into his pocket, he ran the pick along the strings experimentally. The amp was on very low since they were yet to begin, but I could hear the plucking, the pitches of the string.
"Hey, everyone, I'm Kyle," the guy at the mic said and I could feel everyone's energy rising in anticipation. "On the drums is Darryl, rocking the keyboard is Joel, playing the electric guitar is Garret, and we are Anonymous!"
That seemed to be the cue for Garret to strum as hard as he could to unleash the electric wail of streaming notes that combined to make a totally awesome sound. As he played his beginning solo, drums started a beat to keep rhythm, and Garret began to gain a pattern for Kyle, Joel, and, Darryl to all join. The music was just how I liked it: Pure rock. I felt my feet tapping and the sound surge through me, my heart keeping pace with the bang of the drums and screech of guitar.
That was when I fell in love with music all over again. I'd forgotten about my play list for so long, it just occurred to me that I wasn't listening to it.
They played five songs and most of the teenagers were jumping and dancing, and having a good time while I just stood at the front and center, staring at Garret's hands glide across the guitar, the slamming of the sticks against the drums, the syntax of the keyboard. When it was over, I checked the clock and it was nearly an hour that they kept entertaining everyone. I was really hungry, but I wanted to see Garret once everyone cleared out and tell him how amazing he was.
I looked back and didn't see Mr. Matthews in the scattering crowd. He was probably winning more stuffed toys as everyone else rejoined in the fun and games as well while the band began packing up. I hoisted myself up onto the stage and sat on the edge as Kyle and the rest of the band reloaded everything back into the van.
It was late afternoon and the band was talking about coming again for when it's dark and the carnival rides are set up. I guess they were going all out with this fair because the carnival people were rolling up and the fair would be temporarily closed until about six that night. Then it would run to midnight.
Midnight. That's when the fair is over. It didn't hit me until then. Mr. Matthews was going to made me wait until freaking midnight.
"Hey, Rae," Garret said, coming from behind me as I fumed in silence. I composed myself expertly.
"Hey, Garret! You did great, I didn't know that you were that amazing at guitar," I said, suddenly being uplifted by Garret's grin. I could feel him just pulsing with energy. Being up on that stage must've been a real rush.
"Thanks," Garret said, shifting his feet and looking down at his hands. They were stuffed into the pockets of his zip-up hoodie. "Thanks for sticking around to listen. You must want lunch. Come on, I'll take you to the diner."
"Uh..." I hesitated, looking around. "Actually, I have to meet someone, so you can go get something to eat, okay? I'll grab something."
Garret looked at my face carefully. "Who?"
"Who what?"
"Who are you meeting?"
No reason to lie. "Mr. Matthews."
Garret raised an eyebrow. "Almost two weeks ago, you didn't like him at all."
"Well, you said I should get used to him and I have." I looked up at him. "Now you're acting like you're the one who doesn't like him." I didn't say it maliciously at all, just curiously.
"I don't."
"Then why did you want me to get to know him?" I asked, with a raise of my eyebrow.
"I said get used to him. Not to become besties with him." His voice tinged on annoyance.

I crossed my arms uncomfortably, not defying. I wasn't going to argue with Garret over such a ridiculous topic. "Listen, Garret, it's not like I'm hanging out with him, I'm just..." What was I doing? Learning how to do a couple magic tricks? Or was there deeper intrigue? My heart was pounding at the idea of uncovering a mystery, or digging deeper and that was dangerous. "I'm just learning about my new teacher."
"Just be careful," he said, less annoyed and wearier. Though, it never was a great amount, it just was a hint under his perfectly unreadable mask. "That guy's no good."
I was about to say "You sound like you know him," when I remembered myself saying the same thing to him a few weeks ago. There was something going on between Garret and Mr. Matthews. There were too many clues to support it and too much rolling around in my fairly intuitive conscience.
I nodded once, said farewell, and began running towards the booths and stations to look for Mr. Matthews to....interrogate him, I guess. I had questions. I didn't want to prod Garret too much for information.
I looked for the big purple dinosaur and for the white tee. The fair was coming to a close for the morning and I wanted to find Mr. Matthews once more before I left. It wasn't only questions, it was to discuss the whole "the fair doesn't end until midnight" deal.
There was a tap on my shoulder and I jumped so hard I could've flown out of my clothes. I flipped around and I could tell by the press of his lips and ripple of his chin that he was holding back laughter. Apparently my being startled was amusing.
"Don't do that!" I scolded. "I don't like being sneaked up on!"
"I'm sorry," he laughed. Like hell he's sorry. I wait for his laughter to subside. When it did, he said, "I'm guessing you were looking for me."
"Don't be so conceited," I lied. I just didn't want him to think that everything revolved around him, that I wasn't looking for someone else. I don't know why, but I felt it necessary. I lifted my chin up straight and said smugly, "I was looking for your brother. Shawn." I don't know what brought on that stroke of thought, but his eyes widened in surprise so at least I got some satisfaction from that. It was short-lived though.
"Okay, no problem. He has a time for one more round at the kissing booth," Mr. Matthews said, taking my hand and pulling me toward the abused and abandoned animal fundraiser.
"No, no, no! That's not what I meant!" I said, pulling back, but already arriving before Shawn who was slinging his bag over his shoulder, carrying the jar of money that had pictures of skeletal dogs and dirty cats.
"Hey, guys, what's up?" Shawn asked with a dazzling smile.
"Rae wants a kiss!" Mr. Matthews exclaimed, pushing me towards him some more.
"No, no! That's not what I want at all!" I proclaimed. First of all, he'd been locking lips with girls all day and there's only God-knows what germs on his lips. Second of all...I'd never been kissed or kissed anyone. I wasn't going to waste my first kiss on someone I didn't like. "I was just...uh...Haven't you kissed a lot of girls today already?"
"With the whole disease-passing thing, I've only been permitted to give kisses on the cheek," Shawn said with the same smile. "I have time for one more. It's to help the animals."
It felt like I was pressing my cheeks to a boiling-temperature stove. "Um... Fine." I dug into my pocket and dropped my spare coins into the can, the metal ringing inside against the other coins. I closed my eyes and waited to feel his lips press to my cheek.
That's when it happened. My eyes were closed, but as clear as if it was painted on the back of my eyelids, I saw Mr. Matthews in front of me, my arms wrapped around his waist. He was leaning towards me and pressing his lips to my face...my mouth. He was kissing me and the sensation of soft lips was so realistic, I almost responded.
Shawn's lips had only briefly touched my cheek, and the second they were removed that extended moment in my mind disappeared. I shook my head to clear it when I realized that I was still standing in the fair. It felt like minutes had gone by, but really only a matter of ticks on the clock. I don't know why I suddenly had that vision, but it was unrealistic and wrong and I had to banish is from my memory. I decided to write it off as an awful fantasy.
No, it wasn't a fantasy at all. It was dementia if I was thinking about kissing Mr. Matthews, my teacher. I had to convince myself to be more in control of my thoughts.
"Thank you for your contribution! Some Fluffy or Fido out there will be thanking you soon!" Shawn said with a broad smile and walking away.
I touched my cheek where he'd kissed it and watched him walk away. How strange.
"Have the hots for my baby brother?" Mr. Matthews said.
I snapped, "No, I do not have the ‘hots’ for your younger brother. I even forget the initial reason of why I was looking for him now. Though now that I have your attention, I'd like to address a problem."
"Oh, dear, a problem. Whatever shall it be?" Mr. Matthews asked with mock terror. He was making fun of the way I spoke, I knew it. Just because I speak in proper sentences so I don't sound like an imbecile doesn't give anyone the right to make fun of me especially when other kids grunting and using portions of words to communicate like undeveloped, yet-to-be evolved Neanderthal!
I glared at him harder and ignored his taunting. "The fair doesn't end until midnight and I'm supposing that that's when you plan on keeping your end of the bargain."
He nodded, like it was natural as anything. "Is that a problem? Do your parents give you a curfew?"
I paused. I'd never needed a curfew before so one was never established. And the Lord knows that my mom would let me be out all night if it had to do with socializing and being with other human beings. The problem wasn't my parents; it was me and my own preferences.
"My parents don't give me a curfew, but it is a problem. How do I know that you won't drag me off into the woods and murder me? It'll be late and everyone will be gone," I said. "You're a legal adult and I'm a minor, and your student at that. There are rules against out-of-school fraternizing without supervision."
Mr. Matthews rolled his eyes and laughed, beginning to walk towards the side of the road where everyone was parked. "Rae, Rae, Rae, always concerned with the rules. Yes, there are rules, but there will be supervision, so what is there to worry about?"
"What kind of supervision?" I asked suspiciously.
"My aunt and uncle agreed to stay around. You can even bring Garret. My brother will stay and a few of his friends. See? If I try to kill you, then Super Garret will most definitely come to the rescue." His tone was bitten with sarcasm at the end.
What the hell was it with those two! It was like they couldn't control the indirect jabs at each other that they were constantly throwing behind their backs.
"Come on. There can't be possibly anything that you and Garret have against each other," I said, walking next to Mr. Matthews. "It's like your enemies, yet you barely know each other...right?"
He smiled down at me.
At times, Mr. Matthews seemed so immature that I thought he should have a babysitter. But when he put on that soft, adult-like smile, despite my books smarts, I could tell how young I actually was and how little I knew.

I came home to find Rick doing lay-ups at the net in front of our house. I had Mr. Matthews' purple dinosaur stuffed into my backpack, its head sticking out the top. I put the brakes on my bike and rolled it up to the side of the house to lean it there. Seeing the dino I felt like laughing at what Mr. Matthews had said. "I know, it's a cheesy cliché that a guy wins the stuffed toy at the fair for the pretty girl, but screw being original. Anyway, it doesn't fit the color scheme of my apartment." At times, he made me laugh, but others I wanted to rip my hair out of my skull. He was just one of those people that did that.
"Did Garret win you that toy?" Rick asked, stopping his drills to watch me at the front door. He was panting and sweating from the exercise and sun. His coppery blonde hair was positively golden in the sunlight like amber fire. He was all golden tones while I was all dark.
"No, that's a cheesy cliché," I said, enjoying a smile to myself. "I told you, I didn't go with Garret."
"So you just went alone?" Rick clarified with a doubtful look.
I nodded.
"Alone where there're loads of people you don't know?"
I hesitated, but then nodded.
"Alone?" he repeated and I rolled my eyes. I could see how he'd doubt my independence, but to outwardly be so dubious about it was annoying. It was almost like his disbelief was so prominent, his eyes were going to stay that wide forever.
"Yes. Alone. I do that sometimes, you know, even in public," I snapped, opening the door.
I went up to my room, lay on my bed and thought about the day. When I opened my backpack to take out the purple dinosaur to put somewhere in my room, I realized belatedly that my Nightmare Journal wasn't there. It was gone. I began to panic, thinking I left it on the picnic table, dropped it somewhere. I examined my sack for holes and it was flawless. I thought back in the day to review. Normally have perfect memory.
I had my Journal when Mr. Matthews was looking at it. Then he'd distracted me with the news that he wouldn't show me his tricks until later and the fair games. Somewhere in that transition, the book went missing. There was only one logical explanation and it was that Mr. Matthews had it. The explanation wasn't even logical considering he didn't have a bag to carry anything and was obviously not holding anything in his hands except the stuffed toy for a while.
It was as if the Journal was plucked out of the fair entirely, like it was never there.
It was like the dove that Mr. Matthews pulled out of the handkerchief. One moment it was there, the next it was gone with no room for concealed pockets or slight-of-hand. It was all unbelievable, like a nonstop magic show where Mr. Matthews was conducting all the stunts and I was just a pawn, an assistant to get sawed in half then put back together.
Because now I was sure there was something unusual about Mr. Matthews. I was nearly positive he had something to do with the disappearance of my Nightmare Journal. And I was going to figure it out. After all, an assistant must know her magician.
Magician. When I thought that word in context with Mr. Matthews it was like a shot of fire plunged into the back of my skull, like a rude awakening with ice cold water. Everything Mr. Matthews did was purely fantastical. He blended illusion with reality between his games and his grin. He was a worthy magician, on the stage and off. But it was starting to get hard to see which was which.

Night was like a dark veil over the fair. It became a carnival with lights and rides and a stand set up for a gypsy psychic. I knew better than to fall for one of the rigged games again or to believe that the lady in colorful clothing could look at my palm and tell me everything about my future. That was all just entertainment for the naive. I was on a mission -- to get through the fair and uncover the mystery that had been hanging over me for days. And to get my Nightmare Journal back.
I'd left the house at ten and told Mom about my plans to stay out. Predictably, she had no probably whatsoever and I was kind of disappointed with her parental concern for my safety. Well, I guess it was good in the end since I had no problems getting out of the house. I'd changed into black turtleneck since the spring nights were chilly and I didn't want the burden of a coat. I was yawning a lot as I shuffled through the busy carnival. I was tired and it was late and I just wanted to get everything over with so I could go home and sleep.
I was looking around all over for Mr. Matthews while the Anonymous was playing on the lighted stage. There was even a strobe and I could see and hear from far away Garret strumming at his guitar with lightning accuracy. Girls were squealing like it was a real concert and Garret was the young Eddie Van Halen. I don't know why he wasn't popular in school since he was so talented. Everyone was ready to cheer for him when he was with the band or doing a school concert with Music Club, but no one waved or said hi to him in the halls. They all just seemed to forget his utter coolness when he became the usual, quiet, ominous Garret. I guess I could see how he gave off that feeling of danger, but the moment he cracked that grin, he transformed into the sweetest guy around.
I was proud to be his friend.
I walked over to Cheryl who was working the funnel cake stand once again, passing the spinning lights of the Ferris wheel. She was so smiley, it was contagious. Everyone left her stand with a grin even if they were feeling crap when they walked up.
"Oh, Rae! I'm so glad you came back!" Cheryl said with a broad smile. "I thought for a while that you wouldn't come around."
I didn't know how the deal between Mr. Matthews and I affected her, but I didn't ask further questions, I just answered, "Well, I didn't have much else to do." It was either come to the fair or sit in my room reading books. Don't get me wrong, I love to read, but the routine became dull after about a million Saturday nights.
"That's good," Cheryl said. "Why aren't you over by the band, drooling over those good-looking guys?"
I laughed. "I saw them this afternoon and I figured that I'd give some over girls the chance at the front row. After all, seeing Garret play the guitar is highly exclusive and an once-in-a-lifetime chance."
"You mean that hot guitarist?"
I gave her a look, pointedly glancing at her stomach. She chuckled. "Yes, I'm married and pregnant, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate a good-looking guy. I plan to live vicariously through you from here on out, Rae."
That moment was when I knew that Cheryl and I would be seeing a lot more of each other. It made me so happy I thought I'd burst out with joy, but I contained myself. Instead I looked back at the stage. "Yeah, I guess he is good-looking."
Cheryl rolled her eyes. "Oh please. You're a teenage girl. When I was your age, I'd trip over my tongue just saying his name. You can say it, you know. It's just you and me."
"Say what?"
"That he's hot!"
I swallowed. Then I looked back and stared at Garret from afar for a long minute. I felt my cheeks get warm and I looked back at Cheryl. "But he's my friend."
Cheryl sighed. "Really? Just friends? Are you sure, because I saw you talking to him earlier and when he looked at you...It was a little more than friendly."
I must've swallowed butterflies. "W-w-well...he's...just like a brother, you know?"
Cheryl shrugged. "Well, if that's they way you feel..."
I nodded, sure of myself. "That's how I feel." I was less confident inside. I changed the subject. "Where's Mr. Matthews skulking?"
"Milo? Oh, he's...I have no idea, that boy is all over the place at once. Last I saw, he was talking with his brother. Shawn didn't look too happy, now that I think about it."
I nodded and began to search all around again. "I'll see you later, okay, Cheryl?" I waved to her once more and got lost in the people again.
Then I heard something that made me so shocked I stopped short.
"Rae! Get up on stage!"
I spun to the stage, where the speakers were echoing my name. The singer, Kyle, was saying my name repetitively to get my attention. I walked over hesitantly, cheeks ablaze, my eyebrows scrunched together. Garret had the same intensely confused look. Apparently he had no idea his band members were planning this. When I realized that they wanted me on the stage, I froze in place and turned away, acting like I wasn't there.
"Oh, don't be shy, Rae! Come on up!" Kyle crouched down, holding out his hand.
The crowd began chanting my name without know who I was. I thought I was going to throw-up from nerves, but I held it down. My shaky clammy hand slipped into his and Kyle suspended me onto the stage with one swift movement. The crowd was clapping fervently, cheering me on and I still had no idea why.
"Rae, you're probably wondering why we called you up here," Kyle said into the microphone and I nodded quickly. The audience laughed at my horror-struck expression. I wanted to hole up and hide away from society forever. "Well, recently, we heard from a valuable source that you play the piano."
I glanced at Garret and he automatically mouthed, "I had no idea!" I swallowed hard and said quietly into the mic, "Yes."
"We'd like you to play with us, if you wouldn't mind."
Garret said, loud enough only for Kyle to hear, "She minds, Kyle."
"What do you say?" Kyle said, completely ignoring Garret. The audience began saying my name again and I walked over to the keyboard hesitantly. Joel, the band's keyboardist stepped away willingly and I took my place behind it. There was already music set up for me and I they all danced over the page. I was getting dizzy and my hands were shaking so bad they wouldn't position themselves on the keys correctly. I prayed that my stage fright wouldn't be the death of me.
Joel leaned down and whispered to me, "You, Garret, and Darryl will be singing back-up in the chorus." He pointed to the lyrics under the stanzas.
Why the hell didn't anyone warn me?! What kind of sick surprise was this?! Did they want me to pass out and die on stage?! I cleared my throat, trying not to focus on the microphone connected to the keyboard or the fact that if I screwed up, everyone at the spring carnival would know. This was all riding on my talent and willpower not to vomit publicly.
The song was called "Help Me Up When I Fall" and it started out with a piano solo. Of course it does, because it was obvious that the band's goal in life was to destroy me. I closed my eyes, drew in a deep breath, and let my fingers glide across the keys. After the initial terror of starting the song, I got used to the solo which was slow, classical, and sweet all at once. I jumped a little when Darryl started in with a huge, intense drum part that morphed the music into an intense, diverse melody. With a squeal from Garret's guitar, it became a lot like a mixed rock song.
"Help me up when I fall!" Kyle belted into his mic during the chorus and the three of us behind him responded in a round, "...When I fall..."
"Hold out your hand!"
"...Your hand..."
"Respond to my call!"
"...My call..."
"Lift me, save me and....I'll save you too!"
The rhythm of pressing the keys and making music created a pulsing energy in me and everyone around. When the sheet told me to sing, I didn't sing loud, just basically said the words but the same went with Garret and Darryl, but it still sounded awesome. When the song was over, along with the band's show, everyone was upset down in the crowd. They asked for an encore, but Anonymous didn't have the time or the extra song, so they dismissed everyone. When everyone cleared out, I marched up to Kyle with a dark look.
"Hey! You did great. You know, I wasn't so sure about doing this last minute since Garret had just mentioned in passing that you played, but now that I did, I'm glad!" Kyle exclaimed, as if I wasn't ready to strangle him.

"You could've told me!" I snapped.
"It's no secret that you're shy, Rae. If I'd asked, you wouldn't have done it."
"You're right, I wouldn't have!" My chest was heaving out and in from my heavy breathing.
"Rae is right, Kyle," Garret said, coming into the conversation with a hand on my shoulder. "It wasn't fair to her. You didn't even tell us about it."
Kyle shook his head. "Darryl and Joel knew. Only you didn't. You would've told her and ruined the surprise."
Garret took Kyle by the back of his shirt and dragged him down the side steps of the stage and behind it to whisper angrily at him. I was glad that Garret was going to take a bite out of Kyle, even if I didn't know the guy that well, but at least he got his. I was shivering with the adrenaline rush and I was planning on sitting down on the edge of the stage, but I realized that if I moved at all, my knees would collapse beneath me. I closed my eyes and did some deep breathing. I was almost calm.
"Rae! That was great!"
Keep your eyes closed. Keep them closed. Stay calm. Ignore the utterly infuriating voice...
"It really was! I didn't know you played piano." The voice was directly below me and I sighed. There was no choice. I opened my eyes and Mr. Matthews was standing at the very edge of the stage in front of me.
"I don't like to broadcast it," I mumbled. "I was cornered into this arrangement."
"Well, it was still amazing," Mr. Matthews said. He was still in his jeans, but had a sweatshirt that he stuffed his hands into. He still looked like anything but a teacher and I was afraid that I'd get too used to it even after this one day. "I wish you'd told me."
"I just told you," I said, glancing behind me to see Joel and Darryl packing the equipment into the van while Garret was still chiding Kyle who didn't look disturbed by it at all. I hoped that Garret would continue to ream him out until he was. "I don't like to talk about it."
Mr. Matthews held out his hand. "Come on down. I want to show you something."
I didn't trust myself to hop of the stage without breaking a major bone, like my skull, but I took his hand anyway and lowered myself off carefully. I gave Garret a gesture to let him know I'd be back, and he nodded once before yelling at Kyle again. His expression was cool as stone which was the perfect type of fury for his face.
"Let's go. We only have a half hour left before the fair shuts down for the night," Mr. Matthews told me and starting leading me towards this tent-like booth that had a sign on the front that read MADAME PHOEBE. It was the gypsy psychic lady.
The fair was thinning out and lots of fundraisers were closing up for the night, but the psychic tent's lights still burned strong. There was no on waiting and the curtain wasn't closed, so she was available for a customer but I wasn't going to waste five dollars on a false palm-reading.
"I'm not going in," I said firmly to Mr. Matthews. "You can't make me."
"Please! Just have someone read you for once," Mr. Matthews said, carefully nudging me towards the entrance. I fought against him, but he persisted.
He eventually got me into the tent. He had to duck into the entrance, but once we were in, it was dim, warm, and cozy. A table sat in the center with a woman sitting on one side. She didn't have a crystal ball, just candles, a leather sack, and a deck of cards. She waved me in and motioned for me to sit. Then, with a sharp motion, she waved Mr. Matthews out. He obeyed and closed the curtain of the entrance behind him.
"You didn't want to come here," Madame Phoebe said with that mysterious accent.
She could've easily heard our conversation outside her tent. I nodded, though.
"I will give you a reading free," she said to me, beginning to shuffle the deck of cards. "Or, rather, the cards will read you."
"Oh, you don't have to--"
"Shush! The cards are speaking." She was shuffling a golden deck of Tarot cards, colors and pictures flashing quickly as she tapped them and fanned them. Instead of shuffling like a poker dealer, her method was more graceful, with her eyes shut like she was listening to something that only she could hear. I thought the act of it all was overly dramatic, but I put up with it. This was her living and if she was nice enough to read me free of cost, I wasn't going to look a gifted horse in the mouth.
Her hands stopped abruptly. Her eyes flew open and she smiled at me, a close-lipped, creep smile. The woman was older, with creases in her face, but the structure of it was beautiful, showed that when she was young she was gorgeous. Her long, gray hair curled at the edged under her purple headband made out of a bandana. Her fingers were long and decorated with jewels and bands. The bright, flickering candle illuminated her face, but casting shadows on the cheek.
"The cards have seen your fate," she intoned. Slowly, she drew three cards from the deck, placing them face down before me. I don't know why, but my heart started beating quickly.
She flipped over the cards, one by one.
The first she turned over shocked me right away. It was the card from my dream of a skeleton with the silhouette of a reaper from behind him, holding a long white sheet to drape over the skeleton's shoulder. Above the two figures were stars and a moon were rolling against a sun rise from the east of the card like the two times of day were in a battle. I swallowed, but my throat was dry.
"Death," Madame Phoebe said softly. "Death brings to you endings and new beginnings and an encounter with the reaper himself."
Blood froze in my veins, a sting of cold washing over me.
The second card was turned over and I was stunned once again. The card had man dressed in a dark coat and a wide-brimmed hat that covered his face, but reaching his shoulders was black, slick hair. In his coat pocket was a black Dahlia and the tightrope dream hit me with a force that made me tremble even harder. The man stood in front of a table bearing a stick, a knife, coins, and a golden goblet. His hands were wide, presenting the table with power.
"The Bateluer, the Magician, is helping you with your willpower and creativity. He is participating with Death to bring you a new beginning," she told me in that transfixing voice. I was under a spell, suddenly feeling sleepy and dazed.
The last she turned over had a photo of a regal looking woman, sitting on a throne between two pillars in a long, simple but beautiful white gown and robes that flowed down to the crescent moon at her feet. In her right hand she held a scepter with a cross on the top and in the left, a scroll rolled upward in a floating spiral. With intricate detail a tiara was on her head with jewels forming a sun on the front of it and a veil descended from it, covering but not concealing the long tendrils. Her eyes were shut, face graved with solemnest and wisdom and knowledge. She looked like a goddess.
"The Popess," Madame Phoebe whispered. "It is your time to be the Popess. You must be wise, intuitive and be ready to initiate into your rightful place."
"What's my rightful place?" I found myself asking, mesmerized.
"It won't take long to find," Madame Phoebe gently spoke. "Be patient, young Priestess. You have much to learn." She slid my three cards of fortune into the deck and just like that, the trance was gone and I was back in a tent at a carnival and not swimming in the cards. It was like someone snapped me out of a daze and I was puzzled as to what to do from there.
I didn't know what the cards meant, but I stood from the seat, stuttered a thank you, and rushed out of the tent. I began gasping once I was in the crisp, spring night. It felt like the air in the tent was dense and thick. I shook my head to clear the fog and took more breaths.
"What the hell happened?" Mr. Matthews asked, eyes wide as to my reaction after bursting out of Madame Phoebe's tent like there was a fire.
I shook my head. "Nothing. It was just really weird."
His hand was on my shoulder and leading me to Cheryl's stand to get me a drink. "You look like you've seen a ghost. It's okay, you'll feel better soon."
I glanced behind me only once and saw Madame Phoebe poking her head out from the curtain with a smile on her face, directed specifically for me.
In that one smile, my entire fate was hidden.

I sat across from Mr. Matthews. He brought all his props from the magic show to the picnic tables where we now stared at one another. His aunt and uncle, brother, and Garret were standing around as well, but this show was for me so everyone was silent as the grave. I didn't know how much time had passed since we'd sat down, but the moon was high in the sky and the stars hung like fireflies flying in the endless sea of black. The moon, though was wide and full, beaming light so brilliantly, no candles or lamps were needed.
"What would you like to know?" Mr. Matthews asked me finally.
I paused. "I want to know how you make everything appear and disappear."
Mr. Matthews smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes for some reason. "Are you fully prepared?"
I don't know why I hesitated, but I did. It was just a parlor trick. I nodded.
Mr. Matthews drew out his handkerchief. He folded it carefully and reached into the cloth, to pull out, once again, a white dove. It sat on his hand and he held it out to me, without a word.
"That isn't an explanation, you know," I said, feeling a pang of impatience.
Mr. Matthews shook his head. "Stroke the bird."
I reached out cautiously. The dove was looking all around, fidgeting in his palm. I rested my hand on it's back, right above its perfectly white wings.
My hand passed right through. The bird was still moving and looking, but my hand went right through it like it wasn't there. I gasped really hard.
"What is it? A hologram?" I breathed, looking around for projectors. So the bird wasn't real.
Mr. Matthews shook his head. "I could've made anything come out of this handkerchief, making it appear so real that you'd never know it wasn't there until I willed it." Mr. Matthews closed his hand and the bird was gone in and instant. He folded his hands.
"I don't quite understand," I murmured, eyes narrowing. My heart was sputtering and when I looked up, no one else was surprised. They were just watching my reaction, Cheryl, Tom, Shawn, and Garret. It was like they knew what would happen and wanted to see my reaction. Something ominous dawned in my stomach, making me feel sick. "Are you saying...that you..."
"It's all magic, Rae," Mr. Matthews confirmed. “I can make you see things that aren't there. It's the same with the rabbit and the water. It's all just pictures that I bury in your mind."
So...What? He went into my mind? That didn't make sense! "Magic isn't real and everything you're saying is impossible."
"Then how can you explain how I make things float? You know as well as I that there is no strings, no fish line, no hidden platforms. It's all magic, I'm telling you."
"It's not possible," I insisted, fingers curling into fists. I had a bad feeling about what was coming next.
"It is. And you know it is," Mr. Matthews said, now sounding determined to get me to believe. "You know because you can do things too."
I shut my eyes as tight as I could, so much they hurt and stung. "No...Stop it, I'm just normal. I can't do anything like you can, it's all fake. All tricks." I could slowly feel everything inside me falling apart.
"It's not just a trick," Mr. Matthews whispered intently. It was the most serious I'd ever heard him. I didn't like this side of him. I rather would have the annoying and sarcastic side than this. "And you're not normal. You know that your dreams are different and that your intuition and observation is more than that..."
I shook my head, eyes still closed. The tears were slipping out and clinging to my eyelashes. An ocean was roaring inside me, pressing against my internal dam, pushing to break free. I kept it sealed tight, barely having enough strength to do so. "No. My dreams are just weird...I'm crazy, disturbed, I'm not...magic...or anything else. My life just sucks, that's it, there's no secret meaning to it."
Mr. Matthew's big, soft hands blanketed mine. "Listen, Rae--"
"No!" I shouted, no angry. The ocean was roaring louder and louder. I couldn't hear myself think. I snatched my hands away from him and slammed them on the wood. "I don't care if you can make things appear and float! I don't care as long as you don't drag me into it!" I suppressed everything as hard as I could. I refused to believe in magic. I wouldn't succumb to the lie that I was having nightmares because of some supposed ability. Magic was supposed to be happy and nice, not horrifying. This wasn't magic. "Even if I was, somehow, how in hell would I come to be like you?"
Mr. Matthews froze a beat. "Because you're part of the Tarot Curse, Rae. We all are."
Tarot Curse. What the hell was he talking about? I had flashbacks to Madame Phoebe less than an hour before, showing me the deck and my fate in cards.
The dam broke. I suddenly knew, knew, that Mr. Matthews was telling me the truth and it exploded within. Everything fell into place, making total sense. My mind was drowning in the card of the Popess, focusing on that card. The card that Madame Phoebe said that I had to be -- wise, intuitive, and ready to face an initiation. Was this my initiation? This magic, this Tarot Curse?
I looked at everyone around me. The revelation within me was so loud, I was surprised no one else had heard it. Now, the ocean was flowing in me, rolling in and out with a tide that brought energy to each of my nerve-endings. Everyone still watched me carefully. They were like mannequins, frozen in place.
"What's the Tarot Curse?" I asked, ready to face it. I suddenly had the strength and will to listen and was ready for whatever he threw at me.
Mr. Matthews took a deep breath. "It's a long story. You know what a tarot deck is, I'm sure?"
I nodded.
"Well, a long time ago, during the Middle Ages, a secret society was built called the Tarot. The Trumps of the deck were all regal people from different wealthy lineages and different countries that traced back to royalty. They were the most elite society of people ever known, surrounded by their followers, the Batons, Cups, Swords, and Coins. It was all ran like branches of a government and they controlled the rick world and the many secrets of their people. After all, the twenty-two Trumps, or leaders, were all gifted with psychic abilities among others. Reigning at the very top of the top was the Popess and her right-hand the Pope.
"Every month, on the new moon, a banquet would be held. It was all a huge ball, complete with entertainment and food and drinks. It would be held in a palace and only the Tarot could come. And orchestra played all night long, people chatted and made friends, and everyone had a wonderful time to celebrate the beginning of the beginning of the moon' cycle.
"One month, the Trump known as the Devil killed the kings of the Batons, Cups, Swords and Coins, and took tried to gain power over each of the minor branches so he could dictate the rest of the Tarot and be supreme ruler over them all. That month, the Popess didn't invite the Devil as punishment for what he'd done and banished him from the Tarot so he could never hold a council with them again. The Devil wasn't ready to allow that. He crashed the party, bringing his assistant the Tower with him to infiltrate the gala. He murdered whatever guard got in his way. Death, feeling the lives fading, warned the Popess immediately of the Devil's break-in.
"His warning was too late because then the Devil busted in through the doors and the entire dance floor, orchestra, and dinner stopped. Gowns ceased movement and all breathing halted. The Devil, grim and powerful from his recent kills, strutted into the ball like he owned the palace and marched up to the dais. The Popess rose from her throne and stepped down to meet him face to face. The Trumps, all seated in a row on the dais, were ordered to stay seated by a wave of the Popess's hand. No one disobeyed the Popess. Not even in a crisis.
"'You dine without me?' the Devil asked. 'You dismiss my power and my place in the Trumps?'
"'When you broke the code of our peaceful society, you disinherited the right to break bread with us,' the Popess said strongly. 'I am the High Priestess and I order you to leave at once. You are not welcome here.'
"The Devil just laughed. 'You do not own me. You have your puppets all in a row to control, but not I! I will not allow a mere woman to control me.' Then he bellowed, arms raised, 'For all eternity, I curse all Trumps to rise from their deathbeds again and again and never rest until my deal is broken! Every time you rise, your Priestess will be missing and until she is found and can defeat me in battle, I will rule each new Tarot! And even the day she comes and you all support her, all decision will be in her hands, your will taken away...Of this, I damn you all to the Tarot Curse!' Then, the Devil reached out with one of his hands and used a silver dagger to shove into the Popess' chest. She gasped crumpled to the ground.
"That night, all the Tarot attacked and killed the Devil, but his dying words were the curse and everyone knew the extent his magic could go. Ever since then, the Trumps from the Tarot have been reborn with psychic abilities. It's all generational, so every decade or so, every member would be warned that a child would come with powers. Many try to suppress the truth that their children's soul belongs to the Devil until redemption from the Popess. The Tarot all collects in one area, usually to find one another and drawn and bound by the Popess. It's our destiny to find her and to help win the war."
Everything was quiet once again. Crickets chirped and springtime frogs sang in the forest surrounding the big open field. Wind ruffled my hair and everything settled on my mind. I had no idea why it all sounded so familiar to the point where I wasn't even surprised.
"Then...what card am I?" I whispered.
Mr. Matthew smirked gently, as if apologetic. "Isn't it obvious? You're our Priestess, our savior. Until our curse is broken, the original Tarot's souls will never rest."
I closed my eyes for a moment. "So this is why I can read people? Why I have my nightmares? Why I have such pinpoint intuition?"
Mr. Matthews nodded. "Also, it might be why you're such a good student. The Popess stands for great knowledge and study."
It was hard to process, but easy in the same stroke. It all felt so right. I couldn't help it. Then I realized something. "You're the Bateluer...the Magician, right? That's how come you can create illusions."
He smiled. "Yes, I am."
I looked up at the the rest of the people with me. "You guys are cards too, right?"
They all nodded.
"I'm the Empress," Cheryl explained with a kind smile. "My husband is the Emperor. We're directly below you in the line of Tarot."
"My card is the Lover," Shawn told me with a sweet grin. I could tell why immediately. Everyone was drawn to him, attracted by him. Such a romantic card was appropriate, but I wondered what his powers entailed. Could he, maybe, read affections? What did it mean when he kissed my cheek and I saw myself kissing Mr. Matthews? Did it mean anything at all?
Garret made eye contact with me so strongly, I couldn't look away. All he said was, "I think you know which card I am."
I did. Death. He predicted people's deaths and was thought crazy for doing so. Was his family one of the ones that tried to hide and suppress their children's curse? Was he shunned because of it? To have such a fate as to feel death and know death must've been so depressing and awful. Garret didn't belong in Dr. Cockney's office anymore than I did. At first I'd thought we both were cursed because of our twisted minds, but now I was sure and there was proof.
The reason why I believed everything Mr. Matthews said?
It meant I wasn't crazy.
I'm not crazy. I wanted to shout it from the hilltops, to let everyone know that I, Radiance Holmes, was no insane. Though, a curse in exchange for insanity wasn't a great trade, I could deal with it. I would learn to deal with it. I had to.
"Maybe I'm not the Popess," I mumbled, realizing that I was not fit to rule anything. I was too shy. I could barely get up on that stage without passing out, how was I meant to lead people? "You have the wrong girl. I must be different card."
Mr. Matthews was already shaking his head. "You're the Priestess. I can feel your strength and energy. Can't you, whenever you touch another Tarot?" I nodded, knowing that whenever our skin touched I felt their energy. "That's another of our bonds, another way of knowing for sure that someone's a Tarot."
I hung my head. The brief moments of acceptance and revelation were over, leaving weakness in their wake. I was no Priestess. I was no powerful leader. I was just a teenage girl with big problems. I tried to cope.
"I have to get home," Garret said, checking his cell phone for the time. "My Dad's going to kill me." He sighed. "Oh well. I'll see you all tomorrow, okay?" His eyes locked with mine. "I'm taking you out for Sunday breakfast. Be ready at nine." I didn't even respond before he turned and walked away. I watched him go.

"I have to hit the road too," Shawn said. He looked to Cheryl and Tom. "Can I please have a ride?"

Tom nodded, but kept that hard gaze of his on me. I could feel his disapproval as he strutted away towards his card. Shawn gave a salute and followed. Cheryl squeezed my hand and said farewell before loading into the shiny silver Jeep too. The car backed up and drove down the road with only the hum of a smooth engine.
"I'll be escorting you home tonight, Miss Holmes," Mr. Matthews said, smiling in his old way and standing up. "You must be exhausted."
Right on cue, I yawned. My burst of energy was dying and the rush was causing a hard crash. I stood from the bench and swayed as I walked so Mr. Matthews put an arm around my shoulders to steady my stride. His car wasn't too far, but I was in no shape for speed-walking so we just strolled. My mind was foggy and I had to sleep on everything I just heard. For a fleeting second, I considered if it was a nightmare, but the night was chilly on my skin and Mr. Matthews' arm was warm around me. I couldn't think up that sensation.
"I'm sorry I had to tell you all this," he said. "At least now you know."
"It's all hard to believe, but I'll survive." I paused. "Hey, do you have my Nightmare Journal?"
Mr. Matthews smiled. "Figured it out, huh? It's in the car. Sorry I stole it, I just wanted to read some of your prophecies. You're somewhat of an oracle to the Tarot."
We made it to the car and I leaned against the car door drowsily. The moonlight made Mr. Matthews even more handsome and in my sleepiness, he was positively angelic, there was no denying it. I just looked at him, into his gray eyes especially. His skin was so smooth looking, I wanted to touch it to see if it felt like silk.
"Mr. Matthews--"
"Milo," he corrected, shaking his head. "Outside of school, I'm Milo, not Mr. Matthews."
I whispered uncertainly, "Milo...was the only reason you sat with me at lunch on that first day because you thought I was the Priestess?" In my tired stupor, the words just found their way out.
Milo shook his head. "At the time, I didn't even suspect you of being the Popess. But I was drawn to you. I needed to crack the mystery."
Me the mystery? That was rich.
Milo, cautiously, reached out and brushed a long curl that hung in front of my eyes behind my ear. Very gradually, he leaned down and pressed his forehead to mine and, for some reason, I allowed it. From the hand touching my cheek and the forehead to mine, I felt energy and emotions and a rush that went down to my toes. Milo was giving off very certain waves that made me close my eyes and rock in the hot pulse. It heated up my tingling stomach.
His lips were poised right before mine. So lightly that they were barely touching, his lips brushed my mouth. I drew away reluctantly, looking down at my feet. I had no idea what was happening, only that every nerve in my body was aching for another press of his lips.
"I...I don't know...how to kiss," I admitted, barely whispering.
He smiled tenderly. "Then let me teach you." He wrapped his arms around my waist and I returned his embrace easily.
Then he taught me a lesson I'd never forget.

It was all a dream, it was all a dream, it was all a dream...
I kept repeating those words to myself while I lay in my bed the next morning. I was panicking the moment I woke up. After a nightmare about drowning in a million decks of tarot cards, I awoke to reality only to not know what that really was. What really happened, what didn't? Why did I suddenly feel less empty inside, why was I more confused? Why did I keep having thoughts and flashes of a woman in a dress and robes being killed by an evil being? Questions swam in my head so much I thought it would blow up.
I felt a buzzing my bed sheets and I scrambled to find my cell which must've fallen out of my jeans since I never changed to go to bed the night before. Clue number one.
I answered the phone and said groggily, "Hello?"
"Rae, are you ready?" Garret asked me. He must've been having a cigarette since it sounded like he was talking out the side of his mouth.
"Ready for what?"
"I'm taking you out for breakfast, remember? I told you last night...or this morning, rather."
That was the confirmation I needed. Last night was not a dream.

Getting ready for school Monday was very awkward. For one thing, I had to face half the Tarot members I knew there and I was still unsure if the whole curse was real or not. For second, I didn't know the difference between what I imagined on Saturday night (or Sunday morning, whatever) and Garret helped smooth out the wrinkles at our breakfast, but it was still fuzzy. For third, if by any chance I didn't invent any fantasies from that night, I would have to go to poetry knowing...
But I didn't know, which would make it even more uncomfortable for me to face him.
Kissing teachers was a bad thing, anyone knew that. It was worse when you actually wanted it to happen. It was even more awful if it was a long kiss that made you even later for getting home (not that my mom cared). Out of the entire night, that was the one detail that stood out among the rest and it was the one thing I wasn't sure happened or not. There were no witnesses and the only other person who could tell me if it actually occurred or not was the only person I was not going to ask.
I left the house before my brother for the very first time that morning. I wanted to dodge Garret's ride offer since being in the same car with him and going to school where we might see a certain someone was a very bad idea. I had no idea why, but I don't think Garret liked Mr. Matthews and if I did see him by any chance, Garret would know right away there was something wrong with me. That was a situation that needed to be avoided.
By the time I got to Blackwell High's parking lot, the early risers were already parking and getting the best spots, closest to the school. The teachers were all in their reserved places and I found it liberating to be able to saunter around carelessly instead of hurrying to just make it in time to class. I took a seat on the cement curb in front of the school's walkway and just watched everything surrounding me. Sleepy teenagers were greeting one another, kids were sitting on the hoods of cars cramming for their test that was going to be given in their first class of the day. Different people were asking friends for help with the weekend's homework. Everything was as it should be.
I spotted a familiar car and the person getting out of it. My heart jumped to my throat and I hurriedly turned myself at an angle that he wouldn't be able to see my face. I tried to think myself invisible. I should've known better that it wouldn't work.
"Good morning, Miss Holmes," Mr. Matthews said. I turned around and looked up at him, realizing that from my spot on the ground, he was a skyscraper.
"Good morning, Mr. Matthews." I kept my tone indifferent, to show that I wasn't effected by anything about the night before at all. Even though it wasn't true. And I told myself that I would not -- not -- be the first one to mention the finale of my exciting night. "How are you?"
Mr. Matthews smiled and it was that benign, caring smile. "I'm great."
Why did that make me blush? Why was I blushing? Stop blushing, dammit! "That's...good," I stumbled.
"Oh, yeah, when you fell asleep in the car, you didn't remember to pick up this." Mr. Matthews bent over and held out my Nightmare Journal. Instinctively, I snatched it away and checked it for any signs of harm or vandalism.
Mr. Matthews reached out and yanked down my sweatshirt hood teasingly.
"Don't do that in public," I murmured, looking around. "People will see."
He grinned. "No worries about that. Right now, anyone who glances over will see me conversing with a student about a paper." He winked and I realized the ultimate possibilities that his gift bore. "Not teasing her to make her blush."
"I'm not blushing," I grumbled, despite the red heat in my face. Knowing that I had pale skin, it probably was even more obvious. Having that in mind made me even more chagrinned. Great, I probably looked like a tomato. "Don't you have papers to grade?"
Mr. Matthews dropped down onto the curb next to me and stretched out his legs. "Nope. I got that done this weekend."
Of all days, he decided to stop being a procrastinator now. No doubt he did that on purpose. What an ass. I pulled up my knees to my chest, squishing my Nightmare Journal between. Mr. Matthews had a cup of coffee in his hand, steam curling out the top. He looked like a normal person, but wasn't in any measure.
"You have a lot of questions," Mr. Matthews said and I hated that it wasn't a question. I could've at least declined a question.
I nodded. "You're not wrong."
"Ask away."
"You first." I narrowed a look at him challengingly.
"I don't have questions," he pointed out. "Everything is perfectly clear in my head." He took another sip of coffee and watched me expectantly.
"Why did you kiss me?" The sentence just broke out and I thought that I'd shouted it for a moment but found out that it came as nothing more than a whisper. It was like I had no control over what I said anymore, embarrassing things just slipped out. I wanted to burrow myself in a hole for millennia and never come out. "I'm s-s-sorry, uh, forget that, I never said th-that..." I tripped over my words pathetically.
Mr. Matthews chuckled. "Don't apologize. I said you could ask questions, right? But, are you ready for your answers?"
I nodded. I had to be ready. There was no other option.
"There's really no other answer than the fact I like you," he said and he smirked, but his eyes were somewhat sad. He sighed heavily dropping his face into his free hand. "It's stupid of me, I know. Uncle Tom told me and warned me and said a million times over..."
My heart was doing jump rope. He liked me. Mr. Matthews, my poetry teacher, just admitted to liking me. I had no idea how to react in a situation like this. There was no guide or textbook to what to do. My teacher just confessed to me and I didn't even have the will to scream, pepper spray him, and run. There was no way I was going to smile and blush cutely and hug him. Nope, not realistic at all.
Mostly this dilemma was due to the fact that I had no idea if I liked Mr. Matthews back. I'd never had a crush on anyone before and here I had an older man telling me that he did. I remembered about how in movies when a girl was nervous around someone and defensive and shy meant that she was interested in him, but that was movies. This was real life and the approach to this was neither recorded nor written.
I tried to assess myself. I got all anxious and jumpy around him. He kissed me and I allowed him to. I even -- hate to say this -- enjoyed it…kind of…oh, fine, a lot. I'd never kissed anyone before, but I knew that it probably didn't get any better than him. I felt like I melted from head to toe and like every nerve was hyper alert. I was both drowsy and energetic. It was pretty much one of the happiest moments I could remember.
I opened my mouth to say something (I have no idea what) when I saw Garret's car pull in to his regular spot.
I frantically looked around for cover as Garret started getting out of his car.
"What's wrong?" Mr. Matthews asked.
"Uh..."
He followed my gaze. "Ah. Garret. Don't worry, right now, I'm making it so he can't see you or me."
Garret was starting to walk through the parking lot and gasped and said happily, "Really?"
"No." Mr. Matthews gave a snort and chuckle. I folded my hand into a fist, ready to sock him in the shoulder, but Garret was already in front of me. Why? Why did Mr. Matthews have to revert back to his annoying side so quickly?
"Hi, Garret!" I said, too brightly. What can I say, I'm a horrible actress. "Uh..." I swung up off the curb. "How are you feeling?"
Garret shrugged, not letting any emotion show through his mask. I wished that when I was nervous I was as good an actor as him. He always seemed so calm, but I had no idea what was boiling beneath the surface. Garret took out a cigarette and stuck it between his lips. He gave Mr. Matthews a challenging look as he lit it. He was challenging him to admonish him when no other teacher bothered. Though smoking wasn't conventionally allowed on school property, the of-age seniors did anyway and there were so many at one point the teachers learned to not care and to just turn the other way. It was most likely illegal, but no one was going to report anything.
That same bad air between them that I felt the other day was vibrating once again. They were both skilled actors and had nothing that the face of ease, but the energy and aura between them was dense and thick with some kind of dark emotion. It wasn't just obvious to me; people passing by glanced at the two with strange, curious looks.
I checked my cell phone. "Uh...guys...the bell is about to ring."
Mr. Matthews was the first to break it off. He grinned. "You're right. I'll see you in class, Rae. Goodbye, Garret." Mr. Matthews strode into the school casually, as if nothing happened.
I looked up at Garret. "Are you going to tell me what just happened?"
I expected a shrug and a silent dismissal. Instead, Garret shook his head. He took another drag of his cigarette and he reached out to pat my head like I was a puppy before stepping out the cigarette. We began walking towards the school entrance. We probably looked like a pair of shadows in our dark jeans, black hoodies, and our long dark hair.
"So, I dropped by your house this morning to pick you up," Garret said in that low, quiet voice.
"I texted you that I wouldn't need a ride," I pointed out.
"I know. I went anyway. But when I came to school, you can only imagine how surprised I was to find you talking with Mr. Matthews."
My chin went straight up when I realized that he thought that Mr. Matthews had given me a ride to school. "No! Garret, I walked, he didn't drive me."
Garret didn't look like he totally believed me, so I said, "Only you're allowed to take me to school."
He cracked one of those rare grins glanced down as we continued to walk. "It's an honor, High Priestess."
I narrowed a glare at him and bumped him gently with my shoulder. It was too early in the game to make Tarot jokes.
When we came to the fork in the hallway where on led to the senior portion and the other led to junior, we nodded our goodbyes and split down our different paths. The very first bell of the day rang and teenagers flooded into the school and it felt so great to be able to take my time on my way to homeroom.
I sat in my seat and received one of the greatest gifts of all time.
Rick was late to class and he busted through the door, breathing heavily like I had weeks ago. He looked frazzled and befuddled since he didn't have anyone to wake him up off the couch when it was time to leave for school. That was what happened when your sister leaves early for school and you have only yourself to rely on. And he was marked late because of it.
I shared a smile with myself. Rick's eyes met mine for a moment. His eyes were glazed with frustration, but with a sort of acceptance that said "touché" to my smirk. He turned away and took his seat, being surrounded by people who loved and adored him.
So far, the score was Rick: Sixteen years; Rae: One morning. And even with that, I was satisfied...for now.

Legs curled up into the corner of the big, soft swivel chair behind Mrs. Mariotta's old desk, I wasn't hungry so I didn't even touch the brown paper bag that sat in front of me. That afternoon, Mr. Matthews said that I should sit in the teacher's chair. He said it felt like a cloud. He was wrong...It felt like heaven. The cushions were soft and made out of what felt like bouncy cotton candy. I could've napped in that chair for hours. I could tell why Mrs. Mariotta loved it so much. I might as well have been floating while wrapped in cozy, warm snow.
"Don't fall asleep on me," Mr. Matthews joked, looking up from his notebook. He shot me a grin as his glasses rolled off his nose. They almost fell off before he pushed them back into place. "I know, it's the most comfortable chair you'll ever sit in, but don't doze off."
"You were right..." I murmured, eyes sliding shut. The less I looked at Mr. Matthews, the less awkward I felt since the last time we were alone...well...yeah, you get the idea. I tried to squelch my chagrin though.
"Are you going to eat?"
I shook my head. "You can have it if you want." I started spinning myself in the heavenly chair. It was a gradual turn that felt like rocking with my eyes closed. "I'm not hungry."
"You should eat. You're skinny as it is."
I snorted and said, sarcastically, "Right. Sure I am. And you're a shoe-making elf."
"I'm serious." I heard his own rolly-chair squeak and I cracked open my eyes to find him leaning forward, chin propped up by one arm.
"Alright, listen," I said, still spinning really slowly. "I'm not skinny. I'm not saying I'm obese or anything, but I sure as hell am not skinny. I can afford to miss a meal or two. I don't go out of my way to starve myself though."
Mr. Matthews sighed. "Whatever you say."
I stopped and felt that I'd processed my questions correctly so now they could be asked. "I want to know who else is a Tarot," I said.
He laughed. "Right to the point. Okay. Well, I can tell you right now that there are quite a few people that you know that are a part of the Tarot Curse. If you'd like, you can make some guesses." He grinned, waiting to hear what I can come up with.
"Um..." I thought to people that I might've brushed in the hallway and felt energy from. That was the only clue that I could think of that would tell me for sure. I remember a faint zing of electricity when Kyle, the Anonymous's singer, handed me the mic and our fingers touched. "Kyle, Garret's friend?"
"Good one. You're right. Oh, thinking about that, I got you something." Mr. Matthews reached down into the pocket of his long back coat and pulled out a small, rectangular wooden box with intricately carved details on the top. He held it out to me and I cradled it in my palms carefully. It was heavy for its size and when I flipped it open I knew why.
Nestled inside the box was a fat, deck of thick cards, painted with golds and reds and blues. I gently took out the stack and gently spread out a few to look at the different trump cards and minor cards that made up the tarot deck. These cards were very special, I could feel it. Something radiated from them like they were their own energy, like they were alive and had a story to tell. Brushing my hands, they had divots and bumps from the acrylics and it struck me that they were hand painted like tiny Picassos. I could tell they were old from just touching them, but kept in great shape that no one would've known other than me.
"Where'd you get these?" I asked, looking at the small detail of every card.
"Every Tarot member has a deck. The original Tarot from long ago all kept their decks in glass boxes or in chests, but each was painted in a different style. Then, they passed them onto their children and onto their children and then so on. These were the original High Priestess' card." Mr. Matthews was still smiling. "Now, if you spread them out in front of you, hold your hand palm down over them and close your eyes, you can find Kyle's card."
I gave him a dubious look.
"Seriously, try it," Mr. Matthews said.
I conceded and hovered my hand above the line of cards. I was afraid that spreading them out would hurt them since they were so old, but they were pretty sturdy. I wondered if magic had anything to do with it.
I concentrated on Kyle. His face, his voice, his smile. I thought about his musical talent. My mind even lingered on his car. Fireworks went off in my head as I thought about his van, the band's vehicle. It was like hitting the X on a treasure map and my hand began to move, as if detached from my body. It was leading itself. Lowering itself down, it rested atop a card. I opened my eyes and took the card of choice, turning it over.
The card had a man perched up on a cart, holding two reins, with one white horse and one black horse in front. It was the Chariot card.
"Um...He's a Chariot?" I asked. How could a person be a form of transportation?
"He's more of what we call the Charioteer. He controls the chariot. It's okay, you'll catch on soon. After being around Tarot for a while, you'll learn to know right away who is a part of the Curse." He spoke so indifferently like it was everyday stuff and maybe it was for him, but for me it still felt ridiculously unrealistic. I felt in my bones all the truth, but my logical brain was disagreeing.
"How about this," Mr. Matthews said. "This weekend, Cheryl will have a dinner party exclusively for Tarot and you can meet everyone."
I nodded, but felt uneasy inside. How many Trump Tarot were there? Looking through my dead, there were quite a few. That meant a lot of people, all who believed I was -- what? -- their leader, that I was their key to redemption, the only thing that can break the curse. Who was this Devil fella anyway? How can I possibly beat him? And what do I have to beat him in?
I sighed and continued to spin in the chair, closing my eyes, and picturing one of those baby mobiles, the ones that hang above dribs and go round and round and round...
The chair stopped abruptly, jerking me forward. I opened my eyes.
"Okay, you're killing me. What's eating at you?" Mr. Matthews asked, eyebrows arched.
"Nothing," I mumbled. "I'm fine."
"Then why are you spinning and being quiet so much?"
"You're the one that told me to sit in the chair!"
"I guess..." He sounded doubtful. "Did you sleep okay last night?"
I snorted. "Do I ever sleep well? After I wake up, I can never sleep."
Mr. Matthews paused and went on to change the subject. "Anyway, I wanted to show you another magic trick." He began digging through the pockets of his coat.
I rolled my eyes. "I already know how you do it."
He arched his eyebrows challengingly. "Are you implying that it’s not impressive anymore?"
With another eye roll, I conceded with a nod and he went back to looking in the pockets inside the coat. He cussed to himself and shuffled, muttering to himself. I took the time to take note of his organized chaos on the desk. His note and grade books were stacked in no particular order with papers sticking out of them. The computer was off and he'd put a little smiley-face sticker on top of the mouse. Papers both graded and yet to be were in piles all over along with pens and books and...his top hat. The same he's worn on the first day and that he used for his magic show. I glanced to make sure he was still cursing and looking for whatever to pick up the hat and look inside it and outside it.
I wasn't expecting to find anything, but whenever I saw magicians on TV or at my birthday parties when I was little, there was some limitless intrigue about his hat. It was common and not extravagant, but it always looked so mysterious in its own way, like it was magical on its own. For some reason, they seemed to have their own personality and this one was perfect for Mr. Matthews. I kept checking to make sure he wasn't looking. I felt like a little kid sneaking through a grown-up's stuff.
So carefully you'd think I was waiting for an alarm to go off, I raised it up and placed it on top of my head. It wasn't too heavy, but the brim shielded by eyes from the classroom's lighting.
"You look sharp," Mr. Matthews said and my head jerked to him. I reached up quickly to take the hat off, but he chuckled and said, "No, keep it on. It looks great on you."
"Thanks," I mumbled, seeing a dim reflection of myself in the ebony computer screen. A quick burst of light flashed in my peripheral vision and I looked over to find Mr. Matthews holding a digital camera and smiling at the picture he took. He turned the camera around to show me the shot.
It was a headshot profile picture, my head turned away from him. My long black hair curled down from the brim in what looked like a veil the same shade as the hat. My pale skin looked like ivory in contrast and my eyes shown even brighter beneath my thin coal eyebrows. With the solemn look of my face and the hat, I looked dark and mysterious.
"I like it," Mr. Matthews said, about to put his camera away.
"Wait. Aren't you going to delete that?" I asked.
"Why would I?"
"Teachers aren't supposed to have personal pictures of their students..." I said, knowing it sounded utterly ridiculous. Teachers aren't supposed to be kissing their students either and I didn't do anything to stop that. I shrugged. "Never mind. It's pointless anyway. Arguing with you just wastes time."
"You're finally catching on," he said with another smile.
"But what happens if someone finds out about the picture?" I asked, knowing very well that I wasn't referring to the picture at all. He knew it too from the look in his eyes. "I mean, you and I have been spending quite some time together and what would happen if someone else got suspicious..."
"Don't worry about that. I was already questioned by the principal."
"You were what?" I exclaimed, eyes widening. Why didn't he tell me? Why didn't I get pulled in and get interrogated?
"Don't worry," Mr. Matthews said, taking off his glasses and folding them on the desk. "It didn't take long to convince ol' Mr. Daniel that I wasn't 'sexually involved' with a student, as he phrased it."
I glared at him.
"I swear, he was the one that said it, not me," Mr. Matthews readily insisted. "I assured him and everything, but once he mentioned that he wanted to ask you a few questions, I knew how much you'd hate that. Not a few minutes later, he was walking me out of the office, laughing, and considering recommending me for a raise." He looked a little too pleased with himself.
My jaw dropped. "And how did you manage that, might I ask?"
Mr. Matthews took a moment to frame his answer before he said, "Being in the Tarot has certain advantages."

I have gym with juniors and seniors, depending on the scheduling of classes and in-school extracurricular activities and so on, so I have PE with Garret. Normally, I dodge PE through nurse excuses, doctor notes, being sick, etc, but I had to participate sometimes. Today was one of those days. I never liked gym because its soul purpose was to humiliate the uncoordinated and inflate the egos of our class jerks. You can guess which category I fell into.
I was walking out of the girl's locker room and the boys were already warming up, jogging, and shooting some hoops. One the white board as you leave either locker room was the work-out for the day that the teachers would post, thus giving them even less work to do. Their jobs entailed nothing but sitting, chewing gum while yelling at us for chewing gum, and texting whatever few friends they had (sometimes, I think they're texting themselves to make them feel important). It's not secret how I feel about the gym teachers. I think that they should be volunteers because any person with a two-digit IQ could teach gym. I also loved how they gave it a special reference like "Physical Education" to make it sound important.
It's gym. That's all it is, quit it with putting PE on our schedules and notices.
Maybe I was slightly prejudiced about gym teachers just because I hated the class so much.
I wore long black athletic sweatpants and a white tee-shirt. My sneakers squeaked on the dirty, scuffed gym floor and I considered for a moment faking "monthly issues" (the female gym teachers would have empathy) but then I saw Garret playing basketball. He was tall, so it didn't take much effort to make the basket or keep the ball away and block the shorter players. A kid on his team playfully punched his shoulder and he smirked. He seemed to be having fun, even if sweat was beading on his forward.
I don't know who made sweat a good thing, but whoever started that needs to learn that salty water seeping out of your pores and making you sticky was not fun. In my opinion, everyone should avoid sweating at all costs. There's no way its healthy to lose your body's fluids through skin like that.
I began jogging and I listened to a group of girls all jogging in their tiny shorts in front of me when I heard them say "that tall, dark kid playing basketball..."
"Oh, that's Garret Martin," one girl, a brunette, said to the other who was a blonde.
The blonde said, "Damn, he's hawt!"
A third girl, a dark-rooted blonde, snorted and giggled. "You are so not his type. I don't think he has a type, really. I've never seen him talk to anyone, let alone a girl before."
"Maybe he's just shy," the blonde said, looking at him. "Being shy makes him even sexier. And, hell, he's got one nice bod."
I tuned out when they started talking about his butt. I grimaced and then agreed with myself that karma got me back. What happens when you eavesdrop? You get to listen to cheerleaders talk about your friend's butt. Not the highlight of my day.
I'm not saying that he doesn't have a nice butt, though.

I controlled an entire world with my fingers. Not the real world, not a magical world, but a beautiful one where I'm the Creator. I can build anything with these white and black keys. My hands run over the piano, pressing the chords and harmonies and the music filled the room. On the second story of the house, in the extra room, was only my piano. It was a sleek, black, classic grand piano that stood proudly in the center of the white-walls-and-beige-rug room. The window was open, the flimsy tan curtains flapping in the soft breeze. The bench was cool beneath me and I had a sudden surge of memories.
I hadn't touched my beautiful instrument in so long, I felt guilty for abandoning it in the lonely room. I felt like I'd neglected it. I rang out a few pieces to warm up and stretch my fingers, but then I got down to business for the reason I came in. On the music ledge, was a notebook and a pen. I wanted to write a piece of music. My Nightmare Journal was always something I used to remember what happened when I fell asleep, but music was the key to the soul. I didn't want to keep a diary...a piece of music was more than good enough.
I experimented with a few chords. Too low....too high...I chose one that ranged somewhere in the middle, maybe slightly closer to the lower notes. Now I had my main chord. I repetitively pressed the chord while pressing a few notes that didn't sound right. I sighed heavily. This wasn't going how I planned. I don't know how people did this for a living.
My white cotton tank top didn't shield me from a breeze of wind that played with my hair. The room was still and at total peace. The only noise as I sat there for minutes was the bird outside. Spring was so nice. It made everything so balanced and enhanced everything good. Everything was clean and sometimes even the rain wasn't so bad during the springtime. The pure calmness of the air around me was breathtaking in itself.
"Mind if I join you?"
The voice didn't startle me. It made me smile and turn slowly. Garret was leaning against the doorway into the piano room. In the hand that hung at his side were paper and a pencil. He seemed happy enough but I had a feeling about that having something to do with Mr. Matthews not being in school today. He hadn't mentioned being absent from school the other day when he gave me my tarot card deck, but maybe he came down with a cold. I wasn't too concerned about it...Alright, I was, but I was trying not to acknowledge it. But, at least Garret was pleased for the day. I hadn't talked to him since the other morning either.
He held up his sketchbook and charcoal pencil, taking a couple steps into the room. "I need inspiration."
"So do I," I answered. I started moving over to make room on the bench, but when I looked back, he was stretched out on the rug, his drawing things in his lap. Garret was really artistic. He played guitar and liked to draw and paint. He just sort of stared at me. I didn't know what to do from there other than drop my hands into my lap. "How'd you get in?" I knew damn well that Rick didn't let him in.
"Your mom. She told me where you were."
I nodded. "Do you want something to drink?" I began to get out of my seat, but he held up his hand.
"No. Don't mind me."
I sat back down and he said, "You can keep going. Do you mind being my muse?"
Quietly I chuckled and murmured, "Sure. Why not? I've never been someone's muse before." I turned back to my keys stared at them like there was a cryptic message that would suddenly reveal itself if I just stared long enough.
I closed my eyes and thought about how everything used to be. Just a few weeks ago -- hell, a few days ago -- everything was fairly normal. When I focused on that, my hands moved on their own. To my surprise, the music was a very basic, predictable, dull tune. But it had the potential to be better, so mentally I fast-forwarded to when Mr. Matthews began to sit with me at lunch, and the notes darkened a bit, dynamics growing a little.
I thought about that first day I spent with Garret and his car and just him. The music became rich and deep and tinged with shyness. It was as soft as a velvet lullaby, but strong at the same time. The notes ran deep, woven with the warmth and quiet that Garret was. The song made me feel cozy and safe and not afraid of anything. It was like a hot cup of coffee in the wintertime.
My thoughts reverted back to Mr. Matthews, but the side of him that I could tolerate. The side that made me irrationally excited and nervous and stubborn. The music danced playfully with an anxious beat now. It hastened my heart rate. I went through all the days I ate lunch with Mr. Matthews and his tricks. The notes became whimsical and joyous like kids on a playground.
My mind jumped back to the dark air between Mr. Matthews and Garret. The dark mystery that surrounded them when their eyes met. The music became eerie and I quickly thought to something different. I thought about the Curse and the music built with great intensity, at its peak. Then other thoughts mixed with that and I thought about Mr. Matthews' kiss and it sweetened and roughened at the same time I imagined Garret and his protective, brotherly love, yet the music didn't sound brotherly. It sounded thick and moving, desiring and loving and just so profound that it filled my body with such a burning sensation. Mr. Matthews and my Tarot deck popped into my head and then Garret standing at my door, his low voice, Mr. Matthews jokes, Garret's passion for the arts, Mr. Matthews' poetry... They swirled together with just so much force that I repeated one measure before my fingers must've been blown off with the drive.
My body was shaking. Wow. I'd never done that with a piano. It was like I poured all my feelings into it, and it listened and responded. It expressed every fiber of my thoughts and, in the end, controlled where it went, only it had nowhere to go from there. I wished everything were as black and white as those keys. I was panting lightly and I looked at Garret. His eyes were glittering.
"That was awesome," he said, and his words just pounded with how impressed he was. No one was more impressed than me.
I looked at Garret and his sketchpad, then at the little wooden box for my tarot deck on the piano. "It's not finished yet." And, regrettably, I wasn't just talking about the song.

I wasn't me, I knew that right away. I was someone else. I knew because I was seeing from a higher-up perspective than I normally do and because when I did look down, I had no curves and no long curls. I was thin, not soft, and tall. I strode with a slight swagger, no hip movement whatsoever. I was a man, that much was clear, but I had no control of my body and I was walking in through the threshold of a dark house. The moment I stepped in, I could tell whoever lived there was wealthy even if the lights weren't on to illuminate the marble floors and shiny chandelier.
I walked through the foyer and into a long hall, then up a flight of wide steps. The banister was smooth and glossy under my hand as I made my way slowly up the steps. My footfalls echoed around the huge house. I made it to the very top of the stairs and turned left. I was about to reach for the doorknob of a room before it was thrown open and I was hit with a hard, shocking force that I ddin't have time to react to.
I heard their murmurings and hissing, and I knew there was more than one, as they socked me and kicked me and held me to the ground to pound harder. I thrashed and flailed, trying to kick them off. I felt a fist of my own connect with a nose and heard a crack and a swear. I began to get hit harder and harder. It was getting hard to breathe from the pressure on my chest and the damaged ribs. I coughed and felt blood dripping over my lips. I tried taking shallow breaths since each hurt. All I could do was wait for one of two things.
One: For them to be done and leave.
Two: The figures to beat me to death.

For the first time ever, I wrenched upward from my bed in the midst of a dream. My cell phone was ringing and I scrambled in the dark of my room to find it. I followed the ringing and grabbed around on my bedside table until I felt the buzzing and snatched it up, bringing it to my ear. My voice was hoarse as I said, "Hello?" My heart was thudding something had to be wrong, I knew it.
"Whoever this is, you're friend Garret might need an ambulance." The menacingly raspy voice laughed and then the line clicked off.
My body trembled really hard and I tried not to panic. Everyone always said that panicking in an emergency made things worse. Only, it couldn't get worse than knowing you had somehow been transferred in your sleep to the body of a friend who was getting beaten so painfully then wake up, finding it was real, and not having any idea where he lived!
My shaking fingers clicked in a number frantically and before the other person could say anything, I breathed, "Where does Garret live?!"
"Rae, what's wrong?" Mr. Matthews asked, tiredness becoming nervous. I just realized that I was waking him up at two in the morning.
"Garret's been attacked in his home and I don't know where that is!" My voice was rising and squeaky and I felt something hard scarping my throat as tears welled up.
I already heard the jingling of keys on the other line while I climbed out of my own bed. There was the swish of a coat. "Calm down, Rae. I'm going to him now. Explain what happened." He was no longer tired, but severe and demanding.
"Where does he live?" I commanded, shrieking. I couldn't get enough power in my voice to sound ordering enough. I was in my hoodie and running down the stairs and towards the door. I think he heard the doorknob click.
"Rae, stay home. Do you understand me?" A car door was slammed shut. His tone was hard and sharp.
"Dammit, tell me where he lives!" I shouted. I was outside and I heard a stray cat meow in reaction to my volume. I was pulling my bike out of the shadows. My blood was cold, but my face was hot.
"Stay home." He hung up on me.
I threw my leg over the bike and at the same time called Matt. He answered on the first ring and I heard voices in the background and laughter, so I knew he was at a party which was some of the greatest news I'd heard all night. I asked for the address, he didn't ask for any questions in return, and I was on my way, down the street with no shoes on, lollipop shorts and a hoodie.


I pedaled as fast as I could in the dark, following my instincts instead of signs.


Less than an hour later, I was in the emergency waiting room. My body was just so jittery that I couldn't stand still or else I'd erupt. The ambulance had swooped in and carried Garret in, the sirens blaring, and speeding. When I'd gotten to Garret's house, a big three story house with a basement, Mr. Matthews was talking with the police and I only got a glimpse of Garret before they shut the doors and it didn't look good. I stumbled off my bike and ran to Mr. Matthews and the police officers, asking question after question. Mostly, I needed to know if Garret was alright.
Now, I was being interrogated like a suspect rather than a victim.
"Milo Matthews said that you called him because he'd know where your friend lived. How did you know that he was hurt though?" Officer Crowe asked. He was tall, skinny, with a prominent nose and a receding hairline. He must've been in his forties.
"Whoever attacked him called my phone and said that Garret needed an ambulance," I answered, tapping my feet, shifting my weight, and bending my knees over and over. "They said it really...evilly. He had a scratchy voice and they hung up immediately after."
"Why would they call you?" he asked.
I shrugged, wondering why the hell he was asking me these questions when they should be out scoping the town for the culprit, finger-printing the crime scene, getting samples and everything else! "I don't know! Maybe they just called the last person he did."
"Ma'am, I know you're worried, but you have to calm down," he said kindheartedly. Apparently he was sympathizing with me to get answers. I was being used and it frustrated me. "Now, I'm going to need to know your relationship with Garret Martin."
What did that have to do with anything?! "He's my friend! My best friend! Why do you think I'm here, having a panic attack! When are they going to let me see him?"
"You'll be able to see him when he's conscious and out of surgery," Officer Crowe told me. "Please, tell me more about your friendship."
I rolled my eyes, hands sweating from their pockets under my arms as I crossed them. I had to keep them there so I wouldn't start punching stuff. "I've known him since I was thirteen. Recently, we've started hanging out and carpooling to school. Can I please know why this is relevant?"
"You see, I need to know if you're intimately involved with Mr. Martin. That would change this scenario completely because between gang activity and high school cli--"
"'Intimately involved'?" I could hardly keep myself from screaming. "No, I'm not dating him!"
"Nowadays, you don't have to be dating to be intimate, miss. I'm sorry, I have to cover all bases."
I gaped. "Okay, then you'll be glad to know that I'm not sleeping with my best friend!" I can't believe this! I am purely a seriously concerned best friend and they're twisting my position in all this completely! I got the distress call, I'm the one who warned Mr. Matthews who called 911, I'm the one trying to save my friend, so why the hell did the damn police have to make everything so freaking complicated?!
Officer Crowe was just about to try to calm me down again when a hand dropped down on my shoulder. I looked up, fleetingly hoping it was a doctor, but it was only Mr. Matthews.
"She has an anxiety problem, Officer," Mr. Matthews told my interrogator. "Right now, she's just stressed. I'm sure she's told you everything she can."
Officer Crowe nodded understandingly and shut his notepad. He said, "I'll be calling you if I need further information, Matthews." I heard some other police muttering about how Garret's parents were out of town and there being no sign of forced entry at the house.
Mr. Matthews nodded and the police officer walked though the slinging doors into the emergency room where nurses and doctors hustled in the early hours between car accidents and fires and boys attacked in their homes. I wanted to run through and find Garret. Before I noticed that I was crying again, Mr. Matthews wiped away a few tears.
A sob scraped up my throat and I was bawling again, tears pouring and nose clogging and my chest aching so much. Needing the comfort, I threw my arms around Mr. Matthews and just clutched him tightly. His body was hot and durable, but I was cold and soft and just needed something sturdy to hold onto.
"I called your parents," he whispered to me. "There'll be here in twenty minutes. They weren't angry that you left the house without telling them then getting a ride to the hospital with me. They knew how scared you must have been."
I cried harder, soaking his pajama shirt. He was wearing flannel PJ pants, a tee, and slippers. In our pajamas, we looked a lot like the other people in the waiting room. At least most of them had coats, but I could care less about the cold. I just wanted Garret to be okay. I wanted the people who hurt him to be tracked down and jailed for the rest of their lives for breaking and entering, disturbing the peace, attempted murder and loads of other things! I wanted their grandmas have to help pay bail.
I was crying loudly, I knew that, and after a few moments of standing and rocking, Mr. Matthews reached down and scooped me up to carry to the seats while I continued to sob. After sitting me on his lap in one of the chairs, he wrapped his big, long trench coat around me and I slowly faded into a teary coma.

I knocked on the door, my stomach not agreeing with the memories of the last time I was there. Two days ago, Garret was attacked in his own home in the middle of the night. The attackers called me afterward, I called Mr. Matthews who called 911, and everything just went downhill from there. That was all I knew and all I wanted to know until the criminals were caught and put in the slammer. The accident happened in the early hours, so I stayed home that day and went to stay with Garret for the afternoon.
I don't really want to recall the condition he'd been in then. Thank merciful God, it looked worse externally than it was internally. He had about half of his ribs bruised and one cracked and in surgery they stopped that one from puncturing his lung. They had put a torso splint which was a lot like two narrow, flat panels that fit from his armpit down to his waist and then had tape and gauze wrapped around and around, covering his entire chest and stomach. His nose was broken as well as and his face looked like a plum on the first and second day.
When he opened the door, I felt that overwhelming relief that I'd felt the day before that he was physically recovering quickly. He was walking well, which is an accomplishment of its own with his sprained ankle and bruised shins from being tackled into the ground. Not only that, there were big purple blotches all over his body that I saw when he'd been in one of those flimsy hospital gowns. And his face was really much better, he only had one eye with a noticeably black eye and that white bandage over his nose. A dark spot shadowed his jaw, but since he hadn't shaved in days it blended in with his stubble. On his left cheek were tiny white bandages holding together the eight stitches. But he smiled at me.
"What're you doing here?" he asked.
"Since you're not allowed to drive or over-exert yourself, I brought you transportation." I nodded to Shawn Matthews' car. I'd called him that morning for a favor and since he was such a nice guy, he drove me, not even asking about Rick.
I hadn't talked to Rick for a long time now. We were obviously avoiding each other and out parents had tried to corner us into the same room, but none of their "sneaky" methods have worked so far. We got our stubbornness from them.
"I would've driven. It's only a cosmetic injury." He grinned, stepping out of the house and locking it behind him. He double-checked the lock.
"Yeah, but with your pain meds would've driven you into a tree and your 'cosmetic' injuries would turn into 'helluva-lot-worse' injuries."
Garret chuckled and slid into the backseat of Shawn's silver Saturn and I got in next to him. Shawn began to drive, saying hi to Garret with a smile, asking how he was feeling, and Garret joked back with a "Oh, you know, feelin' pretty good for someone who got the s*** kicked out of him." Shawn laughed and continued to drive.
Garret began to roll down the window and said, "Hey, Shawn, you mind if I smoke in here?"
Shawn was about to shake his head, say it was fine, but I said, snatching the box of Marlboro out of his hand, "The doctor said not to smoke."
"The doctor's not the boss of me," he responded, taking the box back with his big strong hand. I don't know how he could still manage to be stronger than me after being beaten to a pulp.
"Yeah, but right now, I am. You should've heard those nurses talking after they cut into you to save your lung. Not healthy."
Garret narrowed his eyes at me. "Too bad. I'm having a cigarette."
"Can't without a lighter."
"I have a lighter."
My hand shot out and retrieved the lighter from his sweatshirt pocket and threw it out his open window. I did it without thinking, but in the end it was a good idea. Garret and I were scowling at each as hard as we could. Shawn was laughing.
"Listen to you two! You're fighting like an old married couple," Shawn snickered, shaking his head. I said his grey eyes shining with amusement in the rearview mirror.
Garret sighed and sat back in the chair, wincing as his chest adjusted to leaning on the seat. He was still wearing the rib splint and it kept everything firm and tight, but movement was kind of painful, he'd told me. Right now, he was still grimacing and giving me dirty looks. "Why the hell'd you do that?"
"Because smoking is bad for you." I crossed my arms and watched out my window. I kept my gaze away from Garret. There was no way that I was going to have been tortured over the outcome of his surgery and hospital stay to have him harmed by something as stupid and pointless as smoking.
It was quiet for a little bit longer until I felt Garret's hand come over mine on the seat between us. I looked over and he said, "I know, you're concerned. I'm sorry."
I nodded and he took his hand away to stare out his own window. His hand was twitching the entire way to school, flipping his cigarette box lid open and closed, rotating it constantly. His smoking hand was just begging to grab one and find a lighter. Having a cigarette box without a lighter for an avid smoker was like giving an alcoholic a bottle of wine without a bottle opener.
I wasn't sorry though.

"...Tonight, just write up the themes of your poem of choice and be ready to discuss tomorrow," Mr. Matthews said with a big smile at everyone in the class just before the bell rang. He was always perfect on time. Everyone started packing up and filing out the door, talking and laughing and having not a single care in the world other than their BFF stabbing them in the back over a guy, the upcoming baseball match, blah blah blah.
I took my time. Mr. Matthews was erasing the board in no pattern, just huge swooping arches and loops to get rid of his elegant handwriting. When he turned around, I was only about five feet behind him. "Rae, how's Garret doing?" he asked, leaning against the chalk ledge.
"He's good. He's back in school, so at least he's released from being bed-bound." I smirked and then sighed. "I just wanted to say thank you for helping me that night...You really pulled through, more than anyone else could've, so...thanks." I looked at my feet and toed one with the other.
Mr. Matthews stepped towards me and used his hand to lift up my chin. His smoky eyes caught mine. "Rae, never hesitate to call me for anything. I'll always pull through for you."
I nodded. Somehow, I knew he was being honest. With anyone else, I would've rolled my eyes, dismissed it as utter bullshit, and walked away. But Mr. Matthews was direct and truthful. There was no hokey fooling when it came to his word.
He pulled me in for a tight hug that I returned. It wasn't long ago that I was terrified of Mr. Matthews from him just walking through the poetry room door, but here I was embracing him.
"I better go," I said, letting go and picking up the books on my desk (the jerk he was, he made assigned seats and put me in front). I turned for the door and paused at what I saw there.
Rick was staring through the door at Mr. Matthews and I at the front of the room. He had the most peculiar expression-- it was angry and confused and uncertain. I walked out to him, waving to Mr. Matthews goodbye and entering the hall where he stood. There were barely any other students left since the bell for the next class was about to ring.
"What's wrong with you?" I asked him.
His lips popped open in shock and he said, "What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you! I'd heard some rumors and swung by to just prove myself wrong, but, no, of course everything is true!" He was so shocked and appalled and I had no idea why.
"What's true? I have no idea what you're talking about!"
The few kids that were still in the halls all had their heads turned to us, and I knew why. Rick Holmes, one of the most popular kids in the entire school was talking, taking the time to argue, with your truly, Girl-whose-name-no-one-knows-but-avoids-anyway.
"Oh, you don't?" he demanded and our voices were rising. "So you're denying getting friendly with your teacher? Just a while ago, you weren't interested in boys at all and now you have the freak Goth Garret on your tail and an older guy? What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"Are you stupid?" I demanded, taking another step towards him. I wasn't afraid of him anymore. "You have no idea what's going on! And, no, I'm not getting 'friendly' with my teacher! You don't know anything about me, so shove off! Why would you even give a damn?"
"Because I'm your brother, dammit!" he screamed and the moment the words were out, his voice dropped dead quiet as the bystanders gasped. Rick just confessed to a secret he'd kept for almost six years. And I hadn't even forced him to, asked him to, or had any part in revealing it. It was all him this time, he had no one to blame but himself.
"Well, you don't act like it," I said, shoving his shoulders and a slight pain stung my finger. Faintly, in the back of my head I thought...
He's a Tarot...?
But that passed by really quickly because Mr. Matthews was out of his classroom, before us, playing teacher now. "Okay, you two, break it up before someone gets hurt and I have to send you to the office."
Rick shot him a glare before grunting then walking away. I watched him navigate through the halls as the bell sounded, his stride taut and his admiring classmates watching him in confusion.
I knew that by the end of the day everyone would know that I was Rick's sister.

"You can't be serious."
"I totally am! Not kidding, Sara's boyfriend's best friend saw them have a fight in the hall."
"Ohmigod! I can't believe it! That creepy girl's brother is Rick!"
There were too many conversations like that to keep track of, so I stopped listening and ignored their stares and comments and whispers. It was the biggest news of the day, enough to wake up lethargic teenagers. Suddenly, suffering a whole day of school was worth the newest gossip. Rick was bombarded by friends and his girlfriend and his teammates just to find out if it was all true. He didn't answer really, just avoided it. Well, at least karma was getting back at him.
I was swerving my way through the senior hall and it was the same everywhere else; everyone parted the way for me like I was the Queen of England and watched as I went by, the chatter dying down into low conversations. It was funny how they thought I wouldn't figure out what they were saying when it was so obvious.
Garret was at his locker, Matt standing next to him holding his books. What with the whole broken body ordeal, he got someone to hold his stuff for him. I knew that somewhere in the day he'd had a cigarette by the simple fact that Matt was a pyro, always with lighters on him, and his hand wasn't twitching. I decided that he had bigger problems than smoking, so I gave him a break and didn't scold him.
I walked up to him and took some of the things off of Matt's stack to carry in my own arms. Garret's locker was in chaos, but manageable at least.
"I heard what happened," Matt said with a smirk. "He blew his own cover! That asshole deserves it."
I sighed and leaned against the locker next to Garret's.
Matt went on, "I mean, to just let the cat out of the bag on his own was priceless! It must've been amazing to see..."
"Hey, Matt?" Garret said lowly.
"Yeah, man?"
"Shut up."
Matt just shrugged and went on talking, but about different things. "Last night was so awesome! Spider and I were just hanging out and--"
"Wait. Spider? As in, the pothead Spider?" Garret asked, looking as if something had struck him internally. He stopped gathering his stuff and putting away. He just faced Matt now. Apparently Matt wasn't aware of this change in his demeanor.
"Aw, come one, don't be mean about him. He's a really cool guy and--"
"Matt, where were you that night? I remember that you had said you'd be in my house when I got back from Cheryl's."
"Oh, I didn't tell you. I was going to call and let you know, I was getting this done." Matt rolled up his long, black-and-white striped sleeve and revealed a white bandage. "That's what I was trying to say, Spider was adding color to it last night."
Garret, so quick if I blinked I would've missed it, ripped off the bandage. Matt sucked in a hiss in pain and on his shoulder, surrounded by puffy redness, was a wolf, head thrown upward, with silver edges to his fur.
"Damn, Matt, can you get any dumber?" Garret growled, fury flaming in his eyes. "I thought you told me that you wouldn't do this anymore! You said you didn't talk to Spider and his gang." He practically spat the last word.
"It's not what you think, Garret," Matt tried to reason, but looking just as angry. "These guys, they're like a family. They would never put each other in danger--"
"That's what you think now, but what happens when they need you to run an errand or maybe you get caught? Who's gonna be around when that happens? They're not a family, Matt, you have one. You have three brothers who--"
"Who hate me? Is that what you were about to say, because if it was anything else, then you're wrong! Luke and John are in college, and when they come for the weekend, they don't even like to talk to me. Mark is too young to know anything except that I'm a bad influence. I don't have a family!"
"No, you have a curse. What, the Tarot isn't good enough for you, you have to be in a gang too?"
Of course, Matt is in the Tarot! How come I hadn't figured that out?
"They're not the kind of gang you think they are!" Matt snapped. "Now leave me alone, Dad. You're not in charge of me." Matt dropped the rest of the books and stomped away, face boiling with anger. I didn't know where he was going, but it probably wasn't somewhere I wanted to be right now.
Garret threw the locker shut and slammed it with a fist. I hoisted his backpack onto my shoulder, not asking a single question, and let him steam in silence.

"Thanks, Shawn," Garret mumbled as he got out of the car. Shawn kept quiet the whole ride from school, sensing the thick atmosphere. I couldn't blame him.
"Uh, I'll just get out here, okay?" I said, opening my own door. "Thanks again, Shawn. I really appreciate it."
Garret's long stride made it so he was already in the house by the time I shut the car door. I hurried behind, went in, and locked the door behind me and jiggled the knob to make sure. We both were getting paranoid with locking doors. I could hear Garret's heavy steps sound up the stairs and it terrified me that I knew exactly where they were from the dream. I jogged up the staircase behind him and I was halfway up when a door slammed. Don't kid yourself into thinking he had no idea I was there, because he knew. He was just ignoring me.
"Garret!" I called, two steps from the top landing of the stairs. "Garret, let me in, please." I knocked on his bedroom door when I heard a crash of something being either thrown or shoved. "Please!"
"He's such a fucking idiot!" I heard Garret shout and then another crash. I twisted the doorknob and it was locked. The paranoia had nothing to do with this. This was specifically to keep me out.
"Garret, please don't hurt yourself!" I begged, banging on the door again.
"Why?" he demanded and the door was open before me. He filled the doorway, and he just trembled with anger. "Why not, Rae? Why can't I hurt myself when everyone around me is? Matt, my parents, you? And why do I have to listen to what anyone says? I live for myself, don't I? I should be on the top of my list and I'm not!" A fist made hard contact with the frame.
"Please, Garret, don't--"
"Don't what? Don't hit stuff? Don't be angry? What, Rae? What is it that you want exactly?" I'd never heard him be so loud or so furious, it almost scared me. "One second you're more than happy just to hang out with me and the next you're getting cuddly with an asshole like Milo! What do you want?"
Everything just seemed to be centralized around my relationship with Mr. Matthews. What was everyone seeing that I didn't?
"Why won't you tell me?" Garret shouted, looking torn and broken and just full of wrath.
"Tell me what you want," I said helplessly. "What do you want, and I'll do my best to help."
Garret was shaking his head, anger decreasing slightly. His shoulders weren't as tight, but he was still rigid. "You wouldn't."
"Yes, I will," I said, taking his balled up hand. It was turning white. "I'll do whatever I can." Was I crying? I must have been, my vision was getting blurry. His hand opened in mine. His hand was big compared to mine.
I heard him sigh. "Don't cry," he said, quiet once again. "I'm sorry. Please don't cry." It was like the fight just went out of him. His shoulders were drooped, his head was tilted downward. "I didn't mean to take it out on you."
I shook my head and wiped at my tears. "No, I deserved it. Don't apologize." I shouldn't have bothered him when he just needed to vent. I didn't know what told me to follow him. Then, I realized that his hoodie was off and through his tee-shirt there was no padding or gauze. He must have taken the shirt off, taken off the splint, then put it back on so I wouldn't notice, but I did. I sniffed and breathed, "You took off your splint?"
Garret looked down. "Uh...yeah."
I walked past Garret and into his room. It reminded me of his car-- dark, warm, sort of messy. He had CDs strewed throughout, an easel next to a desk that held paint and brushes, colored pencils and charcoal, paper and canvas. On his walls hung pictures that I knew right away he had painted. They were magnificent, all different sizes and different scenes, some dark and evil, others just beautiful.
"You know how you write in that Nightmare Journal?" he asked, sitting on his bed. I nodded, staring at the artwork. One painting was of a glowing white angel with feather wings plunging a knife into a demon with leather wings' chest. He went on, "Well, whenever I have a dream about how someone's going to die, I draw. I have a sketchpad that I keep secret."
"They're so good," I breathed. I found myself looking at one of a fallen ballerina, sitting on the floor looking hopeless and depressed when the studio mirror behind her reflected her up, smiling, and twirling on Pointe. I loved it. The texture of the paint brought it to life from its perch on the wall. "Really, you're very gifted."
He smirked, but it never reached his eyes. "Thanks."
I unglued my eyes from his work and stepped around one of the pictures that were facedown that he must've thrown against the wall. I bent down to pick up the pieces of the splint he tore off. I brought them over to the bed and I motioned for him to take off his shirt. He did as I told him, and raised his arms even if it hurt him.
He had a hard, sculpted chest and right down the middle now was a nasty scar with dark stitches from the operation. I shivered that what might've happened if they didn't immediately operate to stop the rib from puncturing a lung of major organ. Right now, his pale white skin was blue and black right across. I began to place the flat panels beneath his arms and wrap the tape and bandage around and around him until it was nice and tight. When he winced, I quickly apologized, but he never replied.
"Are you going to tell me what happened with Matt?" I asked hesitantly. I didn't want to rehash what just happened, but I needed to know.
Garret ran a hand through his hair and let out a long breath. "Matt has a history with a certain gang. We finally got him to pull away after they had jumped a kid from our school and he swore up and down that he wouldn't get tangled with them again. So, when I heard him mention Spider -- he was probably trying to slip in his connection with him subtly so I wouldn't flip -- I remembered that Tuesday night, he was supposed to be in the house. He's the only other one with a key and he had to sleep here because of a fight with his parents, only I was getting home late, so he said it was no problem." He shook his head and laid back on his bed gently. "Then I found out about the tattoo and when I saw it, I knew. The gang calls itself the Wolf Pack. And now that he's back with them, they'll do anything to keep him. Including break into my house and beating me up as a warning. I can't completely remember what they said, but the more I think..."
My heart was beating faster. "But the police said there were no signs of forced entry..."
"That just means no windows or locks were broken. Yet, if they had a key..." His voice faltered and it was silent.
The pieces came together in my head. Matt had a key, the attackers came in without forced entry, Matt was back with a gang known for jumping and hurting others... It all spun around in my head and my stomach tugged in that way that I knew it was onto something. Something bad.
I stretched across the bed and I leaned over so I looked him in the face. "I'm so sorry."
"What do you have to apologize for? You saved me. Who knows what would've happened if I wasn't rushed into the hospital." He absently touched his face, the bandaged bump on his nose, the slice on his cheek. His split lips, both no longer swollen, quirked into a grin. "I look like s***, huh?"
"No, you don't," I said, shaking my head. Even just after the attack, he was handsome. Those green eyes made nothing seem so bad, so when I looked into them my problems -- our problems -- that day just disappeared. I touched my fingers to the bumpy stitches on his cheek. For some reason, my cheeks warmed up and his felt hot under my fingers.
"Well, I feel like it. And...just a few days ago...that awful feeling dawned in my stomach when I saw Matt...I don't know how or when, but he's...going...to die." His voiced choked hard at the end. "I know, just know, it's going to have something to do with that stupid gang and..." It sounded like his voice wouldn't allow any more words.
I felt my eyes widen in fear. I had no idea how he could live with that. Predicting his best friend's death.
"Have you ever been wrong?" I whispered.
Garret shook his head. "Never."
"Maybe we could...stop it from happening. Maybe there's some way."
"You can't stop the natural order of things. If he's meant to die...well..." He pulled in a deep breath that must've hurt his ribs a lot. "He's my only friend..."
"I'm your friend. I won't leave you."
Garret's eyes dug down into my soul. He lifted from the bed on his elbow, enough to be only and inch from my face. "I don't want you as only a friend..."
His mouth caught mine fully. Everything around me dissolved into nothing. The room was gone, the house was gone, the past never existed and neither did Matt and his gang, Rick and his life, our Curse and pain, the Tarot, it just was gone. It never was in this world. The bed wasn't even beneath us, our lips were just together and that's all I knew.
I mimicked what he did. When his lips opened, mine followed. His mouth moved hard and soft, rough and smooth on mine. I felt his hands curl into my hair. There were no inhibitions between us, just what we wanted and at that moment all I really wanted was this. He lay back down, pulling me with and holding tight. Our kiss deepened and our tongues were dueling each other and it was like nothing I've ever experienced before. I wasn't nervous. I wasn't scared of anything.
I wasn't even scared of Mr. Matthews and what he would think...
I didn't care what he'd think, or even Rick for that matter...
I pushed them to the back of my head, but they just kept surfacing, trying to emerge, and persuade me. I didn't allow them though. I might've been confused and sort of incoherent, but there was no way that I wanted to lose this nothingness.
Well, it wasn't nothingness. It was more us the simplicity of just us.
I don't know whose kiss roughened first. But suddenly we were fueled by anger. His directed towards Matt, mine because of my brother. We were gripping each other and breathing faster and needing air. We broke apart, gasping. He kissed my cheeks, my forehead.
Everything dawned on me then. This was wrong of me. What was I doing? Garret deserved someone better than me, someone who could be with him and only him, without having someone who was trying to sort out things with another guy and...Jeez. I felt like a whore. A dirty, filthy whore who'd kissed and embraced Milo and now was kissing Garret like nothing ever had happened otherwise.
I pulled away carefully, head hung. My lips felt funny and wet. But my stomach felt sick. I wanted to hold Garret more, rather than see that confusion and questions in his eyes, but I couldn't, not without feeling awful.
"Your...chest. I was leaning on it, I don't want to hurt you," I whispered as an excuse. He most likely didn't believe me, but it was the best I could do without saying "Well, I kissed Mr. Matthews and feel like a slut because now I'm kissing you." But I didn't say that.
I stood up from the bed, said goodbye and felt my heart call out to me that I wasn't totally lying.
"...I don't want to hurt you."
That was the heartbreakingly awful truth.

"The dinner party is semi-casual, so you might think about wearing a dress."
I swear to God he popped up out of nowhere! One second Mr. Matthews is nowhere to be seen (I should know, I've been checking behind me and scoping the area all day) and the next he's on the swing next to me! I was sitting in the park that entire Saturday morning, just mulling over everything in my head. There was so much packed in there, it was becoming so painful that the excess might've poured out my ears.
"How many times do I have to tell you? Announce yourself before scaring me!" I chided him. I was short on patience.
"But that would ruin the fun," he said with an easy smile. "Are you okay?"
I nodded too quickly. "Yeah, everything’s fine. Now, what are you talking about?"
"You're jumpy."
"Am not!"
"And defensive."
"I'm nothing of the sort!"
"And sounding like a Jane Austen novel again."
I sighed and rolled my eyes. I was being shot-tempered for no reason that he knew, so it wasn't his fault, but I needed to take it out on someone. And at the moment, Mr. Matthews seemed like the perfect target. I could've been happy with everything if he hadn't made everything complicated. If he had never kissed me, I wouldn't feel bad for kissing Garret. If Mr. Matthews hadn't got me so tongue-tied and flushed, then I could be perfectly comfortable and easygoing around Garret. But, no! He was the source of all my problems right now.
"Are you angry at me?" Mr. Matthews asked, not showing the proper weariness. He said it like he was amused. Being the Magician in the Tarot wasn't good enough; he should've been the Fool.
I honestly didn't have the proper reasons for my anger. I said, "Don't worry about it. Now, what is it that you were talking about?"
"Cheryl's dinner party. I'll be picking you and your brother up around six and--"
"Wait. My brother? Why are you picking up Rick?"
"Oh. I guess I forgot to tell you that when a Tarot member has a twin, the other always is a part of the Tarot as well."
I gasped hard, even though I should have figured. "Well, you can just spring something on him at a party! He has no idea and--"
"Since the beginning of the Curse, my descendants have always been the ones to inform a found Tarot. Right now, Shawn is having lunch with your brother and explaining everything."
I gaped like a fish. "Why didn't you tell me?! What card is he?"
Mr. Matthews stood from the swing and said, "Your brother is a card known as the Sun. He can see people for who they are, tell lie from truth, and read people, not as well as you though. For him, his gifts just seem like hunches, but Shawn will tell him everything like I told you. Though we're not sure if your brother will react the same way or differently than you."
"So you were just not going to tell me?"
"The last time I saw you, you didn't seem in the mood for me to mention your brother," he pointed out and I knew I was right. I forced my body to calm down the fire that was making me burn even angrier. Why did Rick get a nice card like the Sun and I got some creepy, nightmare-bearing Priestess who has a job I don't even want to do! It's just another thing he can rub in my face and think is cool and treat it like a gift.
"Oh...okay, I'm sorry. I'm just...moody. Now, what about the dinner party?"
"Wow, you really are distracted, aren't you? It's semi-casual, so make sure that you and your brother dress nicely, okay?"
I froze for a few moment, thinking about my closet. "Um, I don't own any dresses."
Mr. Matthews raised an eyebrow. "None?"
I shook my head, embarrassed. What kind of girl doesn't own a dress? The last funeral I went to was when I was fourteen, and I'm just saying that anything from then (even that plain black dress) did not fit me now. It was just impossible.
"Okay, well...I guess we should go shopping, huh?" Mr. Matthews said, taking out his car keys, but I held up my hand and shook my head.
"I'll, uh, borrow something...from my mom..." I didn't want to be in a close space with Mr. Matthews or be alone with him, just because I'd feel really awkward and have no idea what to talk about it. Heck, we were out in the open with kids playing all around this and I was tripping over my words like I do over my feet.
"Your mom?"
"Mhm."
"Okay, then. I'll see you at six."

"Oh, my baby's first big-girl dinner party!" my mom enthused, inside her walk-in closet, bouncing around like a bunny on steroids. I told her that Rick and I had been invited to Shawn's family dinner party and she was off the walls with joy. At first, she'd been ecstatic that I was becoming friends with Rick's friends, but once she noticed that this was something that Rick and I were doing together after not speaking for weeks, there was just no way she would question anything. We could've been lying and actually going to a pot-smoking party and she wouldn't care.
Her mind was set on picking out the perfect dress for me. My mom didn't have the same body structure as me, but she bought the same size dress because she would stuff her bra. I'm not kidding, my mother, the respectable surgeon, had a problem with being flat-chested so she bought her dresses big and stuff them. She even had hip padding. In the end, this was all good for me since I could borrow a dress and have a chance at fitting.
"Now...it's a family party, right? So it has to be modest..." she muttered squeakily.
Was it ever an option to dress me up all risqué? My eyes widened at my mother. If she was that eager to get me friends (her mind was set on getting me a boyfriend, but in her dreams) then maybe I should seriously start talking more. When I was born, my mom would dress me up all fancy and made plans to make me a model. I was in one pageant when I was three and I came in 2nd place and to this day she insists that the one and only reason that I didn't get 1st was because the other mom had bigger boobs and two of the three judges were men.
I thought pageants were superficial and sexist, but my mom -- the surgeon, for crying out loud -- disagreed majorly. She thought they were just to emphasize a girl's inner and outer beauty and that when you've got, flaunt it. Like I said, superficial.
"Okay, I think I've got the perfect one." She turned around and showed me a poofy pink dress with white polka-dots all over it.
I had four words for her and I said them straight out: "Now way in hell." I had more dignity than to where that monstrosity.
"Oh, fine, be a critic." Mom pouted and went back to looking through her closet which was too big for any one person. My dad's stuff didn't even go in there, he got the dresser. "Polka-dots are in the height of fashion, I'll have you know..."
I heard her chattering nonstop, but I surveyed the room. Mom and Dad had a nice big king bed with warm brown-and-beige covers. The rest of the room had a matching color scheme. When I was in there, I felt cozy and like I should just burrow in the covers and nap. There was a vanity with a big mirror next to a table on one side of the room. The vanity had all make-up of various kinds and the table was filled with perfumes in all different bottles. They were different colored glass that when he light hit them, they made a rainbow on the floor and ceiling like a stained-glass window in a church would do.

"I found it! This one you'll love."

Mom revealed the dress and I smiled.



I was hiding upstairs when Mr. Matthews knocked on the door. You think that they'd have a problem with the older brother of the boy who invited their children to the party picking them up, but Mom didn't. Dad had a suspicious look in his eyes, but barely spoke, so nothing was mentioned. Mom positively adored Mr. Matthews after the night he helped me with Garret's emergency then taking care of me. I think my mom should be slightly more cautious with people. She never saw even the potential of bad in anyone, she was so gullible and naive.
So I hid upstairs while Mom invited Mr. Matthews in to wait for me to be ready. Little did she know that it look only a minute to put my panty-hoes and heels on. And the only reason why it took that long was because it took two tries for me to get the concept that I had to sit down to put on the tights. She'd done my make-up and hair and I felt like a doll. A very pretty, klutzy doll. And I didn't want Mr. Matthews to see me like this because it would unleash a world of jokes and teasing.
And because I was afraid that he would think I didn't look good.
I'm just self-conscious like that.
Rick even went downstairs and shook hands with Mr. Matthews while I watched from behind the wall at the top of the staircase. Rick and I haven't spoken since he came back from lunch, but every time our eyes met, I saw both understanding and confusion in his eyes. I'd avoided him after that. I should've told him, we were twins, but now that I kept a secret and was in a fight with him, I felt like a traitor.
"Rae, aren't you done yet?" Mom called up, not that she had a problem with chatting with Mr. Matthews, she just had this hang-up on never being late or early to a party.
My foot shook as I stepped out from behind the wall and began my descent to the first floor. Shock flashed across Mr. Matthews face but then faded into a smile that made me blush. Maybe he didn't notice because Mom had already made my cheeks pink.
Mom gave me a pair of heart earrings that dangled a little and glittered and she made up my face like a professional cosmetic technician. In the mirror, I hadn't recognized myself and was mistaken for Snow White. She enhanced my curls with hair products and a blow-dryer so there were thick ringlets all over my head that she hair-sprayed (I had to stop her before my hair was crackly or like rocks).
Then there was the dress that completed my magical-godmother-worthy transformation.
It was black dress that came to my knees with a pencil skirt that kept my thighs together. It emphasized my hips and made me look taller with my simple one-strap stiletto heels. The bodice was just as precisely cut to my body with a thin leather belt that was buckled around my waist, right across my belly-button. It had a square neckline and I remembered my mom saying, "It's not a bad thing to have a little cleavage with girls like yours" but I don't know if I was comfortable with what she considered a "little" cleavage. It had short sleeves that capped my shoulders and finished the neckline. It was a very nice, expensive dress that just made my worst features become beautiful. I was worried about spilling food or drinks on it.
Even with the dress and shoes, make-up and hair, I thought Rick still made me look like a hobo. He wore simple black slacks and dress shoes with a dark blue button-up shirt tucked in and with a black tie. Add his blonde hair and natural good looks to the mix and he's a male model ready for his close up.
"Oh, sweetie, you look gorgeous!" Mom squealed, wrapping me in a huge before I even got off the last step. "I don't know why you won't become a model," she whispered in my ear and I couldn't help but chuckle at her persistence.
"I don't look that different," I murmured at my toes. I looked at the nice watch she gave me and said, "We better get going."
"Oh, of course! Have a good time," Mom told me and Rick with kisses on our cheeks as we went out the door and into Mr. Matthews's car.
Mr. Matthews held open the passenger seat door for me and I grinned to myself that Rick had to sit in the back.
I was slowly getting him to pay me back.
"Are you nervous?" Mr. Matthews asked both of us.
I nodded but Rick just said, "So how many people are going to be there?"
"Nineteen, including us three," Mr. Matthews answered.
I was confused. "Aren't there twenty-two trump cards in a deck of tarot cards?" I was a little relieved that the number was decreased because that meant less people I had to chat with.
Mr. Matthews smirked. "You did your research. And, yes there are. But the Wheel of Fortune card is actually four different people, the Bell brothers. And there are two missing Tarot cards, the Hierophant and Judgment. Time isn't coming. Then, the card known as the World is just the universe, basically. In the beginning of time, it was said that the Tarot owned the entire universe but now that we've been cursed and have our following minor cards taken away, we're not in control anymore."
"It sounds like a cult," I heard Rick mumble.
Mr. Matthews just laughed though. "We're not trying to convert you. I'm Catholic, the Bell brothers are Jewish, Cheryl's Presbyterian...We're a big melting pot of religions, so that's not the matter at all."
"That brings us down to twenty-one people though," I pointed out. "What about the other two?"
It was like his face was a slate of humor wiped clean. He was solemn in a second. "The Devil and Tower aren't invited for reasons more than obvious. You'll meet them when the time comes."
I nodded as a shiver rattled down my vertebrae.
Mr. Matthews pulled us up in front of a very large house that I wouldn't be understating by called a mansion. A lot of the Tarot were earning big bucks, let me tell you. It was big, white, and made out of stone. Mr. Matthews hurried to my side of the car to hold the door open from me and as I stood up, he whispered in my ear, "You look beyond beautiful, by the way."
I blushed and he smiled. "Th-thanks," I mumbled and he then led Rick and me to the door.
Opening the door before we could ring the doorbell or use the very cool gold door-knocker, the door was open and Tom Willard stood, tall and handsome in navy blue suit, white tailored shirt and a midnight blue tie. He looked cool and composed, like he was used to having such elegant affairs and I had no doubt he was. I felt even more like a hobo.
"Welcome, High Priestess," Dr. Willard said with a bow. A real bow, like one from the waist all the way down until his body was a right angle. I didn't know what to do to that except what I did.
"Uh...hi?"
Nice going, High Priestess.
"Hm," was all Dr. Willard had as a response and he turned to walk into the house.
I whispered to Mr. Matthews as we ventured further into the house, through the vast foyer, and towards wherever the party was being held, "Why did he bow to me?"
"It's customary for the Tarot to bow to their Priestess once she attends her first meeting, which is what this is," he answered casually.
"Uh...isn't that a little old-fashioned?"
"It's tradition."
"Okay then, why aren't you bowing to me?" I asked with a smirk, raising an eyebrow.
Mr. Matthew grinned. "Simple. I'm the Magician. In the tarot deck, you'll see that the Priestess is labeled as number two. Who do you think is the only card with a number above the Priestess?"
"The Magician," I grumbled, feeling disappointed that Mr. Matthews didn't have to bow to me. That would've been rich. "Of course."
"Yes, but every other Tarot has to bow to you," Mr. Matthews said with a glance at Rick and a wink at me. I grinned. I'd make Rick bow to me at the very next chance I got.
Rick and Mr. Matthews were on either side of me as we entered the dining room which was more of a dining hall with a dance floor even. Music was being played, the long main table was lined with hor' devours and drinks in wine crystal wine glasses. There were people scattered all over, some I recognized, others not, all dressed in suits and dresses, looking as beautiful as a panting.
When I walked in, it was like an alarm went off and everyone's eyes were on me. All in unison, so much it scared me, they bowed low then stood back up and went back to their conversations like nothing changed. It was creepy.
Cheryl, with a beaming smile, hurried over to me in a knee-length, empire-waist dress the color of sunset pink. She wore more heels even if they were impractical for a pregnant woman, but she looked like an expert in walking in them. Her long brown hair was pulled up in a pretty bun. She was the perfect representation of a hostess.
"Radiance, you look positively wonderful. And Richard, handsome as always. Welcome to our Tarot!" she exclaimed, giving me a hug. She opened her arms questioningly to Rick who accepted the embrace albeit uncomfortably. "Make yourselves at home. Milo, make sure to introduce her to everyone," she added sternly.
"I'm not some slob," he grumbled. "I know my manners." And he definitely looked like it too. Tonight, he'd ditched the long black coat for a black suit, white shirt, and red tie. He looked sophisticated and polite. As Cheryl walked away, he offered me his arm and I accepted hesitantly. "If you'll follow along, Rick."
Rick didn't look like his usual energetic, charismatic self. He looked shy and self-conscious and what I was normally like. I don't know what was so terrifying to him about these people, but I figured that I had a week to warm up to the idea and he just found out this afternoon. It felt good to be experienced in something he wasn't for once.
Mr. Matthews brought us over to a cluster of people, all young-looking. Some were older than me and others looked around my age. There was one kid who was definitely younger than me.
"Rae, Rick, these are the younger Tarot members," Mr. Matthews said with a smile.
"I'm Conor Channing," said one short, skinny kid in glasses. He held out a hand. "I go to school with you." I knew who he was instantly. He was at the top of the exam scores like me. He seemed to have a select group of friends that he kept to. He also was one of the victims of my brother. I shook his hand, but he good-naturedly shook Rick's as well, even if I saw he wasn't pleased with being nice to a bully. "I'm the Hanged Man."
I heard Rick snort, but I just looked to the next kid in the group.
"Stella Cortez, but you know me," said the smiling girl in a pink cocktail dress. She was a half-Spanish girl who sang like an angel in the school plays and was very popular among drama students and cheerleaders alike. She was one of those people that could talk to anyone and get along. I was surprised already at how I knew these people but never guessed we were connected in such a weird way. "I'm the Star card, in case you’re wondering." Even though she was one of Rick's ex-girlfriends she gave him a genuine smile.
The girl beside her had long, silver-blonde hair that she kept down in a perfectly pin-straight curtain behind her. "I'm Mel Dailey. You know me from school, as well." She wore a slinky black dress with sparkles covering it and with her tall, thin-yet-curved figure, she was dazzling. Her facial features were sharp and precise, her eyes the color of blue do dark it was almost black. "I'm the Moon."
"I'm Luke Bell," said an older guy who must've been about twenty-two. He was tall and broad, built like a football linebacker. "I'm the Aquarius or Air part of the Wheel of Fortune. This is my younger brother John," he added, nodding to the guy next to him who could only be a year younger. John was tall, but not as broad. He had sandy hair where Luke had brown.
John said emotionlessly, "I'm the Scorpio or Water part of the Wheel of Fortune."
"I'm Mark Bell!" said the youngest boy there enthusiastically. He yanked at his collar like it itched. "I'm in the Wheel of Fortune too, only I'm the Taurus part, the Earth. I can do all kinds of cool stuff with plants." He must've been twelve.
"And you know Matt, the Leo and Fire portion of the Wheel," Mr. Matthews said. "He's coming with Garret and should be here soon."
I faintly wondered about how that car ride would go after everything Garret had told me the other day.
"And we've met before," Kyle Powers, singer of Anonymous, said. Then he grinned at Rick. "Well, we haven't. I'm Kyle, the Charioteer in the Tarot." I remembered how I'd found his card in my deck with Mr. Matthews.
"Hey, man, welcome to the club," came a voice from behind us. It was Billy Bahr, class clown, the guy everyone loves. He patted Rick's shoulder hard. Rick seemed a little more comfortable then. At least there was one person there who he knew, and then when he saw Shawn with Billy he was definitely himself. "In case you're wondering, I'm the Fool," Billy said with a sloppy bow towards me, truly like a jester. He got a dirty look from Mr. Matthews though.
"And you know who I am," Shawn told Rick after a bow to me. "And which card."
"Now to meet some of the adults," Mr. Matthews said, arm gently guiding me to a different group of a few adults.
"Come on, Rick," I said with a smile.
"Um, actually, can I stick around here? I want to talk to Shawn and Billy," Rick said, hope glinting in his eyes. He needed the familiarity of his friends after such a huge shock that turned his world upside down.
Mr. Matthews looked down at me. "You're the Priestess. It's your choice, not mine."
Rick begged me with his eyes, looking like a dog that wanted a treat. I could've either made him come along just as another step towards full revenge for years, or take mercy and let him hang out with the younger people.
"Alright," I said with a nod. "We'll talk to you later, Rick."
Mr. Matthews smiled and began to walk me towards the other people. His arm was warm and strong, even through the jacket I could tell. Having our skin touch was like electricity, just like with the rest of the Tarot. It was a bond that reminded me that I wasn't the only one. I wasn't the only person who suffered through everyday with problems and curses to carry. I wasn't the only one who wished that there was some kind of magical redemption.
Everyone in this room had waited for me -- their souls for centuries. The Tarot can't rest until the breaking of the Curse and since I was there it meant that obviously no other High Priestess had succeeded. What did that mean? Did it mean that the other Priestesses just didn't try or did it mean that it was impossible to do? And everyone in the room expected me to be their savior, the shy, short-tempered, insane sixteen-year-old who's currently seeing a psych. Last time I heard, leaders were supposed to be strong, outgoing, and sane.
"Everyone, this is Rae," Mr. Matthews said, pulling me from my reverie. We were standing before a group of people, two of which were Mrs. and Dr. Willard and three whom I didn't know.
"Oh, it's great to meet you," enthused a woman who looked a lot like Cheryl (they must've been sisters), only taller, not pregnant, and with darker hair. And she wore a tie-die dress. "I'm Scarlet Teller. I represent the Temperance card, making me the third Cardinal Virtue."
"That is, with me being the first Cardinal Virtue, Justice." This woman had red hair plated into a braid down her back and wore a woman's suit jacket and a pencil skirt, all light blue. Her eyes, the color of periwinkle, shined. "I'm Justine Beacon. You might remember me from talking to the officers after Garret's accident. I'm a lawyer." I remembered her at that moment. She was so cool and composed with the police and full of determination, but now she was smiling and looking laid-back.
"I'm the second Cardinal Virtue, Strength," said the next man. He was built like a pro wrestler, huge biceps and completely built like he spent hours in the gym. He looked to be in his late-twenties, much like the other two Virtues, and had shortly cropped hair and a stance like a security guard. "You probably remember me too, from the investigation. I'm a cop. I worked with your father for a while, as a matter of fact. He's a good man."
I nodded slowly. "I remember you, I think."
"That wacky mother of yours invited me for dinner one night. I was a newbie and you had to only be eleven."
"Yes," I said, nodding more surely. "I remember now. Officer Steven Eagle."
"See? It's strange, the coincidences you'll come across when you're in the Tarot," Mr. Matthews said, smiling.
"Yes, like how Tom works with her mother," Cheryl said, a hand on her husband's shoulder lovingly.
I nodded again, recognizing my mother's co-worker. I was amazed at how all these people were around me constantly and I would've never guessed that they were cursed. They were average, every day, normal people, living their lives like nothing was in anyway wrong. Maybe this was their normal, reality and the Tarot combined.
Everyone heard the opening of a door and we all turned to the entrance. Before we saw them, I sensed who it was and I could everyone else did too. It was Garret and Matt and already, they weren't happy. A cloud of darkness hovered around them as they entered. Matt was wearing one of those tee-shirts that had the print on it of a tux and ripped up jeans. Garret at least had the courtesy of wearing solid black jeans, a black tailored shirt (not ironed or tucked in) and a black suit jacket. Those two looked like the basic rebels and with the scowl on Matt's face and Garret's steely calm they looked like pissed-off delinquents.
Garret saw me and his angry expression ebbed and eased into a sweet smile. I returned it with some effort and he made his way over to me. Matt wandered over to the younger people's group. He threw an angry glance back at Garret before socializing with the teen group.
"Hey," Garret said to all of us, a grin in place.
Mr. Matthews cleared his throat and gave a pointed look at Garret who rolled his eyes and bowed down, wincing with the movement of his torso and shifting of bruised ribs.
"He really doesn't have to bow," I growled to Mr. Matthews.
Mr. Matthews, looking straight ahead, simply replied, "Tradition," and shrugged.
I still didn't know what was up with those two.

It was a big meal of seafood linguini Alfredo and garlic bread. The first course was salad and I thought that alone would fill me up, but with the toasty and cheesy scent of everything I quickly found space in my stomach. I felt sort of out-of-the-loop since everyone else was already comfortable with each other and had friends, like a big family. It also freaked me out that they made me sit at the head of the table.
Yes, they made me sit at the very front of the table with Dr. Willard at the other end of the table. Mr. Matthews was on one side of me, Rick on the other, Shawn after him, and so on and Garret was all the way down, closer to Dr. Willard than me. It made me sad.
"Call the meeting to session," Mr. Matthews whispered to me.
"Uh...what?"
"Call the meeting to session," he repeated under his breath.
"What? Why?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Because that's your job."
"You really have to start warning me about these earlier so I can prepare myself!" I growled, aiming for his ankle with my foot. It connected with his leg and he hissed in a gasp of pain.
"Ow!" he exclaimed and in an instant, all eyes were on Mr. Matthews and me. It was like all dinner party activity was put on pause and directed to us. We each were waiting for the other to say something. "Uh...She calls this meeting to session!" He pointed at me and all attention shifted to me in harmony.
I felt my palms start to get sweaty. I had horrible stage fright and this was no exception. What was I supposed to say? I licked my lips and said, "Uh...hello, everyone. Let's get this, uh, meeting started."
"Okay, then I'll be the first to say that we're honored to have you here and it's so special that it's your first meeting with all of us," Cheryl said from the other end of the table. She sat on the corner beside her husband and next to Garret. "Already you've proven yourself strong when you helped Garret." She put a hand on his shoulder with a motherly smile.
There were murmurs and nods of agreement and Garret gave me another special smile.
"That's all well and good, but how do we know if she's worthy to lead us?" Dr. Willard asked, sounding doubtful already. "We have been in the Tarot for our whole lives and now we suddenly find a High Priestess who is nothing but a -- what? -- sixteen-year-old girl."
A lot of people just stayed quiet to Dr. Willard's rude comment, and I could understand why. In a sense, he was right, but to just so blatantly doubt me was kind of hurtful and I knew that all along this was what he'd thought.
"Sweetie, she's more than able to--" Cheryl began.
"Don't you see? She's just a young girl," Dr. Willard cut in, waving a hand at me. "She may have the gifts and the title, but she's not a High Priestess. She probably won't ever be."
Conflict broke out in the table. People were whispering to one another, disagreeing and agreeing. Justine kept quiet and observed the situation like good attorneys do. She was collecting the evidence to see which side she should defend and, trust me, I wasn't winning. Dr. Willard was just voicing all the things that I already knew, all the things debating against me in my mind. My spirits about the evening and being accepted were slowly sinking.
"That's not fair!" Matt spoke out, seeming flat-out angry. "You barely know her! How much time have you spent talking to her?" He began to stand up.
Luke, his older brother, put a shoulder on his shoulder and said, "Matt, shut up before you do anything you'll regret."
Matt just shook off the hand. "Listen, you should learn to actually get your facts straight before being an ass, 'cause she'd make one hell of a better leader than you!"
"Matthew!" Luke snapped, yanking him back down into his seat.
"No, he's right!" Mr. Matthews said, sounding firm. "She may be my student, but she's taught me way more than I could if I taught for the rest of my life!"
"Oh, don't be biased," Dr. Willard said with a glare. "You're all just favoriting her and don't see what she really is. An overestimated, stupid brat."
Something snapped like a rubber band. Faintly through the roar of blood I heard Cheryl yelling at her husband and Luke trying to control his wild younger brother and Mr. Matthews putting up an argument. Garret was even throwing stuff in and he was the quietest out of us. But it was like I was hearing it underwater, like the sound waves didn't carry well.
I don't know what broke, but it was like the dam within me that night when I was told about the Curse. Only this power within me wasn't one of realization, it was of strength and determination. I was worthy, I had to be. I was stronger than what he was claiming me to be. I wasn't just a little girl, I was a High Priestess.
And it all broke out.
"How dare you say that I'm not worthy?" I shouted, now standing and leaning forward on the table. Everything stopped around me. "I will be the leader of the Tarot! I am the High Priestess! Doubting me will only lead to your own humiliation because no matter what I will prove you wrong! I will break the Tarot Curse!"
A pin could've dropped and it would’ve sounded like a bomb in the silence. I was hit with an adrenaline crash and all the energy that was just pounding in me drained in a second. I slipped back into my seat and tried not to breathe loudly. I cleared my dry throat and said, quietly (I was so embarrassed), "I'm sorry, that was out of line." I looked down at my lap, ashamed of my outburst. I wanted to scurry under a pantry like a mouse and never be found.
"Damn...That was hot as hell!" Matt enthused, eyes wide. Garret punched him hard in the shoulder. "Ow."
"If that didn't sound like a leader, I don't know what does," Mr. Matthews pointed out to Dr. Willard who tried to compose himself from shock.
"I suppose..." Dr. Willard mumbled.
"Anyone want more bread?" Cheryl said, too brightly, obviously trying to change the subject. She thrust the bread basket into Garret's arms and she stood up, "I'll get everyone more water..." She walked into the kitchen, hand resting on her stomach, to get the glass pitcher.
Dinner continued awkwardly from there and I felt to blame.

After dinner, before dessert, there was time for small talk and dancing. Justine and Officer Eagle were dancing, as was Mrs. and Dr. Willard (who seemed to be in a tiff) and Billy asked Stella. It was classical music, not slow dance stuff, but it had a smooth rhythm that kept the mood light and fun.
I was staying in a corner, too chagrinned to talk with anyone after my power trip at the table. Mr. Matthews tried coaxing me out of my personal bubble to converse with someone, but I was persistent. He literally tried pulling me out by an arm once, but I smacked his hand hard and he gave up. I figured that if he was going to call me High Priestess I might as well test my influence now.
"Dance with me," Garret said, walking toward me with a hand outstretched. He gave me a smile.
My heart sped up. "No, I think I'll stand right here."
"Please." He took a step closer. "Yesterday you asked me what I wanted," he whispered. "And said that you would do whatever it took for me to get it."
"Yes, I did."
"Well, this is what I want. A dance with you."
How could I say no to that? I took his hand carefully and he pulled me onto the dance floor. I'd never really danced before, only ballet lessons my mom forced me into when I was eight and those lasted a month before I was finally confirmed as a lost cause. There was just no helping a kid who tripped onto her face even when she was holding onto the balance bar. Plus, all the girls hated me. This was different altogether though, this was just dancing like at a homecoming, which I'd never been to.
Garret brought both my hands up to his shoulders and his rested on my waist. He swayed with me carefully and I didn't want him to move so much that his ribs or sprained ankle hurt, so we stayed in a tiny swaying circle.
"I'll be honest with you. I can't dance," he said and I laughed.
"You took the words right out of my mouth. I can't either."
He smiled. "Good. Now I don't have to seem like a total klutz."
"Klutz? Are you kidding me, Mr. Basketball?"
He glanced at his feet and shrugged. "That's different. I'm not all that good."
I remembered the girls in gym class gushing over him like he was Orlando Bloom. I could see why, but I didn't want them to talk about him. I don't know why, I just didn't want anyone except me thinking that. Call me selfish.
"Let's talk," Garret said looking down into my eyes intently.
I groaned and stared at the beautiful wood floor. I'd rather admire the flooring than "talk." "Do we have to?" I whispered.
"I think we should."
I waited for him to begin. I didn't want to be the opener to the conversation, because knowing my stupid mouth, I'd ruin it all before it even started.
"I kissed you," he said. "And you kissed me back."
Wow, how to-the-point. Butterflies bit my stomach. Or should I say moths? I nodded slowly.
"Wanna know a secret?" he asked lowly and I wasn't sure I did, but I nodded anyway and he bent down so his lips brushed my ear. "I want to kiss you again."
My face got really hot and I shook my head. "No, you don't. Trust me."
"Why not?"
I had to own up to it. If I didn't, it'd eat away at me forever and never leave me alone. There was no reaction of his that seemed appropriate enough to predict. I deserved anger and hate, but I didn't want him to never talk to me again and that was what I was risking. He could never talk to me again, never associate with me, shun me.
I had to though. There was no other option.
"I kissed Mr. Matthews," I whispered so quietly I wondered if I'd just mouthed it.
And I got the weirdest reaction ever.
He started laughing, really hard. So hard, he had to stop dancing and hold his aching chest. He began to cough and wince, but just kept chuckling. A few people looked over, but for the most part, they didn't bother. I watched him with an expression that must've been comical in itself.
"Jesus, you sound so guilty!" she chuckled, replacing his hand on my waist. The other took my hand.
"I feel guilty. Why are you laughing?" I asked.
"Because I already know," he said with a big smile. That just confused me further. "When I left the fair, I had to turn around and come back because I left my sweatshirt behind the stage. When I came back, I saw you and him." His smile lowered a little, but he kept a grin. "I was...angry at the time, but...I don't care anymore."
"You don't?"
He shook his head.
"You don't care that I kissed Mr. Matthews who you seem to have a bit to pick with?"
He shook his head again. "I don't blame you for being charmed by him. He's just like that with girls. They're always dazzled by him, but it never grows into anything more. I know that you don't have any real feelings for him."
I don't know why, but my heart sunk. So I was just another checked-off girl on Mr. Matthews kissing list? Was that it? I can't say that I was necessarily "dazzled" by his "charm" mostly because that was what I didn't like about him. It annoyed me that he could coax people in with his good-looks and nice smile.
I didn't have any real feelings for him, I told myself. Garret was right, I assured myself, but thinking that would be like lying. My heart just kept trying to fight against my mind.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Matthews penetrating my defenses with such an intense look. I avoided turning that way for the rest of the dance.

The backyard of the Willard's home was a huge garden, much like Eden. It had fruit plants and trees and flowers, decorated with statues and fountains. It was like a labyrinth, so I kept to the stone path that mapped everything out. I told everyone that I needed some fresh air after my dance with Garret, so Cheryl showed me to the garden then went back inside. It smelled so nice and when I found a stone bench, I sat on it and watched the water trickle down and over the fountain in front of me. The fountain was shaped like a fish kissing the sky.
I closed my eyes. There was no specific reason why, I just did. It felt necessary. After all the events within the month, I needed some kind of peace and I could find it in this beautiful garden. It was the closest thing to perfect I'd ever meet. I sat on the bench horizontally, my knees bent up my hand curled loosely around them. I heard the flutter of something in the bushes, so I opened my eyes and looked out at the greenery. With the sky darkening over it, I couldn't see through the brush.
Then there was a flash of lightning.
No, not lightning, a camera flash.
I spun my head around and Mr. Matthews was grinning at his digital camera. Oh, lovely, the peace was just effectively ruined.
"I'm sorry, but it's a great picture," he said, as if that was any consolation. I was obviously unhappy about him intruding.
"You're starting to remind me of a creepy stalker," I grumbled, crossing my ankles and remembering those etiquette lessons my mother gave me. I don't know if it helped at all since my legs were up and I was wearing a skirt, but I was never one for acting like a lady.
"Do you have any respect for the basic model rules our school gives? Like no taking personal pictures of students?" I asked, as he stepped closer.
He just snorted. "Obviously not. I mean, I'm also not allowed to drive you anywhere alone. That rule was broken. I'm technically not allowed to have an outside-of-school relationship with a student. Too bad, already broken entirely. And a biggie, one that you know well I have broken, is that I'm not allowed to kiss students."
I hid my blush in my knees. "It's not like it matters. It didn't mean anything."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
I looked up. He had a genuine bemused expression. "Well, apparently, it was nothing. I was exhausted, you were too, it was a simple mistake that is not to be repeated."
"Do you honestly believe that?" he asked, doubtfully. "You may have been, but I wasn't tired at all."
"Alright, fine. It was just...sexual harassment. You taking advantage of a girl, which I venture, you are not a rookie in."
Mr. Matthews smirked, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Ah. So, you think I'm a player, huh? Who told you that?"
I held up my chin. "Garret. And I trust his word one hell of a lot more than yours."
"Garret, you may find out, is a bit...prejudiced at times. Well, at times when it's against me. But why do you choose his word against mine? What qualifies his honesty and not mine in your acceptance?"
I pondered for a while, trying to develop a suitable answer. There was no reason except... "He's nice, like a brother, and a friend. You're..."
"The sexually harassing teacher?" he finished, sounding and looking too amused. He was acting like it was a big joke, but I was serious.
"No, not really. You're just...you make me nervous. And uneasy. I can never say the right things around you."
"But you can around Garret? Still, you're not answering my question. Why is Garret trustworthy and not me? What is it about him that is so special that I don't have?"
I arched an eyebrow. "His ability to take things seriously."
"Oh, I'm serious about certain things."
"Oh, really? And what would those things be?"
"Top of the list would be...you. Everything you say, I take seriously, no matter what."
I rolled my eyes. He really was a lost cause. "You never seem like it."
Mr. Matthews leaned against the edge of the fountain and I thought that if I willed it hard enough he'd fall in, but it never happened. I wanted to end this conversation. I wasn't going to waste my time and argue with a child like him. "I may not seem like it, but has it ever occurred to you that, maybe, I feel the same way about you that you feel about me? That I don't know what to say, so I resort to teasing while you resort to educated rants and short temperament? Maybe, you make me uneasy."
I rolled my eyes once again. "Don't be ridiculous. You've probably kissed tons of girls without a second thought. You've probably flirted and charmed them till they were pink to the hairline without a single consideration. It's like second nature to you, I bet."
Mr. Matthews' face changed. It became straight and serious, like I'd wished him to be. But now, looking at his face, it didn't seem right. I was just so used to his joking, I wasn't at all accustom to what he looked like during a crisis or dilemma. He unhitched himself from the fountain, nodding to himself.
"I used to be," he confirmed quietly, looking off into space, to a time that I couldn't see. "Like that, I mean. It used to be real easy. Now, there's something different. I don't know if it's something that changed in me, or just because of you, but whenever I listen to you speak or see the things you do, I begin to question what I could be and my own potential. Maya Angelou once wrote, referring to a woman who changed her life, '...the measure of what a human being can be...' That's what you are to me, Rae. You may not see it, but you are." He took a few more steps, absently as if he didn't think about them. "And that's what draws me to you. Like I said at dinner, you've already taught me many things."
His words were woven with such affection, it almost scared me. When he spoke like that, it reminded me of the adoration of a lover to another in a Shakespearean tragedy. And he meant it, it pulsed in his words and I knew this without my ability to read him. He spoke it like poetry, like they were stanzas that had been written in his mind and needed to be unleashed. It was beautiful and mesmerizing.
"I don't know what to do about it either... I don't know if it's my thirst for knowledge that keeps me reeled in, or something else, but...that night after the fair, it was impulse. I didn't even think about it. And I'm sorry," he said firmly. "I probably confused you and scared you and I'm impressed you even spoke to me that week in school. All Sunday, I considered calling out sick." He chuckled. "And to find you were even braver than me."
"You walked up to me," I found myself saying.
He smirked, very slightly. "It's that magnetic pull. When I see you, instincts take over. At first, I thought it was the Curse, but no one else felt that compelled to stick to you. It was awful, but I found myself hoping that you were the High Priestess. I actually wished that you were apart of the Curse, just so I could have that bond. It's selfish and despicable, I know, but it was undeniable.
"And don't you for once believe that you're 'just another girl' like you're probably thinking right now. You're not. You're different."
When did he become so close that he was standing right in front of where I was sitting? I was just staring into his smoky eyes so intently that I hadn't noticed his feet moving. Now I was looking directly up at him, probably looking hypnotized.
"You barely know me. I'm pathetic and meek. I'm useless." My voice was so quiet the burbling of the water almost covered it. I shook my head. "Everything you see in me...you're wrong. There's no potential for me to become anything other than...Rae."
"That's all you have to be to be magnificent. The Rae you feel is different from the Rae I see. In your eyes, I see another universe. There's an infinite amount of power and knowledge within you. Every word you speak carries a lifelong lesson."
He smiled now, gently and kindly. "In a sense, I want to be just like you when I grow up."
I attempted a laugh, but was too stuck in how touched I was that someone thought so highly of me. Me. The no one who was going nowhere. "I'm your student," I said.
"Let's be honest, you're a million times more mature than me," he said bluntly with a grin. "I know you've been thinking it, don't deny it."
I gave an honest laugh that bubbled from my throat. "It's true," I admitted. "Though, I do...well, I wish I could be immature. All the time, I think like I should in the future...It's like my childhood never happened. My mom said that I skipped being a teenager and went straight into adulthood. One second I was playing pretend, the next I was calculating bill expenses."
"How about this..." Mr. Matthews said, crouching down to meet my level on the bench. "You can teach me to be older and I'll teach you how to be younger, okay?"
"Deal," I said, and I shook his hand hard. The electricity coming from his palm was warm and heavy. On impulse, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his forehead. He furrowed his eyebrows at me and I explained with a blush, mumbling, "Sealing it with a kiss."
He smiled, stood up all the way so he could lean over and pressed a kiss to my cheek. "Now we both have to hold up our ends to the bargain."
I decided it was a good time to change the subject. My gaze kept stroking over his lips and memories flashed in my mind. "I have a question, though."
Mr. Matthews sat on the bench next to my feet. "Alright, go ahead."
"What's up between you and Garret? You're always acting so...rude to each other."
He laughed, rocking forward to look at his knees. "You really want to know?"
I nodded, because I honestly couldn't take it anymore.
"Garret and I used to be good friends when we were little. I'm only a little more than five years older than him, so when I was twelve he was about seven years old and I would watch him for his mom." He looked up into the indigo sky, concentrating so hard he might've been counting the stars. "I had been starting middle school and he was in the second grade, so I'd walk him to school sometimes. His parents are traveling criminal lawyers, so they're all over the place in different courts since they're their own firm. They thought I was a good influence on him since he was already slightly...different than most second-graders. I was already recognized as part of the Tarot, and signs were showing for Garret but his parents were trying to ignore them. They thought that if they ignored it long enough...I don't know, maybe it would eventually go away? Their train of thought was a bit off.
"Anyway, one day I had been walking him to school and there was this huge oak tree that we'd pass on the way. It was the spring so all the birds were gathering in it like a big family, full of nests and eggs and feathers. On the lowest branch, there was a blue jay that was building her nest, but was going slower than the rest of the birds. Garret stopped me and stared up at the blue jay.
"'She's going to die,' he said simply, pointing at the bird. He just stared. It wasn't the first time he'd said stuff like that, but I got nervous and took his hand to drag him along. I told him that the bird would be fine and be singing when we came back. I brought him up to the school and couldn't get my mind off that bird. It kept bothering me. I was staring at my feet while I walked back, kicking pebbles and crushed soda cans. I stopped suddenly when I saw something right in front of my feet.
"The bluebird was still and lifeless, its chest not moving. I looked up, on the lowest branch, at her unfinished nest. When I got home, I told my mother that I believed Garret was Death since that just wasn't normal and when I held his hand, the sense of connected energy was becoming stronger. My mother told his, Mrs. Martin freaked out and denied everything. Not long after that, he was seeing psych and they were spending more and more time away from school. The other kids in the Tarot heard and started excluding him from games.
"To this day," he said, "he holds me responsible for destroying his life. God knows I hold myself responsible as well."
What a sad story. They were both victims, both innocent in the long run. But I didn't understand one thing. "If you feel guilty, then why do you seem to dislike Garret when you should be just upset? I don't see where your anger is coming from."
He smiled. "Good insight. The point is, that was just fuel for the fire. The fire that was kindled long ago, before our births. In the days of the original, not-yet-cursed Tarot, Death had it out for the Magician. No matter when the Tarot comes around, they come in the same order, with the same age differences. The Priestess is always destined to marry the Hierophant or Pope, her second-in-command. The Magician was much like a...messenger or sidekick, but highly respected. Death has always been somewhat of a darker character, one who gave off bad omens.
"Well, the Priestess wasn't happy with the man that she'd been arranged to marry, who everyone chose for her. She'd always been a fiery girl, a rebel of sorts. That kind of courage was what made her the leader. All of the Tarot have always been strongly drawn to the Priestess and naturally admire her. The Priestess is always the most beautiful of the Tarot. Naturally, some connections grew stronger...on the male end, if you know what I mean."
I nodded, entranced by the history that in no way reflected me at all. This Priestess in the story was a role model, a person that I wanted to grow to be rather than disappoint. "They were all lusting for her."
"Not lusting," he said, looking for a better turn. "They were more falling for her. Falling for her beauty, power, control... There was no mistake of their love. The Emperor actually tried to arrange an annulment so he could be with the Priestess, and it’s said that he's held a grudge towards her for that wedge between him and his wife for as long as his soul prospers, but that's a different story. When the society was in control, it was no secret that the Priestess wasn't happy with her marriage, though she stayed strong. The Hierophant was more than happy with his young bride, not caring if she was pleased in return.
"The Priestess had an affair. An ongoing one that no one knew of. On nights when her husband was away, which was often, the Magician would sneak into her chambers."
I gasped. "Wait. She was sleeping with the Magician? Her said 'sidekick'?"
He shrugged. "Who knows, maybe her superiority just made her sexier. Anyway, one day Death had a prophecy that put him in a rage. He was silently deeply in love with the Priestess, but in a way that no one would understand. He wanted her light and her radiance to cure him of his...inner demons, if you may. He had a vision that the father of the Priestess's unborn child would die on the child's first birthday when her husband would discover the secret and kill the real father. Of course, his vision revealed everything that the Priestess had been striving to keep quiet.
"Death didn't tell anyone the secret. All he said was that the Priestess was pregnant and that on the child's first birthday, the father would die. The Hierophant became terrified for his life, thinking that he was going to die in a matter of a year and nine months. When Death announced this to the Tarot at an emergency meeting he called to session, everyone gasped and Death saw the Priestess's eyes flash to the Magician. When the Hierophant went into an outrage about his supposed demise, the Magician marched out of the room.
"That night, in the Priestess's room while the Hierophant was out looking for the strongest body guards he could get, the Magician and the Priestess began quarreling. The Magician wanted to know why the Hierophant would even believe for a moment that he was the father if she and he hadn't shared a bed for months like she'd told him. She had no argument after pointless denial so all she did was cling to him and apologized over and over, saying that she never loved him and that the weekend that he'd been home she was worried about suspicion and that was the least they wanted. So she'd been with the Hierophant and never regretted it more.
"They were both shocked when Death came barreling through the door. He told them that he knew about their affair and that the father was actually the Magician's. They began to beg for him to keep silent, but he made a condition. If the Magician would never lay a hand on the Priestess again then he wouldn't say a word to anyone. Since he was the only one who knew about the affair, then if he decided not to say anything then the life of the Magician would be spared since no on else could reveal the secret. That was the deal. And they agreed.
"For months and months the Magician and the Priestess didn't so much as speak. Never did they brush hands or whisper or have any contact. In nine months, she gave birth to a girl. She was as beautiful as her mother, looking exactly like her in every way. There was no suspicion of there being a different father. It broke the Magician's heart slowly since he loved no other woman and had to watch his own daughter grow from afar.
"About twenty-one months after the prophecy, the birthday of Genevieve, the daughter, was planned. It was a big celebration, but also a dreaded one. Everyone still believed that the Hierophant would die on that day. He surrounded himself by guards, wouldn't eat or drink a thing for fear of poison, and didn't plan on attending the party.
"The Magician, agonizing over the selfishness that the Hierophant had for his own life when his alleged daughter was to be celebrated, confronted his Priestess in anger and kissed her. She shoved him away, reminding him of the prophecy and their pact, but the Magician swore that he'd accept death with a smile if only everyone knew of his love of her and that Genevieve was his daughter. He said that she deserved more, as did Genevieve, and he'd be happy with whatever price.
"That day, the Hierophant left his chambers, deciding to at least give a toast to his daughter. There, Death announced the truth behind the conception of Genevieve. The Hierophant took one of his guard's knives and plunged it into the chest of the Magician. That night, at the gala that doubled as birthday party and new moon celebration, not long after the Magician's death, the Devil and Tower infiltrated the palace. The servants ran away with Genevieve and the other children of the Tarot and the Curse was placed right then and there. The death of the Priestess came after the Magician, but each by different hands, both vengeful and greedy. And the soul of the Magician resented Death for revealing the secret."
I was struck with awe. It sounded like a drama, like a tragedy. It was a tragedy, but one that just seemed so fake to the senses but so real to my heart that I couldn't believe it. Yet I thought it was real.
What am I saying? Of course it was real! I knew that right away, like I'd experienced it myself.
"So the souls are holding grudges for eternity?" I said.
"They're stubborn, huh?"
"How do you know that you and Garret are just subconsciously repeating the past because you're familiar with it? What if it's all in your head?"
Mr. Matthews smiled at me. "Mostly because no one else knows that story except me. And I just read it for the first time last night when I found the first Priestess's journal in my parents' basement. Since I'm the descendant of the first Magician, the treasures of each generation of Tarot are passed down. The Magician, after all, is the right-hand of the Priestess and Hierophant. So I spent all last night reading the journal like it was a novel. You'd be amazed at the intense power of the lives of these people that we, today, represent. The Priestess must have been writing in the journal at the last new moon and birthday celebration because the writing abruptly cut off, a scratch of ink flying across the page. When a servant found it, they added the rest of the night's events hastily. I swear to God, I've never read such a grabbing cliff hanger.
"More than anything, it makes sense. We're reincarnations of those people, we're vessels to their souls. And history repeats itself."
History repeats itself...
I really hope it didn't.
I hoped Mr. Matthews was wrong.
Even though that clench in my stomach smashed all faith.

"There's only one problem with your theory, Mr. Matthews," I told him, turning and swinging my feet so my toes hit the ground. Now I sat up straight, directly next to him. I made sure to keep a safe three inches of room though. The scent of nighttime flowers in the Willards' garden was intoxicating.
"Milo," he corrected with a grin.
I rolled my eyes. "Whatever. The point is that if history repeats itself, why am I nothing like that Priestess? I'm not fiery or rebellious or strong...I'm wimpy and weak and dull."
He raised an eyebrow at me. "You didn't seem wimpy at dinner tonight when you told off Uncle Tom. By the way, that was incredible. And extremely entertaining. And didn't I just say how much potential you truly have? Sure, right now you're quiet and afraid of what's ahead, but you're smart and will see what you can do soon enough. And if you need help, I'm always right here to be your guide."
I trusted him, odd enough. I think it was because he told me so much. I was learning a lot about the Curse and history from him. He was an okay Poetry teacher, but an awesome coach in the Tarot. I decided to stop being so suspicious of him since he'd opened up so much. He was less of a mystery and more of an open book. I wasn't too afraid of what was head if he was my guide.
"Rae! Rae, dessert is being served!" called Cheryl from the backdoor of the house. She was shouting loud enough that I heard loud and clear from my sanctuary in the garden.
"Coming!" I hollered back and I heard the sliding shut of the glass door. I stood up, brushing off my bum and smoothing out my skirt and beginning to walk towards the path back to the house. I didn't hear the crunch of rocks behind me so I looked back and Mr. Matthews was standing from the bench, but standing still, staring absentmindedly at me. "Are you coming, Milo?"
He smirked, nodded, and followed in my wake back through the Eden where midnight lilies stretched open their petals and released the heavy perfume of moonlight and spring. There couldn't have been a more perfect place for relaxation, reflection, and dreams.

Mom had plagues us with questions like "Was it fun?" and "Did you have a good time?" or "Was everything good?" and many more. It was late and she had stayed up just so she could ask us these questions when we came home. Dad went to bed because he was logical and knew that we would see him in the morning and that our answers wouldn't change over night. After our time on the stand, I thanked Mom again for letting me borrow the dress, and Rick and I went upstairs.
I hung the dress up on a hanger and put it in the closet to keep it in good shape and slipped into shorts and a tank top. I was just about to climb into bed when there was a knock on the door. I rolled my eyes, got out of bed. I walked towards the door saying, "Yes, Mom, everything was wonderful for the fiftieth--"
Rick stood at the door in flannel pants and a tee. He looked confused. "Can I come in?"
I shrugged, walking back in and leaving the door open to display obviously how I didn't care if he left or stayed. I sat on my bed and Rick perched himself on the edge.
"How long have you known?" he asked. I knew right away what he was referring to.
"A few weeks. I was told at the spring fair by Mr. Matthews," I answered. He'd shut the door behind him so Mom couldn't hear us talking about the Tarot.
He nodded. "But I don't understand. Tonight you seemed so...easy around them. It was like you had no problem with any of it."
I thought for a bit. "I guess...I'm used to the idea. I mean, it had to be weird for you since you'd just found out hours before, but I've thought about it and grown accustom to it already. You will too."
He shook his head and ran his hands through his copper blonde hair with a heavy sigh. "I don't think I will. There's no way its real. It's just impossible."
"I thought that. Maybe it's harder for you to believe because you haven't experienced the same things as me. You just have that intuition, but I have these visions and predictions that are so accurate, that it just can't not be real. The Tarot is real."
Rick looked at me. His eyes seemed to be searching for something. It was like he knew something was different, but wasn't sure if it was my hair or my outfit or my eyes...It was like he didn't recognize something about me. He finally said, "You've never said this much to me before."
"Well, I've never had much to say," I murmured, crossing my legs. "I guess you know what it's like to be the quiet one for once, huh?"
Rick chuckled. "Yeah. I felt like I was in another world at that party, like I wasn't me and I was just watching a TV show happening to someone else. At least Billy and Shawn were there...and finding out that they knew about it all along was weird too."
It was quiet for a bit as our words settled in. We hadn't directly spoken so much in a long time. We've never shared the same problems or fear, but now we were connected through blood and this Curse. Rick and I could finally be on a level where we could relate to one another and the idea of that was so unreal that I thought this was a nightmare and Rick was going to shoot up and turn into a cannibalistic demon...but he never did. Instead, it was still quiet.
"Hey...is that the reason why I saw you hugging Mr. Matthews?" Rick asked quietly, looking at the floor. "You know, the Curse?"
I didn't nod right away. It would've been easier to just say yes and that I hugged him because we were in the same Tarot and he helped me out when I needed it. But after tonight and many other days I spent with Mr. Matthews I wasn't too sure that was just the reason. He'd hugged me after swearing that he'd always pull through for me. What did that mean? Just in a crisis he would help out? Or that he'd always guide me, like he said tonight? I couldn't help but think that things were changing slowly but noticeably.
"Yeah, that's why." I said the words neutrally so I didn't tip him off about anything else.
"Good. For a second, you had me thinking..." He faltered off. Rick shook his head. "Never mind. It's nothing. Anyway, I wanted to let you know...that if you need help with your Priestess role or whatever, I'll try to hear you out. It won't be easy, but..." He shrugged stiffly and I could tell how awkward he must've been feeling. "What are brothers for if not to lend a hand to their all-powerful sister?" he teased.
I smiled and it felt nice coming from Rick. "Yeah. After all, I am in charge now. I can make you my slave."
He smirked guiltily. "I guess I deserve that."

"Damn straight, you do."
"Hey, watch your mouth."
"You're not the boss of me."
Rick stood up, still smiling. "You're right. I'm not. Goodnight, Rae." He leaned over into a regal bow before swaggering out of the room, shutting the door behind me.
I rolled under the covers and stared at my ceiling, imagining the stars and comets flying across my bedroom. I closed my eyes and I didn't mind where the nightmares took me.

To say that it was a disaster would be a compliment. It looked like he was half-unpacked and half not. Boxes were open and closed with objects flowing out of them onto the floor, the couch, the kitchenette counter, the TV... Clothes were strewed all over, some washed others filthy. A sock was draped over the coffee pot and its match was across the apartment on the window sill. I could barely see the floor.
And that was all that I could see before actually stepping into Mr. Matthews' apartment.
"What the hell happened?" I breathed, eyes the size of saucers as I stared in.
This was task one for our deal that next Saturday. I would help him clean his apartment and make him dinner. This was not his idea, it was mine. From just looking at him, I knew there was not a woman at his apartment so I expected it to be a dump (I was right, only I didn't expect it to be this bad) and from the way he was I could tell he didn't cook and that was probably a frozen-microwave-dinner-and-fast-food guy which was gross. I told him that if I got to clean and cook, he could decide what the "immature" thing was that he would teach me.
"Well..." Mr. Matthews said, stepping over the threshold. "I haven't cleaned since I moved in."
"This is..." I had no correct word for such a catastrophe. It was like he was harboring a bunch of monkeys...No, monkeys were cleaner than this! It looked like his house was searched through by elephants. I just shook my head and hesitantly stepped into the apartment. I was afraid I would get lost, but I had to stay strong. "Tell me that you don't actually invite guests over when it’s like this."
"Not really. You're the only person except Shawn who has been here since I first moved in. And let's just say that we Matthews’s boys aren't exactly the epitome of cleanliness." Mr. Matthews was shoving things aside to make way for me and when I got to the center of the living room which was also the center of the apartment, I could see the main floor plan clearly. The kitchenette was just right of the entrance and before the living room. There were two doors which I expected to be the bathroom and a bedroom. I was terrified of what those two looked like.
"Where do you keep the vacuum?" I asked.
"The what?"
I gaped at him in disbelief.
But then he started laughing. "I'm just kicking! God, did you actually believe I'm such a Neanderthal that I don't know what a vacuum is?" He went over to the door that I thought was the bathroom and opened it to prove me wrong. It was a closet. The door had an ironing board up against it and inside was all the cleaning tools that should've been put to action long ago.
"Wait...where is the bathroom?" I asked out of curiosity.
"You have to go through my room to get to the bathroom."
I prayed that I wouldn't have to use the ladies' room anytime soon. It's no secret that a man's bedroom is above the all dirtiest room in any housing area. So if his living part of the house was this dreadful...I didn't want to think about what his room would look like. For all I knew, I was inhaling toxic fumes at that very moment.
"I'm going to need garbage bags," I said, looking around. I was right about the fast-food and frozen dinners because their packaging was all over. What kind of self-respectable person would live in this mess? I'm not claiming to be some kind of maid or OCD like my mother, but I liked to have things tidy.
Mr. Matthews threw me the box of garbage bags.
I started with getting all the garbage up and off the floor and every other surface. I ended up filling two extra-large garbage bags that I ordered Mr. Matthews to bring downstairs to the pales outside. Then I went on to separating decently clean clothing that probably just needed a spray of Febreeze and the stuff that needed to be washed. I put all the dirty stuff into a laundry bag and then hung in the closet. Mr. Matthews could bring it to the Laundromat another day. The clean stuff, I put into a basket and made plans to fold them after I was done with everything else. I went through everything in the boxes and found most of it to be clothes, books, and junk. The junk I put on the kitchenette table. The books, I put on the half-empty bookshelf in the living room that acted as an underwear hanger before I got to it. His clothes went in the basket with the others.
Mr. Matthews tried to help, but I found him a nuisance that got in the way, so I told him to go in his room and work with whatever he could in there. He disappeared into there after I told him and I wondered if he was really working or wasting time. Finally, I got the floor clean and dusted everything. I even got a stain out of the couch. Then I plugged in the vacuum and it whirred to life. It rattled when I sucked up large things stuck in the carpet and growled when it tried to consume the skirt of the couch.
"Mister--" I cut myself off. "I mean, Milo!" I called. "Come out, your pig sty is finally decent!" I looked around, hands on my hips, proud of the word that took my four hours. Thank God I got there at ten in the morning or else I would've never finished.
Mr. Matthews stepped out of his room, the door swinging open without being stopped by any garbage. His jaw dropped and I laughed.
"Whoa. This is my apartment?" he said, dumbstruck.
I nodded. "Hard to believe, huh?"
"You must be an angel," he muttered, walking in and looking around like a kid who was in Disneyland for the first time. "Wait until Shawn comes over tomorrow. He'll freak out." Then he smiled really big. "This is nothing short of miraculous. Thank you."
"Trust me, I'm just as happy as you are. But the real challenge is keeping it clean." I scowled at him. "So help me, if you ruin the work that I did--"
"Don't worry, I'll try my best." He dropped down onto the couch. "And if I screw it up, you can always come every Saturday."
"After the first visit, there's a fee," I said, walking over to the kitchen and the basket of clean clothes. I started folding a pair of pants. He was a tall guy and the inseam was only a few inches short of Garret's (not that I would know Garret's size or anything, just saying). "What do you want for dinner?" I asked, thinking about the grocery list I would have to make. I planned to make him drive me to the store. His kitchen had absolutely no substantial food in it. The refrigerator had a half-empty carton of milk, a pack of beer, and the pantry had canned beans and cereal.
I looked up at Mr. Matthews and he was smiling, looking at me. "So this is what it's like to have a wife. I have to get me one of those."
"Yeah," I said with a glare. I fanned out a balled up shirt. "Make her clean your house."
"Hey, you volunteered."
"You didn't tell me that it looked like a war zone!"
He laughed and tilted forward to get off the couch. "You're right, I should've told you. But then you might've bailed on me." He sat on the stool on the opposite side of the counter that was a separator from the living room. "So...dinner...What can you make?"
I shrugged. "Basically anything that isn't five-star gourmet."
"How about you surprise me," he said, taking his keys out of his pocket. "Let's hit the store."

Cooking in his kitchen was weird. I wasn't used to cooking in any kitchen other than mine and it was especially strange just because it was Mr. Matthews' house. I found the pans easy enough, but then I opened and closed every drawer to find the spoons and other utensils. This time I allowed Mr. Matthews to help. I made him my sous chef and set him to work on scrubbing the potatoes and perforating them with a fork. I was busy dipping the chicken breast in eggs, rolling them in bread crumbs, and then frying them in the pan. There was sizzling and crackling and I made sure to flip it regularly.
Mr. Matthews set the table around three-thirty, which was an early dinner, but we both skipped lunch and I had to make it home in time for my own family's dinner. He put out the plates and butter and sour cream and ketchup and I served two plates. We had salad, breaded chicken, and baked potatoes.
"So now you know how to make at least one meal on your own," I told Mr. Matthews when we sat down at the table.
"You're right. This is great," he said, taking a drink of water.
"Thanks."
It was quiet for a bit while we ate. I kept checking my watch.
"Have a hot date?" he asked with a smile, seeing me glance at my watch for the fifth time.
I shook my head. "No. I just have to be home by six. My mom and dad are going up north to see my sick great-aunt tonight and Mom wanted to celebrate me and my brother's birthday before they leave since they won't be home for it tomorrow."
"Your birthday's tomorrow?" he asked.
I nodded.
"Why didn't you tell me? I would've gotten you cake," he said, grinning.
"No need," I said, wiping my hands on the napkin in my lap. "My birthday is nothing important." I couldn't even grin at the idea of Mr. Matthews singing Happy Birthday.
"Why would you say that?" he asked, eyebrows furrowing together. "Getting a year older is important for every teenager."
I sighed and gave a shrug. I looked down at my plate, every where except Mr. Matthews.
"Rae?"
His voice coaxed my eyes upward.
"Please tell me," he said gently.
I let out a long breath. "I hate my birthdays. Mom always bakes a big cake, Dad buys me a present, and Rick waits for the next day when it’s his birthday." I rolled my eyes. "After we eat, Mom goes on to tell the story of the day I was born and every year she starts crying right before she gets to the part where it's announced that I was a girl. She starts crying, she apologizes, then runs up to her room. Dad will give me a hug, sigh, then clean up the plates of cake. The next day, when it's officially Rick's birthday, she'll tell the story again and never cry. Then she'll kiss him on the head and run her hand through his hair. But I never get the kiss or the hand in my hair because she always starts crying. It happens every year and I can't think of any reason why except..." I looked up at the ceiling, shaking my head. "I don't know. Maybe I don't understand because I don't know what it's like to not love the child you gave birth to."
"You think your mother doesn't love you?" he asked softly, sounding surprised.
"What other reason would you think of? She's done the same thing every year, for as long as I can remember."
"I'm sure that's not the reason, Rae--"
"At times," I said, cutting him off, "she'll act like I'm the highlight of her life. Yet she'll always have that moment of criticism where she'll say things like 'I don't understand why you won't wear make-up' or 'Let's sign you up for a make-over' and the good old 'Why aren't you like your brother?' It's funny at first, but then she'll have that look in her eyes..." I didn't finish, I just stared off, thinking about her big childlike brown eyes that reflected disappointment. It made my gut spin.
Mr. Matthews stayed quiet for a few minutes and I was ready for him to let it drop, but he said, "Your mother just doesn't understand you. She doesn't see the things that you are good at. Your mother is like a pageant mom so she doesn't really see anything that's worth recognition beyond looks and beauty. Your brother isn't afraid to show off his good looks so she probably doesn't understand why you like to keep to the shadows. But your mom loves you."
I shook my head, eyes burning with tears. "No...she doesn't." I stood up, mumbling an excuse me, and ran to his bedroom and straight to the bathroom crying, much like my mother does on my birthday. I dropped onto the tile floor, throwing the door shut behind me, and curled into fetal position to cry. The floor was cold and hard and my butt hurt, but I could care less.
If my mom really loved me, she wouldn't cry. And they weren't happy tears, they were sobs like at funerals. I remembered faintly once when I was five that she began crying. I ran up the steps after her. I heard Daddy calling behind me to come back, but I didn't listen to him. I ran for Mommy's bedroom right after it was slammed shut. I sat by the door for five minutes, listening to her rough sobs through the cracks. I eventually opened the door slowly and walked in. She didn't react at all, she just lay face-down on her bed, shaking with her crying. I'd hoisted myself up onto the bed and played with her long blonde curls. They were soft and smooth like silk. I whispered "Mommy?" but she didn't stop crying. But after a few moments, she turned over and forced a smile onto her face. I asked her what was wrong, but she just reached up and patted my cheek. She said that nothing was wrong. "I love you, baby," she'd said with that smile, but her eyes deceived her. Even at five years old, I knew she was lying.
I cried harder on Mr. Matthews' bathroom floor. It was like I hadn't cried in years and now I was crying every week. That was either good or bad, but I couldn't see which. All I could see was the sadness in Mom's eyes and the water collecting in mine.
I loved my mom. Why couldn't she love me?
There was a knock on the door. I looked up, beyond the ceiling, trying to see to the heavens and the powers that be, thinking, Why? Why can't he just let me be for a few minutes and wait for me to come out on my own? "I'll be out in a minute," I said loud enough for the other side of the bathroom door could hear me. I sounded congested and hoarse.
"I'm coming in," he warned. And he did. I groaned and turned by back to him.
I wouldn't know where he was behind me, but for some reason I knew exactly where. He was standing about a foot behind me, right in front of the sink. I looked up and saw, reflected in the glass shower, his place, confirming that I was right. His reflection was warped by the translucent door, but it was clear that he was right behind me.
"Alright," he said and I saw his reflection drag his hands down his face. "I'm not good with crying girls, I'm telling you right now. I don't know what to say..."
I couldn't help it. I started laughing which made me cry faster.
"What? What's so funny?" he asked, sounding a little panicked like he thought I might've been driven to insanity.
"You...you sound like a teenage boy...so inexperienced..." I was laughing and crying so hard that my stomach hurt.
"Yeah, I guess that is funny," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He crouched down behind me. "Turn around."
I hesitated. But I did turn around. I looked up into his eyes and waited for him to say something. Anything.
"I don't know what I can say to you," he said simply. "I don't know what it's like to be you. I can't pretend that I do. But I do know that your mother loves you. There's nothing not to love about you."
A sob ripped from my chest and he slid his arms around me to hold against his chest. My fists reached up to embrace him around his neck and I cried into his shoulder. He had such a warm body and his hugs were so tight and secure, his comfort made me cry a little less. Also, his skin's energy was pulsing and so hot that it spread to the rest of my body. I kept my knuckles pressed to his nape for more of it.
I felt his head turn and his lips brush over my cheek. I pulled away halfway, but his hand curled around my elbow to keep me close.
"I'm wrong and dirty and a skank," I cried, head hung.
He snorted. "Somehow I highly doubt that."
"No, you don't understand. I kissed Garret."
He looked right into my eyes. One hand cupped the side of my head and brushed away hair from my face and rubbed my cheek. "I know," he said.
I gaped. "Does everyone know?!" First Garret knows I kissed Mr. Matthews. Now Mr. Matthews knows I kissed Garret. Were all my secrets just exposed for everyone to see?
Mr. Matthews chuckled. "He told me. He came to me after school and said that I should stay away from you. I asked him why should I when he wasn't taking any action. Why should you be unhappy? Then he told me and I was angry and he was angry and we started screaming at each other."
I shook my heavy head. Now fights were breaking out because of me. "Don't fight with him!"
"I'm not going to lie to you and say that I won't fight with Garret. We always will and this one fight I will not back down from. It's because he can't compare to what I feel for you." Both of his hands were on either side of my face. "It's because I love you." He brought his lips to mine.
His words echoed everywhere in my head and in the throbbing heat off his skin. There was no doubt in the words. It wasn't a matter of whether it was true or not, it was whether or not it was right. I should've been considering if I returned his feelings, but that didn't even become a second thought. I just accepted it right away and I was troubled with an even heavier problem.
Mr. Matthews tasted different than Garret. And he kissed differently. Mr. Matthews' lips were smooth, soft, warm...they moved gently over mine. Holding him and kissing him was like lying on sand under the sun on the beach -- it was soft and deep and hot. All thoughts escaped me and faded off into nothing. One of his arms curled around my back and the other hand cradled my neck. I was breathing heavily, but made sure I didn't have to pull away. Pulling away would mean abandoning this releasing sensation.
He pulled me up off the ground as he stood. I counted on him for support because my legs were numb. It was like sparklers were set off in my veins. It really was different than when I kissed Garret and much, much more passionate. I didn't know exactly how I became so consumed by him that I didn't have any worries that I might've been kissing wrong or doing something incorrectly, because my body just took over without consulting with my brain.
Mr. Matthews, without breaking our kiss, bent down to wrap his arms right below my hips and lift me up so now I had to bend down to kiss him as my legs dangled in the air. My butt landed on the edge of the sink and we separated for mere seconds of just looking in his stormy eyes. Then our mouths were meshed together again, my hands fists in his tee-shirt. I ached for more heat from his skin. It was an insatiable need for his energy. I felt the same hunger reciprocated from him. His hand was splayed across the small of my back, hitching up my shirt a little.
His kiss softened and slowed and he disengaged from me so we could both breathe.
I lifted my wrist, head spinning, to look at my watch. My gaze wasn't still, but I could see that it was getting close to time.
Before I could say anything, he took his arms away, keeping only one hand in mine. He nodded, slid me off the side of the sink, and took me to his car.

The car ride was really quiet, and understandably so. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, only that every time I glanced at him, he would be doing the same thing and quickly look back at the road. We played that back-and-forth game for an entire five minutes. For once, I minded the silence.
Thank goodness I wasn't the first to say anything though.
"I..." Mr. Matthews said, eyes ricocheting from the road to me, the road to me, again and again. "I want you to know that...I'm not just...I'm not using you, like the things others said might lead you to believe. Honestly, I--"
"I know," I said, and I did. He wasn't using me.
"And it's not like I'm forcing you into anything, I just--"
"I know."
"You sound so calm."
"I kind of am."
"Why?"
I paused for a minute. I needed to accumulate an answer before I launched into a stumbling, stuttering monologue that makes no sense and just embarrasses me more. "When you said...that you loved me...I wanted you to. Love me, I mean. It felt weird, but I didn't want to lose that feeling. No one's really loved me before."
I could see his hesitation, but he held out his hand in a questioning manner. I accepted it in mine. The heat off of his skin warmed mine.
"But even if we...wanted to be like this, it'd be difficult," I said, stomach flapping with butterflies.
He looked over at me. "Do you love me, Rae?"
"I think I do."
"Then we'll manage." He smiled at me.
And that was when my secret relationship with my poetry teacher began.

"...Happy Birthday to you!" they all finished singing. Dad was smiling, Mom was smiling, Rick was smiling, and I was...trying to smile. Every year on my birthday, everyone starts off so happy and then it makes a turn for the worse. I sat at the table, trying to keep the corners of my lips up and perky, but not succeeding. Everyone kept their charade though. I stared at the triple-chocolate cake. Dark chocolate filling, devil's chocolate cake, and milk chocolate icing with seventeen candles sticking right out the top.
I stared into the little drops of fire. They were calling me to blow them out, but I didn't want to. If I blew them out, we'd eat the cake. If we ate the cake, Mom would start telling the story of how I was born. I wanted to stop that to happen with any chance possible. If everyone just smiles were just prolonged for the rest of the evening, I would be happy.
Of course, that plan didn't work well.
"Blow them out, sweetie!" Mom said, pink lips wide and her doe-like eyes wide and innocent like she didn't remember the tragic event of my birthday every other year before. "You have to make a wish, you seventeen-year-old!"
I closed my eyes and made the wish I did every year.
Please, don't let Mom cry...
I drew a long breath and launched out a hard breath so all the candles sparked out. Mom cheered and Dad clapped me on the shoulder. Rick started pulling the candles out of the cake and licking the icing off the bottom of them. I just sat still while the world moved around me. Mom always said that I had a little universe of my own where I'd go to and it was like I didn't exist in the real world. I think I knew what she meant. I just zoned out, thinking of whatever happy pasts I could think of. I was in a glass bubble where Mom, Dad, and Rick's voice were indecipherable and not understandable.
I was yanked out of my fish-bowl world all too quickly.
"Here's your slice, baby," Mom said, giving me a big piece of my Death by Triple-Chocolate cake. A fork jutted out the top and she set it down before me. I looked at it. That's all I did while Mom got Rick and Dad pieces too.
"Hey, Ma, tomorrow can I have vanilla cake?" Rick was asking.
"Of course, whatever you want, sugar," Mom answered with her Vogue-worthy smile.
I stared endlessly at that piece of cake.
"I think it's present time," Dad said with a smile to me. Dad always was more attune to what I felt. He was quiet and perceptive. Right now he was probably seeing how much I was dreading the rest of the evening and gave me a sympathetic look. Then he reached down, under his chair, and pulled out a big rectangle box with shiny red wrapping and a huge purple bow on top.
Every year, I got one of two things. Either it was educational stuff because that's all they could think of to give me or clothes in Mom's desperate attempts to push me onto the runway. This year it looked like clothes, unless of course it was a dinosaur-size calculator.
I put aside my untouched cake and slid my fingers over the glossy paper. I tore off the ribbon, trying to show enthusiasm, and then ripped the wrapping to find a white box. I knew it. Clothes. I bet it was going to be another pink, frou-frou dress with lots of sparkles like I was a Pepto-Bismol disco ball...
But it wasn't. I lifted the tissue paper and inside were skinny jeans and hoodies with stripes and rocker tees....I liked them. A lot. I looked up at Mom and Dad with what must've been confused.
Mom gave me another box, smaller one, and opened it up to a pair of Coverse sneakers with red-and-white checkered laces.
"Your old sneakers are getting ratty and your clothes are stretched out and frumpy so...Happy Birthday!" Mom exclaimed for the twentieth time that evening.
I loved it. For the first year, their gift involved thought and not just Dad's sharp eye. I could tell that Mom put a lot of effort into choosing what to buy instead of sending Dad out on his own.
"Thank you." I grinned. "I really love it."
"I'm so happy!" Mom leaped up and hugged me really tight.
I felt a little better as we started eating our cake again. It was really sweet and dense, just the way I liked it. I made it halfway through the giant slice while Mom and Rick were laughing and Mom was trying to have a conversation with Dad which involved her jabbering and him nodding when it was appropriate. I smiled to myself.
"So how was your day with Shawn?" Mom asked me.
That was the cover when I was going to Mr. Matthews. I felt guilty about lying, but until it was time to tell my parents about the Curse, they couldn't know that I was spending so much time with Mr. Matthews. Now, even more so. "It was fine," I said, and I was relieved that that was the last she mentioned of the subject.
I was nearly done with my mountain of chocolate when Mom began another topic. "Wow. Seventeen years. You've gotten so big, darling. Why, I remember the day clearly that you were born. I was--"
"Mom," I cut in. The words just came to me. I would have to do something about it if I wanted her to stop. "Really, you don't need to tell the story."
"But...I always do," she says, sounding puzzled. "Every year I tell all about the miracle of you two."
"We know the story." I stood up to scrape the rest of my cake into the garbage, my good mood draining just as quickly as it came. "Let's just watch a movie, okay?"
"But--"
"Mom! I know you don't like telling the story, so you don't have to, okay?" I dropped the plate into the dishwasher and found the plastic wrap to cover the leftover cake. There was so much left and the next day we were going to have more!
"Why would you think I don't like telling the story?" Mom asked defensively, standing up. She was gripping a towel in her hand tightly.
"Well, I don't know, maybe the fact you start crying every year?" I asked, voice biting coldly with sarcasm. I know, it was mean of me, but I was just done with her facade.
"I don't cry every--"
"Yes, you do, Mom. Every year you start sobbing. You run up to your room and stay there for the rest of the night, all because you talk about the birth of me!" I leaned against and counter, hands digging under my elbows when I crossed my arms to keep them from shaking. "Now, just stop telling the story. Obviously you don't enjoy it."
"Of course I enjoy it! It's the day of your birth, the day I had my first girl, my oldest twin! It's one of the most precious memories I have!" Now she sounded more like she was trying to convince me.
"If it's so precious then why do you cry like it's a tragedy?" I demanded. "Why do you get so depressed that you can't even look me in the eyes? Just tell me what upsets you about it, Mom! Is it because I'm not how to wanted me to turn out? Is it because I'm a regret, a mistake?"
Mom threw her towel down on the table. "Don't you say that! And don't believe it for a moment! I never regretted you for a second! You are the opposite of a mistake, you're one of the few things that I did right!"
"Then tell me why the hell do you hate me?!"
"I don't hate you!"
"Don't lie!"
"I'm not lying...about hating you. I love you!"
I heard the pause right away. My heart got faster, but the volume of my voice lowered again. "What are you lying about, Mom?"
"N-nothing!" She tugged a piece of her hair behind her ear and I knew instantly she was lying again.
"Mom, if you don't tell me..." My voice was on the rise again. "Just say it! Say your real lie!"
"The...." she said, exhausted. “The story about how you were born...it isn't true. It's a lie."
"Then why is it? Why did you have to lie about how you gave birth to me?"
"Because I didn't!" she screamed, like the words just broke free from her lungs without control. The build-up within her must've just snapped. "You're adopted!"
I froze but around me things were clear like I had a bird's eyes view. Dad cradled his face in one of his hand's and Rick's face was a reflection of mine, struck with disbelief. His eyes were wide and mouth pressed shut. The same face as mine.
"W-we're adopted?" he stuttered.
Tears were leaking down Mom's cheeks. "Not you. Just Rae."
"But that makes no sense! We're twins!" he squeaked, voice raw.
"No...you're not," Mom sighed. "It's a very long, complicated story--"
"Then start talking," I said firmly. I composed myself and just stuffed all of the agony threatening to burst out. I couldn't stop shaking though.
Mom took a deep breath and brushed away her tears. She dropped back down into her seat. "Eighteen years ago... my sister Sabrina came to me saying that she had a dream. She said that she knew it was going to come true, so I had to listen carefully. My sister was always a bit weird, so I didn't think twice about it. She said that I was going to have a baby in nine months. She said that I was at a stage where I couldn't even recognize the changes of my own body.
"I was upset that she was saying these things because...well, because the doctors told me that I couldn't have children. We started fighting and I ended up kicking her out of the house. I was devastated and hurt so I didn't talk to her for the rest of the month. My mother kept calling both of us, pestering us to get along and solve our differences. That was never easy since, well, we were so different. Sabrina was a lot like you, Rae. She...she was always so quiet and in her own world. She talked to herself and other things that weren't there. She would say that things were going to happen, bad things." She sighed. "I wished I understood her more clearly.
"Well, I missed my period the next two months and a light of hope sparked within me. I took a pregnancy test that proved my doctors wrong. I was pregnant." She smiled, but not at me. She was smiling at the memory. "That day, Sabrina called me and said that she knew about the news. I started believing her then. She called me right after the test was taken, before I could even tell your father. She also said that she was pregnant too, but a few weeks behind me. I was so happy that my sister and I could go through the nine months together. Our friendship strengthened as our bellies grew.
"Sabrina went into labor first. Her water broke a few weeks early and I rushed into the delivery room to be with her. I was due to have a procedure in four days, but still I was holding her hand tightly. Just as her heart rate began dropping was when I had my own contractions and was set up in the delivery bed right next to her. We weren't supposed to be in the same room, but if I couldn't be with my sister then my own child would have to wait. The doctors gave in and I was being prepped as she was pushing." Her smile dropped and faded away.
"Her heart rate was dropping even faster and the nurses were all over the place and they shut the curtain between me and her. Sabrina was putting all her effort into pushing and screaming my name, 'Jill!'. I heard the machines going crazy with alerts and warnings and my contractions subsided just enough for me to hear the loud, shrieking crying of a baby and then the flat, long beep of her monitors. I was distracted by pain so instantly I couldn't process what was happening, why I heard Sabrina's husband Tim crying and shouting at doctors, why there was the sound of the doctor's electric panels and the 'Clear!' from a nurse. They tried to revive her.
"I got handed my baby boy for the first time and it wasn't until he was taken to have a check-up that everything formed together in my mind. Your father's face was torn between overbearing happiness and crushing sadness and in his eyes, everything was confirmed.
"Tim didn't want the child. After Sabrina's funeral, he gave told us that he wouldn't have anything to do with her. So we adopted you as our own, legally having documents signed over to us and Tim, Sabrina's husband, disappeared without a trace. Good riddance, I thought. He didn't deserve you and from the second I held you as my daughter, I knew that you were meant to be mine. I decided to raise you like you were mine from the start. Even if you weren't mine from conception, you were my daughter without a doubt. You are my daughter." The streams from Mom's eyes fell without sobs, but like rivers of her mascara and foundation. "I even named you. Tim had called you Sabrina, not knowing what else to have for a name, but you were like a light, Rae. You were pure radiance. I love you."
I wasn't crying. My fists were at my sides and I looked around for any sign this was another nightmare. Rick looked about as shocked as any person could and Dad was apparently as distraught as Mom. My breath was coming faster and I couldn't think anything but, Mom isn't my mother, my mother is Mom's sister, my father abandoned me...
I didn't belong anywhere, did I?
I blinked hard and forced my feet to head for the door.
"Where are you going?" Mom yelled, running after me.
"For a walk. I'll be back later. Don't wait up for me." And I was shooting out the door, running. Things flew past me like I was a bullet. I was on auto-pilot, my feet taking me where they wanted without me having any idea where. I had run four blocks before I realized where my feet were taking me.
I stood in front of Garret's house, panting hard. It was dark outside already. There were no lights on, but could've just meant that Garret took his loopy pain pills and hit the sack early. I didn't want to wake him up, so I turned back for the sidewalk, knowing that even if I did drag him out of bed I wouldn't know what to say. Then I would've just woken him up for no reason.
I started pacing on the sidewalk. I didn't no where to go, what to do, why I came out, or who I was...I felt dizzy and I was hyperventilating and it was dark...My brain was slowly deteriorating.
Rough arms came around my throat and my stomach and I gasped hard and I was dragged into a car that came out of nowhere. It was a black Cadillac with chipping paint. I didn't see the license plate before I was pinned down in the backseat by the figure who'd grab me who was wearing a ski mask. I heard many voices and heard the tires squeal against the road. That was before a rag was put over my mouth and everything faded into black.

I never knew this before, but getting knocked out meant no nightmares. That information would've proven useful if I wasn't in the middle of a very bad situation. I woke up in a dim-lit room that smelt like dirt and cheap cologne. I heard muffled voices, all male, whispering to each other and feet shuffling. My vision was out of focus, but the quavering figures got more shape so they actually looked like separate people instead of just a fuzzy blob. I was in a chair, my hands tied loosely behind me which mean they didn't take much care. They were confident I wouldn't escape and I couldn't blame them. There were six men total and one me.
The odds were not good.
"Hello, princess," said one guy with crooked teeth. His head was shaved even though he only looked about twenty-three at most. "How was your nap?"
The other guys laughed and all I could do was try to get my brain in check. The room was swaying and I felt like I was on a boat. My stomach wasn't agreeing with the sea. Whatever they knocked me out with had disorienting side effects.
"Just fine, if you like being kidnapped by a bunch of morons," I answered him, trying to stay brave.
I got smacked across the cheek so hard that my vision went dark for a second. I didn't show that I was hurt though. I held back my tears and thought that if I could just have them believe I was tougher than some little girl for a bit longer, I could come up with a plan. I wasn't going to panic. I couldn't.
"Listen, if you just let us give you a message, you'll get out safely," the bald guy said, being the spokesman for the creeps.
I looked around. The room was empty except for pipes that ran through one corner. I heard the rattle of water running overhead and clambering of metal. I must've been in a basement room of a house with cruddy plumbing. All the guys had mud on their shoes so they had to have traveled through some woods or a rough trail of some sort. Their pant legs were dirty too.
"I don't know if that's true," I said while the guys stepped closer. "If you're not hiding your identities I can describe you to the police. You don't care if I see your faces, so I must not be leaving. At least, not alive."
The bald guys laughed. "You're think you're a smart cookie, huh, princess. But you're wrong. It's all apart of the deal, see. The deal we have for you. If you keep that smart trap of yours shut."
"Okay, what's the message?" I said, playing along.
Then I found out why they didn't tie me tightly to the chair. He grabbed me by my shoulders as hard as he could and threw me to the ground. He bent over me and slammed a punch so hard into my stomach I almost puked. I kept it down, though. I saw stars and the rest of the guys came at me too. One boy grabbed me by my shirt and pinned me hard against a wall, my head jarred against the stone. He rammed my back into the wall two mores times, rattling my spine. Then I got tossed to the ground again.
The bald kid took a fist of my shirt and brought my face close to his, a knife poised in front of my face. Another kid held my arms above my head, hands clasped around my wrists as tight as he could.
The bald boy said, "You're never going to associate with any of the Tarot again, you hear?"
"How do you know about them?" I panted weakly.
His knife cut a long gash across my shoulder and hot pain shot all over.
"You're not going to associate with the Tarot," he growled. "Do. You. Understand?"
"What happens if I do?" I whispered. I wanted to start sobbing, but I couldn't. Not in front of them.
He sliced a short line from my cheekbone pointed to my ear. "If you do, then we won't be so nice next time. Same goes for if you turn us in. Either way, we get our job done and can take care of all your friends like we would you. So your choice is to break ties with the Tarot and never pursue anything related to them again or we silence you permanently, got it?"
Tears definitely were stinging my face along with a lot of blood. I was in so much screaming pain it took all my strength to lock my teeth shut. If I opened my mouth, I'd scream. I just nodded and then was beaten up some more. They got their point across, but I guess they wanted to make sure that it wasn't an empty threat.
I was thrown around like a rag doll for another five or ten minutes. I passed out from pain instead of chemicals, eventually. But even while I was being smacked around and beaten, I thought of how if I hadn't been happy for that small amount of time then this would've never happened.
Just my luck, right?

My entire body hurt. It was like I'd been hit by a train then catapulted into a bath of fire. I couldn't move, but I heard everything. Machines beeped and shoes were marching all over, it smelt like antiseptics and cold. And yes, cold has a smell. It smells sharp and precise, unlike the mellow and lazy scent of warm. There was something stuck up my nose, so that might've been the cold smell and my arms were wrapped in tubes. I felt heavy material wrapping my arms and my shoulder. When I opened my eyes, I could see white all around me but gauze on my cheek.
The ceiling was made up of cracked squares and florescent lighting. I knew I was in a hospital immediately. A plastic bracelet scraped against the skin high on my forearm where it rested on top of the mitt of gauze on my hand.
I didn't like hospitals. Well, no one really liked hospitals, but me even less so. The needles and tests and blood, I could get through all that. What I couldn't stand about them was the confinement. I had better things to do then be strapped to a gurney, being poked and prodded. If I stayed in a hospital for a long enough time, I could go crazy. I spent my whole life trying to convince myself I wasn't crazy, I would not be defeated by a damn hospital.
"Oh, you're awake!" a woman said and I turned my head, immediately regretting it. Note to self: Every cell of your body is in pain. I waited for her to come to me instead. It was a middle-aged woman with crow-feet and curly brown hair that she kept tied up in a bun. Her skin was deeply olive-toned. Her accent was thick and rich. "How are you feeling?"
I reached for my face and began tugging at the IV tube. I wanted to get out. I didn't want to be there. I wanted to go home.
No. Not home. I wasn't sure right away why I didn't want to go home, but an alert in my brain said that was a place to avoid. Instead, the first person that came to mind was Mr. Matthews. Where was he? I wanted him there! I wanted to escape to him and leave this horrid place.
"No, no, no!" the Italian woman said, gently taking my hands and laying them back at my sides. "You don't want to hurt yourself more!"
I started crying. Hot water slid over my face and I coughed hard.
"Oh, honey, it's alright," the nurse said, using a tissue from my nightstand to wipe away my tears. "You'll be okay. Everything is fine. You'll feel better soon, I promise. And your mother just left to go home and change. She's been sitting here with you for three days, after all."
"Three days?" I rasped and the words barely were audible even to myself. The nurse took a cup and stuck the straw between my lips. The water actually burned my throat with its iciness. I kept sucking, needing to be quenched. The IV liquid wasn't enough to keep me hydrated.
"Yes, three days, angel." The nurse smoothed my hair out of my face. "My name's Josephina, Radiance, but call me Josie. I'll make sure you feel better soon. You had us worried there for a while, but you have the soul of a fighter." She winked at me. "I could tell right away."
I closed my eyes, trying to remember anything from three days ago. I remembered Mr. Matthews' apartment...then my birthday party where something big happened (that was all I remembered of that)...which led to going out for a run...but everything was unclear from there. I remembered being ganged up on and beaten and thrown around, but I didn't have any memory of faces. Words rang in my ears from my kidnappers, the warning and the threats, but their faces escaped me.
Mom flew into the room about five minutes later. She began crying with relief as she tried to hug me without hurting me (pretty much impossible) and kiss any non-wrapped part of my face. I could barely see through one swollen-shut eye, but I could see the guilt in Mom's face. She blamed herself, that much was plain to see, but my half-working mind couldn't comprehend why.
"What's wrong, Mom?" I asked, confused.
All she could do was shake her head and lean her forehead against mine, her tears dripping onto my face.
"It's okay, Mommy," I felt compelled to say. I barely could remember anything at all, but my mouth seemed to know what was right to say. "It's okay, I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize, baby," Mom whispered, kissing my nose. "It's not your fault."
"But--"
"Shh... Just rest. Okay?"
I closed my eyes and fell asleep to her sweet voice humming a lullaby.

I looked like s***. I had a black eye, a broken nose, twelve stitches in my cheek down the side of my face, a sling for my arm, and a big white bandage right on the left side of my forehead to cover the burns I got from a gas lighter. Three of my ribs were caved in, so I was stuck in that same body splint that people with bruised ribs have to wear on TV. I wore long sleeves to cover the black, blue, and purple bruises on my non-sling-arm. I didn't have any sweater-necks to cover the black around my throat. I could actually identify the placement of crushing fingers.
The mirror did not have mercy on me that morning. It was Thursday, four days after nearly getting killed. People had been calling for me constantly, but Rick had dutifully told them that I was resting or unavailable to talk. He did that every day. I wished I could hug him, but my arm wasn't in hugging-condition.
What scared me most was that every night, I'd wake up knowing I had a terrifying dream, but not remembering it at all. Maybe that was the scary part of it.
I'd also been diagnosed with selective amnesia which meant I only didn't remember little things. Rick had given me a few names that I didn't recall. Mom told me a few stories that I didn't remember being a part of. Dad didn't try to get me to remember, he just sat with me quietly. Good old Dad. Always the silent one.
I'd convinced Mom to let me go to school, telling her that I'd jar my memory if I was around people that I was familiar with. If I swung back into the usual routine, I would remember stuff, I knew it. And it just bothered me that it was the tiny, nagging things were was I couldn't remember; if I couldn't remember my name or who I am, I venture I wouldn't care as much about getting to my normal schedule because I would have no memory of what my normal schedule was!
I slid on my hoodie and took off the sling (it drew too much attention) and headed for the kitchen. My arm wasn't broken, just badly sprained and at least I could hide the splint with my hoodie sleeve. I pulled the hood over my head and it came down enough to hide the bandage on my forehead and maybe shadows my eyes so people would think that the black eye was just the hood's shade.
The worst part of it all was that other students would start paying attention to me. Now that they know that I'm Rick's sister, they couldn't have picked a better time to get to know me. It's just my luck that the day I didn't want anyone talking to me, everyone would be talking to me. Rick had made a message list for everyone who called me and it finds out that the student body began noticing my absence and was concerned for my well-being. Six people that I don't know (and Rick confirmed that I actually don't know) called to see if I was alright. The rest were people I could faintly recall in my memory from...a costume party? No, it was too formal for that. A dinner party? Yeah, a dinner party, that must be it...
"Rae! Where is your sling?" my mom scolded me when I came into the kitchen. She was going in late to work so she could drive Rick and I.
"It was unnecessary." I reached into a cabinet, but she caught my hand and shook her head.
"No cereal. I'm making eggs and bacon."
I nodded and sat at the table.
"So...are you looking forward to seeing Garret when you go back?" Mom asked.
Garret...Garret...I knew that name, I really did! It whispered in the back of my mind, trying to pull forth a memory of him. "Um...who's Garret?"
Mom's eyes got wide. "Well...Garret is your best friend. He came over for dinner a while ago and he'd take you out and he'd come over. He got attacked in his home that one time, don't you remember? He had to wear the same body splint as you. He's really tall, good-looking, has dark brown hair and wears all black."
That description sounded familiar. So familiar that I had invented a picture in my head of what Garret looked like but there was no telling if it was right or not. I rubbed my temples. "Anyone else who's my friend?"
"Well, you did go out with Shawn the other day."
No I didn't. I was about to open my mouth to correct her, but caught myself when I realized where I had gone. I went to Mr. Matthews'. I remembered that place as clear as day. I remembered Mr. Matthews as clear as day and everything we did.
"You know, Shawn," Mom said, obviously thinking that I was staring off into space for a different reason than I was. "He's your brother's friend, heartbreakingly handsome for such a young boy, and he's even the brother of that poetry teacher of yours. You went to a dinner party with both of them. Don't you remember?"
The dinner party was coming back slowly, but faces were jumbled and names weren't clear and it gave me a headache.
"Don't kill yourself over it," Mom said. "Like you told me, I'm sure you'll remember everything once you see some regular faces."
Mom placed a place of eggs and bacon in front of me. The actions sparked something in my head and as she brushed hair out of my face and kissed my forehead, I remembered everything that happened at my birthday party. I remembered why I'd left for a run. I remember the fight and why I stopped my mom from telling the story of how I was born because, I found out, it was a lie. She returned to the stove now because she wasn't aware of the huge shift in my memory. I watched her, thinking to myself, She's not my mother.
"Good morning, family!" Rick exclaimed brightly, practically skipping into the kitchen. "I smell bacon."
"You're right. Since we never got to have your birthday cake, and I have been a mess the past few days, I made you a special breakfast. It's your favorite: omelets and bacon," Mom said, handing him a cheesy omelet and four strips of bacon.
I smiled, glad that he got his own special meal. And he was obviously happy too as he took the plate, thanked Mom five times, and dug into it ravenously. I played with my own scrambled eggs, not having a large appetite. I took a swig of my orange juice, though. The kitchen smelt so good that morning and everything was so peaceful, except for my head. My head had thoughts shooting around like a million caffeine-wired kangaroos.
About a half-hour later, we were buckled in the car and heading for school and the moment I got out, people were looking. I pulled my hood down more and started walking in the opposite way of Rick, but he just took hold of my sweatshirt and pulled me back.
"Listen, we can totally turn this thing around," he whispered to me, arm around my shoulder. "I am your brother and everyone knows now, but it doesn't have to be a bad thing."
"I think I preferred it when we weren't related," I grumbled, looking at my feet, only glancing up to see where we were heading and if Rick would accidentally or not accidentally drive me into someone.
"Oh, come on. Don't be like that. Your life will change from here on out. I mean, now you probably can sit with me at lunch, you'll have loads of friends, and on top of all that, you're the Priestess in the Tarot--"
"Tarot? What're you talking about?" I looked up at him, my heart panicking. This was important. It really, really was and I couldn't remember it.
Rick's eyes got really big and he opened his mouth, but never got to speak.
"Rae," a voice said behind me. I spun around and looked up at...Garret. This was Garret! I suddenly remembered him perfectly. I threw my arms around him, hurting my ribs and most likely hurting his, but I didn't care. I remembered him! "Oh, God. Are you okay?" he asked quietly.
I nodded.
"Jesus. Your face--"
"Yeah, I know," I said, not wanting to be reminded about the disaster that was my face.
Garret looked down into my eyes and I remembered dancing with him at the dinner party and about how I was worried about hurting his ribs then. I also remembered faintly people bowing to me.
"Garret, please get her to remember stuff," Rick said to him and it sounded almost like a prayer rather than a simple request. "She has amnesia--"
"Selective amnesia," I corrected.
"--and she doesn't remember something very important," Rick finished with a pointed look at Garret. Something passed between them and Garret's eyes grew just as wide as Rick's.
Garret looked at his watch. "We've got to get going. We'll clear everything up later. I've got to talk to Shawn and Milo..." His voice dropped and he added with a sarcastic mumble, "That meeting will be pleasant, I'm sure."
"Good news, Rae, you don't have to be late to class," Rick said, trying to brighten up my puzzled frown. What the hell were those two going on about? "Let's hit it. You'll see Garret later." Rick took my elbow and began yanking me towards the school doors. I struggled a little in return, but it was no use so I just followed while Garret walked the other way.
"What's going on?" I demanded, pulling my sore elbow from his hold. He didn't notice that that was the arm in the sling, did he. Jerk.
Rick just kept walking towards our lockers. He stood next to mine while I looked at the lock. Now if I could just remember my combination...It came to me suddenly when I noticed a scratch on the lock that I saw on the first day of school. That single scratch lifted an entire memory from the depths and crevices of my conscience. It was good my school schedule was taped to the inside of my locker because I knew which books to take first.
"Rae, you're forgetting something very, very important," Rick told me as he carried my books. He was deciding to be brotherly now, that ass. This was all just drawing more attention to me and I didn't want that, not now! And this sudden revolution about Rick and I being siblings wasn't going to change any teacher's outlook on me. They hated me even though they knew through the system that we were twins.
But we're not twins. That's what got me. It was ironic how he was such a jackass when we were twins and started being a real brother when we weren't even brother and sister....What were we? Cousins? That was weird to think.
"Don't you remember the dinner party?" he asked me while we walked to homeroom.
"I remember it...kind of...just the people and the conversation are escaping me, but I remember being at it."
Rick sighed and shook his head. "Of course you can't remember the most important parts."
"Hey, it's not my fault!" I snapped. "You think I wanted to get my ass kicked to the point where I can’t remember things?"
"I'm sorry," he apologized immediately. "I didn't mean to be mean."
"You never cared if you were before," I growled.
Rick sighed again and shrugged. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well, sorry's not going to change years of torture," I hissed before he just shrugged again and opened the homeroom door for me. Rick and I made way for the seats, but our homeroom teacher, Ms. Talbot I remembered, stopped me.
"Do you have valid notes to excuse your excessive absences?" she asked snidely. My back was to her, so I slowly turned to the side so I didn't have to look her directly in the eyes.
I hated this lady. I had only missed a half of a day once and that was to see my friend in the hospital and here I was, not once absent, and being out for a few days because I had been attacked...and she couldn't grant me the courtesy of a "good morning." Maybe she didn't know I had been in the hospital, but if you were ever going to be respected by anyone you'd have to start being kind in return. For all she knew, my parents could've died or I could've been diagnosed with an incurable disease and she still acts like this.
I hated it, I hated, I hated her! What kind of cold, selfish b**** would be like this to a student who'd come back from being out almost a week? I hated people who lived to make others miserable, and that was exactly what she was doing. She never asked for excuse documents from any other kid when they were absent and half of them would fake a cold to stay home. I was committed to being in school every damn day and this was how I was treated. Why did she hate me? Why couldn't she hate Jenna Hartman or Cindy Shaw, maybe even Rick, but at least someone who deserved her wrath.
I was positively done with being pushed around. There was no way in hell I was putting up with this crap.
"Yes, as a matter of fact I do," I said, keeping my head down and head covered. I slapped down my forms from the doctors. "Here's my release form, from the hospital," I grumbled, hoping she caught on to the coldness.
Apparently she didn't or was ignoring it. She just took the notes, not caring if I was in the hospital or not, and said dismissively, "No hoods in school."
I closed my eyes for a moment before reaching up and snatching down my hood.
Mrs. Talbot took in a sharp quick breath. My face was evidence enough that I wasn't just some kid milking out an excuse from the ER for some sprained wrist or concussion. She was trying to think of what to say, but I turned around and walked back to my seat before she got a chance. I didn't want her to ask what happened or for her to stare at the stitches of bruises or bandages. It was enough that I had to look at them myself.
I headed for my corner, but was stopped by a voice: "Hey, Rae! Come sit by us!"
I turned around and raised an eyebrow at Laurie Hans, one of Rick's very blonde friends, who were waving me over to their group. If this is what sudden popularity felt like, I had no idea why people enjoyed it. This was awkward and weird.
"Um..." was all I could say.
"Look, Rick already brought your stuff over," she said, pointing at the pile of books that Rick set on the desk next to him. I shot him a glare, but he acted like he didn't notice it.
I, very reluctantly, sat down in the desk and gazed at my books.
"That's one sick shiner," Tony Ireman, one of the few kids with a last name that didn't start with an "H" in this homeroom, said. "What'd you do, get in a street fight?" He sat backwards on his seat in the small circle of kids that seemed to all cloud around Rick and I. One difference was that Rick was used to it and I never would be.
"Um, yeah, something like that," I muttered, absently touching the bumpy stitches on my face. "You should see the other guy, I guess," I said with a smirk.
Tony laughed, along with the other five kids around Rick and I.
"You're funny," Tony said, smiling. He was on the lacrosse team and was just average height, but really strong. He was a monster on the field according to Rick who'd mentioned him in passing a few times. Funny how I could remember the useless things Rick said but nothing that mattered. "What've you been doing hiding from us for the last three years?"
Oh, I don't know, maybe the obvious unwelcome aura about you guys whenever you see me. Or the fact you've avoided me more than I've avoided you since we were in middle school. Either one of those might be it. Rather, it's because the only reason you're letting me in now is because I'm the sister of your god.
What got this guy thinking that I was the one hiding? Sure, I didn't enjoy crowds or talking, but they never reached out to me before now and they didn't even realize that I was just obeying their unwritten laws that clearly said, "Losers are not allowed to associate or join any branch of the popular empire."
I just shrugged. "Maybe I've just been too distracted with schoolwork," I murmured.
"Yeah! You're, like, really smart, right?" a girl named Sara said with a big smile. She had brown hair with blond highlights. I didn't know what was with these girls and their hang-up on being blonde? What was so special about lacking pigment in hair? Why did they slowly dry-out and destroy their hair and scalp with chemicals and peroxide to gain that sun-kissed hair color? "Could you, like, maybe tutor me sometime? I'll pay you!"
"Yeah, me too, it would be a huge help," said another girl named Vicky. Vicky was black and she had added blonde streaks to her hair.
WHAT WAS WITH THESE GIRLS AND BEING BLONDE?!
I couldn't deny them now that their eyes were wide with hope that I could get them that B that would keep them on the cheerleading team, so I nodded and they squealed like blonde baby pigs.
"O-M-G, thank you sooo much," Sara said in that excited high-pitched, ear-piercing voice of hers that I swear only special humans and dogs could hear.
I nodded, rubbing my head while the rest of them chattered. I was starting to breathe heavily. I think I was claustrophobic. The walls were closing in and I couldn't get out of them. I was being closed in my people who spent a good portion of their life hating me. But I realized the only person who wasn't pretending to be all buddy-buddy with me was Jenna Hartman, my brother's boyfriend. She just stared at me coldly like I was a science experiment.
I was glad that mutual hate didn't change.
Jenna Hartman had been friends with Cindy Shaw since they were small and every since they both worked on making my world hell. They did it sometimes indirectly and other times directly. But Jenna was always the one to start rumors. And it sucked because everyone trusted her since she was popular and beautiful. She had perfectly tanned skin and hazel eyes with pin-straight ashy blonde hair. She was skinny and petite and was all legs, which had boys looking after her all the time.
And when she gave someone the kind of dirty look like she was giving me, it meant that your life was about to go downhill very quickly.
As if my life wasn't screwed up enough already, some vengeful cheerleader was going to have my head.

"I know it's almost the end of the year," Mr. Matthews said with a smile to the groaning students, "but we have to have homework. You're still going to be here for five weeks, so suck it up!" He teasingly tossed an eraser as some kid who had exclaimed, "Aw, s***!" "Have a good day, guys!" The bell rang and everyone was out the door. I had planned before class to jet out the second the bell rang, but I had been lost in thought and didn't get my books together so I was stuck with loading up after class along with the other stragglers who got out faster than me since I was injured.
Over the course of class, watching him speak and walk, all the memories of the Tarot and the Curse came back to me. His voice was what did it. The voice that told me the stories, that wove the history with the present. It was like a floodgate being broken, and everything rushed into me like a waterfall to my toes.
But I couldn't face him now.
I heard his shoes on the floor, but I didn't look up at him when he stopped before my desk and I was just finishing with my books.
"Rae," he said.
I didn't answer, I just lifted my books to my chest painfully and made for the door, but Mr. Matthews simply grabbed my hoodie, took the books out of my hand and threw them to the desk behind him. They toppled over and slid onto the floor with loud smacks.
"What the hell happened to you?" Mr. Matthews asked in a whisper, taking my chin in his hand and forcing me to meet his eyes. His other hand was cupping my cheek lightly like I was fragile as porcelain and brushing the hair from my face. I was reminded of Saturday and it was like a sun inside me spread all over.
"I fell in the street," I mumbled, trying to pull my chin away.
"So did the cement reach up and grab your wrists?" Mr. Matthews asked speculatively, holding up and arms and dragging down my sleeve to display the perfect print of a large hand that squeezed me.
I took my hand away from him and pulled the sleeve back down. "What do you want?" I whispered.
"I want you to tell me what happened to you."
"I wish I could."
"So you can't?"
"Because I can barely remember!" I said, my voice cracking. That wasn't true. I knew what happened, just didn't remember the faces. They told me not to affiliate with the Tarot or else it would be at the cost of my life and theirs. And I would be the last person to doubt their abilities. Though I didn't know why they knew about the Tarot or would want me out of their lives, but I had to acquiesce. There was really no other option.
Both of his hands were on my face, looking over my skin and into my eyes. He must've been doing his illusion thing where everyone around him saw us just talking about a paper or discussing homework, because there was no way he'd risk being so openly affectionate with me in school. His fingers stroked over my cheeks and nose.
"You're lying to me, aren't you?" he said.
I didn't say a word.
"Rae, you have to tell me what happened if things are going to get better, okay? I swear, whoever did this to you will pay the price for--"
"No!" I exclaimed. "No, you can't go to anyone! They'll hurt you and the rest of the Tarot if I say anything, so, please, don't make me! Please, Mr. Matthews!"
"If you don't tell me, I'll find out," he swore sternly, and I could tell he wasn't bluffing. He'd find out one way or another.
I swallowed. "I can't talk to you. I can't talk to any of the Tarot. If I do, they'll find out and they'll kill me and hurt all of you," I rasped in the quietest voice I could. "I don't know who they are or why they want me away from you, but they weren't kidding."
"And they did this to you as a warning?"
I nodded.
"Rae...you have to tell me now....Did they do anything else to you?"
I knew exactly what he was asking by the severity of his voice. "No, they didn't rape me. They just beat me up."
Mr. Matthews sighed and didn't say another word. His eyes shifted from his feet up to my face a few times and he finally just brushed his knuckles over the non-stitched cheek. "We'll talk at lunch, okay?"
"Okay..." I whispered and my body just naturally fit itself to his. I hugged him tightly despite the broken rips in my chest, but his arms were loose because of his awareness to my injuries.
"I did try to talk to you," he whispered in my ear. "But your brother said you were resting and wouldn't tell me anything about what happened."
I nodded. "I know...I just didn't want to talk to anyone."
He let me go and I walked off to my next class, chest aching, but not from the broken ribs.

"I'm not eating," I told him for the twentieth time. "You can't make me."
"You wanna bet?" he challenged.
"You wouldn't," I said, positive that he wouldn't. "You wouldn't make a poor injured girl eat." I was rubbing the huge bruise was had expanded over my lower stomach where my captor had punched me. It hurt so much that, even if it was external, I didn't want to eat. I put my mom through hell trying to feed me for the last few days, my nurses too. I had to fight to be released early since I wasn't recovered and hadn't been eating so I was getting weaker. I felt like the walking dead.
Mr. Matthews sighed. "You need to eat for energy. If you don't eat, you'll fall asleep during a quiz or something."
I held up one of the Monsters I'd sneaked to school. Drinking wasn't so bad and the sweet, bubbly energy beverage was all I could keep down without throwing up. I cracked open the pan and sipped at it. He didn't look pleased.
"Those things are dangerous. Don't drink so many or else you'll raise blood pressure and give yourself a heart attack," he said.
I rolled my eyes. "You had almost two dozen empty cans of it in your apartment; do not even screw with me."
"That's different. I'm an adult and done growing. You're only six--"
"Seventeen."
"Seventeen," he corrected himself and finished, "years old."
"Once a woman gets their menstrual cycle, they're eighty percent done developing and about done growing altogether by the time they're seventeen," I recited from a health book I read once. I took another quaff of the energy drink and earned a glare from Mr. Matthews. "Anyway, where's your lunch?"
"I accidentally left it at home."
"You're an employed adult. Why didn't you buy something?"
"Because I wanted to get up here to talk to you as much as possible," he said, leaning forward on the desk across from me. He was letting me sit in Mrs. Mariotta's fluffy chair that day and enjoyed it immensely. It wasn't every day that you found such a heavenly chair and sitting in it made my injuries not feel so bad. I wanted to nap.
"Alright, then. Talk," I said, spinning slowly in the swivel chair.
"Okay, then, I'll get right to the point then. Do you know the people that hurt you?"
"No," I said, absolutely certain. "I know it wasn't anyone that I knew. They were complete strangers."
"What did they look like?"
"I told you, I have no idea. I can't remember their faces."
"Are you sure?" he pressed.
"Yes, Milo, I told you," I said, sounding tired and insistent. I faced him then, stopping the chair mid-spin. "Even if I did, I couldn't tell you. Right now I'm even breaking the rules. I'm not supposed to have any contact with you or any of the Tarot."
Mr. Matthews leaned forward more. "Don't do anything they say. That just means they win. Do you understand me? I'll keep you safe and so will everyone else, no one will hurt you, and you won't have to obey those dirt bags, okay? You'll be safe."
I leaned forward as well and it felt like a slow magnetic force was gaining intensity while we each tried to argue our points. "I'll be fine, but what about everyone else? They said that everyone else in the Tarot would be hurt too."
"They can take care of themselves," he said firmly, keeping his voice low.
"What if they can't?"
"Dammit, Rae!" he proclaimed. "Why can't you just let everyone else take care of everything?"
"Because that would make me a horrible leader! I'm not the Priestess just so I can sit around and have everyone watch out for me but at their own expense! They'll get killed, Mr. Matthews, I have not a single doubt, they will." I groaned and sat back in the chair roughly, the comfy stuffing cushioning my ribs. "Can we talk about something else?"
"Not until you agree to have full-time Tarot guards."
"Over my dead body."
"Then I'll keep bugging you until you give in," he said simply, confident.
"You grossly undermine my will-power," I said smugly.
"Then I'll beg until you get embarrassed enough to give in. On my knees, hands clasped together, pleading." He raised an eyebrow with a sly look.
He was right...If he begged on his knees, I'd be chagrinned to the point I'd agree just to get him off the floor. I'd have no idea what else to do anyway. "Fine," I mumbled.
"Okay, so, here's the deal. You have your brother at your house, but I don't trust him for s***, no offense," he said. "It's not that I don't trust him, it's just I don't trust his reliability in an emergency."
"There's burglar alarms rigged to every window in the house from the inside, so you don't really have to worry about someone breaking in there," I told him, feeling defeated and frazzled with worry. If this didn't turn out like Mr. Matthews promised, it'd be my entire fault when people got hurt just because I couldn't say no to my pleading poetry teacher.
But he wasn't even really my poetry teacher anymore. He'd morphed into a friend at first, one that I got teased by and that I fought with. It was a comical relationship to begin with but then everything changed. It really changed the first time he kissed me, but I ignored the changes for a while after. They were resurrected again when he kissed me a second time, that day I spent at his apartment. It was one of the most fun times I ever had, just to be with Mr. Matthews and clean with him, eat with him, kiss him...I didn't even mind the part where I cried all that much. He cured that pain simply.
Then, in the car, he held my hand. I never thought holding hands could feel so incredibly special. I figured the Beatles were on the right track when they wrote that song of theirs.
But what was Mr. Matthews to me?
"Okay, then your house is safe at least. Still. I'll call your mom and offer to drive you and Rick to school in the morning since I'm concerned about how hurt you are." He smiled. "She'll have no problem, I'm sure."
"You are way too cocky with your charms on my mother..." I said, but my voice faded off and I realized that she was my mom, but not really my mother. Being a mother had biological implications, but being a mom just involved tenderness, loving, and caring. "Hey, Mr. Matthews..."
"Yes?" he asked, detecting the hesitation in my voice with curiosity.
"I found out...why my mom cries when she tells me the story of my birth."
He didn't say anything, just waited.
"It's because I'm adopted."
"You're what?!" he exclaimed in shock.
I told him the whole story that Mom had told me and he listened carefully, word after word. He was hanging onto the story, his eyes never straying from mine. The words were painful to repeat, but I told all about Sabrina and my mom’ pregnancy and the day they went into labor. I finished and it was quiet. I took another drink out of my can.
"Then...then, the Tarot genes must be traced from your mother's side since your brother, I mean, cousin is a Tarot as well, no denying that. Though I have no idea why your mother hasn't mentioned it...It's traced though blood, so it's usually a family story that's passed down." Mr. Matthews rubbed his chin. "I'm really sorry. It must've been hard for you to digest."
I looked down at my hands and nodded. "Yeah. I got upset and went for a run. I stopped in front of Garret's house when I was grabbed and shoved into a car."
Mr. Matthews froze. "Garret's house? Why were you there?"
"I just ran there," I shrugged. "This is no time for your jealous bull--"
"No, no, I'm not being jealous -- at this moment at least -- I'm just trying to figure out why your attackers would be in front of Garret's house. There was no way they would've known where you were going unless you told someone or...or if they had followed you."
My heart stuttered and I gulped. "No. They couldn't have. I didn't hear any car and it was a big Cadillac, I couldn't have missed it."
"A Cadillac?"
"Yeah. It was black with chipped paint." The memory came forth in my brain suddenly. "I didn't get the license plate, though."
Mr. Matthews nodded, as if he expected it. "That would've been too much of a miracle. I mean, God forbid your photographic memory catches the bad guys, right?" He tried a smirk and I smiled in return. "The point is, that from now on there will not be a moment where you'll be left alone. The weekends you can hang out either at home or my apartment, no variations."
"What about Garret's place?"
"Didn't I just say 'no variations'?"
"But he's my friend!"
"And also another person that I don't trust for s***. Garret is right up there with your brother and he's just recovering from his own..." His sentence trailed off. Then something lit up in his eyes like I switched on light bulb. "Garret's attackers...they had to be connected to yours. They were outside his house, they gave you similar injuries, left you alive with barely any evidence of who they were, made sure you ended up in a hospital...It's the same pattern! But who would have it out for Garret and you? I don't think you've ever been tied in with shady people before...."
"Who knows? I could be a mobster and you'd never know," I said, feeling slightly miffed that he had no confidence that I could be shady.
"Nah. I can't picture you trafficking drugs or carrying a gun." He wrote it off so simply. I was a lot tougher than he thought! Okay, maybe not, but still, I sure could pretend to be. "I'll make sure to talk with the rest of the Tarot later tonight. Let's change topic now."
I nodded, making another revolution in the chair. "I have a question."
"Must be a biggie if you're avoiding eye-contact like that."
I just rolled my eyes and didn't respond to that. "I just wanted to know...if you meant what you said on Saturday?"
"I don't know if I should be pissed off or thrilled that you remember everything you did with me on Saturday but not who tried to kill you," he said and chuckled a little.
"Well...you're just...memorable," I said and my cheeks were set aflame. I don't know why saying that was embarrassing, but it definitely was. "Anyway, you said that 'we'd manage'. I just don't see how we're going to."
Mr. Matthews reached across the desk and caught hold of the chair's arm, holding it steady to face him. Once he got me directly looking at him, he took my hand and twined his fingers through mine. "We will. It won't be easy, but we will. I'm not going to give up on you or even stall just because of a few years difference."
"It's more than five years--"
"And that's not a lot," he said, assuring. "When you hit your twenties, it won't look like much of a gap at all. It's all up to you really, I mean..." He took a deep breath. "If you don't want to be held back from guys your age because of me, then--"
"No," I said, shaking my head. "No, that's not what I feel at all. Trust me. I was thinking the same thing...you know, about your age. I don't want you to lag behind all the older, prettier woman because you feel chained to me," I whispered, voicing the things I'd been thinking since he kissed me for the second time. I couldn't help but feel self-conscious about how young and plain I was. He deserved confident, sexy woman with experience and know-how and without any insecurities.
Mr. Matthews grinned. "There's not an older girl out there that's prettier than you, so I wouldn't worry about it."
I blushed and he raised a hand to touch my cheek. "I love it when you get pink," he joked.
"Don't mention it," I chided, pulling my face away. "It's embarrassing as it is."
"Why?"
"Because! I'm a silly little girl who doesn't know how to deal with her emotions." I pulled my legs up to my aching chest and turned the back of the chair to him. I tried to hide the bandage that bridged my nose in my knees. On top of humiliating myself on a daily basis just by flushing about the stupidest things, I had to look hideous on top of that. It wasn't even that I cared about how I looked, it was just that I looked like a victim from a slasher film.
"You're not a silly little girl," he said. I heard his shoes clicking on the floor so I sat still like a statue. If I acted like I wasn't going to acknowledge his words, maybe he'd go away.
Of course I was wrong. Even thinking that was stupid. Instead, he kneeled down in front of the seat and I had to look down at him over my knees.
"Where's your confidence?" he asked. "You need to be surer of yourself."
"How can I when I'm in love with an older man?" The words just slipped out of my face and my cheeks burned redder. I didn't mean to display so freely how I felt. I'd mulled over my feelings for days and couldn't even admit the conclusion fully to myself and here it was, just coming out of my mouth like I knew it all along. "You'll always be older, you'll always know more, and in comparison, I'll always be just a child."
"How do you think I feel?" he laughed. "I'm a poetry teacher, how lame is that? You should be dating quarterbacks and going to dances with guitarists...I can't take you to your prom. We'll have to be secret until you graduate. And I'll always be a burden to you until then."
"A burden?" I shook my head. "I'm the burden. If someone finds out, you could lose your job and get put in jail. They'll think that you tricked me and raped me and then you'll get put in jail!"
"No, I won't," he said, shaking his head. "Remember I said a while back about how the Tarot has certain advantages?"
I nodded.
"They can get me out of some stuff. And we'll be careful. My illusion helps. Right now, the camera in the back of the room sees me bent over my desk alone, grading papers. Not..." he said, leaning closer to my face, "kissing a student." He pressed his lips to mine tenderly then pulled away. "So...are you ready for one of the fights of your life?"
"Being with you most definitely will be a challenge," I agreed, stomaching twisting excitedly and my heart throbbed pleasantly. I thought, but never dared say it out loud, But I know it'll be worth it...I just do.

If this was what being in love felt like, I could see why girls with boyfriends glowed. It was like what made you happy before made you absolutely ecstatic now. What upset you before didn't bother you that much now. Everything was just...better. Food tasted better, everything looked brighter, pain wasn't that bad....Okay, that last one wasn't totally true since I still felt like I was shoved through a woodchopper then taped back together, but you get my point. I guess once you admit to yourself and someone else that you love them, there's nothing keeping a smile from spreading on your face. It was a relief and even greater if the feelings were reciprocated.
It can't be easy to imagine, but I was...chipper (if people still even use that word). I'm sure not many knew the difference since I wasn't noticed, but I knew that my feet were going faster and my eyes were open wider. I just moved quicker and was more willing to go to class.
The weirdest thing, above all, was that even gym class didn't seem like such an effort. I actually looked forward to getting moving and burning energy. I decided that I must've been sick since I was let down when I realized that I was out of gym on medical leave. I had to sit on the bottom bleacher seat and watch everybody else play games while I used my time wisely by doing homework. My mind started wandering and I'd have to get a grip on myself and focus on the equation.
To distribute the property of x and four-squared, I'd have to solve the problem of sixty eighty-hundredths multiplied by the value of four y while y is equivalent to negative twelve, so to convert it to a fraction to make it easier would mean setting everything over one and...
A basketball hit me in the forehead, right on the burn. I sucked in a breath and put a hand to my forehead.
"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry!" said a voice and I looked up to see a boy with an average height and shaggy honey brown hair that fell over into his eyebrows. He had freckles across his nose and cheeks, looking good against his olive-toned skin. His eyes were brown as well and he had a nice smile, but right now he looked really sorry. "I didn't mean to, I--"
"It's fine," I said, rubbing the throbbing wound through the bandage. "It's not your fault."
"Do you need ice or anything?"
"No. Thanks though. I guess it was inevitable." I gave him the best smile I could offer to someone I didn't know. I had a phobia of smiling at strangers. It just didn't feel right.
"I'm new here," he said, holding out his hand with that smile that never left his face. "I'm Josh."
"Rae," I replied, shaking his hand with the one that wasn't bandaged.
"Gee," he said, looking over me. "Did you get in a street fight?"
What was it with everyone assuming I got in a street fight? Personally I think I looked more like a car accident victim, but hey, whatever works.
I shrugged. "If I told you then I'd have trouble with the Witness Protection Program again," I said, deadpan.
Josh froze, smile disappearing for a moment, looking at me like he wasn't sure to believe me or not.
"It was a joke," I told him and he let out a breath and laughed.
"I guess I should've figured. A little girl like you wouldn't get tangled up in bad stuff."
No one thought I could be aggressive or bad. That just wasn't fair. This kid didn't even know me and already saw that I wasn't a bad girl. I guess the whole doing-homework-while-getting-out-of-gym thing was a dead giveaway. And that word: Little. Yes, I was short, but I was in no way a little girl. I had curves and little girls don't have breasts or hips or butts, so whenever someone called me that I had to fight to impulse to correct them. It just got annoying after a while.
"Not that you're a child or anything," he quickly added, seeing my discontent. He read eyes well, I could already tell. He smacked his forehead. "First I hit you in the head with a ball and here I am insulting you. I'm really sorry."
I shook my head. "Don't apologize. You're not the first to hit or insult me and, trust me, you won't be the last."
I missed being invisible. People didn't apologize when you were invisible, and that might sound negative but it was a plus for someone like me who didn't know what to say when someone says sorry. It's like, you can't say that “it's okay” or “it's no problem” enough...
Josh went back to playing basketball with Garret who raised an eyebrow in question, discreetly pointing to Josh, and I shrugged in response. He shrugged back indifferently and returned to shooting three-pointers with ease. He moved smoothly like a shadow on the court, slipping around blockers who realized belatedly that he passed in the first place. He was so good at basketball, I wondered why he wouldn't join the team.
Then I was brought up short by a thought.
Garret...
He had said...
Oh s***. Garret had said things in passing that I never even thought of more than once or twice. Things like "I don't want you as only a friend" and when we danced at the dinner party, "I want to kiss you again." Garret had always been so conserved and silent, but when he did speak it was usually something worth saying. So I should've considered what he said right away, yet I didn't.
If Garret liked me… If he did, then I'll hurt his feelings by saying that I'm with someone else.
But I can't say I'm with someone else, because that's a secret.
So to deny Garret without a reason would make it sound like I just didn't like him back. And that would hurt his feelings and possibly destroy our friendship if he asked me out on an actual date.
I can't imagine Garret on a date.
Even more so, I can't imagine me on a date. No matter how I twisted the image in my head, it never looked right with me in it.
I didn't understand any of this. I was the most undesired girl in the school and now two different guys were trying to get my attention. What was I supposed to do? Garret was my best friend and Mr. Matthews...well, I've made it clear how I felt about him. It was different. My heart told me different things about the both of them.
The problem wasn't knowing how I felt. It's not like I'm in love with both of them like the girls use as an excuse to be sluts in teen harlequin novels. I liked Garret, sure, but I wanted him to be a friend. I loved Mr. Matthews for reasons that I still haven't sorted out yet. The real problem lied with how to deal with that.
Using my sharp problem-solving skills, I thought about the good things about Garret. For one thing, he wasn't more than a year older than me. Another was he was just so peaceful and kind and seems to have a thing for me. How was I supposed to turn down a guy who's only ever said caring, kind, nice things to me?
I was jumping to conclusions. Who was saying that he'd ask me to go out with him? I was just overreacting because of a guilty conscience from keeping something from him, that was all...
Or was it?

I sat at my piano again. I needed to consult with it to organize what I was thinking. I decided to start off with the last few measures I played last time, the confusing ones where my feelings for Mr. Matthews and Garret got jumbled up into a symphony of puzzlement and intensity and switching dynamics. Hearing it a second time made me feel all those things again. It wasn't hard to pull this song forth in my memory because my fingers just led the way like I was never the one who did any of the work.
Now, I continued to song. Just thinking of Mr. Matthews' smile created a light, playful and teasing few notes that could've been a child gliding down a slide in a park or a dog playing fetch. When I thought of how I felt when I saw his smile, a song like butterflies came from my hands. I couldn't help but blushing and trudged on through the melody. Then I just thought of how I had come to terms with how I felt and the music grew, much like I had.
I had undergone a transformation completely. Though people around me didn't know it, I did. I grew up. I thought I was mature before but I had no experience with emotions or true difficulties or barriers. The more I learned, the more I realized how little I knew...Wasn't that a saying? It was so indescribably true. I'd never felt some of the most vital human feelings like love or pain or conflict. Now I was facing them within and all around me every day. A cycle was spinning around, nonstop, never giving me a break and I'd just spun it myself. In a way, it was easier being perfectly excluded and alone, but it was a lot lonelier too.
Was this something to be happy about? This change that I'd went through, I mean. Before, I never smiled, but now I could easily grin. Before, I was depressed and clinically diagnosed so, but now I rarely took my medication and was fine. Even my nightmares were more bearable to write down. Was this normality? Not taking pills to deter suicidal thoughts, not going to see a psych who thought you were crazy every week, not hiding out in your room and pretending you didn't exist...

My hands stopped totally on the piano. They cut a chord short, but it just dragged out and rang around me, fading off with the past notes. I stared at my hands. This was normal. Or, at least as close to normal as I can get. I took my hands off the piano and ran them through my hair. I replaced them and continued.
Garret...the music lowered like it was mimicking his voice's volume and pitch. Deep and low. And soft and tender. It felt like a hug. Warm and welcoming. Garret...
Something shot in my stomach. I don't know why, but there was sudden panic inside me. I stood up from my bench abruptly and shoved the bench to get away from the piano. The music was trying to tell me something, to direct the song a different way, but it startled me so much that I lost all connection with it.
Somehow, my piano was trying to tell me something, but reading notes was a lot different than understanding the voice that came from the music.

I was waiting on the curb after school was done. What was I waiting for? Well, the correct question would be: Who? It was no one but the once again utterly irresponsible, procrastinating Mr. Matthews who likes to torture me while he finished grading papers. Why can't he just do them at home over the weekend? Because it's too much to lug home, he says, but we all know the real reason why is because he'd be stuck doing work and I would refuse to go over until he was done. Why was I waiting in the first place, you wonder? Another good question. The utterly ingenious genius he is, Mr. Matthews decides I need as much protection as possible at all times possible.
Another amazing question would be: Why can't I just get a ride home with the best friend named Garret who was sitting on the curb next to me in all his automobile-license-wielding glory?
"Because I said so."
I hate it when adults use that line. I especially hated when Mr. Matthews used it because it made me feel that much more like a kid. I smacked him once for it, but he just acted like nothing happened and continued being stubborn.
It'd been a whole two weeks since he put his Never-allow-Rae-to-be-left-alone-or-be-in-the-company-of-people-she-actually-likes plan. It was starting to be such a drag. I mean, Garret is right here, had asked me if I wanted a ride twice (which is serious because Garret rarely talks, so having repeated something for a second time was impressive) and Mr. Matthews simply said "No."
"No," like he was my father or something. This was the trouble with being with a guy older than you because he thinks he can be extra territorial, possessive, and have a claim on your time. It completely sucked. I hadn't been able to go anywhere with Garret in a while and he'd been driving me around before I even tolerated Mr. Matthews' presence in my life. I had once called him an evil dictator and now, as a joke, Garret mutters every time Mr. Matthews and I have a spat in front of him, "Nazi." I start laughing, Garret smiles, and Mr. Matthews has no idea what the hell we think is funny about him being called a Nazi.
"Why don't I just steal you?" Garret asked with a raised eyebrow. "We could go to the arcade or catch a movie."
I rocked in my seat while Garret took another drag of his cigarette while waiting for an answer.
I may sound pretty negative about Mr. Matthews being a time-dictating Rae-Nazi, but I cared for him and he wasn't always annoying...at least, not entirely. He just didn't want me to get beat up again, especially after I was just starting to clear up in bruises and cuts. And being killed by an evil, unknown force, would be a bad thing, in case you might not have guessed. It wasn't like I didn't trust Garret to protect me, it was just that I preferred Mr. Matthews because thinking about Garret actually raising a fist (even to defend) was really out-there. I couldn't think about Garret being vicious towards another person, never.
"No thanks. Mr. Matthews would just sniff me out like a bloodhound and drag me home," I said, pulling me knees up to my still-healing ribs (I was careful about pressure, though).
Garret smirked. "If you don't like him being so protective, you should tell him."
"You think I haven't tried? You've seen us fight."
"Yeah, I guess." He took his time taking another pull of his cigarette and then flicked it. "What is it with you two lately?" he asked, appearing to have wanted to dodge the question altogether but looking cornered. "You've been arguing like an old married couple."
I paused. Was it that obvious that we were in a relationship? I thought back to once where we were fighting on the way up to his apartment and a new woman in the building was coming out of her door and laughed, shaking her head. She said to us, "You new young couples...It won't get easier as you age." Then left, chuckling, while Mr. Matthews and I stared after her with raised eyebrows. That was just weird at first, but now I could see why our tiffs would give off that kind of thought.
"Yeah...It's just because, you know, the Magician is supposed to be my sidekick so Mr. Matthews is taking action as body guard. He's very dedicated to what he does," I bluffed, trying not to look him in the eyes when I did. My eyes always deceived me and I couldn't lie into Garret's perfectly green ones.
Garret nodded and it was quiet for a while once again. The parking lot was nearly empty since it was a Friday and only the sports teams left and a few teachers (like Mr. Matthews, blah) and possibly a student waiting with their friend for her ride to hurry the hell up and drive her home.
By the way, if you haven't noticed, I’m kind of in a bad mood.
"Alright, I was hoping to do this better than sitting on a curb with a cigarette, but what the hell," Garret muttered, squashing the cigarette under his shoes. He turned to face me and sighed, rubbing his hairline. "Okay, so, do you think you’ll be free in three Saturdays from now? I know it’s a long time, but you don’t have anything big planned, do you?"
Without thinking, I nodded, then stopped. "Well, not unless Mr. Matthews holds me hostage again."
"But he will allow you to have some fun if it's supervised?"
"If I beg hard enough, yes."
"Okay. Then, will you go to prom with me?"
I held still. That was not exactly what I was expecting. "Uh..."
"My mom is sort of making me go. She says that I have to be more of a social butterfly." He grimaced.
A prom was okay. I was not-- repeat the emphasis on NOT-- going to my junior prom and I figured that if I go just for Garret and make the situation of being in public with dancing teenagers slightly more bearable for him, it'd be okay. And one dance doesn't mean we're dating. It just means we're two socially awkward kids who've been pressured into being popular by our parents. My mom would go nuts.
But...the real question was, did Garret think that if I said yes, it meant something...?
Okay, I was being stupid. Even though Garret and I had kissed didn't mean that he was asking me to the prom so he can think we're dating. I was being my usual paranoid self. There was no reason to say no.
So I said, "Yes. Sounds good."
Garret smiled. "Thanks."
"No problem."
The door at the front of the school opened and Garret and I both looked behind us. Mr. Matthews was walking out of the doors, looking accomplished and pleased, wearing his long black coat.
"It's about time," I shot at him. "What were you doing? Grading the papers with weights tied to your wrists?"
"Well, if I hadn't taken my time then I wouldn't have taken notice to all the spelling, grammar, and rhyming mistakes you made on your paper, now would I?"
I felt my jaw drop. Spelling? I'm an excellent speller and my grammar was excellent! And I'd been listening to his class all of the last month, how can I make any errors whatsoever and--
And he was laughing. "I'm just joking!" he said, knowing that I was internally panicking.
I scowled harshly and turned away from him to say (yes, out of spite), "Thanks for asking me to the prom, Garret. See you later."
Garret nodded and walked towards his car in one of the near parking spots. He drove away and I watched his tail lights.
I looked back at Mr. Matthews and it was like an angry mask had been plastered there. He looked unhappy, displeased, flaming...choose a verb. But it wasn't the about-to-explode angry, it was stone-faced fury. "What is this I hear about a prom?"
"Oh, yeah. I'm going to it," I said, trying to seem nonchalant as I walked toward his car. Mr. Matthews caught up behind me.
"Uh...I thought you said, and I quote, 'there's no way in hell that I'd go anywhere where I have to fraternize with bumping, grinding and/or thrusting teenagers.' I'm pretty sure that's precisely what you said." He still wore his hard, taut mask while he opened the passenger door for me.
"I changed my mind," I said simply before he shut the door, closing me into the car. He got in on the other side.
"What brought about this change?" He stuck the key into the ignition (I only know that term because I just got my permit but was not using it in anyway) and then added, "A certain friend of yours whom I don't trust whose name rhymes with Parrot?"
"I don't know a Barrot."
"Rae!"
"Yes, Garret changed my mind," I sighed with a roll of my eyes. "Happy now?"
"Not quite. I won't be happy until you deny his invitation to the dance."
"What?" I demanded. "Why?'
"Because I said so."
I glared as dark as I could manage and then said, through clenched teeth, "Pull over. Now."
Mr. Matthews sighed before pulling to the side of the road. We were on an empty, forest-lined road not too far from the school where no one used anymore because of the newer, shorter paved road through the town rather than forest. He sat back in his seat. I punched him in the shoulder.
"What did I tell you about that godforsaken phrase?" I yelled at him. "No, I will not say no to Garret because it's only a dance! So stop acting like you're my father, stop being such a bigot, and end this jealousy that you have for some reason!"
"I'm not jealous!" he counteracted.
"Oh, really? You aren't? Then what's your oh-so-special reason why you have a right to not like Garret?" I snapped.
"Simple. I just don't like him."
"That's it. I'm getting out and walking." I opened the door before Mr. Matthews had the quick enough reflexes to lock them.
"No!" he exclaimed hastily and I paused, halfway out of the car. "No, don't do that, there's woods and it's a long walk, so stay in the car."
"Make me."
"Okay, you made me," he said indifferently, then reaching around to yank me back into the car, slam the door shut, and locked it. His car had those weird locks that you never know if you're unlocking correctly unless you were in the driver seat with all the automatic buttons, which unfortunately he was.
I smacked his wrist and turned away from him stubbornly, crossing my arms and looking out the window like a sulking child.
He was being totally unfair and controlling and ugh!
I felt a warm weight on my head, stroking down my hair again and again. I didn't respond, figuring that if I pretended he didn't exist, I'd win quicker even if he was acting all apologetic now with the comforting hair-stroking and the twining of his fingers through mine and all that tender, loving stuff he did.
"I'm sorry, but can't you just see from my point of view for a second?" Mr. Matthews asked gently, brushing my hair back and touching his fingers to under my chin and turning my face to look at his. "I can't be your date and it's worse because you've been asked by someone who I am not fond of at all."
"But why?" I asked stubbornly.
Mr. Matthews sighed. "Fair enough. He's interested in you and you can drop me like a hat in seconds. He might me the better choice for you. My hating him is obviously justified." He gave me a halfhearted smile.
"It's really not," I said seriously, but less angry. It was touching in an odd way. Flattering that he would think I'd drop him for another guy because he might be better. "I wouldn't do that to you. Garret's just my friend."
"That's what they all say," he pointed out, not sounding sure of me.
"Well, I mean it," I told him firmly. That was another phrase I couldn’t stand.
Mr. Matthews paused. "So, you're just going to the prom and...dancing?"
"Not even dancing, trust me."
"Alright. So standing in a corner talking, then?"
"Not even talking."
"So doing nothing."
"Exactly."
"So what the hell is the point to going?" he asked, sounding and looking perplexed.
I chuckled. "Getting out of the house. You know how it is. When I'm not with you, my parents are looking at me like they're wondering whether or not to bring up the adoption subject again. They have no idea if I want to talk about it at all or if I even remember it from the accident. I just want to leave home...and you, no offense, but you're starting to drive me crazy with your knight in shining armor routine."
He smiled, a little more genuinely now. "Okay, I see your point. I guess you can go."
"It was never your decision in the fir--"
He put a finger to my lips and shook his head. "Nuh-uh, none of that. But, thinking about my knight in shining armor routine..." He smiled a bit wider. "A kiss from milday's lips?"
"A token of my gratitude," I answered with a roll of my eyes, imitating his Old English accent that belonged in the Middle Ages with castles and princesses.
I gave him a quick kiss on the lips before he fired up his noble steed and we drove home.

I got a ride from Conor Channing to Mr. Matthews house on Saturday after he and I had helped Sara and Vicky with their homework and prep for the last tests they have to take before the end of the year. It was easy since we were close to summer vacation, but the girls had a few more papers to do and Conor saw us in the library and gave a hand so we could finish faster.
Only, I know that he was creeping around the library watching us under Mr. Matthews's orders. I had to be accompanied by someone in the Tarot at all times, so even Conor would do...but not Garret who is taller and stronger and more menacing than Conor. There has to be serious amount of biased feelings affecting Mr. Matthews' actions no doubt.
I walked up the flights of Mr. Matthews' apartment building, saying hi to a few familiar faces on my way up to the third floor. It was a nice building, clean, with friendly people. I got to Mr. Matthews' door, my key (he gave me my own copy of the key) poised and ready for the doorknob, but I twisted it experimentally to find it open.
I rolled my eyes, opened the door, saying, "You really have to start locking the doors because just anyone can--"
I broke off and gasped, jumping back so much that I dropped my backpack.
I found not Mr. Matthews, but a bald young man, lounging across the couch, smiling cruelly at me. I swallowed hard.
"Good afternoon," he said and pictures flashed in my head. He was the guys who had beaten me up when I was kidnapped, the guy from the black Cadillac. All my wounds ached at the memories and I felt every piece of me shaking hard. He began standing up off the couch and I slipped carefully left into the kitchen, hands behind my back. "I'm not here to hurt you," he said.
"Yeah, because that's supposed to assure me," I said, but it came out barely as a squeak. My hands wondered the counter, shaking uncontrollably, but on a mission.
"Really, I'm not here today to physically harm you. That's not what my master ordered, and I obey only what my master requests."
"Who, exactly, is your so-called master?" I asked, trying to buy time. Finally, my hand found the big sharp knife that was on its magnetic holder on the counter. I yanked it off, gripping it in my hand.
The bald guy chuckled. "I'm not permitted to say. But I am here to warn you."
"Warn me? What, is your master stealing scenes from thriller movies to direct his minions?" I asked. If I just kept talking, he'd be distracted. It was like heroes did to their villains, got them caught up in a monologue so they never noticed that the hero was about to blow them up or run them off a cliff...Whatever it was the hero did, the villain would lose and that tiny flicker of hope was what I needed not to scream, faint, or panic.
"You don't want to pass up the chance to hear this," he said gravely. "Even from the damage we've done, you're still not taking heed to our threats, so we have no choice but to punish you with strike one. You've been affiliating with the Tarot as if you were never even told not to. Since it seems that our beating didn't...alarm you, we're going to try a different approach. In all fairness, though, we are warning you."
My body got very cold and a shiver rolled over my back. "What...What are you going to do?" I demanded and I couldn't stop my voice from shaking.
"One of your friends is going to get in a lot of trouble," he said and an awful smile stretched out his lips that made me want to vomit. "Not tell who, not telling what for, but just know it'll come soon. There'll be more consequences if you don't stop playing games with the Tarot."
"Is it your master that wants me out of the picture?" It felt like the room was dropping degrees in seconds. It was so cold that I thought maybe steam would come from my mouth when I breathed, but it never did and I wondered why he could stand naturally in his springtime clothes when I was shivering like I needed a winter coat.
"He has his reasons for wanting you gone and he's doing it in the most humane way possible. The moment you hit strike three and totally defy him, things could get...messy."
I took a deep breath that hurt my ribs when my lungs swelled to their maximum size. "Leave my friends alone," I hissed, trying to say it menacingly but it sounded more like I was begging. I whipped the knife out from behind my back and held it straight out. "I'm not going to place nice if you don't--"
"Rae? Rae, are you here?" Mr. Matthews asked, coming through the door. "I thought you were-- What the hell are you holding a knife for?"
I spun back to the bald burglar and the knife clattered to the floor. He disappeared. it was like he had never been there. The bald guy who'd broken into Mr. Matthews' house was simply...gone. I collapsed against the counter, breathing heavily and holding onto the surface for support since my legs were as useless as sand.
"Rae, what's wrong? It looks like you saw a ghost." He walked over, picked up the knife, tossed it in the sink, then came close. He held me up with an arm around my waste and I was infused with the energy his skin radiated. I was warmed head to toe so the cold trembling was gone, but the sickness inside still rolled around. "You're really pale."
"I'm always pale," I said dismissively, trying to act like normal.
"Paler than normal. Like a sheet."
"Uh...then, maybe we should go to the beach...Being inside so much is denying my skin vitamin D and other nutrition. Did you know that--"
"I'm going to ask one more time," he said, cutting me off. "What's wrong?"
I took a few more deep breaths. I still felt like all the energy had just washed from me. I was wiped clean of any light inside me other than the warmth I was feeding off of Mr. Matthews for. I was suddenly so tired after my blood and adrenaline had been surging and then just dropped. I could've taken a nap (with loads of nightmares I'm sure, because those were back and at full force) and slept for hours. I pressed my forehead to Mr. Matthews' shoulder.
"I'll tell you...in a minute," I said groggily, soaking in him like sunshine. I pressed my hands to his biceps and the skin there was dripping of life and fire. The coldness was slowly slipping away like snow around a campfire.
"Um...do you want to lie down?" he asked me, sounding like he thought I was slowly going crazy. I mean, between holding the knife at someone who wasn't there and me shaking and shivering acting like I'd just fought Frosty the Snowman I couldn't blame him for thinking I was losing it. Hell, I thought I was losing it. What kind of person just disappears within the matter of a second after talking and breathing? He literally vanished, like he'd evaporated or become invisible.
I always hated the idea of a person having invisibility because it made me feel unsafe in the shower, but right now, where I stood in life, it was a very possible factor in this situation. Unless, of course, I was just off my rocker which was another very probable possibility.
"Tea," I finally said. "I'm making tea." I could feel Mr. Matthews's eyes watch me carefully while I filled his kettle with water like he was waiting for me to launch into a maniac fit. I was waiting for something to snap too, but it never came. "Do you have a hair tie?" I asked abruptly, wanting the hair off of my cold-sweated neck.
"First of all, I am not a woman, so no, I do not. Second of all, since when do you where your hair up?" he asked, trying to be smooth and subdued to keep my balance amiable rather than that tiny fuse inside me being run down. He knew something was putting me on the edge of crazy.
"Since I want to, that's since when," I snapped, but not as harshly as I was expecting. I leaned against the counter and took more deep breaths.
"You need to sit down," Mr. Matthews decided, coming next to me. He took my by my hips and lifted me up and onto the counter. Then he propped his hands against the surface one on either side of my thighs and looked me straight in the eye. "You're freaking out, you're talking way fast, and you're using incorrect grammar. The first two may just be nerves from some everyday stress, but the last is definitely a huge signal for serious flipping out. So talk."
I told him what had gone on in his apartment before he got there. When I finished, his face hadn't changed at all and it was very quiet. It wasn't a long story, but a heavy one that seemed to drag out into the silence like a silent echo. The whistling kettle broke the quiet and I poured the water into my cup over the tea bag, reaching over to the stove from my perch. The bag began to bleed and its grounds began to reach out slowly to the rest of the steaming water. While Mr. Matthews just watched me, I found the sugar and put about four scoops into the tea and stirred. I let the tea steep while he seemed to be thinking about what to say.
"Instead of picking up a knife, did you think that, maybe, you should call 911?" he asked, obviously trying to stay resigned and calm rather than panic like what was about to burst inside me.
"Uh..." Okay, so when I'd been trying to find the knife 911 hadn't even crossed my mind.
"Or even, maybe, running away?" he offered, slowly losing his composure.
"Mm..." Another option that hadn't come to me.
He put his hands and held my shoulders. "Are you okay?" he demanded, serious and still in control of himself. "What am I asking? Of course you're not okay! We have to call the police!"
"And say what? That they guy who beat me up broke into my teacher's apartment and then disappeared into thin air? Another thing you're overlooking, what will the police think about me having a key to a teacher's house, or even going there at all?" I took his cell phone right out of his pocket. "No police. No anyone. Only you and I can know."
"But, the other Tarot--"
"Cannot know."
He grimaced. "You're being reckless."
I shrugged. "It's for everyone's own good. For now I think I need to separate myself from the Tarot for a bit."
"Are you kidding me?! This is the time that you have to stick with us the most! If you detach yourself from us then there'll be no one to protect you."
"There will be no need to have protection if I detached myself from the Tarot," I persisted grimly.
He arched an eyebrow. "How do you know that for sure? Whoever is terrorizing you could be lying! If you have no one to watch over you, then they can pounce at anytime, and that's probably what they want. End of discussion."
I crossed my arms and glared straight at him. Our eyes were level when I sat on the counter and he leaned forward, so we were equal for the first time. I pushed him backward so there was a significant gap between us and I slipped off the counter to stir my tea and sip it. The heat of it bit my tongue, but I ignored it as I thought about how assertive and annoyingly stubborn Mr. Matthews was. Of course, I was the same, but it was even more aggravating coming from him. I guess I felt that way because I cared for him and I thought that if he cared for me then he'd be slightly more lenient.
I could see his point, really I could, but there was just a guillotine hanging over multiple people's heads and I didn't want to take any risks. In his eyes, I was being the risky one, but logically he was. What the hell was going through his head?
"Are you going to say anything?" he finally asked from behind me. He kept his distance like I was still keeping him an arm's width apart from me.
I sighed. "I'm sorry, I thought you were ending the discussion," I said sarcastically. Take that.
I heard him let out a long breath. He gave me a hug from behind, his firm arms sheathed only with a thin long-sleeved cotton tee. He held me securely and protectively. "I'm sorry. I should've been more considerate."
"I'm drinking tea," was my only response. My body was melting from the heat of his arms, but I convinced myself it was the tea.
"You know that I care about you."
"Then why aren't you listening to me?"
"It's because I love you that I can't let you go," he murmured, chin resting on the top of my head. I never had anything close to a boyfriend before and had always seen all the touchy-lovey things that couples did and thought that I would never enjoy that. I thought that I'd feel uncomfortable to hold someone or caress another person or even just hold hands. But I now found, with Mr. Matthews, it was easy and nice. When he held me like this, just simple hugs, or pressing his cheek to my shoulder or putting his chin atop my head like now, I felt right. Nothing could go wrong. It made me happy and not uncomfortable at all like I'd imagined.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I was exhausted still, my body still crashing from my adrenaline spike. I was coming down from the rush real quickly. My eyelids were suddenly heavy and my shoulders were lax. The words he'd spoken were low and musical and made me even sleepier. I couldn't do anything but nod.
I leaned so heavily into Mr. Matthews' embrace that I was limp. Half-asleep, he swung me up easily into his arms to cradle me. He carried me to the couch and set me down, covering me with an afghan and pressing his lips to my forehead before I slipped into a deep sleep.

I woke up from a terrifying nightmare. Oh wait, what else is new? In my dream, the bald guy just kept circling me, getting closer and closer with a knife that glinted maliciously against the steel of it. I could tell that one slice of that knife would kill me. Worst of all, I couldn't move. That was always the worst in any nightmares: Not being able to move. Not being in control of yourself. Not having any will of your own.
Waking up this time was slightly different then the millions of times I had before, mostly because I didn't wake up in my own bed next to my stash of Monster. I also didn't wake up where I fell asleep. I woke up in a place that I'd only ever seen in passing and generally avoided.
Mr. Matthew's bedroom was dim, but I had no doubt that was where I was. I saw the scattered clothes on the floor, the blue comforters, the Shakespeare novel with a bookmark sticking out of it on his dresser. Mr. Matthews read Shakespeare over and over again. I knew this because I'd asked him once after having spot Othello, King Lear, and Antony and Cleopatra in his possession at different times. He said that it was the only thing he really liked learning about in high school because the tragedies were dark and intense. I couldn't disagree, I mean, Hamlet is simply a masterpiece.
I never really knew a guy who liked to sit down and read Shakespeare, so instantly I knew where I was. I looked at his alarm clock as it flashed the digital red numbers 9:28. I shot out of bed like a rocket and dashed for the door. It was late, I was at my teacher's house, and my parents were going to positively flip! I told them I'd be home around dinnertime and right now they'd be in bed, but with a child missing they were probably pacing around ready to call the police!
I busted out of the bedroom and spun a round frantically, trying to straight out all the fuzziness in my brain.
"You look kind of like a sleeping cat that's had its tail pulled."
I swung around and Mr. Matthews was in his kitchen.
"I need to get home! It's late, my parents will be worried, I've slept for hours--"
"Calm down," he said, turning the heat on the stove down. "I got Rick to tell your parents that you were going to a party with him that will be running until two a.m. so you're safe on that front. He'll swing by to pick you up."
"How did you manage to get him to go along with it?" Rick had made it clear on more than one occasion that he did not like the time I spent with Mr. Matthews. Hey, for once he and Garret had something in common! How freaking convenient.
"I told him that you came close to be attacked and needed sleep. Simple as that." He shrugged and went back to whatever he was cooking. I didn't really trust him in anyway to operate an oven or stove, but I was suddenly glad I was awake so I'd know if a fire started.
Paranoid? Yes. Justified? Hell yes.
I went over to the counter that separated living room from the kitchen and sat at a stool, feeling groggy from my nap. "I'm guessing you also left out the part about how I'm at your apartment? You told him I was at Shawn's, didn't you?"
"I said neither. I didn't say where you were, just to pick you up at Shawn's. I said nothing about you having fallen asleep and staying at Shawn's." He grinned smugly and I laughed with a roll of my eyes. "Anyway, I'm attempting to make dinner. What do you think about spaghetti?"
"I think I'm terrified, that's what I think," I said, walking over to the stove and staring into the pot. The water was just beginning to bubble so he hadn't screwed up anything yet. "I'll take it from here. Go iron your pants or something."
"You always get me out of the way when you cook or clean," he said as he went over to the closet and pulled down the ironing board. He plugged in his electric iron.
"That's because you don't know how to do either," I said without looking up from the dry pasta I was cracking in half and dropping into the boiling water. I walked over to the ironing and said, "Lesson one on how to iron your clothes correctly before school." I took one of his recently cleaned, wrinkly shirts and spread it on the board evenly. "Now, this is what you have to do..." I went through the steps of how to get all the creases out of a tailored shirt so that he no longer looked like a slob.
"I don't look like a slob," he'd cut in defensively.
"To the untrained eye you do, but the moment I saw you I knew a number of things. One, you had a messy apartment. Two, there wasn't a woman living with you, thus giving us number three, which is the fact that you're single." I grinned.
"Well, now I'm not. Good thing, too. Things were starting to get messy."
I blushed. My heart beat faster that he didn't consider himself "single" anymore even though everyone else had no idea he wasn't. Instead, I'd said, "Staring to get messy? This place was way beyond messy. It was a catastrophe."
Mr. Matthews shrugged, but smiled down at me while I stirred the pot of pasta on the stove.
"What?" I asked, wondering if I had something on my face.
"Just...thinking. About you."
I was self-conscious in an instant. "What about me?"
"Just you. How cute you are when you've just woken up."
I blushed down at the pot, trying to make it look like the heat of the steam was making my cheeks pink. "I'm sure I look like hell." I patted down my wild hair and realized, with a start, I smelt like him. Just my clothes and my hair smelt like his rough woodsy cologne. It was masculine, yet sweet. I loved it.
"No, you don't." He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and gave a squeeze before letting go. "You look like a little housewife when you're at that stove."
I rolled my eyes. "Is that good or bad?"
"Good. Very good." He hopped onto the counter like a teenage boy and he looked, once again, very young to me. The only times I ever realized he was older was in class, but on weekends and out of school he wore tee-shirts and jeans and preferred being barefoot. "I like having a girl around the house. It makes life easier."
I swatted him with a kitchen towel, but he kept on that wide smile. "No, I didn't mean it like you're an indentured servant." He laughed. "It just makes me happy, that's all."
I didn't say anything in response. Mr. Matthews had to have been getting used to that. Those first few weeks I was around him, I'd talked a lot because he was so damn frustrating, so slowly he'd been revealed to my true, quiet nature. When I just didn't answer something he said, he'd just continue to speak and once he'd felt uncomfortable about babbling, but I told him to keep going. I really wanted him to keep talking. It was fascinating and calming and beautiful.
"So have you been getting along well in school?" he asked.
I gave him a look.
"I'll take that as a 'no.' I'm guessing Rick and his friends have still been trying to initiate you?"
I gave him another look.
"So they've still been pressuring you into hanging out?"
A look.
"They must really want you to be their friend."
"No, they want me to be another cloned puppet!" I busted out. "They're manipulating and giggly and annoying!"
Mr. Matthews nodded like he expected it, which I knew he did. In a few weeks, he had my patterns and habits down pat. "Did you ever consider giving them a chance?"
My jaw dropped so low it was sore.
"That would be your why-the-hell-would-I-consider-that? face. But I'm serious. You've spent most of your time and energy hating their guts, but have you ever though that you should try to get to know them?"
He had me for a second. A second. Then I remembered the precise reason why I never got to know them. "Did I ever tell you the story about when we were all little and how I became and outsider?"
He shook his head, but looked intrigued.
I took a deep breath. Recapturing the real story of how I became a social leper was hard to do, not because I didn't remember it (it was impossible to forget!) but because I'd barely told anyone. Okay, I'd never told anyone. I barely even admitted it to myself. It happened and then I tried not to think about it.
"I told you about how, in kindergarten, I got the title of being 'poisonous', right? Well, what happened was they started excluding me, like you know. It went slightly beyond that though," I said and swallowed. "In middle school, when they all didn't know that I was Rick's sister, they had asked me to sit with them. Being young and stupid, I sat with them at lunch. They all acted like they were happy that I sat there and after school, the girls told me to meet them all at the park after my parents went to bed. I just...I wanted to fit in, so I went. At first when they didn't show up, I thought that they're parents just took a longer time to fall asleep. Then I was in denial, making up any possible excuse that I could come up with to explain their absence.
"Then I heard a rustle in the bushes. I called out Jenna and Cindy's name to see if it was them. A huge, hulking, tall creature rose from the bushes and started throwing things at me, so I started running towards the swings thinking that they were bombs or knives or harmful in anyway. I was twelve, so I still didn't like being in the dark alone and to have the actual boogeyman attack me! I finally got hit a few times and felt wetness pour over me. I thought it was acid and started screaming and rolling on the ground.
"I realized it was water when I heard a bunch of giggling and the so-called boogeyman fell over. Every kid in my school who was popular and had been ignoring me beforehand popped out of the different things on the playground and the trees and started laughing, including my brother. Jenna had been on Cindy's shoulders under their big sheet and were now cracking up on the ground. Everyone was pointing at me, and on impulse, I'd yelled, 'You'll all pay for this someday! I swear it!' They laughed harder. When they saw that I'd literally peed my pants, they laughed harder. I ran home, crying and wet. From then on out, I was a laughing stock for the rest of middle school. High school, I was invisible.
"Do you understand now why I'm slightly hesitant to associate with them?" I asked, finishing off the story.
Mr. Matthews swung his feet while he thought. Then he patted the space on his lap. I raised and eyebrow and he motioned for his lap again. "You must be kidding," I said.
"Just sit on my damn lap," he said with a tired smile. I conceded and hopped onto his legs. I was suddenly worried I was too heavy or my butt was too big or if I was hurting his leg. "Will you stop fidgeting?" he asked and I did. I froze like a statue. "I'm really sorry that I was questioning your judgment."
"It's fine," I said with a sigh. Most people did doubt me. They just thought I was unreliable. And how could I blame them? "It's stupid to still be upset about it after five years. No big deal."
"It's not stupid. You were scarred for life, you have every right to still be frustrated." He tucked my head under his chin. "I would still be."
"I'm fine, I'm telling you. I just wanted you to know why I don't like them." I slid off his lap and out of his arms, not meeting his eyes. "Let's not talk about it."
Mr. Matthews nodded, but it was kind of hard to kick off a conversation from there. Whenever the phrase "let's not talk about it" comes into play, there really is nothing else to talk about. It was a silence that I was both grateful and hateful towards. At least i didn't have to speak, but now an awkward silence hung over us that I wanted to break just because it was Mr. Matthews. If it were anyone else, I wouldn't care but with I did.
"So...have you chosen a dress for the dance yet?" Mr. Matthews asked, obviously desperate and grabbing at threads for any kind of conversation.
"Uh...I have to pick out a dress?"
He nodded. "I'm pretty sure you do."
"Oh. Well, I guess I'll borrow one from my mom."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're seriously not going to go shopping for a prom gown?"
"Why would I want to?" I asked, wondering if he really knew me at all. I gave him a blatant look.
"Good point, I guess," he said while I began putting tomato sauce in a pot and boiling it. "But shouldn't it be all special, you know? In high school, I went to five proms. I went to a senior prom with a girl in my freshman year, I went to a junior prom as a sophomore, I went to my junior prom, my senior prom, and then to another senior prom in college." He smiled. "The girls were really psychotic about it."
I shrugged, but I thought about how all the girls went crazy about prom to the tenth degree. They acted like if they died that night after the dance, they'd be happy with their life. It was so stupid, but I could try to understand their excitement. "Maybe I'm just too old for dances," I muttered, thinking about my mom saying I went from an elementary student to an old woman over the course of one birthday.
Mr. Matthews laughed. "Too old? Rae, I wish I could go back to high school and not be a genius because I didn't have as much fun. That's why I'm so childlike." He beamed like that was a good thing.
"Then I must be a world older than you in maturity."
"Girls do mature faster than boys. So, in my maturity age, you'd have to subtract about four years from me. And add four to you. See? Technically, you're mentally older than me." I was fairly sure that wouldn’t hold up in court, but he smiled and hopped off of the counter to get the butter and ricotta cheese from the fridge. I was surprised that he'd actually gone shopping because last time I went, I didn't get that stuff. He also pulled our parmesan cheese. Then a long loaf of crunchy Italian bread that crackled in its wrapping. He set it all on the table and I watched curiously.
"Wait a second," I said suspiciously. "Were you planning on a pasta dinner?"
Mr. Matthews couldn't help but grin. "Why would you think that?"
"You mean besides the fact there's a whole nation of food in there that I didn't get? God knows you'd never actually pick up food unless you were planning something." I kept my eyes on him. He had something up his sleeve. Something got really flippy in my stomach and I didn't know why.
"I kind of wanted to surprise you. I figure you'd be happy that I show you that I can take care of myself without completely screwing everything up." He smiled, but it was a warm smile.
"I am happy," I replied. I really was. I was also proud that there was another thing that didn't make him a total and complete baby. Sometimes I felt like a nanny, having to check up on him to make sure he's fed, not living in filth, and just not falling apart. "Can you do this more often?" I asked with a teasing grin.
"But if I did that, then you wouldn't have to," he said adoringly, eyes smiling, but mouth in a straight line.
"That's sort of the point," I responded quietly, my eyes matching his grey ones.
"What if I want you to keep taking care of me?"
I just stared into his deep eyes. They looked like the steel grey sea before a storm now. So dark and endless, I almost drowned.
"You have to grow up sometime," I told him quietly. For some reason, saying that made me sad. He reminded me of Peter Pan, almost, and if I was Wendy...well, we all know they can never be together because of the world of difference between them. I didn't want that end.
"I'm not growing up until you do," he swore. He said it so solemnly like it was actually possible. " I'd turn down forever for you/ I'd say no to death for you/ Even if I suffered/ And found it impossible to pull through/ I'd live and die for you."
"Who wrote that?" I asked, being startled to find he was now a mere two steps away from me.
He smiled softly. "I did. A few weeks before I met you. I woke up in the middle of the night and my hands found a pen. I didn't even notice what I wrote until morning. I think it was somewhat of a prophecy."
"How does it go?"
He recited:
I'd hunger for your voice long after you couldn't speak,
I'd pray for your eyes after you became blind,
Even after you're gone, I'd still seek
To reclaim that mesmerizing bind.
If I die,
I'd fight away the angels to stay by your side.
If I fall,
Even if I couldn’t stand, I'd crawl.
I'd turn down forever for you,
I'd say no to death for you,
Even if I suffered and found it impossible to pull through,
I'd live and die for you.

It took my breath away instantly. My heart was thudding intensely, like the blood was rushing in and out faster to make my lungs work again. I only found a few words that I could get out of myself. "Why would you say that's a prophecy?"
"Because a week later I got the job that led me to you," he said softly, his voice sounding full and deep like when he spoke the melody of the poem.
"Maybe...maybe you're wrong..." I said, feeling unworthy of such a devoted poem. "Maybe you don't actually feel that way about me. It could just be history repeating itself. You remember what the Priestess's journal had said." I'd thought about that for weeks, what he said the Priestess had wrote. It was always on the edges of all my thoughts about how she had been married and fooling around with the Magician.
Mr. Matthews hesitated for a millisecond, so quickly that someone who wasn't as observant as me would've never noticed.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Nothing."
"I'm pretty sure it's something. And something pertaining to me, so you have to tell me."
Mr. Matthews said casually, back to being himself, "It's nothing you have to worry about now."
I glared hard. "Tell me right now."
"Fine." Mr. Matthews began to pace a few steps at a time. He seemed really reluctant to continue, but I kept glowering at him until he spoke. "I told you all about the Magician and Priestess's affair. I told you about how she never really loved the Hierophant, who everyone pressured her into marrying. Really, it was tradition that had her marry the Hierophant and what made every Priestess after her marry the Hierophant."
I considered his words carefully, sorting them out in my head. "I'm not quite following."
He took a deep breath. "The Priestess is destined to marry the Hierophant of the Tarot. It's an arranged marriage that'd been established thousands of years ago." He faced me from his place a few feet away. I stood still as well as it all made sense, while everything was turning and situating in my mind.
"You mean to say...that I'm, technically, engaged to be married?" I asked, something raising in my voice that I couldn't control. "To who? Who's the Hierophant?" Panic levels raising. He didn't answer. "Milo, tell me!"
"I don't know yet," he said with a hopeless shrug. "The Hierophant is normally found not long after the Priestess. I already have my suspicions about someone, but there's no way to tell for sure until I touch them."
"And you're just telling me this now?" I shouted.
"I was kind of avoiding it."
"Well, nice job at avoiding it, because now I'm pissed off! Did you even consider how this might make me feel? How I might want to know if I have some kind of fiancée somewhere?" I stamped my foot like a child. "Milo, why didn't you say anything?"
"I didn't even know about it until I went through the different things in the box where I found her journal and by then I'd already fallen for you," he said firmly, trying to argue my frustration. He was trying to convince me there was reason and kept strong. "I didn't want to give you up so soon. Anyway, I figured it was all just lost tradition until I talked to the rest of the Tarot about it. According to them, it was all true and still very permanent. It's why Uncle Tom wanted me away from you because he thought history would repeat yourself, like you'd just said, and I'd fall in love while you were destined to marry the Hierophant."
I dropped my face into my hands and moaned. This was all a mess. A huge, horrible, and confusing mess. Nothing was making sense anymore. Ever since I had that dream on the tightrope, everything was slowly sliding downhill. And just as things started to get a little better, everything was ruined before I could enjoy anything. First, I get an annoying poetry teacher in place of the only teacher who I liked. Next, I got the first real friend, but got in a feud with my brother. After that, I find out I'm cursed, but they're people who I can relate to for once. Then, I find someone who I really love only to find out that I have someone lined up for me to marry.
I just couldn't be happy for the slightest of moments, could I? Was this the true curse? I'd have to suffer through my whole life, never fully happy. Yet every time I think I can smile something causes an eclipse.
"Why? Why me?" I mumbled into my palms. This was just how my life was going to continue. I felt it in my gut. I sighed and lifted my head. "I'm sorry, I have to go home." I needed to sleep in my own bed. For once, a nightmare would've been better than real life. I began to get my backpack on the floor next to the door.
"Please don't," Mr. Matthews said, almost sounding desperate but not quite. "Just stay for dinner and then I can drive you home."
"I can't," I said quietly. I hoisted my backpack up on my shoulder. I shook my head. "Every time I want things to get better, they never can. I'm just a jinx. The more time I spend with you, the more potential for you to get in trouble. And on top of all that, you've kept quiet about the engagement that I seem to be part of." I looked up at him. "You can do better than me. Find another Priestess, love her, because I quit! I'm not going to marry the Hierophant, I don't want to go to the new moon balls, and I don't want to burden you anymore!" I turned for the door and tried to twist the doorknob, but Mr. Matthews caught my shoulder and spun my around.
"You're not a burden," he said sternly, almost like he was scolding me, only his eyes were passionate and kinder. Both of his hands gripped my shoulders but not aggressively. "And we'll find a way for you to get away from the Hierophant somehow. There is no quitting. And even if there was another Priestess, I could never love her like I love you."
"You just think that," I said, shaking my head. "You don't really love me. It's just the Magician's soul inside you. You just think you care about me. Trust me. You can find someone else."
"I don't want to," he said, pronunciation each word with conviction and assurance. "Maybe it's the soul I bear. Maybe it's history repeating itself. But there is no doubt about how I feel. There is no fakeness about my emotions. And I think you know there isn't for you either."
I wanted to deny it. I wanted there to be someway that my heart wasn't cornering me. But to refuse and say that there really was question about my feelings would be a lie to myself more than anything. All I had to live for was what my heart told me and if I gave that up then I had nothing.
"I...I want you," I whispered. "I really do. But every moment that I learn something new about the Curse, there seems to be more reason why I can't have you." Every second of the day I thought of a new reason why we didn't belong together. The top of that list wasn't even our age difference. It was just how confident and experienced and likable he was, the total and complete opposite of me. There was no coordination. We were like two pieces of a puzzle that no matter how you turned it or squished it or pressed it, would never fit together perfectly.
"I'm just a stupid little kid," I said uselessly. "How can you say that you love me?"
"You think that I don't?"
"I have my doubts."
"Well, I do, so too bad for you." He smirked and took his hands from my shoulders. He brushed my hair back with his long hand.
It still baffled me that someone like him could even consider someone like me as anything other than a pest. It made no sense. Well, logically it didn't, but lately less and less about my life was logical.

"Ha-ha! Triple-word score!" I enthused around ten-thirty, after we'd eaten dinner and avoided any conversation related to the Curse. We'd talk about friends we had in the Curse, but never anything about the Tarot or gifts or the cards. Now we sat across from each other at the coffee table in his living area with a Scrabble board in front of us. I put my squares down into their places and rubbed my hands together, satisfied.
"How many times have you played Scrabble before?" he asked suspiciously.
I laughed. "Never."
"And you're still kicking my ass." He shook his head. "Something tells me that someone with a degree in literature should be slightly better than a junior in high school at a crossword game," he muttered, looking at his tiles intently. I chuckled and began thinking about my own letters. He used the second A in the word HAGGARD that I'd put down to write HEART.
I used the R in HEART to put down LIAR.
"That's a double-word score," I said with a smile and wrote down my points. "Wow. I never thought this game could be so fun."
"It's only fun because you're burying me," Mr. Matthews teased and looked at his tiles closer. He used my L and put down an O and a blank tile below it, then an E.
"And what is the blank tile supposed to be?" I asked with a raised eyebrow and a grin.
"I think you can guess." He smiled and winked. I chuckled and looked at my tiles again. I instinctively kept checking the clock though. I was worried about going home so late (or rather early, since Rick's party didn't end until two a.m.) and sort of anxious about it for some reason. Just something about staying here through the night made my stomach do nervous little flips.
I wasn't stupid. I was a seventeen-year-old, after all. Being alone in an apartment for hours with no worries about interruptions added up to very certain things in most cases. While Mr. Matthews didn't seem troubled at all, I was squeamish on the inside. My first kiss had only been a month ago and I was already in a relationship with an older man and in his home alone with him. I felt like I'd gone from innocent little girl to woman in a matter of weeks. That was either exciting or bad and I had no idea which to settle on.
"Alright, my turn," I said after the hundredth look at the digital clock on his radio. "Uh..." I placed the word LAX and scribbled down my score.
Mr. Matthews selected the letters R and E to put before it and he spun and board around so I could see it right in front of me.
"Seriously, you need to calm down," Mr. Matthews said. He said it with a kind smile that did calm me down. "No need to worry about the time. I'm keeping track."
So if the party was over at two and it was ten-thirty, that meant we had three and a half hours before I went home. Were we going to play Scrabble for those three and a half hours?
"Why don't you tell me about school?" he asked, moving around the letters he had.
I sighed. "It's school. What else am I supposed to say? Why don't you tell me about school?"
He smiled. "Okay. Well, I finished grading papers, I went to a very boring staff meeting, Tara asked me out to coffee, I found out how to get three bags of Skittles from the lounge's vending machine while only paying for one--"
"Wait, I'm sorry, what did you just say?" I asked.
"Oh, yeah, I can get three bags of Skittles for only seventy-five cents if I--"
"No, what you say before that."
"I finished grading papers?"
"No, after that."
"The drool-inducing staff meeting?"
"No! After that, you idiot!"
"Ohhh...You mean Tara wanting to have coffee with me?" he asked innocently like he hadn't known that was what I was talking about all along, which I know he did. "Well, yes, Miss Nealson asked me out to coffee."
I raised an eyebrow and picked up my glass of soda to have a sip. "And how did you respond?"
"I politely declined."
"How did you manage that?"
He smiled broadly. "I told her I had a girlfriend."
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't fight off my smile. "Very funny. Though I don't know if you can consider me a girlfriend."
"Sure you are. I take you places, you clean my apartment and insult me, we spend almost every day together... Sounds pretty girlfriend-ish to me." He laughed and put down a few letters. I spun the board to face me, but the corner hit my cup and spilled soda all over the front of my white tee-shirt. It was really cold and I squeaked in surprise. I shot off the ground and as did Mr. Matthews.
"S***, s***, s***!" I muttered, holding the cloth away from my skin.
"I'll get you a shirt," he said, quickly going to his room. I followed after and went into his bathroom.
"I think I better wash up. I'm going to get all sticky," I called to him while he shuffled through his still-dysfunctional room for a clean shirt. I closed the door and pealed off my wet shirt. "Aw, dammit!" I exclaimed.
"What is it?" he called through the door while I prodded at my chest.
"It soaked straight through my bra," I told him, blood heating up my cheeks. "I'm just going to take a rinse in your shower, okay? It got in my hair too." The soda had done a great splattering job.
"Alright. Once you get in, I'll come in and leave a shirt and towel on the sink."
"No!" I said on reflex. I felt my face getting even hotter. His shower door wasn't completely opaque. It was one of those translucent glass doors that warped the image and made it all fuzzy, but still that was uncomfortable enough. If he came in and put stuff on the sink, he'd more than likely see me. Whether it was unclear or not, I never felt safe being naked in the partially see-through showers. I didn't like seeing my own body, why would I want anyone else to? "I mean...uh...just..." I put the soaked shirt back on, over my head, opened the door, snatched the towel and shirt out of his stunned hands, and swiftly shut myself back inside. I made sure to lock the door.
I jumped into the shower after undressing and tried not to feel totally uncomfortable in there. I didn't like the idea of using other people's showers because I felt like an alien on another planet. I wasn't sure which knob went which way or how to make the showerhead word instead of the faucet or the settings on the shower. It was seriously like being on another planet.
I eventually settled into the hot water after finding out what to do with which knob. I felt a little more secure after drenching myself in hot water and scrubbing the stickiness out of my hair. I slipped out only about five minutes later and dried myself off with the towel. I was faced with a new dilemma after finding that my bra (a size 34D, which is embarrassing enough) was still just as sticky and soaked and that Mr. Matthews did not have a drier in his apartment. I would have to wear his oversized tee-shirt with the Guinness logo on it bra-less. I put it on and held my wet clothes close to my chest before stepping out of the bathroom. My hair hung down around my head, wet, and in limp waves. Mr. Matthews wasn't in his room so I walked out to the living area, arms still crossed.
Mr. Matthews was wiping up the soda I'd spilt and I flushed in chagrin. I was such a klutz. I thought about the probability of being able to zip out of the apartment and run home before he realized I was gone. The odds were not good.
"I'm really sorry," I said, biting my lip.
"It's no problem, really," he said and he sounded really laid-back and indifferent. He turned his head and smiled at me. "You look good in beer-logo shirts."
"Thanks?" I didn't know if there was really an appropriate response to that. But he laughed.
"Well, let me tell you, this excitement is more fun than getting my butt kicked in Scrabble." I stood up off the ground and opened his arms for me.
I hesitated and he asked, "What's wrong?"
"Uh...well..." Besides the fact that I wasn't wearing a bra and feel very weird about hugging you? "See...I'm sort of not wearing...Never mind." I didn't really care because I wanted the hug. I walked over to him and dropped my soda-soaked clothes on the table before burrowing myself in his arms. He was hot and the energy from him kept me awake and comfortable.
“Um...Rae?” he said, sounding slightly confused.
“I know,” I said with a roll of my eyes.
“Are you not…?”
“I know.”
“Okay, just making sure.” He rubbed my back and stroked his hand down my wet hair. He bent over and touched his lips to my forehead. “You look lovely.”
I snorted. “Sure I do.”
“No, really.” He looked down into my eyes. “You’re spoiling me. I wish you could wake up and shower here all the time.”
“Trust me, you’d get sick of me eventually.” I said it, even though secretly I kind of wished the same thing.

“Mm-mm,” he murmured, leaning his forehead on mine with a sigh. “Never.” His lips caught mine and gently opened them. He completely lifted all power and common sense from me, but not in a manipulative way at all. It was more like my barriers were weakened by him. He was, ultimately, the key that I had allowed him to be.

I wasn’t only a little girl when I was with Mr. Matthews like this. He made me feel older, even though he’d admitted more than once that I had made him younger. The age thing was always taunting me in my conscience, but it didn’t matter between him and me. It only would’ve mattered to the outside world, those who disapproved of what we couldn’t deny. Mr. Matthews and I loved each other. It ached to think sometimes, but my heart was slowly coming to terms with it.
That wasn’t the crime, though (well, technically it was a crime, but a federal one). The real sin was sneaking around and lying about where I was and where he was. It was not telling anyone. It made it seem worse in perspective. God forbid anyone find out, because all the little lies and secrecy would add up to an even larger problem. Where Mr. Matthews and I could be accepting of emotion, the rest of the world was less forgiving. It wasn’t even that we were doing anything wrong.
Well, up until this point we weren’t.

I’d welcomed him into a closer, tighter embrace because his hot pulsing energy was reflecting my own. He was warm and inviting and exciting. His fingers were wound into my wet hair and clutching us tighter together like if we held on long enough we’d melt into each other.
It felt like hours but it was only a few seconds of us just kissing one another before I felt like I caught on fire. I held on tight while he lifted me around my waist up so my feet were off the floor. I was faintly aware of the soreness in my ribs, but it didn’t even phase me until much later.
As if by magic, I was laying in Milo’s bed with him for the first time. Normally, I would be panicking, but all I felt was safety. We were lying parallel beside each other and just holding and kissing. That was all we needed, but everything in me was heating up and I shifted a little onto my back when he bent over me.
Something sharp pressed into my back and I gasped and yanked away with the start.
Milo pulled away just as suddenly and looked down at me. “Are you alright?” he asked quickly.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just…” I tucked my arm behind my back and dug through the sheets until I found the sharp corner that poked my back and pulled it out. The culprit was a worn, tattered, yellow-pages book with a blank cover and spine. Its binding was creased and bent like it was well-read. The corners were bent and curved. “What’s this?”
Milo grinned. “The Priestess’s journal. I’ve been meaning to show it to you, but I’ve been busy re-reading it over and over. She had dreams as well and I’ve been trying to decode them, much like she did.”
“Is this her entire life?” I asked, looking at it. It was a thick journal that must’ve had over five-hundred pages.

“God, no. There are three journals of hers. This is only the last one she had before her murder.”

I flipped through the pages, still panting lightly, trying to regain normal breathing patterns. Her hand writing was long and elegant, like Catholic school handwriting. It was eligible, which was more than I could say for my own writing. I wrote like if a drunken raccoon dipped its claws in ink. I was just surrounded by people with nice handwriting. I was envious.
More than anything, her words captured me. I only looked at a few different sentences and she wrote in depth and with strength. I found an entry that the first words grabbed me: I am a truly rotten person.
I sat up, careful of any other concealed books in the bed that I hadn’t noticed when I’d napped earlier, and looked at the journal entry’s first few paragraphs.

Journal,
I am truly a rotten person, just like Jeremiah said. I didn’t believe him at first, since he is the Emperor and of lower ranking than I, but he seems to know quite a bit about rotten people. I can’t control my own emotions and that is my own fault and it should not effect my people but I am once again inflicting my own selfish urges unto others while the result remains dormant. Slowly, it is all building in waiting for the perfect moment to erupt and destroy everything that the Tarot has worked for. We are an elite group of gifted beings so to be wrecked is not an easy thing to accomplish, yet I have expertly begun the demise of the Tarot from the inside. And the worst part of it all is that I know this and have no will to end it. My heart is running reckless.
My mother was the first to recognize my rebellion long ago. After these one and twenty years of my life, I’ve learned no lesson. I’ve been married to Anthony, my Hierophant, for a year and I have learned not how to love him. He’s been everything that a husband should be – a dear friend, a sweet lover, and an understanding man. Yet I have been deceitful and secretive and short-tempered.
It was only three months after our wedding that Marcus came to my room. I had only expected something wrong with the Tarot since he was my messenger, confidante, and Magician. I had never revealed to anyone that he was the true reason I dreaded my engagement. You can only imagine how shocked I was to have opened my door to find him looking flustered after I’d asked what the matter was. It had been nearly like he didn’t know himself what had brought him to my room on that night my husband was absent. Hang me for being unfaithful in opening the door for another man in the first place and wanting him to enter in the second.
No words escaped his lips. He merely latched them onto mine and kissed me with an indescribable passion. I had never felt that kind of power before. We exchanged no words except the simplistic and significant words that pounded from our bodies and our mouths. ‘I love you.’ That was the night that I shared my bed with a man other than my husband. I try to find some consolation from the fact of having an arranged marriage. I also tried to find some excuse that I had no idea what Anthony was doing while he was gone, but even I knew that he was faithful. I was not.
And I have continued the affair and I am the one at fault for that. More than I hate myself, I love Marcus more. Now I see slowly the resulting suspicions rising from the Emperor, Death, and worst of all, my Hierophant. Where will my own mistakes lead?


“She was remarkable,” I heard Mr. Matthews murmur. I looked up at him. He’d been watching me all the while I read and clearly not seeing what passage I read.

“Yes, but she had her own weaknesses,” I said, heart telling me that there was somewhat of a warning in her words.

Mr. Matthews shrugged. “I think that she thought having a heart was a weakness when really it was her strongest weapon. She knew passion like no one else.” He tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear.
“I don’t understand this, though.” I sighed. “She was forced to marry someone she doesn’t love. There were obvious consequences of that, so why is it still a burden that the Tarot practices today?”
“All the Tarot knows is that the marriage between the Priestess and Hierophant is tradition. The only people who know about there being the Death’s threats and the ongoing affair between her and the Magician are the people who’ve read her journal. And I’m telling you that the only people who have read from it were the servant who found it after her death and finished recording what happened that night of the massacre, you just now, and I. Possibly a few Magicians before me, but by the time they read it they’d already began their duties to the Priestess so to reveal the secrets would put them in jeopardy and suspicion.” He shrugged. “It’s one hell of a curse.”
I sat back against the bed frame and took a deep breath. “I’m not sure if it’s a curse.” I truly felt that despite the hell it put people through.
His eyebrows furrowed together. “Why would you say that?”
I pressed my lips together for a few moments before replying. “Before the Curse…I was nobody. I was invisible. But now…now I have a presence, I have a power, a voice. I have friends.” I looked up at Milo. “Nothing that’s truly a curse can do that. The Curse gave me a purpose for living.”
“I think you’re right,” Milo said, looking me straight in the eyes. “Having the Curse connects me to you. If it weren’t for being in the Tarot, I probably wouldn’t have met you.”

I knew he wanted to say more, but it was enough to read it in his eyes. Though the Curse brought me to him, it also took me away. The long ago arranged wedding made sure of that.
I couldn’t stifle the yawn that escaped my mouth. Suddenly tired and warm, I rubbed at my eyes.
“Maybe you should get some more sleep,” Mr. Matthews said, suddenly his adult self again. I hated it when he was concerned. It bothered me.
I shook my head. “I already slept. I want to stay awake.” I slipped my hand into his.
“No matter how much fun that sounds for me, you better sleep before I’m tempted to do something that I should regret but definitely would not.” He smirked and I could tell what he meant by the look in his eyes. My own cheeks were burning bright.
I nodded and scooted under the covers. “Will you sleep too?” I asked.
“Yeah. I’m going to put an alarm on my phone so we don’t oversleep.” He swung his legs out of the bed and I watched him get up while pressing buttons on his phone. He walked towards the door.
I considered telling him that he didn’t have to sleep on the couch, but my own heart was thudding too erratically and if I had him lay down to sleep next to me I might’ve lost my nerve. I was already practically shaking from anxiousness. Just having been in the same bed together for a few minutes did that to me.
I curled up with the first Priestess’s journal clutched to my chest and I allowed her words to flow into my dreams.

“There’s something that we need to talk about,” Rick said, barging into my room the next morning. I groaned and rolled over onto my stomach. I squished my face into my pillow. I didn’t sleep well that night from being all jittery and hyped up on excitement and from the nightmare. For once I actually wanted to fall asleep after the night-frights and of course that’s the morning that my brother decided we needed to have a conversation.
Did he purposefully make my life difficult?
I raised my hand and waved him away while I kept my entire head burrowed in pillow and blanket. I then hugged the blankets to my chest and brought my knees to my chest so I was a compact little ball.
Rick was tugging at the comforters and I silently swore that if he didn’t knock it off I would mess him up so bad that his mother wouldn’t recognize him. I kicked at the arms trying to snatch off my blankets, but he persistently tried to roll me over to face him.
“Christ, Rick!” I hissed groggily. “Knock it the hell off!”

“You’re such a b**** this morning.”

I lifted a hand from the blankets a little and flipped him the bird before tucking my hand back into the warmth of my covers. Just leave me alone!
“This is important, Rae,” he said sternly and it sounded like he meant it. “The least you can do is pull the covers off my face and listen. I am your brother, after all.”
But he wasn’t, not biologically anyway. I knew that wasn’t what he meant though. He was my brother if we had the same parents or not. I folded down the blankets and looked up Rick’s blonde, tan, and now-grave face. He had blue eyes exactly like me. We must’ve gotten that trait from our grandparents.

“I’m listening,” I mumbled.

“You know that last night I picked you up from Shawn’s house after the party, right?”

I rolled my eyes. “If you’re going to just reiterate the events of last night, it’s a huge waste of time.”

“No…I mean, technically, I am, but still, listen. I had pulled in front of Shawn’s house behind a car that looked slightly familiar and you can imagine the surprise I felt when it stopped at Shawn’s house.”

My heart stuttered a beat. “Yeah. So? Maybe it was his mom.”

“Then why were you in the passenger seat?” he asked, crossing his arms and eyes narrowing very seriously. “And why was Mr. Matthews driving? More importantly, why the hell did you kiss him before you got out and walked to the door?”
I got out of bed and said, “Shush!” before looking up and down the hallway and shutting the door as quietly as I could. “Keep your voice down.”
Rick rolled his eyes and huffed. “Mom got called to the hospital on an emergency about an hour ago and Dad’s already at work. You only have Mr. Cheezy to worry about, now tell me what is up.”
I swallowed and my heart quickened. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Then start talking, and I’ll try my best to understand,” Rick said firmly, sounding angry. Why should he be pissed off? I’m the one who got bothered at six o’clock on a Sunday and then have their private life pried into by an annoying brother.
I took a deep breath. “Promise not to absolutely explode?”
“I’ll try my best.”
If I couldn’t trust me sort-of-twin-brother with a secret, then who could I? “Mr. Matthews and I have been seeing each other.”
“ARE YOU FREAKING CRAZY?!”
“That would be my definition of exploding,” I snapped, wiping the spin off my nose that had pelted from his mouth and hit my face from four feet away. “Calm the hell down, will you?”

“You’ve been sleeping with your poetry teacher?! Rae, have you lost your mind?! I thought you had more sense than that! Why do you have to be so—”

“Whoa. Hold on right there. Who said anything about me sleeping with Mr. Matthews?”

“You just said you were!”

“I said we were seeing each other.”

“Do not try to hoodwink me and say that you haven’t had sex with the teacher you’ve been seeing. Essentially, that’s what illegal student-teacher relationships are about!”

I screwed my face into a scowl. “I am not a whore. I am not a slut. Just because you seem to be used to dating those kinds of girls, doesn’t mean I am one of them! I thought you knew me better than that.”
“Alright then, if you aren’t sleeping with him, please explain this ‘seeing each other’ of yours.” He crossed his arms and stared at me, ready to be proven right. Only I would prove him wrong.

“You know he’s in the Tarot, right?” I said.

He nodded.

“Well, he’s the one that told me all about it and explained to me who I was. We’d spent a lot of time together because of that, but…Well, I started to like spending time with him.” I decided to leave out all the confusion about Garret and Mr. Matthews and the fair and Garret’s bedroom and…ugh, too much that he didn’t need to know. “And he liked spending time with me. So…” I sighed. “I love him, Rick. I’ve been trying to keep everything a secret, but he and I have just been, basically, eating together, talking, and playing board games.”

Rick took a deep breath that spent a whole minute. “I’m having a very hard time believing that he hasn’t made a move on you. He’s twenty-four –”

“Twenty-three.”

“–and has a lot more experience with dating than you. He’s probably some creeper pedophile who’s taking advantage of your gullibility.”

“I’m slightly smarter than to be categorized as gullible,” I growled, getting pretty agitated about his lack of faith in my decisions. “Anyway, he hasn’t made a move on me.” Only partially a lie, but I’m just as guilty for last night at Mr. Matthews and nothing actually happened. “And he is not a pedophile, you ass.”
“He’s kissing a girl six years younger than him.”
“If you were really more intelligent than the wrong end of a dog, you’d know I’m only five years younger than him! And he isn’t taking advantage of me, I know he’s more experience than me, and he loves me.”

“Rae, no he doesn’t.”

“Yes, he does, and if you’d just pay attention to the intuition that I know is stirring in your gut, you’d know that he does.”

It was silent for some time. Rick’s eyes were closed and I knew I won this battle. For some reason I knew that his stomach would tell him if what I was saying was true or not. I waited while everything worked out in his mind.

“So you haven’t slept with him?” he clarified, calm now.

I shook my head.

“And you think you love him?”

“I know I do.”

He rolled his eyes. “Are you sure this isn’t just because he’s your first crush? I mean, most girls get all excited and overly happy about their first boyfriend and think they love them when in the end they just get dumped and hurt. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“Since when have I been ‘most girls’?” I asked with arched eyebrows.

“Good point. But I still don’t –” His ring tone cut off his sentence and reached into his pajama pants pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He looked at screen with a confused look and answered. “Stella?”

Stella Cortez? As in, the Star card of the Tarot Stella? I watched him as he listened to the high-pitched buzz on the other end.

“Uh…okay, I guess.” He held out the phone to me and said, “She wants to talk to you.”
I took the phone hesitantly and raised it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hi, Rae! I just had a vision that you’re going to the prom with Garret. Is that right?” she said, getting right to the point apparently.

“Well, yeah, but –”

“Say no more. I also know that he isn’t the person you truly wish to go to the prom with, but I know that this is the right path to follow because through it you will gain new knowledge.”

“Um, well, I don’t really see how I can –”

“Rae, sweetie, I’m the Star, aren’t I? I can see different paths that will lead to destruction. Though this prom carries bad vibes, I’m guessing it’s from some kid spiking the punch bowl, so don’t worry about that. The point is that you, Mel, and I are going shopping for dresses today!”

I stammered, “I-I-I, S-Stella, don’t r-r-really –”

She giggled. “Thank me later! I’m coming to pick you up around eleven while there’s still some good dresses left. I hear everyone is going to buy their dresses this weekend and I don’t want the good gowns to run out! I’ll talk to you later!”
“Yeah, Stella, b-but –”
And she hung up. Oh, lovely. Today was sure to be a fun one.

I called Mom and she told me that I could take her credit card and buy whatever dress I wanted, no matter how much it cost. This didn’t surprise me at all. She was, at first, appalled that I hadn’t told her right away about Garret asking me to the prom, but then she started rambling on and on about how magical it would be and how exciting it was. She was really happy about me not being a hermit anymore.
Stella and Mel appeared at my door at eleven o’clock sharp. Mel wore a black denim mini-skirt, a lacy top that fit nice and snug, and had a pair of black heels on her feet to make her even taller than she already was. Stella wore a happy yellow long-sleeved shirt with a pink undershirt to cut across the low V-neck and white pants that cut halfway down her calf. She wore pink pumps.
I felt grossly underdressed in my gray tee, loose black jeans, and hoodie sweatshirt. They both had on make-up that only enhanced their beauty and I had an irrational fear of the stuff. I looked down at my worn down sneakers and thought about the new Converse from my birthday that I shoved under my bed.
“Can you give me one minute, please?” I said and they nodded. I ran up the stairs and changed into a pair of dark skinny jeans, a rocker tee, and my new Converse. They were all clothes from my birthday. I just didn’t want to look like a homeless person next to Stella and Mel, who were both goddess-beautiful.

I went back to the door to find Rick standing with the two girls looking uncomfortable and unsure of what to do. Mel was naturally intimidating, but Stella was his ex-girlfriend. She seemed unperturbed by his presence, but he was the opposite. I could tell by how he was lightly rocking on his heels and had his hands shoved in his pockets.
“Alright, let’s hit it!” Stella said brightly. “See you later, Rick.” She walked out the door with Mel and I in her wake. She had a really, really nice car. It was a sleek red sports car.

“No mean to sound rude, but are all people in the Tarot loaded?” I asked as I got in the leather-seating and tinted-windowed car.

Stella laughed, but Mel said in that low and musical voice, “The Tarot has genetic gifts that make sure that their descendants have unique qualities to get them good jobs.”
I nodded. Made sense. Stella just got her license this year because she was the same age as me and she was the one climbing into the driver’s seat. “Um, Stella, aren’t you only allowed to have one non-family member in the car?”
“I do. Stella is my cousin from my mom’s side.”
“Most people don’t think that since I’m not Spanish,” Mel added from the backseat. She’d let me sit in the passenger’s seat.
“Yeah, I would’ve never guessed,” I murmured as Stella took off down the road. I guess it just ran in the family to be heartbreakingly beautiful. “Once again, I don’t mean to sound rude, but is attractiveness in your genes or something?” I couldn’t let it go.
This time they both laughed.

“Well, sort of,” Stella said, beaming. She was obviously flattered. “It runs in the Curse. Everyone in the Tarot is good-looking.”

“I guess I kind of break the code then, huh?” I teased lightly, even though I knew I meant it. How could all the people in the Curse be so attractive and then I break the pattern.

“What do you mean? You’re the Priestess,” Mel said, leaning forward between the driver and passenger seats. “The Priestess is always described as godlike or beauty that’s graced the earth from heaven. You’re the best looking out of all of us.”

I couldn’t help it, I felt my face become puzzled. I flipped down the visor to look in the mirror and examine my face. I patted my cheeks and rubbed my eyes. I didn’t see anything special. I was pretty sure they had the wrong girl.
Not before long, we were in the mall walking around. They were both a lot taller than me thanks to their heels so I felt even shorter than I actually was while the strutted through the mall like they were on a runway and they didn’t even realize it. I just kept my hood up and tried to look the least pathetic as possible. I could tell that a lot of people didn’t even notice I was near them and if they did see me next to Mel and Stella, they most likely thought I wasn’t with them.
“Oh, here it is!” Stella exclaimed and pointed at one store. It was a store especially for dresses of all sorts. It was very bright and had nice designs in the windows that looked appropriate for Cinderella’s ball. Stella began to drag me in and she kept talking about how lucky we were that we got there early before it was crowded.
“So, what’s your budget?” Stella asked while she began looking at different dresses that were high up on the walls and on racks.
“Um…a brain surgeon’s credit card,” I replied, thinking about my mother’s no limit rule. Stella’s eyes popped open wide.
“Wow. Then this should be fun.” She began scuttling around like a happy little bunny. She was all over the place and I lost track of her. I began slowly looking through a rack. There were all different dresses. They were eccentric, low-key, semi-casual, formal…The list went on.
Mel seemed to have come out of nowhere and was suddenly next to me. I gave a start and nervously said, “Hello.” Her exotic beauty and serious expression sort of scared me. Today her long silvery hair was pin straight and down to her waist. Her eyes bore down into mine.
“You’re hiding something,” she said.
“Uh.” How does one respond to something like that?
“I’m Moon, you see. The Tarot Moon can sense secrets and can usually find them out. And I can tell there’s a big one that’s inside of you.”

I felt my pulse begin to rocket. I controlled my breathing and swallowed. “Well…we all have secrets, don’t we?”
Mel smirked and it scared me even more. “Yes, we do.” Then she was distracted by a dress on the other side of the store and walked over to it. I went back to the dresses I’d been looking at and found my hands clamped so tightly I wrinkled the fabric. I moved away quickly to a different area.

“What size are you, Rae?” Stella asked, skipping over to me. “I have this dress and I think it would look great on you.”
“No offense, Stella,” Mel said, walking up from behind her. “But that dress is the color of vomit.”
“No, it isn’t,” Stella disagreed. “Its olive and I think it would look good on her.”
“Listen, she would look awful in green. Find her blue, black, or purple. Anyway, you should be letting her look for her own dress while you try to find yours.”
Stella rolled her eyes. “Have you found a dress yet?”
Mel smirked that small smile of hers. “I’ve had it on order from Paris for two months from one of my mother’s designers.”
I couldn’t stop myself. “Is your mother a designer too?” I asked.
Mel chuckled and it sounded like music. “No, she’s a model.”
Oh, lovely. I’m shopping with the seventeen-year-old with a red Corvette and the daughter of a model who has connections in Paris. I felt like a lowly peasant in their presence.
“So, your size?” Stella asked again.
I hesitated and gave a shrug. Stella had to be at most a size five and Mel was maybe even a three. I wasn’t ready to admit that I was shorter and could fit in anything from an eight to a ten. I hid my face in a rack while Mel told Stella to back off and let me search for myself.
“Oh, fine, she can look herself!” Stella surrendered to Mel and began looking at dresses to the left of me. Mel came to the right side and winked at me. I found it in me to smile a little back. Stella didn’t see this secret exchange. “So…I hear that Garret is really into you.” Stella teasingly bumped her hip into mine. “Do tell.”
I felt my cheeks heat up. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Well, we expect no less. You are the Priestess and we are all surrounded by gorgeous guys,” Stella said, the cloth rustling against each other. “I’m just waiting for one of them to step up and ask me…even though the one boy I want to ask me can’t.” She sounded a little disappointed.
“Who is that?” I asked, curious. Any boy would love to go to the prom with her.
“Oh, don’t get her started,” Mel mumbled with a roll of her eyes.
“Hush! You don’t know what it’s like to have an unrequited, one-sided love!” Stella snapped at her. She then smiled at me. “It’s a long story that dates way back. I’ll gladly tell it to you if you want!”

“Please. Don’t.” Mel looked over at her with a half-pleading half-annoyed expression.
“It’s a wonderful story and you’re just jealous, so be quiet. Let Rae decide if she wants to hear the tale about my one true love.” Stella looked at me with wide eyes and a hopeful smile. Mel gave me a begging look.
“Um. Okay. I’ll listen.” I just couldn’t say no to that face of Stella’s.
Mel huffed and squished her face into the dresses, like I covered my head with my pillows that morning to block out Rick’s voice. Stella said, “Perfect! See, Mel? I told you it’s a great story! Okay, so this is what happened.” Stella cleared her throat like she was preparing to give the Gettysburg Address. “It was the summer before fifth grade,” she began dramatically. “I had just been told about the Tarot along with all the other young members. It was all made into a party so we wouldn’t be afraid and everyone was there…including him. He was the most gorgeous, most handsome, most amazing person I’d ever laid eyes on. Everything about him made me feel like a rumbling volcano, just shaking to explode! Of course, I clung to him the entire night. He even said I was cute!”
“That’s because you were a funny and adorable nine-year-old in pigtails, not because he was attracted to you in any way,” Mel cut in.
“Do not ruin this for me!” Stella growled at Mel but then turned to me enthusiastically. “I had to tell someone about my soul mate so I told my mom and she dashed my hopes at ever becoming Mrs. Matthews.”

I paused. “Wait. You mean Shawn?”

Stella shook her head. “He’s hot and all, but I’m talking about his brother Milo.” She fanned herself theatrically. “Even at nine years old, I knew that fifteen-year-old was fine!”

I stopped dead in motion when I heard his name and felt my whole body stiffen like a mummy. Stella was giggling joyously, a smitten teenager with a crush on an older man. Her cheeks were rosy and he mouth was stretched into such a wide smile I knew it must’ve hurt to keep it there. I didn’t look like that, did I?
“Don’t you agree that he’s the most handsome guy in the whole Tarot?” Stella asked, her big eyes looking at me expectantly.
I swallowed and regained mobility. “Oh, yeah, definitely,” I murmured, nodding. Stella squealed and shuffled through the dresses like there was a spring coiled tight inside her, building potential energy ready to spring at any moment. She skipped to the other side of the store at sight of pink and sequins.
I took a breath of relief and turned my head, only to be startled by Mel staring at me intensely.
“I think she really likes him,” I muttered to hopefully break her intent gaze, but it didn’t work.
Mel nodded. “Yeah, she does.” Her silver eyes were penetrating my barriers. “Why do you look so nervous?”
“Kind of hard not to be when you’re staring at me like that,” I rasped, afraid that sweat would be accumulating on my forehead.
Mel didn’t say another word and just sauntered over to the dressing rooms with a backless silky dress. I let out another breath of relief and leaned back into the rack of dresses. I knew I shouldn’t have gone shopping. It was all a mistake. I should’ve said I was under the weather or just busy.
I was on the verge of a major anxiety attack. Mel could sense secrets and probably could tell if someone was lying. If I stayed around her all day who knows what kind of information she could get out of me.
I walked into the dressing room where I thought I saw Stella enter and called into the corridor of changing doors, “Stella?”
“Yeah, Rae?” she called from the third door on the left.

“I –”

“Come here, I want you to check out this dress!” she exclaimed, opening the door. She walked into the hall and smiled her best catwalk smile and turned. It was a pink, sleeveless dress with rhinestones and sequins along the neckline and the skirt’s edge. It was sunset pink so it looked beautiful with her tan skin tone and wavy dark hair. “Do you like it?”
I nodded. “It looks wonderful on you.”
She giggled. “I hope Milo would like it. Did you know that a long time ago, in the first Tarot, that the Star and the Magician were lovers? But something happened and they didn’t ever get married. I wonder what. But it has to be destiny.”
I considered telling her that the real reason why they never had a wedding was because the Magician had an affair with the Priestess, but I didn’t want to crash her hopes at ever having a chance. I looked at her as she spun in the mirror and looked graceful and confident. A pang of jealousy rushed through me.
“Do you mind me asking…how did you know you were in love with Milo?” I asked, leaning against a wall.
“Well, it was like love at first sight. My heart jumped and I instantly wanted to hug him!” She ran her hands down the long, simple-yet-pretty dress. “Isn’t that how love is?”
I wondered. That wasn’t how I thought of Mr. Matthews. I had wanted to hit the ground running and argue with him and be as stubborn as possible. I sighed. Maybe Stella was surer of herself and that was why she knew how she felt right away while I had to put it together. At times I felt so smart and at others I felt so dumb.
I wasn’t exactly clever when it came to emotions or anything that didn’t come out of a book. I just didn’t understand my own feelings most of the time so I was nearly clueless when it came to others. I had to rely on my people-reading skills to find out what someone was thinking and even that was hard.
“You probably felt that way with Garret, right?” Stella asked, smiling at me.
“Not particularly,” I admitted with a shrug. “I’m not in love with him.”
Her eyes got bigger. “You’re not?”
“No. He’s just a friend.”
“That’s what they all say.”
I rolled my eyes. “But I mean it. There’s the difference.”
“That’s another thing they all say.”
Who was this “they” that all said the same things as me for God’s sake! “Listen, Garret and I have always been comfortable as just friends. Don’t make it more complicated then it needs to be.”

Stella stared deeply into my eyes for a moment like she was specifically looking for something inside me. Then the intense gaze broke off and she smiled. “I believe you made it complicated all on your own Miss Make-out-session-in-his-bed.”

On reflex, I clamped both my hands over her mouth and I felt her breath on my palms when she giggled. I looked around frantically for Mel or anyone else I might know, but she didn’t say it loud enough for anyone changing to hear.

“How did you find out?” I asked, taking my hands away reluctantly. Stella had a very large mouth.

“Wait, it really was in his bed?” she whispered with another titter. “That was just a wild guess, you dirty girl.” She nudged me playfully. “I’m the Star, remember? I’m not only a guide, I’m a watcher so I can usually pick out potent pictures or thoughts in your head.”
Oh, great, I seem to have potent images of me kissing Garret in his bedroom swimming in my head that special Tarot members can pluck out. This has to be some sort of violation. Shouldn’t she only be able to poke around my head if I give consent? I sighed and my shoulders clumped.
“It was nothing. He and I are just friends and at the time, we were both very confused and stressed. And I swear to God if you say ‘That’s what they all say’ I will make you explode.” I wondered if I could do that. I’m finding out I have all these powers and so does everyone else – could I blow people up? That could be two things; one, dangerous as hell or two; the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Stella giggled and whispered, “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone. Mel will just have to suffer with knowing there’s a secret, but never figuring it out.” She winked. “I’m very good at keeping quiet.”
Somehow, I highly doubted that.
“Though, if it really is very complicated, you won’t have to worry for long.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You mean, you don’t know?” Her eyes got a little wide, her eyebrows arched.

“I don’t think I do.”

“Then someone hasn’t told you about the Tarot meeting on Wednesday about the Hierophant?” she asked, still sounding surprised.

“Uh, well, you just did.”

“It’s about the Hierophant! Ohmigod, I can’t believe that Milo or Shawn or Garret hasn’t told you! Those little rodents. You see, we think we’ve found the Hierophant!”

Why were wedding bells suddenly ringing in my ears?

I stomped my foot because…well, because I can and I totally deserved to. I really had to start exercising my power over the Tarot because they kept keeping things from me! I mean, what is that? Wasn’t I supposed to be their magical redeemer, their savior from the unnatural binding they have to each other and the power the Devil has over them? Did I not deserve a little more input from them after swearing to get rid of all that?
No, because they were all a secretive, quiet, annoyingly exclusive group of people who I have not been wholeheartedly welcomed into yet, despite the major role I have. Wasn’t I supposed to be the queen here?
I marched into my house after keeping all my fury bottled up inside during the rest of the halfway-nice-then-disastrous shopping spree and dropped the keys three times in the process of unlocking it. I eventually heard the click, slammed the door behind me and internally yelled WHY ME?! Screw what I said earlier about the curse being not-that-bad because it totally sucked and was not not-that-bad at all!
I punched the numbers of my phone aggressively and stuck it to my ear while it rang and I walked up the steps.
“I’m glad you called, Rae. I’ve missed –”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. You’ve missed me. Now is there something you’d like to tell me?” I said, cutting off Mr. Matthews sharply.
He paused. “I don’t think so,” he replied, honestly confused.
I rolled my eyes. “You are so thick.”
“I am not thick. I think I’m getting insulted undeservingly since I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I huffed. “You seemed to have forgotten to tell me something. It’s something exponentially important. It involves someone whose position starts with an H and rhymes with –ierophant. You’re a poet, I think you can figure it out.”
It was quiet on the other end of the line. Then he said, as if someone had flipped the switch on in his oh-so tiny brain, “Ohhhhhh…Okay, now I get it. You’re talking about the meeting on Wednesday about the Hierophant.”
Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner! “Yes! Now, why didn’t I hear about this earlier?”
“Because I only just got the text message about it.”
“Oh.” My anger faltered and I was suddenly left with no emotion other than disappointment in myself. I rested my face in one of my hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“It’s fine. It must have shocked you. I really can’t blame you. I have hidden stuff from you before, so you’re justified in suspecting me of having secrets again.”
I entered my room and kicked off my shoes, my new dress wrapped inside a big white zipper bag draped over my arm. I never knew an article of clothing could be so heavy. I swung open my closet and hung it up on a hook.
“Yeah, I can’t blame myself either.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m sorry I bothered you. I’ll let you go now.”

“Wait! You didn’t let me say what I wanted to say.”

He wanted to say something? I raised an eyebrow even though he couldn’t see me and said, “What would that be?”
“I’ve missed you.”
I sighed and dropped down onto my bed. I didn’t say anything, just waited for him to say more.
“A lot. And I really am sorry that I didn’t tell you the moment I heard suspicion about the Hierophant being found. That’s my entire fault,” he went on, used to having to fill my silence. “I think I might’ve mentioned to you in passing that there was some suspicion over the Hierophant, but I didn’t elaborate. But I’m sorry and I miss you.”
I stayed silent once again.
“I have other news, as well. I forgot to tell you last night, but I had gotten a call from Garret to swing by his house and that was why I got to the apartment after you. He gave me something to give you because he figured I’d see you before he did.
“And one more thing. We’re going to have to tell your parents about the Tarot.”
That resulted in a well-deserved response on my part. “What?! Why?”
“Things are getting dangerous. You’re the Priestess and you’re going to be gone from the house more and in more danger. The excuse of going out with Shawn or Garret will only hold up so long,” he said. “I’ve spoken to some of the others and I have Cheryl, my brother, and the Bells on my side. It’s time we spoke to your parents. We’ll make it easy for you and Rick though. We’ve made a plan for me to speak with them while Rick is at practice after school and you’re out with Garret.”
“I’m going out with Garret?” I asked. Since when was everyone else in charge of my schedule? Apparently my calendar was booked and I had no idea!
“Yes. See, the Time card is in the hospital and Garret and you are going to go visit him tomorrow after class.”
“Alright,” I said, running a hand through my hair and closing my eyes. “I don’t know what they’ll think, but that’s your job. Have fun while doing it.”
His chuckle rattled the speaker of the phone. “I’ll try to. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Bye.”
We hung up and I lay back on my bed.
Maybe if Mom knew she wouldn’t think I was disturbed anymore, I thought. That was sadly unlikely though. Much like myself, my Mom lived in the world of logic, being a surgeon and all. If it was rough for me to accept the idea of supernatural gifts and curses, it would be close to impossible to sway my mother. Dad was the master of identifying though, so if he was given the right evidence, he would eventually believe the truth. But Mom…Well, Mom was going to be a challenge.

Three roads diverged in a yellow wood…. A fork appeared in my path. I had three directions I could take and each one had a different result. Wind whipped around me, waving my hair all around me. I was constantly pushing it back so I could examine the three paths, the three ends, the three destinies they held.
The first path, all the way to the right, had a cleared road with the sun beaming down on it beside a big crystalline lake that sparkled under the light. Birds sang on that lane like a beautiful spring day.
The path right down the middle was more difficult and bumpy, narrower, and rocky. Trees bordered it and the road was hard to follow. At the end, though, I could see the glimmer of a light like a candle at the end of a tunnel.
The final path…it was treacherous. There was no road, just grass and dirt that submerged into a dark forest that cast shadows so deep and dense that I couldn’t see the way. Just looking at it made gooseflesh cover me. I wanted to run from that path, so I made for the first path, the summertime and sunshine path with the flowers.
A huge, hulking figure erupted from the blackened path. I couldn’t see his face because he was hooded like and executioner or a Reaper. His broad shoulders were bulging and hard. He was a mountainous creature that reminded me of every troll or ogre from any fairytale, only a lot more dangerous. He took large strides after me while I ran for the sunshine path farthest away from the dark one. He stalked behind, keeping up at his leisurely pace, and in his wake everything died and grayed.
The sky was no longer blue, but blanketed in steel clouds that shook and rumbled. The grass yellowed and crumbled, dried up. The birds fell and hit the ground while their heartbeats faded. The flowers wilted.
I jumped into a Dahlia bush, hoping the creature following me would keep walking, but he halted and his hand drew outward and with each inch of movement, the Dahlia’s grew black like ink splattered them. His hand closed around my throat and the flowers fell from their bush.

I got a text message early in the morning while I was slipping into a pair of jeans that had holes in the knees from my mom accidentally bleaching right through. One leg was in them, but the other was hanging out so I hopped to my bedside table and picked up my cell phone. I flipped it open and it said: I WON’T B @ SKOOL 2DAY. G WILL PICK U UP.
I don’t know what Mr. Matthews was up to, but it must’ve been important if he was going to trust Garret to pick me up in his place. I wondered fleetingly if it had to do with something about him talking to my parents that afternoon, but I didn’t have time to consider it. I had to hurry downstairs, snatch a PopTart, and be ready for when Garret arrived. My heart fluttered with excitement. I had barely any time to hang out with my good friend.
Mr. Matthews was such a time hog. Not that I minded most of the time, but Garret was my best friend. I felt sort of guilty about letting a relationship get in the way of friendship like my brother was constantly doing.
Which reminded me, faintly, about the argument I woke up to that night (morning?) in my brother’s room. I heard it through the walls and he was obviously on the phone since it’s be quiet then he’d heatedly respond in what he thought was whispers, but was actually growls. He was lucky Mom and Dad were heavy sleepers.
I’d got up out of bed with a cracked-open Monster and sneaked down the hall to his door and pressed an ear to there.
This is what I heard:
“Dammit, Jenna…No, I’m not an idiot, you’re just a lying whore!...Yes, I have proof…You were making out with my friend at that party in a bedroom!... I think that’s valid proof, Miss Make-out-with-anything-with-a-pulse…No, Jenna, we’re through and that’s it. I’m making the final call, understand? Don’t even think about sitting with me in homeroom, at lunch, or any classes, you hear?”
Then I heard him snapping his cell shut which I’m pretty sure meant he hung up on her. Part of me wanted to leap for joy, but when I heard the groan of the mattress and saw through the crack of his door him sitting on the bed, head in hands, my heart dipped. He raked his hands through his hair with a heavy sigh and sat there, staring at the floor. I don’t know why, but it looked like he really had a thing for that girl. I almost felt bad.
That is a very, very dominant Almost. Jenna Hartman never deserved my brother. Sure, they were both shallow and good-looking but my brother was coming around and there was no way Jenna ever would, so now she was trash in comparison. I mentally and silently patted my brother on the back and scooted back to my room.
I yanked on my jeans the rest of the way, tugged on a grey sweater that huge loosely off my shoulders from years of stretching. My black bra straps showed on my shoulders and I tried a hundred times to situate the sweater so that it covered them, but the neckline was just too wide. I couldn’t care less, so I just gave up and went downstairs.
Rick was slumping around the kitchen by a slug with a ball and chain attached to him. It was easy to say that lack of sleep wasn’t the only thing keeping him down. I couldn’t exactly say anything because I wasn’t supposed to know what happened. I just let him sulk while pretending not to notice. He had to put his game face on for school and to ask and make him more depressed would make sure that he’d never put on his act for school. I poured him a cup of coffee, hoping to God it would help perk him up.
Garret pulled up out front and when Rick stepped over the threshold, it was like all grief was wiped off his face and he was smirking like the cocky jock he was and slid into the car with me. Shawn was in the front seat and both popular boys did a handshake then acted all cool again. Garret sent me a look in the rearview mirror with an eye roll and I chuckled – really, their handshake was ridiculous.
The car was quiet, mostly because everyone in there was usually that way…except Rick. Rick was a talker, a very social person, and one who was contemplating the scintillating dilemma of whether to break the silence or let it be. He tried to look indifferent, but I sensed the true discomfort of no talking. I let him bake in the muted air, seeing him fidget and breathe.
Garret rolled into the parking lot of the school. Rick quickly swung out, thanked Garret in passing and walked towards his posse with Shawn. He went up to them, getting patted on the back and laughing, smiling. That was the world he belonged to. That was the world that most people lived in. I was merely a foreigner to that Planet Popular. Or, at least, Planet We-Have-A-Life. I sighed and got out of the car slowly, coming up next to Garret leaning against the driver door.
“How have you been?” he asked me, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket.
“Okay, I guess. You?”
“Okay.”
That was our usual conversation. There weren’t usually variations even for when we hadn’t spoken in a long time like now.
It shocked me when he asked, “What have you been up to?”
“Uh, um, well…Nothing out of the usual. How about you?”
Garret shrugged. “Same. Just been…”
A loud, pulsing car came into the parking lot with music so loud the boom could be heard in every classroom along with the dragging muffler and gurgling engine.
“…avoiding Matt,” Garret finished, grumbling and glaring at the car. “That’s Spider’s car. He’s been borrowing it since I haven’t been taking him to school some days.”
“How do you know its Spider’s?” I asked, remembering that being the name of a friend of Matt’s from a gang.

Garret pointed to the license plate. It read 5P1D3R. I nodded, feeling like a dork for noticing right away. Matt parked, turned off the music (thank goodness) and bounced out of the car. He saw Garret and I and walked over. His ripped up jeans were more holes and patches then denim and a chain looped on one hip. He wore a long-sleeved black shirt that made his orange hair look like fire in comparison to his pale skin and dark clothing.
“Hey, guys,” Matt said brightly like he wasn’t on the receiving end of Garret’s death glare. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Rae!”
“I go to school with you every day.”
“I know, but you’re in a different hall and I never see you on weekends, either.”
“Well…” I glanced at the ground. I brushed a piece of hair behind my ear. “I’ve been busy, you know.” Yeah, like I had anything to be busy about besides cleaning Mr. Matthews’ apartment.
Matt must’ve been stupider than I thought to believe that I actually had things to do on weekends because he nodded understandingly. “Yeah, I get that. I’ve been doing some running around too.”
Garret, always the innocent one, coughed into his shoulder, masking the word, “Drug dealing.” He patted his chest like he had a tickle in his throat and I stuffed a laugh back down my throat.
“No, I have not been drug dealing,” Matt said narrowing his eyes at Garret a little. “I’ve been hanging out with my real friends. You know, the ones that bring me places and let me borrow their car and actually have fun.”
I just wanted this to end. Matt and Garret were friends and they shouldn’t be acting this way. “You two, please just –”
I turned my head for a second and Garret disappeared. It was as if he’d melted into vapor and got blown away from my side. Of course, that wasn’t the case I realized when I saw him open the door to the school and walk in.
“He always runs away from problems,” Matt muttered.
I looked up at Matt. “Why are you hanging out with the wrong people?”
Matt smoothed his hand through his hair. “To you and Garret…they’re the ‘wrong people,’ but to me, they’re the only people who will listen.”
I looked up at him. “I’ll listen. I promise, I will. Just stop this nonsense so you and Garret can get along again.”
Matt paused. “It’s not that easy. See, Garret’s been acting weird lately. He has been since almost a month ago. I don’t know how or why, but he just is being really strange.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s just me, but I’m almost positive something’s up with that hombre.”
I just nodded, considering it carefully. I didn’t really notice anything all that weird about Garret, but that was probably because I didn’t know him as deeply as Matt did. If Matt said something was up, he was probably right.

My mother and father sat before me, but my view was much higher than it would normally be. I had to slightly tip down my chin to meet their eyes. It was my kitchen, that much was clear, but the reason why I was sitting across from them and they each looked very businesslike was beyond me.
“I” cleared my throat, but it was a deep, male rumble. And when I began to speak without any control over my words, I knew that I wasn’t me. “I” said, “Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, I’m hear to tell you something about your children.”
Mr. Matthews’ voice. I was Mr. Matthews!
“Are they in trouble?” Mom asked, concerned in a second.
My vision moved left and right. I was shaking my head. “No, they aren’t. They’re just fine. But I have some news that might shock you. This is for the good of your children, so please be open to hear it.”
“Anything,” my mom promised instantly.
“Now, at first this is going to sound crazy and shocking, but please be open to whatever I say, no matter how mad I sound.” I didn’t know if the pounding heart was Mr. Matthews’ or mine.
My parents nodded, my father more hesitant than my mother.
“I’m sure you both are familiar with a tarot deck?” he began.
They nodded again.
“You see, there’s a Curse…”

My eyes flew open and I was in the cafeteria again. Whoa. I’d closed my eyes and thought about Mr. Matthews (I was exceedingly bored at lunch without him) and that just happened out of nowhere…Was that what was really happening? Was it my imagination? A vision of what would happen?
A wave of nausea swept my brain and I suddenly felt like everything was rotating. I blinked a few times and the dizziness went away, leaving a dull ringing in my ears. I looked around. Everyone else was going about their day like nothing happened so it must’ve just been me.
It was always just me. I wished that it wasn’t always me. I wished it was someone else.

“Ready to meet another Tarot?” Matt asked me, bending forward between the passenger seat where I was and Garret at the wheel. Matt had begged (quite hilariously) on his knees in front of Garret to let him get in the car with us.
His winning argument were the words, You know who the Time card is to me.
For one reason or another, Garret let him in the car at that point while Matt texted Spider that he could pick up his car from the high school parking lot. Garret didn’t speak to Matt at all during the car ride, even though Matt was prodding at him for any type of reaction. He didn’t get one. Garret just sat there like no one was in the car with him at all. I even felt a little neglected, but Matt was really being down about it. He even asked Garret if he wanted a lighter for a cigarette, but all Garret did was stare at the road. It was the first time I’d seen him drive without putting a cigarette in his mouth.
Finally he pulled up to the hospital and rehabilitation center, parking crookedly in the lot. He slid out of his car while Matt’s hand twitched to his pocket. I knew that was where he kept his lighter. Matt was a very bad pyromaniac, but he didn’t smoke as far as I knew. He just liked fire.
We walked to the doors, me between the two boys (Garret must’ve situated it that way without us knowing). The glass entrance doors slid open without us touching them, the red sensor flashing as we walked through. We went right up the desk in the rehabilitation and nursing home area, which were the same part of the building.
“Noah Bell’s room?” Matt asked the nurse sitting there on the other side of the counter. She was a short black woman with heart-patterned scrubs. She was at her computer which had photos of family sitting around her work. The scrubs were too tight on her and a blue kind was sticking out from under her desk, so she must’ve been borrowing the uniform from someone else.
“Relation?” she asked with a smile.
“I’m his grandson,” Matt said, pulling out his wallet and showing her his ID as proof.
“Let me just call his room to make sure he’s not in physical therapy,” the woman said. Her nametag said Nurse Shelley Chase. She picked up her phone and dialed, holding the phone to her ear. “Hello, Mr. Bell? It’s your nurse, Shelley….” She chuckled. “No, I’m not calling to give you any bad news. As a matter of fact, you have a few visitors. Your grandson Matt and his friends….” I heard the loud buzzing from the receiver of Matt’s grandfather. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll behave. I’m sending them up. Goodbye, Mr. Bell.”
Shelley put down the phone and wrote down the room number and gave each of us visitor passes. We walked to the elevators and I said, “We’re visiting your grandpa?”
Matt nodded. “Yup. He’s the Time card, you know. He have visions of the past and can tell where each road leads, sort of like Stella can. But he’s…Know what? Just wait till you meet him. He’s an interesting guy, let me tell you.”
I looked over at Garret for any kind of response.
Walking down the hall, the nurses had upbeat music playing in the speakers and the elderly filled every room. Some were in wheelchairs, others were using walkers, and some were walking around just fine by themselves then getting scolded by the nurses for not using their wheelchair or walker. We came to room 398 and walked in. The first bed was empty, but in the second was an old man with completely silver hair, wrinkles on his face, but a curiously young air about him. He was in good shape for a guy his age, that much was clear, and he was flipping through the channels on his remote.
“Here’s my grandson!” the man said once Matt made it far enough into the room. “And Garret, it’s always nice to see you and…why, who is this pretty young thing you’ve got here, Mattie?” The man winked at me. “Don’t tell me that you’re with Little Matthew here, ‘cause if you are, you have some work ahead of you.”
I stifled a laugh while Matt said, “No, Grandpa, she’s not my girlfriend.”
“Why the hell not?”
“She’s the Priestess, Pops.”
The man grabbed his glasses off the bedside table, put them on and squinted through the lenses. “Oh! Of course. I’d bow, but that’s sort of difficult right now. Open-heart surgery does that to an old geezer like me.”
“I hope you’re feeling alright,” I said, concerned. That sounded serious. I felt the urge to call a doctor to check up and make sure he’s okay.
“Oh, I’m fine.” He waved it off. “So are you here to help me blow off this Popsicle stand, or what?”
“No, you’ve still got a week in rehab before you can be taken home,” Garret said quietly.
The man grumbled. “I’m better though!”
“I promise, Pops, I’ll bounce you next weekend, okay?” Matt said, sitting down in the chair next to his dresser.
“These doctors, I swear, all they do it write all messy and annoy old people,” Mr. Bell said irritably. He crossed his arms. “I’m in the prime of my life. I have better things to do than sit in a bed all day. Anyway, I’m being an ungracious host. So, my darling, tell me about yourself,” he said to me with a grin. Matt had his nose.
“Well, Mister –”
“Nope, just call me Pops like the rest of ‘em.”

“Okay…Pops. Actually I’m more interested in what you’re like.” I said. I took a seat on the heating unit next to the window. My butt was really warm.

Garret smirked. “Rae’s pastime is learning about different people.” I was happy he looked significantly calmer and relaxed.

“Sweetheart, I could go on about myself for days without stopping,” Pops said with a wave of his hand. “Just give me some basic facts about yourself and then I’ll give you a few in turn.”

I swallowed. “Well…My name is Radiance, but everyone just calls me Rae. I have one brother…” Actually he’s not really, but whatever. “And a cat named Mr. Cheezy who doesn’t like me much.” His eyes urged me to go on. “My dad’s a detective and my mother’s a brain surgeon.” I shrugged and then laughed self-consciously. “I don’t really know exactly what you want to hear.”
“Tell me a story,” was all he said next.
“What kind of story?”

“Any kind. Tell me about a story about when you were young, recently, or one that never happened. Just tell a story,” Pops said invitingly. “I can tell you’ll be a good storyteller.”
“Um…” A story, a story… “About nine years ago, when I was eight years old, my brother wanted to build a kite. He didn’t want it to be just an ordinary kite, though.” My hands were shaking with the anxiety of everyone’s eyes on me. “He wanted it to be a kite that satellites in space could see. My brother’s class had just started talking about outer space, so he was obsessed with his goal immediately. My mom gently told him that it was impossible, but my dad still bought him a huge fire-engine red tarp and the narrow PBC pipes and thick twine. He made the biggest kite I’ve ever seen.
“Getting Big Red – that’s what he called the kite – into the air was killer. Mom and I sat on the beach watching them on one of the windiest fall days. Dad and Rick were really persistent. Even my dad got worn down at one point and tried to persuade Rick to give up, but he just threw a fit and kept trying.
“A miracle wind swooped the kite up off the ground. My mom and I watched in awe as the kite went up, up, up and high into the sky. There was only one problem. My brother didn’t have his grip on the kite’s rope and it flew away. My brother went berserk, crying in a rage that he’d worked so hard on Big Red just to have it fly far away.
“My dad felt really bad after what happened. He was friends with a guy down at the local news station and had him record off the record that a satellite in outer space had seen a big red dot on its radar above our town. That night, Dad pretended he was watching the news as usual and hit the Play button on the remote for the DVD of the Kite Sighting just as Rick was walking past. He’d been really depressed, but once he saw that his kite was seen from outer space, he was the happiest kid on the planet.”
I looked up and everyone was still staring at me. It was starting to make me really nervous again, but Pops said, “Why did you tell that story?”
Uh… “You said to tell you a story and that was the first one I could think of.” I shrugged uselessly while I felt my face get warm.
“I was just expecting you to tell a story about you. I mean…most people would immediately tell an impressive story about themselves, but you told a simple story about your determined brother. That’s just interesting.”
I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t going to admit that I had no impressive stories about myself and that my life basically revolved around my brother up until this point.
“You must really love your brother,” Matt said.
Pops turned a glare on him. “A trait you should learn from her! Love your brothers rather than fight with them.”
I chuckled.
“I’ve got to go to the bathroom. Be right back,” Garret said, exiting the room. I watched him leave.
“Matt, do me a favor and go to the cafeteria and get me a cup of coffee,” Pops said.
“But you’re not supposed to have caff–” Matt protested.
Pops cut him off. “Have I ever given a damn about what and what not I’m s’posed to have?”
“Good point,” Matt mumbled before standing up and heading out the door.
So it was left just Pops and I. He was deep in thought and I tried to imagine what he was thinking. I did that often. I tried to guess what was going on in other people’s heads. The sad part about it is that I never know if I guess right or not.
“You’re a good girl,” Pops said with a sure nod. I had no idea how he’d calculated that. “So I’m going to tell you something that should help you a little, okay?”
I nodded slowly.
“You have three paths,” he said seriously. “The first path will wither with time, but won’t be too difficult to achieve what’s at the end. The second path will make you the least happy, but is the easiest to take. The third path will give you true joy, but will be without a doubt the most difficult to endure.”
Oh, great. One path will be not-so-hard, but will wither. The second will make me unhappy but is a walk in the park. And the third will make me really happy but is really hard. This is just my luck. I tried to find something to say, but there were no words good enough.
Instead I just nodded.
“Good luck,” he said and I didn’t know what I needed it for, but knew I would. Luck was always something that I was in short supply with. I nodded again, feeling like an illiterate fool. “You must prepare yourself now, though,” he said solemnly.
“W-why?” I murmured, my insides going cold.
“Because if you aren’t, you will surely fail.”
Isn’t that a cheery thought? I gulped down nervous block in my throat and took a deep breath. “I’ll try to be…prepared, I mean.”

The rest of my visit with Pops was him telling us old stories, flirting with his nurses, and he kept asking me questions. Then he’d discreetly insult his grandson and tease Garret. He was sweet and funny and I could tell he enjoyed the company. I got a call from Rick after practice and he said he’d be going home in a bit so Garret brought Matt and to the car after saying goodbye to Pops.
I got home almost exactly the same time as Rick did. He and Shawn were just getting out of the car. I hopped out of the car and shut the door behind me. I was just about to step on my lawn when Garret called to me, “Rae!” I turned around and he waved for me to go back over. I leaned down to hear what he had to say from the driver’s window. “Good luck,” was what he said and even though I knew he was talking about my parents, but it reminded me of when Pops had said the same thing.
Before I had time to explore that thought, Garret was meshing his lips to mine. In shock, I pulled back only after a stunned moment. Garret smiled, pulled away, and when I turned away I found the drive behind his actions.
Mr. Matthews was standing in the doorway with my mother and father. My mother had plastered a smile on her face, but I could tell she was a few seconds from falling apart. I knew that Mr. Matthews had told them about the Curse because my dad wore unconcealed confusion on his face. Mr. Matthews, standing behind them, had an expression of just-barely restrained anger. He masked it by the time I made it to the door though.
“We have plenty to talk about,” Mom said to Rick and I. Shawn was right behind us as we entered the house.
Not too much later we were all gathered around the table with coffee and cookies that my mom took out of its packaging and put on a plate. No one touched the cookies except Rick and my dad. Those two could put down an entire box of cookies on their own.
“When exactly did you find out about this Curse?” Mom asked me.
“I found out weeks ago and Rick more recently,” I answered, seeing that Rick was stuffing his mouth so he wouldn’t have to speak.
“So you’ve been hiding this from your father and me?” Mom asked, raising an eyebrow.
“In all fairness, Mrs. Holmes, she wasn’t really allowed –” Mr. Matthews began.
Mom held up a hand. “Please, Mr. Matthews, I was asking my daughter.”
I paused for only a second. “Yes, I’ve been keeping it a secret.”
“But, why?!” Mom asked, slowly losing her cool. “I’m your mother, you should confide in me. Keeping secrets from and lying to your mother is…is…” She sputtered for a word.
“Don’t act like you’re innocent! You’ve lied to me for seventeen years and kept the biggest secret of my life from me!” I exclaimed. I just couldn’t sit there and listen to her accuse me of the things she was most guilty of.
“I did that for your own good!” she defended.
“How would not telling me I’m adopted be for my own good? Face it, Mom; you were just keeping it from me because you didn’t have the courage to tell me.” I stood up. “I know I’ve kept quiet about the Curse. I know I’ve lied to you about going to certain places. But all I could see was how happy you were that I was making friends and didn’t want to tell you the only reason why I found friends was because I’m cursed! I at least have good reason, now what’s yours?”
“I don’t need a reason, I’m your mother!”
“No, you’re not!” I screamed, my heart ripping open.
Hundreds of emotions showed on my mom’s face, but most of all, she was hurt. But I was torn apart. My eyes burned and my throat was thick. I wanted to shout and throw things. I ran away.
Lately, I’d been running away a lot but I had no other way to cope. I wasn’t used to arguing and interacting so much with other people…I needed to be a lone. That’s what I was used to. That’s what I needed to deal with my feelings. This was a lot like my birthday, only this time I knew where to go.
I had to go somewhere no one would bother me. Somewhere I could be alone. But also somewhere that I was safe. I was running down the street towards the park when I heard footsteps pounding behind me. My heart began racing and my legs pumped harder. Instinct told me that the last time I was running away from home, I was kidnapped and beaten. My mind was telling me to think logically and turn my head.
Instead I closed my eyes and ran as fast as I could.
An arm came around my waist and I screamed, but a hand clamped down on my mouth. I bit on the hand hard.
“Ow! Jesus, Rae, calm down!”
I knew that voice immediately. It made me want to run even faster. I kicked and flailed, trying to get out of his grip. I tried to remember that self-defense trick when you’re attacked from behind, but I just couldn’t get it right.
“Rae, if you don’t knock it off – ow! Please, Rae!” Mr. Matthews grumbled, trying to hold me still. After realizing my effort was useless except for tiring me out, I stopped and just went limp. “Okay,” he said with a deep breath, his arm still restricting me. It held me up. “Now, just calm down.”
How was I supposed to calm down? I was devastated! I just wanted to roll up in a hole and cry. “Leave me alone!” I shouted. “Just let me go away! I don’t want to play this game anymore!” I ripped out of his hold and faced him. “It feels like my entire life is a game.” My emotions wouldn’t stop pouring out; they were at full force, just gaining momentum. “And I’m sick of playing!” I stomped my foot with finality.
And all of this just stabbed me in the chest. Everything was like a hurricane raging inside me, taking control, wrecking my life slowly.
“Well, so am I, Rae!” Mr. Matthews shouted right back, maybe not as angry as me, but worked-up. We were at the edge of the deserted park. “I don’t want to be in this shitty game anymore, either, but these were the cards we’re dealt with so we’ll just have to work with the hand we’re given.”
“I don’t want to!” I screamed. I could feel my own waves rolling off of me in thick strokes of heat. “I want to fold. I want to just give up.” I shook my head. “I can never catch a break.”
“Neither can I,” he said. “I’ve never been able to have what I want. And when I finally think I do, I found out she’s kissing the guy I hate.”
I rolled my eyes and huffed. “Oh, not this.”
“Yes, this. I mean, what the hell was that?” he asked, throwing up his arms. “Do you know what it was like watching you duck down to kiss that moron?”
“I ducked down because he’d called me back!”
“To give you a goodbye kiss, how sweet.” Each word was coated with venom. He was really angry about this.
“I had no idea he was going to do that!” I said defensively. “I was hoping you’d know that, but of course you don’t!” I clamped my hands into my hair, ready to rip it out. “Why are you so jealous all the time?”
“You want to know why? Why I’m jealous?” His jaw was taut and his eyes were wild with frustration. “Isn’t it obvious enough? Garret’s a jackass and you’re my girlfriend. Above all, more than I hate him, I love you.”
“Stop it! Just stop!” I snapped. I couldn’t take it. It was unbearable. No one…no one should be jealous over me. No one should love me. I didn’t even want to live anymore, why should I have people that love me while I don’t deserve it?
I wanted to be alone again.
“Why did you even come after me?” I demanded. “Is it that my mother and brother don’t love me enough to come themselves? Is my father not willing enough? Why is it always you?” I stomped forward and shoved his shoulders. “I can never think straight when it’s you! Why is it always you?!”
Mr. Matthews paused and licked his lips before answering. “Your mother is having an emotional breakdown not too different than yours. Your brother is trying to comfort her and I told your dad that I’d call him when I found you on foot. He figured that you’d just run faster if you saw him.”
Dad was right. If I saw him, I wouldn’t jump through moving traffic to get away. I just crossed my arms and stood there, looking at the ground beneath my feet. I took a huge breath, one that expanded my lungs so much that they pressed against my ribs roughly.
“So, I’m going to call your dad now,” he said, taking out his cell phone.
“No,” I said too quickly. “No, just pretend that you didn’t find me yet. I just want to walk for a little bit.” I turned around and began walking away from him. The sun was hot on my dark hair and clothes, soaking into me. My eyes burned from the irregularity of direct sunlight with a hood. I squinted my eyes and continued walking.
I didn’t even hear Mr. Matthews’ footfalls behind me.
For once, my thoughts were left to myself and I was perfectly alone.

I became a woman obsessed, trekking the halls for any sign of Joshua Walker, as I’d learned my potential Hierophant-to-be’s name was. I would use my ability to draw conclusions to find out if he was a Tarot or not. Everyone else seemed pretty sure, but I was going to grasp at whatever straws there were just so I never got a Hierophant. I would try anything and everything. Everything, of course, short of killing him; which was an option according to Mr. Matthews, but not even I was that psychotic.

The last two days in the house with my parents had been really awkward. My dad didn’t speak (not out of the ordinary) and neither did my mom (VERY out of the ordinary). Yet, my mom would only give me disappointed looks but not my brother which I thought was a hundred different levels of unfair. I was always the disappointing child, and even though that what I said to my mother that day was a little out of line, I just didn’t think it was fair that Rick was just as equal in guilt as me for not coming clean about the Curse and I was the one being secluded for it.

I was surveying the halls closely just before lunch time. I’d already went to Mr. Matthews class and today he made it a point to talk about poems relating to talking about feelings and he’d kept giving me a look. I knew what this meant – that I was bottling everything up – but I didn’t care and wrote notes totally non-poetry related the whole time then booked it out of class.
Like a spy on a mission, I stood at the corner of the senior hall, figuring he was a twelfth grader since he was in my gym class and looked about Garret’s age and since I hadn’t seen him in my halls at all. I bent my neck around the corner of the wall, knowing that most of the students would pass this area at this time of day between lunch periods and gym class.
“What are you doing?”
I jumped so hard I smacked my head against the brick wall at the sound of the voice. I spun around, holding my hurt head and found the speaker and the boy I’d been stalking the last few days. Josh.
“Oh, my God! I’m so sorry,” he said, looking frightened at the soon-to-be bump on my head. “Every time we run into each other it seems like I hurt you! Let me take you to the nurse for an ice pack.”
If this kid was going to continue giving me head injuries and being so damn nice after that, we were going to have problems. I couldn’t stay angry at him for being so nice and couldn’t stay happy because he was most likely the Hierophant. He was going to give me a complex. I shook my head at him. “Nah, I’m fine. What’s one bruise to add to the collection, eh?” I said, trying to seem light-hearted about it and maybe make him stop fretting and acting like a nervous ferret.
“Well, okay, as long as you’re sure.” He wrung his hands around each other anxiously. What was up with him? Was he on some kind of drugs, because he sure had the anxiety for it? “So…is you’re head okay from the first time I hit you with the ball?”
I tried to smirk. “Yup. All good.” It really was. I had no idea why he was acting like he’d run over my cat.
“Well…what was it that you were doing?” he asked.
“When?”
“Just now.”
“Uh…” I kept reverting my eyes back to my feet in chagrin. “I was…looking for a friend.”
“Then why were you being so sneaky about it?” he asked.
An observant one, huh. Who gave him the right to be nosy? Maybe it was none of his business, had he ever considered that? Maybe he should’ve thought through asking before butting in?
Okay, I was about as nervous as him and of course he’d asked because it was his right and he didn’t know but it was his business and I had to stop being so irrational. I swallowed and absently scratched the back of my head. “We…Well, I…my friend…he…”
“Rae! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you.” It was like Mr. Matthews popped out of nowhere. He walked over to Josh and I with a perfect actor’s mask, seeming like nothing more than a teacher searching for a student. Though he was all bright and chipper now, I knew I was going to get interrogated later for avoiding him for the third day in a row. I pasted on a smile anyway and kept it there. “Have you been hiding from me?”
Or, the interrogation started now.
My heart began thudding wildly. Why was he starting this now? Wasn’t it obvious to him that there was another student – Josh, at that – standing right here, who was very oblivious to our relationship like the rest of the universe excluding Rick? Why wasn’t he waiting until we were alone to question me on my avoiding him?
“Uh…” My throat was dry and no words would come out.
“You know that you need to retake that test you missed on Monday,” he said with that same grin, but with teacher-like rebuking and suddenly I realized what he was doing. He was bluffing in front of Josh to get me away from him so we could talk.
Josh’s eyes lit up like he understood. He believed that my “looking for a friend” was a cover-up to hide from a teacher. Playing along, I gave him and shrug as if saying, I tried.
“I’ll see you later, Josh,” I said, then followed Mr. Matthews away, having no other choice. Mr. Matthews had saved me from blowing my cover.
But now I had to face him.
We went back to his classroom. I placed my pile of books on one of the front desks while Mr. Matthews erased the blackboard. I sat down in the desk’s seat and watched. The silence wasn’t ominous, but it wasn’t fuzzy and comfy either. I decided to switch places with my books, putting them on the seat and my bum on the desktop.
Finally he turned around and said, casually, “So…meeting today after school.”
I nodded, swinging my legs. I smacked my lips absently in thought and braided my fingers through one another. “Yup. Well, I best be going now.” I slid off of my perch and snatched my books. “Great talking to you –”
“Not so fast, buddy,” he said.
I sighed and slid back into my seat and he said, “Don’t go investigating Josh before the meeting.”
“Why not? He might not be the Hierophant and maybe I just want to become friends with him.” I gave him my best full-teeth smile, but even I could tell it was phony.
“Yeah, like hell you are.” He rolled his eyes. “You can’t fool me, Rae. I know as well as you do that you go out of your way to avoid civilization.”
“Do not!” Okay, maybe I did, but for very good reasons that I didn’t have the patience to explain to him.
“Yes, you do. Now, I’m just warning you, don’t drive yourself crazy about something that might not even be true, okay? There’s no reason to get involved with him until it’s confirmed.” He straightened up and dropped his serious face for a small grin. “Now, in other news, what is all this about avoiding me?”
I knew this would happen. And I still hadn’t found out what to say.
Why was I avoiding him? Simple. After my freak-out of running away from my family after Garret tricking me into kissing him through the window, I really wasn’t in the mood to see anyone that reminded me of that day. My parents weren’t talking to me, only to each other and Rick. I was the outcast in my family once again, only now it was because I savagely broke my mother’s heart and detached myself from the love of family or friends. Stella has tried calling me, and I haven’t picked up. Garret’s tried texting me and apologizing, but I haven’t answered. And Mr. Matthews…well, he’s been slightly more respectful of my wishes to be alone but now it was his turn to get a reason.
I tried to find out a way to put that all into words that would make more sense.
“I just haven’t been in the mood to talk to anyone.”
Mr. Matthews just sighed and said, “Okay…okay, as long as you’re fine for now. Do you want to come over after school?” It was obvious he was trying to be casual and hiding his real emotions.
I wanted to, really, I did. But… “I can’t. I have to sort some things out with my parents and Rick and then head straight to the meeting. Where is it being held?”
Eyebrows arched, he answered, “You haven’t heard?” I shook my head. “It’s being held at your house.”

No one cared to tell me that my mom and dad agreed to have the meeting at our house. My mother said she would clean up the library for a sophisticated dinner which meant dress up again. I sighed because no matter what I did, I was never going to be able to prepare for these shindigs.
This time my mom was too frantic, scrambling all over for the party so I was left to pick my own outfit and do my make-up and hair. I couldn’t be more screwed over. I went with a simple red dress from my mother’s closet. It came to my knees and had spaghetti straps and a little V-neck. I also borrowed plain black heels and her make-up. Just some foundation, a little blush, some light lipstick, and mascara. I was just trying to be simple enough to get downstairs early enough and help my mother so she wouldn’t go too over-the-top.
I burnt my fingers on the flat iron six times while I straightened my hair. After flattening out all of my curls, I realized how long m hair really was, only inches from my waist. I put on a gold necklace with my calloused fingers and rushed downstairs to help my mother with the set up.
Not before long, our first guests arrived and – big surprise – it was Shawn and Mr. Matthews. I was happy that I was the one to answer the door because I needed to talk to Mr. Matthews about something without my mom stealing him away to chat with.
I directed Shawn to the library where hors devours were already put out. He’d only be alone for a moment, I told him, I just needed to borrow his brother.
Shawn said, “It’s fine. I’ll be back in ten minutes anyway. I was just getting Milo here to help you with anything. Magician is always the first to show up.” And he went back out the door and drove away.
I pulled Milo behind the stairs and whispered, “Okay, how is this supposed to go down?”

Mr. Matthews smirked. “What do you mean? We’re introducing the Hierophant.”
I paused. “No…Last I heard, we were going to depict whether or not Josh is the Hierophant…which involves discussing and stuff, right?”
Looking a little guilty, he said, “I’m sorry, I thought so too until I got a text message this afternoon. I figured Tom sent it to you as well. He didn’t?”
I ground my teeth together. “There is serious lack of communication going on.”
Considering this, Mr. Matthews added, “Or a serious lack of trust. Uncle Tom hasn’t been fond of you from the start. I wonder if he set it up this way on purpose.”
“But that’s…so childish. He’s a grown man, for God’s sake!” I huffed and then took the deepest breath I could. “So, does this mean that Josh is coming here? What, did he have everything told to him?”
“Yeah, Shawn had breakfast with him today. Shawn left to get him. Um…are you okay?”
“No, I am not,” I hissed, feeling my face get hot with anger. I was supposedly the Priestess, the leader, and yet I was still left out of everything, like I always have been. Shouldn’t I be the first to know everything? I dragged my hands down my face. “Alright, let’s just try to get through dinner.”

“Hello, Josh,” I said as nonchalantly as possible, but with the best smile I could muster. I shook his hand in the foyer where him and Shawn were arriving after Stella and Mel and half of the Bell Brothers, Luke and Mark. Milo, the two girls and the accounted for Bells were in the library getting comfortable while I was stuck with greeting the man I was allegedly supposed to marry.
I shook his hand and he looked a bit less nervous than Rick had at his first Tarot meeting. I could tell he was a little stiff below the surface, but he put on a good, relaxed mask.
Shawn cleared his throat and patted his back. “Oh,” Josh said, as if remembering something, and bent down to bow, but I put a hand on his shoulder. “No, you don’t have to. Really. I think I’m going to get rid of that rule.”
Josh still bowed and gave a smile. “So, I guess us running into each other wasn’t so much of an accident, huh?”
“Guess so,” I answered, then hastily turned away from him. “We better get to the library before Mr. Matthews eats everything.”

“This is the part where I’m supposed to make a speech,” I said, standing up at the head of the very long table where every invited Tarot member sat, except for Matt Bell who was absent, his seat empty – no one was sure of where he was. I had the misfortune of having Mr. Matthews at my right and Joshua on my left, which is apparently another tradition I was unaware of again. I made a deal with Mr. Matthews before dinner – I was going to learn everything about the Tarot within the next month.
Everyone was staring at me, looking confused about my first sentence. “But, as you all know, I’m not very good at that.” That earned a few chuckles among the portion of the people there was actually liked me. I swallowed. “And we’ve all been quite busy, but I promise I’ll learn how to plan ahead and have something written before getting in front of all of you and making a fool out of myself – not that you all aren’t already used to that.” Another moment of little laughs. “But in spite of that, I’m going to say a few things. First order of business.” I turned a little to Josh at my left without making eye contact. “Welcome, Joshua Walker, to our Tarot. We will do our best to educate you in our Curse. I look forward to…getting to know you.” I hoped no one else detected my little hesitation. It didn’t look like anyone did. “And, now, second order. Why didn’t I get the text message?” I demanded, anger bubbling in my gut. I looked at every confused face and settled on Tom’s not-so-confused face. “I’d had my phone on all day and it didn’t vibrate or ring once.”
“There must’ve been a service problem,” Tom Willard said in a way that made me sure that there was no technical problem at all. He just didn’t send it to me.
“Well, make sure there aren’t any ‘service problems,’ please.” I decided that if I didn’t take charge then and there then I’d never get any respect. Maybe I wasn’t the real leader until that moment. Maybe that was why I was never the first to know, but always the last. That was going to change. “From this point on, I am going to be the best Priestess I can be. I won’t be hiding or shy anymore. If there is news pertaining to the Curse, you will all tell me directly and firstly. Understand?”
Everyone at the table nodded, looking at me with the hint of newfound respect and understanding. I took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, now that that’s settled. Here’s to the Hierophant, and the Tarot.”
Everyone’s raised their glasses and toasted and I sat back down, keeping my spine straight. If a leader is what they wanted, that’s what I was going to give them. I was determined. My mind was set. I made a silent pact with myself that nothing would set me off the path I was now on.
I took a long swig of the red wine that my mother had filled my glass with. Though she didn’t give any other minor wine, not even Rick, she still winked and filled my glass at the beginning of the meal before she left to eat dinner with my father in the kitchen. Only Tarot was allowed in the room during the dinner.
“Good job,” Mr. Matthews said with approval. “I was waiting for you to step up before you were overrun.”
“Thanks,” I said breathlessly, the wine rushing to my head. I took a bite of the Italian buttered bread on my plate.
Josh then asked me, “So what’s the deal with the Hierophant?”
“I wish I knew,” I mumbled.
Then I heard a clinking of a knife to a glass. I looked to the source and it was, sure enough, Thomas Willard. I took a deep breath, preparing myself for what he had to say.
“As most of us know,” he said, with that same stoic expression of his, “an engagement is supposed to commence from here on out. A betrothal that our ancestors planned centuries ago. Well, all those years ago, the Emperor and Empress were the ones who had the rings crafted and held onto them until the official engagement of the Hierophant and Priestess.”
I saw Milo’s hand grip the edge of the table as the same moment I dropped my bread.
Cheryl, grinning stood up as well. She and Tom took two small boxes from their pockets.
“We don’t expect you to wear them now,” Cheryl added, though Tom looked like he was about to disagree. Tradition was his thing, I guess. “But we’re going to give them to Joshua to hold onto until the time is right. This is rushed, I know, and it’s coming at you guys really fast. You’re so young, after all. But by accepting this Curse, you’ve already grown up just by bearing that burden.”
I was getting dizzier and dizzier as the Willards began to walk towards the front of the table where Josh and I were sitting.
Then, behind my eyelids a blaze of flames shot up. I opened my eyes again and the fire was gone, but I closed them experimentally and the fire was there again and it was big, ugly, fierce flames that almost burnt my eyes from the brightness of them. Eyes still closed, I saw flowers withering and turning to ash in the fire, hundreds of flowers that blackened and died. I could smell the petals and the scent of live plants.
The fire engulfed me in a wave of yellow and my vision, like all those curling, writhing flowers, went black.

Wrenching upwards in my bed, I was caught in the middle of that surreal memory feeling where you don’t know dream from reality. What really happened and what your subconscious conjured. There was no doubt that getting engaged was nightmare material, and then being burnt into oblivion. But something didn’t set right with me.
I reached over to my bedside and yanked the chain of my lamp to cast dim light over my bed. Right away I noticed three things were wrong. My hair was straight, my sheets were twisted and wildly thrown about, and flower lay on the pillow next to me.
It was a black Dahlia.
My cell phone began buzzing frantically, as if the vibration setting itself could express urgency. I flipped it open, already swinging my legs out of bed. It was Mr. Matthews.
“Tell me it was all a very bad nightmare,” was the first thing I said.
“It wasn’t,” he said flatly. “You’re engaged and you fainted right in the middle of Josh being handed the rings.”
Fainted? I don’t faint!
“But that’s not important right now,” Mr. Matthews said, still with that dangerous flat tone. “Matt’s being arrested.”

I was tired of being out of the house in my pajamas, in the middle of the night because of emergencies like my friend being attacked and another friend being put under arrest. Mr. Matthews had swung by after calling me and drove me straight to the scene of the crime. It was a florist’s shop only five miles from my house.
“Matt was arrested by the police a half hour ago,” Mr. Matthews said as we approached the crime scene tap surrounding the rubble of what used to be a flower shop. The sign had fallen, half the shop was ash, and it smelt awful. Gray and black remains of a place that used to make holidays more decorative, special occasions more beautiful, and birthdays more special lay in front of me. According to what information Mr. Matthews could get, the cops suspected the fire to be set around four o’clock PM. “They also said that it was the work of an experienced fire bug.”
“A pyromaniac,” I breathed. I scratched my neck.
He nodded. “Every piece of evidence they have points to Matt. He’s looking at a few months in jail – juvenile hall, since he’s seventeen, which makes him lucky in that sense.”
“He didn’t do it.” I was compelled to say it. My gut was sure that Matt was innocent. Though my head was agreeing with the authorities, my intuition was pointing in the other direction completely.
I’m not sure that my gut and intuition would hold up enough to testify in court, though. And I couldn’t even be an alibi. Matt wasn’t at the dinner, which was at four o’clock, so none of the twenty-some people there could vouch for him.
“How can you be so sure?” Mr. Matthews asked. I looked up at him in shock and he shrugged apologetically. “I’m sorry, but he has a record of being with the wrong crowd and…well, setting things on fire. You can’t deny the facts, Rae,” he said, trying to break it to me gently.
“I can’t, but my gifts can,” I replied, firm on my verdict.
“Why, did you have a vision or something?”
“My intuition is enough.” Then something caught my eye. The fallen flower shop sign had the store’s name written in elegant, now fire-darkened, script. But in the middle was a flower…A Dahlia that was coated in soot and ask, burnt around the edges.
A black Dahlia, nearly identical to the one on my pillow.

A few weeks passed and Matt’s court date came and went. Of course, they said he was guilty, but I knew otherwise. I knew for a fact that he was falsely accused and framed. Secretly, I was set on having justice served, but there was no way I was telling anyone else that. The whole Tarot was convinced he was guilty, though Garret hadn’t said a word on the subject. As a matter of fact, he had been speaking even less than usual.
Thinking of Garret…
Usually girls cry after the prom. I’m just the exception. I cried before the prom, in my room, with the beautiful dress I chose from shopping with Stella and Mel and I didn’t even have the courage to put it on.
Garret had asked me to the prom a while before Josh was announced as the Hierophant – which he was enjoying a little too much, might I add. But Garret was a friend, Josh had officially asked me to be his girlfriend only days before I planned on going to the prom with said friend, and Mr. Matthews and I had a huge fight. Not our usual bicker or banter. This was furious screaming, yelling, spitting wrath.
It was a hurricane of vehemence.

“I know you can’t say no, Rae, but maybe not saying yes would’ve been a good idea!” Mr. Matthews had shouted, pacing back and forth across the room from me at his apartment. Each step was a stomp that I heard from where I stood beside the kitchen. He was all the way at the far wall in the living room.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?! I was cornered! You were the one who encouraged me to go on a date with him to keep up the charade of being a perfectly normal Priestess! I was all for just dumping tradition, but NO! You and your idiocy said that the best way to avoid suspicion on our part was a date! ONE date, that’s all, but then it became a few lunches with him and then it became him asking me out and me having no valid reason for declining!”
“Ugh!” he growled in frustration. “You could’ve stalled!”
“Stalled, what? The inevitable? It was going to happen anyway and it doesn’t help with the rest of the Tarot breathing down my neck! I never have a moment to myself anymore, I don’t make my own decisions, I’m being dictated by this Curse!”
“Not long ago, you were grateful for the Tarot,” he said, not so much yelling anymore, but slowing to a scary calmness that was worse than the hollering. “It gave you purpose, you said. And I agreed because it led me to you. But now I’m not so sure about that.” He shoved his hands through his hair. “Do you have any idea how aggravating this is for me?!” Back to screaming.
“For YOU?! Are you kidding me? Everything is being taken away from me all because of this life I’ve been dealt! I was fine, perfectly fine, until I met…” I stopped short, realizing what it was that I was going to say.
“Until you met me,” he finished for me, in his calm, venomous tone. I was internally begging him to yell again. Anything was better than this stormy chilled expression. His eyes were boiling with torture and what I really hoped wasn’t hatred for me. Maybe hatred for the Curse, but it was probably hatred for me. “I’m sorry I ever walked into your life, Miss Holmes.”
My throat froze and an icy wind consumed my body, holding me in place like the useless, stupid, heartbroken little girl I was. I physically ached.
He bowed stiffly to me and I nearly collapsed. His voice was thick, and barely controlled. Shaking with anger. “From now on, you will be my Priestess and student and nothing else, I promise.”
My lip was quivering and Mr. Matthews became a watery blob in my blurry vision. I turned away to spare him from dealing with a crying girl, like he once told me that he was horrible at. I had stood as straight as I could and walked out of his apartment with whatever amount of my heart was left and walked home, sobbing the whole way.

Maybe my relationship with Mr. Matthews was destined to fail, like I had expected it to from the start. Goodness forbid I was genuinely happy for any length of time. I was cursed to have everything that made me smile robbed away. That day I returned home, distraught and bawling, I looked for the friend I had left, my trustful feline Mr. Cheezy. Little did I know that my parents had been waiting in the kitchen for when I returned home to tell me that my beloved cat that didn’t love me back had lived a long, happy life, but that it was his time for him to go to kitty heaven that morning. Dad had found him when he rushed back home because he forgot a file for work and he saw Mr. Cheezy lying in a sunspot in the living room, with not a breath left in him.
So I had started crying even harder, if that was possible.
And there I was crying again before the prom.
There was a knock on my door. “Rae! Can I come in?”
“No, Rick! Give a girl a few minutes, will you?!” I pegged my sneaker at the door.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!”
“Please, Rae…”
With a deep breath, I stood up from my bed and unlocked my bedroom door to let Rick in.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said, walking in. I locked the door behind him.
For the first time in years, I dropped into his arms for a hug. So much had changed in such a short amount of time. My tears soaked the collar of his tee and he just patted my back comfortingly. Normally, this would be awkward, but he knew that I just needed someone to hold me right then.
He led me to the bed and sat me down. He glanced at my watch once I stopped gripping him and he said, “S***, you have to start getting ready. Mom told me to come up and get you to open the door so she can do her fairy godmother magic, but your eyes…they’re all puffy and red.”
“No s***! I know that!” I snapped.
“Alright…. Well, go get in the shower. Mom wants you shampooed and clean in a half hour.”
I nodded and wiped my nose with my wrist. Then, just to gross him out, I wiped my sleeve on his shirt.
“Oh, that’s nasty,” he murmured and then looked up at me. “A year ago, you wouldn’t dream of doing that, but you’ve come out of your shell. I don’t know if I’m happy for you or pissed off.”
I gave a halfhearted smirk and a wink before going to the shower and scrubbing myself down slowly. When I opened the shower curtain, my mother was standing there at the sink, setting up millions of different cosmetics and hair products. She was going to play Barbie doll again.
But first things first.
“Mom!” I squealed in shock, pulling the curtain back over my body. “A little warning, maybe, that you came in?”
“Oh, please. I changed your diapers and gave you baths. I’ve seen you naked hundreds of times,” she said, casually setting up her mini salon.
Yeah, but I was seventeen, this was different. I grabbed a towel out of the basket next to the shower and wrapped it around myself. My mother took hold of my wrist and yanked me out of the shower to sit me down on top of the covered toilet.
Then she set to work, jib-jabbering the whole two hours I sat there. I hadn’t exactly been talking to my mother very much since the big blow up, but now she was back to filling the empty air with her endless chatter. I used to think all that talking was pointless, but it now sounded like a lullaby.
I dozed off somewhere during the process, but when I woke up again, she was in the middle of my mascara, so I opened my eyes and screwed it up. She had to use eye make-up removed to start over on that eyes and scolded me, but she was too excited to seriously scold me.
When it was done, I looked in the mirror. It was the princess effect again. She made up my face so well, I almost looked like a model, and my hair was up in an expert French twist with black curls dangling from it, framing my porcelain face. I didn’t recognize myself.
When the dress was on, I was knocked speechless though.
I wore a long, flowing ice blue gown that hugged my body in a good, shaping way and made my eyes pop like gems. I wore a pair of four-inch high stilettos so I was tall and looked almost graceful when standing still. I smiled and the princess in the mirror smiled. I lifted my hand to touch my face and the fairy followed suit. It was then that I realized that she was me and I was her and we were beautiful.
Okay.
I was beautiful.
But it was a scary, detached feeling, like I didn’t belong in this dress and didn’t deserve this face. Maybe it wasn’t that I was separated from how I looked, but who I was looking this good for. Garret was my friend and I was getting all dressed up and gorgeous, but for some reason when I think about him asking me to the prom, all that comes to mind is the lovely little bicker that Mr. Matthews and I had directly after. And then us making up from that fight.
“A kiss from milady’s lips?” he had asked.
“A token of my gratitude.”
My heart did a twist at the memory, and I try to keep on a smile or at least a straight face rather than a frown while I put my earrings in. They were like dripping diamonds, sparkling and icy. I expected them to be cold to the touch, but they were just warm from sitting nestled in the velvet-lined jewelry box where my mother kept all of her special accessories.
The doorbell had rung so my mother scuttled out not five minutes before and then she called from downstairs, “Rae! Garret’s here!”
I took a deep breath and went through the same grand entrance that I had for my first Tarot meeting and I had been nervous that first time because Mr. Matthews was at the bottom of the steps. But now I just felt sick because it felt wrong. Most girls wanted to see their prom date’s face light up when she entered the room, like he was the luckiest boy in the world to have her on his arm. I didn’t want that, not then, because that would make me feel even guiltier.
When I walked down the steps, Garret was waiting, with a smile on his face where his teeth actually showed, which was special. He almost never smiled that widely. And I smiled myself because this was a friendly smile, not an “Oh my God, you’re the most beautiful date in the world” smile. A smile that said, “I’m really happy you’re my friend and that you’re about to endure this prom torture with me.”
“Your parents didn’t come for pictures?” Mom asked him once I was standing next to Garret in his very chic tuxedo.
“They’re out of town,” he explained. Mom nodded and then he turned to me. I had seen the bulge in his jacket before, but now he pulled out a corsage made up of blue roses and baby’s breath framed with lush green leaves. “I guessed well,” he chuckled quietly to me. “I had no idea what your dress looked like so I took a shot in the dark and when with your eye color.” He took my wrist gently in his hands and slid the corsage on.
I smiled and looked up at him. “I guess we’ll be matching then. I got you a boutonnière.” Mom handed me a plastic box with a blue rose boutonnière and leaves with a tiny daisy. Mom took a picture of me pinning it on his lapel. Rick was watching from the living room entrance, leaning against the wall in his pajamas. He went to the junior prom, but I was going to the senior prom that night and he wasn’t asked by an older girl so I’d be the only Holmes at the hotel ballroom where it would be held that night.
“Drive safely,” Mom said when we were leaving and got in a red sports car that I had never seen before.
I got in cautiously, afraid I’d break something inside the very expensive car.
“Where did this come from?” I asked as the engine purred smoothly to life.
“Sorry I didn’t get a limo. This is my uncle’s car.” Garret turned and smiled at me. “Here we go,” he murmured as we pulled out of the driveway and my mom waved at us until we were down the road and then probably until we were two blocks away.
The hotel was all set up for our school’s prom. It had a banner above the entrance that welcomed up and the road was lit up for the limousines and cars. Teenagers I semi-recognized got out of their vehicles like royalty down the red carpet that led to the entrance. The valet took the cars and let the limos go so after Garret gave the valet the keys, we hooked arms and walked into the hotel.
Before we knew it, we were in the ballroom where tables and food was already set up while a DJ played rock and pop and all the new music, blasting from every corner. It was decorated like a grand gala and everyone looked their best. When Garret and I walked through the crowd to get to the tables, I got a few looks that said “Who is that chick?”
We found a free table and sat down and a waiter came and asked us what we’d like. We both got the pasta and the waiter walked away to cater to other groups of loud teenagers.
Garret tried to shout something over the music that sound something like, “That book was grazing!” which made no sense.
“What?” I asked, straining to be heard.
“You look amazing!” he shouted again.
“Oh.” That made a little more sense. “Thank you! You look very handsome!”
“Thanks!”
That was our last conversation for a while. That was fine with us. What I enjoyed most about Garret’s company was that I didn’t have to talk much to have a fine time.
“Rae, right?” I turned to the voice and it was a very familiar boy standing at our table with a big grin. “Whoa, you look great!”
Then I remembered. “Tony! From homeroom, right?”
He nodded. “Damn, you look hot! Don’t tell your brother I said that of course, he’d kick my ass!”
I laughed a little and he said, “Hey, do you wanna dance? Just one?” He looked to Garret. “Mind if I steal her for a minute?”
“No problem,” Garret said simply and I shook a little with nervousness as I got up, taking Tony Ireman’s big hand and feeling his grip, I remembered why the lacrosse team called him Iron Man as more than just a pun off his last name. He had strong hands and probably couldn’t help holding tight but he took me onto the dance floor as one of the big radio hits came on and he spun me around and began stepping to the beat. Me, not having any idea how to dance, followed his stepping. He was respectful of my space, unlike the guys right next to us grinding with a few girls, basically having an orgy with clothes on. It was comfortable, moving to the beat and getting closer, then further apart, just stepping with the music.
When the song was over he smiled, mockingly bowed and said, “Thank you, miss. Now I can brag in the locker room that I danced with the hottest girl here.” I blushed and he gently tapped my shoulder with his fist. “Thanks again, sweetheart.” He winked. “I’ll let you get back to your date.”
He was really nice, I was glad he’s friends with my brother.
Back at me and Garret’s table we ate our pasta as cleanly as we could and I didn’t stain myself once. That in itself was an accomplishment. That’s when you know your existence is a sad one – when you’re proud of yourself for not getting sauce on your outfit during dinner.
“I’m going to go out to the courtyard for a cigarette!” he told me after he and I got up to walk around for about a half hour and I nodded. He left while I continued walking around, trying to list every movie where something goes bad for the heroine at a prom and I was up to about thirteen when my cell phone began vibrating. The buzzing wasn’t comfortable because I didn’t have a handbag or pockets so I’d stuck it between my boobs and my chest was already big enough that the cell wasn’t even noticeable. I was pretty excited when I found out that I had permanent, portable pockets with me 24/7.
I pulled it out and didn’t bother checking the number. I put it to my ear and walked out to the bathroom. “Hello? Hello, Rae here. Who is this?” I asked once I was out of the music-thumping room.
It was Mr. Matthews’s voice. “Rae? Rae, there’s an emergency. You need to get Garret to take you home.”
“He just left to have a smoke,” I said, my pulse rising.
“Then go find him! Quickly!”
I shut the phone and went to the hotel’s front desk to ask where the courtyard was and they pointed me the way. I went out the door and into the chilly night air. The night was an indigo nestling the earth in a cool mist. The stars were already twinkling even though it was just the end of twilight and the moon was a perfect half-circle, with a halo glowing around it.
The courtyard wasn’t all that big, but one end was bordered by woods. There were benches and those big containers filled with sand that look like vases but are actually ashtrays. I didn’t see Garret anywhere.
“Garret?” I called. “Garret! There’s an emergency, I just got a call –”
“A call? From whom?”
I spun on my heels to find two men I’d never seen before, but a bad feeling wrenched in the pit of my stomach.
“Who are you?” I asked, staying calm.
“We are the ones who called you,” said the sleek, chilled voice who spoke just a moment before. He was tall and handsome, with blonde hair and a perfectly trimmed goatee. He looked to be in his early twenties and dressed in a fine, all-black suit. His companion, though, was even taller than him with brown hair and five o’clock shadow. He was the same age and they shared the same deep blue eyes and similar noses. Obviously they were related.
“No…You didn’t call me. Milo –”
“Milo? Oh, you mean your boyfriend Mr. Matthews, right?”
I was stunned into a statue. No one knew about us except for my brother and his brother and neither one would ever –
“You know, Milo was a good friend of mine. But never mind that. Introductions are in order,” he said, with the voice of a gentleman, impeccable manners and a dangerous undertone to his words. “My name is Victor Mason and this is my twin brother Jared Mason. I’m afraid he is the one who called you, not Milo.”
“W-w-what? I don’t understand…”
“See, the Tower of the Tarot is gifted with perfect mimicry.”
“If he’s the tower…that makes you…”
“The Devil. Yes, you’re right. You’re a smart young lady, aren’t you? And a gorgeous one at that, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
Fire ran in my blood. “I do mind, actually,” I said with as much venom as I could.
The Devil, Victor, smiled wider. “And you’ve got sass. Courageous. The Tarot really hit the Priestess jackpot, didn’t they? That’s good, since they’ve got to make up for what they lost when they kicked me out.”
“They didn’t kick you out. The first Devil was the doer of that deed. He killed and cursed the whole Tarot. If it weren’t for your wayward soul, there would be no Curse,” I said as firmly and steadily as I could manage in the cold air which felt like it was dropping degrees by the second. That was strange since it was summer.
“I suppose so, but still the war rages on. Don’t worry, I haven’t come here to hurt you, only to warn you.” His smile grew on his face. “Are you getting cold? You really haven’t learned to block your mind from other Tarot, have you? See, I can control your senses mentally. Technically, I could make you freeze right where you are in the warm summer night. But, no, I’m not going to do that.”
Suddenly the cold was released in the blink of an eye.
“No. Like I said I’ve come to warn you,” he said while I shook off the goose flesh spread all over my body.
“Warn me about what?” I demanded, really wishing that I knew how to use my gifts as well as this Devil or at least as well as Mr. Matthews and Stella or Matt.
He smiled serenely, mischief dancing in his eyes. “In one year, I will be back and ready to defeat you. I hear that you have your heart set on beating me and breaking the Curse, but I can’t allow that, though I’m going to let you have a sporting chance. I fight fairly and win fairly. One year, that’s how long you have to master your powers and be ready to face me. Seeing as the only way found to break the Curse is to kill the one who casted the Curse in the first place, it will be a fight to the death.”
I felt a mental shove that tossed me backwards onto my back. I hurriedly scrambled up to do something – talk, fight, stare, something – but they were already gone. The Devil had given me a time limit and the Tower stood there like a faithful minion.
He had almost frozen me. He knocked me backwards with his mind. He gave me a time limit. Even with 365 days of practice, I could never become that powerful.
In one year, I was going to die.

One Year Later...

“Hey, Rae! What’s up?” someone said to me in passing. I didn’t exactly see who it was, but it was a female voice and they were happy to see me. I mumbled a response, distracted and out of whack. From the end of junior year and since the beginning of that senior year, I had gotten a lot of admiration from the student body and got lots of hellos in the halls. I had learned to kindly respond and smile and become a social icon at my high school, while no one even realized I existed all through freshman and sophomore years. Everyone still thought I was a transferred student or something of that nature, but coming out as Rick’s sister was a one-way ticket into popularity.
I was no mean girl cheerleader, though. Actually, the opposite. Everyone knew my name and respected me on some level since I won in the election for senior year’s class president and I was head editor of the newspaper. I also helped decorate the gym for special occasions and helped with scenery in the drama club where I hung out with Stella.
Every day was full of smiles and favors I was happy to do, but that day was not one of those days.
I was hurrying through the halls, just trying to make it from one class to the next, make it through that class as quickly as possible, and then make sure I had no homework.
Everything was going really smoothly until my boyfriend appeared beside me and held my hand.
“Hola, Rae,” Josh said, slowing me down, but I tried to act like this wasn’t a problem. “Lo que tienes en mente?” What’s on your mind? he asked. He just got back from Spanish class.
“Nothing, just trying to get through the day, you know?” I said, stopping in front of my English class which I was too early to. I was so early, that my teacher hadn’t even arrived yet. “I’ve just been a little off lately.”
“I’ll say. You love school.”
I nodded. “I do. Just not today.”
“Okay, well, if you want, we could go to dinner today? Or maybe we could hit a movie?”
I frowned. “I really wish I could, but I’ve got lessons today.”
He moaned. “Always with the lessons.” He smirked and shook his head. “I never get to see you anymore.”
“I know, and I’m sorry, but I’ve got to really harness my gifts before…well, you know….It’s been a year, so I’ve got to be careful more now than ever.”
“How do you know he didn’t say that just to make you crazy paranoid like this?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Pinpoint intuition, remember?”
“Okay, but did he say exactly one year, like on that same night? Or like, about a year, like a year and a few weeks or a year and a few months?”
I sighed. “I know what he meant, Josh. He meant in one year, which means any day now. I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to take care of this.”
He nodded with understanding. “I know.” He smiled. “You’re so determined. I love that about you.” He bent down and pressed a kiss to my lips. From being so busy, I’d almost forgotten how full and sweet Josh’s lips were. I went on my tiptoes to prolong the kiss that could almost fill the hole in my chest, but we heard the clearing of a throat and pulled apart.
“Sorry, you two. You know the school policy on PDA,” said the teacher with my English teacher’s keys in his hand. This was the one teacher I’d been avoiding and almost succeeding at avoiding for a very long time.
“Mr. Matthews! Um…what’re you doing here?” I asked, looking up at the straight face of Milo Matthews.
“I’m the substitute for Ms. Valentine. She’s out today.” He stuck the key in the door and twisted it open.
Josh leaned down to give me a final hug and whispered in my ear, “Everybody seems off today. I’ll talk to you later, baby, okay?”
“Bye.” I gave a short wave to him as he walked away before entering my English class and finding Mr. Matthews, still straight-faced, writing on the board in chalk. “What’s up with you?” I asked.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked, sounding bored.
“Oh, don’t play stupid with me! I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen you not smiling in the two years I’ve known you.”
He turned around and leaned against the chalkboard. “You’re not supposed to speak to your teachers that way.”
I rolled my eyes. “Please. Like I haven’t said worse to you. Now tell me what’s wrong.”
“Are you asking as a student, the Priestess, or my ex-girlfriend?” he asked quietly.
I looked around and there was still no one in the classroom or near the door. “The Priestess,” I answered, masking us with the appearance that we’re just discussing a paper calmly if any kids walked in. I learned that a while before, how to create an illusion like the Magician. Being the Priestess, I had almost all abilities that the rest of the Tarot had, embedded in my brain. Making it float to the surface and learning was the hard part.
“Then, you being my boss, it’s not appropriate for me to answer.”
“Then tell me as a friend.”
He whispered, “I wish we were friends, Rae, but you and I both know that we can’t be.”
Students began filtering into the room and I dropped the illusion and sat in my seat. I scribbled while Mr. Matthews relayed on Ms. Valentine’s lesson plans. I zoned off into my dream world, sifting through visions mentally, trying to pick my way psychically through the future to get some kind of hint on the Devil.
Then I had a vision that made me gasp.
The vision was of the Devil, lying on the floor, with bullet hole in his forehead, pale and lifeless. Beside him was his brother the Tower, with the same wound and same dead face and corpselike quality to his body. I was afraid that this was the future for me, that I killed them in a desperate fight to break the Curse, and I didn’t want to be a killer, so I zoomed in on the vision some more. They were in the middle of a messy, ransacked room where a brawl could’ve went down and I saw, on the screen of the cracked laptop, the frozen date that matched last Saturday’s. They were dead since last Saturday, my gut was saying so.
I came back from my vision, to the present and saw that there was about five minutes left of class and Mr. Matthews was about to assign homework even though it was the last few weeks of school. I could hear it about to happen, psychically, of course. So I began manipulating his train of thought, getting him off-subject mentally. I persuaded him – not to be confused with mind-controlling – to say, “No homework tonight, just study.”
I couldn’t be busy with homework, so I’d been mentally persuading, nudging the teachers in the no-homework direction.
I knew Mr. Matthews would figure out right away what I’d done, so I rushed out of the room and out into the zoo-like halls of high school. I almost slipped on a flier for graduation as I sprinted to my locker, giving everyone the illusion I was walking, and slammed everything shut inside. I was doing research for the rest of the day.

It finds out that their obituaries were posted in Pennsylvania two days after the date I saw on the broken computer in my vision. They were killed in a motel room and according to other hotels’ records, they had a few more lined up, going in the direction of where I was.
And no, the obituary section did not divulge that much information.
Matt was released from juvenile hall just weeks before his eighteenth birthday a couple of months ago and was all for skipping class and doing some dirty work in his old secret closet from his first round of senior year. He had to repeat the grade because of grades and testing and other things, so he was back in school with me, which I was grateful for since Garret had left for college and was only back in town on the weekends.
“They were definitely making their way towards you,” Matt said, scrolling down the list of hotel rooms.
“But this is…good, kinda, right? I mean, I don’t have to get killed. I’m not saying that I’m happy they’re dead or murdered by what looks like a mob job, but I don’t have to fight the Devil.”
“No…but, see, that doesn’t mean the Curse is broken,” he said. “The rules are that he has to die at your hands or else his soul will reincarnate. Anyway, if it was another Tarot, you still have to do some dirty work.”
“What do you mean by ‘if it was another Tarot’?”
“Oh, you don’t know? If a Tarot that isn’t the Priestess kills the Devil, he absorbs all his powers. If any Tarot kills another, they get all the gifts that the dead possessed. Creepy, huh?”
I gulped. “But the chances that it was another Tarot are like, what? A million to one?”
“Oh, yeah, definitely. This was probably a hit job because of Victor Mason’s mafia connections. He probably owed money or something.” He shrugged and closed his laptop. “Well, congratulations, Rae. You’re not dying at eighteen. Sure, the Curse isn’t broken, but hell, you’re alive!”
Those should’ve been such a relief to hear…but something still didn’t set right with me. I was not relieved.

Leaving school that day under a steel gray sky I got a phone call and I answered it without looking at the number. “Rae here,” I answered. Matt was walking beside me, laptop in its case swinging at his side.
“There’s a problem and we need to meet soon,” Mr. Matthews said urgently. I tried to stop my heart from fluttering at the sound of his voice like it always did.
“Okay, where do we meet?”
“At the Chesterwood Bridge. Five minutes.” The line went dead. Apparently this really was an emergency, but to meet at the old rickety bridge? The thing was roped off for a reason. But I figured it had something to do with the river below it.
I told Matt that I’d see him later and I suppose he could see I was shaken, so he just ran his hands through his long orange hair and shrugged before I took off.
The woods were only a block away from school. I rushed to them as it began to rain and I saw, entering the trees, the back of Mr. Matthews’s long black coat and his top hat. Perfect! We got there at the same time. I was about to shout his name, but the rain was gaining power and making too much of a slapping on the pavement. He wouldn’t have been able to hear me from that distance away and definitely not as he plunged deeper into the woods so I couldn’t see him anymore.
I picked up my pace, careful not to slip and fall on the water. I got under the cover of the trees, but that did nothing. The rain was getting so heavy that the boughs and leaves did nothing but get heavier and hit me in the head a few times.
I still saw the top-hat and coat figure weaving through the trunks and stepping over bushes in the direction of the Chesterwood Bridge. I tried calling out Mr. Matthews’s name a few times, but it was pointless. I just trekked through the muddy and stuffy wood, following behind the man who, the first time I saw him, I believe to be a Shadow. I thought Milo was a sign of bad fortune the first moment I set my eyes on him, but I learned that he wasn’t a bad omen. He was a wonderful omen, a sun that shown through the dark haze I was living in. He was never the Shadow from my nightmares, but a man that I had loved.
Hiking through these woods in the rain, my stomach was still churning, but I figured it was leftover from before when I was with Matt. All I could think of was about the times I hated Mr. Matthews compared to the times I knew I loved him. It was a strange feeling, which I never let reach the surface over the last year. I had just stuffed down every secret memory and tried to live my life like the Tarot expected me to.
Josh was my fiancée-to-be and he was kind and sweet and I truly adored him, but when he held me I had fuzzy, warm feelings. When Milo had held me, it was like being set on fire and having every inch of me charged and hyper sensitive and so, indescribably radiant.
Meeting Mr. Matthews was like the beginning of my life. When I met him, the events of the Tarot followed soon after. I grew up. I owe it all to the Curse and to Milo, but I pushed that to the back of my mind as I continued in his wake, about fifteen, maybe twenty feet behind. Then I saw the Chesterwood Bridge in sight and he was standing on it, back to me, probably waiting for my arrival.
I stepped onto the first creaky panel of wood. “Mr. Matthews, you shouldn’t stand on there! It’s not safe!” I shouted to him over the pound of rain and the rushing of the river that’s rapids were flowing about ten feet below our shoes, under the unstable wood of the bridge.
Mr. Matthews turned around…
Only it wasn’t Mr. Matthews. It was Garret.
On the weekends I saw Garret when he was home from college, my first instinct was to go up to him and high-five or hug. But at that moment, all I could feel was the rain drenching me and the dreadful, aching pain swirling in my stomach. I could’ve made a few excuses to myself – he borrowed Mr. Matthews’s coat and was going to meet him here as well, this was just a little prank or surprise for Garret coming home early – but I knew right away that this was not right.
“You’re right, Rae,” Garret said in the strangest voice I’d ever heard come from his mouth. “This bridge isn’t safe. Do you know why?”
I ignored the question. “What are you doing here?”
“Why, are you disappointed? I know, you were expecting Milo, but he doesn’t even know you’re here.” I’d never heard him speak so much, or so loudly and casually. He reminded me of a jaguar, pacing back and forth with a smile, danger lurking under the surface, thinking he isn’t going to pounce unless you do first.
In a voice that sounded so much like Mr. Matthews that I looked around for him, Garret said, “Rae, you’ve always been clever, but not cleverer than me.”
I had a flashback to a year ago, the Devil saying… “See, the Tower of the Tarot is gifted with perfect mimicry.”
My breath caught in my throat. Matt had just told me that if a Tarot killed another Tarot that –
“You’re smart,” Garret said, back to his normal voice. He took off the top hat and set it on the railing of the bridge that was missing some poles and pegs. “I know that you’re putting together everything in your head, and I commend you for it. Only there’s a problem. You probably don’t have any idea how this began.”
“I can guess,” I said, staying strong, glaring at the boy who I thought was my best friend.
“Since we were thirteen in Dr. Cockney’s office I always liked you, Rae. You seemed like someone that would have their futures intertwined with mine. I was at that awkward stage where I was still afraid of my powers; thought, I was ultimately afraid that one day I would have to face predicting your death. But when I found out that you were the Priestess, well that just made it even more complicated. Teenage boy feelings.” He rolled his eyes. “Not long after you first kissed that jackass Milo Matthews, Mr. Victor Mason came into town. He had a plan and I had the answer.
“My job was simple enough. I had to watch you, watch the Tarot. I had to make you fall for me, though that was a bust. Oh yeah, I had to get the s*** kicked out of me and make you think that Matt was responsible, then make it sound like he was in a gang when all it was were a bunch of stoners who sat around their garage and wouldn’t lift a finger for anyone.” He scoffed. “Matt thought he was so badass, didn’t he? Well, he wasn’t so badass when I framed him for burning down that flower shop, now was he?” He laughed like that was entertaining. “Sorry about being late for dinner that night, by the way, I needed to finish up that little errand.
“But, hey, you still managed to fare pretty well. You had your prince charming for a while before all that engagement drama. But long before even that, you took that beating from the guys who caught you in front of my house like a real trooper. Yeah, those were hired by me. We couldn’t have the Tower do it because when he hit you, you’d feel the signature tingle from a fellow Tarot. And through all of this, you still kept that smile, and your chin up.” His smiling face suddenly soured and he growled in anger. “Ugh! Why did you have to be that way, dammit? It would’ve been so much easier if you’d just stayed hopeless and weak like you used to be, but NO. You had to become the perfect little Priestess.” He took a slow step towards me, his dark brown hair now black from the rain, and flattened against his forehead and neck.
All along, he was the Shadow from that nightmare before all this began. I’d thought Milo was because of the coat and hat, but no…It was Garret, the Tarot of Death.
“Victor wanted to win against you, fair and square.” He was quiet now and I could barely catch his words over the rain and the whipping, frothing rapid water. He shook his head. “Only he didn’t see what you were becoming. You had the potential to beat him. I couldn’t let that happen.”
“Don’t you want the Curse broken, Garret?” I asked, steadily, but without much volume. “Why would you want to live with this Curse that made you hate yourself for so long?”
“I did hate myself, but I was naïve,” he hissed. “I was stupid. I didn’t realize that this Curse wasn’t a curse at all…it was a gift, it’s power. Being a Tarot makes me a god.” He shook his head. “But I’m just Death. Predicting the demise of others is great and all, but not the kind of power I have in mind and, like I said, I couldn’t gain that power if you beat Victor. So, I killed him and his brother and took every one of their Tarot gifts.”
I gasped and almost vomited, but held it down. To hear him say it so casually, that he was a killer, was too much to take. All I could do was stare. I stared in shock, in horror, in sorrow. He had gone mad.
“Victor didn’t see the big picture,” Garret said with a shrug. “He didn’t see that killing just you wasn’t enough. I plan on getting every single Tarot power, and to do that in the easiest way is to have control.”
Though I already knew the answer, I asked anyway. “And how do you plan on doing that?”
His cruel, grotesquely handsome smile spread across his face. “Three people have died on this bridge. Congratulations, Miss Holmes, you’re going to be number four.”
I tried to turn and run, but I couldn’t move. Literally, every bone in my body was motionless and stiff as wood or metal. I no longer had control.
“I love Victor’s powers,” he said with relish. “I can paralyze whoever I want, including you. And I can block your gifts, so don’t bother trying anything.”
He walked over and took from his breast pocket a flower: a black Dahlia. He brushed back my hair and the tingling touch of his hand made me nauseous. I still had control of my mouth though and I spit in his face. He just wiped it off, still smiling, looking at me like I was an amusing child. He put the flower behind my ear and put the plans of my murder into action.
“I thought this up just for you, Rae,” he said as he was duct-taping my wrists and hands together tightly. “This bridge is flat over the river, not arched like most bridges and the second of the three who died had been whipped right off because the rapids of the river reached right over the wood and flooded it. With all the summer rain, the river’s been filling up a lot.” He got down on his knees to tape my ankles together. “So the river will flood again. And the water will rise very high.”
My heart was racing faster and faster as he lifted me up over his shoulder then set me down in front of the railing where two pegs were missing. He stuck me through the gap and hung me from the bridge, taping my ankles to the railing poles that were accounted for. My mouth was duct-taped as well so I couldn’t scream, but I began spinning while my heart was pumping heavily and at the speed of light. Blood rushing to my brain, I faintly heard the sound of someone in the brush as I almost passed out.
Upside-down, I saw Matt come out of the trees and ran right to Garret to punch him in the face. “I knew something was off about you, but I didn’t think you were a murderer,” Matt growled, wrestling against Garret’s grip on his wrists. “You were my best friend.”
“I was never your friend, Matt,” Garret said coldly. “I’m not friends with pathetic wimps like you. You were merely a stepping stone to my real goal.”
“So you goal is to kill the girl that you’ve been in love with since you were thirteen?!”
Garret hooked him right in the jaw. Matt regained his balance and tried to get at me, but Garret threw him into the other side of the bridge, shaking the entire thing. I heard the crack of wood, but I wasn’t sure where it was coming from.
They came back into my view and began to tousle, all the while rain is streaming down and filling the river. My long hair was hanging, swinging with the motion of the bridge from the fight, and the tips of it almost brushed the water.
I heard grunts and growls, fury being thrown back and forth between the two friends while the water rose higher and high. Before I knew it, half my hair was underwater. I wiggled and writhed, hoping that I could do something, but I was paralyzed by Garret and if I fell into the water, I’d die anyway. There was no was no way to get out of it.
Garret had the upper hand. He was taller, stronger, and had more power, though he hadn’t frozen Matt yet. Matt was shorter, thinner, more of a fire-setter than a fighter which was useless in the rain.
Then everything happened very quickly.
Matt jabbed Garret in the gut. Garret fell to his knees and I knew he was faking it, but Matt didn’t. Garret was reaching into the pocket of the black coat and I was screaming to Matt, but it was muffled by the tape. I was wriggling and trying to send the message to him, but it didn’t work. Matt was bending over Garret to do more damage while he was down, but Garret flipped out the knife and stabbed Matt, right through the heart.
I screamed another muffled scream and Matt fell to his knees and I could hear, as loud as an explosion, the last breath that came from Matt Bell’s lips on his shocked face. Stricken, his innocent, boyish expression was forever frozen in naïve disbelief. Truly, he never expected his best friend to be capable of killing him and as the last sigh left his body, Matt was the proof that he was.
The water was already hitting my forehead and I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even wiggle anymore. And this time it wasn’t from Garret’s powers, it was from pure and unfiltered terror. I could’ve died at that moment and not noticed.
I knew Garret had killed Victor and Jared Mason, but I just saw and could’ve prevented him from killing his best friend Matt Bell.
I even had to listen to the sound of Garret’s footfalls fleeing the crime scene. I was the only witness and I was about to become a victim myself. No one would ever know what truly happened.
“Rae? Rae!” I heard a distant voice calling. I knew who it was and this time I couldn’t be hoodwinked again. I made noises, hoping at least the muffled sound was enough. “Matt, where are you? You sent me this text-message to save Rae!” The voice was getting closer and closer. Then the footsteps were right above me and my whole head was underwater. I made whatever splashes I could by swaying my head. “Oh dear God!”
Mr. Matthews pulled me up from the river and up onto the bridge where he ripped off the tape across my mouth. I took deep, gasping and coughing breaths that turned into immediate sobs and Mr. Matthews bent over Matt’s body, where a huge gaping hole in his chest had bled all it could bleed, the knife gone.
“What happened?” Mr. Matthews’s voice was shivering, and not because of the cold. “Rae, what happened?”
“Garret… Garret killed him. He tried to kill me. He’s gone crazy, Milo…” I was broken off by another wave of nausea and tears. “He killed the Devil and Tower.” I hung my head. “He killed Matt.”
That was enough. The rest of the story could wait until later.
I had once thought of Garret as my rock, but little did I known that he’d rather smash me over the head with one than be one. He had been the only stable thing I could hold onto and it had all been an act anyway.
I don’t know how long I had been on that bridge while Mr. Matthews tried ripping off whatever tape he could from my wrists and ankles after he called the ambulance. Later on I heard that they’d tried to revive him, but he was dead. He’d been dead the moment his friend turned on him. Even though I was the one that wasn’t supposed to make it out alive, Matt had reaped the consequences of my actions.
And every night after that day, the blood rushes to my head and I could feel the water shooting down at me in buckets, ready to drown me, my heart being the target.
I no longer had to sleep to be in a nightmare.