Authors: Fabio Bueno
One of the best things about not having school is spending the morning with your hot boyfriend. His sister is in school; his father, at work. We have the house to ourselves. But we stay in the bedroom.
For once, Seattle’s weather is welcoming. The trickle of raindrops on the roof is relaxing. My phone plays an endless Maroon 5 playlist at such a low volume that we can’t hear the lyrics. Not that we’re paying any attention to the sounds around us.
Drake and I have lost our shirts, and we’re under the sheets. From time to time, we stop to rest.
I’m in no hurry. We have all the time in the world.
During one of these breaks, he props himself on one elbow while I
lie down by his side, my eyes closed. He touches the tattoo on my hips, lingering there for a while. I catch my breath, but his hand moves to caress the fading scar on my arm, then the one on my temple. I feel his fingertip tracing my forehead, my eyebrows, the bridge of my nose, my cheekbones. His slightest touch sets my body on fire.
Only the natural light of a dark gray day enters the room through the rain-stricken windows. The softness of the dim light allows me to be less shy. It’s cold outside, but in here, the heat increases.
I roll onto his chest and kiss his neck softly. It’s his turn to keep his eyes shut. My pale skin contrasts with his darker complexion. His arms embrace me in a loose grip while my lips make their way to his broad swimmer’s shoulders. I dare to give him soft bites. I’m not sure what he likes, but until he tells me to stop, I’ll enjoy myself. My kisses spread to his toned upper body. His chest goes up and down as he takes deep breaths. My hands cannot stop touching his hardened abs.
The fragrance of lavender and aloe body wash entices me. Drake was taking a shower when I let myself in this morning. I thought hard about being
very
forward then, but I decided for the slow approach. I’m glad I did. Now I can’t help it: I’m giving in to my impulses.
“Do you like it?” I whisper.
“I do.” His response is almost inaudible.
“Would you like to do the same to me?”
He smiles and opens his eyes. I lie back and pull him toward me.
Drake does as requested and kisses me, starting with the side of my neck. It
tickles me at first, but before long, goose bumps spread over my skin. His kisses are firmer, stronger. His warm breath stirs me. When he reaches my shoulder, he slides my bra straps down with gentleness. I know the smallest movement might make him hesitate, so I stay still. But he just leaves the bra, untouched, partially covering me, and takes his lips down to my belly. My back arches; my muscles tighten. Soon I loosen up and let out an involuntary moan. He knows me; he knows how to drive me crazy.
“Enjoying it?” he asks in a low tone.
“Very much.” My eyes are still shut. I giggle.
“What?”
“You’re using your bedroom voice,” I say.
“I like to be accurate, you know, location-wise. I’ll shut up now.”
His lips resume their exploration. He kisses the side of my tummy and comes back to the region he skipped. His mouth touches the exposed top of my chest.
I melt.
“Wait…” I tell him.
He pulls back slowly. I look at him. He’s still smiling.
“Excuse me a little bit,” I say, squeezing from under him and leaving the bed.
Drake’s face works hard to hide his disappointment. But he has no reason to.
Still gazing at him, I walk to the bedroom door and lock it. “Just in case,” I say, using
my
bedroom voice.
His full smile returns. His sinuous, sculpted torso beckons.
I go back to him.
Seattle’s maddening weather has never been sweeter. I had never noticed how much the gray clouds look like classic marble sculptures. I decide to leave the car at home and walk.
The
cold breeze lashing at my face makes me feel alive. The constant drizzle of the rain cleanses me and energizes me for a new day. I walk to the pool with light steps, as if I’m floating above the ground. Life is good.
When I arrive at Greenwood, I cast a glance to the main building. They have almost finished removing the debris and cleaning the area. The reconstruction will take some time. I feel a twinge of guilt before remembering it couldn’t have been avoided. It was an accident, and nobody got hurt. Well, except Brianna and
me. And we ended up better than expected. You know, alive and all.
Soon the thought leaves my head, and I open the door to the pool building across the street from the school. The pool hasn’t been damaged, and it’s still open for students.
Splashing sounds and chattering startles me. I enter the pool and find the swim team practicing.
I usually pick a time when the pool is deserted, but today I forgot to check. I just wanted to swim.
A lane is reserved for laps for the public. I’ll use that one.
But Coach Summers sees me before I head to the locker room. “Hey, Mr. Hunter! The Black Swan himself. Did you finally decide to join the team?” He gestures to the gang of Speedo-clad, goggle-wearing guys and girls racing in the water.
I smile at him. For some reason, the talk I had with Skye is imprinted in my mind. College. Maybe a swim scholarship.
“May I?”
Skye is right. What’s the big deal? Why can’t I swim with folks? I can do my thing and be eligible for a scholarship if my times are good enough. Maybe things will break my way.
“Come on, don’t be sarcastic with an old man. It’s disrespectful.”
“No, I mean it. May I practice with the team?”
Coach Summers stops and looks at me as if I’m one of the body snatchers’ clones. “What are you talking about? You, the loner, want to join?”
“It’s not actually a team sport, is it?” I say.
His eyes narrow. “It totally is. The events are individual, but we’re a team. Always remember that.”
“Okay,” I say.
He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me.
“So what do you say, Coach? Come on, you’ve been pestering me for months to join the team. And when I finally agree, you treat me like this. Were you joking about it?”
“Are you?”
“I’m a hundred percent serious. I want to try out for the team.”
A smile the size of the skyline blossoms on his face. “That’s great news.” He looks at me and grins like a kid. He catches himself soon, though, and his face regains its crusty expression. He barks, “
What are you waiting for? Get ready and jump in! We don’t have all day.”
“Yes, sir.” I head to the locker, but look back to sneak a peek at him. He’s smiling again.
Good moods are contagious.
***
“What’s up with Sean?” I ask Boulder.
Boulder is driving us to the mall.
In the backseat, Sean types on a laptop. Not only Sean has given up shotgun, he’s silent. And, most shocking of all, typing.
“Hey, Shakespeare,
wanna tell him?” Boulder yells.
“What? I’m writing,” Sean says, eyes glued to the screen.
“Sean’s taking online screenwriting classes. He wants to write the next blockbuster. A Hollywood snob.” Boulder shakes his head.
“Hey, be supportive, dumbass,” Sean tells him.
I agree with Sean. “Yeah, Boulder, don’t be a hater.”
“I’m not a hater. I’m a huge
disliker.”
Sean raises his head. “You’re going to be a character in this one, big man.”
“Really?” Boulder is interested all of a sudden.
“Yeah! I’m thinking Passerby Number Two. You’ll die a gruesome death.”
Sean and I cackle and high-five. I’ve missed that. Being one of the boys.
“You sure you
wanna do that, little writing man? It’s on! It’s
so
on.”
“Where are we going?” I ask.
Boulder says, “I need a new haircut. Need to look good for the Fremont girls. Can’t rely only on my chick lasso.”
Drake and I arrive for our first day at Fremont High. He sees Boulder’s car in an isolated corner of the parking lot, drives up, and parks next to it. The bright yellow Mustang and the muted brown Volvo couldn’t make for a bigger contrast.
Through the window of his car, Boulder nods in our direction. He lowers the window and motions for me to do the same. “Where’s Priscilla?” he asks.
“She texted me. She’s almost here.”
Boulder nods again. It’s weird seeing this hulking guy so nervous. It was his idea to brave the new school together.
Fremont High is the home of the Spartans. Drake told me that when Boulder played football, he caused a full-on brawl between Greenwood and the Spartans. Our old school forfeited the game and Boulder was kicked off the team. He is concerned that the Spartans may gang up on him. And his former teammates, still pissed at him for costing them a victory, most likely won’t come to his rescue.
“Why do you need us?” I ask him. “Priscilla and I wouldn’t do much good in a fight.”
“Guys will die to impress hot girls like you. No way they want you to see them as jerks. Just stay around me, and I’ll be fine.”
“Are you afraid, Boulder?”
“It’s not fear. It’s tactics,” he snarls, glaring at me.
I look past Boulder and see Priscilla sneaking in front of the car. She raises her hands and bangs on the Mustang’s hood.
Boulder jumps in his seat. Priscilla laughs and walks between the two cars, approaching our windows.
“You on edge, big boy?”
He grumbles. “Just be careful with the machine.”
Priscilla chuckles. “Okay, I’m here to protect you. Can we go now?”
The four of us get out of the cars and assemble. People are already staring at us.
“Don’t worry,” Sean says. “They’re looking at your egg-yolk car, big man.”
“Maybe it’s Drake’s stool-colored one.”
“Hey!” my boyfriend protests.
Priscilla shakes her head. “Let’s get this over with.”
She takes point. Drake holds my hand, and we trail her. Boulder and Sean follow, trying to hide behind the group. They scrunch up a little, looking ridiculous, since they are even taller than Drake.
Boulder’s “tactic” is backfiring. Priscilla looks like a model, and Boulder looks like a linebacker—which he was. Together, they practically force the Fremont students to stare at our group.
I feel a sudden tingling. Two sources of magical energy are closing in on us. I slow down and look back to the parking lot, trying to find the witches. Priscilla, Sean, and Boulder pass me by and continue their awkward march, but I don’t follow them. I’m curious.
Drake stays with me and keeps silent, his hand still holding mine.
The sensation intensifies. Even knowing the general direction, it’s hard for me to determine who they are. Too many students are arriving at the same time.
But a couple of them are turning their attention to me. Two girls. One of them looks familiar. Before I can place her, though, she approaches and greets me.
“Hey, it’s you!” A pierced girl with dark make-up flashes me a broad smile.
I blink a few times before a name comes to me. “Greta?”
She opens her arms, moves forward, and gives me a cozy hug. With her so close to me, the
sensation of my True Sight Charm becomes a faint electric shock. The other girl, a beauty with large brown eyes and curly black hair, wearing a Sailor Moon tee, stares at us with an amused smile. I can easily feel her energy too.
Greta lets me go and turns to Drake. “Hi to you, too. Boyfriend or beard?”
“Boyfriend. Name’s Drake,” he says.
Greta doesn’t blink, but her eyebrows rise the slightest bit. She points to the anime girl. “This is Yara.”
Greta’s pale complexion contrasts with Yara’s. It’s weird seeing them together: a goth girl clad in black and a sunny Sister dressed as if it were summer.
Yara waves to us, exposing an exquisite silver mermaid tattoo on her right arm. I glance at Drake, who is staring at the tattoo. His eyes then go straight to Greta, the silver moon inked on the back of her neck partially visible to him. I tug on his hand to snap him out of it.
“Nice tats,” he says, trying to disguise his indiscretion. “Same color and everything.”
“Yeah,” Greta says slowly, narrowing her eyes and touching the nape of her neck as if by instinct. “BFFs, you know?”
Drake nods, unconvincingly.
I turn to him. “Drake, why don’t you go check on the guys? See if they’re in trouble.”
He looks at me, confused. “I’m sure they’re fine.”
I purse my lips.
“On second thought, they might need me,” Drake says in a hurry. “Nice to meet you.” He nods at Greta and Yara and leaves.
Yara pulls out her phone and starts texting. She does it so quickly her fingers are a blur.
“Is he a Knowing?” Greta asks.
I nod. “Hey, what are you doing here? I thought you went to Ballard.”
Greta shrugs. “This is my school. I just moved temporarily to Ballard to help with the Search. After you found the Singularity, I came back here. Thanks for finding her, by the way. I hated those snobs at Ballard.”
“And Yara was responsible for Fremont?”
“Uh-huh. Come on, let’s go. The bell is about to ring.”
Greta moves to walk and holds my hand, pulling me with her. I don’t know how to react, so I just hold her hand back and walk beside her. I look back and see Yara still pounding the phone, following us with her eyes on the screen.
A commotion at the front steps of the building stops us. Boulder is at the center of the gathering. Why am I not surprised?
“Seriously? You’re coming here?” A big guy is yelling at Boulder. The guy’s oversized belly shows beneath his tight t-shirt. He is sweaty, his shaved head glistening even in the cold weather. A slightly smaller jock has his hand on the chest of the bigger guy, as if holding him back.
Boulder makes an apologetic gesture. “It’s not like I had an option. There was a freaking earthquake.”
Greta whispers to me. “That’s
DeMarcus. He’s our center.”
“Basketball?”
“Football.”
Boulder continues, “Dude, I’m off the team, okay? That good enough for you? Now let’s just go our separate ways.”
DeMarcus points his finger at Boulder. “I don’t care. Because of you, we’ll be having classes there.” DeMarcus’s finger moves to the right of the building. Four portables sit on the football field.
“Behind the portables?” Boulder asks.
“
Inside
the portables, bro,” the smaller big guy answers.
Sean laughs, and everybody looks at him. Boulder elbows him. Sean grabs his side and doubles over, letting out a grunt.
Boulder puts his hand on his forehead and says in a calm voice, “Dude, you can hate me all you want, but you can’t blame me for that.”
The bell rings before
DeMarcus and his buddy can reply. The crowd starts to disperse. The two jocks give my friends murderous sideways glances before joining the throng. Some are going inside the building; others are going to the football field.
Drake and Priscilla emerge from the other side of the crowd and wave to us.
Greta says, “We don’t have enough space for you guys. We’re improvising with portables. The students—” Greta stops mid-sentence and whispers to me, her chin pointing at Priscilla. “Does she have Allure?”
“She’s not a Sister,” I answer.
Boulder looks around and sees us. “Come on, let’s go. Everyone already hates us; no need to make the teachers our enemies too.” He grabs the still bent-over Sean by the collar of his shirt and guides him to the building.
“And who is this big guy?” Greta asks again.
“A troublemaker. And a trouble magnet, too.”
“Just my kind,” she says, showing me a wry smile.