Asphodel (3 page)

I’m puzzled by her wild and crazy antics. “It’s just a piece of fruit.”

She exhales and a calm look forms on her face. Then she places the fruit in her hand on top of the pile and carries the bowl over to the counter. “If you’re hungry I’ll make you some oatmeal.”

Something is going on. She’s keeping something from me. “What’s going on, Mom? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“There is nothing going on, Persephone. I just don’t want you to eat the fruit, okay. We don’t know where it came from.”

I snatch the index card from the table. “I do. Someone named H.”

Her head turns slowly, her eyes slant. She’s silent for a moment, then her turquoise eyes widen, burning into my jade-green ones. “Who?”

She walks toward me as I flip the card over and stare at my name. “All it says is Happy Birthday, love H.”

A worried look appears on her face aging her youthful features in a matter of seconds. She rips the card from my hand and crumbles it in her palm.

“Hey!” I protest. “That was mine!”

“You’re going to be late for school.” Her tone is vacant and she stares off in a trance.

Standing, I fling my back pack over my shoulder. She’s right. I do have to get to school, but I’m not going to just forget about what happened. And I have every intention of bringing this up again when I get home.

Persephone

A
s I walk down my porch steps, thoughts involving my mother’s erratic behavior remain constant. I just don’t understand. What’s with all the craziness? What kind of fruit was she keeping me from eating? I know I’ve seen the fruit somewhere before. But where? Ugh. I rack my brain, trying to remember, but five thousand years of memories are way too many to sort through at one time.

What bothers me more than anything is, no matter what mom tells me, I know she’s lying to me about something.

For the last five thousand years we’ve been on the run, moving every decade sometimes less than a decade. The shortest amount of time we’ve spent in one place is six months. In all, I’ve lived on every continent, in at least seventy five thousand cities, sometimes more than once, and all fifty states. And I’ve never known what or who we’ve been running from.

Mom blames it on the mortals. She says we have to blend. But eventually blending isn’t enough. Then we move and begin the blending process all over again.

Even though mom says the mortals are why we move so often I’ve always had this gut feeling that it’s more than that. There’s another reason because mom knows as well as I do that the mortals aren’t the reason why we left Greece. We left for another reason, something mom refuses to explain. Her vagueness makes me questions her methods every time we pack up and globe trot.

Could we be running from the man behind
the voice?

I’m so involved in my theories, talking to myself, and keeping my eyes on the ground that I don’t even see him coming. Before I can stop myself, I run into him and stumble. He grabs both of my arms and steadies me. “Hey, you.” His voice is full of warmth. “You feeling okay?”

I lift my head and gaze at him. My head spins. I’m dizzy. “Hi, Adonis,” I say and greet him with a nervous smile. “I’m fine. I’m just a little ticked at my Mom.”

Adonis moved next door a few months ago. Him moving here was strange, almost like he blew in with the wind. I could have sworn I saw Mrs. Darwin, the kind little old lady who’d lived there her entire life out in the front yard, gardening a week before he moved in. Then one day, a few days before he showed up she was gone. But I just shrugged it off. She was old and I figured she either died or her kids put her in a home.

Adonis is a year older than me and he usually walks with me to school in the morning. He flashes me a brilliant smile and I quietly take a deep breath. I’ve never in all my years living seen a teenage boy that looked like him. He’s too beautiful for words.

His touch makes me sizzle and I feel like I’m starting to grow limp. He releases me and backs away. The early morning sun kisses his bronzed skin and he looks like he’s shimmering. A sinful smirk and two dimples later and I feel like I can’t breathe.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

We start walking and Adonis reaches into his book bag and hands me a piece of paper. “Happy Birthday,” he says.

My heart flutters and my pulse races. Perspiration forms on my hands. I try to find words, but I’m flustered. As he looks away I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. “Adonis, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

Sometimes he does little things like this that make me wonder if he’s interested in us being more than just friends who walk to school together. One time he picked me a bouquet of wildflowers. Another time he’d sent me a get well card when I lied about being home with the flu. School isn’t that important to someone like me. I can’t even count how many times I’ve actually graduated high school. The only reason I go at all is because of mom and her blending routine. So I fake being sick a lot.

Adonis is always smiling at me and I catch him staring at me every day during lunch even though he has a dozen girls at his table swooning over him.

On top of that, he’s a gentleman, always holding the door open for me when we leave school. He offers to carry my back pack or books or whatever I’m holding at the time and he always asks me if I want to hang out. And it rips me open inside when I have to refuse.

Mom doesn’t let me have friends. And she definitely wouldn’t let me have a boyfriend. A boyfriend would earn me a round trip ticket to another state. I remember one of our debates a few years back when we were living in Massachusetts. A kid from my class who I sort of had a crush on, kissed me and I’d let him. The kiss took place on the front steps of the school, in front of the entire student body, and in front of mom who had been watching it unfold from her mini-van. I took my time walking to the car that day because I could see her face, twisted and bunched up from the school steps. She was furious.

“That’s it!” she’d shouted. Pack up. We’re moving.”

“Mom, no!” I’d protested. “It was just a kiss.”

“Persephone,” she’d said sternly. “You know we’re not like the mortals. If we stay in one place for too long or get too close they’ll start to suspect something. Don’t whine. Pack your things. We leave tomorrow morning.”

I like Oregon. I’m not ready to leave yet.

Adonis gazes into my eyes. “I wanted to. It’s nothing much. Just something I saw in a department store downtown that I thought you’d like. And don’t get mad,” he says. “I know you said you hate celebrating your birthday, but it reminded me of you.”

I beam and laugh giddily. “I’m not mad. I’m just saying you didn’t have to.”

He stops in front of me and I come to a halt. “Open it.” His amber eyes shimmer like topaz gems in the sunlight and are filled with excitement.

Eagerly, I rip into the paper and my breathing stops. “Oh my. Adonis, it’s beautiful.” Fanned out along the heel of my hand is a delicate silver bracelet with an ornate rose charm dangling from it.

“Let me put it on you,” he says with a smile.

After I shove the excess wrapping paper in my book bag, I hold my wrist out and he fastens the bracelet. Lifting my hand, I marvel at the gift and as the sun catches the charm, it glistens.

I shoot him a patronizing look. “Seriously though, how much did something like this cost?”

“Don’t you worry about it. It’s your birthday.”

“Still. You could have spent your money on something you wanted or needed. Instead you spend it on a gift me.”

He shakes his head as a smile spans across his lips. “I have all I want and need. Just do me a favor and enjoy the gift.”

A flicker of light reflecting off the bracelet catches my eye and I look down at it again. Then I glimpse at Adonis, but he doesn’t meet my gaze. He’s staring straight ahead, his amber eyes sparkling, and a radiant smile as bright as the sun on his lips. An uneasy feeling swirls around in my gut. This is not a friendly gift. This is a gift that says he wants to be more than friends and that scares the Goddess out of me.

Klamath Falls high isn’t a school that holds very many secrets. Every morning as I walk to my locker, I know what to expect. I know that Kate Perry and Grant Pierce will me making out in front of the mass of black metal and I know that I’ll have to shove them aside with my shoulder just to get my books. I know that Mr. Doyle, the gym teacher will be standing at the end of the hall checking his watch periodically to make sure there aren’t any stragglers lingering in the halls after the bell rings. And I also know that the popular kids will stroll past me flashing me scowls before they break out into a hymn of whispers.

I’ve been here since I was a freshman and despite my efforts to be friendly, they’ve never warmed to me. When we’d first moved here, I knew trying to talk to people would be difficult. Klamath Falls is a small town and the townspeople and students have been sorted into their own social circles since they were children. There’s no room for someone like me in those existing cliques. There’s no room for a freak anywhere.

One of the cheerleaders in my biology class labeled me a freak about three months after I’d started high school. During biology, I had a weak moment where I noticed a dying rose on the teacher’s desk. Just the sight of the rotting petals and wilted stem made my heart ache. So when the teacher wasn’t looking, I touched the flower and it magically came back to life. The vibrant red petals regained their full color and the wrinkles in the stem faded away.

Sasha Ferrar’s mouth had dropped open and her emerald eyes followed me back to my seat and then she looked over her shoulder. “What did you do,
freak
?”

All of the Immortal Olympians are gifted with special powers. In my opinion, I’ve been cursed with the lousiest one. The only thing I can do is revive dead plants. My dad, Zeus can shift into any animal he wants or shoot bolts of lightning from his fingertips. Why can’t I do something like that?

Ever since that day, I never slipped up again. My façade of normalcy is too precious and I prayed every day that my mom would never find out about the incident. She didn’t. Sasha eventually forgot about the rose, but the freak name stuck to me like a sign on the back that says ‘kick me’.

I enter my first period class—which is English and this semester we are studying Mythology. Kind of ironic, isn’t it?

Mrs. Kirk, the petite mousy teacher leans against her desk as I slide into my seat. A strand of my mahogany hair breaks free from my ponytail. At first I try blowing the strand out of my face. I give up when the reddish brown strip only moves a centimeter so I tuck it behind my ear.

Marisol Nicholls plops down next to me. Red flushes her ivory cheeks as she fumbles through her folders. She mumbles a string of choice words under her breath and nervously brushes her curly orange hair over her shoulder. I smile amused. “You okay, Mar?”

“Argh. I can’t find that print-out Mrs. Kirk gave us yesterday,” she whines. “I have a hard enough time in this class as it is.”

Marisol flips through her textbook. She’s the only person I can call an acquaintance. We talk in school and sometimes we text and there have been a few times where we’ve wrote on each other’s Facebook walls, but that’s all our relationship consists of. I wish she could be my friend. I wish we could do all the things I’ve seen other girl best friends do. Have sleepovers, go shopping, and maybe even crash a few parties. But every time I think about it, a vivid picture of mom holding out two plane tickets pops into my head and I remember that I’m lucky we haven’t moved yet.

Marisol pulls a sheet of paper out of the back of her text book. She kisses it and I laugh. “Thank the Gods,” she jokes. After she lays the paper flat on her desk, she turns toward me. “Hey! I almost forgot. Happy Birthday, P!”

The bell rings and Mrs. Kirk’s head snaps to her left. Her beady grey eyes zoom in on Marisol. “Miss Nicholls, is there something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?”

Marisol drops her head and slinks down in her seat. “No,” Marisol answers quietly.

Her eyes flash over to mine as Mrs. Kirk faces the class. “Thank you,” I mouth with a smile.

“Okay, class!” Mrs. Kirk announces as she reaches over her shoulder to grab a wicker basket. “Take a piece of paper from the basket and pass it to the person behind you. And do not open your paper until everyone has one.” She walks over to me and hands me the basket. I take a piece of folded up paper and pass it to the person behind me.

Once everyone has a paper, Mrs. Kirk takes the basket back and sets it on the edge of her desk. “Alright.” She clasps her hands together excitedly. “Open your papers.”

The rustling of paper echoes throughout the classroom. I stare down at my paper as a smug grin crawls across my lips. Marisol hangs out of her desk, straining to see the name on my paper. “Who did you get?”

I hold up the paper so she can get a clear look. “Demeter, you?” Inside an explosion of glee travels through me. I will definitely get an A on this assignment. Demeter, Goddess of the Harvest is my mom. It’s not that I really need to focus on getting good grades; it’s that it makes me feel more normal if I do.

Marisol falls back into her seat, slumping. “Hades,” she grumbles. “How come everyone else always gets the good ones?”

A soft laugh leaves my throat at the sight of Marisol sulking like a child. “I’m sure the God of the Dead could be interesting.”

She rolls her eyes. “More like the God of Dread.

“I’ll help you if you want,” I offer.

Marisol perks up, her eyes glistening with hope. “Would you trade me?”

“You cannot trade!” Mrs. Kirk pipes up.

Marisol exhales and winces. “Bummer.”

“This will be your final essay assignment,” Mrs. Kirk announces as she walks around to sit down at her desk. “It’s going to make up eighty percent of your grade.”

I hiss softly, trying to get Marisol’s attention. I lower my hand with the paper in it, and her eyes meet mine. She drops her head slowly, finally catching on to what I’m doing. A bright smile curls on her lips and she snatches the paper from my hand and replaces it with hers. Mrs. Kirk won’t know we switched. She didn’t ask us who we’d selected. Plus she’s not paying attention at the moment.