Avian

By M Anderson

Surviving high school is tough enough without sprouting wings, wouldnt you agree?
Megan Dario is used to blending in without being noticed she likes it that way, for some reasons more particular than others. But when this new boy, this Paul, whoever he is, shows up, her orderly, controlled life is thrown into chaos. No more school, homework, soccer, minimal sociality, wash, rinse and repeat. Oh no.
Before she knows it, Megan discovers shes an Avian. Yup. Not even had her first kiss yet and shes got wings. Say whaaat?!
Lets not forget Dr. Jarvis with his striking appearance and hard eyes either, or Irenesav.
Soon, old and new friends are back in the mix: Lucy, Jason, Cauldron, and Paul, thrown together on one turbulent adventure. Ach, to the say the least, its daunting, and especially so for Megan with her flat, cookie-cutter, routines.
But with some decisions, theres no going back. And with the decisions Megan finds herself facing? Not only will they test her heart theyll test if she can truly fly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496927378

M Anderson

M. Anderson is originally from the northwest suburbs of Chicago. Currently, she is attending Calvin College, a liberal arts school in Michigan. She is planning on graduating in the spring of 2019. You are likely to find M. Anderson devouring a book or creating art, whether it be painting constellations or making clay mugs. She also enjoys running, eating dark chocolate, dancing in public, and laughing with her sisters. Anderson is an avid adventurer who finds great joy climbing mountains, going on late-night treks with friends, and living vibrantly. Ascend is her second novel. Like M. Anderson on Facebook and find her on Twitter and Snapchat @morganander2.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

C old air bites my nose as I trudge through the after-effect of the blizzard. Before me the world is enveloped in complete whiteness. Silence reigns except for my soft breath and the occasional groaning wood of a tree. Small flurries of fine snow are whisked around in the wind. Never would I have thought that we could get this much snow, even in January, but in Chicago it’s always hard to tell how much snow will come. I stop at the edge of the encased trees and glance back at Lucy. My friend’s face is pink with effort and probably frustration as she makes her way toward me. Lucy despises being anything but first. It’s kind of annoying really. But I’m used to it, since it’s always been this way for as long as I can remember. Growing up, it’s my siblings who would always take the first spots and then it progressed to Lucy. I’ve learned to live with being second and being back-up. And why would I of all people ever want to be first anyway?

Lucy reaches me, almost bursting with excitement, Timothy, Carter, and Jason are following us!

I halt abruptly. Jason O’Connolly. Jason. Dark curly hair, pale blue eyes-They’re right there! Lucy interrupts my daydream and points across the park behind us. I pan the small children’s park. There aren’t any swing sets, only a blue castle with a slide.

Lucy, don’t tease me, nobody’s there.

Three figures burst out behind the slide. Lucy smirks triumphantly.

Okay, okay! I see them.

Its obvious that the guys are trying to get to us but the two foot deep snow makes running a bit tricky. All three of them are attractive even in winter layers to my childish eyes. I make out Jason’s plump cheeks as he comes closer. And closer. And closer.

Okay, that’s really close.

Oomph!

Jason’s arms wrap around my torso, Gotcha, he whispers.

The fluffy snow around us cushions his charge into me. A bolt of lightning could strike a foot away without me noticing. I’ve never had anyone do this before; I’d never thought it would happen! A boy is hugging me! I never thought he had noticed me! Jason! My lungs inhale cologne and sweat, as I fervently will the hug-slash-tackle not to stop. How could I ever have been worried about this happening?

Lucy giggles and plops down beside us along with a smirking Timothy and Carter. Jason sits up and I try to also but his hand restrains me from coming up all the way so I lean awkwardly against his chest instead. My forehead creases slightly, then I relax against his body. This must be how he expects couples to be, a little clingy. A grin beams from my face. I have no problem with that whatsoever. No problem at all.

After several seconds of silence, except for the wind, I get up the nerve to talk. So, er, do you like St. Thomas?

Jason cocks his head to the side, All schools suck; private schools are just worse because we have to wear crappy uniforms.

Not that I exactly agree with him, and although I’ve never gone to a private school, but I personally think that public schools prepare kids for real life instead of sheltering them in private schools. We had gone to public school together up to eighth grade and everything was fine then, so why did it have to switch? Why did that have to get messed up? Now the undertone of jealousy creeps in as well- what can a private school offer that a public school can’t? Why wasn’t I good enough to go?

Lucy shifts her legs in the snow creating a diminutive avalanche, turning to me, So are we still making cupcakes later?

I love cupcakes, Jason grins, Megan, why don’t you make me one with a big heart on it?

I blush and glance away toward Lucy. Her eyes are almost popping out of her head and for good reason. Here I am, sitting next to a boy I haven’t talked to or even seen in six months and he just asked me to make him a cupcake with a heart on it and Lucy never seems to stop teasing me about my consistent crush. I’m not sure who is more excited, Lucy or I.

Yeah I’ll make you a cupcake, I push up a bit at Jason’s arm to sit up better. Instead of giving me more room to breathe, he just holds me down tighter. His thinly gloved hands stroke my hair. He’d better not mess it up although my locks are probably already tangled and not looking too great at the moment. My abs clench and I try to sit up again, but he just squeezes me down tighter, so tight now that it’s a little uncomfortable.

Megan, may I touch your butt?

I stare at Jason, recoiling, Excuse me? Is he serious?

Excuse me? I recoil, is he serious?

Tim and Carter bet me ten bucks.

I turn to gape at them, not even bothering to hide my astonishment. Tim looks approvingly at Jason. Sick. Carter locks eyes with me for a moment then turns away, ashamed but… understanding? What? Of the two of them I would have thought he would have stood up for me. Lucy stares surprised at Jason. She opens her mouth her usually warm brown eyes flashing almost to ebony with her brows furrowed in anger. Then she stops. As a last desperate cry for help, I try to lock eyes with her. Lucy turns away just like Carter, only not fast enough that I realize almost at once that she’s no longer angry. Although her face becomes a composed mask quickly afterward, I’m barely able to discern the same fear on her face as there is when we watched Insidious: the nose twitched up, lips frozen in a choked word, eyebrows pulled up on imaginary marionette strings, eyes big and wide and a little less pretty. My bones have a flash freeze, and not just because of the cold. Lucy may be petty but when she gets scared it’s for good reason. I look back at Jason and for the first time see him in a new illumination. His nose tips defiantly above me like I’m just a chore, something to be done.

I’ll split half of the money with you.

My body almost automatically thrusts away from him, and I’m desperate that he won’t be able to register the panic in my petrified eyes.

"Don’t touch me," I sputter. Jason merely laughs.

C’mon, Jason’s hand reaches for my butt, Just one little squeeze.

I stand up swiftly and back away slowly into the heavy drifts of snow. My eyes sear into his arrogant face. In one of his gloves he holds … is that one of my hairs? I clench my hands and will my eyes not to burst into tears as I look away. How could I have been so stupid? Of course a guy like him wouldn’t want me … just my body. And keeping a strand of my hair as a trophy afterward? What is up with that? Sick, sick, sick-

Just one squeeze.

I dash away from them all, tears streaming down my face. Laughter erupts behind me as I struggle to sprint through the now seemingly colossal heaps of snow. Straining, I try and listen if Lucy will be a true friend and not laugh, but I can hardly concentrate on that while managing to reach the plowed streets. Everything becomes a blur through my frenzied tears. Humiliation slaps me in the face. My tears taste of salt and pain as they cascade down my face.

That’s how it works right? I tried to be a good person. Good people get good things. I’d get the guy, never have any money problems, and stay decently pretty since I’m a good person. And aren’t I? I thought I was? How am I not? What did I do wrong?

I drag toward the side of the road and my body collapses into a nearby heap of snowfall.

Everything seems to get pulled out from under me. Every. Single. Time. Lucy didn’t help me. Jason definitely didn’t help me. I can’t trust anybody.

Great shuddering sobs rack my chest, but it’s the throbbing void of emptiness there that hurts more.

… 9 months later…

I walk onto the school grounds and wait for Chelsa by our tree. It’s bent crudely with age like a crooked old widow; its leaves are almost gone. The building looms behind it, not entirely sinister but instead with mundane, standard three stories and gray walls with spacious hallways. But it’s no utopia either. Some people, not just cheerleaders, can be vicious. High school is risky business. I learned that the hard way. A risky, unforgettable and exhilarating business. I might even be still learning that.

Finally, I spot Chelsa’s tall frame in the midst of students headed toward the main doors. I reach out my arm to wave her over, even though she probably already sees me. Unlike me, she’s around the same height as most people in the crowd. Even so her pale Irish complexion compliments the straight almost white-blond hair framing her round face, which is one of the many reason why she is so noticeable. The crowd shifts as she nears and I’m able to distinguish another girl striding alongside her. Same straight hair and around the same height as Chelsa, only more honey blond hair. My eyes reach her pink polka dot Coach bag and I realize it’s Lucy. How long has it been since we’ve talked? A month? Two? I can’t remember the last time we hung out. Then again, after the incident with Jason, nothing was the same between us. My trust wasn’t there anymore.

Oh my God! Megan!

Lucy’s smile is blinding for eight in the morning. I step in with them and walk toward the doors, Hi Lucy, hi Chelsa.

I was just telling Chelsa about how I got asked to Homecoming! Lucy gushes.

My mouth opens to congratulate her but I’m too late.

Zachary gave me a balloon with ‘Homecoming’ on it. Isn’t that sweet?

Wow, very original Zach. Lucy barely pauses for breath before launching into conversation once more.

I’ve already made him promise to come with me dress shopping this week. I’m thinking a red dress, but I always love all the pink ones out now too!

Poor Zach. Chelsa stares at me and rolls her eyes. Lucy is too caught up in dress colors to notice. Finally we reach the center staircase in the middle of the hall.

Well, I’ll see you guys later, I’ve got to meet Zach at his locker!

By the time I am able to reply Bye Lucy, she’s already gone. I thank my lucky stars that Chelsa and I both have first floor lockers.

I look at Chelsa imploringly, She means well … I rack my brain for the right words, she just … doesn’t know what she’s saying sometimes.

Chelsa squints skeptically at my feeble excuse, Maybe, but God, does she ever try to be serious? Or just try to shut up and let other people talk for once?

After passing the lunchroom, Chelsa saunters toward our lockers while I slowly follow and ponder what she said. After trying my combo twice, I’m finally able to fling my locker open.

I think… I think that’s why we grew apart. Lucy talks before she thinks. She wasn’t able to relate to how some things felt for me.

Like what happened with Jason?

I nod silently and lower my eyes to the floor. I can’t help but automatically shiver when Chelsa mentions the incident. It’s always in the back of my mind. A nightmare that was real… but somehow filled with just so much ugly shame on my part. Glancing up, I’m surprised to see Chelsa roll her eyes at me.

Jeez, Megan, stop being so dramatic. Its not like it was a big deal or anything.

Her words hit me like a speeding freight train. I turn away to occupy myself putting my books in my locker, and then swiftly slam it shut. The others can think what they please. Am I taking it too seriously? It was years ago … yet …

What Jason did was a big deal to me, and I’m perfectly entitled to feel that way. We were kids, but still- I was a bet.

He violated me with words. He made me feel weak. It will always be a big deal. A thought snakes into my head as wispy as smoke, tainting my feelings and morphing them darker and older: some things… they simply cannot be ignored.

CHAPTER TWO

F our eggshell colored walls surrounding me are decorated at a bare minimum with posters, one of which saying: Math is fun! The room feels even drearier with the presence of the Gillhan, but fortunately the students spice it up. Well, at least a little. Some wear t-shirts, but most wear hoodies or sweaters with jeans, all of which are scattered colors among the leaves of the rainbow. I glance out the window. An almost visibly brawny gust of wind knocks yet another batch of yellowing leaves from the ancient maple outside. I pick at a stray string unraveling upon my sweater sleeve; it would be less stifling to tolerate, even if it is cute, to wear it outside immersed in gusts of both wind and the last of the leaves. A pencil nudges my back gently, but persistently, demanding my attention.

Megan! Allison calls in an undertone.

I turn around and give her a what look instead of replying; hopefully it won’t be as noticeable to Mrs. Gillhan. Her Asian face scrunches in concentration as she looks back at her chock full notebook: half math, half doodles and all in sparkly purple pen.

Problem thirteen? Please?

I roll my eyes, but oblige.

It’s A, the equation simplifies into x equals five.

Trigonometry and AP Calculus AB isn’t as easy for her as it is for me.

Thanks! she whisper-shouts. Her face whips to write down the answer and her straight ebony hair cascades toward the page reminding me of a waterfall.

To the left, Patrick mocks Mrs. Gillhan, No laughing, no talking, he wags a finger in the air shaking his head of short red curls at us withdrawing a giggle from Allison and a grin from me.

No breathing, he flourishes dramatically with a roll of his eyes.

What was that Mr. Keskn? asks Mrs. Gillhan abruptly. Patrick points at himself innocently, looking confused. I wish that I were as good as an actor. Like there’s ever a chance of that happening.

I didn’t say anything, Mrs. Gillhan, he utters innocently, like a small schoolboy.

Mrs. Gillhan stares at him skeptically, All right Keskn, I know for a fact-

The bell resounds and interrupts her rant to the relief of Patrick. Fortunately, he’s intelligent enough not to wait for her to start up again. Allison and I, snatch up our books and scram out of the class alongside him. Immersed in the hallway, we all simultaneously burst out laughing.

I never thought you’d get out of there alive! Allison exclaims with her eyes wide at Patrick. Streams of teenagers burst forth from every room, turning the hallway into a river of intertwining branches.

The old hag almost had me, he drops into a thick but loud British accent to be heard above the growing clamor, But I, my friends, I triumphed yet again! My timing couldn’t have been better.

I roll my eyes at Patrick’s latest victory speech, Your British is good but I like the French one better, I joke.

Nah, Indian is classic, bro.

Russian! Allison calls out to us before she turns right toward stairs, flashing back a shy smile specifically aimed at Patrick.

He leaps on the advantage of Allison’s absence almost immediately, What should I do to ask her out? he utters fearfully.

Subtlety was retreating rather steadily between them and Patrick, well, he has a thing for romance and he wants Allison to remember it always when he asks her out. Ha, a question of when now, not even if.

I told you I’d tell you if I thought of any ideas.

Megan, he looks imploringly at me, I really do like her. A lot.

I hesitate and turn away. Wow, I’ve never seen him so serious. I guess when Patrick first told me he had a crush on her I was pretty disapproving since he seemed like such a joker sometimes. Ok I guess, yelling if he was out of his mind during lunch is a bit more than disapproving. I’m glad Lucy was in the bathroom. No. My head jerks down in a final decision. Everything will work out fine with Patrick and Allison, without me interfering.

You’ll think of something, Allison will like whatever you do to ask her and I know she’ll like it even more when she finds out you thought of it yourself, I reply as gently as I can to Patrick and drift off toward Spanish at the end of the hallway. But just Patrick obsessing over asking Allison to Homecoming, speaking with Lucy and … and remembering Jason; it all seems so insignificant, but I can’t stop obsessing over it. I thought that was over- no, it is over. But now without soccer camp … I don’t know. It’s harder to keep the pressing thoughts at bay.

Crossing the threshold of the classroom I slow and hesitate to sit in my usual corner, away from Lucy’s seat in the front row. Should I talk to her? Or no? God, why is the whole Incident bouncing around in my head today. If she hadn’t said hello … She’s just so cheerleader-ly, but she means well … I think. No, my corner seat is fine. My hands massage my temples hoping to ease the migraine, no doubt caused by Jason yet again. How can he still manage to do this BS? I haven’t even seen him for I don’t know how long. Or maybe I’m just letting him mess me up. I stab my pencil into my eraser. Crappy existence of stupid things. Stupid, cocky, dense, dimwitted boys.

The bell rings insistently and the rest of the students linger standing, begin to seat themselves. Mrs. Dunne wobbles up to the front of the class and shushes us into silence. Well, semi-silence at least.

Class, she articulates with impeccable pronunciation, Today I have some very exciting news.

Next to me, Tommy runs his hands through his surfer blond waves, So, he addresses Mrs. Dunne, Then we get to leave?

Mrs. Dunne walks up to Tommy’s desk and merely replies flippantly, You will shut your mouth Timothy Brecker, or do I need a large quantity of rewriting dictionary pages to shut it for you?

Tommy lowers his eyes from her chilling gaze.

As I was saying before I was interrupted, which- she frowns at Tommy once more, her wrinkled brow furrowing further, I hope it will not happen again, the list of junior nominees for Homecoming Court have been released. The sophomore student body is required to vote.

Murmurs course like wildfire throughout the class. Toward the front of the room Zach coughs and says Lucy’s name. She hits his shoulder but she still smiles, obviously pleased.

Quiet!

Immediate silence insures.

Here is the ballot. Once you receive it, you may begin to circle one boy’s name and one girl’s name on the list, Mrs. Dunne begins to pass out blue slips of paper by row. Tommy shrinks a bit lower when she goes by.

The paper crinkles slightly in my hand when I receive it. So flimsy, yet still packing all that potency

Eric Angelaccio. Timothy Becker. Michael Cardozo. Samuel Cason. Peter Deacon. Henry Fernandez. George George.

What kind of person names their kid George George?

Chris Jameson. Wilson Kowalski. Ryan Lent. Daniel Macahen. Nathan Orlando. Joseph Randall. Zach Smyth. Anthony Wu.

George George, hands down. Don’t even know who the kid is, but hello, his name is obviously awesome.

Now the girls.

Lucy Aswalt. No surprise there. Gariana Carlson. Michele Dolan. Cailee Davis. Sarah Ewer. Hannah Gagellos. Jamie Kean. Christina McSweeny. Grace Morris. Annika Ori. Taylor Park. Ava Richardson. Chelsa Schwartz. Katharine Timmons. Michelle Zorro.

I quickly circle Lucy; it sort of makes up for me not talking to her, right? Before I can change my mind, I force my legs to walk me across the room as smoothly as possible. Placing the ballot atop some of the others, I almost want to snatch it back. Lucy wasn’t there when I needed her most. No. I make my way back toward my seat. Just because she wasn’t there didn’t mean that I shouldn’t help her. I’m not sure that Lucy should be, and definitely not Jason if he were here. My stroll back quickens with the thought. A hurried step too close to my seat and I stub my shoe on the metal prongs of my desk. The class snickers condescendingly as I melt into the chair, wishing to become invisible. I hate how he can still make problems even if he isn’t here.

The class resumes as usual but I feel far too distracted to pay at least some attention. The same questions keep popping up again and again in my head like unwanted cicadas, dying off then growing loud again. What drove Jason to do what he did? Did he plan it? Or was it just out of convenience?

Does he regret it?

By the time I get to eighth period, I’m already swamped with Spanish and Biology. Thank goodness art doesn’t really require too much thought. There’s more of a … feel to it, really.

The sharp scent of pencil and eraser shavings become stronger when I get out my unfinished project. It’s not bad for a charcoal self-portrait, but I still think it’s in my power to make it better. Thankfully being at my own table in the back I have lots of room to work on the project.

Glancing up, I discern Mrs. Crete talking to what seems to be a new student. Faded jeans and loose navy blue t-shirt hangs off his skin as he maintains a lofty confident stance, yet it still manages to faintly define his muscles, kind of like Jason’s would. His hair is abruptly cut into short chocolate locks that have a hint of waviness. Not nearly as curly as Jason’s is. But other than that I can’t tell much more about him since his back is turned to me. Even if I don’t know all their names, I’ve seen most of the freshmen. And he couldn’t be an existing sophomore or upperclassman either; it’s already months past the first six days to change schedules and still earn credit for that class. He must be new. Suddenly the kid pivots his head toward the rest of the room. His odd faint tan and cheekbones give way to gorgeous? No not gorgeous, more like piercing eyes, and cocky looking ones at that.

Everything about him screams ‘Jason’. I flinch away, turning back to my drawing. I can almost feel my heart crack and harden like dried out clay; definitely not what I want.

The eyes are too hard; I use some vine charcoal to soften the edges to create more of a misty look. Toward the bottom of the page, the lips still seem to be missing something. Hmmm, maybe, if I just make them a little darker here, and add a highlight there … yes that looks much better, not as fallacious as before.

Megan, dear-

Glancing up from my work, I observe Mrs. Crete standing next to my table. Behind her the new kid shifts his stance awkwardly.

This is Paul, she gestures toward the kid behind her, You’ll both be at this table now, and since he’s new show him the ropes, hmm?

My head casually dips to her announcement. I guess it won’t be too bad, the tables are pretty big; one person won’t cramp the space too much.

Mrs. Crete? Jimmy calls, I can’t get my nose right.

Mrs. Crete nods at me then walks off to help, like she had just stated what time lunch would be.

Paul slides into the seat next to me. He’s smiling like any other cocky guy, like Jason, the awkwardness turned off like a switch.

I’m Paul Nicholson, but I’m assuming you already knew that. Well, aside from my last name. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.

He has a lilt to his voice, and although I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, he still manages to make it sound arrogant.

Yeah. I’m Megan Dario, I respond, monotone. Now that he’s up close, his hair is visibly more a honey-brown color, not an ebony brown like Jason’s. It covers his eyes partly, and when he shifts again, I get a better look at his eyes. Wait, they might be just as piercing, but Jason’s eyes are ice cerulean. Paul’s are teal? No, hazel, that’s it. A mix of dark green, blue, and honey speckles.

Paul spreads out his paper and looks at the charcoal, What exactly are we supposed to be drawing?

A charcoal self portrait.

With that I face my paper. What does it look like dimwit? He would be the kind of guy to pull a Jason, lure me into a conversation and make me want to impress him. I guess I kind of already want to impress him. I know what happened after the flirting with Jason and it’s just not worth it.

***

Have you heard about the new kid? Chelsa asks me. We head briskly for the South Wing. My arms ache from the history, math and Spanish book I hold in my arms while also lugging around my plaid shoulder bag.

Yeah, I reply while I shift the books in my hands. Chelsa’s hands are still and her eyes focus as she listens intently to my words. If one of us were classified as ‘lives under a rock’ then it’d be me; I don’t know how I became informative in this circumstance.

He’s in my art class, his name’s-

Paul! Lucy bursts out, appearing from thin air. Her hair is curled in soft ringlets with a sparkly bow that compliments her pastel pink shirt and pasted on jeans. It would have looked extremely dorky on anyone else, but Lucy makes it look glamorous, as usual.

I can’t figure out why he won’t talk to me in English! She waves her hands in the air while still holding a tube of mascara that she had probably just finished using; her eyes look model perfect.

I had, like, five good conversation starters. Lucy complains. My eyebrows rise in mild bewilderment. As far as I know, she’s still going with Zach to Homecoming.

I know right? exclaims Chelsa enthusiastically.

Stop being so dramatic, I reply annoyed, He’s just another guy who just happens to be the juiciest gossip, just because he’s new.

Chelsa peers at me closely; "Not every guy has that russet of hair and chiseled muscles like that. No other guy here is that sexy like that."

Ok, yeah he’s a little cute and all, but seriously, all out sexy? That might be a stretch. And russet? What the heck? Really? What is the matter with her?

And the eyes, Lucy interjects while starting to fan herself with both her hands, "How could a guy with hotness almost equivalent to Taylor Lautner not socialize?"

Can they see anything but the physical attractiveness? I end up surprising myself by actually making a conscious effort to resist from the tempting urge to roll my eyes.

What if someone was not so cute on the outside, but had a really great personality? Would you date them? Chelsa looks at me like I had just suggested that we eat squid for the rest of the year. I switch my gaze to Lucy, expecting the same reaction. But strangely enough, she stares off into the distance, the most serious I’ve ever seen her.

Perhaps.

Er, ok see you guys later.

How could one person be that attractive? I pretend not to hear that last comment. The last thing I need is to sit next to Paul right after I leave them, but I don’t have much choice besides skipping class. Crap, today’s the last day to work on the charcoal project and Mrs. Crete doesn’t allow students to take them home. Even if I did bring it home, I’d be too busy with the customary Homecoming football game later today and the dance tomorrow.

As I take a seat, a twinge emits from my abdomen. Funny, I had my period last week. I reach down to pat my tummy. The slight pressure doesn’t hurt at all. I hope I’m not getting sick. Or bloated. Ew. That never happens to me and would totally suck if it ever did.

With the black charcoal pencil, I outline the eyes and lips. The extra touch definitely helps bring them out more. Then I define where the hair parts, brighten up the reflection off the chin and the gleam of the eyes. Re-shade the surplus of shadow under the eyes and add more black to the nose shadows. Now the eyelashes, I just have to be really careful-

Are you going to that game everyone’s talking about? I’ve heard it’s the last one of the season. In two weeks, if I’m not mistaken.

His words jar my steady hands and cause what would have been a perfect eyelash, a squiggle. Gritting my teeth, I try to zone out his voice.

I’m going to go with this guy Zach in my Gym, or rather with his group.

So with Lucy then as well. Congratulations. Pardon me if I’m not jumping for joy.

He’s cool.

I shoot him a glare; do you honestly think I care?

I’m going with my friends Chelsa and Allison, another abnormal cramp racks inside my abdomen, just like earlier, only now it’s higher, more toward my ribcage. Hopefully my face doesn’t betray anything happened, that’d be so embarrassing, he’d think I was constipated or something. Wouldn’t that be a picnic.

We’re meeting at my house at six forty-five, then walking to the stadium. I live pretty close to- I wave a hand around, The school and everything.

Nice. Cool. Good plan, he nods sincerely, trying to be polite.

The silence that follows is thick enough to cut like butter. I mentally slap myself twice for saying such a stupid comment, ‘yup, here’s exactly what I’m doing tonight!’ It sounded good in my head at least. My feet tap against the floor softly, a nervous habit. I open my mouth, but saying ‘nice weather, huh?’ would just make it more awkward than this situation already is, which frankly would be rather impressive. Luckily, within moments the bell rings, flushing out kids like water through a broken dam.

Paul is a few steps ahead. Right before I walk out, he turns back; Hope I’ll see you there!

Wow. There it is. That new level of awkwardness. Congratulations, Mr. Nicholson.

***

I lie on top of my coverlet and stare at the ceiling. Small stars that glow in the dark are taped there, scattered around the twirling fan that emits a lazy breeze. Paul’s words resound in my ears, like the fan, over and over again. They’ve been resounding in my head ever since he said them two weeks ago and we hadn’t even talked very much since. I hope I’ll see you there. What the heck did that mean? Did he mean ‘ooh I like you, I want to see you at the dance’ or more like an obligation ‘since you know that I’m going to be there I guess I hope I’ll see you there too’. Or did he mean something else entirely? My hands scrunch up my covers in frustration. Confound him for being confusing and confound me for being so overly analytical about the entire stupid thing. It doesn’t even matter anyway.

Another cramp attacks my abdomen. My eyes flick over to the clock: six thirty. The last one happened about four hours ago. Weird.

All of a sudden a second cramp descends rapidly, even stronger than before although this time it descends on my lower back.

And then a third.

I clutch my torso at each strange contraction, which starts to escalate slowly but steadily up my back. Bile steadily rises up my throat. My stomach contracts and a coughing fit commences to the point where it begins to become uncomfortable. Slowly I prop myself up on an elbow; maybe if I change my body position they’ll leave. Luckily my premonition was right; the pain soon is nothing more than the strange feeling of like when my foot falls asleep, pins and needles. Glancing in the mirror I blink to make sure I’m not seeing things.

No blotchy redness. No puffy eyes. Weird cramps, then looking normal … and maybe even a little better than normal. I hope I’m not getting the flu, don’t want to infect everyone at the game.

Right. Football game. The football game starts at seven. The last football game of the season. I check the clock again. It reads twenty to seven. Crap. I bonk my head and jump off of my bed to hurriedly get ready. Chelsa doesn’t like to be kept waiting.

Dark navy jeans, crimson Palatine sweatshirt with indoor soccer shoes just to be safe. The bleachers are always slippery, even before the baby powder. I keep my make-up light, like I usually do at school. Just plain mascara with lip-gloss, nothing special. My hair falls in its usual thick chocolate almost beachy waves. Small light auburn highlights glow faintly amidst the brown. I consider pinning a strand of my hair back with a bobby pin, but it’ll probably fall out so I decide against it.

Small hands take my stomach and I squeal and whip around to face my sisters. Callie giggles mischievously, clearly delighted with her success. Ah, Gwen and I taught her well.

Knock it off!

Callie’s little bob cut whips as she shakes her head innocently, Couldn’t resist. Tyler told me that people pee if they are scared enough.

I didn’t pee!

No, but you were pretty close, Gwen shouts from her room and Callie giggles.

Oh hush, I roll my eyes good naturedly.

Callie steps closer and hugs my waist as a peace treaty.

I smile at her. There’s nothing like having a little sister. One second she’s a smarty pants that knows way too much, and the next super cute and innocent.

Oh, she flounces out the door, And by the way-

Your friends are here, Gwen strides in, cutting Callie off.

Are you going to go? I ask as she fixes a curl in her nearly black hair.

It’s about the same length as mine only darker and far straighter. Though, most of the time people mistake Gwen and I for twins anyway.

Going to meet Emelia there soon. Just because I’m a totally awesome, cool senior doesn’t mean I’m going to miss the last football game.

Ok miss high and mighty; I guess I’ll be a totally awesome cool junior and go hang with my oh so lowly junior friends, I retort jokingly, heading toward the foyer.

Chelsa slouches against the wall with assurance although I cannot be sure if I would be confident in a seemingly pasted on thin Hollister sweater. Allison dressed smarter; she stands behind Chelsa, looking comfy in her Palatine t-shirt and a wooly black Northface jacket.

I could just eat Callie! she squeals, her Asian eyes scrunching up in a smile.

Don’t let the cuteness fool you, I respond smiling. Callie has everyone wrapped around her little finger. My lips stretch into a slightly smugger grin; Gwen and I work hard to stay in step with Callie, something more easily said than done.

Outside, in the crisp fall air, once my foot touches the sidewalk, I faintly hear the resounding echo of the crowd. It pulses larger at a snail’s rate, slowly but surely.

Chelsa bounces on the heels of her feet, Lucy said Paul’s going to be at the game…

Enough about Paul. My mouth opens in protest, then I shut it abruptly. It’s better they talk about Paul than Jason at least. The leaves crunch under my feet like dried flowers colorful but falling apart at just a touch. Being a girl and, ok, maybe not fully understanding all the positions, someone might think that I wouldn’t enjoy a football game. But I do. Having only Callie and Gwen, we aren’t big on guy sports. But we are athletic. I chuckle as I remember the time I sprained my left ankle during a soccer game. That morning, I felt restless so I went on a run that was a little longer than I intended. Sprinting up on a breakaway, past the opposing team’s defense, my ankle gave out. Felt like someone took a lance and tried to knock my foot off. But hey, we won the game and my ankle at least didn’t break. It was so worth it.

The memories fade as we near the field. Dark ginger rust coats part of the open fence. I run my fingers along one of the sides and feel the serrated diamond shapes fall by. Ouch. I pull my hand back sharply and inspect it. A thin paper cut slash leaks a tiny stream of blood. Okay, running my hands along a wire coated with bits of sinister rust probably wasn’t a great idea. There. Smudged with the other hand it’s barely visible.

Megan! Allison calls impatiently. In a few long strides I’m caught up with them. We merge with the people streaming through the gates, a flowing human river. The volume grows even more steadily, like a crescendo at the end of a song. My feet shuffle along the steel walkway among the grime and garbage. Ahead the student section looms. Wild high schoolers dressed in the crimson color of Palatine High School practically bounce standing upon the rickety old bleachers. Seniors and juniors crowd the bottom taking up the best seats and then sophomores are above them. Finally loads of the freshmen are a part of a massive, squashed cluster. The puffs of white indicate that people have already started to pass around the traditional baby powder. Kickoff approaches. Beside me, Allison almost skips while humming in a nervous, excited way. Chelsa’s eyes flick back and forth through the crowd, most likely searching for familiar faces.

There’s Lucy.

My eyes trace the path of Chelsa’s fingers to find Lucy standing visibly smashed but happy next to Zach who’s talking with Paul. Even from over here, to the trained eye Paul appears a little uncomfortable, despite the fact he fell in with the super popular crowd right away. I guess I’d be nervous if I went to a new school after everyone kind of already knew each other; I would think that parents would at least wait until a new semester to transfer their kid. For once, I’m thankful my parents aren’t too keen on moving anywhere; being new at anything is a daunting ordeal. Especially for someone as normal and insignificant as me.

Paul’s hand waves down at us, following with a grin that even from here makes the air a little less chilly. My stomach flips unpleasantly and I turn away. A friendly smile or a-meaning-something-else-entirely smile? Deep down I bet Paul enjoys giving people headaches. Lucy catches on to Paul’s wave right away and spots us also. Her blond hair thrashes in the wind as she waves her arms excitedly. Being smooshed standing next to her, Zach has to duck a little to avoid getting whacked by them and almost topples onto Paul. I grin.