A Strange Fire (Florence Vaine) (17 page)

 “I bloody
hate
sports,” Caroline hisses after our teacher calls
to her and informs her that “jogging about slowly” doesn’t qualify as actual
playing. He doesn’t say anything to me even though I’m doing the exact same
thing, probably because I’m only new.

 With an obvious amount of sass, Ingrid, who I shit you not is wearing a
tiny pair of denim cut off shorts and a lemon coloured string top, sidles up to
Josh, manoeuvring the ball from his possession. Perhaps he’d been momentarily
distracted by her cleavage. She makes a run for it, kicking the ball towards
our team’s goal post and wallops the ball at the poor girl who has been acting
as our goalkeeper. Ingrid is probably the last person I’d expected to score the
first goal in this match, but she actually manages it, shooting Josh a
flirtatious glance before running to her girls and hugging them in triumph.

 So it’s one – nil to Ingrid’s team, Josh has an odd look of
determination on his face now, like the game has suddenly become personal. His
colours tell me the same thing. I stifle a laugh, some people take sports
way
too seriously. Or perhaps he’s annoyed that a girl managed to out-do him, I
could almost admire Ingrid for that. Almost.

 Now Alex has possession of the ball, and for me at least, it really is a
vision to behold. He’s faster than the rest of our team, and as he ushers the
ball across the field his fire flares out from his body with radiance. So
ferocious I could just about imagine a trail of burnt embers lingering in his
wake. He scores a goal for our team with little in the way of effort, and walks
away without the show of celebration Ingrid had made. He could have done that
at any time in the last however many minutes we’ve been playing, my brain
provides. He’s been holding back so that nobody notices his inhuman speed and
athletic ability.

 I look at Ross for a moment and wonder if I’m right. He’s definitely
holding back too, I can see it in his aura. He’s being careful, oh so very
careful not to display anything that might cause the other students to notice
him. What
are
they? My curiosity is almost too much to bear.

 Alex has the ball again, and he casually kicks it back and forth, pretending
he’s having trouble getting past a boy from the other team who’s blocking him
from kicking it at their goal post. As though sensing me watching him, Alex
turns to me and grins, then kicks the ball to me. He laughs as I shake my head
furiously.
No, no, no
, I mouth, don’t kick it to me. But it’s no use,
the ball is already in my possession and I have no idea what to do about it.

 I don’t want to look useless by simply kicking it back to him in fear,
so with a bolt of courage I dash down the pitch, kicking the ball along with
me. I’m sure with absolutely no finesse whatsoever, but at least I’m trying.

 I think I hear Caroline exclaim, “Oh God,” just as I run toward the
opposing team’s goal. I manage to make eye contact with Josh as he jogs nearby,
a smug look that says, “How cute, you actually think you can do this,” on his
face.

 I’ll bloody well show him I can do it, I tell myself as I approach the
goal. But what I hadn’t noticed is that Ingrid has been right behind me the
whole time, waiting for her opportunity to pounce. I lift my leg a fraction,
readying myself to kick the ball as hard as I can in an effort to score a goal.
Sadly, I don’t get that far.

 An almighty blow is driven into my shin from behind, pain shattering
through my leg. I drop to the ground and look up just in time to see Ingrid
dash away with the ball, glaring at me with malicious satisfaction. The bitch!
I rub my shin to ease the pain just as a whistle blows and I hear our teacher
shout, “Foul!”

 Well thank God he saw what Ingrid did, there’s no way I could stand her
getting away with kicking me.

 In a sickly sweet voice, Ingrid chimes, “Oh come on, that was never a
foul, was it teach?”

 Mr Procter actually grins at her, as an indulgent father would an
over-zealous toddler. “You tripped her over Ingrid, that is not allowed and you
know it.”

 Tripped me over? She bashed me in the shin, how on earth could that be
mistaken for a harmless tripping up? Perhaps he was too far away to properly
see what she did. Caroline rushes to my side and kneels down to speak to me.
“Are you okay?” she asks, a look of worry on her face.

 “I’m fine,” I answer her and get to my feet while dusting the bits of
grass and mud from my trousers.

 “Just don’t do it again,” says Mr Procter to Ingrid, shaking his head
and walking back to the centre of the field after telling me that I can sit the
rest of the game out if my leg is too hurt from my fall. Demoralised by it all,
I decide on taking him up on his offer, even if he is an idiot for not seeing
the blow Ingrid so obviously gave me to the shin.

 Pleased with her deception, Ingrid sneers at me with vindictive eyes
before returning to the game. As I sit down on the bench at the side of the
pitch Alex shoots me a look of apology. I shrug, it doesn’t matter. I suppose
it was my own fault for trying to score a goal. Girls like Ingrid don’t enjoy
being out-shined, and they are ruthless in their efforts to prevent it from
happening.

 “Ah, the beautiful game,” says Sam, appearing out of nowhere and sitting
down beside me.

 I snort. “You m-must have a skewed idea of beauty,” I bend down and rub
my shin again. It’s still stinging and is definitely going to leave a bruise.

 “Were you hurt?” he asks, a tranquil aspect to his features, but with
little emotion in his voice.

 “You see that girl with the blond ponytail,” I say pointing to Ingrid as
she tackles the ball away from Josh yet again.

 “I do.” Sam replies.

 “Well she was kind enough to kick me in the leg when I was about to
attempt to score a goal. But seemingly Mr Procter only saw her merely trip me
over.” I tell him, my voice heavy with sarcasm.

 “She kicked you?” he asks, a hint of concern breaking through his
neutral tone.

 “Y-yes. Ingrid seems to have a big problem with me, though I don’t know
why.” I turn to look at him. “So what, are you shocked to discover that the
little girls you counsel are capable of violence?”

 “Nothing shocks me any more,” Sam replies grimly. “But you never
mentioned her hostility towards you in our session yesterday. I did ask you if
you were getting on okay with the other students, you claimed you were.”

 “Yeah well, I lied,” I tell him, too discouraged at this moment to
bother putting up a front, “I’m used to bullies, as you know already, at home
and
at school.”

 “Even so, I’m your counsellor and I cannot condone threatening behaviour
from students. I will have to have a word with this girl. She hasn’t come to my
attention before, although I do recognise her face, you say her name is
Ingrid?”

 “Yes, that’s her n-name, but please don’t do anything about this, you
think you can help but you’ll only be making it worse. Don’t worry about me,
she’ll soon tire of trying to intimidate me I’m sure, just give it time.”

 Sam looks like he’s about to argue his point but then hesitates, after a
minute he replies, “Fine, but if she bothers you again you
will
tell
me.” His ice blue eyes bore into me and I am inclined not to disagree with him.

 “Now,” he continues, “let me see your leg, where does it hurt?”

 I raise my leg up onto the bench and point at the spot on my shin where
Ingrid had dealt her blow. Sam touches his fingers to the centre of the pain,
seeming to know instinctively where it lies. Then he applies a little pressure.
The light of his aura turns golden for the barest fraction of a second and I’m
not certain if I saw it correctly. He seems to be making a big show of
appearing as though he’s working with his fingers, but something inside of me
tells me that he’s using mental power rather than physical. And then, just like
that, my pain subsides, ever so slowly leaving my body. Only a small red mark
remains where there had once been an emerging purple bruise.

 “H-how did you do that?” I ask in amazement.

 Sam shrugs. “I accessed a pressure point and relieved the pain for you,
that’s all.”

 I eye him curiously. The part of me most connected to my preternatural
side tells me that he’d eased my pain with some sort of mystical ability, and
not
with any kind of pressure point application, as he claims. If this is true then
it means that Sam is as “other” as Alex claimed he and his brothers to be. It
would certainly explain his aura of light.

 But this thinking only serves to give me a thumping headache. Now, not
only do I want to know what Frank, Alex and the rest of them are, but I also
want to know what Sam is. And I have a feeling that whatever he is, it’s
definitely
not
the same as what Frank is. Fire may bring light, but that
light is man-made, Sam’s light is something wholly not of this earth.

 I don’t question him, instead I tell him gratefully, “Thank you, I feel
so much better now.”

 Sam nods graciously, touches me lightly on the shoulder and walks away,
back toward the school building. Moving to Chesterport is turning out to be
nothing like what I’d expected.

I have to admit, I’m not thrilled about volunteering at the psychiatric
hospital with Caroline and Lia this weekend. I can think of a million better,
less creepy ways to spend my time. But it seems to be something Caroline feels
strongly about and I like her. Therefore I’m determined to help her in a cause
that’s important to her. As I leave school on Friday after PE I bump into Josh
while passing by the car park.

 “How’s the leg?” he asks happily, other people’s pain clearly affords
him great pleasure.

 “Good as new,” I answer sharply and quicken my pace.

 “Want me to kiss it better?” he goes on, easily matching my speedy walk.
He exaggerates fluttering his eyelashes and looking demure, which only
functions to make him look like he swallowed a bee and is in shock. Funny
really, I smile to myself.

 “Oh you like the sound of that do you?” he continues, seemingly pleased
to have gotten a reaction out of me. Little does he know I was laughing at him.
I don’t answer him, because I know it will only encourage him to keep badgering
me. I just want to get home, have some dinner followed by a nice long bath,
then bed, and I want that as quick as possible. Humouring Josh is only going to
delay my plans for the evening. But then, unfortunately, I remember his lies,
and can’t help but to challenge him about them.

 “By the way,” I say to him, we’re outside of the school grounds now and
halfway down the road. “I know you made up that whole story about Frank.”

 “What story?” Josh replies, all innocence, but his lingering smirk
informs me he knows exactly what I’m talking about.

 “You know which story,” I say, my jaw tight.

 “Maybe I do,” he admits. “And who cares if I was lying, it was worth it
to see the look on your face, your entire perception of dream boy shattered in
the space of a few seconds. It was marvellous.”

 “I hope you’re satisfied. But r-remember, from now on I won’t believe
anything that comes out of your mouth, whether it’s true or not.”

 “Oh well, aren’t I just shitting a brick, you really shouldn’t try to
threaten people, you’re terrible at it.”

 “I was not threatening, I was informing.” I spit, anger bubbling up in
my throat.

 “Hmm, sure, seems like you were trying to scare me with the story of the
boy who cried wolf,” he snorts.

 “To want to s-scare you I’d have to care about you Josh, and I really,
truly don’t.”

 I’ve stopped walking now, and turned to face him. My words appear to
momentarily cause him hurt, quickly he disguises it with bravado, flustering to
think of a comeback. It isn’t a very good one.

 “You’ll care when I have you beneath me, begging for more,” he says with
quiet confidence. I glance at him with disgust, turn back around and walk away.
This time, he doesn’t follow.

 After dealing with Josh, I feel like I truly deserve my long bath when I
get home. It really is a mystery why he is so interested in me. Well, I’m not
an idiot, it’s clear what he wants, sex. I shake with fear at the thoughts of
it. The unknown can be very frightening.

 But still, I don’t get why he wants it with me, I’m sure Ingrid would be
more than willing to volunteer. I’ve seen the way she looks at him, with hunger
in her eyes and in her colours. Not to mention the countless other girls at
school who swoon at his ridiculously blond high-lighted and over-styled hair. I
have to be honest and admit that I really don’t get it. Why girls would be
attracted to him that is, then again, perhaps the saying
treat them mean,
keep them keen
really is true. I’ve suffered enough bad treatment at the
hands of a man already, thank you very much. I’m definitely not disposed to
undergo more.

 Gran makes home-made chicken curry for dinner, delicious. I devour it in
less than ten minutes before retreating upstairs to take my bath. As I soak, I
think. And as I think, I suddenly come up with a theory as to why Josh wants
me. The key to it all being fear.

 My fear of people and life in general that manifests itself in my
stunted speech. He sees that and it drives him. He needs the power and the
control over another person, and I seemingly, with my stammer and insecurity,
am the perfect target. I may be wrong, but from what I saw that day in the
supermarket car park, Josh’s dad treats him pretty poorly. Perhaps not with the
same degree of cruelty as my own dad did me, but definitely with a certain
amount of severity.

 There are a number of problems with this theory of course, for if myself
and Josh both suffer at the hands of a cruel father then why are we so opposite
in our dispositions? Why do I suffer inferiority, while he quite obviously
feels superior to others in many ways? It’s baffling. Maybe it simply depends
on the person. In some cases, abuse creates a monster, while in others it
creates a victim.