Arianna's Awakening (Arianna Rose Part 1 & The Awakening Part 2) (8 page)

Howard watched as MJ’s eyes surveyed the room, the blood that had splattered against the concrete walls and seemed to dance in the flickering candlelight.  A smile tugged at the corner of the boy’s mouth and he looked to Howard and said, “Amen.”  With his loyal followers and God on his side, Howard knew the Sola’s days were numbered.  She, like the sinners he stood before, would fall.

Chapter 8

Starting the day by losing control of her bike and careening down a stretch of road on her back had not been Arianna’s first choice of ways to begin her day.  She felt safe assuming that the accident would be the lowest point of her day, and that anything else that happened thereafter couldn’t possibly be worse.  Not even her second day at her new school.  In fact, thanks to her new friend, Luke, Herald Falls High School didn’t seem half bad, even though she was forced to face it dressed like a prostitute.  She ran her hands down her abdomen and touched her borrowed clothes.  Luke’s sister had surprised her with her generosity, but in her clothes, she felt less like herself.  She felt vulnerable.  Though she’d never shied away from wearing tight clothing, the thin material of Stephanie’s yoga pants left little to the imagination.  Every curve of her body was on display.  The T-shirt she’d borrowed was more fitted than the ones she normally wore as well.  The cotton and spandex blend of the fabric stretched and strained across her chest and hugged the contours of her breasts.   She wished her sweater had fared better so that she could have covered up with it.  She’d wanted to ask Luke for his, but he’d
done so much for her already.  His offer to connect her with an inexpensive mechanic to fix her bike was more than she could have possibly expected, not that she’d expected
anything
that had happened earlier in the morning.

The morning, and the accident, was still so fresh in her mind.  Each time she blinked, she saw a glimpse of it.  The world rushing at her as her bike spiraled out of control, scraping along the asphalt, rolling down the hill, and the strange man on the side of the road.  Images unceasingly presented themselves, but none more disturbing than the man.  The stranger on the side of the road had distracted her, and had arguably instigated her
crash.  But she did not want to think about him.  Not now.  She had a long day ahead of her.

Pulling one of two large doors toward her, she pushed the mystery man to the back of her mind, replaced by a sudden need for nicotine.  She could not remember when she’d had her last cigarette and felt a distinct edge encroaching on her temper.  Walking toward her first period class, she decided she’d sneak out at her first opportunity to the small clearing.  Even if she only managed a few drags, the nicotine would mellow the irritability she felt.  She dug through her bag and found her course schedule wadded at the bottom.  She smoothed the creases as best she could and saw that her first class was just a few doors from where she stood.  Few students lingered in the hallway.  The first bell had rung while she had been in the parking lot with Luke.  The ones that remained watched her, though they tried to do so discreetly.  She would have loved to stare each of them down, freeze them out with her hardest look, but there was no time.  She jogged to her class and crossed the threshold just as the second bell rang.

Everyone was already seated.  Arianna looked at roughly twenty-five or so sets of eyes.  And they were all on her.  All looked unfamiliar, save for one.  Cheryl Charles narrowed her green eyes at her and smirked. 

Arianna resisted the urge to walk to her desk and wipe the stupid grin she wore right off her face, and probably would have, had her teacher not begun to speak.

“Oh, hello there,” he began in a soft voice.  “My name is Mr. Bates.  Welcome to American History.  You must be Arianna Rose.”

“Yep, that’s me,” she said and took her lower lip between her teeth.

“Good to meet you.  We have an empty desk back there,” he said and pointed to a desk in the last row.

Arianna walked to the back of the classroom and felt eyes on her as she passed.  Some of the looks were approving.  The boys she’d passed let their eyes travel the length of her body and generally rested on her chest.  The attention was flattering.  There was no doubt about it.  But it did not go over well with the girls in the class.  A few huffed and rolled their eyes and Arianna silently cursed Stephanie’s available wardrobe. 

Once she’d finally made it to her desk and settled in, she looked up and noticed another familiar face.  The boy she’d flicked her cigarette at, Preppy-boy, sat at the desk next to Cheryl.  Both had turned in their seats slightly and eyed her.  She met Cheryl’s gaze first and watched her unwaveringly.  After she realized Arianna was not going to look away, Cheryl returned her attention to the front of the room and shifted uncomfortably.  Preppy-boy gave up as well and followed Cheryl’s lead.  Mr. Bates began his lecture and twenty-five boring minutes into class, everyone was broken into groups.  Neither Preppy-boy nor Cheryl had been assigned to her, but their group had met beside hers. 

More than once, Arianna heard Cheryl remark to
Preppy-boy muffled words then laugh and look in her direction.  Anger began to boil in her like molten lava.  She did not know if it was Cheryl’s arrogant smirk, or her body’s need for nicotine gnawing at her, but she could not recall ever feeling as riled as she did in that moment.  Each time she laughed, Cheryl tossed her head back and slung her blonde hair over one shoulder.  The hair toss, the exaggerated cackle, and that smug smirk incensed Arianna.  It felt as though every cell in her body teemed, alert and alive, and on edge.  She balled her fists and put them in her lap, her nails digging into the skin of her palms so deeply, she was certain she’d drawn blood.  She heard the word “slut” hissed and saw Cheryl stand and brush her hair off her shoulder followed by another girl chiming in and adding, “She really does dress like a slut.”

“I hope you’re not talking about me,” Arianna said aloud and looked directly at the girl.

The girl did not reply.  She lowered her gaze to her textbook and stared at it as if it were the last thing she’d read.  Cheryl, however, had become suddenly emboldened.  She looked at her and tipped up her chin, “Arianna, why would you
ever
think we were talking about you?  The outfit perhaps,” she said and raked her eyes over her before cackling again.

An indescribable feeling shot through Arianna’s body, like a bolt of lightning streaking across the sky.  It jolted each of her senses and all she could think of was humiliating Cheryl, knocking her from the high horse she’d placed herself on.  Her pulse pounded in her ears and her breathing became short and shallow.  Words escaped her fleetingly and she envisioned Cheryl on her ass.  She took a deep breath to calm herself and was about to utter a sharp retort as Cheryl squatted to seat herself in her chair again.  Arianna stared at the chair, concentrated hard on it and focused all of her rage, all of her energy toward it.  She wanted nothing more than for the chair to glide back, away from Cheryl.  She lifted her hand to brush a lock of hair from her forehead and noticed that her fingertips tingled and watched as, impossibly, the chair shot out from behind Cheryl, slid of its own volition more than twenty feet.  Cheryl’s backside landed against the floor with a thump, and judging from the expression on her face, the fall had hurt more than her rump.  The entire class laughed.

“Ow! Oh my God! Ouch!” she squealed and stood slowly.  “What the hell!  You people are
not
funny!  Not funny at all!  Which one of you did it? Huh, which one?” she accused her group.

No one took credit for kicking her chair out because no one had.  Arianna had seen the chair move by itself.  Or had she?  Searing pain exploded in the back of her head.  She raised a hand and tried to massage the overwhelming ache and found that the tingling had stopped.  She wondered whether the massive headache was nicotine withdrawal or possibly a concussion.  Or perhaps she was going crazy.  Fortunately, the pain subsided quickly, and as the laughter subsided and it had been determined that none of the people in her group had kicked the chair out from beneath her, Cheryl glanced over her shoulder at Arianna.  Only this time, her haughtiness was tinged with embarrassment.   Arianna was the one to smirk this time around, and though she was left with a dull smarting at the base of her skull and the distinct possibility existed that she was injured or losing her mind, she felt that either way, Cheryl had gotten what she deserved.

Mr. Bates quickly regained control of his class and silenced any remaining chatter.  The rest of the period wore on and Arianna’s headache wore off.  When the bell finally sounded and ended American History, she gathered her belongings and bolted out the door.  A quick glance at her schedule confirmed that her next class was two doors down the hall.  When she arrived there, a note had been posted on the door that her teacher had needed to leave unexpectedly.  The class was instructed to report to either the library or computer lab for study hall.  But she had no intention of doing either, not right away at least.  Enduring a fifty-minute class in the throes of a nicotine fit had been next to impossible.   She did not intend to ignore opportunity when it presented itself.  She needed a cigarette.  She dashed down the hallway and found the alcove that led to the clearing in the woods.  She pushed open the door and noticed that it did not fully close.  A rock had been wedged near the bottom hinge.  She smiled and realized someone had borrowed her idea.

The sun was strong for the late-October morning.   Although she wasn’t particularly fond of her tight T-shirt, she was grateful it was short-sleeved.   With one hand reaching into her backpack digging for her box of Camel Lights, she stole across the leaf-littered grass to the tree line.   When finally concealed by a formidable maple, she placed her cigarette between her lips and lit it.  She inhaled deeply and felt the smoke fill her lungs, the nicotine entering her system.  She felt immediately calmed, and a bit lightheaded, but not unpleasantly so.  Her accident earlier in the morning, her run-in with Cheryl, as well the bizarre chair incident moments ago, seeped from her and was replaced with quiet calm.  The area around her, bathed in golden light and bejeweled with brilliant treetops, was peaceful.  But the sound of damp leaves swishing in the distance ended her peacefulness.  Growing nearer, it meant that she wasn’t alone.   She peeked out from around the tru
nk of the maple she hid behind and did not see anyone.  She guessed animals had made the noise and returned her attention to smoking. 

“Hey,” a voice whispered in her ear unexpectedly.

“Holy shit!” Arianna jumped and dropped her cigarette in the wet leaves.   She turned, her heart slapping wildly against her ribs, and found a pair of familiar gray eyes staring at her.  “Luke,” she breathed and clutched her chest.  “Are you
trying
to kill me?”

“I thought you heard me coming,” he smiled.

“I heard something, but I looked and didn’t see anyone.”

“Guess it’s my ninja skills,” he said and winked.  She did not know whether to be touched or embarrassed by the fact that he
’d remembered their first conversation in such great detail.  She chose to do neither and decided to change the subject.

“You’d better hope that wasn’t my last butt,” she said referring to her fallen cigarette.  She began rifling through her bag and Luke stepped closer.

“Here,” he said and placed one of his between her lips.  He stood close to her, with only about a foot of space between them, and smelled of soap and deodorant.  She enjoyed his clean scent, his nearness. He lit her cigarette with his lighter, all the while staring at her mouth.  She felt her insides begin to tremble slightly and removed the cigarette from her lips, the sudden need to busy her hands overwhelming.  She exhaled upward then watched as a veil of smoke descended slowly, shrouding and obscuring Luke’s features.  When the smoke had cleared, she saw that he smiled again, his lively gray eyes sparkling.

“Thanks,” she said.  “What’re you out here all day?”

“No. Well, not
all
day.  Normally, I’d wait ‘til later.  But
someone
decided to crash her bike this morning and interrupt my morning cigarette and coffee.”

“Who would go and do something that awful to you?” she said then added, “What an asshole.”

“Ah, you know, maybe ‘asshole’ is too strong a word; rude, might be better.  But she’s really hot, so I let it slide.”

Arianna was not accustomed to compliments or flattery.  Guys she’d dated in the past had shown her their appreciation of her appearance in rather obvious ways, and while she did not prefer their methods to Luke’s, it had been all she’d ever known and come to expect.  Luke wasn’t like other guys she’d dated, though.  He was far different.  The tattoos and scars that marked his ropey arms were betrayed by the kindness in his eyes.  He looked at her and smiled, a wicked
, crooked smile, yet his eyes brimmed with anything but wicked intentions. 

She was about to make a snappy comeback about the rude comment when voices echoed from beyond the trees.  A male voice said something inaudible and was followed by both male and female laughter.

“Come on,” Luke said and took her hand.  He gave it a gentle squeeze then tugged and led her away from the maple.  “I want you to meet some of my friends.”

“Luke, I don’t know about right now,” she began to protest.

“Why?” he interrupted.

“Well, I don’t know,” she balked.  “I’m not dressed like I normally do.”

“Oh stop,” he said and pulled her slightly.  “No one cares how you’re dressed.  I mean, you look smokin’ hot, don’t get me wrong, but they’re not like that.”

She allowed herself to be led briefly, another unfamiliar action.  She walked alongside him deeper into the woods.  Luke let go of her hand and disappointment at his gesture nipped at her.  He wasn’t her boyfriend. She didn’t know why it had bothered her.  He was just a guy she’d met the day before who had helped her out of a tough spot.  She’d only known him all of one day.  So what if she’d thought about him all evening and most of the afternoon after she’d met him.  Big deal, he was good looking and had kind eyes.  She’d avoided disappointment when it came to guys her whole life.  By insulating herself against caring or getting deeply involved, she’d safeguarded herself against vulnerability, against heartbreak.