Wicked Fate (The Wicked Trilogy) (2 page)

She
rea
lizes everyone is staring at us and h
er
dark
eyes widen.
Dipping her head, she whispers,
“Do these p
eople always stare like this?”

“It’s ‘
cause
you’re sitting here with me. I told you
, if you sit here they’re
going to
either treat you like crap,
or they’re going to ignore yo
u completely.”

Get the hell away from me, new girl.

God h
elp her if people start to think we’re
friends. Anyone who isn’t me couldn’t handle all the isolation I endure. A
normal
person would go nuts without an ounce of socialization.

“That’s stupid. Why are they acting like that?”

“They don’t like me
,” I mutter.

“Well
,
people
generally don’t like me either. So, I say screw ‘
em
!” she waves her hand carelessly in the air. “S
o
…nice to meet you…?” her freshly waxed brow lifts in question
.

“Mage,
” I continue to look away from her.

“For real!
Dude, that’s the coolest name ever.
Is that like a nickname
or something
?
You’re so lucky!  I hate my name. Every time I hear it I think of freaking
Sesame Street.
You know, with the whole Bert and Ernie thing? Like, who the hell names their kid
Bernie?
”

The less conversation we have, the better for her. I snatch up my book bag an
d throw in my i
Pod. I do all this while pretending she isn’t there. My
grandpa taught me to always be
polite, so I feel bad for treating her so rudely.
She’ll thank me one day.

I stand up, pick up my untouched tray
, and walk away.

Normally, I don’t mind playing the role of evil girl, but som
ething about this Bernie chick’
s different.
She seems so genuinely sweet. It’s alarming.

Why’d she have to be so damn nice? Now I feel guilty. And knowing me, that guilt will eat at me all freaking day.

The girl’s bathroom behind the cafeteria is always empty
, so I
go
straight
th
ere. I’ve had enough attention for the day.

I s
tare in the mirror
, tracing the lines of my face and turning my head from side-to-side. For some reason, I need
to make sure I’m still me. I don’t feel like myself today.

Maybe it’s the blue shirt that’s making me feel more awkward than usual. I found it deep in my closet this morning. It makes my icy eyes look larger, much different from
my typical blac
k or gray t-shirt from
Goodwill
.

Running my sweaty hands down the sides of my jeans, I stick my pinky in one of the frayed holes. Looking down, I see that my worn, black
Converse
are
also developing a tattered hole. New shoes are in my future, which sucks since I loathe shopping.

My long hair hangs limp down my back. I push a thick strand
of black hair out of my eyes and stare at the
dark circles beneath them
. Sleep is a rare com
modity these days, since I’ve started having nightmares.

The bathroom door swings open and a little blonde freshman smiles as she walks by me to the closest stall.

What’s with these new people and all their creepy smiles?

Snatching up my book bag, I pract
ically run out of the bathroom and head to my next class. G
ym class—my arch enemy.
The act of r
unning around
like an idiot with no purpose doesn’t appeal to me. 
Ducking and weaving through a hallway f
ull of people who pretend I don’t exist is enough exercise. Maneuvering my small frame around gigantic football players can be a serious workout sometimes.

The huge gymnasium, covered in green and go
ld, is already full and,
as usual
,
loud and obnoxious. I
make my new home for the next hour
on an unoccupied set of bleachers.

I never dr
ess out for gym,
I never participate, yet somehow I keep managing to pass. I refuse to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I just go with the flow.

I pull out my notebook and open it to an empty page.  I start writing a mix of words to occupy my time.

Let the lonely voice be the loude
st, let the worm kill the
bird.

W
ind blow away all indecent thoughts, let them go unheard.

The little girl that cries alone will cry no more today.

The thoughtless thoughts they think of me will turn the other way.

A
loud
noise
from across the gym
catches my attention. S
earch
ing
the crowd
, it see
ms that no one else even notices
the strange commotion. I hear it once more before my eyes are directed to
the culprit
. A now familiar face
comes into sight.

With her back against
the wall, Bernie
covers her face with her hands as three girls s
tand in front of her and pummel her with a big red kick
ball. They laugh when the ball bounces off of her and she lets out a little hissing noise.

“Stop it!” Bernie yells back. “What are you…
five?”

“Are you a freak
,
too? Everyone saw you with the wei
rd girl today at lunch,” I hear
one girl
say as she bends down to grab the ball
.

Word gets around fast…poor Bernie.

“The gym is the best place for you
, fat ass!” another girl says with a laugh.

The ball smacks
against Bernie’s leg
,
causing her to fall to one knee.

Disgusted, I stare helplessly
,
knowi
ng that this is because of me.
As far as they’re concerned she’s a traitor to the
normal
people.

Just seeing the backs of the three bullies,
I know who they are
. I don’t need to see their almost perfect faces.
Brandy Phillips, Mich
elle Sedgwick, and Wendy Baker—
The
Three
Bitchkateers
.

All three are fake blondes with tanning bed tans and acrylic nails. I guess they could be considered as pretty—a
t least on the outside;
inside they’re wretched heathens
.

I run ideas through my head on how t
o stop their torment.
Before doing anything
,
I look back up and meet Bernie’s eyes staring back at me with a look of pain on her face.

Please look away!

No way am I doing anything with her staring at me. It would give everything about me away. Not that it matters if she thinks I’m a freak; everyone else does. I just don’t want to go around flashing to the world that they’re right about me.

Finally, she looks a
way to block the ball. I take advantage of that moment, and
I shoot my vision t
o the big
red kick ball
.
I follow it as it bounces off of Bernie and back into the hands of her tormentors.
I let my anger build until I can almost feel the red hotness of my fury burnin
g behind my eyes. 

Never taking my eyes from the ball, I begin to feel its vibrations inside of me. Every time it bounces from one surface to the other, I feel it; even from across the room.

My anger reaches its limits, and I know that I’m now in control of the ball. With one final bounce off of Bernie, I push and add speed behind the ball. Instead of catching it with her hands, the ball flies directly into Brandy’s face. The sound of the red rubber smashing into her echoes through the gym.

“What the hell!” Brandy screams as she covers her face with her hands.

From between her fingers, blood starts to seep.  Immediately, I feel awful for pushing the ball too hard. The last thing I wanted to do was break her nose.

Looking back at Bernie, I see her staring back at me with a stunned look on her face.

I put my head down as I sit b
ack in my seat. I start to write
again as if nothing happened.

From afar I can still hear Brandy’s cries as the coach stuffs tissues into her hands and takes her from the gym. I get relief from Bernie’s accusing eyes when she goes to the nurse for a skinned knee.

I spend the rest of gym class mentally kicking myself for breaking Brandy’s nose. I can never seem to get
it
right. Either it’s too much, or not enough. In all seriousness, she deserved what she got, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling like shit.

When the bell rings, I snatch up my stuff and head to my last class of the day, South Carolina History.

I see Adam in the hallway, and for the second time today, I get a glimpse of jade eyes when he looks me. Twice in one day, that rarely happens.

Chapter 2

You Are My Sunshine

I always sit in the back of the class.  It’s my favorite place to sit
b
ecause there’s no one behind me breathing down the back of my neck.

T
oss
ing
my book bag
carelessly
on the floor
, I drop into
my desk
. I place my chin in my hand and
proceed to stare out the window until class starts.

It’s gloomy out.
Dark clouds ripple across the sky warning everyone of the impending rain. Basically, it’s good sleeping weather.

I don’t mind the rain, but I loathe
the
daunting
drizzle that comes when I
’m sad. I’ll never forget that first time it happened. Mainly because it was the first time I saw Adam.

It was second grade, and an aggravating boy named Nicholas thought it would be hilarious to tease me during recess. The things he said were so juvenile and dim-witted that I’d laugh about it now
, bu
t at seven-years-
old they were the
most awful things he could’ve
said to me.

“You’re such a weirdo
, Mage McPherson!” he laughed. “Y
ou’re a really ugly
, stupid, weirdo. Even your name is
stup
id
!”

Yeah, he was a bright one.

He said this as
he threw clumps of playground sand at me.

“Leave her alone, Nick,” Adam said from my side.

I remember looking over and thinking that I’d never seen eyes so green. They glowed behind his thick, black lashes as he looked over at me and smiled.

Nicholas didn’t listen.

I don’t know why he
decided
I should
be his victim
that day, but it didn’t matter.
All that mattered
was that he stopped. Turning my back to him, I tried to wa
lk away. He followed me, continuously tossing dirt clumps.  

Un
wanted tea
rs streamed down my sand-covered face and at that exact moment, it started to drizzle. The combination of my warm tears mixed with the cold drops
of rain felt strange again my flushed cheeks
.

I continued to ignore him.

Shut up! Shut up! Shut
up!
  I ran those words through my mind.

And then I saw it—a little black rock that stuck out from the beige playground sand; it sparkled when the light hit it the right way. Its coloration was foreign amidst the rest of the rocks surrounding it, as if it was obviously waiting for me.

In my mind, I imagined that little black rock knocking Nicholas in the face. I visualized what it might look like as it smashed into his perfectly-shaped nose. 

I was
sent to the principal’s office that day and then sent home for throwing a
rock at Nicholas. I guess I
did
throw a rock at him.
It’s amazing what the mind can do in a moment of distress.