The Guardians

1.

The heavens up above rippled with dark thunderclouds as we raced away from the blue horizon. The weather seemed to reflect my mood. My sour mood, especially my sour facial expression, did not go overlooked by my mother.

She tore her gaze from the road and glanced at me. "Quinn, didn't I tell you that if you continue to make an ugly face, then one day it will freeze that way?" She asked, breaking the heavy silence between us.

"Yeah," I said, adjusting my headphones. I didn't feel like talking. I didn't want to talk. I wanted to go home, and sleep. Not be on some stupid trip.

She sighed and started playing with car radio, trying to find a station that actually played music. Beyond her, the trees, which had been a border to the small two-lane road for the past three hours, thinned out to the first sight of humanity I've seen so far. Car lots, strip clubs, and burger joints sped past us in a blur, their bright colors contrasting to the brown of the forest surrounding them. I watched her play with the radio, trying not to look at the ugly and boring scenery beyond.

"I thought you weren't going to be upset about the move." She said after a moment, finally giving up on the radio and her attempts at cheering me up.

"I'm not upset . . . I'm downright pissed. There's a difference."

"I guess I owe you something now," She said.

"A very big something," I muttered darkly.

"It's not like we haven't moved before," She retorted, absentmindedly brushing a lock of hair away.

That was a huge understatement. We had moved so many times in my life that I simply wasn't even shocked when it happened. Before, we had always moved from one city to another, jumping from coast to coast like jack rabbits, never settling in one place longer than a year. We usually stayed in cities and towns large enough to get lost in if we wanted to, which we did. It was how we hid. Even though that didn't sound like a very appealing way to live, I had grown accustomed to alleyways and rooftops of the large cities, to the ebb and flow of the crowds, and the rhythm of places like New York, Chicago, and L.A.

   It was home.

Another long row of thick trees and even thicker undergrowth momentarily dominated the landscape, the burger joints faded behind us. A person could get lost here as well, but only if they were idiots.

"This isn't the same." I whispered, touching the cool glass with my fingertips.

"I know, honey." She agreed quietly.

We'd been over this several times since she had told me we were moving. She understood how it felt to be here more than I did. She knew how it felt to hate the place we were heading toward.

She turned to me, her eyes wide and full of hurt. "Trust me?"

I sighed and rubbed at my forehead, the frown disappearing.

"I trust you, Mom. It's just . . ." My voice trailed off, thinking about the root of my irritation.

Tomorrow, I would be forced into the tiny, ugly, brick building, they called a high school here. While I was certainly used to first days--going through six high schools in the last three years meant the stares, the questions--not fitting in had become a second nature to me. But I have never been to a school like this one. Mom called it 'charming'. I called it hell.

The clouds, which have been looming over us dolefully since entering Maryland, thickening even more. I looked at the cheerfully picture perfect, with their perfect shutters painted bright nauseating colors. I was suddenly glad for the clouds; they were perfectly dark, a contrast to the sickening cheerfulness of the buildings.