Reapers - Thirteen Brothers

VIII - Fate (1 of 2)

--XIII--

It had been three months since I last talked to Vincent. In fact, that was the last decent conversation I had with anybody since forever. In school, I tried to be inconspicuous or better yet, invisible. For a few weeks, the rumor about Vincent Sinclair and his curse was spread like a bad case of fungal infection. It was passed on and on until it got so exaggerated, no one believed it anymore.

And since I didn't exactly live up to people's expectations, which was to say, die, the story itself died eventually. But it didn't leave without casualty.

My classmates hardly ever talked to me. Except Carter and sometimes, Macy Cartridge from Science Club—perhaps to check if I was still alive and not a zombie.

Plus, it helped that the students were more preoccupied with the Chemistry Lab freak accident.

The school admin chose to go with the chlorine-mixed-with-ammonia story. The culprit (considering that there was any) got away with it because there was no evidence found even after the police shut the building down for a week. Everybody believed the story.

Except me.

Vincent had something to do with it and I knew it.

I still saw Vincent in class. But for all he cared, I never really existed.

He never said a word to me. He never even looked at me once. There were a lot of things I wanted to ask him; things that weren't clear to me until now. Apologizing had popped into my head many times. I just wasn't sure how to do it.

Lindsay and I still weren't in speaking terms.

I couldn't blame her. I had been a big pain in the butt. And the worse friend ever. Not that I had ever been a good friend in my previous years of existence. I didn't think I had the genes or the talent.

Perhaps, I was meant to be this. Alone. Invisible.

Even the reigning school whacko—Vincent—hated me. Maybe I was the biggest whack ever.

So there I was, sitting in Spanish class, actually learning Spanish with rolling R's, inwardly cursing at Vincent who was sound asleep, slumping on his desk and thinking how life could have been if we hadn't moved to Ashland.

Probably, I would still be an ordinary student in Boston. Madison and Rose—my old almost-friends—sitting with me during lunch hours and Brian holding my hand under the Physics Lab table.

Maybe if I hadn't met Lindsay's Mom, or if I hadn't sat on that chair at the back of the room in Miss Cruz' class on the first day of school, if I hadn't talked to Vincent Sinclair or experienced any of those weird creepy stuff in my dad's house, if I didn't find out about that stupid curse which apparently ran for generations in my family... maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't be this miserable.

I probably wouldn't be a loner. People might actually talk to me every once in a while without giving me disgusted stares like I was some kind of freak show.

If I could turn back time, I would. But I guess, Lindsay's mom was right—you can't escape from fate. Perhaps, underneath all those semi-precious jewelry was a genuine seer. And all of her predictions were meant to be taken in a rhetorical way.

I didn't actually die, but the Aramis right now was better off dead with my social life dropping to a flat line. Not that I had a social life to begin with.

My train of thought was interrupted when just after Physics class ended, Carter sat beside me.

"Hey," he greeted with an animated smile. "Guess what?"

I gave him reluctant look. "Shouldn't you be... I don't know. Not talking to me? You don't want my weirdness rubbing off on you."

"Garbage," he shrugged the thought away.

"Well, that's what everyone's thinking." With a sigh, I busied myself shoving my stuff into my old backpack.

"I don't." He smiled, rolling his eyes. "Mira Webber's having a party on Friday night and I am officially invited!" he hooted, making a few heads turn to our direction.

"Good for you." I smiled back, hesitantly patting him on the shoulder. "Finally, after a truckload of homework and favors, your hard work has paid off."

Then I left the room.

He caught up with me in the hallway. "And you're coming with me."

I saw Lindsay looking at us as we passed by her locker, Carter giving her a wink. She just answered with a faint smile. I had been meaning to talk to her for some time now, but I wasn't sure how to begin.

"I'm busy that night." I managed a rueful smile. "I have a four P.M. appointment with laundry and a business meeting with Dad's clutter."

Carter gave me a dubious glare. "Ha-ha, very funny Aramis. Seriously, you're not nerdy enough so don't even try."

"Dad wouldn't let me go," I lied.

"I thought he doesn't care what you do?"

"He does."

"Yeah? Since when?"

I was cornered. "Since like... now. He just realized that I'm his only daughter and that he thinks so much about my welfare."

"Right..." he said the word like it had more than one syllable. "I'll pick you up at exactly seven fifteen so we'll be fashionably late. And don't you stand me up because I swear I'll—"

"Okay, okay, seven fifteen," I said in retreat. Carter stood by me all the while. He was my only friend. How could I say no to him? "Pool party! Yay!" Ugh.

His smile widened.

***

I woke up to the sound of the wind knocking against my window pane. The sky was a mixture of indigo and orange, it looked breathtaking from my room. I got out of bed, admiring the dusky horizon. The wall clock's second hand ticked loudly like a detonator but I was used to it.

It was six thirty; exactly an hour before Carter picks me up.

Taking a deep breath, I opened my window and watched as the almost barren maple tree in the yard just outside my window swayed with the cold wind. It scattered red leaves on the withered lawn with every gentle gust.

Seriously, who throws a pool party in the middle of November?

From the side of my eye, I saw something move in the yard right below my window. When I looked closer, I realized right away who it was.

Vincent Sinclair stood there looking up at me.

I couldn't be totally sure because of those eye glasses which changed color every time I looked at his eyes.

There was a grim look on his faultless face. The wind blew gently on his dark wavy hair. He wore a dark jacket over a black undershirt, which made him more difficult to see in the shadows.

I wondered if he could see me staring back at him. But before I could even open my mouth and call out to him, he seemed to have disappeared into thin air. It happened so fast I was starting to doubt my sanity.

Perhaps I was imagining things. But why for the love of everything holy would I imagine him? And of all people?