Shatterproof

Chapter Three

                 So, as previously mentioned, I am technically sixteen.  But since I was created as a sixteen year old girl sixteen years ago, I'm actually as mature and knowledgeable as the average 31 year old woman. Good for me.

                     Meanwhile, my sisters act every bit the teenagers that their official age would suggest. With their completely human perfection, they have their own boyfriend, long list of friends, and equally long list of  admirers.  In comparison,  I have no friends unless you count storybook characters and my bird and my only admirers are the people who stop by window to watch me play the piano.

                 Anyway, today is my sixteenth birthday. My eldest sister (older by a third of a second), Camellia, brought me more sheet music left over from her piano lessons and also some music books of my very own. My other sister, Dahlia, gave me her old textbooks. My final gift was from my parents.  It was a beautiful gold locket, decorated with a ring of pearls and a small diamond in the center. Inside were two pictures: on the left, our family portrait and on the right, a black orchid, my favorite flower. I put the locket around my neck and thank my family for the gifts. We all go about our own business from there. My father takes a business call, my mother starts on breakfast, and my sisters gossip to each other as they get dressed for school. I stay in the parlor, reading from my new textbooks and humming the tunes from my new sheet music. Eventually, there's a knock on the front door and I'm called to the foyer.

                      I enter to find my father talking to a tall blonde boy. I step on a creaky floorboard and they both turn to face me. The boy gives me a warm smile and walks toward me. When he gets close enough, he thrusts an envelope from Blackadder Heights Academy of the Arts at me.

                   "What's this?" I ask him, eyeing my father.

                "It's your acceptance letter. The dean asked me to bring it to you." His eyes widen. "Oh, wait. 'Congratulations on your acceptance to Blackadder Heights Academy'!" He dims his 1000-watt smile to a much more manageable 500.

                    "I never applied to Blackadder," I say flatly. Catching my father's stern look of disapproval, I repeat myself,  "I have never applied to the performing arts school."

                     The boy, apparently not catching the severity of the situation, chuckles to himself. "You're right, you didn't apply to Blackadder. I applied for you." My father's eyes narrow at him and he seems to understand.

                      "Why would you do that? You don't even know me," I say.

                  "You don't recognize me? You've waved to me from your piano everyday for two years. I thought you were really good, so I recorded it and gave the tape to the dean. I was surprised he accepted, since the school normally accepts application auditions in person. No need to thank me," he says with a bow.

                      "And what if she doesn't want to go?" My father says in a tone I've only heard when he discusses counterfeit dolls.

                        To his credit, the boy stands his ground. "Well, obviously she doesn't have to go, but I'd imagine it appeals to her more than being cooped up here all the time." Just like that, he peaked my interest.

                       "Can I bring my bird?"

                       "Pardon?"

                       "My bird. Can I bring him with me?"

                      He shifts to one foot and appears thoughtful. "Well, normally pets aren't allowed, but the dean did seem very impressed with you... I'll keep it our little secret, okay? If he finds out, I'll take responsibility. So, do we have a deal?"

                        I look hopefully at my father, who sighs and claps a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I am certain this dean of yours has certain measures in place to ensure my daughter's safety? She is the daughter of a millionaire and if she were to be so much as bruised , there would be he-"

                        The boy's face suddenly becomes serious. "Sir, we will do everything in our power to keep your daughter safe during her time at Blackadder. I'll personally see to it that she wants for nothing, as well. You have nothing to worry about." I find his words a bit overkill, but my father relaxes some.

                        "Very well. She will pack her bags and meet you outside in a few minutes." They both watch me as I climb the stairs to my room. I pack my clothes and bedding, then throw in my sheet music on a whim. After stuffing my laptop into the bag, I take the birdcage from  its stand and head outside.

                         I find the Blackadder boy leaning against an expensive silver sports car and reading a magazine in what appears to be German. As I step closer, he looks up and smiles.

                        "Ready to go?" he says, reaching to take the cage, which I pull just out of his reach.

                        "I would take the bag if I were you. Keladry isn't too fond of strangers."

                      He does as he is told, taking the bag and placing it carefully in the floorboard. Moments later, I sit in the passengers seat with Keladry's cage in my lap. The boy slips in and starts the car.

                       "I'm Max, by the way," he says, peering at me from the corner of his eye.

                       "Lobelia Van Belleghem. Nice to meet you," I reply curtly. Max seems to understand my tone and as his eyes return to the road, the conversation happily dies.

                        Or so I thought.

                       "So...can your bird talk?" Max says, still staring straight with an unreadable expression.

                       "No. He's a falcon, not a parrot."

                       "Oh. Right. So....Lobelia's an unusual name. I kinda like it, though. It suits you."

                       "Do you start every sentence with the word 'so'?" I ask the windshield.

                       "Only when I'm nervous."

                  "Why would you be nervous> I've never tried to harm you. I've never made threats. I haven't done anything to-"

                    The car swerves sharply onto the side of the road and comes to a sudden halt. Max turns and looks at me angrily. "Haven't done anything? All you've done this entire time is reject my attempts to make conversation and get to know you! Do you know how hard it is to talk to someone who acts like she'd rather you weren't in existence? The least you could do is pretend to enjoy my presence and oh my god, what happened to your arm!?"

                      I glare at him. "Some jerk swerved too hard and made me slam it against the car door. I'm not made of steel, y'know." As Max focuses on breathing, I reach into my bag and take out sealing glue and paint. Then, I repair my arm. I wave a hand in front of Max's eyes. "You alright? you look kinda pale."

                      This is when he passes out. I lay his head on the steering wheel and start preparing myself for the torrent of questions sure to ensue when he wakes. He did say he wanted to know me better...