Wicked Hunger

Wicked Hunger Chapter 2

Laney knows about insanity, and where it’s housed, from being friends with me. She wouldn’t risk that, and telling her story would be a one way ticket to professional help. There’s no way Laney told her anything about what she’s seen me do. Could Ivy possibly know something about me? I don’t know how. I’m just some fifteen year old girl living quietly in the middle of the desert.

Except, I’m not.

It’s not exactly a secret that I’m a freak. That’s why no one sits with me in class. I’ve grown up through elementary school with a lot of these kids, but even the ones I’ve only known since we were all pooled into the same high school have heard the stories and know enough to stay away from me, even if they don’t actually know why.

But who am I kidding? I don’t even know why. I don’t understand the most basic part of who I am. My grandma tries to help, but even she is limited in what she knows. Her only knowledge comes from family legends passed down through generations of old coots mumbling scary bedtime stories to trembling little children. Half of what she’s told me sounds like total crap.

I carry the filled cookie sheet to the oven, relieved to have some distance from Ivy. I slide the tray in and step back to close the oven door without paying much attention. Someone smacks into the back of me, hard. My hands spring out in front of me, palms slapping into the hot racks and oven door.

The pain that bursts through my body kills, but rouses my hunger as well. It’s a battle between not reacting to the injury and lapping up the pain hungrily. Ivy, who is suddenly next to me, yanks me back from the oven. Her touch barely registers under the pain of my scorched flesh. My brain finally refocuses, and I push the oven door shut with my elbow, hoping desperately that no one saw what just happened. I shove my blistered hands down, out of sight before anyone can take notice.

My sigh of relief is interrupted by Mrs. Huff rushing over to us with a panicked expression. I guess I didn’t escape everyone’s notice. “Sorry,” I say quickly, “I wasn’t paying attention and I bumped into someone.”

My eyes dart around for whoever ran into me, but everyone else seems to be working quietly at their tables. A sick, angry feeling stabs at my insides. I turn back to look at Ivy, more suspicious than ever.

“Are you both okay?” Mrs. Huff asks, her eyes darting over us.

“Yeah,” I start to say, not taking my eyes off Ivy, but Ivy interrupts me.

“No, Van got burned! I saw her hands fall on the oven racks.” Ivy grabs for my hands, but I yank them behind my back before she can get me. I keep my eye on her for a second attempt and completely miss Mrs. Huff making the same move. She pulls my hands from behind my back and stares at them. Then she flips them over, and back. She touches my pink, perfect skin gently, then more forcefully.

“Looks fine to me,” she says with relief.

Ivy’s eyes pop open wide in disbelief. “What? I saw her touch the racks! They were both red and blistered!”

“Must’ve been the lighting. I stopped myself in time,” I say tightly. I tug my hands out of Mrs. Huff’s grip and start back to my table. Our teacher just shakes her head at Ivy and stalks back to the front of the classroom.

“I could have sworn …”

Ivy falls silent as I start cleaning up the mess I made while mixing my cookie dough. She doesn’t say anything else, but the smug expression on Ivy’s face before she turns away stops me. What did that look mean? I’m sure she was the one who ran into me, and as I head out of Home Ec a few minutes later, I am even more convinced that it wasn’t an accident.