I stand awkwardly in line at the front office to get my class schedule. It was my first day at Idyllwild Arts Academy as a senior. I left my home town, where I lived with my grandparents, to move in with my father in Idyllwild, California—a small school named after a small town—leaving behind my childhood and my mother's recent death. She passed away almost a year ago, and my dad was never really part of my life—until now.
At first, the idea appealed to me to move here. In California, big cities were on every side of you, which I was accustomed to. I found out quickly how wrong I was. The closest city was Hemet, forty minutes away. For any shopping it was Palm Springs you went to, an hour away on the other side of the mountain. Most people said they felt free living here. There was endless forest that went on for miles without an disturbance. To me, I felt utterly trapped. Being born and raised in the city, I never had to face a world with 0.1% civilization. I'd heard of such places existing, but I never remained more than five minutes in a town like that.
I did have a choice to leave five days a week from this 3,874 populated city—now 3,875 since I've arrived—to take the forty minute drive to Hemet and back for public high school. I, of course, was strongly against that. Waking up at five in the morning wasn't a dream to any teenager. Because it was my last year, the private high school here offered me a scholarship to attend. I soon learned that was mostly because they pitied me for my mother's death; a rumor I prayed wouldn't circle around the school.
So here I was, in a town with two run down grocery stores and two overpriced gas stations in a forty minute range. I convinced myself it wasn't all that bad, that I had a brand new start. But the likely hood of me fitting in was an entire different complication. I was in many ways able to blend in with a crowd of people. My ivory skin, long brown hair, and soft slender figure was what many people considered average. The difficulty I had was I didn't relate to those in my age range. Even I knew I was lying to myself about that though. I didn't relate to anyone, my brain waves seemed to be on a different setting than everyone else's. Like a radio, everyone was on a range on the FM while I was lost in the AM.
The line barely moves and I debate in my mind whether or not to be late to my first class. I was beginning when school had already started a month ago, and didn't want to bring any attention to myself.
"Next," the rounded face woman says. Her lips are set in a straight line, obviously I wasn't welcome in her presence. I hurry to get my schedule without saying a word, and made my way out of the room into the now populated school—students talking too loud for my liking. I look around, confused at how the classes were set up. The school was an enlarged endless hall, but the classroom numbers scattered in all directions.
Through the many windows, I noticed the tiny pointed shelters outside were dorms outside. I was one of the few who decided against living in one of them. It was additional costs, and I had my father. I wanted to form a relationship with him, somehow.
I'm early to my Chemistry class after roaming the crowded halls searching for it, and take a seat in the back—farthest from the door. The white brick walls and gray carpet made it feel more like an office than a classroom. The desk was highly unusual, made purely of plastic. I sat in the matching gray chair that wasn't connected to the frumpy plastic desk. Surprisingly, it was also made of plastic.
"Hey, are you new here?" I look up to see a bright smile.
I nod, my throat too dry to speak. Talking was never my strong suit. I play with my sweater sleeve and watch him sit next to me. His brown curly hair falls over his forehead, shaping around his round boyish face.
The bell rings and people start walking into the classroom. I get a few looks and I look down to avoid them. I knew already I wouldn't fit in here. I walked the quarter of a mile to school today. Not having a car was proving to be difficult in such a small town. I sold my previous car to cover the costs of my mother's funeral. She died unexpectedly in a car accident while I was at the library. I winced at the memory.
"What's your name?"
I look back at him, realizing he was still watching me, waiting. He's still wearing his bright smile and I feel myself blush.
"Emmaline." My voice is small. I look at the teacher who is now walking in.
"Mines Adam, where did you move from?"
Where I was from, I blended in. No one spoke to me for obvious reasons. I was nicknamed the "mute girl"; I doubt anyone knew my actual name. It wasn't a decision of mine to be known as the girl who never talked, but my lack of ability to maintain small talk didn't help me in making friends. I didn't mind it, as I lost myself in books. Maybe because I was the new girl in this almost nonexistent senior class, people would attempt to talk to me.
Another bell rings, bringing me out of my thoughts. I realize Adam is waiting for my answer—I probably appear mentally impaired now. I clear my throat, hoping to sound more than a mouse.
"Chicago," I stutter, unsure what else to say.
"So you're a city girl?" He presses with a grin on his face.
"Emmaline, would you like to introduce yourself?" The teacher is glaring at me and the class abruptly grows quiet, silent. Pairs of curious eyes were watching me in every direction. A few small whispers begin as I hesitantly stand up. My worst fear staring me in the face—public speaking. Speaking at all seemed like a fear of mine in usual, as it was proving itself to be.
"Tell us about yourself," She says bluntly. It was obvious she lacked human emotions.
I keep my eyes down, biting my lower lip, afraid of meeting a pair of eyes. The healing scabs ripping open one at a time. I can feel my face burning from embarrassment.
"My n-name is Emma and I-I just moved here from Chicago." I say quietly, my eyes never leave the desk sitting in front of me.
"Aren't city girls supposed to be hot?" A guy interjects to the left of me. I quickly sit back down as everyone laughs.
"D-D-Dummaline," The boy next to him adds. The roar of laughter increases, hurting my ears.
"That's enough, quiet down," The teacher yells over the laughter.
I continue to look down, avoiding any eye contact. I hear the boy whispering something to his friends. They laugh at what he must've said. I already want to go home.
"Don't mind them, I'm lucky to even be talking to you."
I give Adam a small smile in response, grateful for my new friend.
Class drags on and I'm more than happy when it's finally over. Slipping my bag over my shoulder, I make my way towards the door.
"Hey, wait up!"
I stop, and turn hesitantly to the familiar voice. My eyes meet Adam's returned smile—Maybe we would be more than class acquaintances.
"What's your next class?"
I bite my lip and dig out the paper out of my bag. My eyes skim over the small lettering, and I point it out to him.
His smile widens, showing his teeth, when he reads the answer.
"Government, I have that next too!"
I can't help reflect his enthusiasm with a small smile. I couldn't refuse, and I didn't know where the class was. I'd been planning on roaming the hall panicky, darting from each number on the wall until I found it.
He provides most of the conversation as we walk together. I was more than glad to not have to choke, not knowing what to talk about. There was a party he was helping plan, and begged me to go. He promised it would be low key when my eyes widened in response. I would think of an excuse later in not being able to go. I'd never tried dancing before without stepping on someones feet. I wasn't about to use than excuse to get out of it though.
Government was better, and worse. It was better because I had a friend to introduce me to the class without me having to say a word. It was better because Ms. Parker was more welcoming, and told me to not worry about catching up on the homework. In her words, moving to an unknown place was hard enough as it was. It was worse because Adam had to abandoned me to sit in his assigned seat next to a black spiked haired boy who I later learned was named Trevor. It was worse because the only open seat was in the center front, next to a girl who coughed on me the entire hour and a half. I was too distracted by her hacking when Ms. Parker told me her name to remember it.
As I gathered up my things when the bell rang indicating the class had ended, Adam came to my side instantly with the same bright smile I was growing accustomed to. He demanded I sit at his table in the cafeteria when I stared at him blankly, not able to answer him on whether I had someone to sit with. I had been planning on eating in the library alone, reading in one of my worn books.
The table he escorted me to, after getting our barely edible food, had a few boys already seated. I recognized Trevor, who had his earphones in. Adam introduced me to the other boy with sandy colored hair and bad skin. His name was Colton. They both talked about the party that was coming up while I picked at my food. I was slightly aware that my new friends only consisted of boys, and didn't understand half of their language about the football game last night. Today wasn't going quite as I'd expected.
I was becoming self conscious that everyone knew who I was by my third class. When I finished changing into my gym clothes, and sat alone on the bleachers, a girl with braces and her group of friends swarmed around me.
"Aren't you Emmaline," The braced face girl asked.
"Emma," I corrected with a weak smile. She sat next to me while I spoke, and her beehive of friends followed her movement.
"Is your dad Russel Knight?"
I blinked.
It shouldn't be a surprise that in a town this small people would know who resides in it. Russ didn't befriend anyone though, only concentrating on his job, fixing computers in the city. He barely spoke a word to me since I'd arrived, and I didn't expect anyone to know a mute like him. I must've inherited that from him.
I was also surprised because I wasn't used to it. I wasn't used to people knowing about who you are, and your parents. In Chicago, it was the opposite. My heart had a spasm of panic, wondering if they knew that my mother had died—pity I didn't want to receive.
She cleared her throat, drawing my attention back to her. Her curious friends stared at me confused.
I nodded once in response.
The leader who had been talking to me, braced faced girl, studied me head to toe. A whistle blew, it was the stalky gym teacher, taking their attention off of me. The stood up and quickly lined up in a formation that I assumed was assigned to them by the teacher.
I let out a sigh of relief before I realized I had another problem on my hands. The entire class of students, some face I recognized now, stared at me curiously while I was the only one not in the formation. I looked down immediately as I felt my face heating up.
The girl with braces whispered something to one of her bees. I only caught the end of the sentence, and that was enough.
"She's an awkward freak like her dad."
I concentrated on the line on the floor I was rubbing my foot against.
The teacher took attendance in silence before introducing himself to me; Coach Jenkins. He made everyone with the first letter of their last name after K move down a spot. I took my place in the middle.
While I thought about how this day was going okay—I had no idea what to expect since I'd never moved before—an incident occurs making my face flush the rest of the day. The softball we were playing with hit me in the face. I refused to go to the nurses office since it only hit my cheek. I couldn't handle anymore attention for the day.
I take a seat at a table in my last class, Literature. It was strange to have a black table in this class, but not any of my others. Chemistry had a lab separate from the classroom with only counters, not tables.
I enjoyed reading—Literature shouldn't be too hard. Glancing at the clock, I watch the red hand tick by counting down the minutes until class ends already.
The teacher starts to take attendance and I thank her inside my mind for not making me introduce myself for the 4th time today. I let my hair fall into my face when I hear her call my name.
"Here," I mutter, praying that no attention was brought to me. The overwhelming amount I received today was enough to last me for the rest of the year, though I doubt it will end before tomorrow.
She pauses for a moment, probably noticing that she doesn't recognize the name. I want to see her expression, but too afraid if I look up she will have me say something. I let out a sigh of relief when she moves on—stating the names down her list. I look up at the clock again.
The rest of the class seems like every other. I'm given assignments I need to catch up on, and I take notes on the lecture, silently. School was easy, predictable—the only stability I really had in my life. Well, it was predictable.
I gather my books when I notice the bell has rung. I start my walk home when I bump into someone. My text books scatter to the floor, and papers fly around me, drifting down to the ground.
Adam catches me as my books fall to the floor. An unreadable expression in his eyes, and I give him a weak smile to reassure him.
"I'm so sorry," he stammers quickly.
He still has a grip on me, studying my face. I nod to help him understand I'm fine.
Finally, he releases after a few awkward moments.
Gathering my books, I walk away quickly wanting to get get away. I felt uncomfortable by the slightest touch of anyone. I didn't know what it was that caused it. My mother made me see counseling for it—many nights she cried over my non affectionate characteristic. I never wanted a hug or kiss on the cheek from her. I didn't think I was being cruel or abnormal, always expressing how much I loved her. I simply never felt the need for physical connections from anyone, including family. Another flaw of mine that people saw strange.
"See you tomorrow!" I hear him yell from behind me in the distance now.
I quickened my pace.
As today was my first day of school, it was also my first day at my new job at Bernie's bookstore. He interviewed me over the phone when I'd called to see if the position was still open.
For me, I just wanted to be in my safe place. Surrounding myself with books, an endless amount of them. The library here wasn't here. The closest one was in Hemet and the schools was limited. Since I spent so much time there, and it wasn't nearby, why not get paid—though it was minimum wage—to be somewhere that was similar?
My backpack feels heavy on my back now, all the textbooks they tortured me with hanging on my back. They would only come creeping out of my closet when those rare assignments were made or for the last day of school, when they were returned. The dust collected on them, forgotten until needed.
Like me.
It was mostly uphill, a nightmare for people like me who laughed at the idea of exercise that wasn't demanded. It was good for you, or so I've heard. I knew I should follow those small flyers around the school promoting the food pyramid and sports. There were always better things to do though, like reading. I hardly had time for homework, why would I cram in dreadful exercising as well—unless I hated myself enough for that kind of torture. Thankfully, I wasn't hitting that type of insanity.
I trudge up to the nearly empty street, the bookstore almost at the top. The short row of small stores all looked alike. Their brown wood attire and pointed roofs, the only thing different about the bookstore was the bright red door on the outside. As I wrap my hand around the cold knob, I take a deep breath.
Inside, the first object my eyes trail to is the lanky figure hovered over a shelf of books. I barely notice the tan worn carpet and the many rows of shelves, stuffed full of a collection of various books. The bell rings behind me again as the door shuts, but I hardly notice that either. The boy that had grabbed my attention slid a book back into place—not seeming to notice my entrance, although I was sure he heard me—as he continued to do with the latter full of them, in quick graceful movements. In the short distance, and with his back faced to me, I noticed his unusually pale skin. It was a few shades lighter than mine, the lightest—that I was convinced—I'd ever been confronted by. Under his unusually pale skin, he was toned under his dark gray shirt, his biceps clearly visible. If it weren't for the dark shades in his untidy hair, I would've believed he was albino. It was a light dirty blonde, shades of golden ash blonde and a light sandy brown weaved together to form almost one perfect color. It took a lot of strength to rip my eyes away from him, and force my wobbly legs forward.
"Are you Bernie?" I ask quietly as I close the last few feet between to the short man behind the counter who I assume was in his 70's, and me. I'm not sure if my fake smile is convincing to him.
"Yes... " His glum gaze is on me. His face looked like ones of a bull dog.
"Hi, I'm Emma, today was supposed to be my first day." My voice stays quiet, but I hold his gaze. His critical stare never changes.
My eyes flicker to the odd boy several times as Bernie explains to me my tasks as an employee here. As we passed him toward a small office in the back, where I was instructed to put my bag, his body froze, his figure turning rigid, tense now. I thought it was Bernie he reacted this way over—as I hadn't spoken a word or made a noise as we walked by—but when I snuck another glance at him, he was staring at me with frustrated eyes, concentrating on my face it seemed. Of course, when I noticed this, I dropped my eyes to my hands in embarrassment. I was positive he'd saw me look, as our eyes had met.
It was hard to concentrate on Bernie's words as he told me the dress code. I was stunned by the boy's face, feeling his eyes still on me. His shocking features was even more shocking to me, glueing me in place. I noticed his hair better now, as it stood up, lazily, off his forehead. I was sure he teased it or hair-sprayed it to stay that way. The sides were slicked back just as sloppy. It was as if he was sporting a bed-head, yet it fit his face perfectly. What would catch anyones attention was the long jagged scar that started at his left temple, and snaked down to the corner of his mouth. That wasn't what striked me about him though. It was his inhuman beauty that caught me off guard. I couldn't help from my eyes stealing another glance at him. I gazed at him side-ways. I took in his strong jawline, and his dark long lashes. His pale blue eyes—I was certain were contacts by how light they were—darted up and met mine. I flushed a deep red.
This time, I didn't look away, couldn't. My breath caught in my throat. His icy glare was different, freezing me in place. It took me a moment to realize his pupils were long black slivers now, like those of a cats. Before he turned his hateful stare out the window—seeming to hear something I hadn't—I also noticed his nostrils were flaring.
I sniffed the air, but didn't smell anything abnormal, only the faint scent of pine trees and old books.
"Who is that?" I asked Bernie when he asked me if I had any questions.
He smiled, giving him creases at the corner of his eyes. It seemed it was common for someone to ask this.
"James Caverly," he said after a moment. "He volunteers here, refusing any kind of pay. I've grown old; he's been a great help to me. Very much a gentleman, takes after his father."
I glanced at the boy again, James, and wondered. If he really was... a gentleman, was his hate filled eyes directed towards me? And why?
Bernie had me assigned to a row in the far back. I didn't notice one customer throughout the afternoon as I organized a shelf. The minutes ticked by slowly, and my thoughts escaped me. It bothered me, that I might've been the reason James reacted the way he did. It was foolish and conceded to come to that conclusion, which lead me to blame it on something else. He had to have been upset before I entered, and he was only curious of the new comer. I couldn't help the nagging thoughts that it was my doing though, and it was pushing me towards a minor insanity. What could've I'd done to him when he didn't even know me?
When it hit nine o'clock, I hesitantly peeked around the corner. The boy wasn't there, and I took that chance to escape.
My hand was formed into a fist, held up in front of my face, preparing to knock on the door, when I heard an unfamiliar silky voice.
"Isn't there another day I may work when she won't be here?"
"Has she done something to you?" I noticed it was Bernie talking now.
"No, I prefer to work alone."
"You were happy to work with Angelica."
I knocked then, not wanting to hear anymore. It wasn't my business, whoever was behind the door.
It immediately went silent. No one spoke, and I instantly regretted my decision. There was a sigh after a few moments.
"I see there's nothing you can do, never mind then."
Just then, the door swung open, bringing me face to face with James Caverly. I stared at him bewildered. His pupils instantly turned to slits, as they had before, and his nose wrinkled up as if I brought a fowl smell to the air.
I wanted to curl up into a ball, into a shrunk into nothing, under his dark gaze. For the first time, I felt real fear. He stared at me as if he were contemplating on whether he could get away with killing me or not.
He slid past me then, with long graceful steps, scattering my thoughts again. My eyes followed him until he was out the door, making the bell ring.
"I forgot you had your bag in my office, I'm sorry dear."
I slowly turned back to Bernie, who wore his eye crinkling smile. I gave him a weak smile as I reached for my belongings on a chair next to the door.
"I'll expect to see you again Wednesday then."
I nodded once before turning on my heel, and half running home, my mind blank. I only had one goal in mind as I trudged through the darkness.
I take note Russ isn't home as I glance around the living room. The blinds were still shut—the dark unwelcome house was deadly silent. He never was home, nor did he pay much attention to me. I thought he would want some type of relationship, but it was obvious he didn't. Why else would he have left when I was so young? It didn't bother me much though, he was providing a place for me when I really had nowhere else to go until I was eighteen. I never cared for conversation, he didn't care enough to make any.
I got confused where the front door was when I first arrived. It was at the back of the house, where the gravel driveway lay. An out dated porch wrapped around the home. I stepped into the dining room when I entered, and the kitchen was to my left. It lead to where I thought was the front entrance, with the living room and french doors that creaked with age. I was grateful for the fireplace that was built there, as the heater hardly worked. On the right of the main rooms, was a set of stairs to the side of the living room and a hallway next to them. My room was the closed off narrow loft that was in the middle of the house. Underneath me, was a hallway that led to my father's room on the left, a closet at the end, and my bathroom, and the laundry room on the right.
Setting down my bag onto the bed, I pick up a box—the only luggage besides my duffel bag and backpack I had brought. Opening it, I slowly take out the contents from inside. Memories flash through my mind as I examine everything I unpack.
My mom and I were best friends. My dad left when I was 5-years-old, and she never remarried. We did everything she could afford together. She made a little over $2,000 a month, yet I never felt any less than. The many memories I had and wardrobe never made me feel like we were lower class. She sacrificed everything to see me smile.
I play with the ring on my finger she had bought it for me when I was eight for Christmas. Well, she demanded it was Santa, but I knew otherwise. It had forever love engraved on the inside of the silver, marking my skin when I wore it, reminding me of her. Tears start to brim my eyes as the image of her smiling face enters my mind. I fall back onto my bed—I remember that day clearly. Her bruised body laying on a hospital bed. Her brain lost too much oxygen. The wires and machine making her breathe. Roaming around the ICU, passing all of the laughing families going to see their family doctors. Making the decision to take her off life support. If only I had gone with her to the store that day, she would still be alive. Even being a year ago, it still felt like I had lost her just yesterday. I knew why my Grandmother blamed me for her death, and so did I. That isn't why I forced myself to move.
The constant reminders of her everywhere I went, knowing it was my fault, I couldn't stand living there anymore. Even in a city that large, every place I turned, the memory of her was there. After the countless times I broke down in bathrooms, and even in public, I decided I had to leave. And even in a town like this, it was better than the constant reminded it was my fault she was gone.
Looking over at the alarm clock on the nightstand it reads 8:30, and I wasn't in any mood to get my homework done early. It was too much, everything that happened to me today, and these memories added on.
I curl up hugging a pillow and quietly sob into it until I fall asleep.
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