IT IS OCTOBER
My mom used to tell me stories about the beauty of silence.
Now I think she was just trying to scare me into shutting up. The story she would tell me at night a few times a week was about the sprites that live in the ground only in forests. We conveniently had a large woodland right behind our apartment building at the time, and my bedroom had an amazing view of the top of the trees. We lived there with her boyfriend at the time.
The sprites would only come out at night. They are miniature, with sharp teeth and no irises, and faces so ugly that they were fascinating to look at. They cannot walk, for their limbs are too slender to hold their body weight, so instead they crawl. They make their way through miles of forest and dirt, scraping their knees and getting twigs on their wings and waiting. Slowly, the sun is appearing and that's when it happens. They open their small mouths, revealing their terrifying teeth, and let out a shriek that can break all ears, that can create wind, that wakes up the entire community of animals who hibernate in the winter, and who can scare kids into silence. Complete, utter silence.
There is a beauty in silence, I think too, but I haven't understood it yet. Instead I feel like my chest is tightening every day and when I wake up two hours before I should because I can hear the sprites yelling my name, that shrill high sound creates a cold sweat at the back of my neck and gives me goosebumps that never leave. This beauty has kept me up in the backyard of my newfound home, about five months after my previous house, my first real home, caught on fire.
I sit in the chilly morning, on the concrete sidewalk running along the house, in front of the winsome garden Beth tends to every afternoon. I pull at the daisies and petunia, counting the tiny petals, counting the seconds. Soon enough, I'm joined by Biel, who stands at the screen door of the large suburban household, in expensive flannel pajamas and bedhead.
'Couldn't sleep again?' He asks, leaning in the doorway. Standing, I'm taller than Biel by a good head, but I'm criss-crossed on the floor looking up at him, like a little child staring innocently into the eyes of her mother. My hair is tangled and has grown longer than I've ever let it be, falling on my thighs, so black, it makes my pale skin seem even whiter. Mom would hate it. She hates brushing long, unruly hair.
I get dressed for school, wearing a sundress, the only thing in my wardrobe. While I'm eating breakfast with Biel, Beth comes downstairs, fully dressed for work with Cooper, who is also ready for work. They looked like a power couple, coming down and ready to conquer whatever the real world has to throw at them. Being my sister, Beth looks nothing like me. She looks like Mom, who she hasn't seen since she was five. I look like our dad, who I have never met. But I researched about him a lot before they moved me here. Stanley Keegan, owned a small hardware store. He has my eyes, a picture showed me.
She sees me and gives me the brightest smile, one way too bright for a morning like this. The weather was shit. I stare out the window instead of returning the smile. I can practically hear her face fall.
'Good morning!' she chirps, pouring herself and her husband a cup of coffee. 'How are you doing this morning, Biel?'
His mouth is full of his usual breakfast egg sandwich when he nodded. He gave me a funny look and I couldn't help but snicker a bit. When Beth caught my eye, I look straight the other way. 'And you, Riley?'
I chew slowly on my cereal, watching as the clouds are crawling above us overhead, preparing for the storm tonight. Beth seems to have followed my gaze. 'You like rain, right?' This time I look directly at her with the blankest expression I could make out. She squirms under my burning gaze. 'Nevermind,' she murmurs, getting busy preparing breakfast for her and Cooper. Once she cooks the eggs and toast and even defrosts whole grain waffles for them, she places them on the table only to find him helping himself to a bowl of cereal. Her eyes fall on the grand breakfast, deflated. I watch her as she puts it away in the fridge, even her plate. She's not hungry anymore.
'I'm off to work,' she calls, going to kiss Cooper and Biel on the forehead. When she gets to me, I quickly get up from my seat, grab my bag and the neck of Biel's shirt, and pull him off the to front door.
'She's in a rush to get to school. Sorry! Bye!' Biel calls out to them as I drag him to the car. My car, actually. The one they bought me, unnecessarily. It's bright red, clean as Beth's behavior. It makes me feel too noticeable, and that isn't my mission in life at the moment.
'I hate this car,' I murmur as I drive over the speed limit. That's how Mom use to drive. I never questioned her, because after a while you realize something. Everything you do in life is dangerous, and driving is probably the least of them.
Thinking, though, thinking will eventually kill you.
I'm in a burning building. The inferno is like tongues licking the walls, turning fresh wallpaper into black ashes. The sound is deafening but quiet, beautiful but terrifying. It reminded me of depression, every emotion mixed together, with an obvious one missing; happiness. I grab for something, but instead I get bitten by the fire. Someone calls me name. I look down and see Mom, her body laying in the fire, except it surrounds her instead of devouring her. Her silvery blonde hair is out and swaying with the flames. She's smiling at me, humming a tune. I didn't recognize it but it hurt my ears.
'Riley, Riley?' She sung to me, her voice a sweet caress.
'Yes?'
'Don't be afraid. It's just a little fire.'
I try to nod, but the floor is shaking. I want to grab on to something, but there is nothing except the burning handles of the fire. The floor is caving in. Underneath Mom, the wood is already breaking piece by piece. I watch in silent horror as she falls. I scream for her, but it's hushed.
She's long gone, but her voice is still ringing in my ear. 'It's was just a little fire. It's okay.'
'She's been zoning out and sometimes completely sleeping in my class. She hands in all her quizzes unanswered and when I ask her a question, she doesn't answer. It's like she won't even speak to me! This is unacceptable and I want something done about it.'
Ms. Flemmings wags her finger at me now and then, trying her best not to explode. My face blank, I stare at the school counselor, trying to read his expression. Jared Connery, worn and tired, looks like an innocent puppy being put in the corner for a time out. Her face flushed, Ms. Flemmings is the picture of anger and disdain. I try to feel something, like guilt or at least fear of my well being at this school, but instead I'm numb. I am a little grateful that she didn't go straight to the principle, though.
'Nora, I know Riley hasn't been the model student â'
'By far,' my literature teacher scoffs. I raise my eyebrows in amusement.
Mr. Connery gulps, obviously struggling to hold his cool. 'I don't think that's the appropriate way to handle a student. You need to grow a little more patience.'
'Do not tell me what I should or shouldn't do. Beth Saunders put her trust in you to get this girl up and running, and what you are doing is encouraging her slacking behavior.'
He pierces his lips. 'I'd like to speak to this girl alone now, please.'
She shoots me a look, which I do not respond to, and stalks out. Once she is gone, I let go of the breath I've been holding in. 'She takes all life from a room, don't ya think?' I say, ready to leave.
'Riley, sit down for just five minutes. That's all I'm asking.'
I sigh and do what he says. The room is cold. He knows I hate cold. We talked about that in our first and last session.
'You haven't been showing up.'
'I'm aware.' I stubbornly set my jaw and look him hard in the eye. If used right, the eyes can be weapons of intimidation. I don't have extraordinarily strange eyes, but I do have anger. I'm always angry and tired. Which is something you tell to your appointed social worker, but I'm not counting on it. Mr. Connery stares back evenly, waiting for a better response.
I sigh. 'I've been busy.'
'Doing what?'
'Stuff.'
'Are you interested in failing senior year, Riley? Because your sister wouldn't be.'
'My sister doesn't matter. It's my life, remember?'
He gives me a long hard look before speaking again. 'Want to talk about this life that you assume is yours?'
I do a double take. 'What the hell is that suppose to mean?' I snap.
'It means that you're sixteen and you have no idea what life is!' He exclaims. I get up, snatching my backpack with all the strength I have and make my way to the door.
'You suck at being a counselor, you know that?' I say before slamming the door behind me. Mr. Connery doesn't follow me this time, instead lets me stomp through the empty hallways. It's lunch break now and I forgot my jacket in Ms. Flemmings class, so I head in that direction.
The classroom is one of the largest since all students at Ferry high are required to take American Literature class with Ms. Nora Flemmings. I walk to the door, noticing a tan boy sitting beside it. He's slumped in sleep, his earbuds in with loud music on. I raise my eyebrows, confused, but ignore it.
I walk in and start to the back of the classroom, where I left the familiar smelling leather jacket hanging on the windowsill that I fell asleep on. That's was when Ms. Flemmings smacked my desk as hard any middle aged woman can, waking me up from my reverie, and dragged me all the way to Mr. Connery's office. I roll my eyes at the memory, and check my phone for any messages from Biel. I'm walking not paying attention to what's in front of me. Until I trip over something large, dropping my jacket and phone with me. I land on my shoulder with a big 'Umph!'
'What the fuck?' I hear someone exclaim behind me. I slowly regain my stature and sit up, rubbing my soon to be bruised arm. 'What are you doing in here?' A blonde girl looked down at me with a twisted face of angry confusion on.
The door opened and in came the guy who was sleeping out in the hallway. 'What happened?' He looked back and forth from me to the girl. 'Who are you?'
'You were supposed to be guarding the door!' the girl shouted at him.
'I was. She slipped past me!'
'You were asleep!' I defend myself. I gather my fallen stuff. 'Shit,' I mutter, seeing that my phone screen had a nasty crack going straight through the middle. 'Great.'
The girl ignores me. 'You fell asleep? I can't believe this.'
'I'm sorry, I barely got any sleep last night because of you!'
They go on like this for a while, blaming each other and defending themselves and I just look on. The boy is more muscle than height, with dark hair neatly combed through. The girl on the other hand is gorgeous with honey hair and wide baby blue eyes. Even with her scowl, something about her makes you just want to stare at her. So I do. Then I remember what was going on, how I'm standing in Ms. Flemmings class with two strangers yelling about the strangest things.
I examine them one more time, more serious and less dazed with surprise and confusion. Of course, I still don't know what is going on and how I got myself into this, but I notice a file in the girl's hand. And then I see the drawer to Ms. Flemmings's desk is wide open and looks messed with. I put two and two together.
I'm already the target to the teacher's arrow, so I quickly decide I wanted nothing of this. When I make sure that they don't notice me anymore, I slip out as discreetly as possible. More like a serpent than a mouse, since I can hide and lie my way out of anything, said Mom one day in junior high when I got caught with a cigarette and decided to blame it on someone else. I didn't care then. Even then I was stoned hearted.