There was something wrong with me.
I knew that from the day I was born—or rather, a little after that, when I actually started remembering things—there was a malfunction in my being. Even if I tried to resist it or begged myself to act otherwise, it was truly hard for me to do that one thing. And because of it, well, a series of events in this ordinary life of mine happened.
"Just once," Paige said, clumping her dark brown, curly hair to one side. "We'll never break your curfew again after this. Come on, Fiona, this is the last week of summer. We have to go to this party."
"I can't," I firmly replied, keeping to heart my dad's house rules.
"Please? This is the summer before senior year, and it's almost over. Don't you want to enjoy it to the fullest?" Paige pleaded. I could see how expectant she was about this summer before senior thing, like our whole lives depended on it.
"No?" I replied, still keeping my decision intact. There was nothing in this world that could make me go to that party.
Pinky promise, none.
"Fiona, please?" Paige asked, appearing to be fragile and in dire need of my concession.
I let out a sigh.
Well, nothing could ever stop Paige Steinfield. Not with her pleas or demands. Not in the middle of her absolute pursuit of whatever she wanted. And evidently enough, not with me.
Because all my life, the word 'no' never existed. I didn't know how to turn down people and disappoint them. I was afraid that they would hate me. The first and last time I said no to someone, I felt dreadful. And since that was the case, I kind of did the opposite of it all the time.
Too bad, huh?
Well, it would have been nice if it were only Paige. She and I had been inseparable ever since my family (well, two of which) had moved here to Heatherville City. Paige had never gotten me into so much trouble that I would end up being exiled to somewhere faraway or anything like that.
However, the problem was that it had also happened a lot with everyone else in school. Particularly, it was because of a certain boy. His name started with the letter 'C'. If I hadn't met him, my secret would never be out in the open. But it happened. Since then, everyone had asked me for favors every chance they got.
Anyway, enough of my misery.
I closed my eyes, telling myself, 'No, you will not say yes. You will not say yes, even if Paige is begging you. You're going to stay in your room and be good. Even if she is pulling your hair like crazy and shaking your head like there's no tomorrow, you will not go to that party.'
"Fine," she muttered. I snapped back to reality and saw Paige carefully sliding my bedroom window open. She climbed onto my desk and was about to jump outside. "Are you coming or not?"
"Tell me you're..." I didn't get to finish what I was going to say, because she had already hopped outside. It was no big deal. Our house had only one floor. The worst thing that could happen to her was to get a scratch or two from the bushes below my bedroom window.
Getting up from my bed, I pressed my hands on the windowsill. "Come back here! My dad will kill me."
"Either you'll let your best friend go alone to that party, or you will come with me," she laid out the verdict, putting her hands on her hips while holding that determined look on her face.
I grimaced.
It was that same old routine. After a moment of dramatic persuasion, I would hesitate for a good while, but I would eventually go with her. Biting my lower lip, I was going through that same thing once more. And like always, I already saw the end of this.
"My dad will not like this." I stepped on my windowsill and jumped out.
"He'll never know. Come on, we won't stay late," Paige said, dragging me as I soothed the scratch I'd received when my left arm got caught in one loosely hanging branch. And here I was, staring at my unscathed best friend, who was pulling me by the wrist.
I sighed.
Right now, I could only wish that we were not heading for trouble, reality wise. Breaking my curfew and getting into trouble didn't seem to be the perfect rhyme on my part. It was as if asking to be grounded and having my allowance cut off at the same time.
Gathering her hair in a bun, Paige finally enlightened me about where we were going. "It's a house-warming party. Channing invited some of the former members of the team. And guess who's coming?"
"Wait. If it's a house-warming party, how come it's so late?" I asked her, holding back her arm. I had to make sure we wouldn't end up behind bars tonight.
"I don't know. Actually, the party lasted all day long, but I heard his friends would come at around ten. Not sure," Paige said, hastening her steps as she kept on dragging me along. I followed her stride, catching my breath a little. There was no stopping her, anyway. I could only hope that they would welcome us to the party.
Oh, right.
I forgot.
We could be confident that they would welcome us there. After all, Channing was the friendly type of guy, like someone running for office with arms spread wide open, showing goodness and benevolence to the world. It wouldn't be that hard to get a free pass.
Some even said that Channing and I were a good match, and if we were to get married and have kids, people would instantly like our offspring as soon as they came into this world. Crashing Channing's party wasn't a big deal. For sure, he wouldn't mind. And the reason that we were coming this late was supposedly because of his friends.
It took me a moment before I realized who was the reason Paige dragged me to that party. I couldn't believe that it had slipped my mind.
Spike.
It had to be him. Spike was Paige's official, ultimate, unbeatable, crush no. 1. She had been drooling over him ever since we'd entered high school. Spike wasn't his real name. It was actually Anton Hierra. People called him Spike because of his hair.
It was, well, spiky.
With that, I gave up. No one could ever stop Paige from pursuing Spike whenever he was around town. There was this one time when we had to eat in a very expensive restaurant just so we could sit at the table beside him. Too much sacrifices, so little progress. Paige had only uttered three sentences to him during that time.
One and two were: "Hi! What a coincidence to see you here!"
Spike answered, "Hi."
The third was: "How are you doing?"
"Good."
End of conversation.
After that, we'd starved in school for weeks. Well, at least our allowance was not at stake this time around.
With a little more walking, I looked at a two-storey house, where I assumed the party was being held. Even though I didn't know where Channing's house was located, it was the only place around the block that showed some kind of liveliness in it. The surrounding houses were dull, lights turned off, and probably tolerating the upbeat music and staggering lights coming from this place.
"We're here, come on." Paige hauled me along.
With those words, the next thing I knew, I was already inside the house, forced to talk to the boys from the football team, and having one miserable time. Included in the group was, of course, Spike. He looked the same as before—spiky.
Paige was, like always, trying to have a deep conversation with him. But seeing how she was constantly shoved aside from the said conversation, it seemed like she was far from getting what she wanted. That was why I'd told her to ditch her current lip gloss and get a new one.
"Did we have the same class in..." the blonde guy in front of me said slowly. So that was why he kept on looking at me.
"I don't think... we did. You don't look... familiar," I recited, hoping to end the conversation instantly. Keeping Paige under surveillance and being the responsible best friend, I should keep my words few and boring.
"Do you want to get some fresh air outside?"
"I don't think..." I stammered. He didn't seem to be convinced that I had no interest in whatsoever he wanted to say... or do. As I was stepping back, I bumped into someone. Particularly, I had collided with a tray that someone was probably holding.
"Fiona?" It was a familiar voice.
I flinched.
Oh, no.
Not him.
"Fiona Pearce, is that you?" he said in his normal, gawky voice. "Man, you really have the perfect timing."
After several seconds of deep contemplation and inner rumblings, I exhaled one long and resounding breath. Unwanted people had their way of popping up when you least expected them to.
Like right now, I wasn't into talking to Clark.
No, I had nothing against him, setting aside his ousting of my secret that I could only wish he had kept to himself. The thing was, ever since I had helped him with his science project years ago, he had it embedded in his mind that I would do so all my life.
And yeah, regretfully, I actually did. He named it, and I did it. I knew I should do some kind of advertising for myself: Fiona Pearce, at your service. Let me do it for you! It will make your life easier!
I turned around, seeing whom I'd expected to see—Clark Wright with all his glorious messed up hair. Dressed in a semi-fit shirt and faded jeans underneath a red apron carrying his tag, I assumed he must be helping around with the catering. He was infamous for his insensitivity, and persistence was a core part of his identity. Clark had no clue what simple implications meant, which was frustrating if you were in my position.
"Hi," I muttered with a heavy heart. I couldn't help but feel dejected. Clark never talked to me unless he would ask for something.
"You look great in that," Clark paused, looking for something catchy in my oh-so-boring look—black shirt and denim shorts. There was nothing to be impressed with my about-to-go-to-bed look. After almost a minute of thinking, he finally said, "Shirt."
It was a dull and plain-looking shirt.
Nope. Great was not equal with what I was wearing, which pointed me to the real agenda for the night. This was the start. When someone was going to ask you for a favor, they'd always start with a compliment. Clark did just that by taking notice of my uninteresting top.
Next cue, they would probably offer you a drink or some food.
Should I count now?
One, two, three...
Clark pushed the serving plate closer to me. "Here, try some crab cakes."
For one, Clark didn't have a clue that I was into crab cakes. He didn't even know a thing about me, except that I was helping every living creature on earth. And if he wasn't offering me crab cakes right now, I'd probably just eat a piece or two of whatever he was holding and say that I had enough—coldly.
But, of course, that would never happen. I'd tried it several times, thinking that he might change his mind if I would respond as stiff as a block of ice. However, as expected, I didn't sound convincing at all.
And so, I just succumbed to the delicious crab cakes instead. Taking one bite, I felt like crying my eyes out. It was scrumptious. The stuffing inside exploded in my mouth, cuddling my tongue. Oh, such heavenly taste! Clark could ask me for a thousand favors now, and I'd gladly say yes to all of them. Even if I already knew the drill, the bribing move absolutely worked.
"So there's this..." Clark faltered. Okay, back to what I was thinking a moment ago. When someone was going to ask you for a favor, they'd usually start it after coaxing you. They'd first make you feel comfortable with them to ease up the atmosphere between the two of you.
Food always worked best for me.
Getting another bite, he continued, "I really need to call Maggie tonight. It's our anniversary in five minutes. I want to surprise her and tell her I remember the exact time she agreed to go out with me."
"Sounds good." Anniversary things were always good. People stick together despite it all. Happy endings. Ever after. Good old stuff that somehow happened to some.
And it wasn't like I had to be the one to make the call. Maybe Clark would not ask me for a favor, after all. Perhaps the sun had shone on the other side. For all I knew, he might only be telling me about this anniversary thing of his. Should I congratulate him?
But suddenly, Clark hushed his voice a little. "Fiona..."
Oh, wait. That wasn't a good sign. Because the next clue that someone would really ask you for something serious was when they started lowering their voices, careful not to let anyone hear what they wanted to say. Asking for a favor was more like the opposite of bragging—they always ended up keeping a low profile.
"So can you..." he carried on.
Dot. Dot. Dot.
"What did you say?" I asked him, hoping that I was only hearing things.
"Can you take my spot for about fifteen minutes? I'll be quick. My boss won't even notice that I'm not the one spreading the crab cakes around," Clark explained the hefty matter to me as he tried catching my eyes, looking for an affirmation.
I had heard him the first time, but I only wanted him to say it again, expecting he might change his mind after. And maybe, just maybe, he'd realize that Fiona could be busy tonight to do such a thing.
But even after saying it once more, he didn't show any sign of faltering. I looked at what he was wearing, trying to keep my smile in place. "You mean..."
"Please, Fiona?" Clark asked. I swallowed, and it wasn't because of the tasty crab cakes on the platter. It was more like I realized where this would all be heading. Clark already gave me those eyes—puppy eyes! And who could resist that story? His girlfriend would be happy. I was helping them make this day even more perfect.
Fiona's mindset? Defeated.
Spreading out my hand, I waited for him to hand me over the platter. Clark beamed in response, giving away the silver platter in another heartbeat. And then he tugged his apron over his head and handed it to me.
Fiona Pearce, at your service.
"Thank you so much, Fiona. I owe you one," Clark said enthusiastically, grabbing his phone from his back pocket before running outside. This was more, like, the eighth or ninth, and it was definitely not the first one.
Next thing I knew, Clark was already out of sight, and I was now taking his place. Looking around, I realized Paige was nowhere to be found, either. She had quickly left as soon as she saw I was preoccupied with Clark.
Good move.
I'd let her be for fifteen minutes. This wouldn't take long.
As I walked around the room, no one seemed to be interested in crab cakes. Or maybe it was because I wasn't actually moving around, but more like strolling in circles. I didn't really feel like serving crab cakes tonight. I should be in bed—sleeping.
Staring at what I was holding, my mouth watered again. It was so good. These crab cakes were so tempting. My will on not to be provoked was already crashing down. It was falling apart quickly.
Scanning the place to see if anyone was looking, I went to one side, where there were only a few people around. Turning my back against the crowd, I took another piece of crab cake.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
Repeating the cycle, I slid another one into my mouth. After a while, I set aside the chewing and swallowing part.
Another piece.
Another piece.
Another piece.
How could these crab cakes taste so good? It was against the crab cakes law to be this delicious. Counting the leftovers, there were still around ten pieces left, so I guessed it wouldn't hurt to eat another one... or two. Convincing myself that I'd stop after this, I slid two more into my mouth.
Unforgivable tasty crab cakes.
With so much food in my mouth, I struggled for breath. I reminded myself that I should really chew and swallow now.
And I was doing so when someone suddenly tapped me from behind. "Hey."
I choked, balancing the platter in one hand and pounding my chest with the other. It was a hard task to chew five pieces of crab cakes in my mouth properly. It required nothing but utmost concentration, and the last thing that I wanted to happen was for someone to bother me while doing so.
But being the insistent one, he asked, "What are you doing there?"
'Eating delicious food,' I thought to myself.
"You're not a server, are you?" he said again, stating the obvious and still tapping me on the shoulder. I refused to turn around. My face was swollen, with crab cakes filling every space in my mouth. I swore I looked like a stuffed fish.
I hoped he would just leave me alone. My mouth was busy to even talk right now. So what if a server was eating her own food? Was that illegal? Should I be in jail because of that? Would my father bail me out and say, 'Fiona, how did you end up in jail when you were supposed to be in your room?'
Then I'd answer, 'It was because of those unforgivable tasty crab cakes, and that guy, whoever he was, who told on me.'
Yes, the tapping continued.
I had no choice but to turn around. But the moment I laid my eyes on the culprit's face, my thoughts became blank. When he saw me, he was also taken aback. In fact, we were both startled—him with my bloated face and me with his half-mask.
Why were we so weird at the same place and time? The last time I'd checked, this wasn't a masquerade party. And being one busybody, I gravely wanted to ask him why he was wearing a half-mask, but my full mouth had prevented me from doing so.
"So, Clark," he said, reading the nametag on Clark's apron. "You're eating those crab cakes instead of serving them?"
I vehemently shook my head, my eyes wide-open in denial. 'No! I wasn't!'
"Thought so. Your boss might want to hear this, Clark," he implied.
I shook my head again, as I tried swallowing what was in my mouth, and probably explain the situation to him at the same time. Of course, it didn't work well.
"Well, I'm sure you don't want your boss to hear this, don't you?" he said again, studying me carefully. I instantly sensed some threatening going on. He was wearing a half mask that hid the upper part of his face, so his taunting grin was still showing. Regardless, I immediately nodded. Threatened or not, tied up, beaten from all sides, into the burning fire, or whatever method he'd decide to use, I didn't want Clark's boss to know what I was doing while wearing someone else's apron.
"Okay, so here's the deal. Stay still for a while, and I'll sketch you," he instructed me. I blinked several times, with one dumbfounded expression on my face, which was still bloated. Did I hear that right? Was I hallucinating because of the lack of air in my system? It was probably the latter. I wasn't sure. He looked in the kitchen's direction. "Or maybe I'll just..."
I hesitantly shook my head, ending the blinking mania and composing my face. Well, I hadn't really been able to do the second one, because my mouth was still half-full.
"Okay, so now just stand there..." He adjusted his sketchpad, dragging the nearest stool with his left foot. Taking a seat, he picked out the pencil that was stuck behind his ear.
Banging noises resounded as the music changed into something that sounded like metal. The whole place was a mess. Everyone was dancing skin to skin along to the beat. Alcohol already made its way inside the system of ninety percent of the population present in the house. And he was, like, he wanted to sketch me? Really? Was he drunk?
I looked back at him and saw that he was serious about all this. Even the loud music didn't seem to bother him at all. There was nothing on his face that said that he was throwing the joke of the century.
He was really going to sketch me. Was he serious?
"Wha..." I tried saying, but it ended up with me spurting pieces of crab cakes to his face. He was tall. But in a sitting position and me standing on my feet, our height difference evened out.
"What the—" he cussed, wiping his face. Mortified, I just shut my mouth again and continued chewing instead. He took a deep breath, evening out his voice when he said, "Can we start now?"
I held three fingers in front of him, telling him to finish it within three minutes. Or at least that was what I was trying to say. Then I made an 'X' sign with my arms, followed by a dead pose, showing that I would be so dead if he wouldn't hurry with this bizarre thing he wanted to do. And through the entire ordeal of getting my thoughts out without the use of my helpful mouth, I continued chewing and swallowing as well. I had to get these crab cakes down to my stomach.
"Okay, okay, I get it." He didn't seem to be the laughing kind of guy, but he had this covered up smile on his lips. It must really be comical to see me look like one bloated frog who was eating some crab cakes.
Croak.
Finally, I swallowed the last piece in my mouth. I hurriedly told him, "Be quick. Real quick. And don't tell anyone that Clark was eating everything on her platter a while ago. Deal?"
"Fine," he answered. I loved looking normal. It instantly shoved the laughing look on his face.
I shrugged. "Let's just get this over with."
"Hold the plate up, like you're gladly offering it to people," he instructed. I did what he had told me and pulled a quick smile. In response, he had this satisfied grin, like the ones you'd see photographers had when their models gave them what they wanted to see.
Why was I even doing this?
And then he started sketching me. So by now, I was being drawn by some guy I didn't know.
In less than ten minutes, I saw a sketch of myself on his pad: a girl who was happily holding a platter of crab cakes in her hands. There were still some rough edges to be fixed. And with no bias regarding me being the model, it was good. I even felt like giving him a round of applause.
But looking at the large wall clock, I realized Clark would be back any minute now. So, handing the mystery guy three crab cakes, I dashed back to the crowd. At least those were three crab cakes less. He should just figure out what to do with those. Eat them, for example. After all, they were delicious.
Finding my way back to the crowd, Clark spotted me in the middle of five people who were grabbing crab cakes from the platter. I was doing his job all right. After they all got a piece, Clark pulled me to the side.
"Thanks again," Clark said.
"Not at all," I said back, still thinking about that boy who drew a sketch of me a moment ago. "So how did it go?"
Clark smiled, saying, "Maggie was thrilled."
"Good," I replied, handing him the silver plate. Taking off his apron, I added, "Happy anniversary to the two of you, I guess."
"It wouldn't be possible without you," Clark replied. Looking at the plate, he added, "I wonder why they weren't wiped away in minutes. I was serving it like crazy a while back. Do they taste bad? I'm sure..."
"No!" I blurted. "Of course not."
"Oh well, I should get back to work. Thanks, Fiona. I knew I could count on you," Clark said, before disappearing into the crowd.
Done. I was back to finding Paige again.
Scanning the room, I caught another glimpse of that masked guy. He was oddly working on his sketchpad in the middle of a chaotic room. Too bad. He was still wearing his mask. Even for a bit, I wanted to see a glimpse of his face. He got me intrigued. Aside from his tall figure, there wasn't anything else I could remember him by. He was actually the first person who drew a portrait of me, so I was more or less flattered.
In a moment, I saw Paige coming towards me in an irritated state. It didn't work well for her, I could tell. Now, it wasn't like I'd have more time to chat with the masked guy. Not to mention that curfew was holding me back, too. And of course, it wasn't like I would see him again and have that chance to ask him why he had drawn me.
Reality check, meeting him would be next to impossible. If he attended a normal high school, it might happen. More so if he was also going to Heatherville High, like the rest of the boys at this party. Masked or not, I saw him using a Corner Stone High School sketchpad.
FINDING FINN JOURNAL NO. 1
Finn is my twin brother. And I have no idea that he is missing.