Again.
I barely lifted my feet as I padded out of the office, letting them drag against the vintage hardwood as I made my way to the basement. I still had time to kill but at least I could do it in a place of comfort. Nothing was more off putting than this faculty building. All the ancient furniture, paintings of people I never concerned myself with, and the lingering scent of sharpened pencils… it made me choke on the saliva my mouth was producing.
The basement wasn't your mom’s basement. Our basement was finished, dark, housing so many candles we could have created a forest fire, and looked like it belonged to a cult—the non-religious type, something darker.
I thumbed through books of our history, waiting for anyone, even Alba, to arrive for our annual meeting. New Girl would be the topic of focus; the new scholarship student always was.
Alba was the first to arrive, giving me a once over, like my body would convey the secrets of my most recent trouble.
“You're here early, Bolton.”
I didn't bother looking up from my comfortable hunched over position at a desk with my feet planted into the ground and a book in my hand. Nothing ever demanded my full attention, so everyone got a small portion instead.
“Yep. You know me.”
“Thought you'd be at practice; don't you guys have a big game against Fillmore Prep?”
“I don't know. I just show up, smile, and wave.”
I could feel the annoyance seethe from his body, trying to reach me. I was the only one he couldn't control. We played nice for everyone else, to the point of everyone thinking I was his favorite. In private, we were at each other's throats, comfortably.
“Maybe if you took being stuck here as a blessing in disguise, you could enjoy yourself more… like the others.”
“You think I wanna enjoy this shit? I don't belong here, Alba. I'm not 18; I'm not a high schooler; and I’m not gonna fucking pretend like we are.”
He gave me the worst case of side eye he could, while he started lighting his candles in preparation for the others to arrive.
“She could be the twelfth, but you're determined to be miserable.”
“She's not. There's no way. She's got goddamn purple hair.”
He didn't laugh or agree, instead he looked to the door and announced the others before they even reached the basement door. I didn't move one inch as they entered the room as one big group, like they met up before coming here. It didn't bother me, I declined 99% of invites anywhere just for the simple reason: I disliked other people. I was my best company.
Nyx was my best friend, actually the perfect best friend. He was quiet, loyal, and brooding, just as much as I was. Misery loved her damn company.
He sauntered over to me, looking more serious than ever. He still wore his workout clothes from football practice. “We have to talk.”
I looked at him with my eyebrows tense and then dropped them down to my eyelids, searching for a hint as to what about. Nyx was stone cold, and he never revealed any hints.
I got up slowly and walked out of sight of the group. It was a maze down here, tunnels leading to off campus, to nothing, to other buildings. I had them mapped in my head perfectly. I slithered down a hallway, waiting for Nyx to spill his news, as I leaned against the door frame, expertly blocking the tunnel entrance. Depending on what kind of news this was, we may need more privacy.
This group had abilities. Like Austin, he could sense power. The rest of them mastered manipulation, enhanced hearing, strength, empathy visions, shadow play, and things I deemed special, simply because I was born without them, like nurturing, timing, and understanding.
Unlike the rest of them, my only ability was to continue to be an asshole, and my voice boomed with enough authority to demand people listen.
Nyx pushed his fingers through his long hair, looking (Dare I say it?) stressed out. “We have a problem.”
Now, I was interested in his detention with New Girl. I waved an impatient hand for him to continue.
“She's not just some girl. Austin felt it… and so did I, man.”
I rolled my eyes unapologetically. Sure. She was the infamous one. The sarcasm alone felt uncomfortable even silently in my head.
“Felt what?” I snapped in his direction.
“The zap, the shock… whatever it is. When you touch her… something in us remembers her, Bolton. You're the only one that remembers shit from before here.”
“You know I don't remember anything useful. Shit. Now I have to actually touch her just to prove to you guys she’s just some shiny new toy.”
He leaned against the wall, free of the burden he just unloaded. His eyes closed, and I watched him swallow hard. “She's cute, bro.”
I rolled my eyes, folding my arms against my chest and leaving him to crush on New Girl alone. I wanted this meeting to be over as quickly as possible. Sitting in a room, whining about our circumstances, wasn't my priority. My priority was acting my age in the privacy of my room.
Cheyanne had AirPods in, almost always, and was swaying her hips to nothing but silence, before Omari gave her a stern look. They were twins, connected in a way we wouldn't ever understand. In one glance, you could feel a whole conversation surge between them without any real words being said.
She plucked the AirPods from her ear, finally joining the group sitting in the circle. “Jasper is having a party tonight at the abandoned building.”
The estate was the abandoned building on the edge of campus, not used anymore. Naturally, it was used for whatever trouble you could conjure up.
Jasper was notorious for his parties that sprung out of boredom. If I ever showed up, it was out of desperation on my part, and it was only for a half hour. My presence kept the others in line, even in small doses. We were stuck as teenagers, but we weren't getting close to that kind of immaturity. Not on my watch.
Everyone chatted about the party, and I stayed silent, waiting for the hour to be up so I could leave, regardless of whether or not we made any headway on the topic.
I wasn’t naïve; they wanted to blow off steam. That’s what football was for me: A place where aggression and fighting was allowed.
The girls didn’t have the same kind of relief; they were forced to fit in and keep up appearances that we guys didn’t need to. Our standards could be lived down with an irritated grunt, multiple girls in our bed, and bad behavior. However, the women couldn't do the same without being labeled names that were cruel and unusual.
Arianna
That was the worst part of Arcadia Prep: There was no escaping. We were all closed in behind a gate, guarded by middle-aged security that I could outrun, but to where? The other side of campus? No thanks.
It was 7:50, and I was in my room, “behaving.”
Having trouble being so far from me, I felt lonely.
My head hung off the edge of the bed as I held up my heavy textbook, trying to soak in whatever ramblings crowded the pages. My eyes floated over the same words more than once as I tossed the book to my side and groaned.
My roommate came back from wherever she was; she had a busy social life, even as a girl wearing hand-knit sweaters, while I suffered in silence.
Luna.
She reminded me of the world’s best helicopter mom, stuck in a state of complete worry over everyone else.