Chapter 3
Callie
I take a sip of my coffee, as I stare out the passenger side window on my way to school. My reflection looks dully back at me, distorted by the trees whipping past. The bags under my eyes are puffy and pronounced, advertising the choppy sleep I had last night, and pretty much every night in general. I may not be able to die, but I sure can look like death.
I yawn so widely my jaw cracks, and my breath fogs the glass. I draw a little heart with my finger. It was a good thing Felix didn’t mind being sent away last night, and thankfully, wasn’t there this morning. Yeah, him watching me sleep would’ve probably been creepy, but the truth is, I didn’t want him to witness me thrashing about in my sleep. To see me frozen in a silent scream when I’m lucky enough to wake up.
The nightmares are constantly with me any time I close my eyes and drift. They’re frightening in their realism, memories pressed together into a never ending horror that requires no embellishment. The basement that was always cold no matter the temperature outside. The table he always tied me to leeching the heat from my skin, and slick with my blood. The crunch and crack of bones breaking, the heavy thud of bat meeting flesh, and the frustrated grunts of my father as he worked filling the void where my screams once echoed, my throat already worn into silence. I couldn’t escape that hell hole then, and it seems that I can’t escape it now.
“Looks like we’ll have to get you a car while we’re living here,” my aunt announces, startling me so badly I spill some coffee out of my travel mug onto my lap. Scalding hot, then wet and cold. Awesome.
She hands me a napkin from the center console while still keeping her eyes on the road. “Can’t seem to get around here without one. Do you have your license?”
I glance at her, while I dab at the coffee stain. She looks like she’s off to a job interview or something, but she didn’t mention anything. I don’t even know what she does for work normally. I haven’t really been all that chatty this past week. Six weeks waiting for my father to go to trial, then the week I sat there listening to the evidence of his “crime” and they didn’t know a fraction of it, left me disinterested in pretty much everything.
“No,” I answer after a beat, looking back to the window. There’s a visible tick in my jaw from my clenched teeth. “My father didn’t really see a need for it.” Then I might’ve been able to get away.
My aunt tsks in disgust at the mention of my father. Interesting. “We’ll have to fix that. Study up, and I’ll take you down to the DMV to get your permit.”
I look back and nod dumbly. “Thanks,” I add with slightly more warmth.
I remind myself again that what happened to me wasn’t her fault. No one is promised a white knight.
When we reach the school, she pulls over near the front. “Callie,” she murmurs, before I can get out of the car, and places a hand on my arm. “I know you don’t know me, but know this; it will be over my dead body before I let anyone hurt you again.”
My heart leaps into my throat, and my eyes burn from lack of blinking. “You know?” I croak.
“No, I don’t know,” she emphasizes, her gaze intent on me, “but seeing you now, I have an idea of what your bastard father did.”
Tears decide to make an appearance, forcing me to blink them away. I shake my head, my voice barely a whisper, “I really don’t think you do.”
She gives me a gentle squeeze before releasing me. “When you’re ready to talk; I’ll be there to listen. You’re not alone, darling. Not anymore.”
I sniff once and bob my head, pressing my emotions down hard. If I feel, I shut down, and I can’t do that right now.
“I’ll be here after school to pick you up,” she tries for upbeat, but it comes out warbled around the edges. “I have my mobile. If you need anything, just call. You have yours, correct?”
I clear my throat. “Yep. In my backpack.”
I leave my travel mug in the car and get out, slinging my backpack over one shoulder. With an awkward wave, I close the door and step back.
She smiles in a way that doesn’t reach her eyes and waves back, before pulling back out into traffic.
I run my knuckles under my eyes to catch any renegade tears. Pulling my red, zip-up hoodie down to cover the coffee stain on my lap, I lock away what just happened in the car. Yes, let’s go with a casual mention of your long-term suffered abuse right before you start your first day of school. Because starting at a new school in October wasn’t bad enough.
I run my hands over my hair that I had decided to wear down, split over my shoulders, and along my clothes, releasing a heavy breath as I go. This is how I survived those years. There’s no before or after. There’s only this moment, the rest locked away to be faced by a much older, much more emotionally healthy Callie. Assuming that day ever comes.
The air is cold, but hey, it’s not raining, so that’s a plus. I’ve had to go the route of layering to keep warm; a long-sleeved, black Henley with a Black Widow t-shirt thrown over, because my clothes are more geared towards Arizona weather. My heavy black boots protect up to the middle of my calves, but the wind cuts right through my dark wash, skinny jeans.
I chew on my bottom lip, tasting my pomegranate chapstick-- all I own in regards to anything resembling makeup, and adjust my backpack so that it’s on both shoulders. I sigh at my own patheticness. It’s been years since I gave a crap about what I look like, but here I am nervous, not because I give a rat’s ass about my classmates, but because I want Felix’s friends to like me. The familiar fear of “Am I even capable of interacting with normal people?” washes over me. My first friend here is a ghost… or imaginary.
Before here, I pushed people away, always afraid my father would take away my only escape if he thought I was getting too close to someone. Now, I’m trying to make friends. Felix said his friends are a little weird, and they are friends with a ghost, assuming they’re real. They’re real, damn it! I’m not losing my mind, too. Maybe my weirdness will work in my favor.
“Won’t find out standing here,” I mutter to myself. I pull my hair out from under my backpack’s straps, square my shoulders, and walk towards the front of the school.
It’s a large L-shaped, two story building in the middle of an even larger clearing. There’s a round driveway that goes through the front lawn then leads away into a partially filled parking lot. A few kids are clustered around outside, enjoying the ‘not rain’ I suppose, since the sun is still well hidden behind clouds.
Near the front double doors, standing away from everyone else, is a small group of boys that even from a distance, I can tell are very good looking. A familiar one is grinning and waving excitedly at me. Felix. His wild gestures catch the attention of the other boys, and they turn to look at me. Point for Felix in the not a hallucination column.
When I wave tentatively back, Felix bounds over, while the other three stay where they are. They wear varying expressions over my arrival. The one on the left has a gentle smile, but a pensive pull around his dark eyes that usually means bad news. Uh oh. The one on the right lounges against the wall with one foot pulled up and looks at me with a smirk and amused eyes that resemble a cat that’s found its next meal. Double, uh oh. And the one in the middle who’s a few inches taller than the other two, wears a grimace that highlights the obvious chip on his shoulder. Maybe we can compete. I bet mine’s bigger.
“Hi!” Felix exclaims, bouncing as he walks beside me. He’s dressed in a green, long sleeved t-shirt with a Green Lantern graphic on the front, distressed jeans, and black Vans sneakers. The shirt brings out the flecks of green in his hazel eyes and the auburn undertones in his brown hair.
“’Morning. You can change your clothes?” I murmur under my breath, aware people can see me now.
“Yep,” he says normally, since I, and presumably those three boys, are the only ones that can hear him. “Technically, I can change anything about my appearance. Souls don’t actually have a physical form, so… but it’d be too weird not to look like myself.”
“I can understand that,” I smile up at him, “besides, I like you the way you are.”
“Thanks.” He ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck, a soft returning smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Anyway, time to meet my friends. Shake their hands. Promise it won’t go through.”
He waggles his brows at me, and out of my mouth pops bubbling laughter, washing away my earlier anxiety. I get a few strange looks from random kids in the distance. Right. Laughing at invisible people. Good start. Having Felix beside me keeps the happy smile on my face, though, and I feel more confident about meeting the others.
When we reach the group, Felix gestures to the boy with the dark eyes and warm smile. “This is Kaleb. He’s the one I told you about.”
Kaleb is about Felix’s height with short, black curly hair, dark sepia skin, and is shaped like Captain America-- broad muscular shoulders and chest tapering down to a narrow waist. He’s dressed in all clean lines: fitted jeans, blue buttoned shirt with a few buttons open at the throat, a black wool pea coat and black boots. There’s a calm certainty about him that I’m envious of.
“Hi,” I say and hold out my hand, determined for it not to quiver. Basic human contact, I can do this.
His warm, much larger hand envelops mine. With a voice so deep, I can feel it in my bones, he replies, “It’s nice to meet you.”
Whoa. They’re teenagers, right?
“See? Real person, as promised.” Felix gives me a smug grin.
“Okay, Casper,” I chuckle. “You’re officially a real boy.”
His smile falters for a moment. “Not quite, pretty girl, but definitely not imaginary.”
The boy to our right stands up from the wall. My earlier cat analogy still holds; his tall, lean muscular form draped in expensive tailored clothes reminding me of some jungle cat. Charisma and confidence flows with every movement, probably because he looks like he stepped off some high fashion magazine cover. Short, platinum blonde hair slicked to the side, eyes the pale blue of arctic ice, and sharp features that would cut glass.
“Casper, huh?” he teases, his full mouth pulled into a cocky smirk. “Now, why didn’t I think of that?”
He grasps my hand to shake, long tapered fingers encircling my own. “I’m Nolan,” his impish gaze roves up and down my body, “and it’s definitely a pleasure to meet you.”
He’s certainly attractive, but his obvious flirting makes me more want to laugh than melt into a puddle at his feet, forget remembering to be nervous. It takes me a moment to figure out why. It’s the mirth in his eyes. This is all an act for him.
I erupt in high pitched, peals of giggles. “It’s definitely a pleasure to meet you,” I wheeze, mocking his admittedly rather attractive voice. “Does that whole ‘I want to eat you for breakfast’ routine actually work?”
Nolan’s eyes brighten, and his smirk turns into a grin while he fights the silent hilarity vibrating through him. “You have no idea,” he replies with genuine warmth, and even more interest in his gaze.
The tallest one howls with gravelly chortles that seem to come from deep inside his chest. Without the scowl, he’s quite handsome, striking, pale blue-green eyes contrasted against warm, olive skin and straight black hair that hangs loose around his ears. He’s dressed in full bad boy regalia; heavy black boots, dark wash jeans, black Henley, and leather jacket, that screams, I’m a scary, badass. Leave me the hell alone. I wonder if it works. Leather jackets are easy enough to come by, though him being huge might also have something to do with it.
I went from having no friends, to potentially having a pack of ridiculously attractive guy friends. I’m starting to wonder how they’re weird, and worry if they can handle my weirdness.
I glance at Felix who’s doubled over in laughter and smile. Whatever happens, I’ll still have him, until he moves on, that is. I hold on to my earlier levity with both hands, desperate to make sure my smile doesn’t slip, while I stuff the melancholy down behind the door marked, Cry About It Later. ‘Later Callie’ is going to be really screwed when all this stuff comes back up.
When Felix gets himself under control, he motions toward the tallest boy. “And this bundle of sunshine is Donovan.”
Donovan rolls his eyes, but I notice the scowl is less severe. He reaches around Felix with another large hand, being careful not to brush through his friend, and engulfs mine. Yes, I’m small, but these guys make me feel pocket sized. Donovan, I’m pretty sure, is at least a full foot taller than me, and the others are only a few inches or so shorter than he is.
He frowns while he holds my hand, not in anger, but in what looks like confusion. He exchanges a look with Kaleb and shakes his head. Kaleb returns it with a resigned looking nod.
What the hell?
When Donovan pulls away, he says, “I don’t know what she is, but she’s not nephilim.”
“What?!” I exclaim, crossing my arms, and curling into myself.
My heart starts to pound wildly in my ears. Could they know what I am? Why I have these powers? My father beat and tortured me because of what I am. Because he was trying to get something out of me. Do I want these people I just met to know what my father knew? At least I’d finally know, too.
“Seriously, Donovan,” Kaleb groans, crossing his arms and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Could you deliver that in any way that was more shocking?”
“What?” He shrugs with zero repentance. “You were going on about how we’ll have to guide her, and what the hell you were going to tell your parents? And what if she was a dark nephilim like me? How do you tell a person their life is pretty much over?”
Kaleb’s eyes soften as he looks at Donovan. “I didn’t say all that.”
“I may’ve inferred a bit,” he counters, the scowl returning in full force. “Well, good news. She isn’t nephilim, so no demon hunting for her.”
“Donovan!” The others all shout.
I blink stupidly, my mind going numb. Ghosts. Nephilim. “Demons?” I repeat in a detached way, emphasizing the short-circuit in my brain.
Kaleb moves his hand into a fist against his mouth. Nolan covers his eyes with one hand. Donovan tries to double down on his scowl by folding his arms over his chest. And Felix opens and closes his hands a few times, his eyes wide and searching.
Well, now I know what he meant by weird. There’s that unreal feeling again, like this is all a dream and I’ll wake back up in hell.
I’m free from my psycho father. Living with a family member who seems to genuinely want and care about me. My first real friend in my new life is a cute, teenage boy who haunts my house. And he has three hot friends who are apparently nephilim and hunt demons. Crap.
While we’re all staring at each other another ridiculously tall boy walks over. Do they put something in the water? Maybe it’s all this fresh air?
He looks down at me curiously. He’s slightly taller than Donovan, because of course he is, but he’s leaner, more rangy looking, with a wild energy that feels like it’s always tightly coiled around him. He has rich copper skin and curly, dark brown hair that falls into untamed waves around his face. His eyes…
My gut clenches when I look into his eyes. They’re a warm amber turned brittle by the dark shadows that leap within. Shadows I know intimately. Tired, resigned eyes. I hope I’m wrong, but I fear I’m looking at a kindred spirit forged by pain.
He’s dressed in regular clothes: jeans, hiking boots, flannel shirt, and hooded jacket. Nothing flashy, but they’re clean and without sign of heavy wear. He’s fit and strong, no outward signs for the shadows. Just like me.
His straight brows crowd together, and he tilts his head slightly, as if the new angle will tell him more. Does he see my shadows?
“Hi,” I stammer, when I realize we’ve been staring at each other while the others watched. “I’m Callie.”
He passes around a questioning glance to all his friends, before gazing back down at me. He gives me a nod in greeting. “Connor.”
With a squint and furrowed brow aimed at the others, he’s able to clearly communicate a What the hell is going on? look. Man of few words. Got it.
Felix looks up at Connor, who’s roughly half a foot taller than him, and with a shrug, states simply, “She can see me.”
“And Donovan spilled the beans to our dear Callie, someone who didn’t know ghosts existed until last night,” Nolan adds with a wry play of his lips, “that she isn’t nephilim, which means no demon hunting for her.”
Donovan turns the full might of his glower on the blonde, but Nolan seems more amused than afraid.
Kaleb sighs. “And now we don’t know what she is.”
Connor looks surprised, shifting his gaze from Felix to Donovan, then turns thoughtful as he focuses back down on me. He leans down toward me, his scent, a sharp tang of pine and cool night air, fills my nose. It takes me a moment to process his nearness, startled by the breach into my personal space. Heat radiates from his body, and his breath is warm in my hair as he… sniffs it? Did he just sniff me?
He pulls back and sneezes.
Seriously?
He rubs at his nose, then announces, “She’s a witch.”
Nolan looks surprised. A flash of wariness clouds his eyes but is quickly banished behind his playboy smile.
“I’m a what now?” I demand, pulling my sleeves over my hands and rapidly shifting my gaze to each of them.
“A witch,” Felix beams looking far less disturbed than some of the others.
“That’s impossible,” Kaleb proclaims. “Witches can’t see souls. Their magic is derived from the elements.”
Connor shrugs and looks back at me. “She can. Magic pouring out of her. Makes my nose itch.” He once again swipes at his nose to illustrate.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I interrupt, quickly tiring of being spoken around. “And who the hell are you guys? This guy sniffs me,” I gesture a thumb at Connor, “and I’m supposed to believe I’m a witch?”
Kaleb looks pensive, attempting to collect some logical reason or explanation I should believe a word they say. Connor looks unperturbed, like he doesn’t care whether I believe him or not. Donovan looks at his friends, rolls his eyes, then takes off his leather jacket.
“Hold this,” he commands Nolan, passing the jacket quickly to him.
Nolan squints, confused while he throws the jacket over his arm. Then he grins and silently chuckles when Donovan also takes off his black Henley.
If his plan was to distract me, it’s working remarkably well. To say he’s ripped is a shallow descriptor for the fine collection of well sculpted muscle and smooth skin before me. His chest is broad, his arms massive, and his abdomen cuts into eight clear quadrants that lead to the toned V of his Adonis belt; the part of a guy’s body that make all girls stupid. This one included, if I’m being honest. I’m managing to blink and not drool. I’m claiming this one as a win.
Kaleb’s gaze snaps to Donovan, and his eyes grow round enough to see the white surrounding his dark irises. “Donovan, what are you doing?”
“Giving her a reason to believe us,” he replies with what can only be described as an asshole smirk, then huge black feathered wings sprout from his back, towering far above his head and way below his knees. The long flight feathers shimmer with metallic color, like oil-dipped raven wings. They’re beautiful… and came out of freaking nowhere!
Holy crap! He has wings like Angel from the damn X-men… or like an actual angel. That small rational part of my brain is calmly pointing out I should probably be screaming, but instead, it all of a sudden becomes a lot harder to hear, like I stepped into a wind tunnel, and a light sheen of sweat coats the back of my neck.
“Donovan!” Kaleb barks, and as quickly as the wings appeared, they’re gone.
“Relax,” Donovan mutters from the other side of the wind tunnel. He pulls his shirt back over his head. “There’s nobody here.”
“Besides those people over there?” Kaleb grumbles, gesturing to the few kids on the lawn. He takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
“They weren’t looking,” Donovan counters, reaching for his jacket and shrugging it back on.
“You have wings,” I stammer.
My vision grows dark at the edges, as I look down at my hands. My father cut off a finger once and kept me in the basement until it grew back. It took three days, and the growing back hurt a fuck-ton more than the cutting off. He had looked at me with a mixture of mounting frustration and rage. I thought he was upset that it took longer than a night’s rest.
Ghosts. Nephilim. Demons. Witches?
“Callie?” My name echoes against the basement walls. I’m sorry it didn’t grow faster. Please, let me out!
A low voice growls, “¿Qué pasa con ella?”
“I don’t know. Callie?” My name is closer. Sharper. But I’m alone here?
“Callie!”
With a start, I’m back in front of the school. Kaleb has one hand on my shoulder and was probably shaking me. Crap. Felix is inches away, hands hovering over my biceps. His eyes are round, fear and apology warring on his face. Why is he sorry?
“I’m fine,” I croak, blinking rapidly. Fine tremors quake through my body, and I rub my thumbs against the ribbed fabric of my sleeves.
Connor looks at me over Felix’s shoulder the way, I imagine, I looked at him earlier. That can’t be good. The rest share varying looks of concern.
“Callie…” Kaleb starts, my name an offer of patience and understanding. There’s a sadness in his eyes I don’t like.
I step away from him and square my shoulders.
“No, really,” I sniff, gritting my teeth and willing it to be true, “I’m fine.”
Nolan grabs a messenger bag from the ground near his feet, slings it over his chest, and then walks around to stand behind me. He firmly places his hands on my shoulders and leans over so he can look at my face. I breathe through my jittering nerves and tilt my head back into his firm chest to meet his eyes. His hands are warm through my sweater, and his scent is an interesting combination of a spicy cologne with hints of black pepper and… engine grease?
“You just had a whole heap of crazy dumped on you,” he murmurs kindly, flashing an amused glance at Donovan. I much prefer this version to the playboy act I met earlier. “It’s okay to not be fine, and it’s way too early to be trying to figure this all out. Have you picked up your class schedule yet?”
I shake my head no, mussing his button-up white shirt and loose hanging, skinny black tie.
“Alright. How about Felix and I walk you down to the office to go get it?” he suggests.
Nolan turns me, so he can throw an arm over my shoulders and steer me toward the doors. This kind of touching is clearly normal for him, and I know he means it in a friendly way. My surface instinct is to shrug him off, but I refrain, wanting to learn how to make this normal for me too. However, it’s like my aunt’s hug all over again, and I don’t know what to do with my arms, so I leave them stiff at my sides. If he notices, he doesn’t comment.
Nolan throws up one hand to wave goodbye to the other guys, and gets nods back in acknowledgement. Boys.
Felix walks beside me on the other side. Luckily, it’s still early, so there aren’t a whole lot of students hanging about for him to dodge. Probably why the guys were okay talking about all that stuff out in the open. I want to balk about what they told me and what I saw, but I can heal any injury, I’m friends with a ghost, and though I didn’t touch the wings, they looked pretty damn real. What does it mean to be a witch anyway?
“I’m sorry about all that,” Felix says after a while. “That wasn’t how I imagined things going.”
Nolan snorts then squeezes my shoulder. “Kaleb probably should’ve left Donovan’s meet and greet for later. He’s not a bad guy,” he assures me. “Just born to a bullshit deal. It makes him pissy sometimes.”
It’s Felix’s turn to snort. “He also hates beating around the bush and loves shocking people. I don’t know what we were thinking.”
“That I was a demon hunting nephilim like him?” I offer, deadpan. Yep. The world is a very weird place.
“But you’re not,” Felix tries for jovial, but it falls somewhat flat.
I sigh and tug at my sleeves. “Nope. I’m a magic-leaking witch.” Sounds just as crazy, as I thought it did.
Nolan releases a bark of laughter and squeezes me more flush against his side. It actually feels kind of nice now that my heart has evened out a little, the heat of his body warming mine, and I attempt to relax into him.
There’s a gaggle of girls lining the lockers looking at me bug-eyed, before they turn to whisper frantically to each other. That can’t be good.
I look up at the Scandinavian model pressed to my side. “So, what are you?” I question only loud enough for Nolan and Felix to hear. “Human, nephilim, or witch? I’m assuming men can be witches.”
He smirks down at me. “Yes, there are male witches. And I’m D, none of the above.”
Honestly, I’m surprised that I’m shocked by this point. Ghosts. Nephilim. Demons. Witches. Why stop there?
“Are you going to tell me what you are, then?” I ask when we approach the door to the office.
“Do you really want to know what else goes bump in the night?” he shoots back, the amused, cocky smirk back on his face.
“It’s better than not knowing, I think.” I grimace, while memories try to claw at me. “Ignorance hasn’t really helped me in the past.”
Nolan reaches up and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. Answering tingles shiver down my skin. Oh no, I don’t. No crushing on the player of the group-- even if it’s only an act.
“How about I tell you at lunch? Spread out the bombshells of information some,” he whispers in my ear before propelling me through the door.
He casually holds the door open long enough for Felix to walk past, even though he could have easily walked through it. These small considerations for Felix endears these boys more to me than anything else.
Nolan places a gentle hand at the base of my spine under my backpack and guides me to the front counter. The office is small with one long counter that divides it, two office desks behind the counter, one wall full of shelves and cubbies, and a hallway that looks to lead to administrative offices.
“Good morning, Ms. Martinez,” Nolan purrs to the forty something woman typing away. “How’s my favorite office assistant?”
The woman looks up and giggles as she pats at her hair. Oh gross.
“Nolan, what brings you up here?” she titters, oblivious that I’m standing here. Double gross. “Not getting up to any mischief, I hope.” Her tone suggests she very much hopes he is.
I shoot a sharp glance at Felix, and he shrugs mouthing, “I’ll explain later.”
I’m not sure I want him to.
Nolan pulls me in front of him and braces his hands on my shoulders. I feel like a human shield when the woman scowls at me, finally noticing I’m there. And triple gross. For the sake of my breakfast, I pray this is a one sided infatuation, because if Nolan has-- Yep, I can taste the scrambled eggs now.
He gives my shoulders a tight squeeze, almost as if he can read my mind. “My new friend, Callie…”
“Santiago,” I supply.
“Santiago,” he continues, “is starting her first day here at our fine school and is in need of her schedule. I offered to show her around.”
Ms. Martinez gives me a sharp, dismissive look before turning back to her computer and typing what I hope is my name for my class schedule. After some unnecessarily hard mouse clicking, the printer on her desk starts up. She grabs the printed sheet, then gets up and retrieves a folder that has the school logo on it from a cubby on the wall, before returning to us at the counter.
“Miss Santiago,” she pronounces it SAN-ti-Ego, even though both Nolan and I pronounced it correctly moments ago. She opens the folder and pulls out a few papers. “This is your class schedule, calendar for the block scheduling, map of the school, and parent forms that need to be signed and returned to the office as soon as possible-- since you’re starting the school year so late.”
That last bit is said with snooty, judgement about why a student would start school so late. Telling her it’s because my father is in prison for abducting a woman probably won’t help.
I collect the papers and folder, pinch my lips together to keep from laughing at this insane, perverted woman, and mutter, “Thanks. I’ll be sure to do that.”
As soon as we’re out of the office, Nolan swipes my schedule, not bothering to explain what the hell happened in there, and holds it to the side so Felix can see it too.
“She’s a smart one, our Callie,” Nolan praises to Felix. “Pre-Calculus, AP Chemistry, AP English, and AP Psychology.”
I fidget, rubbing the edge of my sleeves between my fingers. With a shrug I hope looks casual and therefore won’t inspire more inquiry, I mutter, “I didn’t really do a whole lot outside of school, before I came here”
I leave out that the Pre-Calculus class I left was an honors course and likely harder than the class I’m transferring into.
“At least she isn’t Kaleb level of crazy and has some lighter electives: Jewelry 1 and Food and Nutrition,” Felix adds with an approving nod.
“I actually do need the Food and Nutrition class,” I grumble, somewhat defensive. “I don’t know how to cook.” Please have electric stoves.
Nolan beams. “We’ll happily be your food testers.”
I snort. “I’ll be sure to remember that.”
Felix looks intently at my schedule, and my heart sinks realizing what Nolan’s innocent comment means to him.
Felix glances up to me, his natural smile still firmly in place. “It looks like Pre-Calculus is your first class. You’re on your own there. I’m definitely not sitting through a math class that Mr. Harris teaches if I don’t have to. I’ll meet up with all of you at lunch, yeah?”
Oh good, sounds like I have one of those boring math teachers.
“Happy haunting,” Nolan replies with a wave.
Felix rolls his eyes and disappears.
“Where do you think he went?” I ask with concern.
“Either to sit with one of the others, or more likely, went back to your place.” He shrugs. “It gives him a chance to be on his own.”
I nod, aching for Felix. It’s selfish of me to not want him to move on just so I don’t feel alone. I remind myself to ask more about Felix’s death, and what the guys have so far on who they think did it. I’m a witch and that should help somehow, right?
Nolan hands me my schedule back and offers me an arm. “Escort the lady to her first class of the day?”
I smile and loop my arm through his. Maybe I won’t be alone after all.
∞∞∞
Nolan leaves me at the door for my math class with a promise to find me at lunch. His easy acceptance of me leaves me somewhat stupefied. Here I was afraid that I was unable to make friends, and now it feels a little like being in kindergarten. Hi, I’m a witch. You’re a something. Wanna be friends? And then we eat lunch together and color at recess.
Nearly every girl watches Nolan swagger down the hall before turning to see who he was talking to. Some look with open curiosity, but too many look like they want to stab hot pokers in my eyes. Okay, that’s a bit different from kindergarten. Joke’s on them. Soon as they pull out the pokers, my eyes will just grow back.
I take a fortifying breath and head inside. The room is filled with noise, everyone talking at once before the bell rings. I walk over to the desk that sits in the front corner of the room farthest from the door where the teacher is looking over some papers. He’s a slim, balding man, probably in his late 50s, with a tired stoop that says he’s riding it out until he can retire. Oh goodie.
“Excuse me…” I say over the roar of the talking class. I look down at my schedule, “Mr. Harris?”
He blinks up at me, his brown eyes enlarged behind thick, wire framed glasses. “Yes?” He has the sound of grumpy impatience of a man that dislikes teenagers.
Oh, dear god, this is the person that evil math teacher stereotypes were born from.
I hold out my schedule to him. “I’m a new student transferring into your class.”
“Two months late into the semester.” He eyes me, like he can tell what kind of student I am by the way I look. He seems unimpressed, quickly initialing my schedule, then pulling out his attendance book to add me. “I don’t know what it was like at your old school, Miss Santiago,” at least he pronounces my name correctly, “but this is a fast paced class, and you either keep up or you fail. The real world won’t hold your hand, and neither will I. Go find an empty seat.”
I nod, paste a brittle smile onto my face, and take back my schedule. Asshole, I bet I could show you a thing or two about the real world. I know what it feels like to have every bone in my foot smashed to the size of pebbles. Do you? The paper in my hand crunches in my fist. Deep breath.
Turning to the class, I look for an empty seat and find one next to Donovan in the back corner. He notices me, something akin to guilt tightens around his eyes, and he does one of those two finger waves, then gestures to the seat next to him.
My smile feels at least more relaxed as I shuffle down the row of two seater desks, trying not to trip over anyone’s stuff. Despite this morning, I agree with Nolan that Donovan isn’t a bad person. He wasn’t really mean to me, simply tactless to like the nth degree, and I can’t explain it, but I get the feeling he was disappointed to learn I wasn’t like him. Loneliness is something I know well.
Classmates watch me with unfettered interest, apparently fascinated by my familiarity with, and willingness to sit next to, Donovan. I bite my lip to keep from grinning. He doesn’t scare me, but it looks like his intimidation tactics are working fine on everyone else. Then again, what could he do past shocking me more like earlier? Certainly not worse than I’ve already experienced. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.
Donovan has to curl his long legs as best as he can under the desk, smacking his kneecaps, so that I can slide into the empty seat next to him. As soon as I’m seated, his legs immediately go back into the aisle, while he rubs at one of his knees. He watches me pull out a notebook and pencil before leaning over to me.
I’m immediately enveloped in the scent of worn leather and musk, a rich earthy combination. It’s surprisingly pleasant. My heart does a small leap, but I can’t tell if it’s because of Donovan specifically, or because someone is entering my personal space. There’s been quite a lot of it this morning-- none of it I’m used to.
He’s so tall that when he whispers, it’s more into my hair than my ear. “I’m sorry about earlier.” That sound of gravel in his voice isn’t limited to his laugh. “What I did was an asshole move. I can’t… You’re probably…” he sighs, his warm breath ruffling stands of my hair. “Look, I know this all probably seems crazy to you, but it’s not.”
I blink up at him, my eyes feigning naivety. “I don’t know. Your abs were pretty impressive, especially for someone of your age, but I wouldn’t say they were in the realm of crazy.”
He gives me a Have you been dropped on your head? expression. “No,” he speaks slowly. “I mean about what Connor said and, you know… the wings?”
“Wings?” I inquire blankly, before shifting to a squinty eyed glare. His face is only a few inches from mine, and I whisper furiously, “You mean the giant ass angel wings that popped out of freaking nowhere? Those did strike me as somewhat peculiar.”
He winces. “Yeah. Like I said, sorry about that. There was probably a better way to convince you.”
“Certainly efficient,” I snort, then a smile crawls across my face. “It’s okay. I’m bad at talking to people too.”
He chuckles, expelling a sharp, minty breath, and grins. There’s that handsome face again.
The students around us gape in surprise, and I can’t help it, I’m lost in a fit of giggles. If I don’t laugh the madness away, I’ll explode.
Donovan tries to scowl down the other students, but some of the force is lost because he can’t stop laughing at me laughing.
“You’re going to ruin my rep,” he mutters down at me, which only throws me into another round of giggling.
I’m reaching that stage where it’s mostly silent and getting difficult to breathe, when the bell rings. The quieting of the class makes our cackling in the back more obvious.
Mr. Harris walks to his podium in the front and glares back at us. “Mr. Alvarez? Miss Santiago? Why don’t you share with the class what seems to be so funny? I think we could all use a good chuckle.”
“We’re both bad at talking to people,” I reply, as deadpan as one can be while choking on laughter.
Donovan drops his head onto his folded arms on the desk, his big shoulders shaking.
The class appears at a loss on what to think of the girl who has turned the scariest guy in class into a snickering, wheezing mess. This of course leads to yet more laughing. My face hurts. My sides hurt. And it’s one of the most amazing feelings I’ve had in a very long time.
Mr. Harris sniffs, not appreciating my lack of contrition over his attempts to embarrass me in front of the class. “I don’t see why commiserating on your failings should amuse you so, but reel it in. I have a class to teach, and you’re distracting the students here who wish to learn.”
A welcome distraction, I’m sure, I muse to myself, wiping tears from my eyes.
Donovan takes a few halting breaths then slides over his textbook so that we can share. It’s already turned to the correct page, even though Mr. Harris is still going through opening announcements. Something about a pep rally for the football team on Friday.
“So, he seems fun,” I whisper to Donovan with a grin.
He returns it with a wicked smirk. “Just wait. You’ll see why this is one of my favorite classes.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise, wondering why Donovan would enjoy a class taught by a grade A asshole. My curiosity is quickly answered.
Not surprisingly, Mr. Harris is a horrible teacher who relishes in making students feel stupid. He likes to catch students who look like they’re distracted or lost and make a spectacle of them when they don’t know the answer. Donovan feeds into that, looking as bored and distracted as possible, but every time Mr. Harris calls on him-- not only does Donovan know the answer, but he words it in a way that it’s obvious it’s sailing right over Mr. Harris’s head. Turns out, Mr. Harris’s scalp turns a bright red that I’m pretty sure is unseen in nature when he’s frustrated.
Mr. Harris switches to me with a knowing smirk, sure that he can shame the new girl. Unfortunately for him, I was right and the class is covering material I learned a month ago. My answers aren’t quite as robust as Donovan’s, but they’re always correct.
By the time the bell rings, the class is snickering and Mr. Harris is purple. There’s a small voice in my head wondering how good of an idea it is to piss off my teacher, but most of me is too pleased over dropping that puffed-up, jackass down a few pegs. I hate bullies.
“Mr. Alvarez. Miss Santiago. To my desk, now!” Mr. Harris hisses.
Donovan and I trade mock surprised expressions before gathering our things and heading toward the front.
Mr. Harris glares at us, which loses most of its impact since he has to look way up to meet Donovan’s eyes. He snarls, his thin lips tight against his teeth, “I don’t know what the two of you did, but I won’t tolerate cheating in my class.”
“Mr. Harris, sir,” Donovan starts with such feigned reverence that the mockery practically dances in the air. “I don’t know how Callie or I could possibly cheat on problems you, yourself, made up on the spot for the class. It must be your uncanny teaching abilities that made the complicated equations so easy to figure out.”
Mr. Harris looks like he’s ready to explode, because he can’t very well say that he’s a crappy teacher, so there’s no way we should’ve been able to figure out the problems. After several hilarious, calculating seconds, he squints menacingly and warns, “I’m keeping my eye on both of you. Now, get out of my class.”
Once we’re out the door, we crack up like crazed hyenas.
“That was… amazing,” I wheeze.
“At least twice a week, I get to drive that fuckwit up the wall.” Donovan sighs with relish. He walks with me down the hall to where, I think, my next class is. Students split quickly to get out of his way.
“One time he tried to mark my answers wrong on a test even though they were right,” he tells me while looking over my shoulder. He places a hand high between my shoulder blades and steers me left, instead of what I thought was a right turn.
“I got in contact with one of the math professors over at Oregon State and asked her to review it. When I told her why, the professor was more than happy to help. She personally contacted Mr. Harris and reamed him, warning him that if she heard of anything like this happening again, she would personally talk to the education board about getting his certifications revoked for misconduct. He hasn’t done anything like that since, but he’s doubled his efforts on trying to catch me.” He says the last bit with finger quotes.
“Wow, he really is a miserable, little man,” I lament.
With Donovan’s help, we reach the door to my next class. He leans down, hand braced on the door. His nearness is less anxiety inducing than before.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he murmurs with that wicked smirk.
I nod gamely.
“Mr. Harris can keep gunning for me all he wants.” His smirk turns into a grin. “Nephilim have near perfect memory, and I’ve already read the whole book.”