MICAH
Have you ever watched the world meld into a sea of glass as Earth¡¯s air leaves your lungs for the last time? Ever heard the celestial music of the universe beckoning you away from thought and reason? Ever marked the absence of a heartbeat as first warmth, then cold spread from the gap an ounce of metal left in your chest? Ever felt the calm drag of the void pulling you toward a peaceful rest?
Have you ever died?
My first day of tenth grade, a life ended. Not mine, but that death opened the way. A crash lasting nearly seven and a half seconds changed the course of the world.
As a small-town boy still getting used to the big city of Philadelphia, with its endless supply of alien faces, I hid my freakish side from the endless flood of awkward teens. When the intercom called my name to the office, I tried to think of what mistake I made this time. Didn¡¯t I blend in? How did I give myself away?
My concern had been misdirected.
Father called the school to reach me. I can still hear his broken voice through the phone, warning he was on his way to pick me up. Pressure threatened to collapse my chest as I sweated in that too-warm office, waiting for him to arrive and deliver the news he would only give me face-to-face. I never saw him cry before, but pale cheeks and puffy, bloodshot eyes confessed the reality of my worst fears. The tightness of his embrace in the instantly chilly office is forever frozen in my mind.
Mom¡¯s peaceful face dominated my thoughts. She napped on the couch when I left for school that morning. Dad told me not to wake her. I would never get to tell her goodbye.
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We returned to our silent apartment and started packing immediately. Dad intended to bury Mom at home, a thousand miles away. Though these claustrophobic rooms would never echo with her laughter again, the soft melodies she sang to the potted plants on the windowsill would forever whisper through my mind.
Dad took those plants across the hall to Mrs. Jenkins. How could he? He didn¡¯t water, prune, or sing to them. They belonged here, as a monument. Without looking me in the eye, he said, ¡°Pack everything, Micah. We¡¯re not coming back.¡±
Stepping from the rental car into the sticky Florida air of my hometown after being away for only one year and three months didn¡¯t magically heal the wounds of an incomprehensible loss, but it stitched them closed. The black week shifted to dark gray, and with it came a sober acceptance of this new, yet familiar life.
While I knew countless pizza dinners waited to be eaten in silence, I also knew my father exhausted all the goodwill he and Mom earned over the years in Madison by calling in every favor owed him at once. Over the next few days, he spent hours on the phone to buy a house and enroll me at the newly renovated James Madison Preparatory High School.
My grim acceptance of these forced circumstances didn¡¯t stem from the source my father expected¡ªa familiar place with familiar faces to distract me from grief¡ªbut something far more specific. As a teenage boy, the main source of my relief was, of course, a teenage girl.
Wynn.
After fourteen years of friendship with the girl next door, I¡¯d grown mature enough to understand why my breath caught every time she smiled. A year and three months ago, I feared I saw that smile for the last time as a hot breeze blew black hair across her freckled face. My heart stuttered out a goodbye, certain we wouldn¡¯t meet again until college, or later. If ever. Now, she attended the same school my father pulled his significantly connected strings to get me into.
The past is a collection of shining points on the timeline of life so bright you can relive them. Sometimes unwillingly. Moments mundane, yet transformative. Moments of regret. Revelation. Pain. Joy. Brief seconds of eternity when time slows to a stop. My sophomore year filled with such memories.
The dire events of that first day commenced a momentous school year. The year I turned sixteen and got my first car. The year of my first kiss. I would discover abnormal abilities and ancient secrets. Learn the truth about my own frightening nature. Explore what it meant to love. Defend that love with my life. I¡¯d never forget my sophomore year in high school because that year, I died.
CHAPTER 1: CALL
CHAPTER 1
CALL
WYNN
A bright orange flower grew between gaps in a broken road. Sadness. The flower didn¡¯t belong in the city but in the wilderness. Another began to rise beside it. The tiny shoot pushed out of the cracks, and as it did so, the larger blossom shuddered with joy. Petals stretched to shine in the sun; its roots swelled and broke the concrete to give space for the smaller, growing bud.
Before the new plant bloomed, a shadow covered the sun. An eagle fell with a piercing cry and crushed both flowers. Anguish ripped the air, tearing at the seams of reality. In its wild dive, the eagle destroyed itself, extinguishing three lives.
As the petals withered and fell, the roots of the flower burst into flames. A blaze greater than the meager source could sustain rippled across the pavement, spreading through cracks in the street, threatening to consume the city. Eagles swooped from every direction, flapping their wings, beating at the inferno in a desperate attempt to halt the spreading flames.
A surge of intensity engulfed the birds in fire, and the city burned¡ª
Muffled screams woke me.
Remnants of the dream churned inside my head as I lay in bed, blood thundering through my temples, heart knocking against my ribcage. The city burned. My sister screamed.
I took a deep breath, then shuddered. Just a dream. What nightmare haunted her?
Aedelin¡¯s muffled cries continued, but I waited for Mother¡¯s hurried steps to pass my door, then the murmur of hushes and soothing words. Screams became sobs. The dream pulled at me, demanding my attention, but I waited.
Ten or fifteen minutes passed as echoes of distress faded into the night. Then came the moment I waited for: a faint squeak of my doorknob turning. The hinges didn¡¯t creak¡ªDad kept them well oiled¡ªbut I knew the flow of air from the hall cooling my neck accompanied Mom¡¯s caring gaze.
I used to be the first to Aedelin¡¯s side. I used to linger in her doorway, adding my assurances to Mother¡¯s that dreams couldn¡¯t hurt her. I used to wait for Mom to check on me and share our concerns for my sister. Now, I pretended to sleep. I couldn¡¯t do anything for Aedelin, but at least Mom wouldn¡¯t worry about me being disturbed.
After the near silent click of the door closing, my dream called to me, but I counted to sixty before sliding out of bed and tiptoeing to my drawing desk. Flipping on the lamp, I opened a drawer, searching under piles of old homework assignments and various art supplies for an unassuming composition notebook. By the time I finished recording my dream and sketched a rendition of its disturbing scene, school beckoned. New school, same old town.
Mundane stresses of the first day of my sophomore year replaced ominous sentiments conjured by my fiery dream. As I walked home alone after an uneventful day, exhausted by a disturbing night, for one brief moment a light on my phone displayed a text from an unknown number, overpowering the gloom.
Hey, this is Micah. Please answer when I call in a minute.
Micah Sepich. Less than a year and a half ago his family moved to Pennsylvania, but every month seemed an eternity without him. When they left, I couldn¡¯t even bring myself to watch him climb into their blue sedan. I refused to accept I might¡¯ve seen my best friend¡¯s face for the last time.
Every detail of my life had been saturated with his presence. Playing in the woods behind our homes on sweltering summer afternoons. Eating lunch in his backyard under the shade of an orange tree. School evenings sprawled out in the living room racing through homework together. Micah always won. Then one day, he left me.
To be fair, he had no choice in the matter, but it didn¡¯t help that he didn¡¯t own a cell phone. We¡¯d emailed each other a few times, but most of our long-distance contact came through our mothers. Mostly in the form of pictures. The Sepichs at the Liberty Bell. The Sepichs at Independence Hall. Micah, with his half-smile and wind-blown, light brown and messy hair, pale blue eyes gleaming at the camera that captured him standing in front of giant red letters which spelled ¡°LOVE¡±. If only he stood alone in that picture, without his parents. And if only he¡¯d sent it to me, not his mother to mine.
In the middle of composing a perfectly nonchalant response to his unexpected text, my phone buzzed. My stomach throttled my heart as I accepted the call, barely able to tone my excitement down from a squeal to a relatively calm, ¡°You finally got a phone!¡±
¡°Uh, no. This is my dad¡¯s phone.¡± His voice sounded wrong. Not different¡ªexactly how I remembered it¡ªbut wrong. He only spoke for a few seconds, on the edge of tears. He had to go but would see me in a few days.
I barely choked out a goodbye before he hung up.
I don¡¯t know how long I stood there before my legs found the strength to move without collapsing, but once they did, I ran. Mother waited for me at home, and for once little Aedelin held us as we cried.
The full weight of finality crushed me. Micah¡¯s mother, Rachelle¡ªone of my favorite people and Mom¡¯s best friend¡ªhad died in a car crash. As a fragile teenage girl, I grieved her loss once already when the Sepich family moved a thousand miles away. Only now, in the presence of an undeniable truth of her permanent absence, did I realize how much hope I placed in my future plans to see Micah and his mother again.
As a child, she¡¯d been the one adult I considered a friend. My own mother cared in her way but never fully understood me, and my sister required so much attention. On the other hand, Rachelle connected with me on a fundamental level. She taught me about trees and plants while I helped in her garden, constantly complimenting my green thumb. As a tween, she uncovered a secret I kept from my best friend, her son. That I¡¯d fallen in love with him.
A week after his first devastating call, Micah called again from his dad¡¯s phone the night before the funeral to tell me his father bought a new house in Madison, and he¡¯d start school at JMPHS the next Monday. I barely kept myself from squealing. I wouldn¡¯t just see him for a depressing day or two. An irreplaceable, Micah-shaped hole in my soul reformed. I lost Rachelle forever, but her loss returned my best friend and secret love. My broken heart soared.
After he hung up, I did squeal, but a twist in my gut cut it off as I nearly puked. How could I feel so happy when his mother¡¯s death brought us together again? Life offered cruel kindness. Silver lining. That¡¯s all. I simply clung to a single, gleaming thread on the frayed tapestry of life. Whether an excuse or the truth, I had to live with my selfishness either way.
The next morning, I sat two rows behind Micah in a bright and spacious chapel; a large Mormon church resting on a hill at the west end of Madison. Micah¡¯s family wasn¡¯t religious, but his uncle, Rachelle¡¯s brother Thomas Gwynn, converted sometime before my birth, eventually becoming the faith¡¯s pastor for the town. Or bishop, as they referred to him.
According to Micah, his uncle insisted they hold the services here. It¡¯d been a long time since I sat in these pews. As children, Mom and Dad regularly took me and Aedelin to the various churches around Madison. By the time I reached middle school, due to my sister¡¯s increasing mental health issues, those ventures only happened on Easter and Christmas. I never liked the way people stared at us. In a small town like Madison, a single bit of gossip could ruin a life, and I didn¡¯t need someone spreading rumors about me being a Chreaster, so a couple years ago I asked to stay home. After that, we ceased attending church altogether.
During those early years, Rachelle¡¯s brother convinced her to attend the Mormon¡¯s services a few times, and she asked my parents to join them. In my memories of those Sundays, I sat beside Micah on these same padded benches, his mother next to him. The three of us would never be together again.
The funeral passed in a hazy blur of tears and memories as Thomas gave the eulogy, carefully mixed with talk about life after death. I didn¡¯t know if I believed his preaching, but Thomas impressed me. How could a man I¡¯d never known express the grief in my soul? Rachelle must¡¯ve been as good a sister to him as friend to me, her influence in our vastly different lives practically identical.
From the teary eyes, nods, and silent sobs around me, I knew she meant as much to every person in the room. We mourned as one the loss of a woman loved for her kindness, carefree spirit, and infinite patience.
After the eulogy, a small choir from a local Baptist church sang Amazing Grace, ensuring even the most stubborn eyes dripped. When the song finished, Micah¡¯s father, Frederick, spoke.
¡°This may come as a surprise, considering I lecture for a living, but I only have a few words.¡± He paused to allow nervous laughs to settle. Strange that such a serious man could make a joke at a time like this. His face showed no humor. I guess everyone dealt with grief in their own way.
Clearing his throat, he continued. ¡°First, I want to thank everyone involved in these services. Thomas, for the perfect eulogy, but also for offering the use of this beautiful chapel. The choir from St. James with inspiring music. Every one of you, for being here. Your support and love throughout the years and past week are appreciated more than even I can express.¡± He smiled grimly, but no laughs followed. ¡°While I¡¯m up here, I might as well confirm the rumors. Micah and I have indeed moved back to Madison. It¡¯s a small home down the street from the St. James chapel.¡±
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He paused and took a deep, staggered breath. When he spoke again, his voice broke as he barely managed to blink back tears. ¡°Rachelle was one of a kind. We¡¯re all better people for having known her. She¡¯s no longer here to be everyone¡¯s best friend, so we all need to step up and be the happy influence in each other¡¯s lives she was in our own.¡±
Nods and sobs broke out all over the chapel. I joined the sobbing group. Through tears, I saw Micah¡¯s head fall below shaking shoulders. I wanted to hold him but would have to wait.
He stood. To speak? Distracted, it took me a moment to notice everyone else standing. I rose as the funeral director pushed Rachelle¡¯s casket up the aisle. Frederick and Micah followed, joined by Thomas and others who must¡¯ve been his wife and small children, though I didn¡¯t know them.
I desperately collected the pieces of myself attempting to burst into more tears. As the casket moved by my row, Micah¡¯s wet, pale blue eyes met mine. Warmth swarmed through me, and I managed to contain the torrent for the few seconds we held eye contact.
When the end of the line reached my pew, I joined the procession, my family following. Dad picked up and carried Aedelin, hummed quietly into her ear, and gently stroked her ever-frazzled hair as she clung to him, eyelids shut tight. Considering the number of strangers surrounding us, she handled the funeral well. We made our way slowly with the rest of the crowd out of the chapel. Every shoe scuffle and nose sniffle echoed in the somber silence.
Once outside in humid Florida air, noise from traffic on Route Ninety was out of sync with the solemn affair. An overcast sky promised rain¡ªwhich would match perfectly with the surreal scene of Micah, Frederick, Thomas, and a few other pallbearers lifting the casket into the back of a hearse¡ªbut only humidity and tears dampened faces around me.
A shadow blocked the sky, and a dark elbow poked my shoulder gently. James made his way through the crowd to stand next to me, interrupting what sunlight pierced the clouds, a poke his silent way of judging my mood.
I tilted my head back to determine his. The boy¡¯s eyes were moist, but his expression remained stoic as ever. He wore a white, button-up, short-sleeved shirt, and a black tie. Not yet sixteen, James already stood an impressive six and a half feet¡ªa full foot and a half taller than me. Even on his dark skin, I made out the black stubble of a shaven beard.
I¡¯d known James since fifth grade, when he and Micah became friends. The three of us often spent time together, but after the last year without Micah, he¡¯d become like a brother to me. I leaned into his side, and he put an arm around my shoulder as the funeral director closed the hearse.
Free from his grim duty, Micah¡¯s eyes immediately found us. After a moment of hesitation, he made his way over. Red eyes and tear-stained cheeks couldn¡¯t mar his handsome features. A new black suit hung a bit loose on his slim frame, conveying a paradoxical sense of maturity and childishness that fit him perfectly.
¡°Trying to catch up with your dad?¡± he asked James, smile hollow.
The taller boy shrugged. James never spoke if a shrug or grunt sufficed.
Micah¡¯s gorgeous eyes found mine again, and my heart skipped a beat. ¡°You haven¡¯t changed a bit, Wynn.¡±
I wanted to tell him I¡¯d grown too¡ªan AA to an A¡ªbut that wasn¡¯t something to brag about, and innocent Micah probably wouldn¡¯t know what I meant. Of course, that sort of talk wouldn¡¯t be appropriate in any public setting, let alone a funeral, so I just gave him the best smile I could manage under the circumstances. It felt like a frown.
¡°Thanks for coming,¡± he said. ¡°Following us to the cemetery?¡±
¡°Of course.¡± I took a step away from James and reached out. I couldn¡¯t stop myself. I wanted to hold and comfort him. Forever if possible.
He took a half step backward and held up a hand. ¡°I¡¯m alright.¡±
The refusal stung, but it was so Micah. What did I expect? He wouldn¡¯t want to hug me in front of so many people.
As much as I loved the boy, he didn¡¯t reciprocate. Or at least, not romantically. I often wondered if he considered me more a sister than friend. Whatever his feelings for me, no matter how I tried to move on while he lived far away for an entire school year, I couldn¡¯t help comparing other boys to him and finding them wanting.
A force interrupted my misery, propelling me face-first into Micah¡¯s chest.
¡°Don¡¯t be such a tough guy.¡±
Micah was Micah, and James was James. Our large friend pulled us both into a tight bear hug. Micah gave in immediately, an arm around me, his jaw resting on my head. Flames burned through my body from every point Micah and I touched.
It ended too soon. Even though I longed to hold on to him, Micah and I reflexively backed away from each other the moment James released us. I stared at the ground, afraid blood-scorched cheeks would give me away, hoping they would.
¡°I¡¯ll see you there,¡± Micah said, turning to the parking lot.
Betrayed again by an overactive imagination. In my daydreams, I finally had the guts to express how much I needed him in my life. He¡¯d admit I gave his existence purpose. We would embrace. Kiss. Live happily ever after. It wasn¡¯t supposed to be¡ this. Why was life so unfair?
Sourness knotted my stomach. How could I let his mother¡¯s funeral annoy me because it ruined a stupid fantasy? We¡¯d never been more than friends, but it felt unfair to lose Micah all over again, even in idiotic, imagined futures which would never come true. Death took Rachelle, and Micah would only ever see me as a short, awkward, neighbor girl.
Reality loomed. I escaped.
Eyes stung and the world turned blurry as I hurried away from the huddled mourners. Away from loss. Away from crushed dreams. I made it to the corner of the church and followed the sidewalk around to the north side, finally out of sight of the crowd, my only destination the closest place I could fall apart in privacy. I collapsed to my knees in the grass and let tears flow free. The sky joined them.
MICAH
Walking back to the car, I barely kept from crying. Wynn appeared exactly as I remembered her, but after a year and a half, what changed on the inside? Would she still want to be friends?
I considered the way she leaned on James. Were they together? I couldn¡¯t blame either of them if that were the case but didn¡¯t know if I¡¯d survive witnessing their romance every day. How could I live if my one hope vanished? We were burying Mom today, but I couldn¡¯t bury my feelings for Wynn while determined to let them thrive.
Opening the car door, I turned back to examine her again. I couldn¡¯t help it. Somehow, without changing, she¡¯d become more beautiful than ever.
James stood a head taller than everyone in the crowd except his own father, but Wynn no longer stood beside him. Following his gaze, I found the girl hustling down the sidewalk. Letting go of the door, I hurried toward her. Mrs. Ethelston met me on the way, clearly as intent on following her daughter as me.
¡°Oh, Micah, I¡¯m so sorry. She¡¯s taking this awfully hard,¡± she whispered through her tears.
¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± I whispered back, ¡°I¡¯ll talk to her.¡±
She nodded but took a few steps before stopping. Wringing her hands, she stared after Wynn. I took another look at James, wondering if he might want to be the one to console our friend. He met my gaze, eyes tight, brows together, but only shrugged.
Glancing at my father, I held up a finger. I didn¡¯t want to delay the funeral, but Wynn mattered. I turned and all but jogged as rain sprinkled from the darkening sky.
She hadn¡¯t gone far. Around the corner, next to the sidewalk, she knelt in the grass, body shaking from sobs she attempted to muffle with one hand. I stopped short. What now? I didn¡¯t have words to comfort her. I didn¡¯t even have words to comfort myself. Should I leave her alone?
Yet seeing her in this much pain bothered me more than anything else, even at Mom¡¯s funeral. Unclenching tight fists, I took a deep breath and opened my mouth, hoping I didn¡¯t make things worse. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Wynn.¡±
Her body went rigid, sobs cutting off with a choke.
I reached into the pocket of my suit coat and pulled out a small packet of tissues Dad gave me this morning. Carefully sitting next to her on the grass, I offered them.
She hesitated only a second, then took a tissue from the pack. ¡°You don¡¯t¡ª¡± she started, voice breaking.
¡°It¡¯s fine.¡±
¡°But the cemetery¡ª¡±
¡°Wynn, it¡¯s alright.¡± I needed to calm her so she wouldn¡¯t feel guilty about holding up the funeral. It was so like her to be worried about everyone else when she hurt. She reminded me of Mom that way. The two shared many traits but remained so different in others. Did she inherit those similarities from spending so much time with her?
Throughout childhood, we¡¯d been like siblings, spending as much time at the other¡¯s house as we did our own. One of my deepest fears originated from those years of friendship; that she thought of me as a brother, dooming any potential future where we became more than friends. However dour, those concerns gave me the inspiration I needed to help her now.
¡°Do you want to ride with us to the cemetery?¡±
Wynn paused in wiping her eyes. ¡°What?¡± She finally looked at me. Deep blue eyes pierced straight into my soul as always, even when red from crying.
¡°She would want you with us. When you¡¯re ready, we¡¯ll go together.¡± I held out the tissues again and she took another.
Through sniffles, she managed to say, ¡°Thank you. I¡¯d like that.¡±
We sat next to each other as the warm rain became a drizzle.
¡°I missed this,¡± I said, holding out my palm to let drops of water collect in it. ¡°It rained plenty in Philly, but it¡¯s not the same. It was too cold.¡±
Wynn gasped and I worried I said something wrong, but she wore one of her iconic expressions; eyes wide with eager curiosity, mouth open, as if about to laugh. The face of a child on their first Christmas morning, only slightly spoiled by tear-stained cheeks.
¡°Did you get snow?¡±
I nodded, chuckling at her excitement.
¡°A lot of snow?¡±
¡°Tons.¡±
¡°What was it like?¡±
I shrugged. ¡°Honestly? Pretty miserable.¡±
Her mouth sank into a frown.
¡°Well, it¡¯s so cold! And I don¡¯t mean like winter here. Remember that one time it snowed?¡±
She bit her lip and smiled again, nodding. ¡°It was so much fun. How could you not love it?¡±
¡°Ha ha,¡± I said, ¡°you¡¯d think that, but remember how cold it was that day?¡±
¡°Yeah.¡±
¡°Well, imagine it much, much, much colder, and not just for a day, but months at a time.¡±
Her mouth twisted in disgust.
¡°Yeah, gets old pretty quick. One freezing winter was enough for me.¡±
She nodded, sheepishly tucking straight black hair behind an ear, revealing a familiar pattern of freckles I saw in my mind a thousand times over the last year and a half.
Words tumbled out of my mouth unbidden. ¡°I¡¯m so happy to be home¡ª¡± I barely managed to catch the words ¡°with you¡± before they fell out.
Staring at the ground, I collected myself. I nearly ruined everything. Maybe she liked James, maybe not, but either way, it terrified me to hint at how she made me feel. How awkward would our relationship get if she didn¡¯t return my interest? Could I cope with discovering she considered me just a friend? Or worse, a brother? Maybe I could live with that reality, but not today. For now, I treasured even the vague hope of potential happiness.
¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re home too,¡± she whispered.
I fell into her blue eyes again.
She glanced away, then spoke louder, faster. ¡°I missed you. James missed you too, you know. We both missed you.¡±
I nodded and stopped myself from reading too much into her inclusion of James in the conversation but wanted to give her a chance to tell me if their friendship had evolved in my absence. ¡°I can¡¯t believe how much he¡¯s grown. What happened?¡±
Wynn laughed silently. ¡°Seriously! But what about you? You got taller too.¡±
I shrugged. ¡°Yeah, I guess. Almost six feet.¡±
¡°Apparently, I haven¡¯t changed at all?¡± The question contained a hint of expectation.
Worried I missed an important detail¡ªlonger hair or maybe she grew a bit taller?¡ªI changed the subject back to the matter which shouldn¡¯t be ignored longer. ¡°Feeling a little better?¡±
She nodded but immediately turned somber again. We sat silent for another minute, then turned toward each other at the same time, eyes connecting, noses an inch apart.
For the first time since I left Florida, a scent which could never be forgotten reached me. Even through the rain, I smelled her breath¡ªa sweet mixture of honey and mint. She really hadn¡¯t changed at all.
I cleared my throat and stood, taking Wynn¡¯s hands, pulling her up with me. ¡°I¡¯ll give you that hug now,¡± I said. As she stared up at me, sparks shot through my arms from where our hands touched. Clearing my throat, I asked, ¡°Assuming it¡¯s wanted?¡±
Dropping my hands, she embraced me.
The awkward group hug with James felt nice, but this one warmed me to the core. She leaned into me, head on my chest, arms tight around my waist as if her life depended on it. For the first time in the week since Mom died, I knew life would find a way to keep going.
CHAPTER 2: ADMITTANCE
CHAPTER 2
ADMITTANCE
MICAH
My father was an anomaly. He grew up in Live Oak, Florida, midway between the state capital, Tallahassee, to the west, and Florida¡¯s biggest city, Jacksonville, to the east. He met Mom at Florida State University while working on a Masters of Higher Education. By then, he already had a doctorate in math. Once married, they moved in with her parents in Madison, where Mom gave birth to me soon after. Grandpop Gwynn passed away from cancer two years later, and Grandmom Gwynn moved to live with her sister in Miami, leaving the house to my parents.
With his master¡¯s degree focused on history, Dad switched from teaching math to history¡ªhis real passion¡ªat North Florida College in Madison, while simultaneously working on another doctorate at FSU. Mom often said Dad was obsessed with learning, but it always seemed he already knew everything. After earning a second doctorate, and multiple masters in various categories including several languages, he applied for professorships at universities across the country, receiving several offers.
Leaving Madison had been difficult for Mom¡ªespecially selling her parent¡¯s house¡ªbut when the University of Pennsylvania offered a salary nearly four times what Dad made at NFC, she couldn¡¯t say no. While we lived in Philadelphia, between teaching, conferences, and mentoring students, he spent few hours at home, and even then, lived in his study, producing and consuming research papers.
One year teaching at an Ivy League school could never compensate for the loss of his wife. Dad never said it out loud, but I believed he blamed himself for her death. If he¡¯d been content with the small-town life, she would¡¯ve never been in a car accident.
I didn¡¯t blame him, though my hopes her loss would change his lifestyle didn¡¯t work out. Dad returned to Florida State University in Tallahassee as the professor for the same history program he attended fifteen years before. Without Mom around, he came home later than ever, and if the weather offered resistance, spent the night at his office. At least he didn¡¯t work for the whole week of the funeral.
Before we moved to Pennsylvania, the old and small James Madison Preparatory High School had been an overlooked feature of the town. A year before our move, the charter school received a grant from the state to create an experimental Early Medical Program in conjunction with the Madison County Memorial Hospital¡ªpractically on the same grounds¡ªand North Florida College¡¯s medical classes only a few blocks away.
They designed the curriculum to give high school students a head start pursuing medical fields of study, including internships at the hospital for those accepted into the program, and early college courses during their senior year.
The old prep school got torn down and a new building had been constructed while we lived in Philadelphia. These changes gave the school and town a serious boost in reputation. Dad managed to get me into the program long after admissions closed due to our unique situation and his respect within the community, but the administration wanted to waylay gossip which might claim preferential treatment. The principal arranged a round of interviews with a few teachers to test my readiness for their advanced courses.
Humid Florida air already warmed the bright morning, and a sunny, cloudless sky promised a hot day. School didn¡¯t start for another hour, but I didn¡¯t plan to attend classes this week.
¡°Why do I have to do this?¡± I asked, already certain of the answer but hoping to find an escape.
¡°Micah, you¡¯re not getting out of this.¡± No absent-minded professor, nothing got past my father. ¡°It¡¯s just a few teachers. The principal wants to be sure you won¡¯t fall behind.¡± His eyes twinkled a little as he gave me a half-smile.
I forced myself to not groan. Everyone in the small town knew about my father¡¯s absurd degree of education. Most teens might find it daunting to live up to that reputation, but I did my best to avoid making it appear easy.
He laughed at my frown. ¡°Look, just don¡¯t wow them too much. Answer what they ask. Think about it for a little bit first.¡± He smiled at me as he backed the car from the garage.
Far back as I remembered, school had been boring; every new topic mundane. Math became a simple matter of being shown a new problem, and the answers popped into my mind. History offered no obstacles, with the older the better. On occasion, science provided a topic which intrigued me for its novelty. English, like math, came naturally.
¡°I hope you don¡¯t mind,¡± Dad said cautiously, ¡°but I already picked all of your classes.¡± My frown deepened, but he quickly explained. ¡°Well, actually, I didn¡¯t pick them. I asked them to match your schedule to Tylwynn¡¯s. I thought it¡¯d be good for you to have a familiar face in each class. A lot of kids at the prep school aren¡¯t from Madison, though I believe James is going there as well. Should I have put you in his classes?¡±
¡°Yeah, he is, but Wynn is fine. I guess.¡± Every class with Wynn. I wanted to give my dad a hug but played it cool.
He gave me a knowing wink. Lying didn¡¯t come naturally to me.
I mumbled my thanks.
¡°You¡¯re welcome. You¡¯re already used to doing homework together, having the same classes should make it easier. Use the house anytime.¡±
His tone suggested I should have regular company. He didn¡¯t want me spending time alone, but what about him? Committees and classes might offer a welcome distraction, but I doubted they offered good company. We sat quietly for the rest of the short car ride.
When the new school came into view, my eyebrows rose. Two stories high, with red brick walls accented by wide, white-trimmed windows, I guessed the architect intended to mimic the feel of the relatively new hospital next-door, so the two buildings felt part of the same campus. Entering, I found linoleum floors with a marble pattern, while the lockers and trimming on the walls matched the pastel blue of the school¡¯s crest. Though larger than its predecessor, the behemoth high school I left days before could fit this new one in its cafeteria.
Standing in the sterile lobby, an older lady I assumed to be Principal Abrams smiled at Dad, white teeth contrasting against her dark skin the same way white streaks stood out in her short, black hair. ¡°Doctor Sepich, thank you for taking the time to do this,¡± she said, stepping forward to shake Dad¡¯s hand.
¡°Of course, Doctor Abrams.¡± Dad emphasized the title when addressing her, as if it contained additional significance for the woman. ¡°I have the rest of the week off; it¡¯s no trouble.¡± A moment of somber silence followed as the unspoken reason for that leave of absence ran through my mind.
Turning to me, she said, ¡°You must be Micah.¡±
I nodded and shook her hand.
¡°This way.¡± She gestured to an open door at one end of the lobby. ¡°I insisted my office be accessible to the students.¡±
A window watched over the lobby, and another monitored the single-row parking lot. Two soft chairs waited in front of her neatly organized desk. Dad stood by one until the principal sat. I followed his lead.
¡°Well, Micah, I¡¯m told you¡¯re a model student¡ªand not only by your father. I spoke with some of your past teachers and principals.¡±
I stopped myself from grinding my teeth. If my previous principals and teachers knew me that well, I didn¡¯t blend in as successfully as I thought.
¡°I know this is a difficult time, but I trust you¡¯re ready to get to work?¡±
¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±
¡°I¡¯m glad to hear it. Please know we have counselors who¡¯ll be happy to assist if you have troubles coping with your mother¡¯s death.¡±
I nodded silently. Hearing the words out loud in such a matter-of-fact tone sent a tingle down my spine. How would I even know if I needed help? What constituted ¡°troubles coping with your mother¡¯s death¡±?
¡°May I ask why you decided to come to James Madison Preparatory?¡±
Fighting the urge to shrug, I said, ¡°Well, I¡¯m interested in medicine. I¡¯d like to become a doctor. Uh, a medical doctor, that is.¡±
¡°Oh, I¡¯m so happy to hear that. This is the best place to start. I was a practicing surgeon for over two decades before arthritis set me on a teaching path. This school provides a unique opportunity to get kids into medicine early. I hope you take full advantage of it.¡±
¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±
¡°Well, your first interviewer is here.¡± She glanced behind me at a middle-aged man who appeared to be made of sticks covered in rough rawhide, except his smooth, bald head, which reflected the light in the room as if waxed. ¡°Mister Tuttle, this is Micah Sepich.¡±
¡°Of course,¡± he said, shaking my hand before reaching over to shake my father¡¯s. ¡°Fred, my condolences. To both of you.¡±
¡°Thank you, Eric,¡± Dad said somberly.
I didn¡¯t recognize Mr. Tuttle but he and my father were obviously already acquainted. That wasn¡¯t unusual in a small town like Madison. As a child, I thought my parents knew everyone in the whole world. Mr. Tuttle greeting my father like an old friend only struck me as odd after a year and a half in Philadelphia, where an endless supply of strangers filled every space outside of home.
The tall, thin man took a chair and, with a nod from the principal, began his interrogation. ¡°Mister Micah, we have advanced and fast-paced mathematics programs. Our class for ninth grade is comprehensive, covering geometry, algebra, and a little trigonometry. Are you comfortable with those subjects already?¡±
¡°Yes, sir.¡±
¡°Glad to hear it. Now, for tenth grade, you¡¯ll dive right into AP Calculus. Is that a problem for you?¡±
¡°No, sir.¡±
Mr. Tuttle continued by asking various questions about the nature of functions, domains, and ranges. I took Dad¡¯s advice and stopped to ¡°think¡± about the answers before responding. The interrogation continued to function limits, integrals, parametric equations. I never heard these words before, but as usual, the back of my neck itched, and the answers came to me all the same.
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Did I give away too much? When should I stop answering? How much was too much for a fifteen-year-old to know about mathematics?
When Mr. Tuttle asked about matrices, a kick hit my foot. I paused and glanced at Dad. His poker face told me nothing, but I remained silent, unsure if I should answer. After a moment, the teacher spoke again.
¡°Were you planning to leave anything for the rest of us to teach him, Fred?¡±
My father chuckled.
The older man turned to Doctor Abrams. ¡°Am I allowed to nap and let Mister Micah teach the class?¡±
I cringed.
The principal laughed. ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a pass?¡±
¡°Yes,¡± Mr. Tuttle responded curtly. ¡°The only thing he¡¯ll have to worry about in my class is dying of boredom.¡± Seemingly irritated, the man nodded to both the principal and my father before leaving the room without another word.
Dying of boredom. A pit of pain pulled at me as I bit back tears.
¡°I¡¯m humble enough to admit I couldn¡¯t follow most of that conversation, Micah. I do hope you won¡¯t be a show-off in math?¡±
Clearing my throat, I said, ¡°No, ma¡¯am.¡± I grasped at her words. Show off? No chance of that. I avoided attention for a reason.
In first grade during an assessment test, my teacher took me to the principal¡¯s office, suspecting me of cheating. Apparently, I answered every question correctly, and in only a few minutes. Mom had been called in and explained to them my father already instructed me in most subjects. They believed it, though I couldn¡¯t remember spending much time with Dad. But he taught at the college after all.
In second grade we learned about the American Revolution and, given the namesake of our town, the teacher asked the class what we knew about James Madison.
¡°He was short, awkward, and sick,¡± I blurted out. ¡°That scrawny little man could never get elected today.¡± The teacher didn¡¯t appreciate my attitude, and sent me to the principal¡¯s office.
¡°History is his father¡¯s specialty, you know. He¡¯s always going on about historical figures,¡± Mom explained. This appeased them again, but now I recognized the lie. I¡¯d never heard Dad say so much as a word about James Madison. Where, then, did I find confidence in my knowledge about a man who died nearly two hundred years ago? June 28th, 1836. That was the day he died. How did I know that? I didn¡¯t ask Mom. Instead, I waited for a moment alone with Dad.
¡°What was James Madison like?¡±
¡°Short, awkward, and sick all the time,¡± he said with a matter-of-fact tone, not even glancing up from his work.
¡°How do you know?¡±
Eyes strayed away from his laptop, squinting in thought. ¡°I must¡¯ve read it somewhere. I¡¯ve studied the founding fathers quite a bit.¡±
¡°That¡¯s what I told my teacher about him, but she got mad.¡±
Dad moved quicker than I¡¯d ever seen. Chair flying into the bookcase behind him, he practically leaped over the desk and closed the door to his small study. Strong hands gripped my shoulders as he knelt before me, searching deep into my eyes.
¡°What¡¯s the square root of seven-hundred and eighty-four?¡±
I scratched the back of my neck. ¡°Twenty-eight,¡± I responded.
¡°Son, you¡¯re in second grade, you don¡¯t know what a square root is.¡±
I blinked. I¡¯d never heard any teacher mention square roots. Images of tree roots in the shape of squares passed through my mind, but the roots twisted and turned until they made a different symbol. In my imagination, those roots formed a check mark, with a long line across the top. I recognized it as the mathematical symbol for square roots. Square root, or the number which, multiplied by itself, equaled the number under that symbol. Twenty-eight multiplied by twenty-eight was seven-hundred and eighty-four.
¡°Yeah, I do,¡± I said to my father.
He smiled and, for the first time I could remember, hugged me. An eternity of confusion passed in that embrace. Had I done something right or wrong?
¡°Micah, I need you to do me a favor. For me, for you, and especially for your mother.¡± He paused and pulled back, serious expression guaranteeing my attention. ¡°I need you to never speak that way again. Only answer questions when asked, and even then, don¡¯t be afraid to say you don¡¯t know, even if you do.¡±
¡°Why?¡±
¡°Because you¡¯re different. That can scare people or confuse them. It will only be a problem while you¡¯re young. Once you get older, you¡¯ll understand.¡±
I didn¡¯t understand for several years.
Principal Abrams greeted another teacher. ¡°Miss Shepherd, this is Doctor Sepich and his son, Micah.¡±
I stood once again, shaking the woman¡¯s short but thick hand.
¡°Micah, Doctor Sepich, a pleasure to meet you both. I wish it was under better circumstances. You have my sincerest condolences.¡± She had a thick Mississippi drawl.
¡°Thank you,¡± Dad and I said together.
¡°Miss Shepherd will be your biology teacher,¡± the principal said, then nodded to the woman.
¡°AP Biology is an advanced course for tenth grade. I assume, since you are going into the medical program here, you are ready for it. I have not prepared any questions for you, though I am happy to answer any you might have for me?¡±
I did my best not to squirm. Biology especially interested me, given recent developments. ¡°No, ma¡¯am, but I¡¯m looking forward to class.¡±
She smiled in response to my eagerness. There would likely be little, if anything, she could teach me, but I hoped to find out more on how specific traits passed from one generation to the next.
In seventh grade my mother found me reading a book from Dad¡¯s library. I¡¯d gone searching for one my English teacher mentioned, recognizing the title from seeing it in my father¡¯s study. It sat on the shelf as expected, though the oddly shaped letters on the spine made my neck itch.
I opened the old tome and had trouble figuring out the words at first. The letters, in the same strange font, proved difficult to read at first, especially considering the funny spelling of the words. I stumbled through sentences structured in an odd cadence but soon became engrossed in the epic tale of Odysseus.
The strangest part of it all¡ªat least before Mom found me¡ªhad been knowing what happened next, though I¡¯d never read the book before. That alone didn¡¯t alarm me. Whenever I watched movies or read books, I often felt I¡¯d seen or read them before, but in this case, it surpassed simple familiarity with the story. Once I got going, I knew every word.
When my mom cleared her throat, I realized I¡¯d been reciting the text aloud, from memory, no longer even reading from the fragile pages. Then the true abnormality of my situation registered.
Mom stared at me, concerned. ¡°Micah, are you alright?¡±
I couldn¡¯t answer. She heard me talking and, in that moment, I finally heard myself.
¡°What¡¯s that?¡±
I closed the book and held it up.
¡°Is that your father¡¯s old Greek copy of The Odyssey?¡±
Greek? I nodded slowly.
¡°And you¡¯re reading it?¡±
I hesitated but knew I couldn¡¯t lie, especially to her. I nodded again.
¡°Out loud?¡± she asked, eyes wide.
Afraid to open my mouth, tears burst from unexpected sobs.
¡°Oh, Micah, you¡¯re not in trouble,¡± she said sweetly, hurrying to wrap her arms around me.
Trouble didn¡¯t worry me. How did I know Greek? What if I tried to speak in English and Greek came out again? Was I cursed?
¡°I¡¯m sorry, dear, I didn¡¯t know you¡¯d been practicing with your father.¡±
I hadn¡¯t been! I didn¡¯t even know he spoke Greek! My breathing sped up as my heart pounded into my ribs. It upset Wynn when kids at school called me a freak, but now I understood why they did. What was wrong with me?! The question repeated in my mind as Mom comforted me, slowly calmed me down, and convinced me to help her make dinner.
This I did in total silence, keeping an eye on the door. Dad would know what happened to me. Dad knew everything. That¡¯s when it hit me. Dad knew everything, and so did I.
At dinner, Mom recounted to my father how she found me reading his Greek copy of The Odyssey, impressed I spoke the old tongue so well, chiding him playfully for teaching me a language behind her back. Dad played along, but every time his eyes met mine during that eternal meal, they bored deep into my soul.
Finally, Mom finished her food and went outside for an evening chat with the garden. I always considered it odd Mom talked and sang to her plants. Today, it seemed the most normal thing in the world. Once the door closed behind her, Dad spoke.
¡°When did you learn Greek?¡±
I shrugged.
¡°Have you been practicing online?¡±
A reasonable enough assumption. My parents didn¡¯t let me have a cell phone, but we owned a family computer. I almost let him believe the simple explanation, but I wanted to know the truth, which meant I needed to be honest with my father and hope he had answers.
I shook my head, then dared to speak. ¡°No,¡± I said, in English, ¡°I didn¡¯t learn Greek. I just knew it. Like math.¡± Tears came to my eyes again, and I couldn¡¯t stop them, so I hurried, words spilling out of my mouth. ¡°I saw the book, opened it, and started reading. I didn¡¯t know it was Greek! I just read it! And then I recited it from memory. Dad! How do I know Greek? How do I know the whole story?!¡± Vaguely aware I started yelling, I clamped my mouth shut, but my breaths came in quick, deep heaves.
¡°Micah, it¡¯s alright!¡± He moved as fast as that day in second grade, arm around me in an instant.
¡°It¡¯s not alright, Dad! There¡¯s something wrong with me!¡± The floodgates broke and I bawled.
He held me, speaking softly in my ear. ¡°Son, I need some time to process all of this, but I want you to know I believe you. There¡¯s something I was waiting for the right time to tell you, but I regret not explaining it earlier. It¡¯s clear, now, what I once believed is wrong.¡±
He went silent for a long moment as he rubbed my back, then continued. ¡°I planned to tell you about your gift. I have it. My father didn¡¯t but my grandfather did. He explained it to me when I was about your age. For me, that¡¯s when it started. When I began to understand things easily. To learn so much quicker than other children.¡±
His words calmed me as he continued. ¡°Like you, math and history are no trouble. Many other subjects as well. Languages are especially easy. Grandpa called it ¡®the gift of tongues¡¯. He knew half a dozen languages, and I¡¯ve learned twice as many. But I learned them. It took time.¡±
Shaking his head, he pushed me to arm¡¯s length, fingers tight on my shoulders, smile grim. ¡°Whatever your great grandfather and I have, you¡¯ve got more of it.¡± He chuckled.
If he could laugh, then it must not be as bad as I thought. My breathing slowed. I may be a freak, but I wasn¡¯t the only one.
¡°I want to test something.¡± He left the dining room, entered his study, and returned with a small book. ¡°Can you read this?¡±
The cover read ¡°Ilias Latina¡±. The back of my neck itched, but I ignored it as I opened the book. As with the larger Odyssey, it took me a moment to recognize the words and figure out exactly what I read, but once I comprehended, I nodded.
¡°Amazing. You don¡¯t only know Greek, but Latin as well.¡±
Latin? The only thing I knew about Latin was it was a dead language. At least, that¡¯s all I used to know about it.
¡°You started so much younger, I shouldn¡¯t be surprised you learn so much quicker.¡±
I wanted to correct him. I didn¡¯t learn anything. I¡ What? Knew? That¡¯s how I always thought of it before, but it felt wrong now. How could I know something I¡¯d never learned? I struggled to find the right way to explain it, and in my silence, he stepped back, appraising me with a kind smile and proud eyes.
¡°I love you, Son. Don¡¯t worry about being different. And don¡¯t be afraid of your gift.¡± Then he lifted a finger to me, and said sternly, ¡°But don¡¯t let it make you proud, either. You¡¯re not better than other people because you¡¯re smarter than them.¡±
I sniffled and laughed at the same time, as the old quote came out of my lips, ¡°Where there is great power there is great responsibility.¡±
He chuckled. ¡°That¡¯s right. You have a responsibility to use this power to learn. Don¡¯t waste it. Find a subject which doesn¡¯t come easily. That¡¯s what my grandfather told me, what his father told him, going back generations. It¡¯s vital those of us with the gift find something difficult to learn. Remember that.¡±
A spark in the back of my mind ignited¡ªa now familiar sensation¡ªand I instantly knew what word I¡¯d been searching for as I scratched at my neck, attempting to satisfy an itch too deep to reach. I didn¡¯t learn quickly, and I didn¡¯t simply know things; I remembered them. How I could possibly remember something I never knew confused me, but I remained certain. As certain that the square root of seven-hundred and eighty-four was twenty-eight.
Principal Abrams once again introduced someone. ¡°Nurse Williams, this is Doctor Sepich and his son, Micah.¡±
The large man always reminded me of Santa Clause; if Santa kept his beard trimmed short, and if instead of a fur coat he wore the traditional hospital uniform known as scrubs. ¡°We¡¯re so glad to have you both home again. So sorry I missed the funeral, Fred. My sincerest condolences to both of you.¡±
¡°Thank you, Tommy.¡±
¡°Well, Micah, how did you grow so much in such a short time?¡± He gave me one of his jolly grins, and I smiled back. ¡°They¡¯ve put me in charge of the Intro to Medicine class here. Can you believe it?¡±
¡°Who better?¡± I asked.
He held a hand between his mouth and the principal and mock-whispered, ¡°Just about anyone, but don¡¯t tell them that.¡±
We all laughed. Tommy Williams, as the name on the lanyard he wore said, was the head nurse of the hospital, an old friend of the family, and likely the rest of town. He undoubtedly actually played Santa at countless Christmas parties throughout Madison.
Remembering those moments of uncertainty and fear at discovering something wrong¡ªor freakishly abnormal¡ªabout me, made me sweat. Maybe I should go to the county high school. No one there would notice if I knew a little too much. They didn¡¯t teach classes so advanced a spotlight would shine on any high school student who breezed through them.
But as Tommy spoke, a grin spread across my face. ¡°So, Micah, what do you know about medicine?¡±
I answered without reservation. ¡°Absolutely nothing.¡±
CHAPTER 3: CLASS
CHAPTER 3
CLASS
WYNN
The day after the funeral, I plodded my way to school, wishing I could skip it. Rachelle gone. Micah back. It all seemed surreal. I didn¡¯t think reality would settle into focus until he started school again next week. Once I saw him every day, remembered why he returned, I¡¯d no longer be able to hide from it. But at least I¡¯d see him every day.
Shuffling through the doors, I nearly ran into someone leaving the school as I entered.
¡°Sorry,¡± I muttered, barely dodging out of the way before planting my face in their chest. Berating myself for not paying attention to where I put my feet¡ªagain¡ªI glanced up at pale blue eyes.
Micah wore the same weary expression his father did, but as we stared at each other, the corner of his mouth turned up in a slight smile. The tiny gesture made my heart sing, and I paused, not sure what to say. No greeting felt appropriate.
¡°Hey, Wynn.¡±
¡°Are you starting today?¡± They didn¡¯t actually expect him to get straight back to school so soon after the funeral, did they?
¡°Not until Monday. Just met with the principal.¡±
I nodded. No one would force him to attend school the day after he buried his mother. She wasn¡¯t my mother, so I didn¡¯t get that kind of treatment. To be fair, I hadn¡¯t asked. To be more fair, I preferred the distraction.
His mouth drew tight, eyes falling. My stupid question reminded him. How could I be so idiotic? My arms itched to hold him the way I had behind the church.
Fred Sepich cleared his throat.
I murmured, ¡°Well, have a good day.¡±
¡°Yeah, you too,¡± Micah muttered back.
We both said the words as if neither of us expected a good day to be possible.
¡°Nice to see you, Tylwynn.¡±
¡°You too, Fred.¡±
As he left, Micah took all the light in the world with him, returning me to another dreary Wednesday. Three long school days and a solid weekend stood between now and seeing him again. Even after we¡¯d been away from each other longer than a year, I couldn¡¯t bear to be kept from the boy for five days. How pathetic. Then again, nothing kept me from visiting him after¡ª
¡°Hey, Wynn.¡± The repeated words startled me.
I whirled, surprised to find Terrence standing in the lobby a few feet away, dour as ever. ¡°Don¡¯t call me that, please,¡± I said to the short boy.
¡°But¡ª¡±
¡°Micah,¡± I quickly cut him off, ¡°is the only one allowed to call me Wynn.¡± His thick, dark lips naturally frowned, so I couldn¡¯t tell if I offended him, but tried to smooth things out anyway. ¡°I only let him get away with it because we¡¯ve known each other since before he could pronounce my name correctly.¡±
Terrence shrugged.
¡°Ready?¡± I asked.
¡°Yeah, sure. I tried working on it last night, but it¡¯s kicking my butt.¡±
Since the prep school hadn¡¯t been open the previous year, none of the current tenth graders went through its new ninth-grade math course designed to prepare us for AP Calculus. Most, like me and Terrence, took a summer class as a primer, but only a week into school several students started falling behind. I offered to help with a homework study group on B-days for half an hour before class.
¡°Is anyone else here yet?¡± I asked, walking toward the library.
¡°Don¡¯t know, just got here.¡±
We entered the small library. Three tables sat in front of the checkout desk, all empty. Apparently, typical teenagers would rather struggle through math than wake up early. Which made me and Terrance abnormal.
Completely alone, I glanced sideways at Terrence. He seemed nice enough, even with his permanent scowl, but I barely knew him. The prep school brought in kids from all over the county¡ªand a few from outside¡ªbecause of the new program. Terrence and I attended the summer classes together but never actually talked until today. Well, time to break some ice.
¡°Where¡¯re you from?¡± I asked.
¡°Live Oak.¡±
¡°Really?¡± Excitement tinged my voice, and I tried to tone it down. ¡°That¡¯s where Micah¡¯s dad is from.¡±
Amazingly, Terrence grew frownier. ¡°So, who¡¯s this Micah? He wasn¡¯t in summer school.¡±
¡°He just moved back to Madison.¡± Choking a little as memories of the day before filled my head, I decided to change direction. ¡°Besides, he¡¯s too smart for summer school. Especially when it comes to math. I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll be here helping out next week. Micah is kind like that.¡±
¡°Like you.¡±
I glanced away, a little taken aback by the comment. ¡°Well, I didn¡¯t mean it that way.¡±
Terrence smiled for the first time I¡¯d ever seen, but I immediately preferred the frown. ¡°Chill, it¡¯s a compliment.¡±
I mumbled, ¡°Thanks,¡± then busied myself retrieving the calculus book and homework from my bag. Goosebumps ran up my arms. Why did he make me so uncomfortable? I imagined Micah implying I was kind, and a fire ignited my chest and cheeks. If thinking about him made me blush, I¡¯d be in trouble once he returned to school.
I set the book on the table. Terrence simply stood there with that smirk on his face. ¡°Are you doing math, or what?¡± I asked.
His lips immediately resumed a frown, and he hurried to put his backpack on the table, digging around in it for his stuff. ¡°I hate having to use paper and pencils.¡±
I didn¡¯t argue. As an artist, paper and pencils were my natural habitat, but I understood why other kids didn¡¯t like it. We¡¯d all grown used to doing homework online, but the prep school had a policy of using actual textbooks and paper homework to prevent students using AI to cheat. While not foolproof, I didn¡¯t blame them for trying. The world didn¡¯t need a rising generation of medical professionals who depended on computers for every answer.
¡°Do you have a date for Homecoming?¡±
My head spun. Would Terrence actually spring a Homecoming invitation on me in the library? On the first day we ever talked to each other? And why were we still alone? At least two other students said they¡¯d be here, and I desperately wished for them to appear. Right now.
I managed to get out an ¡°Umm,¡± before he quickly moved on.
¡°I assume you¡¯re going with him, right?¡±
I blinked.
¡°You obviously like him. He¡¯d be an idiot not to like you back. Are you two a thing?¡±
Micah and I a thing? I wish. An idiot not to like me? Wait. Was Terrence implying he liked me? He didn¡¯t even know me! Micah knew me very well, though. For the millionth time, I wondered if my feelings for him were mutual, both in desire and fear of rejection. The blush returned with a vengeance, and I hurried to look down at my book, playing dumb.
¡°Who are you talking about?¡±
¡°Micah.¡± His tone implied the ¡°duh¡±. I deserved it.
¡°We¡¯re just friends.¡±
¡°Sure. Well, he¡¯s got two weeks to ask you out, or I¡¯m taking you to Homecoming.¡±
The fire in my flushed cheeks burned its way into the rest of my face as I glared at Terrence. ¡°You¡¯re taking me?¡±
He shrugged, permanent scowl unperturbed. ¡°You know what I mean. Best-case scenario, we have a fun date, he gets jealous and asks you to the Winter Dance. Worst-case, you find out he¡¯s an idiot and move on.¡±
Who was this kid? Where did all these assumptions come from? And where did he find so much confidence? I didn¡¯t know much about Terrence, but what I did know wasn¡¯t particularly complimentary. Short¡ªbarely taller than me. Frank to the point of rude. Frowny faced. Already falling behind after a week of school.
I frowned. Those words could describe me. Only my determination to prove myself to Micah gave me the focus I needed to keep up with calculus. I had a little more control over the words which came out of my mouth, but it took a lot of practice, and I still found myself constantly blurting out things I immediately regretted. Luckily, short didn¡¯t have the same degree of significance for girls. Some might consider it an advantage.
Terrence¡¯s self-confidence was admirable, if misplaced. Why couldn¡¯t I look Micah in the eyes and call him kind? Why couldn¡¯t I tell him he had two weeks to ask me out or I¡¯d take him to Homecoming? This short, rude boy had a point. Would Micah wake up if he saw someone else interested in me? Assuming he cared. Assuming he didn¡¯t think I was an idiot.
Didn¡¯t I decide to come to the prep school in the first place because of Micah? Beyond simply smart, the kid¡¯s intellect made Einstein seem like a fish trying to climb a tree. After sitting through my freshman year of mediocre-to-bad teachers at the county high school, I knew when I left this podunk town to find him again, I¡¯d be just another uneducated Florida redneck. Micah might still think of me as a friend, but I¡¯d never be his equal.
However, if I graduated high school already on track to become a doctor, that would show him I could keep up at least as well as any other girl.
That plan backfired when he returned home. Not that I was complaining, but now I¡¯d have to prove my intelligence every day, in full view the genius brain hiding behind those pale blue eyes.
I swallowed hard and focused on my homework. ¡°Let¡¯s just do some math, please.¡±
Terrence simply nodded, revealing unexpected respect for my fallen mood.
I didn¡¯t particularly like Terrence but had to admit his little shenanigans definitely broke the ice. In a few seconds, he made it clear he considered me a girl worth pursuing. As I got to know him better, we might become friends, but he¡¯d have to tone down the intensity.
The rest of our study session went smoothly¡ªstrictly calculus after the awkward conversation. No one else showed up before we finished our homework, and we walked silently to the math room.
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Mostly empty when we got there, only Lucy¡ªthe new girl who sat two seats over from me¡ªalready sat in her chair, one hand running fingers through hair damp from morning swim practice, the other holding a small novel which snared her focus. Terrence went straight over, sat on the unclaimed desk between hers and mine, and struck up a casual conversation. That took guts of steel. My own intestines twisted from the way he watched her. I expected him to drool any moment.
Why was I jealous? I held no feelings for Terrence. Some part of my ego must¡¯ve been flattered by his interest. How vain.
Besides, Lucy claimed the unspoken title for most attractive girl in school. Maybe the whole state. Or country. Planet? With hair the rarest of true reds dangling in natural, soft curls, and eyes a green so pure they practically glowed, certainly no one in Madison could compete. It took me a few days of sitting near her before I noticed she didn¡¯t wear makeup. It made sense, given she spent the time between swimming and school nose-deep in books, yet it surprised me because, with her flawless complexion, I assumed she wore a base. But no, it was all natural. So unfair. Not to mention her figure. Tall, athletically slender, but with all the right curves. The girl could pass for a reincarnation of Aphrodite herself.
Still, I mostly envied Lucy¡¯s complexion. I couldn¡¯t handle the kind of attention that body drew. While pretty in my own way, and grateful for it, I held no delusions of running in any beauty competition. Even in this small town. Even before Lucy moved in.
No, I wouldn¡¯t take it personally that Terrence displayed more interest in Lucy than me. He was a boy, and every boy at this school was more interested in Lucy than me. That suited me fine because I only wanted Mic¡ª
I cringed as I realized Micah would soon be a boy at this school. Would he drool over Lucy? No, he never seemed that kind of boy. Or at least, not before. What about now? James ate with the rest of Lucy¡¯s fan club since the first day of school, hoping to catch her eye. Given his size, he had a better chance than anyone.
What if Micah joined that crowd? Acid burned in my throat, and I nearly threw up. The scenario of him finding his first love in a Philadelphia high school had dug its way into my dreams during the months he¡¯d been away. Every time I woke from those nightmares my heart vanished from my chest, leaving a gaping hole into which my rib cage collapsed. If a dream hurt so much, how much worse if it happened in reality before my very eyes?
¡°You should join our morning study group,¡± Terrence said to Lucy.
I wanted to smack him. I wanted to scream that she wasn¡¯t invited. Giving her any chance to know Micah better would feed my already plump jealousy. But childish knee-jerk reactions were unnecessary. Instead, I rolled my eyes.
¡°Thanks, but I¡¯m pretty busy in the morning,¡± Lucy responded with a full truck-load of sarcasm as she flicked her wet hair.
It actually took Terrence a few seconds to catch on. ¡°Oh, right. Well, I meant when you don¡¯t have swim practice.¡±
The kid¡¯s eyes only evened out with Lucy¡¯s when he sat on a desk while she sat in a chair. Where did he get such confidence? She barely tolerated him. How couldn¡¯t he see it? The bell interrupted his pathetic flirting attempts, and Terrence scrambled to his seat as Mr. Tuttle stood up to begin the lesson.
The rest of the week crawled by. Knowing Micah lived so close again made me long to see him. Knowing he grieved made me ache to hold him. Paying attention to class became impossible as daydreams flooded my mind.
I could go to his new home after school. Bring some flowers. Was that appropriate? A boy didn¡¯t want flowers from a girl. No, I¡¯d stop by Grumpy¡¯s and get a buttermilk pie, of course. We¡¯d sit on his porch and watch the rain while he ate. He¡¯d offer me a bite because he was kind like that. I¡¯d take the whole plate from him, set it down, express my sorrow for Rachelle, then admit my happiness to have him back home. Confessing my feelings for him, I¡¯d reach out, and he would put out a hand, the same way he did at the funeral. Stabbing pain woke me from the reverie.
If being rebuffed in a daydream felt this devastating, the real thing might kill me. Maybe we¡¯d never be together the way I wanted, but simply being around him would make me happy enough for now. We were only fifteen. There was time. So much time. Never ending amounts of time!
Thursday came and went at a snail¡¯s pace. The days until I¡¯d see Micah again stretched into eternity. Friday morning, Terrence remained the only other person in our study group. He behaved himself this time, keeping the conversation casual. He proudly showed me the homework he managed to get done on his own and only laughed when I pointed out he did it all wrong.
Once again, he sat between me and Lucy before class and chatted with her. Did he intentionally keep his back to me? Why flirt with me one moment, then pretend I didn¡¯t exist the next? Obviously, he was totally smitten with her, so why did he seem interested in me when we studied alone? Was he hoping for Lucy¡¯s attention, but willing to settle for mine? Not that I cared. I didn¡¯t want him chasing after me. But I didn¡¯t want to be his second choice, either. Ugh! Love was stupid.
During the class, I turned to get some lip balm from my bag and caught him staring at me from his desk in the corner of the room. He didn¡¯t look away. His frown twisted into a slight smile. Did he actually wink?
Sighing, I decided to ignore him from now on. He could play whatever games he wanted because in three days Micah would be back in my life, and I¡¯d never think of Terrence again.
After putting on the lip balm and dropping it in my bag, I glanced at Lucy. She stared at me too. No, she appraised me. Large green eyes rolled down, then back up, slowly examining me. I gave her a polite smile and focused on listening to Mr. Tuttle, but my skin squirmed at her lingering gaze.
Why? Could she possibly like Terrence, so assessed me as a threat? I barely contained laughter at both the image of tall, perfect Lucy holding hands with short, scowling Terrence, and the idea she might consider me competition. Whatever she really thought, I decided I didn¡¯t care about that either.
I continued to ignore her until she turned away, but when the bell rang a few minutes later she leaned across the empty desk between us and whispered, ¡°Are you and Terrence dating?¡±
My horrified reaction was reflexive, and as I opened my mouth to deny it, she smiled slyly and said, ¡°I didn¡¯t believe it.¡± Before I could decide if I should be offended by those words, her smile became genuine and she continued, ¡°You¡¯re too good for him.¡±
Emotions spun into a confused mix inside of me. Revulsion, embarrassment, anger, and flattery, all at once. I glanced over to where Terrence sat to make sure he¡¯d already left before asking, ¡°Why would you think that?¡±
¡°He claimed to be taking you to Homecoming,¡± her tone made it sound absurd.
Fire ignited in my gut, and my hands balled into fists as I kept myself from hunting the kid down and throttling him.
Lucy waved a hand in dismissal. ¡°I¡¯ve seen this before. He wants to make me jealous by not asking me out while bragging about asking other girls out.¡± Rolling her eyes, she stood and gracefully slung a messenger bag over her shoulder, appearing for all the world like a young goddess. Aphrodite indeed.
Wait. She¡¯d seen this before? I underestimated how much more of a curse than a blessing her beauty might be. As I gathered my stuff, she came around the desk and spoke quietly.
¡°You¡¯re probably smart enough to know this already, but you should stay away from Terrence. Devious little snots like him are nothing but trouble. I¡¯ll handle him.¡±
¡°Thanks?¡± I mumbled as she walked away.
The bizarre conversation repeated in my mind as I mechanically made my way to second period, making it difficult to focus the entire class. Part of me felt graced by her attention, as if she was exactly the teenage goddess she appeared to be. Lucy talked to me, voluntarily, with compliments and dating advice. And not in a demeaning way. She¡ looked out for me.
Why should that make me feel special, though? I didn¡¯t put stock in popularity. I didn¡¯t crave acceptance or approval. So why did her words affect me so deeply? Should I believe them? What if she really wanted me to not like Terrence so she could have him?
This time I did laugh aloud, which gained a few curious glances from students in the room and a deadly glare from Mrs. Shepherd. I quickly covered my mouth, cheeks burning, but the laugh continued inside. As if Lucy couldn¡¯t have any boy she wanted simply by returning interest.
And if Micah showed interest?
I shuddered but couldn¡¯t think of a reason he wouldn¡¯t.
After biology came lunch. I ate outside in my usual spot next to a young tree¡ªone of several recently planted in a row at the edge of a detention basin just north of the school. Though small, it provided decent cover from sunshine and light rain. The grass was a bit wet, but in Florida, wet was normal. Admittedly, the shade didn¡¯t do much for the heat either, what with all the humidity, but I personally enjoyed it. Air conditioning worked overtime to keep the school so cold, I appreciated the chance to thaw out. Besides, with a tiny cafeteria, most of the kids ate outside. Including Lucy and her entourage.
As part of the rebuilding, a covered patio with benches for outdoor eating sat along the north side of the school. Three tables overflowed with teens¡ªmostly senior boys¡ªsurrounding the popular new girl.
I watched Lucy closer than I ever cared to before. She returned smiles directed at her, laughed, and responded cheerily to questions, but surprised me with how graciously she treated the few other girls in the group. She regularly spoke to them, even across tables, constantly shifting the spotlight away from herself to them. I couldn¡¯t hear most of the conversation, but the dynamic displayed her intentions clearly to anyone paying attention.
Lucy didn¡¯t welcome the adoration of those boys but was too nice to simply push them away. Those other girls, however, craved attention, reveling in each second the spotlight shone on them, greedily clinging to it until someone interrupted their basking with another question for the goddess.
This revelation both awed and bothered me, though before I could analyze why, one of the fanboys¡ªa particularly tall and muscular one¡ªstood and abandoned the pack, walking toward my tree. About time James joined me for lunch. I hadn¡¯t said anything¡ªI knew how much he liked Lucy¡ªbut I missed eating with him the first week and a half of school.
¡°Giving up already?¡± I asked in a friendly tone.
James shrugged.
I patted the damp grass next to me. ¡°Well, I get the feeling she doesn¡¯t actually care for all the attention. You might have better luck ignoring her for a while.¡±
His eyebrows rose and he glanced back at the group as he knelt down. ¡°Think so?¡±
¡°Definitely. This way you won¡¯t seem so incredibly, ridiculously, pathetically desperate.¡±
He laughed as he opened his lunch sack, pulling out the unfinished half of a large hoagie he brought from home. If you wanted good food at school, you brought your own.
We ate in silence for a couple minutes before I asked, ¡°Excited to have Micah back on Monday?¡±
He grunted.
¡°Me too. I¡¯m sick of eating alone,¡± I said, jabbing the massive kid in the ribs with my elbow.
¡°Can¡¯t blame a guy for trying.¡±
I laughed. ¡°No, I don¡¯t blame you at all. She¡¯s gorgeous. Seems nice too.¡±
He shrugged but actually followed it up with a few words. ¡°She¡¯s weird. Not what I expected.¡±
¡°Good weird or bad weird?¡±
Another shrug, and he stuffed his mouth with a massive bite from the hoagie.
I smirked. ¡°I mean, is she the shoves-half-a-sandwich-in-her-mouth kind of weird, or the communicates-with-shrugs-and-grunts kind of weird?¡±
James glared at me while he chewed. After he swallowed, the large boy purposefully shoved the rest of the hoagie in his mouth, then shrugged and grunted. We both broke into laughter, which didn¡¯t end well for him.
I patted his back while he choked and coughed between food-muted laughs. His joke-turned-choke drew attention from the other students, including Lucy. She considered James and me, then offered that same sly smile she gave me earlier and followed it with a nod of approval.
I quickly looked down, hoping she didn¡¯t catch my blush. Did she think I was interested in James? And she approved? Why did I care? I didn¡¯t have romantic feelings for him, but I recognized his several qualities. In a world where Micah didn¡¯t exist, I might have been interested, but Micah didn¡¯t simply exist in this world, he was my world. Three days. I only had to wait three more days.
School flew by after lunch, a translucent film atop my daydreams of the following Monday. I imagined showing Micah around the school, helping him get to each of his classes. He¡¯d invite me over to do homework. I didn¡¯t know what his new house looked like, so my imagination kept placing us in the small bedroom he grew up in next-door.
The window would be open, letting in a warm breeze and the smell of rain. We¡¯d lay on his bed as I explained the calculus to him. Then he¡¯d stop me, suddenly, with a kiss. Stunned by his claim he always loved me, I¡¯d ask him to prove it. He¡¯d push the books off the bed and reach for me, kissing me with the passionate intensity of years longing for each other in silent suffering. Then the bell would ring.
Bell?
Kids around me quickly threw things in backpacks and hurried out the door, excited to be done with school for the week. Some discussed weekend movie plans or boating at Cherry Lake. I sighed and slowly packed my things.
Daydreams were stupid. Micah would never need my help with calculus, and he¡¯d never kiss me out of the blue like that. How would I react, in the real world, if he did? Blood rushed to my cheeks as I relived the scene. Make out session or no, Micah returned to my life next Monday. Just a long, lonely weekend to survive.
I moved so slowly while packing up, the room had already emptied of everyone except me and Mrs. Molina.
¡°Miss Ethelston,¡± she called to me from her desk. Teachers usually use students¡¯ first names, but most of them found my last name less intimidating.
¡°Yes, ma¡¯am?¡±
¡°We have a new student starting next Tuesday. From what I¡¯m told, you two are old friends. Do you know Micah Sepich?¡±
¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± I said more enthusiastically than intended. Would Micah and I share a class? I couldn¡¯t keep the grin off my face and Mrs. Molina mirrored it back at me.
¡°Well, from that response, is it safe to assume you wouldn¡¯t mind if he sat next to you?¡±
¡°No, of course, that would be great. I mean, fine. I don¡¯t mind at all.¡± Words tumbled out of my mouth and the older woman chuckled in response as the red in my cheeks undoubtedly deepened from my embarrassment.
¡°I¡¯ll make it happen, then. Have a nice weekend, hun.¡±
¡°Thank you, ma¡¯am. You too.¡±
I practically skipped out of the room. Not only would we be in the same class, we¡¯d sit right next to each other! Why did sitting next to him in class send tingles down my spine and make my toes curl? I¡¯d sat next to him a million times. It seemed special all the same.
Floating home on clouds of anticipation, I mapped out in my head all the empty seats in my other classes, wondering if Micah might be sitting in any of them on Monday. Two classes on A days and another on B days had an empty desk right next to me. Could I be so lucky?
I struggled against my hopes. Couldn¡¯t get too excited. Couldn¡¯t expect too much. Only one class together. We¡¯ll probably have one class together. I repeated the mantra all weekend long as I looked forward to seeing my best friend again. But Monday had different plans.
CHAPTER 4: NORMAL
CHAPTER 4
NORMAL
MICAH
I hit my limit. There didn¡¯t exist enough time to get over losing my mother, but twelve days felt a practical eternity away from normal life. After my interviews, Dad and I spent most of the day unpacking boxes, organizing the new home, and filling the fridge with meals brought by well-meaning neighbors.
Both cozy and modern, our new home felt completely unlike anywhere we lived before. Disappointed he didn¡¯t find a way to move back to our old house¡ªor at least closer to it¡ªrather than the opposite end of town, after setting up all my gaming consoles in the new entertainment center, I understood.
Once I got all the cables plugged in, the TV mounted to the wall, and the games organized carefully in the stand beneath it, I reached back into the box and pulled out six worn controllers; two for each system. Mom gave me all of the equipment and games over the course of several Christmases and birthdays, and she regularly took time to play them with me on nights when Dad came home late. Practically every night.
Staring at those controllers, I knew half of them could never be used again. They belonged in Mom¡¯s hands. I closed the box, shoved it into a corner of the cupboard, and closed the doors. Holding back a torrent of tears building behind my eyes, I rushed to my room, grabbed another box, and furiously unpacked until questions of how to organize all my stuff distracted my grief. Familiarity wasn¡¯t comfort when laced with memories of her.
I considered calling James and Wynn to see if they could go to a movie or the lake, but as much as I wanted to get out of the silence of our tiny home¡ªwhere after only a day there remained nothing to do¡ªI didn¡¯t trust myself to be good company yet. The last thing I wanted was to break down in front of my friends, which still happened at unexpected moments.
Instead, I talked to Dad, but those conversations always turned into lectures about things I already knew. Come Monday morning, I was anxious to emerge from the shadow of grief and return to the sunshine of ordinary life, and relatively certain I didn¡¯t have any tears left to cry.
Dad dropped me off on his way out of town, which meant I arrived at school extra early. I moved ¡°get a bike¡± to the top of my mental priority list. At least I had plenty of time to find my classes before they started.
This morning, my mind no longer preoccupied with interviews, I noticed how out of place the modern school looked on the street corner of two old and broken roads, surrounded by yet older homes.
Principal Abrams waved at me from her desk behind the large glass window of the office. I waved back, then remembered she taught my first period, History of Medicine; a single-semester class required for all the kids in the medical program.
¡°Principal Abrams,¡± I said aloud as I approached her open office door, ¡°where can I find your classroom?¡±
She smiled and stood up, meeting me halfway. ¡°It¡¯s just here.¡± Crossing the small lobby, she opened the door to the first classroom in the north hall. ¡°Your seat will be the center one on the back row.¡±
¡°Thank you, ma¡¯am. Is it alright if I find my other classes? Dad dropped me off on his way to Tallahassee, so I have lots of extra time.¡±
¡°Of course. I¡¯ll be in my office if you need help.¡±
Unlike my school in Philadelphia, JMPHS adopted an A-B day schedule, with four periods each day. Which meant every other day alternated between different classes which lasted longer, giving teachers more time to cover complex topics.
The whispered squeak of my shoes on the marbled linoleum seemed loud as I wandered around the quiet school, creating a mental map of my classes. Most of the rooms were locked or empty, but three times I found a teacher sitting at their computer. Latin, my fourth period on A days, was the first one open with the lights on.
¡°You must be Micah,¡± Mr. Gaines said, standing up when I poked my head in.
¡°Yes, sir.¡±
He opened his mouth to say something else, then paused, seeming to change his mind. Smiling, he simply said, ¡°Well, I look forward to working with you.¡± I nodded, but before I could turn to leave, he spoke again. ¡°Oh, one moment.¡± He returned to his desk and checked the computer. ¡°Fourth period, right?¡±
¡°Yes, sir.¡±
¡°There are several empty seats in the room that hour. Pick whichever you prefer.¡± He motioned to the far wall. ¡°The column against the wall is totally empty, as is the back row.¡±
¡°I¡¯ll take the front corner seat,¡± I said.
He appeared pleased I didn¡¯t want to hide in the back row. ¡°You¡¯ll be next to Miss Ethelston, then.¡±
I nodded, and mumbled, ¡°Thanks,¡± barely registering his parting wave as I left the room. When Dad told me I had every class with Wynn, seat arrangements hadn¡¯t occurred to me. How many of our classes had an empty seat next to her? Was it possible for me to sit next to her every period?
I checked my B-day schedule and set out to find those rooms. Two more times I spoke to a teacher and introduced myself, but neither gave me options on seating. At least I sat next to her for one period. Latin, of all classes. It would be nearly impossible to not give away how much I already knew. Which reminded me of the only productive conversation I had with my father all weekend.
Dad had been sitting in the new recliner, reading an old National Geographic magazine. I passed by him with the third book I tried to read that day, returning it to the shelf. I¡¯d never opened it before, but after reading the first couple chapters, an itch brought with it the entire story, including the major plot twist.
¡°Ender¡¯s Game? That was one of my favorites when I was your age. Must¡¯ve read it a dozen times. Did you like it?¡±
I shrugged, unsure how to answer. How could I like or dislike something I never got a chance to experience? From the teacher interviews, to attempts at finding a new book to read, the annoyance of constantly feeling like a freak accumulated to a tipping point.
¡°Dad,¡± I said, harsher than intended, frustration pushing me on less cautiously than planned, ¡°why am I taking Latin? Can¡¯t I test out of it or something?¡± I immediately regretted the words. I wanted to be in Latin. Wynn would be there. I wanted to spend as much time with her as possible, but hated how most of it would revolve around boring classes at school.
He laid the magazine on his chest and stared at me over black-rimmed reading glasses, considering what I¡¯d said, but the silence quickly became unbearable. Emotions rose inside me, stirred from hibernation by my mild outburst, threatening an intensity I wasn¡¯t prepared to let loose. Biting down on my cheeks to keep myself from blurting out every stupid thing popping into my mind, I folded my arms and forced myself to wait patiently.
¡°Well, I suppose you could skip high school altogether, if you wanted. It wouldn¡¯t be difficult for you to test your way into college. Is that what you want?¡±
¡°No,¡± I said immediately, and meant it. I didn¡¯t even want to skip Latin, let alone all of high school. I already lost a whole year with Wynn; I didn¡¯t want to lose more. But I wanted something to be different. I wanted to be different. The emotions broke through.
Throwing out my arms, I exploded. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I want! I feel like I¡¯m wasting time in classes with nothing to teach me!¡± I sighed and tried to regain control. ¡°I mean, my friends are there, and I want to be with them. I¡¯m not ready to give up being a kid. I know that¡¯s childish, but¡ª¡± a sting flashed behind my eyes. I tried blinking away the tears. ¡°I feel like that¡¯s selfish. Maybe I should push myself like you do. I¡¯m just sick of being¡ abnormal.¡± I almost said, ¡°a freak¡±.
He sat up straight and nodded. ¡°I was your age when I started college.¡± I hadn¡¯t known that. ¡°My grandfather convinced my parents I was a prodigy and should be treated like one.¡± His eyes lost focus for a moment before he went on. ¡°I don¡¯t want to burden you with my past, Son, but you should know, while you¡¯ve inherited the Sepich brain, you¡¯re also your mother¡¯s child.¡± He smiled painfully, and I could tell he fought as hard as I did to avoid crying.
¡°Your mother never grew up, in all the right ways. It was my favorite thing about her. She gave me back some of that childhood I missed. To experience the world with her always made it brighter. Fresh. She saw things in a way I¡¯m incapable of. I won¡¯t tell you what to do. You need to make this decision. But I¡¯m here to help, whatever you decide.¡±
¡°I know, Dad. Thank you. I¡¯m sorry, I don¡¯t know what I want.¡±
He tilted his head, then continued in a slow, stuttered pattern. ¡°Micah, I will support your choice, but I don¡¯t want you to regret it. I¡¯m aware, for me, pursuit of the unknown isn¡¯t a hobby, it¡¯s an obsession. It doesn¡¯t have to be that way for you.¡±
His eyes watered, but he pushed through, determined to pass on wisdom he deemed important. ¡°Your gift is greater than mine. You don¡¯t have to lose these years studying. You¡¯ll catch up whenever you¡¯re ready. What I¡¯m trying to say is, every single day I spent at the universities and conferences¡ªall of them¡ªI would gladly trade for another day with your mother.¡±
Tears rolled freely down his face, but he managed to keep his composure. Stunned because I didn¡¯t know this side of my father existed, for the first time, I believed he truly loved my mother. Taking his advice to heart, I determined to do my best to make these years of high school as normal as possible.
Normal.
Did I know how to be normal? Could I remember?
Spinning the dial on my locker, I finished the combination and pulled up on the handle. It didn¡¯t budge. I pulled harder. Nothing happened. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the paper Principal Abrams gave me the previous week, double-checked the locker number, then the combination, and tried two more times. Nothing.
Sighing, I turned to leave, but an itch in the back of my neck stopped me. Staring at the locker, I tilted my head and reached for the lock. Tentatively gripping the handle, I lifted, applying gentle pressure, then spun the dial again. When I got to the first number, I felt more than heard the slightest click as a pin fell into place. Slowly continuing toward the second number, it clicked two digits over. Twenty-eight, not twenty-six. I spun the dial quicker now, sure whoever wrote down my code didn¡¯t get two numbers wrong. The final pin fell into place and the handle snapped up.
¡°Hey, Micah.¡±
I spun, heat rushing to my cheeks, instinctively worried I¡¯d been caught breaking into a locker. A short, dark boy, with short, black hair and a suspicious frown, approached me.
¡°Uh, hey,¡± I said, trying to steady my voice. It was my locker. I didn¡¯t break any rules. ¡°Sorry, do I know you?¡±
¡°Terrence,¡± the boy said, frowning. ¡°Genius and handsome. Life ain¡¯t fair.¡±
¡°What?¡±
¡°Wynn said you¡¯re a genius.¡±
Did she also call me handsome, or did Terrence decide that? The question mingled with my overactive concerns about being caught picking my own lock to create five directions of uncomfortable thought. An awkward silence ensued. Terrence raised an eyebrow as if skeptical about my intelligence.
¡°You know Wynn?¡± I asked, stupidly.
¡°Yeah,¡± he said as if saying ¡°Duh¡±, skepticism firmly in place.
¡°I mean, are you from Madison?¡±
¡°Live Oak. We met during summer classes. We do early morning study sessions together.¡±
¡°Oh, yeah?¡± That sounded more intimate than I was comfortable with.
Before I could ask about them, Terrence continued, ¡°Hey, Wynn says you two are old friends, and I don¡¯t want to get off on the wrong foot with the genius new kid, so I thought I¡¯d ask, do you mind if I take her to Homecoming?¡±
Homecoming? He wanted to take her to a dance. On a date. Could I dance? Would that memory come to me the first time I tried? Did I mind if he took her? Yes. Definitely. Could I say that without sounding creepily possessive?
¡°Uh, Homecoming? But we don¡¯t have a football team,¡± I hedged.
¡°You don¡¯t need a football team for a dance.¡±
¡°Sure, I guess.¡± I meant to agree about football teams and dances but immediately regretted those words as Terrence¡¯s eyes lit up and his frown shifted into a smirk.
¡°Thanks, buddy. You should get a date too so we can double.¡± The small boy passed me without another word. Did he intentionally mistake my words? It seemed that way.
I¡¯d known Terrence for less than one minute and I already didn¡¯t like him. I should¡¯ve told him I planned to ask her. I could still ask her if I found her first. Assuming James didn¡¯t mean to. Would she even say yes to me? Maybe Wynn wanted to go with James. Or Terrence. They went to summer school together and studied in the mornings. Did that mean she and James weren¡¯t together? Why didn¡¯t my itch answer any useful questions?
Resisting the urge to smash my head into the lockers, I opened my backpack and took out a plastic bag. Dad recommended it, and I learned to listen to my father¡¯s advice a long time ago. Always carry a pocketknife. Always wear a belt. Always keep safety pins on your belt loops. Always have a change of clothing nearby. The pocketknife came in handy regularly, and, surprisingly, I used the safety pins a couple times in the last year but still felt childish putting a change of clothes in my locker at school. At least Terrence wasn¡¯t here to ask about it.
I sighed. Normal. Didn¡¯t I want normal? What could be more normal than jealousy, romantic rivalry, and high school dances? Fueled by annoyance, I slammed the locker shut with more force than intended.
¡°Whoa!¡± A distinctly feminine voice dripped with sarcasm. ¡°What did the locker do?¡±
Cringing, I turned toward this new disruption. ¡°Sorry, I¡ª¡± air stopped moving through my lungs.
Wet red hair framed the features of the most gorgeous face I ever saw, attached to the most attractive body I could imagine. The same height as me, her tight clothes showed off an athletic form with eye-catching curves. Bright green eyes rolled dismissively as she walked by.
¡°Whoa,¡± I mouthed silently, gawking. What little remained of my consciousness decided it was impossible to not be transfixed by such perfection. Maybe I would ask someone to the dance. To double with Terrence and Wynn, of course.
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¡°Micah?¡±
How many times would I get ambushed this morning? At least Wynn didn¡¯t catch me staring at the beautiful redhead. My cheeks burned as I turned. ¡°James. Hey. Good morning. How¡¯re you?¡± I fumbled.
The tall kid shrugged. ¡°Found your locker?¡±
¡°Right here,¡± I said, slapping the thin metal door.
¡°Give that thing a break, Hot Stuff.¡±
Hot Stuff? My chest burned in tandem with my cheeks. The redhead stopped at a locker a dozen yards down the hall and called out my abuse with a sly smile. She winked at me, and I quickly glanced away. James¡¯ eyes went wide as they darted back and forth between us.
¡°You know who that is?¡± I asked quietly. ¡°She¡¯s not from Madison, right?¡± No way I overlooked her face in a town this small. No one could.
¡°Lucy? She just moved in.¡± Lucy. And she lived in Madison.
I changed the subject, not wanting to appear more than casually curious. Because I wasn¡¯t. ¡°Seen Wynn yet?¡±
He shrugged.
¡°You know where her locker is?¡±
Grunting, he passed me.
I followed, doing my best to not glance at the new girl as we approached her.
James, on the other hand, became uncharacteristically vocal. ¡°Hey, Lucy. How¡¯s the pool?¡±
¡°Wet,¡± she said like she¡¯d been asked a thousand times before. Pool? She must be on the new swim team.
¡°Anyone ask you to Homecoming yet?¡±
Lucy closed her locker and turned toward us, flawless face once again forcing me to intentionally focus on breathing. ¡°A few dozen. I told them all no,¡± she said with a grin of pristine, white teeth.
I wasn¡¯t sure which fascinated me most, James¡¯ sudden ability to use full sentences, or this girl¡¯s impossible existence.
¡°Cold, girl. Just waiting for me to ask, then?¡± Seriously, when did James get so smooth? I¡¯d never heard him speak this much in an entire day, let alone less than a minute. And to a girl, no less! But after wondering about the nature of James and Wynn¡¯s relationship, between Terrence asking Wynn to Homecoming and James hitting on Lucy, I now knew it stopped at just friends.
With a giggle, Lucy ran a hand through her wavy red hair, flicking it into the air to help it dry. ¡°Please, I¡¯m not that cruel. It only happens to be the same day as a swim meet in Jacksonville.¡±
¡°So, is there already a line for the Winter Dance? And who do I need to beat up to get to the front?¡± James continued, undeterred.
¡°Since it¡¯s a free-ask dance, I plan to ask someone. So, be on your best behavior, Mister James. Although, I¡¯m glad to know you¡¯re available¡ if I need someone beaten up.¡± Her teeth shone as she winked at him.
Even though she ignored me during the conversation, an uncomfortable heat grew in my chest, and I shuffled my weight from one foot to the other, anxious to get away from this alluring stranger. Her eyes connected with mine. My heart stopped. Could eyes even get that green? She must wear contacts.
¡°Who¡¯s the handsome mute?¡± Her tone turned playfully curious.
Mute? Me? Handsome? My palms started sweating.
¡°Oh, I thought you already knew Hot Stuff,¡± James said sarcastically.
Eyes slowly considering me as they rolled down then up, she ran a tongue along her teeth before saying, ¡°I¡¯d like to know him better. We haven¡¯t even been introduced yet.¡±
¡°This is Micah, an old Madisonian. Just moved back into town last week.¡±
¡°Hey,¡± I tried to respond casually, but my voice cracked.
Finding the nearest swamp and diving in would¡¯ve been preferable, but I couldn¡¯t help smiling as the other two laughed. I wanted normal, didn¡¯t I? Cracking your voice in front of the hot new girl definitely counted. I took comfort knowing at least Wynn didn¡¯t hear it.
I cleared my throat. ¡°Nice to meet you, Lucy. Welcome to Madison.¡±
¡°Thanks, My-kuh.¡± She said my name as if testing the taste of it. After a long moment, she turned back to my friend, touching him lightly on the arm. ¡°See you in class, James.¡±
Turning gracefully, she sauntered back the way she came, hips swaying seductively with each step. I quickly found something else to focus on. James stared at her with an approving eye. Eventually, he noticed me watching him and shrugged. Then grunted.
¡°There¡¯s the James I know. What was all that?¡±
He shrugged.
¡°Well, best of luck. You¡¯ll have some real competition with that one.¡±
He grunted and started down the hall again.
¡°She¡¯s a senior, right?¡±
¡°Sophomore.¡±
¡°No way.¡± Lucy seemed too mature, at least physically, to be only fifteen or sixteen. She appeared closer to twenty.
¡°What about you?¡±
¡°What about me?¡± I asked.
¡°Hoping she asks you to the Winter Dance?¡±
I considered asking her to Homecoming so I could double with Terrence and Wynn, but that was out of the question now. Obviously, James liked Lucy, and I only wanted to date Wynn. ¡°She¡¯s all yours,¡± I answered honestly, raising a fist.
James bumped it with his own, then showed me to Wynn¡¯s locker in a small alcove on the second floor. The east and west sides filled with lockers, but the southern wall held a large window. Viewing the town from a second story offered a unique perspective. Practically every roof was visible from here, in spite of the trees.
We waited a few minutes, but Wynn didn¡¯t arrive, so I followed James around the halls, trying to talk to him about his schedule, getting mostly grunts and shrugs which resulted in learning we didn¡¯t share any classes this semester. Five minutes before first period, the warning bell rang.
I told James I¡¯d see him at lunch, then made my way to class. No Wynn there, either. Was she sick? Did she get hurt on the way to school? I wished I could text her to ask.
Taking out my History of Medicine book, I read the first chapter while paying attention to the teacher. I needed to catch up, but it shouldn¡¯t be a problem. At least, it wouldn¡¯t be if my mind wasn¡¯t preoccupied wondering about Wynn. I knew she walked to school, but she lived close enough, she should be here by now, even if late.
The bell rang and I made my way to second period. Tommy cheerfully introduced me to the class. Again, Wynn never showed up.
Lunch came, and I followed the flow of students through the cafeteria. Once I held a tray of questionable food, I found an exit to a covered patio on the north side of the school where James said they ate together. In spite of the considerable heat, several dozen students ate outside.
At a second glance, most of them squeezed onto three tables, the rest only half full. On even closer inspection, I realized the crowded area consisted almost entirely of boys. A head of red hair popped up in the middle of the horde. Lucy. That explained it.
She peered my way, and for a brief eternity our eyes connected. Those eyes. Emeralds snuggled in white sand, framed by silky red curls. The corner of her lip curled into a smirk as she raised an eyebrow. She caught me staring. No, gawking. Again.
Blinking, I managed to tear my attention away. Glancing around, I hoped to find James somewhere far from the Lucy fan club. Gratefully, he sat under a tree across a small grass area.
¡°No sign of Wynn?¡± I asked, joining him.
He shook his head.
¡°Weird. I hope she¡¯s alright.¡±
He grunted through a mouthful of sandwich, but a scrunched brow displayed genuine concern.
¡°I¡¯m checking in on her after school. Want to go with?¡±
Another grunt.
My patience wore thin as the day continued. Anxious to start school that morning, now I anxiously waited to leave. When the final bell rang, I jumped out of my seat and practically sprinted through the door before the teacher finished telling us the homework assignment. Rude, but the Latin teacher had nothing to teach me. In the end, my bad manners saved no time, since I waited ten minutes before James showed up with his bike.
¡°What took so long? Making kissy faces at Lucy again?¡± I teased.
He grunted a confession.
We stopped by the Family Dollar on the way to Wynn¡¯s to buy some cream soda. When we showed up on the doorstep of her family¡¯s small rambler on Fraleigh Drive, Tamara Ethelston came out to greet us.
¡°Look at you wonderful boys!¡± She gave me a big hug. ¡°Aren¡¯t you dears just the sweetest! Oh, Tylwynn will be so happy you came to see her.¡± She glared up at James. ¡°What are your parents feeding you, child?¡± Hugging the giant from the side, she motioned for us to come inside and continued talking. ¡°She started feeling a bit off last night and woke up this morning with a terrible flu.¡±
¡°Well, we don¡¯t want to be a bother. Just bringing something for her.¡± I handed over the case of soda but ignored her invitation to enter the house.
¡°That¡¯s so good of you. We¡¯re so happy you¡¯re home again, Micah. We¡¯ve missed your family so much.¡± Eyes turning moist, cheeks reddening, her lip quivered.
I made my escape. ¡°Thank you, ma¡¯am. It¡¯s good to be home. Please tell Wynn we said to get better fast.¡± James followed my lead and together we waved and backed down the walkway.
¡°Thank you, boys! I¡¯ll tell her!¡±
James pushed his bike as I walked quietly next to him down the middle of the street, following the road as it twisted south. I soaked in the humid air, breathing deep and slow. Sweat ran down my back and gathered on my forehead. Clouds blotted the sky, promising imminent rain.
¡°This is probably a dumb question,¡± James said quietly, ¡°but, are you alright?¡±
It was my turn to grunt and shrug.
¡°For wanting to see Wynn so badly, you left in a hurry.¡±
I sighed. ¡°She was about to bring up Mom.¡±
His bike tires hummed on the old road.
¡°I know she means well, but I¡¯m sick of being sad.¡± The buzzing of cicadas grew louder. Saying those words out loud felt more uncomfortable than the sweat tickling down my armpits.
¡°I need to show you something,¡± James said.
I nodded. ¡°Your place instead of mine?¡± James¡¯ family lived outside of town, and it would be quite a walk, but at the moment I didn¡¯t care.
He shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s on the way to yours.¡±
We continued down Fraleigh Drive until it turned into Duval Street. At one point, a car showed up and we made our way to the grass on the side of the road. Eventually, a cement sidewalk provided the first sign of leaving the older, quieter parts of Madison in favor of the slightly modern center.
Like many small towns built along a busy highway, Base Street, or US-90, offered a long line of gas stations, fast-food restaurants, and convenience stores. Before living in Philadelphia, I considered it a tiny piece of metropolis in the middle of nowhere. Where once the existence of stoplights meant a busy street full of travelers passing through, now it registered as only a slightly busier small-town road.
After crossing Base, we continued south until reaching Lake Frances. When James turned onto the road which circled it, I finally became curious. Knowing my big friend¡¯s appetite, I unconsciously assumed he wanted to show me something food related. A new local restaurant with a great sandwich or to-die-for ice cream shakes. Or maybe he wanted to show me a classic buttermilk pie at Grumpy¡¯s.
Instead, we retreated back to the quieter parts of town, on the south side, and moved toward the woods. A familiar route. I couldn¡¯t count how many times Wynn, James, and I walked this way to enjoy an undeveloped spot of jungle, untouched by the slow but steady housing expansion of Madison.
Sure enough, rather than follow the road northward and back around the lake, we continued eastward, turning south onto Pawnee. Old memories flooded my mind. Were we going on a woodland adventure? We¡¯d been children the last time that happened. Between Mrs. Ethelston¡¯s reminder of Mom and my disappointment at missing Wynn in school, if the drops of rain starting to fall turned into a deluge, it would be a welcome addition to a distracting trek through the forest.
At the corner of Pawnee and Seminole, James stepped off the crumbling road and followed a shallow drainage ditch toward a thick wall of trees and shrubs which marked the edge of civilization. Then he stopped.
I took a few steps before realizing he no longer walked at my side. Looking back, I found him staring at the ground, clearly avoiding my gaze. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± I asked.
He stayed silent for a full ten seconds before responding. ¡°You have to promise not to tell anyone.¡±
I frowned. We¡¯d been friends for years. He knew I didn¡¯t gossip.
¡°And promise you won¡¯t be afraid.¡±
In spite of the heat, humidity, and warm rain, a shiver ran down my spine. I could imagine few things I might fear in those woods¡ªbears or panthers mainly¡ªbut the grim expression on James¡¯ face made me uneasy. It was abnormal for my large friend to be afraid of anything.
A murmured, ¡°Sure, of course,¡± was all I could muster.
Setting his shoulders, James pushed his bike confidently into the trees, laid it in the underbrush, then continued through the dense thicket. I paused. James had his moments of playful mischief. Could this be a prank? A joke? No. Taking advantage of my emotional weakness wasn¡¯t his style. At least, not a year and a half ago.
Cautiously, I followed my friend. Maybe I¡¯d fear whatever he wanted to show me, but I¡¯d do my best to not show it. And whatever might make him behave this way would remain a secret between the two of us for as long as I could keep it.
Assuming it wasn¡¯t something illegal. Lots of kids in Philadelphia smoked, did drugs, or smuggled alcohol out of their homes. I couldn¡¯t imagine James doing anything like that and didn¡¯t know how I¡¯d handle it.
The foliage pressed thick around us for the first minute or so as we worked our way into the deeper part of the jungle, where taller trees with thicker canopies sheltered the underbrush from sunshine, stunting their growth. Fat rain drops noisily pelted the leaves above us and rippled in the occasional puddle on the forest floor.
James didn¡¯t speed up, even though thick bushes no longer hindered us. Every step forward seemed intentional, head slowly moving side to side, eyes scanning. I found myself doing the same, not knowing the reason for his caution, or what I searched for.
At first, my heartbeat sped up, palms sweating, but after a few minutes I became bored. And skeptical. Maybe he really did intend to prank me. Get me worked up and laugh about it afterward. Maybe he thought it would help me relax.
¡°James,¡± I said, about to call him out on his attempt to distract my mind. I assumed he meant well, but I wasn¡¯t in the mood. Before I said more, his hand whipped out and nearly smacked me in the face.
¡°Shhh!¡± He crouched, pulling down on my arm as he did so.
I followed suit, glancing around for what he spotted. Then he pointed forward. I didn¡¯t know what to look for, but once glimpsed, it was unmistakable.
My heart thudded wildly, and my breathing choked. It took every ounce of self-control to remain still and silent. Not ten feet from us, peering around a large bush, were the bright eyes and dark mane of a massive, black wolf.
¡°James,¡± I whispered.
¡°I know,¡± he said. ¡°Remember, don¡¯t be afraid.¡±
Easier said than done. My palms sweat with a vengeance, and I fought the urge to run. Confidence. I didn¡¯t have any in myself, but I trusted James.
A real wolf. With thick, matted fur, and clawed paws larger than my fist. Yellow eyes observed us intently. Focused, crouched, ready to spring. This was insane. Dangerous. We should¡ªitching on the back of my neck sent a wave of calm through my tense muscles.
Wolves rarely attacked people. With new perspective, the creature¡¯s eyes changed from fierce to curious. With a slight movement of his contracting nostrils, he tested the air. Instead of ready to spring, he seemed prepared to flee.
James¡¯ movement made me break eye contact with the beast, though only briefly. He removed his backpack, unzipping it, expression unconcerned. For its part, the wolf didn¡¯t appear bothered by the large boy¡¯s actions. Its yellow eyes stayed locked on me.
James pulled a slice of meat from his lunch sack, throwing it to the animal. It didn¡¯t flinch.
¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± James said, ¡°he¡¯s a friend.¡± Whether he tried to comfort me or the wolf, the animal was the one convinced.
Finally investigating the offering, it moved slowly to where the meat landed, sniffed it, laid down, then swallowed it in two bites. As it relaxed, the creature reminded me of a large dog. I tried again to talk to my friend.
¡°James, why are you feeding a wolf?¡±
He shrugged.
¡°I thought Florida didn¡¯t have wolves.¡±
¡°Not many,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ve seen them a few times on our property.¡±
James¡¯ family owned several hundred acres of wilderness a few miles southeast of Madison. I¡¯d been invited to go hunting with my friend and his father several times growing up, but Mom never let me. I immediately switched my line of thought back to the distraction.
¡°But why are you feeding it? Why isn¡¯t it running away? Does it have a pack? How long has it been here?¡± Realizing peppering him with questions didn¡¯t help, I stopped.
¡°Well, that¡¯s the real secret. You have to promise not to tell anyone.¡± James regarded me with desperate eyes, and I wondered what could be worse than keeping a pet wolf so close to town.
¡°I promise.¡±
Shuffling from a crouched stance, he knelt, oblivious to the increasingly muddy ground. The wolf casually glanced at me, barely interested in us anymore.
¡°About three weeks ago, I was jogging around the lake. I saw a big dog moving through the bushes and followed it, thinking it must¡¯ve gotten out of someone¡¯s yard. When I got close enough, I saw it was a wolf.¡±
He pointed to the large beast. ¡°He¡¯s bigger than any wolf I¡¯ve seen. Never seen a black one either. He was watching me. I considered running away but with all the moms and little kids who play around the lake, I couldn¡¯t leave him. He could hurt someone or get himself shot.¡±
James shook his head and stared down at his hands. ¡°I tried to scare him off. He didn¡¯t budge. I told him he couldn¡¯t be there. It wasn¡¯t safe.¡± Pausing, James looked at me, mouth twisting, brow furrowed. ¡°It¡¯s hard to explain, but, after talking to him, I felt something. It doesn¡¯t make sense, I know, but I was confused and curious. But it wasn¡¯t like I felt it, rather, I was being told it.¡±
I shifted uncomfortably. He was right, it didn¡¯t make sense, but I felt something abnormal myself. The itch of a memory at the back of my mind. Something familiar about what he described burned in that itch, but I couldn¡¯t quite place it.
An itch in my neck at the base of my skull always accompanied the spark of realization which ignited a new memory, bringing with it knowledge or skill. This time, only the itch came, escalating with each word as he continued his strange tale.
¡°I told him to hide somewhere, to get out of town. He sat down and stared at me. I felt lost. That¡¯s when I understood I felt his feelings. He¡ communicated them to me. I told him to follow me. He didn¡¯t hesitate. I brought him here. I told him he¡¯d be safe if he stayed in the forest. Then I left.¡±
Shaking his head, my big friend continued, ¡°I thought I was crazy. Must¡¯ve imagined it. The next day, I couldn¡¯t stop thinking about him. I came in here to see if I could follow his tracks. He was just sitting here, waiting for me. Hungry. I¡¯ve been coming every few days.¡± After a sigh, he whispered, ¡°Honestly, until you saw him, I wasn¡¯t certain he was real.¡±
Awe overcame the incessant itch. Sitting with him and the wolf, I couldn¡¯t doubt the tale. Somehow, my friend spoke to a wolf, and it responded. It should be unbelievable. Insane. Like remembering things you¡¯ve never known.
¡°What¡¯s he feeling right now?¡± I asked.
James raised an eyebrow at me. ¡°You believe me?¡±
I shrugged. ¡°You¡¯re not the only one with secrets.¡±
He scoffed. ¡°This is more than a crush on Tylwynn.¡±
My jaw dropped.
¡°What? It¡¯s pretty obvious, Micah.¡±
¡°You knew?¡± I couldn¡¯t believe it.
He grunted.
¡°Why didn¡¯t you say anything?¡±
¡°I don¡¯t want anything to do with it. You¡¯re my only friends. If something goes wrong between you two, where does that leave me?¡±
My best friend knew I was in love with my other best friend and never said anything. Obvious? Did that mean Wynn knew?
The wolf shifted.
I shook my head, forcing my mind back on track. ¡°Fine, whatever, that¡¯s not what I¡¯m talking about.¡±
His responding expression offered total skepticism.
¡°I¡¯m talking about this.¡± I motioned to the wolf. ¡°What you can do. You¡¯re not the only one.¡±
James¡¯ eyes went wide. ¡°You can talk to wolves? Or whatever this is?¡±
¡°No, nothing like that. I mean, you¡¯re not the only one with¡ª¡± I laughed. ¡°I don¡¯t know, powers?¡±
The boy frowned.
¡°You think your story is weird but wait until you hear mine. Of course, you have to promise not to tell anybody.¡±
¡°You¡¯re making fun of me.¡±
I scoffed. ¡°Nope. And I can help you. I know I can. I know something about this. I just need to remember what.¡±
As the rain poured through the trees, a grin spread across my face. I felt alive again. Did I actually want to be normal this morning? No, I didn¡¯t want to be normal. I just didn¡¯t want to be the only one who wasn¡¯t.