Hero Reborn (Keepers of Justice, Book 3) (29 page)

“Because when you snuck out to the woods after your party, that was the happiest day of your life, right?” I tease back. He’s never come close to having a girlfriend. The poor guy. He really wants one. Not that he’s ever admitted it—I just know.

“Guys don’t care about birthdays like girls do.”

“Come on.” I elbow him. “Your mom threw you the most extravagant party ever.”

He scratches the back of his head. “Whatever.”

He has two older brothers and no sisters, so his mom tends to—how do I put it?—feminize him. It pisses the heck out of him. His parents are thinking of adopting a little girl.

“Aw, cheer up. You’ve had three slices of cake, you won charades, and you gave me the awesomest present a gamer could want.”

He smiles, his cheeks getting a bit red. “Wanna go up to install the game?”

“Hell yeah.”

We race to my room.

“Keep the door open!” Dad calls from the kitchen. I cringe. How many times do I have to tell him that Toby isn’t a boy? Okay, duh he’s a boy, but he’s not a
boy
. He’s just Toby. Best-friend-almost-like-a brother Toby. The worst that could happen with the door closed is me talking him into secretly playing with my dolls like we did as kids.

Toby drags a chair to my computer and sits down while I tear the plastic off the video game case. I sniff it. Nothing beats the smell of a brand new game. I join my best friend at the computer and pop it in.

He tells me about this awesome race they created in
Triumph
. I listen for a few minutes before my mind drifts to something else. Something I try to avoid every year on my birthday. It’s been on my mind since last week and hasn’t left. Like a parasite that’s nestled in my brain and is sucking out all my life force.

The anniversary of Mom’s death.

“You have that look again.”

I blink. “What?”

“The look you always get on your birthday,” he says in a low voice.

Birthdays are meant to be days of celebration, and it’s no different in my house. But we can’t celebrate mine the way we’re supposed to, not really. My mom died giving birth to me. What’s more important—remembering her death, or celebrating my life? After fifteen years, we still don’t know. Dad tends to overcompensate, tries to make my day special because it’s not my fault Mom died. Even though it is.

When I was very young, I didn’t feel the lack of a mom too strongly because I grew up not knowing her, so it’s not like I grasped what I was missing. But in fourth grade, we had a mother/daughter slumber party at a classmate’s house. I was the only one to come with a dad. While all the moms braided their daughters’ hair, painted their nails, and had fun with makeup, my dad fumbled with my hair and spilled nail polish on my pajamas. One of the mothers felt bad and took over. Even though I wanted to have nothing to do with makeup or painting my nails, because Emily doth not dig the girly stuff, I realized I was missing someone very important in my life.

Toby’s green eyes meet mine. They’re overflowing with worry. “Wanna talk about it?”

I slump in my seat, staring at my hands that I’m wringing on my lap. “This game is taking so long to install.”

He studies my face. Opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it. Opens it again. We’ve been friends since kindergarten, but he still doesn’t know how to broach the whole Mom’s death topic. He’s not the only one. It’s kind of a thing in my family. That’s why Meg’s never really around on my birthdays. I’d like to attribute today’s absence to my lame party, but the truth is she ran to escape. I can never escape.

“It’s the updates,” Toby says, his eyes on the screen. “Bugs they had to fix before the game officially releases.”

“Oh. Cool, I guess.”

Toby glances at me. “You’re not okay.”

I shrug. If I say a word, I’ll start to cry. I lean my head back and stare at the ceiling, pretending to look bored and impatient.

I shouldn’t be upset. I never knew her.

Tears prick my eyes. Damn.

I fidget in my chair, kicking my desk’s leg. “Toby, isn’t it getting late?”

He peeks at his watch. “Guess so.” He looks at me, concerned eyes circling my face. “We’ll play tomorrow?”

“Sure.” My voice sounds weak.

“Okay.” He bends forward to give me a hug. “Happy birthday.”

I hold onto him a little longer than necessary, enjoying the comfort and security only a best friend can give. When we finally pull apart, I see the concern in his eyes has quadrupled. I force a smile and say, “Don’t even think about playing
Triumph
when you get home. The next time you enter the world will be with your demon love by your side.”

He grins, his shoulders sagging with a bit of relief. “Okay, okay. I promise.”

“Good.”

Giving me another quick hug, he wishes me a good night and exits my room. As soon as he’s gone, emptiness engulfs me, making me feel lonely and vulnerable. I’m alone in my room a lot, either doing homework or gaming, but now I feel really lonely, like a black cloud swallowed me up.

I stand and head to my closet, get down on my knees and rummage through the bottom drawer. It’s where I keep all my private things. I find the faded, wrinkled, tear-stained, yellow envelope and pluck it out.

Dropping down on my bed, I slowly lift the flap and pull out the single photo inside. Dad gave it to me on my twelfth birthday. I remember how happy I was to finally have a picture of my mom all to myself. The other photos I’ve seen of her are in albums or in the drawers in Dad’s office. Those are the best, the ones he thinks Meg and I don’t know about. We once snuck into his office when we were younger and snooped around until we found them. They were so romantic. Dad and Mom, so in love and full of life, eager for a future together.

Tears splat onto the photo in my hand. It was taken about a month before I was born. Mom looks so happy, and there I am inside her. Sometimes when I study this photo, I want to crawl into it, go back in time and
do
something. I don’t know what. But just something.

My fingers trace Mom. She had blond hair and blue eyes like me. Dad says I’m the spitting image of her, even in personality. Mom was a tomboy, too, and she wore glasses until she went to college.

Wiping my eyes with my shirtsleeve, I deposit the photo back in the envelope and return it to its place. I head to the bathroom and splash water onto my face. When I lower my hands to cup more, I jump back, splattering water onto the sink and my shirt.

Something is on my skin.

My blood begins to race as I examine my inner arms closely. These shiny, yellow, green, and black markings that look like pumpkin seeds run from my wrist up to my mid-forearm. My toes grow numb and my heart pounds in my ears.

I flip my arms around to check the other side. Nothing. I twist them back to inspect my inner arms. They’re back to normal.

What the hell?

I rub my eyes. I must be hallucinating. I’m exhausted and emotionally drained. Not to mention I didn’t sleep much last night.

I examine my arms one last time and then stare at myself in the mirror. Definitely losing it.

After washing my face a few more times, I take a shower and climb into bed.

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Dee J. Stone is the pseudonym of two sisters who write young adult novels.
The Keepers of Justice series,
The
Cruiser & Lex series, Emily’s Curse
,
Merman’s Kiss
, and
Chasing Sam
are now available on Amazon Kindle. You can email them at
[email protected]
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Stay tuned for more books in the Keepers of Justice series and other titles, coming soon.