Redemption (13 page)

“It’s just . . . ” Amber frowned.  “I’m trying to make her proud. One of us needs to."

She retreated a few steps as she spoke, her eyes wide. It took a moment for her words to register but, when they did, the sting whacked me squarely in the soul. I wanted to protest but found I couldn’t. The insult sat heavily between us. Anger and embarrassment clawed itself up my neck, appearing as a flush along my cheeks. Tears burned the back of my eyes, and I turned away. What had happened to the two of us?

“Look, Day—”

 I shook my head slowly. Words wouldn’t help right now. We both knew it.

"Mom wouldn't be proud of this," I whispered, my voice hoarse with unshed tears.

I put pressure on my tongue with my teeth. I was so
not
going to cry! A loud banging from the hallway diffused the situation, and we both stiffened. No, not now!

“Dayton Marie!” a voice yelled from the corridor, and I stuffed the lollipop stick quickly down the front of my shirt and into my bra.

Amber rolled her eyes. Aunt Kyra materialized at the door looking weary and exasperated, a sheaf of papers hanging from her fingertips. I cringed.

“What is this, Dayton?” she asked angrily. I shrugged. My heart was very evidently
not
into arguing.

“Rewrite it! And I mean it, Dayton. I’ll call the school and see if they will take a redo or extra credit. An F!”

 She held out the papers, and I took them gingerly. I knew better than to say anything.

“What am I going to do with you?” she murmured almost to herself. She turned away from me.

I stood up straight. There was no way I was cowering in front of her or Amber. Not today. I was my father’s child in a lot of ways. Stubborn was one of them.

“It was one paper,” I said defensively.

She didn’t turn around, but she did shake her head.

“It’s not just the paper, Dayton. It’s everything,” she said wearily. “The cursing, the disobedience, your choice in friends . . .”

I stared unblinkingly forward. If I was supposed to act suitably chastised, I was going to disappoint. 

“I don’t get it! Am I that bad?” I asked, my eyes moving between Amber’s gaze and Aunt Ky’s back. Neither one of them moved. After a moment, Aunt Kyra looked over her shoulder.

 “Dayton—” She paused and looked away. “We have a guest coming to dinner this weekend. He’s coming to meet you specifically. Don’t mess this up.”

My brow furrowed. 

“Me?”  

 Aunt Kyra nodded.

“Do
not
mess this up,” she repeated firmly.

WTF! I glanced over at Amber, but she just shrugged and looked at the floor. I knew that look. She knew something.

“Is it about the paper?” I asked in confusion. I knew Mr. James was going to give me a failing grade. I’d seen it in his face. And it wasn’t the first run in I’d had with my philosophy teacher. He was a total prejudiced ass.

“He’s a recruiter,” Aunt Kyra said, and I froze. For college? Me thinks not.

“To see
me
?”

She didn’t answer, just gave me one final look before walking out of the room. Aunt Kyra wasn’t one to elaborate on anything. Did she seriously think being vague was part of her "mommy" job description? My fingers moved restlessly over the essay in my hands. A recruiter? That made no sense. Amber was the scholarly one. With my grades, I’d have to go looking for the colleges, not the other way around. I wasn’t dumb. I just didn’t try hard enough to get good grades. 

“Is this some kind of school thing? Is it about my birthday?” I asked Amber once Aunt Ky disappeared. I noticed a figure loitering in the hallway trying to make herself appear small, but it was a familiar one and I concentrated on Amber. She shrugged before moving to stand behind me. She peered over my shoulder and moaned. It brought my attention back to the present and to the group of papers in my hand.

“What?” I groaned. “The whole point of philosophy is argument.”

“Argument, Dayton. Not re-theorizing. You were always good at telling stories. No wonder you failed."

 My spine stiffened. I’m pretty sure she was trying to re-direct my thoughts, and it worked. The insults were really starting to dig. It still didn’t answer my earlier questions, but I let her re-direct me all the same. I’d find out soon enough.

“I wasn’t re-theorizing. Read the paper,” I said with a huff as we both moved out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

“I thought it was ambitious,” the figure said from the corridor, and I paused with a grin. Amber kept walking. 

“You would,” Amber called over her shoulder. She walked down the hall toward the refectory as I turned to face Monroe.

Monroe leaned against the wall with a smile, her vintage jeans and 50’s flavored cream top clashing with the usual collection of black robes that normally inhabited the place. She dropped her bag, and I rolled my eyes at yet another big beaded purse on the floor between us. I was refraining.

“Lady Ky can smell bad news from a mile away. She’d put a drug dog to shame,” Monroe quipped before blowing a pink bubble and popping it with her fingernail. The two of us needed to take out stock in DumDum and Hubba Bubba.

“That’s an understatement,” I mumbled as I leaned against the wall next to her. "I'm not re-writing it."

 Monroe looked up.

“Then don’t."

“I don’t see the point anyway,” I complained.

I was irritated about the whole thing. I had way better things to worry about than a disgruntled philosophy teacher who, in my opinion, didn’t teach us anything. Mr. James abhorred arguments. It was almost as if we were supposed to take what we heard and live it, breathe it, be it. He really unnerved me. I got that most of the girls were in love with him. He was young, too young to teach in my opinion, and I have to admit, pretty hot. But still a total dictator.

“How was your night?” Monroe asked quietly.

My problems came rushing back. Monroe’s last text sprang into my head.
"He said her aura was black."

“Can we not go there right now?”

I wasn’t avoiding the issue really. I just didn’t know what to do about it. Neither of us said anything for a few moments. Monroe picked up her bag and nodded toward the stairs. I kicked away from the wall.

“So, you ready for your birthday tomorrow?” Monroe asked suddenly, smoothly changing the subject as we moved toward the Abbey’s living quarters to grab my back pack. I looked over at her and groaned.
Wrong
change of subject,

“Not really."

“Oh come on, Gizmo! It’s your birthday!”

I gave her
the
look.

“We don’t celebrate birthdays at the Abbey, Roe,” I said off-handedly. She knew that.

“Maybe your aunt will this year. It’s your last year harassing her,” Monroe said with a laugh. I grabbed my backpack and picked up a wadded up piece of paper off my floor. I threw it at her head. She ducked. It missed. Damn.

Chapter 9

He will not stop now. He has corrupted the Order. And he has an insatiable thirst for blood. His control is impressive, but limited. I have watched too long, forbidden to interfere. She will not be cowered, I know her well. These things I know. What I had not counted on was the Other. He has surprised me.

~Bezalial~

The day passed too quickly, maybe because school was mainly spent arguing with my philosophy teacher who refused to let me do extra credit. My aunt had made good on her promise to talk to Mr. James. But, as I suspected, he wanted me to re-write the paper, and I refused to do it.  It put us at an impasse and neither one of us was budging.

“You are looking at it all wrong, Ms. Blainey,” Mr. James growled.

I leaned forward slightly.

“Mr. James, I argued a point I felt strongly about, and I made sure to include references to back it. It was a good paper,” I growled back.

Mr. James looked away from me, his fist clenched at his side. From where she sat, Mrs. Pierson, the so-called counselor, couldn’t see his restraint, but I could. With his golden hair, amber eyes, and muscled physique, he resembled a Greek god. His personality, however, resembled a pit bull. He swallowed hard.

 “The paper wasn’t about disproving Camus. It was about the man himself, his life, his philosophy,” Mr. James ground out.

I shrugged.

“I didn’t like his philosophy,” I countered.

Mr. James’ face reddened and Mrs. Pierson sat up abruptly behind her desk.
Now
, she decided to intervene.

“Now, now . . .” Mrs. Pierson soothed, but I let her voice drone on into the background.

I simply wasn’t interested in being soothed. The whole argument was pointless. It was obvious we were at a stalemate.

In the end, I ended up spending three hours in the counselor’s office having a teacher/student conference that resulted in me telling Mr. James to stuff his paper where the sun doesn’t shine and to covet the F he gave me if he wasn’t going to let me do extra credit. I simply refused to re-write a paper I believed in, one that I felt effectively disproved Camus’ stupid "Life is Absurd" theory. It was going to piss my aunt off royally. Not because the paper wasn’t good. It was. But because I wouldn’t change it to earn a better grade.

 I was so thoroughly irritated by the time I left the office, I slammed into the bathroom and stayed there. As a senior, I only had five periods, and Mr. James had wasted most of them. I slid down the restroom wall and pouted.

“Smoke?” someone asked quietly, and I looked up to see Jessie Grey leaning up against one of the bathroom stalls. She must have been standing on a toilet when I’d come in. I’d checked under the doors.

She held a cigarette out and I took it. I didn’t smoke but, at this point, it wouldn’t hurt to look like I did. I took a quick puff and handed it back, swallowing the cough that rose up in my throat.

“Thanks,” I said tightly. She cocked her head.

“It’s a bad habit,” she said before puffing on the butt.

I didn’t know Jessie well. We were both seniors, but she was a loner who spent most of her time secluded. She didn’t do much to invite company, and, honestly, she was somewhat unnerving. I watched her a minute as she blew smoke toward the ceiling. Her torn jeans, loose black off-the-shoulder tee, and short black hair suited her. A red lacy bra flashed occasionally through the shirt, and I felt a momentary flash of envy. She looked like a C. I was barely out of an A.

“You got probs today?” Jessie asked.

 I looked up and caught her eye. It seemed to twinkle a moment. I shook my head.

“Nothing big,” I answered vaguely.

She pushed away from the wall.

“Whatev,” she said as she put the butt out and fanned the air with her hand.

She reached into her back pack, pulled out an aerosol Febreeze can, and sprayed the room. It hinted of apples. I watched her pop the can back into her backpack and rolled my eyes. If only my aunt had to raise her.

“You should watch your back, Blainey,” Jessie said suddenly.

I looked up, startled.

“What?” 

“Just watch it,” Jessie repeated.

Her face was empty, her eyes dark. The bathroom suddenly felt like a scene from a Stephen King novel. She leaned toward me.

“He’s coming."

What the hell? Maybe it was the way she said it, with no inflection, but an eerie feeling stole numbly over me. I wanted to ask her what she meant, but Jessie moved toward the door and disappeared into the hall, no backward glance, no wave goodbye.

He’s coming.
I looked down at the floor and sat in silence, my thoughts tumultuous as I traced the geometric shapes the tiles made on the floor.

He’s coming.
The bell rang, and I finally moved.
Look toward the light,
my dad’s voice whispered. I was going crazy.

“You look beat,” Monroe stated sympathetically when I met her by her car.

Conor was with her. He gazed at me a moment, leaned in close, looked like he was going to say something, and then flicked one of my curls playfully instead.

“Hey, Red. Didn’t see much of you today.”

“Likewise, Con."

 I wasn’t sure how to deal with the Conor situation just yet, so I ignored it. He peered into my face a moment and then began to move away. He knew us well enough to know when to make his exit. I watched him as he walked. He glanced back briefly and our eyes caught. He winked and I managed a quick wave. I couldn’t help but wonder what he and Monroe had been discussing. I inclined my head in his direction but Monroe shook her head.

“Oh no! So
not
going there!” she huffed. “I’m way more interested in your day than anything else right now.”

I got the feeling she didn’t want to break Conor’s trust, but the change in subject put me back in an instant foul mood. Aside from my aggravation with Mr. James, I couldn’t shake Jessie’s dead-panned comment.
He’s coming.
I shivered.