The Awakening (4 page)

But she had already gone.

3

I
glanced at my watch.
Five to nine.

I was sitting on the main steps to the school, bag lodged between my legs. I'd arrived at half eight, much to Mikey’s annoyance, not wanting to miss the chance to show Gabriella to her lesson. I’d watched the first drips of students arrive, the mass flow as time had swept on and finally the dregs. There had been no gorgeous brunette in the crowd.

The familiar ache of disappointment curled through my chest.

Of course she isn’t here.

I stood up, scanning the area one final time. Throwing my bag onto my shoulder, I shuffled inside, getting barged from side to side as people overtook me.

A stab of pain in my temples made me delve into my bag for some Paracetamol. Once again I’d slept badly, this time mainly due to the vicious headache I’d been sporting since the previous morning. I washed a couple of tablets down with a swig of water.

As I made my way towards Maths class, I heard someone calling my name. I turned to see Tim weaving his way through the crowd.

Tim’s full name was Timothy Clement Matheson. In my opinion that was far too many M’s and T’s for one person to handle. He stood over six feet tall, topped by a mound of wavy blonde hair. He was a bit geeky like me, but better looking and therefore far more socially acceptable. As far as school life went, Tim had a pretty successful one. A fact I was very jealous of.

“I’m good thanks mate. Had a wicked weekend! Saturday, went to Bakoo with Baz and Charlie and got smashed. Baz - the idiot, got so wasted he took a swing at a bouncer! Earned himself a trip down the front steps. So then Charlie tried to have a go! Pretty sure they’re barred now.” He carried on chuckling and I squeezed out a laugh. “Then on Sunday my sister guilt tripped me into taking her to see that new horror film with James Franco. Seriously mate, biggest waste of eight quid ever! I fell asleep after an hour. So what did you get up to?”

I struggled for a way to make my weekend sound interesting. My action packed Saturday had consisted of finishing
Rebecca
for the second time then helping Mum make lasagne. My equally riveting Sunday had involved History coursework. The day had culminated by playing Call of Duty on-line for five hours straight, whilst arguing the semantics of sniping with a prepubescent American kid.

“Uh, not too much, went out for a couple of drinks myself on Saturday. Was a bit worse for wear Sunday so just chilled really, had a big session on Call of Duty with some mates.” My blatant lies seemed to satisfy him.

“Cool.”

“Um, so what lesson you got now?”

Tim’s smudged smile spread, “None mate, got a free period for an hour. Thought I’d head to the library, work on that equation Mr Norman gave us in Maths club last week. You done it yet?”

I nodded.
Yet another night sacrificed to the God of academia.

“Cool.”

We kept walking in silence for a few moments, and then Tim piped up again. “Oh dude I meant to ask, who was that hottie you were with yesterday? Mate she was awesome!”

I felt a jolt in my stomach as I thought about the new girl. I gave a shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “Oh, you mean Gabriella? She’s just a transfer from Italy who asked me to show her around the school.”

Tim raised his eyebrows. “She asked you?”

I glared at him.

“Oh no, all I mean is a girl like that, you would think she’d ask the most popular person she could find, that’s what most new people do.”

Tim was the only person that I’d ever told about Terry and even then I didn’t tell him just how often he roughed me up. Tim slowed, eyes narrowing in concern. “Again? Screw who his Dad is, you need to speak to somebody. He’s bad news.”

I sighed. “Come on Tim, you know that if I get the school involved, It’ll just get worse. Anyway I’m sure he’ll get bored soon and move on. Then I only have Andrew and TJ to worry about.” I laughed, trying to sound unbothered, but ended up sounding a little hysterical.

“Well it’s your life dude,” he shrugged.

Tim was never bleak for long. He ran in front and spun around so he was walking backwards. “Anyway, you gonna ask her out? I mean, she asked you to ‘show her around!’” He used his fingers to invert the words. “Mate, if you got with her, she would be worth at least ten normal girls, easy!” As he gesticulated, his backpack collided with a first year coming in the other direction.

“OWW!”

“Sorry about the face buddy!” he shouted after the boy, cringing theatrically. This time my laugh was genuine. It was hard to be down around Tim. He was always so high on life.

“Look, don’t get me wrong,” I said, still laughing, “as much as I would love to ask her out, I’m pretty confident I’m not her type. I get the impression she just felt unthreatened by me.” I paused and then tacked on, “have you seen her today by the way?”

Tim shook his head “Sorry mate, not at all. Trust me, I’d remember.”

We reached the Library and stopped by its sweeping glass doors. Tim shrugged his backpack onto his opposite shoulder and held out his knuckle. I went to shake it, but managed to curl my hand into a fist at the last second and bump it against his.

“See you later.”

“Peace broseph. Good luck with the hottie!” Tim turned and disappeared through the doors.

I continued to my lesson, keeping an eye out for Gabriella. There was no sign of her, before my Maths class, or after it. I spent double History chewing my pen to the nub and wondering why she hadn’t turned up.

When the bell rang for lunch, I took a slow walk down to the canteen. I avoided the shortcut across the football pitch, not wanting to chance another accidental meeting with Terry and Co.

As I headed up the path, an uneasy feeling swept over me – a feeling of being watched. I stopped walking and stared around. There were a lot of people about, but as usual none of them were paying me any attention.As I scanned, I saw a flash of black fur through the hedge across the road. The leaves rustled as whatever was behind them darted away. Intrigued, I headed over. Stretching on my tiptoes, I glanced over the top and looked from side to side. There was nothing there. I shrugged.

Probably a dog or something.

The canteen was a sizable room, with fading white walls that made it appear even larger. The linoleum floor was littered with circular tables surrounded by red plastic chairs. Many of them were filled by students, who chatted and laughed between mouthfuls.All the sounds blended into a roar of noise, which echoed around the room. Glass counters ran parallel to the wall nearest the entrance. Behind them, grumpy dinner ladies in hairnets dumped various types of mush onto people’s plates.

I joined the back of the queue and grabbed a tray from a pile sat on the side.

Wet as usual.

As the line inched forwards, I picked up a pre-packed tuna salad and bottle of water from inside the counter. I politely declined a grouchy offer for hot food. Whilst waiting to pay, through the incoherent babbling, I heard someone mention both Gabriella and my name. I strained to hear, without turning to avoid attention. I recognized Rita Sharma and Lucy Healy’s voices - two well-known gossip queens from my year. I caught only scraps of the conversation as I struggled to tune in.

“So, Stacy told me that she came in about an hour before school started this morning to work on her Media assignment. Anyway, she gets to the main entrance and Gabriella’s there, just standing on her own and staring into thin air, like she’s in a trance.”

“Then the weirdest part of all is that she starts shaking, like she’s having a fit. Stacy ran over to help, but as soon as she did Gabriella stopped. Then she turned and ran right out of school like she was being chased!”

“Yeah piss off geek!” Rita barked. “Oh and don’t think for one second that even a nutter like Gabriella would be interested in you. You’re a nobody mate.”

My mouth dropped open. I hadn’t realised that my unpopularity had spread to pretty much every corner of the school. Now it seemed that even the plain, middle of the road gossip girls were subscribing to the Alex hate campaign. Other people in the queue who had witnessed our exchange started sniggering. I turned away feeling worthless and angry at myself.
Why do I feel so protective of her? I brought that on myself
.

I resumed my waiting.

*

Later that evening, I lay in bed, staring at the photograph absently, whilst the soft thud of TV bass floated up from downstairs. The rest of my family were watching some feel good Steve Martin film on Sky. They’d invited me to join, but after the misery of the day and the headache I still couldn’t shake, all I wanted was to be alone. So I’d explained that I had coursework to finish and instead wasted a bit of time on the pc.

Dad’s picture was worn from all the time it had spent in my hands. The edges were lined with creases, collected over time like wrinkles. I’d discovered it about seven years ago in the attic of our first house, whilst rooting around for something or other. I’d spotted it wedged between a floorboard and the insulation in the far corner. As soon as I’d picked it up, I knew it was of my real father. Something in his eyes had seemed familiar to me - seemed warm. In the picture, Dad was sitting on a set of stone steps in a grand garden. His wavy brown hair hung around his strong face and his emerald eyes shone out at the camera. He was cradling a baby in his arms. Swaddled in blue, its tiny pink hand stretched up and cupped his chin. Dad looked happy. On the back, someone had written:

Peter and Alexander aged 1. August 1995.

Two months after the date on the photo, he’d popped out to get a newspaper. A speeding car had ensured that he never made it home again. They never caught the driver.

Mum was a closed book when it came to the subject of my real dad. She got misty eyed and left the room if I ever brought him up. Beyond the details of his death, all I knew for sure was that his full name had been Peter Eden. A surname Mum had insisted I keep even after she became Mrs Wilson.

I kept the picture a secret. Somehow I knew that Mum would throw it away if she found it - just like she must have done with all of the other memories. I mean, who gets married and has no mementos?

“Night Dad,” I said.

Tucking the picture back under the mattress, I switched off the bedside lamp. Eyes still wide, I watched the shadows dance in the pale moonlight that shone through a crack in the curtains. As time passed, my mind wandered to Gabriella.
So she had planned to meet me after all
, I thought, a wide smile creeping across my face. Then I thought about what Lucy and Rita had said. Dull anger began to burn in my stomach over their comments. I had no idea why I was so protective over the new girl. After all, I’d only known her for one day. It seemed clear that someone as incredible as her didn’t deserve to be the subject of ridicule by people as mediocre as Lucy and Rita. I’d been right though; something was different about Gabriella. To me she seemed totally unlike everyone else...unique somehow.A divine jigsaw piece forced to fit into the wrong, worn out puzzle.

I was still imagining her and what it would be like to kiss those soft red lips, when my eyes began to grow heavy, and I felt the contented waves of sleep wash over me.

I was standing in a graveyard. The moon was full; its milky light cast an eerie glow on the area. A damp fog hung low and thick in the air. There was no sound at all. No animals or insects. Not even the rustlings of the nearby trees. Everything was deathly still. It felt wrong.

All around me were rows of tombstones. They looked to have been there centuries - their loving messages lost to the ravages of time. In the middle of it all stood a decaying crypt. Its aging stone walls were fronted by a large wooden door that hung on thick iron hinges. There was no handle. Above, the word MOONSTELLA had been carved deep into the stone.

I felt a cloying fear in my throat. The crypt didn’t look like the resting place of a dearly departed. It looked like it was hiding something.

A deafening crack shattered the silence. My heart spasmed. Instincts took over and I dived behind a large black headstone.

The noise was coming from the crypt.

CRACK!

This time the noise was louder. I saw with horror that it was the door making the sounds. Something was pulling it fiercely from inside, creating deep splits on the wood.

CRACK!

The door shuddered and large splinters burst from its wounds. My breath snagged in my throat. I was too scared to exhale. Whatever was inside grew agitated and the shuddering became frenetic. The door rattled and twisted on its thick hinges as it strained against the tremendous force.