Overworld Ch. 1-6

Chapter 1
         His eyes were puny and dull, his awkward smile lined with disgustingly jagged teeth, and his colorless mangled hair looked as if it hadn’t been washed in a week – or longer.
         “I think I’m going to barf,” I murmured to my best friend, Arlee, standing rigid beside me.
         She leaned against the doorframe of the foyer with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, frowning into the living room as she watched her blind-date, Dover, making small-talk with her parents.
         “I’m going to kill my brother.” She put such extra emphasis on the word “kill” that I briefly considered running upstairs to warn him – but then I took another long look at Dover Danderby.
         “He deserves it. Though I have to admit, it seems a little uncharacteristic of Bran to choose such a dud for you on purpose. But he had to know how yucky this guy is! I mean, he’s indescribable; and not in a good way.”
         Arlee Penderran rolled her coffee-brown eyes. “You don’t have to tell me twice, honey, I have eyes. Unfortunately, I have a nose, too. Did you get a load of his breath? I bet he brushes his teeth as often as he bathes.”
         I suppressed a laugh. “Judging by his wardrobe I’d say he hasn’t been shopping since the nineties, either.” I gestured at his outfit: a pink and black pullover jacket that hugged his mediocre chest a little too closely, grungy bleach-washed jeans, and faded tie-dye sneakers. “Who wears stuff like that?”
         Arlee raised her shapely eyebrows as Dover burst into an obnoxious bout of laughter from his place in the living room. “I’d rather not think about it. After all, it’s obvious that tonight’s endeavor is inevitable at this point.” She sighed dramatically. “I just can’t believe my brother did this to me! I keep asking myself what I could’ve possibly done to tick him off enough for him to punish me like this.”
         I shrugged, not having a plausible answer myself.
         She turned and headed back into the foyer where her coat and purse were waiting patiently on the end of the banister, anticipating Arlee and Dover’s departure.
         “Got the pepper spray?” I teased her softly as Dover began loudly making his way into the foyer with Mr. and Mrs. Penderran at his heels; Arlee’s mom looked extremely skeptical, but her husband seemed almost amused.
         Arlee eyed me appreciatively with a lopsided smile. “Aw, c’mon, I’m old school. He tries anything and he gets aggressively kneed in the nads.”
         “I have faith in you.” I patted her shoulder as Dover approached us.
         “Are we ready for an enthralling evening of food and fun, Arleeda my sweet?” Dover asked in his high-pitched squeal of a voice.
         Up so close it was impossible not to notice the yellow tint of his gruesomely arranged teeth, and the foul stench of his breath all but sent me reeling. With only a glance at Arlee I had no doubt she was equally considering her fate; this wacko was truly unclassifiable.
         “Sure…uh, Dover. But please, call me Arlee.” The pathetic imitation of a smile she wore was probably the best she could muster standing so near him. I felt an immense supply of sympathy for her as I watched his nose crinkle up oddly in response to her answer.
         “Let’s get this over with,” Arlee muttered under her breath as Dover turned to bid her parents good-night. She leaned over to me when his back was facing us and whispered, “Bran is so in for it when I come home.”
         A moment later Arlee was ushered out the Penderrans’ front door with Dover practically glued to her hip; I shivered, unable to imagine how violated Arlee must’ve felt in that instant. I stood on the porch and watched him clumsily help her into his rickety two-door truck. As he made his way to the driver’s side he noticed me standing there and waved.
          “Good night, Jo!” he called to me cheerfully before sliding in. “And don’t you dare fret, I’ll take perfect care of your friend.”
         I felt obligated to wave back, but I didn’t comment. I was surprised afterward when he successfully started the truck’s engine; the sorry excuse for an automobile looked like it was holding together with nothing more than sheer will-power. But after a few towering smokestacks and gasping sputters, the truck swung out onto the icy street and vanished into the night.
         As I stepped back inside the house, I silently prayed that my poor best friend would return home in one piece after her ill-fated date with the crooked-mouthed, narrow-eyed, greasy-haired oaf, Dover Danderby.

Chapter 2
         “So? How did it go?”
         Arlee had hardly had time to slam the front door shut behind her when I came tumbling town the staircase to inquire after her evening of misery.
         “Was it terrible? Did you have to knee him in the balls? C’mon, details, I need details!” I scrambled to her side, feeling like a nine-year-old at a candy store.
         “You saw how it started,” she hedged, pushing past me to the coat closet. “It didn’t get much better.”
         I followed her, questioning further as she hung up her coat. “Anything worth documenting? Even if it is just for comedic relief ten years from now.”
         She laughed. “He did try to hold my hand during the movie, I think. But of course, I put a stop to that.”
         I wheezed. “Ugh! The nerve of that…that…twit! Maybe we should buy you a Morning After pill.”
         Arlee stared at me in horrified astonishment. “Josette McKeaton! Why?!”
         “Well, if he’s really a gooey alien from outer space in disguise like we suspected, then it’s possible that he could implant gooey alien embryos inside of you just from skin-to-skin contact with your hands.”
         Arlee was rolling on the floor laughing before I’d even completed the delivery. I smiled, proud to lighten the mood however much I could. “No really, how was it?”
         She sat up enough to prop her head up on her hand. “Pretty epic. He smacks his food so bad it sounds like a garbage grinder, and that piece-of-junk truck he drives makes so much racket you’d think we were landing an airplane everywhere we went. Oh! And he snorts when he’s not even laughing. It’s atrocious.”
         We exploded with giggles.
         “Did he try and kiss you at all?” I inquired, though my attempt at masking my revulsion was probably not very believable.
         Arlee shuddered at the question. “I could tell he was thinking about it when he walked me to front door to say good-night, but I never gave him an opportunity. I got inside as fast as I could.”
         I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath until it burst from my lungs when she was finished. “Thank God! I was so scared for you!” I said breathlessly.
         She giggled and tried to cover her smile. “He asked me for my number, though, while we were on the porch. I told him I’m not allowed to accept calls from boys until I’m eighteen.”
         I was hysterical with laughter over this. “You’re kidding! And he believed you?”
         She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess so. He seemed really disappointed, but hey! I don’t want him calling me! I don’t even want anyone to know we went out.”
         I was surprised to hear this, though I imagined I would want the same for myself in her situation. “I can’t believe it. A Friday night out in a town this small and no one from school saw you with him?”
         Twisting a long lock of mahogany hair around her petite finger, she answered breezily, “Nope. But,” she leaned close, her expression melodramatic, “I did see Candy Clixen at the movies. Luckily she was distracted with batting her eyelashes at the varsity footballer she was latched on to, so I was able to make a mad dash for our theater before she noticed me. And Dover was being so loud, I’m still in shock she didn’t see us.”
         My heart was hammering in my chest just thinking about all the different scenarios we could’ve faced Monday at school if Candy Clixen had gotten wind of Arlee’s date with Dopey Dover. Candy was Hazelwood Bay High School’s version of “Gossip Girl”, except she was anything but anonymous. She was the master at digging up everybody’s dirty deeds and sacred secrets, and sharing them with the rest of the world whenever it benefited her. It was impossible to know for sure how she acquired her information, but most of us harbored the suspicion that she planted unlikely spies in multiple cliques.
         Candy dominated the High School scene with preppy typicality: a Barbizon body flaunting a Coppertone tan over a creamy complexion, perfect blonde hair, manicured nails, designer clothes, a flawless Mercedes Benz, undeserved leadership positions, excellent grades, hunky-dunk boy toys, and a posse of robotic clones just like her; all of which were either influenced or provided on demand by her father’s infinite bank account. And to make matters the worst: Candy had had it out for Arlee since the 8th grade when Bran refused Candy’s invitation to accompany her to a school dance.
         She decided that being Bran’s sister made Arlee guilty by association, therefore automatically putting her on Candy’s Hit List; I was added right beneath her for being Arlee’s best friend. Usually we managed to lay low and go unnoticed by Candy and her mob, but sometimes we had minor setbacks – this would have been a setback, but most likely not minor.
         “Right,” I nodded, seating myself on the bottom step of the carpeted staircase and facing her. “So it’s safe to assume that your escapade with Dover is a thing of the past?”
         Arlee was braiding small strands of delicate hair directly in front of her face. “I hope so.”
         “What about your brother? What if he told someone? And what about Dover himself?! Don’t you think he’ll brag about tonight to anyone who will listen?”
         She seemed to think this over for a minute, but then she merely flicked the tiny braids she’d twisted over her shoulder. “Not to worry. I’ll deal with Dover if there’s need for it.”
         I groaned, launching myself onto the floor next to her. “Okay, fine about Dover, but what about Bran? By the way, shouldn’t you be upstairs teaching him a lesson on how to effectively designate a blind-date for his younger sister?”
         Arlee heaved herself from the floor and dusted off her slacks as I followed suit. “I can wait until morning to seek my revenge. Besides, I’d like more time to plot.” She smiled wickedly, and then spun on her heels to race me up the stairs as we’d been doing since we were old enough to rebel.
         We retired to her bedroom where we spent what was left of the night watching re-runs of “I Love Lucy” over endless bowls of popcorn, and recording Dover’s repulsive dating antics in Arlee’s journal.

Chapter 3
         “You’re lucky I don’t stab you in the throat with this butter knife, Branson Penderran!” Arlee hissed the second her older brother stepped foot into the kitchen the next morning.
         I was safely spooning jelly onto a piece of toast at the snack bar when Bran entered, and Arlee was buttering her bagel from the island. She pointed her knife at him menacingly, and her face showed no trace of mercy.
         Bran seemed only momentarily caught off guard before sauntering over to the fridge and peering inside. “I take it Dover Danderby wasn’t exactly what you had in mind for a prospective boyfriend, huh?”
         Arlee elbowed him in the side vigorously, knocking the breath out of him. “You can be a real jerk, you know that?”
         Bran rubbed the place where she’d hammered him and continued the search for his own breakfast. “Sorry I can’t be more forthcoming, little sister.”
         Arlee scoffed and went back to her bagel. After rummaging for a bit, Bran came away from the refrigerator with several eggs and a gallon of chocolate milk. He then joined me at the snack bar, just now taking notice of my presence.
         “Morning, Jo. How’s the fam?”
         “Don’t talk to him, Jo, he’s vile and pretentious,” Arlee commanded with a scowl directed at her brother.
         “I agree with Arlee. You’re vile and pretentious, Bran,” I told him, barely containing my smile. I’d always found Bran appealing, not to mention that he was exactly my favorite kind of cute. It was hard to be even remotely angry with him.
         “So be it,” Bran sighed, turning away from us both and taking his eggs and milk over to the stove where he commenced to bring out a skillet and a spatula from nearby. He switched on a burner and took on the task of making an omelet. His dark hair fell across his face as he worked, and he hummed a tune I didn’t recognize; probably something he and his rinky-dink garage band had been working on.
         “What’s the chocolate milk for?” I inquired of him as I watched from my seat at the bar.
         He glanced at me over his shoulder. “It gives the eggs a better flavor, in my opinion.”
         I made a face. “That’s…really gross, Bran.”
         He didn’t look at me this time when he replied, “Which is why you have your bland, insufferable toast over there and I have my stimulating, unique and tasty creation over here.”
         Arlee came to sit beside me with her bagel in hand. “We’re not talking to him, remember? He’s a jerk.”
         I rolled my eyes, resigned, and turned to her brother. “Out with it, Branson. Why’d you pretend Dover was the bee’s knees when he was really a bee’s sneeze?”
         Bran stared at me like I’d just grown a third eye. “What does that even mean? I’d like to understand what I’m being accused of before I state any claims.”
         I chunked a piece of nearly-burned crust off my toast at his head but he dodged it just in time. “It means you’re a jerk like Arlee said.” I watched him for a moment, waiting for his retort. When none came, I hopped off the stool and wandered over to stand beside him. When he met my eyes I added, “Dover was a pig, a charity case, a bumbling and intolerable fool trying to work everyone over with non-existent charm. It can also be implied that he only practices personal grooming about once a month.”
         “It was the worst kind of nauseating,” Arlee cut in.
I continued, “What kind of brother holds that as a standard for his baby sister? You should be ashamed of yourself.”
         He chuckled. “On the contrary, I’m rather proud, to be honest.” Arlee shrieked in protest at hearing this admission, and a moment later she had stomped from the kitchen with a string of violent curses spoken quietly but fiercely over her shoulder. Some revenge, I thought for a split second.
         I narrowed my eyes at Bran, who was now quite obviously avoiding looking at me. “So how’s school?” he attempted at a subject change. I shoved him in the shoulder, the spatula in his hand flinging a few crumbs of egg onto the floor. “Thanks a lot,” he sneered as he bent down to pick up the food with a paper towel; I didn’t make any efforts to help, but instead persisted at probing him.
         “Seriously, Bran, what’s your deal? Arlee would never pull a stunt on you like you pulled with Dover and you know it.”
         Bran took his time cleaning the floor, and when he was once again level with me he still wouldn’t meet my gaze; he seemed to be gradually growing uncomfortable, almost nervous. “Maybe I just wanted a little excitement around this house,” he retorted pompously.
         I felt like smacking him upside the head. “I refuse to accept that as your reasoning,” I stated obstinately. “You’d better come up with something better to satisfy me, preferably the truth.”
         “Listen, Jo, I don’t appreciate my judgment being pried into like a can of tuna fish.”
         I snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, Bran. Arlee’s your sweet, beautiful, affectionate sister and Dover is a monkey-man, unworthy of even her table scraps! How could you ever put them together?”
         He suddenly struck the countertop with such surprising force that I simply stood staring, my mind substantially frozen. “Will you stop pestering me already?” he spoke in a low voice, but it was amazingly authoritative. “I’d like to eat my breakfast in peace if you don’t mind.” His eyes were boring into mine, intensifying with every second. It frightened me more than I was willing to admit, even to myself, but I couldn’t seem to find the strength to tear my eyes away from his.
         I’d never seen Branson Penderran so antagonistic; he was typically poised and respectful, although wily and subtly condescending in an endearing way. He liked to tease in good humor, and otherwise leave people hanging on his every word with the eloquence of his linguistics. He had always been one of the more intelligent guys I’d hung around, and his level of maturity was generally impressive. He was patient and pretty understanding for a selfish adolescent, and Arlee confided in him when I wasn’t available because he was such a good listener; even when he didn’t care what was being said, he listened regardless.
         Despite the knowledge that he sang lead vocals and played various instruments for a punk band composed of only teenage boys in high school, most of which were by choice social outcasts, Bran had a comfortable and enchanting demeanor that made you want to be close to him. He was smart, talented, charming when he wanted to be, and had a smile that celebrities could envy. I, on the other hand, often envied him his ability to so effortlessly outwit any remark; as a result, I tended to push his buttons more times than not so as to learn his techniques and perhaps steal a line or two. I felt compelled to speak more intellectually when talking with Bran, and I enjoyed the challenge it presented me to stand against him in a battle of the wits. I seldom won, but when I did it was never taken for granted.
         In spite of his incredible knack for demoralizing any person at any time of day, Bran only put his skills to use in good taste. He was the type of guy who thought several times about something before he said it aloud, which I admired him for.
         The only thing that had ever truly irked me about Bran Penderran was how unpredictable he could be; not only with his reactions, but the timing of them. It was one challenge that was too tricky for my taste; this situation included.
         “What’s gotten into you?” I croaked when I finally found my voice. I managed to peel my eyes away from his fixed gaze and absently took a step away from him. I looked down at my hands only to notice that they were slightly shaking.
         Bran didn’t answer, but his jaw was taut as he measured unspoken words. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him again for more than a moment at a time, and my stomach was starting to clench from the tension between us.
         After what seemed like ages, Bran finally grumbled something about his eggs burning, and he turned his back on me to once again face the stove. I stared at the stiff posture of his back, incomprehensive of what had just happened.
         “Bran,” I heard myself say softly, not even sure what I was aiming to say afterward.
         But the only response I was to receive was the clacking of the spatula against the skillet.



Chapter 4
         After the episode with Bran in the Penderrans’ kitchen, I was in a hurry to get home. Arlee seemed disappointed I was leaving so unordinary early after sleeping over, but I couldn’t bring myself to stay.
         During the drive home I was contemplative, feeling extremely uneasy about the way Bran had acted towards me. Replaying the course of events in my head, I couldn’t help thinking he had seemed almost bipolar. I also couldn’t shake the whole thing from my mind; there was something in the way his eyes had looked so cold and violent that made me want to seek out hidden shelter and not come out for a year.
         When I got home, the first thing I heard was my mom’s quirky voice calling to my dad from the kitchen, “Harry, honey, when are you going to finish this box of Bran Flakes? It’s been in this pantry for ages and looks like you’ve hardly touched it!”
         Dad’s scratchy baritone boomed from the living room where I assumed he was tinkering around with his tools in front of the TV, “That’s because I haven’t hardly touched it, Melva. It taste like sandpaper sprinkled with cinnamon.”
         I allowed myself a quiet giggle in light of the observed conversation, and then trudged into the kitchen where Mom was cleaning out the pantry. The kitchen table and all the countertops were crowded with various food-related items.
         “I’m home,” I chirped, and Mom looked up at me from the bag of pretzels she was scrutinizing.
         “Hi, sweetie. You’re back a lot earlier than I was expecting.” She handed off the bag of pretzels to me and went on to the next thing on the shelf. I tested one and instantly regretted it, wasting no time in throwing the whole bag into the trash can.
         “Bran was weirding me out. Arlee wanted me to stay, but…I just wanted to come home.” Mom cast me a curious glance over her shoulder as she continued sorting through the pantry. “What happened?” she requested. I related the odd goings-on from earlier that morning with Bran, and when I was finished she seemed deep in thought and didn’t comment.
         “Maybe he likes you,” Dad offered, coming through the door behind us, apparently having heard most of the conversation from the living room.
         “I really don’t think so, Dad, but thanks anyway,” I chuckled. Grabbing the masking tape out of a drawer by the sink, he only shrugged and returned to the living room. But Mom turned to me then, her eyes serious and attentive.
         “How long has Bran been acting so bizarrely?”
         “I don’t know. I don’t see him very much. I just know he’s never treated me like that before today.”
         She hesitated. “You know, my secretary has been acting funny off and on this whole week. Some of the same symptoms, even.”
         I eyed her doubtfully. “Are you suggesting that your secretary’s mood swings have something to do with Bran’s?”
         Her mouth twitched thoughtfully as she went to change the trash liner, and her voice sounded distracted when she replied, “I’m not sure.”
         I chortled. “You’re not sure?”
         “No. But I have a strange feeling that they’re connected.”
         I quieted. I didn’t know where all this weirdness was coming from, but it was starting to really freak me out.

Chapter 5
         That night I had a disturbing dream about Bran. It had been in such acute, lucid detail that when I woke up, it took me almost a full minute to realize it hadn’t been real.
         In the dream the sun was setting, and Bran and I were swimming in the middle of the ocean. Out of nowhere, a crystal city rose from the horizon and hung suspended in the sky like a magnificent beacon made of starlight. I was mystified at its beauty and splendor, yet my awe was accompanied by a rising feeling of unparalleled dread.
         Bran appeared to recognize the city, and he swam toward it, urging me to follow. With every stroke nearer the glittering columns and majestic architecture, the feeling grew so strong that I was sick to my stomach with anxiety when we (rather suddenly) arrived at the city gate. Bran shivered, and closing his eyes he whispered, “Forgive me.” Then he touched the lustrous golden bars with one hand and they instantly swung open, revealing a world more striking than anything I’ve ever seen.
         Everyone was dressed in flowing robes and elegant garments that practically glistened; just like everything else in the city. Everything - and I mean everything - I laid eyes on seemed to sparkle, including the people, who had a dull metallic glow to their skin. The buildings reminded me of something out of a girly, romantic storybook; they were covered in curly-queue décor, with beautiful blooming vines crawling over the walls in various places, towering curvy rooftops that pierced the clouds with silver points, and high arced doorways with elaborate pale iron doors. There was a grand fountain the size of my house just past the gate, and the shimmering water it spouted shifted back and forth between purple and white as I watched. The air around me smelled pure and fresh, with a hint of some sweet flower. 
         A small group of people with translucent white and purple hair huddled near the fountain, and Bran leaned toward me speaking softly, “Be careful of your feelings. Be on your guard.” I nodded, though not understanding, and then he was purposefully guiding me to them. When we were close enough to see their features, I immediately noticed the unique shades of their eyes: no two people had the same hue, but all were various tones of violet, blue, and gray. Their lashes were abnormally long on the very outer edges, most of them touching or almost touching their perfect eyebrows. Their faces were very angular and distinct, and the features of all were astoundingly attractive. None of them seemed truly human.
         But one person in particular seemed to stand out more than the rest - a tall young man who couldn’t have been much older than nineteen or twenty, with glossy black hair that was incredibly out of place compared to the others, and seemingly more human than any of them. I noted that his attire seemed darker too, though the colors were nearly the same, and on his right hand he wore a large amethyst ring with a white gold band.
         Also unlike his companions, his eyelashes were thick but not long, and his brows were more masculine and less tamed. His jaw was firmly set, being the most dominant feature about his face with the only exception being his eyes: his remarkable, dumbfounding eyes; the color of which was such a stunning combination of silver, ice blue and lavender, I couldn’t resist staring. I imagined the ingredients for such a color being a sprinkle of moon dust, a petal of lilac, and a drop of the clearest ocean water. Looking at this man, I felt a wave of mixed emotion coursing through me, part of which screamed he didn’t belong, and the remainder protesting that he was more extraordinary than anyone else.
         Beside him was a fairly petite girl who seemed to be close to my age physically, but had bright lively eyes that seemed much older and wiser than the rest of her suggested. On her delicate right hand she also wore an amethyst ring, though it was much smaller and more feminine than the man’s. Though there was nothing concrete to back it up, I assessed by the subtly protective stance the girl had taken up beside him that they were somehow closely connected.
         I made my way down the line, searching faces, when I gasped: Dover! But it wasn’t really Dover, it couldn’t be. I mean, it looked like him, but then again he was beautiful! Every one of his traits that were notorious for being monstrous in real life was dazzling now. He seemed to notice me staring, and he nodded his head at me with knowing eyes, and flashed a flawless smile. I noticed he smelled of peppermint and plums when I passed him. Too bad this wasn’t the Dover Arlee had gone out with.
         When Bran stopped, I was standing before an ageless man with bottomless blue eyes that shone as visibly as the glass city surrounding us. His regal stature proclaimed that he held a position of power. When he spoke, his words were gratified. “You’ve come to save us at last.”
         “Save you? Me?” I’ve never felt more confused.
         “Of course,” His smile reached all the way to his eyes.
         “I don’t understand. I’ve never saved anyone. And you don’t look like you need saving…” But as I spoke, the sky darkened drastically and a freezing wind rattled through the city, whipping my hair around my face and giving me goose bumps.
         The man suddenly seemed grave. “If only you knew, if only you could know.”
         The younger dark haired man suddenly stepped forward and grasped my forearm, his touch affecting me like water thronged with electricity; my heart raced and my blood boiled with raging inexplicable passion. Our eyes locked, and for a moment I forgot my own name – all I knew was the color of his eyes and the set of his jaw, the motion of his hair rustling from the wind, and the tingle of his warm skin against mine.  “It won’t be long, Josette, and we’ll meet again. You’ll understand about everything, know all you need to know. You will save us.” He released his hold on my arm, but our eyes lingered as he murmured hopefully, “You have to.”
         What happened next I only remember as utter chaos, with black swirling clouds everywhere and powerful winds that swept everyone away from me. The statue in the fountain morphed into an evil face with fiery red eyes and a slinky grin, staring straight at me. I screamed and tried to run, and suddenly Bran was beside me; but his eyes were black holes, his scalp was ripped apart at the top, and there was a huge gap of….nothing where his heart should have been. The strangest and probably most terrorizing part about it was how there was no blood – anywhere. It was as if he wasn’t a real person, just an empty shell on autopilot.
         He tried to grab me, speak to me, but I maneuvered away from him and ran toward the gate as fast as I could. But when I got there, the gate wouldn’t budge. I pounded and kicked and yanked and screamed, but nothing moved. I heard a distorted shriek behind me, and I whirled around to see Bran being eaten by Dover! Suddenly everything and everybody was gone but the wicked face at the fountain, which was growing bigger and darker and laughing so malevolently that it seemed to pierce my ear drums.  “And now you’ll be destroyed, just like them.”
         With that, the face came at me so fast I didn’t have time to even process what was happening before I was swallowed by icy darkness, and I flew up in bed with a mortified gasp and cold sweat soaking through my pajamas.
         I didn’t sleep a wink for the rest of the night.

Chapter 6
         Sunday dragged on so slowly that I actually felt relieved when Monday morning arrived and it was time for school. I woke up early and rushed through my morning routine, not even bothering to eat breakfast. I just grabbed a granola bar from the newly-arranged pantry and made a beeline for my car before Mom could track me down to ask what I was having.
         When I reached the high school, there were only four other cars parked in the student lot. I whipped into a space in the front row, which was a glorious improvement from my usual spot in one of the back rows, and killed the engine. I didn’t want to go inside yet because there was no point, and I found myself wishing I’d just slept in the extra thirty minutes instead of coming here to sit in the parking lot and do nothing. I turned the keys to run the battery and switched on the radio. I reclined my seat back a ways, snuggled deeper into my coat, and closed my eyes.
         I swear, five seconds passed by before there was a hard rap on my passenger window. I sprung forward and hit my forehead on the steering wheel.
         “OWW!” I wailed, rubbing it gingerly. Then I spun toward the window, scowling so fiercely I know I must’ve looked like the devil incarnate. But what I saw standing there on the other side of the glass made my blood run cold and my jaw drop open.
         It was the dark haired boy from my dream, the one who’d said we’d meet again.
         “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he called to me through the closed door.
         My brain felt disconnected from my body, and time seemed to slow to a halt for a second. He was here, really here! He didn’t look exactly as I remembered him; on the contrary, he seemed impeccably human right now, but I was positive that it was the same guy.
         Reality pecked at my reverie, and when I came to I realized I was blatantly staring. And…wait a minute, was he….laughing at me? Trying not to laugh, I assessed, as I slowly let the window down just a crack. “What do you want?” I didn’t sound as terrified as I felt, but some of my curiosity seeped through.
         He smiled – and it was breathtaking. I literally felt my heart lurch and my breath disappear. “C’mon now, is that any way to treat a new fellow student?” My eyes widened. Fellow student? Was he actually going to school here?! I didn’t like the way my breath caught at the thought of it.
         I coughed for good measure and said simply, “Oh.”
         He cocked an eyebrow. “‘Oh’? That’s it? No bothersome questions about where I’m from, why I moved here, or what grade I’m in? Not even my name?”
         I didn’t answer, just stared at him suspiciously.
         “Okay, okay, fine. What’s your name then?”
         I instantly responded, “I’m not telling you!”
         He seemed surprised to hear this, and I heard myself making excuses. “I mean, I don’t know anything about you. You could be a rapist or an axe murderer or something. How am I supposed to know that you really even go to school here?”
         The boy leaned comfortably on the car door wearing an adorable smirk that sent my heart reeling. “Touché. But I have a backpack, see?” He held up a dark gray canvas backpack.
         I shrugged, controlling my face to look unimpressed. “So you’re a homeless rapist slash axe murderer.”
         He grabbed his chest and acted wounded. “Do I really look like a hobo?”
         I narrowed my eyes at him, pinching my lips together to hide my growing smile. “No comment.”
         “Would it be more convincing, then, to know that the worst thing I’ve ever done was kick a puppy? And it wasn’t even on purpose, and I was seven.”
         “Great,” I mumbled, trying hard not to like this very likeable guy, “You’re a puppy kicker.”
         He laughed, and it sounded like chimes blowing in a peaceful breeze. The walls I’d been trying so desperately to build around my heart since he’d shown up were suddenly in useless piles at my feet. “But not an intentional puppy kicker, I give you my word.”
         Half a grin slipped. Darn this charming and beautiful stranger! “But still…”
         “What’ll it take to make you trust me?” His eyes were not the same color as they’d been in my dream, but they still mesmerized me; it was like waves of raw, unguarded emotion poured out of them from icy blue depths. And the way he looked at me! It was as if he could see right through my skin and into my soul, where my strongest fears, desires, and secrets were buried deep, and it empowered him to see it, to feel it like I felt it – like he knew me as well or possibly more than I knew myself.
         “I…I don’t…s-see why it matters if I trust you,” I stammered, my breath getting shallow.
         “Well. I guess we’ll just have to work on that.” He seemed very sure of himself when he said this.
         “Right,” I didn’t know what else to say. “Umm…you never told me what you wanted.”
         “Oh, yeah! Sorry,” he laughed again and my brain sizzled as it turned to hot mush, “I just wanted to make sure you knew that your brake lights were out.”
         I started. “Really?! Ah, crap!” I hadn’t noticed of course, because no one had been out and about when I had headed to the school. “Uh…thank you. I mean, for telling me. That was…nice of you.” I wanted to slap myself in the face for tripping all over myself like that yet again. This guy – he just made me so tongue-tied and brain-dead!
         “No problem.”
         I thought he would maybe leave then, but he didn’t. Instead he convinced me to roll the window down half way; he even rested his chin on the top of the glass. “My name’s Silas, by the way.” He waved in place of shaking hands and I couldn’t help it - I giggled, and even waved back.
         “What should I call you, since you won’t tell me your name?” He met my eyes again when he said it, as if he knew it weakened me, and I almost caved. “Whatever you want to, I guess.”
         “Hmm,” he looked around the cab of my car as if for clues, and then threw his hands in the air. “Ehh, I’ll just call you Brakes.”
         “Ugh!” I couldn’t hide my disgust. “Don’t you dare!” I paused and felt the resistance give in. “Just call me Jo.”
         “Jo.” His smile gradually widened so far that it made his eyes crinkle around the edges, and I sat in rapture at the sight. I nodded, unable to speak.
         He chuckled softly and said aloud but seemingly to himself, “Jo and Silas, Silas and Jo.”
         I laughed nervously. What do you say to that?!
         “Shouldn’t we be heading inside now?” he suddenly questioned, looking around the parking lot which I noticed was now filling quickly with other cars. I glanced at the clock on my dashboard.
         “We have ten minutes.” But I shut off my car and hurriedly gathered my stuff. When I swung the door open to hop out, Silas was already there, holding out his hand – which to my dismay, bore a huge amethyst ring.
         “What?” Silas demanded when I didn’t take his hand, but stopped mid-climbing-out and stared at it instead. “Don’t tell me you’re going to refuse to let me help you down just because I was once a seven-year-old puppy kicker.”
         “Oh no, uh, it’s nothing.” I jumped to the pavement and locked up my truck, and then I hasted toward the building with Silas hot on my heels. “Shouldn’t you go to the office first?” I inquired without looking at him, but I was aware of his eyes on me.
         “Ah, yes, I almost forgot,” I could feel his sudden smile like a heater warming the whole left side of my body where he was, “You distracted me.”
         I couldn’t resist looking at him now. “Yeah right, you distracted yourself. I didn’t ask you to come over and pester me with quirky remarks and a million annoying questions.” He laughed heartily, and I thought about plugging my ears so as not to fall under the obvious spell it seemed to cast upon me.
         “I’m sorry to be so inconvenient,” he replied with one of his one-in-a-million smiles tagged on the end; he sure did smile and laugh a lot, which were the last things I needed right now given their affect on me.
         “According to you, I’m the inconvenient one,” I retorted. We’d reached the school now, and Silas opened the door for me like a gentleman. I raised my eyebrows in pleasant surprise at the gesture. “I rest my case,” I murmured softly, but Silas didn’t miss a beat.
         “That wasn’t an inconvenience at all, Jo, just a motion of polite appreciation for your tolerance of me,” he countered as we pushed our way down the main hall. Despite the crowd, I didn’t miss all the jaws dropping in Silas’s direction as we passed a multitude of girls just past the door.
         “Do you have time to show me to the office?” I turned to him when he asked it and made the mistake of looking straight into his eyes; of course, they once again held me captive against my will. How could something so simple as a pair of blue eyes be so enchanting? I didn’t even know what made them so pretty, but they truly left me breathless.
         “Um, sure, if you need me to,” I responded timidly.
         Silas’s eyes softened to such a degree that I was sure I would faint from the beauty of the expression. “It’s more of a want you to.”
         And with that, I was hooked. There was no other way to put it: right then and there, like a delirious teenage idiot, I fell for him - hook, line, and sinker.