Chapter 1 - Rings & Tetrahedrons

Though free to think and act, we are held together like the stars in the firmament, with ties inseparable. These ties cannot be seen, but we can feel them.

-Nikola Tesla

DRU

The narrow, two-lane highway snakes between the bluff’s edges, hugging the jagged shelves of timeworn rock ascending on my left. Sunlight reflects off the shiny metal posts of the guardrail lining the other side of the road, momentarily blinding me. Reaching up, I adjust the visor. A long strip of recently replaced metal hangs between the older sections. Beyond the boundary, whatever had lost control had barreled through the barrier knocking trees out of the way, a steep craggily path carved through the wooded hill. Rotten luck.

“Cor blimey!” Usually the tinkling sound of bells, Lo’s melodic voice instead is tinged with worry.

I quick glance to the passenger seat. She’s facing the window, two dainty hands clutch her chest right over her heart, as if it were broken and she could hold it together.

Quirking one side of my mouth up, I gently nudge her arm with my elbow.

“I wouldn’t want to put on airs, but I’m a jolly-good driver, a natural at driving on the wrong side of the road. And by wrong side I mean right side.”

Taking hold of the long platinum braid, she drapes it over her shoulder and turns away from the window. Lavender eyes, large and kind find me, an acquiescent expression filling her heart-shaped face.

“Of course. That’s why I asked you to drive Zane and me into town today.” She smiles.

I shake my head. “Somehow, I have a sneaking suspicion it’s your attempt at a “family” day.” I make half air quotes with one hand, chuckling.

Lo is my mum and Zane is my dad, but I’ve always addressed them by their first names. Zane, who has been in the back seat the entire time has yet to say a word. It’s par for the course for him. Electronics are his speciality and he’s connected 24/7 to them. Having electronics for best mates makes him a bit awkward, to say the least. That is, he isn’t exactly what one would call socially adept. I’m quite positive most people who meet him wonder if he could possibly be a robot.

Nearly a fortnight ago we moved for what seems like the millionth time. Of all the places in the bleeding universe, we’ve landed in the smack dab middle of nowhere USA. Otherwise known as the Ozarks - quaint little towns nestled in between hills, rivers, lakes and …nature, nature every-bloody-where. In order to get to a large city like I’m accustomed to, we have to drive at least three hours. Bugger it all!

The words Riverside Population 2000 are posted in white letters on a green metal sign. After the bend in the road the town comes into view. Lighter against the golden brown brick the words feed and store appear where letters used to hang - a weathered brown awning, only just kept together by bare threads, droops limply over the entryway.

Main Street stretches the length of four blocks. The Post Office, a hair salon, cafes and thrift stores line the streets; old two-story brick buildings not unlike in appearance to the abandoned feed store.

Red lights flash and a black and white arm descends on both sides of the Railroad Crossing. Slowing to a stop I shift into neutral. A horn blares as the engines whoosh by sending vibrations through the track, sound waves continuing to travel through the street. The heart shaped crystal Lo hangs from the rearview mirror shakes, looking like water in a shallow pool, mimicking my growing agitation. Lo’s brought up the subject of school.

Blowing out a frustrated breath I ask, “Do we really have to talk about this now?”

“We need to sort this out Druid.”

I hate it when she calls me Druid and it only makes me more brassed off.

“I’ve already told both you and Zane, I will not be attending!” I huff.

“Come on. You know as well as I do that once you start something, it always gets better.” Reaching over, Lo places a gentle hand on mine.

I push her hand away. “So, what? I’m supposed to do what?” I yell. “Go to high school - try to fit in - pretend that I’m like everyone else - graduate so I can go to Uni only to keep up the charade that I belong here? We all know that I can NEVER have a normal life as long as we are here!”

“Perhaps you’re just anxious about starting a new school.”

Although I’m being obnoxious, Lo keeps her calm, her words tender, resolve unruffled. I put them through this every single time we move and I start a new school. I honestly don’t know how she puts up with me.

My knuckles have turned white from the vice-like grip on the steering. “I am NOT anxious about ANYTHING.” I argue. “There is just NO point in me going to school. I’m blooming tired of this godforsaken rock, that’s all.”

Sighing, Lo’s gaze returns to passenger side window. Looking up and down the sidewalk, she attempts to change the subject.

“I can’t believe we are just now going off for a gander in this cute, little town.”

Throwing both hands up in frustration I say, “What is the bleeding point? It’s a bore and in case you didn’t catch it before, we-don’t-belong-here!”

Zane, sitting so quietly in the backseat of our Jeep I almost forgot he was along for the ride replies, “It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.” Of course he would pick one of my favorite quotes by Henry David Thoreau. I’m sure the Wanker thinks he is quite clever. What a load of bollocks!

The train clears and I drive across the tracks to the other side of Main Street, turning into an angled parking spot in front of the row of buildings on the right.

“That’s it,” Zane points exaggeratedly to an old two-story red brick building in front of us.

A large picture window features an over-sized espresso cup, outlined in dark brown. Swirls of steam curl out of the top of the cup – the stylized words, Espresso Yourself, are scrawled across the inside space of the etched design.

Using only my middle and index fingers, I flick a V upwards from my wrist, knuckles facing away from me, giving a good ol’e British two finger solute to nobody in particular. Espresso this!

I turn to Zane, now out of the car and roll down my window. The smell of grilling burgers wafts in from a neighboring pub.

“I think I will wait in the car and chill.”

Zane mutters, “We’ll get you something to go.” Then slams the car door shut.

Hand-in-hand, Lo and Zane walk toward the entrance of the coffee shop. Zane’s tall, lithe body, wrinkled button-up shirt and disheveled hair contrast with Lo’s small stature, delicate bone structure and graceful presence.

Chimes tinkle as they enter through the doors. My gaze drifts to the seating area visible through the large picture window. A girl with blonde hair pulled back into a low, long ponytail walks up to a lone table, eyes the laptop and scrunches up her face into a questioning expression. She wears a faded gray t-shirt with red lettering spelling out “RHS Running Club.” Eyes on the laptop, she sits down facing the window.

None too soon I realize that if the girl looks up she’ll see me staring at her like some sort of creeper. The last thing I need is for her to catch me looking, or anyone for that matter. I can imagine the rumors now. You know that new guy in town? I heard he is some sort of sick stalker. Combing my fingers through my hair I plop my head back against the head rest.

After a minute, the ring encircling my right ring finger feels hot against my skin. So hot, it threatens to sear the flesh underneath. Impulsively, my hand flies up in front of my face. The silver band shimmers blue as my wrist rotates back and forth while I examine both sides of my hand. The star tetrahedron inset on top pulses, the inset pieces grow and shrink several times like a 2-Dimensional shape transforming into a 3-Dimensional object. Finally materializing into a holographic star Merkaba.

At the same time, my lungs are on fire - I am being pulled under the ocean current – my feet are lead blocks and I’m sinking fast. I can’t breathe. This girl - whoever she is - is the only thing keeping me alive. She is oxygen. She has ahold of me and it’s like time is standing still. Then it stops. Everything is back to ordinary.

What just happened? Our rings aren’t meant to transform and the physical sensations I experienced, well that was just completely odd. Had I fallen asleep and begun dreaming?

In an attempt to clear the cobwebs still stuck to my mind, I shake my head. Then, shutting my eyes closed, I inhale a slow deep breath. Once my lungs have expanded I blow all the air out, measured and calculated then turn the stereo on.

The pop of a door being opened brings me out of my trance and I hear Zane shout, “Shotgun!” He grins as he hands me a plastic beverage cup.

After punching the straw through the lid I shake it a bit mixing anything that’s settled to the bottom and take a drink of the icy concoction. It’s the perfect balance of rich espresso and velvety dark chocolate.

“Thanks. This is quite good.” I say.

Zane nods. “No worries, I know you fancy these!”

The few minutes waiting on Zane and Lo had been spent arguing with myself regarding weather or not to go inside to talk to the girl. I couldn’t think of what to say so sitting in the car had won out. Besides, I still couldn’t wrap my head around what had happened with my ring.

As I’m backing the Jeep out of the parking spot I realize what needs done. Without giving myself a chance to change my mind I blurt, “I have been thinking about it - and you two are absolutely right - I do need to attend school.” I must find the girl from the coffee shop and talk to her.

Zane grins, “Crikey, Moses! That is well good. Well good, indeed.” He pats me on the shoulder.

Looking in the rearview mirror I see Lo’s eyes wide and mouth hanging open, a look of shock painted on her face. In the past it’s taken a lot more arguing and bad attitude on my part before I’ve given in, and I’ve never EVER said they were right…!

---

This feeling I have, it’s more intense than anything I have ever experienced and I have experienced a lot of intensity in my life. I really want to believe it’s intuition and not just my head filling with silly ideas. But doubt creeps in - what if she doesn’t like me? - What if I’m not her type? - What if it’s like the last time I liked a girl and it turns out to be a literal disaster? - Maybe I’ve gone completely mad.

Preoccupied with thoughts of the Coffee Shop Girl, I’ve hardly slept at all. My mind has replayed the scene at least a thousand times - The transformation of the star on my ring, the sensations of burning and the feeling of the girl, like I’ve known her forever, like I’ve been waiting for her forever and the most disturbing thought of all, that she belongs to me.

I decide the best course of action is to simply be myself. Well, at least be as much of myself as I can without causing alarm in the human population, that is. Whatever happens, happens. My only hope is that I can deal with whatever the consequences may be.

I have a lot of time to kill, so I head out for an extra-long run, finally heading home. The stairs lead down to a landing. A sizeable mudroom with the largest washing machine and dryer I’ve ever seen is immediately to the right and also accessible from an exterior door. To the left is a bathroom and the door to my room is down the hallway, next door past the bath. It’s a large bedroom, taking up the remainder of the space in the basement. Several windows look out to a beautiful view of hills that go for miles off into the distance. This morning they’re tinted purple with the sunrise reflecting off the morning fog.

After I shower, I throw my towel into the bin and quickly dress in a pair of jeans. Rummaging through my t-shirts I find a couple of my favorites. Briefly considering the I Like My Girls Like I Love My Dub-Step t-shirt I wonder if anyone around here even knows what Dubstep is. I decide that just in case anyone should get the reference, dirty, filthy & grimy might not make a good first impression. So, I settle on my Dubstep Revolution t-shirt instead. It’s a better fit anyway. I work hard to get abs like these, I may as well show them off.

The smell of fresh pancakes wafts down the stairs, finding my nose. My mouth waters and I head upstairs to the kitchen. It’s an open floor-plan. The living area takes up the back part of the house. Flanked by floor to ceiling windows, glass French doors lead out from the living area to a patio out back. A wooden ceiling slopes from the center to both sides of the house. A sectional couch, coffee table and two chairs are arranged to face a rock fireplace with a flat screen TV hanging above it. A wooden dining room table sits parallel next to a breakfast bar that divides the kitchen from the living and dining areas.

Sitting on a bar stool, Lo slides a plate of pancakes and a “protein” smoothie to me. It tastes good as long as I don’t think about what’s in it. Lo is a complete health freak and I don’t even ask anymore. I am about halfway finished eating my breakfast when I see the syringe in Lo’s hand. This, unfortunately, is a daily ritual I must go through for the safety of those around me. Laying my right arm out on the bar counter I’m ready for my daily injection.

Realizing I forgot my mobile downstairs, I concentrate on the place where I left it and it comes floating up the stairs. When I see it reach the top, I hurtle it faster toward myself, catch it and stick it in my pocket. I kiss Lo on the cheek, grab my keys and head out to my motorbike, at the last minute shoving Lo’s helmet in my backpack.

ALAYNA

Mom lights her cigarette, takes a drag, then exhales slowly, the toxic smoke fills the car with noxious fumes. It smells like burning tar. I turn my head holding my breath as I roll the passenger side window down; the old crank sticks causing the window to only open part-way. “Can’t you wait until after you drop me off at school to smoke?” I complain.

Mom ignores me. I sigh. Typical.

I stare out the window at nothing in particular. Wind whooshes by, blowing my hair back from my face failing to dispel the smoke from the interior of the car.

Today is the first day of school and it’s a Thursday, which I think is ridiculous considering that Monday is a holiday. I’m really not ready for summer break to end. There are too many books to read and ideas to contemplate and people to avoid. If only school could start next Tuesday, then I could have five more uninterrupted days of unstructured down time. Well, mostly uninterrupted anyway…I still have two shifts to cover this weekend at Espresso Yourself, the coffee shop where I work as a barista.

“I can’t believe my baby is a senior in high school.” Mom’s southern drawl stresses the words baby and high. “It seems like just yesterday I was a droppin’ ya off for your first day-a kindergarten,” she says.

I roll my eyes. Every year, on the first day of school, Mom always insists on taking us to school. Lex,my 15 year-old brother, is supposed to be with us. Lex and I, we’re about as opposite as you can get. Where I have light skin and blonde hair, he has dark skin, the color of caramel coffee and dark brown hair. Where I’m short, he’s tall. Our personalities are completely opposite, me being the more responsible, on top of things type and him being, well, not the responsible type. Hence, why he snuck away this morning, presumably hitching a ride with a friend, leaving me stuck at home with no other option except to experience the proverbial first-day-of-school ride from mom - all by myself. Thanks a lot Lex!

“Mom?” I ask. “Remind me again why this first day of school ritual exists in the first place?”

“Well, Sugar,” she starts. “It was one-a the things I promised your daddy I would do, before he…” her voice drifts off. She crushes the butt of her cigarette hard in the ash tray and grips the steering wheel.

My dad, Ron, was technically my step-dad. But, he’d been in my life from my earliest memories. Consequently, he’s Lex’s dad. I don’t know who my biological father is. I always called Ron Dad and accepted him as such. When I was eight and Lex was five Ron’s motorcycle was found mangled in the river but his body was never found. Presumed dead, there was a memorial service and a gravestone was even set in the cemetery.

Nevertheless, I’ve always held out hope that by some miracle he was still alive. I think mom did at first too, but eventually she let go. Either way, our lives were forever changed by his absence.

Mom avoids the subject of Ron at all costs. So, I’m surprised she has offered me up this piece of information. Her smile has disappeared, replaced with a look of contemplation and sadness.

“Mom. I’m sorry.” I look at her, feeling terrible.

“For what Sweetie?” Her million-dollar smile is back as if we had never had this conversation.

“Never mind,” I say as the high school comes into view, already abuzz with first day of school energy.

Riverside High is located off the main Highway, about two miles outside of the county seat and all the schools in the county feed into it. The high school itself is a large two-story, U-shaped brick and glass building. The short side of the U stretches out perpendicular to the highway and is the front of the school.

The 1980’s Oldsmobile turns into the busy school parking lot, the engine spits and the brakes squeak to a stop. Hopping out of the old clunker as fast as I can, I sling my backpack over my shoulder. I haven’t taken two steps before I hear mom in her high-pitched southern accent, “Bye Baby Girl! This is gonna be the best year a-your life!” Glancing back over my shoulder I see her standing outside the rusting blue car; daisy dukes, tank top, bleach-bottle-blonde pig tails and all. She’s smiling from ear-to-ear as she stands up on her tippy toes, waving with her whole arm outstretched and blows me a kiss. Kill me now!

Looking down, cell phone in hand, my long blonde hair falls forward, concealing red hot cheeks, no doubt flushed. I briskly walk to the hill at the back of the high school. Rounding the corner I expect to see my best friend, J (short for Jaelah) in our usual spot. But she’s nowhere in sight. She’s one of the only good things about school starting.

I send her a quick “where r u?” text and plop down under the oak tree - our oak tree. It’s where we always meet before school. I kick off my flip-flops and bury my toes in the soft grass. From this vantage point the familiar scene of high school unfolds, right in front of my eyes. J always refers to this as our own personal reality show. It’s strange being here without her. Where is she?

Impossible to ignore, the Populars cluster in groups at the edge of the lawn; shrieking and hugging, enthusiastically comparing trendy new outfits and undoubtedly talking about pricey vacations and shopping trips over summer break. The Queen Bee, Gretchen, is the center of attention, of course and is no doubt gossiping about anything and everyone in sight.

Out front, Skaters flip their hair. Across the lawn, the Geeks play video games, the Nobodies ever comfortable, never fashionable, hang out by themselves, the Druggies slump in a huddle in the parking lot, sneaking drags from joints and the Emo crowd stands, statues of death in the sunshine.

Finally, there are the Jocks. J, forever boy crazy, likes - no loves, to watch them on the lawn passing footballs and horsing around in their jerseys and sports shorts. As I scan the lawn, one of them passes a football and his t-shirt rises in the front. I get a shot of “belly porn” as J refers to it, and I see perfectly sculpted abs. I’m starting to get why J likes to watch them.

It was never our intention to be voyeurs. J likes watchin’ people, and me, I just feel more comfortable on the outside looking in than the other way around. We’ve met in this very spot every day before school since our freshman year. We always start off watchin’ the others, then we talk. We call it “stalk and talk,” although, mostly, we just talk. She should have been here by now. This is no fun without her and I miss her. I text her again. No reply.

After what feels like a lifetime, a text alert finally sounds. I feel the phone vibrate in my hand before I hear it. Looking down I click the message. It’s J. Thank God! I breathe, a sigh of relief.

J: 4got phone at home. Almost there.

I exhale, exasperated. She would lose her head if it wasn’t screwed on!

Looking around the campus, I notice how many students have arrived and think it must be almost time for the bell. Glancing at my phone I see it’s five minutes ‘till. Sorry to have missed my morning stalk and talk with J, I slip my flip-flops back on, grab my backpack and start walking down the hill.

I’m about half-way to the side entrance of the school when I finally hear a familiar and animated voice.

“Alayna!”

My best friend is running up the student parking lot steps and waving enthusiastically; she’s wearing tiny little denim shorts, a black and white striped tank top, braided white bracelets, white gladiator sandals and sunglasses. Her long, chestnut hair is smooth and wavy and frames her ever beautiful, golden-brown face. I smile, my face bursting with excitement. “J!” Squealing, I run over to her while trying not to trip over my own feet.

“Hey girl,” she says as we collide, embracing each other so tightly that J squeaks, “can’t….breathe.” I let go. I’ve never been so glad to see her! J has been visiting her dad and just arrived back into town yesterday. I haven’t seen her in six weeks!

I step back, taking in the sight of her. “Oh-My-God! Your hair is adorable!”

She flips her hair. “I know – right!” she says in classic J fashion.

The bell rings and as we turn toward the school, J mouths “OMG! Hottie alert at 2:00.”

Trying to act casual I chance a furtive glance just to the right of the sidewalk in front of us. Leaning against the low brick wall that borders the parking lot, is the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen in my entire life. He’s tall and wears charcoal colored Vans - distressed, faded dark blue, slim fit jeans and a heather gray graphic t-shirt with the words “Dubstep Revolution” in black. The tight t-shirt shows off his six pack and Coppertone, tan muscular arms.

My eyes are glued to him. I tell myself to look away, but I can’t because a sort of beauty radiates from him. He has a faultless nose and perfect lips. This perfection is framed by styled yet slightly messy chocolate brown hair. I’m glad he’s busy looking down at his iPhone, because I seriously can’t take my eyes off of him. I’m mesmerized, dazed.

A pinching sensation brings me out of my trance. “Ouch!” I yelp jerking my arm away, “That hurt!” J grabs my arm and pulls me along “Girl you be trippin’!” She smiles at me.

We amble past the mega-hottie; the hair stands up on the back of my neck and I painfully avert my eyes. I can’t help it. He doesn’t look familiar, but he feels familiar. It’s like when you’re lying in bed with your eyes shut and your mom comes into your room to check on you and you know it’s not your brother or anyone else, but it’s your mom. But it’s more than just a knowing feeling. I feel pulled, as if by a magnet, to him.

Riverside High is alive with the chatter of a million teenagers as we make our way through the crowded hallway and up the first flight of stairs to J’s locker. She haphazardly throws all her supplies in, then hangs up a magnetic mirror. Glancing quickly at her reflection, she touches up her bubble gum scented lip gloss then slams the metal door.

“Lookin’ good as always,” says a guy’s voice I recognize immediately.

“I know.” J winks, flashing a flirtatious grin his way.

Luke leans against the next locker smiling at J. Just shy of 6 feet, he’s wearing jean shorts with rips right above both knees, a faded black tank top, black Toms and a long silver necklace with metal spikes hanging off it. He’s still wearing his sunglasses, even though we’re inside and his brown flippy hair sticks out the front and sides of his knitted lime green beanie.

“Hey, Luke! How’s it goin’?” I say in greeting.

“Sup!” He says as he flicks his hair.

Luke is friends with Lex and spends a lot of time hangin’ out at our house. J is practically all he’s been talkin’ about for the past six week. Of course, he’s been crushing on J for over a year, anyway! I wonder when she’s going to finally admit that she likes him back. I know she’s playin’ hard to get, and I’m hoping she finally gives in, because this game she’s playing with Luke is driving-me-crazy!

Pretending to look at my schedule, I say, “I just realized my locker is downstairs. I’ll see you guys later.”

J scrunches up her forehead, skeptically. “You sure you don’t want me to go with? I know how you get on the first day of school.” Concern echoes in her voice.

“J, I’m fine!” I lie. This whole situation is starting to smell like a whole lot of third-wheel awkwardness, and I want to get the H-E-double hockey sticks out of here.

“I’ll see you in Spanish class, J.”

“K! See ya, baby!” She blows me a kiss.

I blow her a kiss back before heading toward the stairway, hoping this will be the shortest route. At the bottom of the steps I discover a mass of people crowding the hallway between me and my locker. As always, when in the midst of a crowd, my heart races and my palms sweat. The first day of school is always the worst.

In an attempt to defer the inevitable, I take several deep breaths. Very carefully I squeeze my way down the hallway, wedging in between students the best I can. Fiery hot saffron-colored waves roll off students, meandering through the air and nudge at my lungs.

I know it sounds crazy, but when I’m in the midst of so many people, especially excited people, their energy wafts off of them and it’s like I have some sort of sensor that can detect them. The scary thing is, I don’t know how to process this information, so when their emotions mix with my own, I overload and crash, like the hard drive of a computer. Crashing for me, though, comes in the form of a panic attack.

Different emotions create different kinds of waves. Unfortunately, excited first day of school energy is one of the most volatile kinds, right behind anger, that is. So far, today’s extrasensory experience is nearly as bad as past years, but not quite. I’m making progress. I think.

Continuing to squeeze myself through the crowd, I try and hold my breath. The smell of scented bodies ... Gamey, musky, drenched in colognes and perfumes are making it worse. Just a few more steps. I can do this.

After trudging through what feels like miles of thick molasses, I finally reach my locker and quickly rotate the combination lock. As I open the door, I hear a deep, sort of pleasant-sounding voice behind me. “Pardon me. But I think you must have dropped this.” He has an accent. It’s not quite British. Australian? No. That’s not it either.

I feel the electricity and immediately there is recognition. It’s the mega-hottie from the rock wall. My heart skips a beat. I am lousy when it comes to talking to guys, especially hot guys. Is he really talking to me?

I spin around and stare. There he is, all six foot two of him just standing there looking at me with the most amazing green eyes, the color of star moss. He is an angel sent from heaven above!

“This is yours, right?” He asks, staring right into my eyes as he hands over my cell phone.

Before I can speak, three things happen:

1- I reach out to take my phone from his hand when I spot a ring on his finger. It’s silver with a polyhedron etched to give the impression of a 3D shape. I gasp in surprise because I’ve seen this ring before. But, to my knowledge, there has only ever been one-Ron’s- so why does this guy have it?

2- Waves pour off of him. Beautiful cerulean blue waves, the color of the sky on a crystal clear day. Calming waves, unlike any I’ve ever seen or felt before. He really must be an angel! Which is why -

3- I am completely taken off guard when my hand grazes his ring and all the sudden I feel like I am spinning around and around on a merry-go-round. Faster and faster I whirl and at each revolution pictures of unfamiliar faces and events flash like scenes from a fast-forward movie. The images are going so fast, I can’t differentiate between them. Only a few stand out. A face here, a face there, but they are going too quickly to make sense of any of them. Round and round I spin, each snippet only lasting a split-second for what seems like a thousand years.

Finally, as suddenly as it started, it stops.

DRU

I’ve found the girl from the coffee shop and even talked to her and yup, she fainted. I can’t be one-hundred-percent certain, but when her hand touched my ring, she just blacked out. I don’t know why or how it’s even possible, but there is only one reason I am aware of why anyone would have a reaction to touching my ring. Shite!

I shake her gently but she just lies there, limp and unmoving. I don’t know her name, but I’m on my knees and I’m begging her, “Please, please open your eyes luv.” By now, a crowd has formed. She is still unconscious. Just in case I’m right, I yank the ring off my finger and shove it into my pocket before scooping her into my arms. She can’t weigh more than 45 kilograms. Racing toward the main offices I get lucky, the Health Office is right there, too.

I lay her down on a cot as the nurse walks in. “She just fainted - in the hallway - she won’t wake up.” I’m frantic. But, instead of helping her, the nurse looks at me and just says “well, well, well don’t you have a ‘purdy’ accent. Where ya from, Sugar?”

I look at her, dumbfounded. “She…won’t…wake…up!” I articulate.

“Oh, ‘Shug’” she says, dismissively waving her hand at me, “she’ll be fine. Just give her a couple minutes and when she wakes up she can have some water.”

I cannot believe this woman.

The nurse leaves and I collapse in a chair. A hundred years pass while I wait for her to wake up. She is breathing easily and I just stare at her angelic face. Suddenly, I want to run my fingers through her long, wavy, golden blonde locks cascading down the side of her face and body. I want to kiss her eyelids - her nose - her mouth. She looks so perfect - so peaceful - so beautiful.

I feel like I’m lost in the forest at night and the only voice I hear is hers - calling me out to her. How can she be here? I’ve never felt drawn to anyone like this before and the more I think about it the more I am sure - as unlikely it is - I am sure about her. I am not sure, however, why my brain is spouting flowery rubbish. I am so bloody snookered!

ALAYNA

Where am I? My eyes are still closed, and I realize I’m lying on something soft. The air smells of Clorox wipes and bleach. I shiver. Slowly, I open my eyes to see stark white walls and a sink with rows of cabinets above it. What am I doing in the nurse’s office?

I turn my head to the side and-what the what?” Sitting on a chair, looking down at the floor, sits my mysterious hottie. He looks up and our eyes meet, they are green, like emeralds and the same cerulean blue, calming waves that had reached out and touched me before are reaching out again, encircling the room, wrapping around my body. His calmness surrounds me like a sleeping bag. I’m not anxious at all. Not even with a smokin’ hot guy right in the same room as me. I must be dreaming.

“Oh my God!” He exclaims and he’s on his feet. “Are you alright?” He sounds genuinely concerned.

I put my hands to my sides pushing myself up on my elbows. I feel all the blood rush to my head and collapse back onto the pillow.

“Here, let me help you,” he says.

Taking a couple of steps over to me he grabs hold of my hand. It feels rough; not scratchy like sandpaper, but like hard work and masculinity. A tingling sensation spreads over my hand like sunshine on a cold day shining through a window.

He pulls me up to sitting on the cot and again, I feel the familiarity, like a friend you finally see after years of absence. But if I had ever met him, I would surely remember. Someone this gorgeous would be very hard to forget.

Once upright, I suddenly realize I’m still holding onto him. It’s like I’m melting into him, like chocolate chips into cookies and he is warmth and he is comfort and I don’t ever want to let go. But, my own body betrays me as my face turns pink and suddenly butterflies appear in my stomach. I drop my own hand into my lap hoping he doesn’t notice that I’ve suddenly become a little shy as I look away from him. But, he just smiles at me as he scooches the chair closer to me.

“What happened?” I ask.

He shakes his head from side-to-side. “I’m not sure.”

I turn sideways so my legs dangle off the edgr, and I bring my head up to look at him again. He’s not just looking at me, he’s staring into my eyes. I can’t help myself and I stare back into his eyes. I feel like ice-cream melting on apple pie and I don’t understand what’s happening to me.

He continues, “I was handing over your mobile when you fainted. You wouldn’t wake up so I carried you down to the nurse’s office.”

“You carried me? To the nurse’s office?” I ask astonished. I’m not used to other people’s help, and I’m certainly not used to cute guys talking to me, let alone carrying me in strong arms. Darn it! Why did I have to be unconscious for that?

He shrugs. “Yeah. I thought it best for you to see the nurse.” “Besides,” he adds, his mouth turned up into a smirk, “I do not enjoy seeing pretty girls get trampled on.”

“Thanks” I say, still feeling a bit dazed, not to mention woozy. His eyes… His smile… His touch. I can’t think straight and he just called me pretty. I think I must be dreaming, then suddenly, I remember the ring and glance at his finger. But the ring is gone. Was there ever a ring? Or had I imagined it?

Reaching over to the side table he grabs a bottle of water. “Here, you could be dehydrated,” he says, handing it to me.

“Thanks,” I reply. I twist the top off the bottle and take a nice, long drink. The water is ice-cold, which helps to bring me back to my senses.

“I’m Dru, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Alayna. Thanks again, for uhm, taking care of me, and …and stuff,” I manage to stammer and then take another awkward drink, thankful that I didn’t choke.

“Well, Alayna, thank you for getting me out of class,” he says in that ridiculously gorgeous voice that just about makes my heart melt. All I can do is smile. I have no experience with guys, period…and hot guys…forget it.

The door swings open, and Nurse Payne walks in. It’s an ironic name, so she prefers to be called just Sharon. Sharon is short and plump with a kind middle-aged face and gray hair she wears pulled back in a bun. “How are ya feelin’ Sugar Pie?” she asks as she grabs my wrist to check my pulse. Sharon always calls people Sugar Pie, Honey Buns, Cupcake, Sugar Plum, really any name she can make out of sweets.

“Fine. I’m fine,” I say as I finish off the last of my water.

“Well, just to be sure, I want to check your vitals,” Sharon insists. I try to object, but before I can, she wraps my bicep and the cuff begins to expand, squeezing it until I think my arm will pop. Next, she sticks a thermometer in my ear and takes my temp.

“Well, Sugar Pie, you passed with flyin’ colors and just in time, too.” She winks at me.

The bell rings indicating 1st period is over. Standing up, I’m happy to find I’m balanced and stable. Sharon hands me a granola bar and a pass as I thank her.

“No problem!” she says. “Now, you come back right away if you start feelin’ the least bit woozy.” She looks from me to Dru then back to me, winks then turns to leave the room. It’s the type of wink that says “he’s cute!”

Dru hands my backpack to me. As I sling it over my shoulder, he turns to me and says, “I’ll walk you to class ‘Sugar Pie.’”

I look up at him, stunned. There was that crooked grin again. Is he flirting with me? “You did NOT just call me ‘Sugar Pie!’” I protest with mock annoyance in my voice, and I punch him in the arm.

I pull my hand back quickly, shaking it out, and immediately regret my response. I was only trying to flirt back, and didn’t think I hit him all that hard. But my hand hurts like heck!

“Jesus Christ Superstar!” I exclaim. “Are your arms made of steel or somethin’?”

“Something like that.” Dru shrugs, so casual that I almost believe it could be true.

We walk out of the health office and turn left. Spanish is just two doors away so it’s a short walk. Nevertheless, we walk right down the center of the hallway. Groups of students automatically part, making way for us. My usual anxiety is non-existent, and I’m not sure if it’s Dru’s formidable tall and muscular form, or something else. Their movements are almost robotic, as if they don’t seem aware they’re doing it. Whatever is going on, it’s a far cry from being walked all over. I have to admit, I kind of like it!

We stop in front of the Spanish classroom. Looking up at him, I realize he must be at least a full foot taller than me.

“So, here we are.” I say. Turning to enter the classroom, I see J staring at me with her mouth wide open. She mouths something to the effect of “you...him...what…the?” Before I can answer, I feel a warm tingling sensation as a hand lands on my shoulder.

“Alayna, wait.” I hear Dru say. I spin around. “Will I see you later?” he asks.

I’m caught off guard. Dru is without doubt the hottest guy in the school… forget that, the hottest guy I have ever seen, and so far today he has carried me to the nurses office, stayed with me and walked me to class, and now he wants to see me later? I think my heart will beat right out of my chest!

I’m having a hard time finding my voice, so I pull my schedule out of my pocket and hand it to him. Dru unfolds the crinkled paper. After looking it over he hands it back and says, “See you at lunch!”

“Ok, see you then!”

His green eyes continue to stare at me for a few more seconds before swaggering down the hallway.

When I enter Spanish class, J is bouncing up and down with impatience. I find a spot in the row next to her. J hurdles over her seat, turning until she is facing me and slamming her palms down on my desk. “WTF Alayna! Spill! Now!” She demands eyes wide.

I fill J in as quickly as I can. Just as the bell rings, she squeals then pounces on me, giving me a hug.

“¡Por favor!” Señor Rodriguez looks at us, hands on his hips. Señor Rodriguez is short with dark hair and a dark, bushy moustache. He looks like the spitting image of Juan Valdez, from the Columbian coffee ads. This is Advanced Spanish, and Señor does not approve of any talking unless it is in Español. He doesn’t care that this is the first day of school.

J sits back down in her seat and quickly texts me.

J: He’sso into you!

I sigh to myself. Gorgeous guys like Dru always go for popular, outgoing girls. The Queen Bee herself will indisputably have her hooks into him by the end of the day. Dru is way out of my league!

But the connection, the magnetism; not even the angry and frightened red waves I experienced when I lost my father could compare to the strength of this feeling. Is this all in my imagination, or does Dru feel something too? Who am I kidding? He’s only going to want to be friends.

But then, there is the matter of the ring. Had it been there at all or was it too part of the strange vision when I passed out? And what was it with that vision? I’ve never experienced anything so debilitating.

I quickly text back.

Alayna: We’ll talk later.

AWAKENED - CJ Anderson