Chapters:

PIECE OF AMERICANA

Don’t Liam! Don’t. Don’t.

Her body tumbled into the empty abyss. She looked up, eyes wide, and her fall seemed slow, an airy dance in zero gravity. But gravity existed.

CHAPTER 1

First day of school of senior year.

Mia Tao locked the door of her trusty old Corolla and stared up at the sterile façade of Leslie Mann High School. She sighed and resolutely accepted her lot in life.

One more year. One more year until college. Until she could get out of the destitute, mid-sized, suburban wasteland of Piston, SC. Until she could start living.

One minute out of the car, the hot humid South Carolina air had already generated an admirably large pool of sweat on her neck and back, and Mia felt the back of her shirt stick like jelly to her skin. Hot, sticky jelly. Hot, sticky, salty jelly. Mia blew her hair out of her face. The brief respite from the heat produced by her breath died quickly, and the heat resurged immediately after like fiery fire rushing into an oxygenated room.

She rumbled through her book bag to find her cell phone and turned it on silent. The school enforced its cell phone policy with the leniency of a Third World prison. One ring, and it was gone forever. Mia suspected the teachers deal in a black market of confiscated cell phones, but alas, there was no proof.

“Hey Mia.”

Mia turned her head and caught the brown crop of one of her best friends Alexander Walter. Alex’s god-like Grecian profile was marred by a silly grin, and Mia squinted, the worst haircut she had ever had the misfortune to witness. She could only describe it as a melding of a mullet and a Bieber cut.

“What did you do to your hair?”

“I cut it myself. Didn’t turn out so well.”

“That’s an understatement. Why would you do that?”

Alex shrugged and his grin returned, “The ladies will still love me. No worries.”

Mia narrowed her eyes and sniffed disdainfully, but there was nothing to say. The girls in the school would continue to drool over the hunk of man meat that was Alex, even if he sported a Bieber mullet – six feet four inches tall, soccer player body, chestnut hair, warm hazel eyes, and when he wasn’t grinning like an idiot, the most sensuous mouth. Mia could ignore the rest of him, but sometimes, when she looked at the perfect long bow of his mouth, she wished they had not known each other since Alex still peed his bed. As the facts stood, however, the moment usually passed after thirty seconds, and Alex would return to his role as her lovable but completely disgusting best friend. The moment often was shortened by Alex burping in her face.

Mia and Alex walked towards the school.

“Hey Alex!”

“Alex!”

“How was your summer, Alex?”

Mia frowned. “Do I not exist?”

Alex put his arm around her shoulders, “Stop frowning. It’s your fault for being so intimidating. If I didn’t know you well, I would think you were a sourpuss too.”

Mia shrugged his arm off her shoulder. She did not need the cheerleaders who were lusting after Alex to become jealous and make her life miserable with snide comments about her lack of fatty tissues in key areas. “Did you just say sourpuss?”

“Yep. Coach makes us run laps when we curse, so I’m practicing not cursing.”

“What about encouraging self-expression?”

At that point, Alex spotted the basketball team congregated around their usual spot outside the cafeteria and lifted his chin slightly. As if on command, the whole group of 15 boys, ranging in constitution and appearance from mangy to awkward post-puberty to slightly above average, returned the gesture. A pack of well-programmed robots.

Alex, like any self-respecting high school dreamboat, played several sports – football in the fall and basketball in the spring. While the football team, with its impeccable record, was the toast of the town, the underperforming basketball team had a much lower status.

Alex turned to Mia and calculatingly remarked, “I got to go say hi. You should come.”

Mia glared at him. “For the nth time, not interested.”

Mia turned on her heel and marched away. For a seventeen year old boy, Alex could meddle like an eighty year old grandmother. She was cognizant enough of her own single status without her best friend attempting to continuously play matchmaker and farm her out to any specimen with legs and a penis.

*

Mia slid into a seat besides Crystal Turnbull a minute before the bell rang. Bells - funny concept…and completely archaic in every situation except schools and jails.

Crystal turned, and her slightly gap-toothed smile emerged under her curtain of straight brown hair. Crystal looked like a model, but runway, not Victoria Secret. In Piston, that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. It was especially bad when the runway, gap-toothed model lived in a trailer and walked a little bit like a hunch-backed man.

Mia smiled back. Though she didn’t know Crystal very well, Mia really appreciated the girl. Somehow the girl had the ability to withstand all kinds of bullying and remain chirpy.

Mia glanced around to take in the students in her first period beginners’ photography class. Same faces she had been seeing since the eighth grade. It was a bit disappointing there was no new blood, but that was to be expected in Piston. Transfers were rare and far between. Even when they did show up though, they were rarely interesting. All fitted into one or more of the six categories Alex and she devised as part of their classification of Leslie Mann High: jock, prep, stoners, hipster, country, and nerd. One might think Alex and Mia were simplifying things too much. Mia wished.

The new teacher was late. Mr. Smith, who had been the photography teacher the last three years, decided to move to Williamsburg, Brooklyn to pursue his passion for jewelry design. Mia had taken other art classes with him, and they had grown close. Mia wished him luck, thought she would miss him. His designs, the few he showed Mia after school, were actually really gorgeous. Semi-precious stones – jade, moonstone, rose quartz, agate – in controlled geometric splatters and gold-toned metals like spun candy. Somehow the designs incorporated chaos and restraint, modernity and eternity at the same time. Mia did suggest before he left that he change his brand though. Mia doubted anyone wants to buy Matt Smith jewelry, no matter how detailed the craftsmanship or luxurious the material.

“Crystal probably has the best legs in the class. Too bad her face is busted.”

Mia frowned. Crystal was trying very hard to pretend she didn’t hear. Mia glanced towards the sound of the voice. The speaker, of course, was Thomas Wentworth, the sickeningly preppy and entitled aristocrat of the school. He would be this crude and just utterly distasteful. Mia caught his eyes. Thomas’s mouth was positioned into what could only be described as a leer. A real-life, villainous leer.

Wentworth transferred to the school last year from Hilton Prep, the expensive local private school with dubious academic credentials. Mia was not going to lie. Like the rest of the school, she felt a prickle of excitement when she first set eyes on him last year. Objectively, he was quite attractive in a Brooks Brothers kind of way. Soon, however, it became apparent that his personality was toxic, like the putrid dead pigs dumped in that river in Shanghai. The student body and most of the teachers, distressingly, still treated him like some god-send despite his atrocious character. Unlike the parents of the rest of the school, Thomas’s dad was the top cardiologist of Piston Hospital, though Mia doubted that was actually a noteworthy accomplishment. He drove around in a brand new black Audi TT Roadster, several grades up from the next best car in the school, Hunter Nelson’s tricked up Ford F-150. He was a good student, which ingratiated him to the teachers. The cincher though was his throwing arm. The kid was the best quarterback in the state, and his transfer to Leslie Mann pretty much guaranteed Leslie Mann’s fourth state championship in a row. That, to a school that prided itself on its football program – that frankly speaking only had one thing that it could be proud about – was irresistible. Wentworth could probably commit murder and get away with it, as long as it happened within the confines of the town.

Mia kept her mouth shut. It was not like anything she said would make a difference. Though she had never been bullied, she was not exactly a power broker in school either. Her social cache, the little she had, all stemmed from her friendship with Alex. Girls invited her to parties but only because they hoped she would bring him.

She learned that lesson in the eighth grade, when Alex blossomed from a lanky pimpled amoeba to the “Apollo,” his nickname among the girls after they read Edith Hamilton’s Mythology in English. Lizzie Piper invited her to her party at the local skating rink. Mia was surprised but flattered. Lizzie at the time was definitely the most popular girl in school. She was the first to go blond, the first to grow boobs, and the first to start dating. A week before the event, Lizzie handed her a cute royal blue invitation with silver letters and casually dropped, “Bring Alex.” At the skating rink on Lizzie’s birthday, Mia sat in a side booth, ignored and gorged on pizza, while Lizzie and her friends collectively drooled over Alex. After that, Mia stopped going to parties. Parties were fun when you were in, but they are especially isolating when you are in close proximity but still relegated to the outside.

“From what I can observe, you should be ecstatic if she even looks your way.”

The voice was spectacular – silken and deep, with a cultivated accent Mia could not place. The whole class turned to look at the speaker, and Mia felt the clichés happen. Time stopped, her stomach dropped, the air was sucked out of the room, stars shimmered before her eyes. The universe expanded and contracted at once, and Mia’s heart exploded with delicious pain.

The most beautiful man Mia had ever seen walked in. This included actors. Bronzed skin, deep mahogany hair, and eyes so green they shined. He moved like a warrior, or how a warrior Mia imagined should move like – casual tension and grace that could uncoil in a split second and cause deadly carnage. He was around 17, but there was no boyish uncertainty or softness about him.

“Liam! That’s enough!” A second voice chided gently.

Mia’s attention shifted to the owner of the voice, a distinguished older woman with nicely coiffed peppered hair and liquid brown eyes put her hands on the beautiful man’s – Liam’s – shoulder.

The distinguished woman smiled, “Sorry we are late. Traffic was horrible this morning.” A lie. Traffic was never bad in Piston. “I’m Miss Lister, and as you have probably guessed, I’m your new photography teacher. This is Liam. He’s my nephew, and he’ll be joining you guys as a senior.”

Miss Lister then walked to the front of the class, and Liam moved towards the only empty seat in the classroom next to Wentworth. Awkward. For a second before his back was completely turned, he stared piercingly at Mia. Mia felt her breath violently leave her lungs. She was both exhilarated and terrified. It was like coming face to face with a beautiful wild beast in the jungle – joy in impending devastation.

*

By second period, the whole school was abuzz with the news of Liam’s arrival. By the time the school day ended, the buzz had reached a fever pitch. Mia had never seen the school so excited, except of course, during football. Mia had had many a chance to observe him surreptitiously. In addition to her photography class, he was also in her third period AP English and her fourth period physics class. He was worthy of the buzz.

Alex was waiting for her by the time she walked out the school door.

“Chicken Lots?” Alex rattled the keys to his old Ford Taurus.

“Don’t you have practice?”

“Not today. Reprieve. Coach has to take his wife to an ultrasound, and assistant coach’s daughter just accidentally ran into the family dog while backing out of the driveway. Apparently, there is a lot of blood and tears, and he must return to console the ladies of the house.”

“That sucks.”

“Tragic, but I’m too hungry to really care that much. Chicken Lots?” Alex repeated.

“Then come on. We got to get there before the line becomes ridiculous.”        

Chicken Lots was the closest fast food restaurant to the school, and it also served up some of the best tasting chicken fingers in the state. Mia was pretty sure the secret to its tastiness was the lack of any significant chicken parts in the constitution of the fingers, but frankly, she didn’t care. After all, she was of Chinese origin, and the Chinese were infamous (or celebrated, depending on one’s perspective) for sacrificing the ability to recognize food content for taste.

They booked it across the blazing parking lot and jumped in Alex’s car. With Alex’s suicidal driving, the line at Chicken Lots was mercifully only 10 people long by the time they arrived. They slid into a booth with their purchases. Alex ripped open his ranch dip for his chicken fingers, and the smell pungently spiced the air.

Alex stuffed two chicken fingers in his mouth and took a huge gulp of Dr. Pepper. Sometimes watching Alex eat made Mia want to vomit a bit. It was not like he didn’t know his table manners. He behaved perfectly well at his parents’ dinner table, and when he was over for dinner at her house, he was one of the few non-Asians Mia knew who was almost elegant wielding chopsticks. When he was not in front of parental units, though, he just inhaled food, like a famine victim at a Golden Corral. Mia was pretty sure he barely chewed before he swallowed.

Alex glanced at her shrewdly before stuffing another chicken finger in his mouth. Mia had her hands wrapped around the box, but she hadn’t opened it.

“Mia. Are you going to eat or what? You not stuffing your face is making me nervous.”        

Mia opened the box and picked up one of the chicken fingers gingerly and frowned. “I don’t really like how Mr. Brightman is teaching The Awakening. You can tell he feels no sympathy for the character. Calling her disenchantment a mid-life crisis is masking the issue, don’t you think?”

“You want to talk about gender oppression in a 19th century novel?”

“No. I want to talk about how you shouldn’t chew with your mouth open, but that’s a lost cause.”

Alex grinned, and his eyes flashed wickedly. Next thing Mia knew, he was leaning forward and sticking his open mouth in her face. The chewed chicken bits plus white ranch sauce looked like intestinal matter, which was what it was, just one step earlier.

Mia jerked back. “Uh. I cannot believe you do things like that. How do the girls you date deal with you?”

“They are enamored with my other attributes, like my wit.”

“Personally I think they are just using you for your looks. I hope you enjoy being a piece of meat.” She paused to give full drama to her barb, “Though I think you have some competition now in that department.”

“You mean the new guy?  Joe’s been gushing over him after third period chem.” Joe was Alex’s brother and the only openly gay person at Leslie Mann. Being homosexual was not really acceptable in Piston, but people leaved Joe alone. It might be due to decreasing bigotry or, more likely, the fact that Joe beat the crap out of two jerks three years back when they attacked him after school. Knowing wushu was good for that kind of stuff. “I have a hard time believing he’s that dreamy.”

The door to Chicken Lots swung open as soon as Alex finished his sentence, and as if on cue, Liam strode in, light and powerful, a study in complementary contrasts. Mia’s breathe caught. That beauty, it was unworldly, almost sinful, like the devil in Milton’s Paradise Lost.

*

Liam walked into Chicken Lots and paused, not quite sure what to do next. Demnosia and he had decided that the first step to their mission was assimilation, or at the very least, integration. Every small town had their secrets, and the best way to discover them was through their people. Yet, as he surveyed the restaurant, with its aggressive orange and bright green décor, he was at a loss. He had not quite planned out how exactly he was to ingratiate himself to this community. For Immortals’ sake, he had not lived amongst humans for at least two hundred years, maybe closer to three.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw two teenagers with matching dye jobs determinately walk towards him. Something akin to panic hit him, and he looked desperately for an escape. He should have taken things more slowly, allowed himself time to adjust to the teeming humanity threatening to smother him. Towards the back corner of the restaurant, he spotted the young girl from his morning photography class – Mia Tao. The girl was beautiful by today’s standards. She was a willowy 180 cm, with statuesque slimness and muscularity characteristic of tennis players. Her hair – a billow of black silk strong and smooth – framed her sharp cheekbones like shadow or smoke. She carried her height somewhat uncomfortably, with too much tension in her shoulders, but in a few years, when she undoubtedly escape the awkwardness of youth, she would be magnificent. Yet, beauty meant little to Liam. His long life had taught him that physical beauty was completely ephemeral. It not only faded with age, it changed with the times. Liam had seen society celebrate portly men with wigs, worship twisted broken feet, and glamorize starvation. He had seen so many variations in human conceptions of beauty through the years that no iteration really moved him.

What set her apart was her charisma. Her glance flashed with raw intelligence and impervious determination. Through the thousand years Liam had been alive, he had developed the ability to read people impeccably. Liam had seen others like her through history. Queen Elizabeth. Machiavelli. Genghis Khan. Hwang Jini. Hector. Hypatia. Wu Zetian. Whether for good or evil, they were forces of nature in their respective environments, and thus deserving of some respect for escaping the dullness of mediocrity.

She was sitting with a friend. Liam felt a surprising flash of annoyance at the boyish charm of her companion. He recognized the boy’s face from fliers posted around the men’s locker room.

Importantly, they were sitting in the exact opposite direction of the two fast-approaching girls. He made a snap decision and walked towards their table.

“Alex right? I saw your advertisements around the school. You are a DJ?”

Alex brightened. “Yea!”

Alex had the boyish exuberance of the good-natured and the uncomplicated. Liam found it infuriating and oddly pleasant at the same time.

Liam held out my hand, “Liam Morrison. I just moved here. I’m having a party Friday and need some music. Are you available?”

Alex shook his hand and nodded enthusiastically. Alex’s demeanor then changed slightly, and Liam could see that Alex was moving into business mode, albeit unsuccessfully. “It’ll be fifty dollars an hour.”

Mia shot a look of surprise and admonition at Alex. Liam gathered from her glance that Alex had quoted above his usual rate. Liam replied drily, “I am sure you will be worth every penny.”

Liam then smiled at Mia and held out his hand for her to shake. Her grip was surprisingly calloused and pleasantly strong.

“Mia.”

Liam nodded. “You should come. Bring your friends. The more the merrier.”

He walked out of Chicken Lots with a bag full of greasy protein, quite satisfied with himself. He was ultimately unsuccessful in avoiding the two blondes – Alicia and Tory, or Rory? They had walked straight to Mia’s table and practically invited themselves to the party. In fact, the entire cheerleading and football team would be in attendance, and that – they assured Liam – would guarantee the party’s success. It wasn’t elegant, but it was efficient. What better way to ingratiate himself to a community than to throw a party?

*

Mia laid on her other best friend Jessica Kingston’s bed. Jessica was sitting at her desk dutifully writing her early admission essay to Yale. Mia was supposed to be dutifully reading The Grapes of Wrath, the next book on the reading list. Usually, Mia loved Steinbeck. Unlike so many other American authors studied in her classes, like the obnoxiously self-indulgent Fitzgerald, Steinbeck’s lyrical prose spoke of perseverance and the American dream, decency in the midst of filth, or perhaps decency in filth. That afternoon, though, with the fan on high energetically blowing at her hair, the dry dirt of the Great Depression and Steinbeck’s pre-blues bluesy writing could not hold her attention.

 Mia interrupted Jessica, “Do you want to go to the party tonight?”

Jessica glanced up at Mia, and Mia could tell that she is not amused.

“Which party?”

“You know. The party.”

Jessica looked at Mia impatiently and cluelessly. Jessica undid her ponytail, which held back her tangle of dark locks. With her hair wild around her pixie shaped face and her black eyes always intensely focused, Jessica looked a bit like an avenging angel or a short Amazonian warrior, one who was single-mindedly intent on gaining admission to Yale.

Mia sighed. Sometimes, her best friend’s level of oblivion frightened her. How was the girl supposed to be a judge when she wasn’t even aware of the most basic of her surroundings?

“You’ve heard of it. That new guy, Liam? He’s having a party tonight.”

Jessica turned back to her computer, losing whatever little interest she had in the first place. “Wasn’t invited.”

“I’m pretty sure everyone is.” Mia got off the bed and saddled to Jessica’s side. She poked Jess on her arm. It always surprised Mia how soft and doughy Jess’s arms were, in striking opposition to Mia’s lean muscles. Mia winced thinking about her muscles. At the moment, they were in excruciating pain from her martial arts lesson yesterday with Wu Hong. She got on the floor and started stretching exercises, hoping to loosen her tight muscles. “At least everyone’s going. Alex will be DJ’ing. Come with me?”

Jessica sighed and looked up from her computer. One thing that was impossible when Mia fixated on something was ignore her. The girl had a single-minded focus.

“Mia,” Jessica exasperatedly reminded her, “you hate parties. Remember? You once said that going to a Leslie Mann party is akin to going to a monkey cage, except less civil and with more beer.”

Mia nodded. She had indeed expressed such sentiments in the past, but she felt antsy, and she could not get this party out of her head. If she was truly honest with herself, though, she also could not get Liam Morrison’s aristocratic nose out of her head. It was not like she had a chance. Girls like her did not have chances with guys like him in Piston. It was not insecurity. Just the truth. It was not her looks. Mia was pretty confident about her looks. It was frankly her personality - prickly, a bit combative, and sarcastic to a fault.

“I know. This one’s at the MacGuire Mansion though. Aren’t you even a little curious what it looks like?”

Jessica looked perceptively at Mia, “And this has nothing at all to do with that new guy everyone’s talking about?”

Mia shook her head, knowing Jessica could see right through her feeble deception. They had been best friends after all since the fourth grade, when Jessica moved to Piston and challenged Mia’s supremacy for elementary school valedictorian.

Jessica looked at Mia for a few more seconds, rolled her eyes and acquiesced, “Fine. Leave me alone for two hours so I can finish this draft, and I’ll join you there.”

Mia grinned, grabbed for her book bag and headed to the bedroom door. She was already a few steps away from the front door when she doubled back and stuck her head back into Jessica’s bedroom, “Can you please please please not wear a sweatshirt?” She then ducked away laughing as Jessica tossed a stress ball at her.

*

Mia hadn’t attended a party since the self-esteem decimating skating rink incident, and she was not really sure what to expect. Now that she was close, she was not so sure she should have come. Maybe she should have taken her parents up on their offer to watch A Better Tomorrow while eating pizza, but it was a bit too late now to turn back. Mia wound her car carefully through the woods that surrounded the MacGuire Mansion, apparently now the Morrison Mansion. The density of the trees was impressive. Mia could almost imagine herself in the old forests of Europe instead of ten miles from the Wal-Mart. The tall towers of pines casted inky shadows, blurring the outlines of objects and distorting perception. It was darkly beautiful, and to Mia, maddeningly frustrating. Mia apparently had not inherited the seemingly universal ability to adjust one’s eyes to the dark, and driving after sunset was half-visual, half-guess work, and often akin to suicide.

By the time she arrived, the party was in full swing. The bass from a Demi Lovato song pounded through the woods, loud enough to disturb the dead. Mia rolled her eyes. Alex’s musical taste resembled that of a fourteen year old fan girl.

She gave the clearing a quick once-over, just in case Jessica had already arrived. No such luck. Jessica’s Nissan was nowhere to be seen. It was not unexpected. Jessica said two hours, and God knew that she was going to be working on that essay for the full two hours.

Mia had never been to the MacGuire Mansion before. It was somewhat of a legend around Piston, being the closest Piston has to a gothic romance. Mr. MacGuire was apparently a poor immigrant from the southern coast of Ireland, near Cork. Possessing little more than ambition and dazzling blue eyes, he vowed to make a place for himself in the New World.

He moved away from the filth and grime of Ellis Island and somehow maneuvered his way slowly to South Carolina. By the time he arrived, he had not achieved the goals of his lofty ambitions but had apparently fathered quite a few children. He found a job as a handyman at the Baker household, at the time the richest man outside of Charleston, South Carolina, and through hard work, ingratiation and a dastardly ruthlessness, he slowly became the manager of Baker’s sharecropping business.

Clichédly, Baker’s 18 year old daughter Lillian fell in love with MacGuire. She thought he had cut a dashing figure when she was 14, when he first arrived. By 18, she was obsessed. Now, Mr. Baker respected MacGuire and definitely depended on him, but he would be damned if he let his beautiful but naive daughter marry MacGuire, whom he could see was conniving and perhaps even cruel. He sent her away and did not allow her to come back until he was on his death bed five years later. By then, he figured that she would have grown out of her obsession, but of course he was wrong. Obsession forbidden is like opium prohibited. The desire just grows and grows until it becomes all consuming. As soon as Mr. Baker was in the ground, MacGuire married the young Miss Baker, the sole heir of the Baker fortune. Of course, MacGuire treated Lillian badly, but Lillian didn’t seem to care and fawned over MacGuire, until MacGuire one day brought home his mistress and his son. The childless Lillian went crazy. Her already thin body became skeletal. She refused food and spent her whole day in her room crying. One day, apparently, MacGuire couldn’t stand it anymore. He entered her room, and in a span of ten minutes, broke three of her ribs and her arm. After that, her health deteriorated quickly. On her death bed, a mere five years after her father’s passing, she cursed MacGuire that he would turn into the monster that he was. A few years after her death, MacGuire disappeared. According to contemporary sources, the sun blistered his skin, and he grew fur, like an animal. Vampire and werewolf rumors spread like wild fire, and people claimed that his young wife’s wish had come true - he had become a monster.

The mansion had intermittent owners after MacGuire’s death, but no one stayed for long. Local speculation, of course, attributes it to the taint of the curse, though likely, the reason lies in Piston’s fast and graceless decline after the fall of the United States cotton industry.

The mansion was as impressive as a mansion should be, though it was definitely different from what Mia imagined. Perhaps because of the MacGuire legend, Mia had thought it would be a dark place with high flying archways and cringing gargoyles, but of course, it was just a wooden plantation house, with a huge wrap around porch and brightly hued green shutters. It was, after all, in the South. It was surprisingly well-kept though given its frequent state of abandonment. The wood gleamed with white paint, and the front yard’s garden was impressively manicured, while ancient magnolias lazily stood guard. The stylishly pruned azaleas were in full bloom, and its scent mixed with the heavy perfume of the magnolias made Mia feel languid, almost drunk.

Mia opened the door and glanced at Alex set up by the corner of the living room. Alex, as expected, was a bit too busy speaking to Lisa Pummel, the bimbolicious cheerleader/FCA president with a penchant for dramatics and self-righteous Bible quotations. Lisa was currently playing up her best attribute, her pneumatic chest. Her shirt emphasized her asset, and she leaned sensually forward. Mia quickly turned away before Alex noticed her. She really did not feel like dealing with that mess right now.

She wandered her way to the alcohol. It was the most well-stocked high school party Mia had ever seen. There were kegs and beer, of course, but there were also various top shelf liquor, including a few bottles of Johnnie Walker Blue, which her dad savored on special occasions with friends. Mia cringed on her dad’s behalf when she saw Lizzie Piper pour herself a scotch and Coke. Mia made herself a gin and tonic and was just about to move away from the dizzying array of fermented beverage choices when she heard a man’s long drawn behind her.

“You sure you don’t want some lime with that?”

Mia slowly turned around. She knew who it was before she saw the heavily coiffed dirty blond of Wentworth’s tresses. That obnoxious voice could only belong to one person.

“No.”

“No? You don’t know what you are missing. Let me show you how it’s done.”

Before Mia realized what was happening, Wentworth had taken her Solo cup out of her hand, and he walked to the kitchen counter to take a lime out of the fruit bowl.

Mia swallowed her impatience and walked to where he stood. She grabbed her cup from his hand, a little too aggressively. She tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice and said,” No thanks. I know what I like.”

“Do you?” Wentworth’s voice was tinged with condescension. He had taken a wicked knife from the knife block and started to slice the lime. The knife plunged into the lime smoothly, the flesh gave way after a moment’s resistance.

“Yes. I’m pretty sure I do.”

“What if I tell you that your decisions aren’t optimal?” He casually strolled over with the slice of lime and tossed it into Mia’s gin and tonic. Mia had to jump back to avoid splatter from the gin. Good thing she had fast reflexes. Otherwise, if the gin had actually gotten on her brand new dress, Wentworth would be facing an entire wholly different creature.

“Well, there goes my drink.” Mia put the glass on the counter. Vaguely, she thought to herself the accumulating mess was going to be a nightmare to clean up the next day.

Wentworth looked at the glass on top of the green reclaimed wood as if it was a personal affront. Interpreted correctly, it was. He looked at Mia with something akin to cruelty. He smiled, but it didn’t quite work. Instead the sneer turned his boyish face into something slightly diabolical.

“Stop being frigid Mia. You would be quite hot if you weren’t frigid.”

“How about this for frigid?” Mia turned around and left him in the kitchen.

*

Liam stared into the stream in the woods behind his house. The party had been raging full force for almost two hours now, and he needed a break from the incessant and thoughtless chatter. He had forgotten how utterly tedious teenagers were. The water stroked the rocks. The ever-changing gossamer was more beautiful than any art made by men. Liam’s mind wandered to his wife Atlanta, who loved to lounge languidly in such running water, sometimes for the whole day. That was one thing he loved about her. She was a perfect balance of diametric forces. When relaxed, she exuded peacefulness, but her explosion of energy during a hunt sizzled the air around her.

It had been almost four hundred years since her death, and Liam still thought of her every single day. He had anticipated her death. He was immortal. She was mortal, even though her life lasted much longer than a typical lifespan. Mortals die. The knowledge did not make Liam feel the loss less keenly when Atlanta finally breathed her last breath. She had been with him since he was still named Aniketos, the boy clambering over the rocks of the Aegean.

Demnosia’s footsteps jolted Liam out of his reverie.

“Miss Lister.” Liam mock bowed. The moon highlighted the silver strands of her hair. Demnosia had aged gracefully, especially given the life of excess she had led, but Liam knew she was devastated that she had aged at all, instead of remaining forever youthful. He suspected it layered additional animosity to their already tense relationship.

“Aren’t you supposed to be seducing the young maidens of this locale to find out the secret to opening the portal between Olympus and here?”

Liam gave her a black glance. “If I did all the work, what would you contribute?”

Demnosia ignored his comment. "Has Apollo reached out to you with more information as to what we should look for?"

"No."

Demnosia smirked. "Apollo. Being helpful as always."

Liam couldn’t disagree, though for once, Apollo’s lack of assistance did not stem from his generally unhelpful and selfish nature. Apollo, like all the other denizens of Olympus, was going to die when Olympus falls, and Apollo was nothing but a master of self-preservation.

The sound of broken glass reached Liam at that moment, along with the bark of raucous laughter. He turned towards the sounds, and Demnosia muttered something unseemly. The party was still going, full-blast. Liam shook himself and squared his shoulder. It was time to go in and mingle. He didn’t, after all, host this party just so the football team could get drunk for free.

*

After leaving the pitiful excuse of a man that was Wentworth, Mia walked up the stairs to the second floor to seek some peace and quiet. The second floor seemed like a whole different world. The noise from downstairs was muffled, and the smell of azaleas from the yard wafted through an open window somewhere to chase away the mixed smell of sweat and beer. Mia breathed a sigh of relief. She needed some respite against the noise and to recover a bit from the potent gin and tonic. She walked down the hallway and looked at the tasteful art on the hall wall. Unlike the hallway of everyone she knew, there were no personal photographs, no symbols of memory, no little trinkets to demonstrate to the viewer the history of the inhabitants. The result was elegant but removed, like a fancy hotel and not a family home.

Her hand reached for a door in the middle of the hall. She just wanted to find an empty room and sit down for a little while. Get her bearing. She peeked into the room. The lights were off, and she saw the outline of a king-sized bed in the middle of the gigantic room. The room appeared to be empty. She entered, turned on the light, and gasped.

Mia’s weakness was beauty. Sometimes she thought herself shallow, how easily she was taken in by a pretty pattern or a striking face. Sometimes she wondered if this weakness would be her downfall. She remembered going to the zoo as a child and staring, staring at the sinewy beauty of a blue Malaysian coral snake. If the glass of the cage was not there, Mia would have reached forward eagerly to hold its vividness in her chubby little hands, and that would have ended tragically indeed. She was so dedicated to beauty that she wanted to commit her life to it. She had been busy prepping her portfolio for Parsons, the most prestigious fashion design school in the nation. It had graduated such luminaries as Prabal Gurung and Narciso Rodriguez. She hadn’t told her parents yet, and she hoped they would take the news that she was not going to be a doctor well.

So when Mia finally saw the content of the room with the lights on, she quickly shut the door behind her, irrationally. She didn’t want to share this with anyone. She was not quite ready.

Except the huge bed in the middle, the rest of the room was sparsely furnished. Every spare space on the floor was filled with photographs scattered randomly about. Not the amateur ones she generally took. These were spectacular, each reflecting the unflinching and photojournalistic style of its maker. The subject matters were vast – laughing vendors in a bustling bazaar somewhere in the Middle East, boy, open-mouthed in joy, celebrating Kodomo no Hi in Japan, desolate expanse of snow somewhere painfully dreary and hopeless. The images were crisp and well-focused, the shadows well-placed, the composition spotless. There was no sign of laziness so often seen in modern photography with shoddily placed objects and light that washed out the subjects.

Mia walked along the wall to take a good look at each photo. Her favorites were the ones with human subjects. Each photograph had the electric buzz of life, of living vitality. There was a school girl in the Philippines with her crisp school uniform walking by a slum with sewage on the road. There was a man crying devastatingly, with snot and spittle on his beard crisply focused, in what appears to be a country funeral somewhere in Central Asia. Yet, despite all the vitality captured, the photographs also had a feeling of distance. It was hard to describe, but it was as if the author was of a separate species – studying, observing, but removed; and yet he longed to belong. It lent a heartbreaking quality to the photos that made Mia want to weep.

“Do you like them?”

Mia turned. She was disoriented. Her intense focus on the photos had taken her away from this world, and she did not hear the door cracking open behind her.

Liam stood before her. Mia had seen him every day for the past five days in class, and his otherworldly beauty and grace had not faded. It might have something to do with the fact that she never looked at him for more than one second at a time, fearing he would notice her staring at him like a creep, but she doubted it. That type of allure did not diminish. There were some people who appear gorgeous at the beginning, but with the passage of time, the darkly lashed eyes began to look vacant and the brilliant smile became plastic. There were others who enchanted more and more with greater interaction. Liam was of the latter category.

“Yes. Very much. They are…stunning.” Mia told the truth because anything else would be disingenuous. She paused, afraid to ask the question but desire and hope driving her curiosity, “Did you take them?”

“Yes.” He took a minute to look at her. “I would like to photograph you right now. You look like,” he paused to carefully pick his words, “a warrior queen.”

Mia had no idea how to respond to that comment. It was not every day that she got called a warrior queen, whatever that meant. Instead, she chose to, like she always did in awkward social situations, to pretend she didn’t hear him.

“You have traveled a lot.”

Liam shrugged, “It’s what you do when you have nothing to do.”

“Oh.” Mia paused, not knowing quite how to respond. She felt an internal struggle. On the one hand, she felt a need to please this master who captured the joy and tragedy of the world so well. On the other hand, she was just annoyed. Before she knew quite what she was saying, words tumbled out, “That’s quite obnoxious.”

Liam raised his left eyebrow. She had startled him, but he didn’t seem offended. “Really. Why?”

“I don’t know if you realize where you are, but look around you. People around here dream about traveling, but most of them likely won’t have the opportunity to. And you, well, you obviously have the means,” Mia waved her arms in the general direction of the photographs and her surroundings, “But you not only do not appreciate how lucky you are, but you are insensitive enough to voice it. It’s very…callous.”

Liam moved to the bed and sits down. Despite her annoyance, Mia felt her heartbeat pick up in anticipation. Stupid, but that innocuous stimulus put Mia on heightened alert of her own body and the space between them. All of a sudden the spacious room felt quite small and intimate. Liam seemed completely unaffected.

Liam looked at her. “I understand what you are saying, but you need to understand that people have different preferences and resources. For someone who doesn’t necessarily want constantly changing acquaintances and environments, to start over every week or month, traveling is not ideal. To this person, your world and your lifestyle may in fact be very desirable, infinitely more so than this dream of being an international jetsetter that you think you want.”

“That may be true. I don’t know enough about the,” air quotes seemed particularly appropriate here, “jetsetter life style to know, but it’s all about options and choice, isn’t it? Someone who has the resources to travel the world has the option to settle in small town North Carolina and live a Nicholas Sparks life.”

“Does he?”

Mia waited for him to explain himself, but he didn’t and just sat there staring at her. His eyes, the deep blue of late twilight, peered into hers. She felt that his cryptic answer was an attempt to blow hot air, but Mia felt herself caring not even a little. She licked her lips and suddenly became acutely aware of her chest quickly rising and falling under the soft silk of the red dress. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but it seemed like Liam was also having a bit of a respiratory problem.

Liam finally opened his mouth again, “I…,” a pause, "Who’s Nicholas Sparks?"

The abrupt change made Mia blink in surprise and startling disappointment.

Before he could say anything else, the door opened, and Jessica walked in.

“There you are.” Her eyes flicked to Liam and casually surveyed up and down. Mia watched for a reaction. Most girls who first met Liam usually went a bit slack jawed from surprise and awe. Jessica showed nothing.

Jessica looked at Mia half-accusingly, “Thanks for inviting me to this shindig and then disappearing into a random room somewhere.”

Mia heard Liam shuffle slightly. Mia awkwardly mumbled, “Liam, Jessica; Jessica, Liam. He’s the one throwing the party.” Mia was still slightly reeling from the previous moment of tension – whether it be real or imagined.

Liam walked forward and shook Jessica’s hand. He smiled warmly, like a gracious host. “Welcome." He took in Jessica’s frown. "You don’t seem to be enjoying this shindig. Perhaps I could do something to change your mind? A drink perhaps?”

Jessica raised her eyebrows. “I don’t drink." Then, seeing Liam’s continued gracious demeanor, Jessica softened. "Your party’s fine. We just aren’t the sort to go to high school parties much.”

“What don’t you like about them?”

Jessica quipped, “Why don’t you tell me? I don’t see you downstairs mingling with your guests.”

“I’m introverted.”

“So are we.”

Liam paused. “Fair enough.”

Mia stood up and, with as much self-possession as possible, said, “Jess and I better go. We have church tomorrow morning.”

Jess raised her eyebrows cynically, not bothering to hide her surprise and amusement. Jess went to church, well, religiously. Mia only went when Mr. Kingston’s look of disapproval and disappointment became unbearable, which usually occurred once every six months. Mia ducked her head, trying to hide her blush. She took Jess’s arm and dragged her out of the room, down the polished oak stairs, and into the stifling heat of the Carolina summer, her heart bursting with the desire to escape and stay at the same damn time.