The Invincibles

Okay, confession time. I haven't really been writing in the Act lately. But I told you all that I wasn't crazy about it, and I have these other fantastic ideas... I won't give up on the Act, but don't expect regular updates.
This one is titled- guess- The Invincibles. I'm not done with the first chapter, but I really like what I have so far. I love the main character because shes nothing like me, and it's really fun to write in her POV (point of view). And she's really crazy, too. That's one of the few similarities between us. :) 
Enjoy- and don't forget to comment! I live on reviews (just ask my Fanfiction readers)!

Chapter 1: Worst Day Ever

I remember each detail of that night; it was dark, and raining, and I was cold and absorbed in my misery- I didn't realize until later how perfect the night had been for a kidnapping.

Normally, I would have enjoyed puddle jumping- but not that night. Normally, I would've danced in the rain- but not that night. Normally, I would've been smart enough to not go walking down a major downtown road in the middle of the night- but especially not that night. My searing agony hindered any rational thought, pulled me from my normal careful shell. It left me blind in the dark, stumbling along an endless road of bitter memories and broken promises.

It started when I got a phone call from my dad's lawyer. I guess it was around 10:30 or so, and I was sitting in a slow bookstore cafe, reading Emma (for the ga-zillionth time).

It was always a bad thing, when Mr. Jaggers called. He'd either tell me that my dad is back in jail, or he's going to trial. Again. This time, it was different.

He was calling to tell me my dad, my last living parent, was dead.

Gone. Eternally sleeping. Not coming back.

And the worst part about it? He had committed suicide. Offed himself because he was too selfish to think of me, his sixteen year old daughter, who may have wanted to talk to him, who may have wanted to see him again, who may have missed him after five years of foster care homes.

I sat there until the place closed, too numb to do anything. From there I wandered to an even slower diner, and from there, the street. I guess it was 12:15. I needed time to think- time to recover- before I got back 'home'. That's why I didn't call my foster family for a ride; that's why I didn't take the bus or catch a cab.

And that's how I got kidnapped, sealing the nightmarish qualities of my declining day.

My hair clung to my face as I wandered down the dark road, water sliding down my back. My jeans were heavier than usual, and I could feel the luke-warm water seeping through to my skin. My shoes squeaked,but I hardly noticed. The wind- I did feel that. I shivered in the storm, for even the slightest gust stole all heat from the warm water. The stinging rain kept my gaze fixed on the sidewalk, and I passed from the shadows into the strained streetlight like a wraith.

The street, normally busy, was silent; any sane person was indoors avoiding this weather or sleeping. Even if the rush hour traffic had been there, I wouldn't have noticed. The lightning didn't make me flinch; the thunder didn't make me shudder. The hurricane in my heart made this physical gale seem like a mere drizzle.

I didn't notice the van trailing me; not the splash of it inching down the wet road, not the sharp smell of exhaust fumes, not the rumble of the engine. Its' headlights were off, in my defense, so it hid in plain sight.

I did noticed when it slid up beside me, stealthy- not the typical squealing of brakes like they show in Hollywood- and I definitely noticed when the sliding door grated open, several men pouncing out onto the street.

Reality crashed onto me like an imploding building- my body moved before my brain recovered. Adrenaline shoved my emotional pain to the side, ordering my feet to start moving, for my ears to start listening, for my eyes to start seeing, for my brain to pick up my broken pieces and glue them together quick, because each and every one was necessary.

I was fast- I used to be in track- but these men were faster. My feet pounded down the slick pavement, and I took a deep breath to scream, but massive hands clamped down on my mouth, another wrapping around my waist. My left arm was pinned to my side, but that didn't stop me from elbowing the man in the gut. His grunt told me I did something good- I struggled and managed to pull away, my mouth opening-

The click of a gun cocking made me freeze, stopped me from following through with my plan. It stopped the breath as I tasted it, it clamped my mouth shut, it stopped my eager feet, sending a shudder down my spine.

“Get in the van.” The man began- his tone didn't fit with the situation unfolding before me. It was the voice of a gentle father, reprimanding a child who had taken a second cookie from the jar, not some thug with a pistol.

“Get in the van, sweetheart, because I don't want to shoot you.”

The man I had shaken off had my arm, and his grip tightened.

But wouldn't they have shot me already if they wanted me?

“Come on, sweetheart.” The man repeated.

I bit my wet lip, scanning the road for any help. There was nothing.

“You have to the count of ten.” The man with the gun began, more force in his voice.

“One.”

He and I started a staring contest.

“Two.”

The beginnings of a plan began putting themselves together, mapping out my epic escape.

“Three.”

That's when the plan began- I bolted.

Whipping around, I smacked the man who held me right in the nose- I felt the crunch of breaking bone as blood gushed over my hand. I kicked the next thug right where it counted, morbidly pleased when he toppled over. Two down already!

I wasn't prepared for the crack of the gun shot, for the blood, for the pain. My leg wailed in protest- the bullet had grazed my calf, ripping through my jeans and spreading blood all over the wet concrete. I ducked from the next thug, punching him in the gut as I slipped through his fingers.

Someone with really calloused hands grabbed my shoulder- I whipped around to face him, punch him, kick him, bite him, something-

He cocked the pistol right between my eyes.

“Now sweetheart, let's not fight.” He murmured, death in his eyes. “Just come along with us and you'll be fine.”

Yeah right.

I let my terror show in my expression- the face of an innocent, frightened teenage girl. A crooked smirk came across his face, and I took my golden opportunity to spit in his eyes. Blinded, he reached up to wipe it away, muttering profanities, but I was faster. I elbowed his nose- too bad his didn't break too- and twisted his wrist. It took more effort than I expected, but in a moment his fingers loosened and I pulled the gun from his grasp.

“Now honey, let's be nice.” I crooned, smiling at him, the gun poking his nose. “If you just leave, I won't hurt you.” His men didn't move, though I could hear them getting up and breathing loudly- I suspected the adrenaline high made them seem louder than they were.

“Got some spunk, don't you?” He asked. I gritted my teeth.

“You're going to get in your van right now.” I smiled, letting my warning burn in my eyes. “And your thugs.”

“They're professional bodyguards.” He corrected.

“Sorry you wasted your money, honey, 'cause they suck. Now, you have to the count of three to move.”

His expression dared me to start counting- I gladly accepted.

“One.”

He started backing away, and I heard the shuffle of his lame guards.

“Two.”

I gave him the sweetest smile I could muster through the growing pain, and using the gun, I encouraged his pathetic minions to move.

“Three.”

They were all in the van- I made sure to notice the one with the broken nose and the other that glared at me with a passion- I must've kneed that one.

“Okay, honey, you're going to shut the van and drive away now.” I smiled, feeling like Professor Umbridge from Harry Potter.

And that's when my brilliant plan and execution fell apart.

Someone caught me around my waist- his arm wrapped all the way around, locking me in his grip. I bashed the gun against his head, blindly flinging my arm back to hit him, but he didn't budge. Rather, he reached to grab it, and that's when I screamed bloody murder.

Distracted, his huge hand clamped over my face, but the sound of my cry echoed in the empty road- surely someone would notice!

“Get in!” The ringleader roared, and the man who held me stumbled forward as I struggled, kicking him, punching him, hitting him over and over and over. He didn't seem to notice, and my hands were really starting to hurt. The force of him dragging me into the van sent the gun skittering across the sidewalk- I watched as my best weapon fell out of reach, horrified.

The thug threw me into the van- literally tossed me in- and I landed on the dirty metal floor, scrambling up again- they weren't done with me yet. Not in a million years.

But the door squealed shut, the massive thug- he was a bodybuilder, or something- clambering to a seat as the van lurched forward.

Yep. Officially the worst day of my life, and it was getting steadily worse.

“You need to stay still, sweetheart.” The leader began, pulling out a box of first aid. “You're bleeding.”

He made the mistake of coming too close. I kicked him in the face with my good leg- watching with vengeful glee as his head snapped back and he slid back, slamming into his minions. My leg throbbed, but I seriously didn't have the time to check it as I turned to see if anyone else dared stop me.

“One of you please hold the girl. She's a tad angry.” The driver laughed.

“You wanna see mad?” I bellowed, my voice sounding so much more threatening than I felt.

“Someone stop her before she hurts herself.” The man sitting shotgun began, his gaze focused on a touch screen he held. “The boss wants her unhurt.”

“Too late for that.” I snarled, backing into the van wall- most of the seats had been taken out, giving the thugs plenty of room.

“Fights like a demon.” One of the thugs laughed. “Who is she, anyway?”

To say I was ticked off would be like calling a tiger a cuddly, family-friendly pet. I watched the thug leader, at least, the one nursing a bruised cheek in the back.

The man with the touchscreen answered- I saw my picture appear in his hands. “Hailey Telliks, age sixteen, weight- a hundred and thirty-two pounds, height- five foot nine and and a half inches, eye color- green, hair color- blond, been in foster care since she was four, 2.74 GPA average... anything else you'd like to add, Hailey?” He asked.

“Sorry, but you've got the wrong person.” I snapped. “Have fun explaining this to the cops.”

“Don't lie.” The touchscreen dude chided me- his tone was no-nonsense. “I know you're Hailey- we've been tracking you the past three months.”

Talk about creepers.

“I was being serious, about adding something to the list. It'll be a help, in the end.” The touchscreen dude continued. I slid over to the door, another, not-as-brilliant, more I'm-freaking-out-so-I'll-do-anything plan throwing itself together.

“Yeah, I've got something to say, besides for the fact that you all are-”

“Be nice, Hailey.” The techy dude interrupted. He had good timing- I felt the van hit the bump I had wanted- and we were on the bridge, right where I wanted us to be.

“You know what?” I began, furious.
“What? I'm tired of you talking, because it's not helping you. Someone put her out please.”

The gargantuan thug leaned over, throwing a mask over my face. I held my breath as he counted, but he seemed stupid enough to fall for anything, so I only pretended to be falling asleep. My eyelids fluttered; my thrashing grew weaker.

I let my head roll limp over my shoulders, my eyes closed.

“Why do the bosses want her?” One of the cronies asked- his tone told me he was the one with the broken nose.

“Just look at her!” The techy dude sighed. “She fits the age requirements, and admit it, she's smarter than the lot of you, even if her GPA doesn't show it. She's the perfect contender.”

“The other ones didn't struggle as much as she did.”

“What about the third? Didn't he break someone's leg?” The techy dude sighed again, like today was the perfect day. “Yes... she'll be great. I can't wait to see how she turns out.”

That's when I had enough of their chit-chat. Leaping to my feet, I threw open the van door- they had left it unlocked- and flung myself into the street. Suicidal, yes. Unexpected? Undoubtedly. But it worked- I tumbled onto the bridge, rolling and skidding across the pavement, and scrambled to my feet. I was lucky to not have broken anything, though my arms, hands, and face all stung, bruised and scraped up. My leg screamed in pain- I'd have to get a taxi, this time.

I could hear them yelling, the van screeching to a halt, the thugs jumping out the door. How many minions does it take to catch a girl? I thought. I scrambled to the railing of the bridge, grasping the metal bar that was supposed to stop suicides from jumping.

I wasn't really suicidal- but they couldn't exactly follow me when I was swimming, could they? And it was only a thirty foot drop... I tried ignoring that part.

I hissed in pain as something hit my side, and I yanked out a dart.

My mind managed to realize I was in trouble, and then-

Everything went black.

Well...? What do you think? (Oh, and if you have suggestions for her last name, I'll take them. I happened to be listening to Skillet (the song Hero- ironic, right?) and for lack of a better idea, I just flipped it around and plugged it in.) Thanks for reading!

The Act, Chapter 3

So... here goes! Please comment!
I know it kindof rambles- this is unedited, as of 11:03 AM Tuesday, March 22.

Chapter 3: Dreams and Zachary Rages (but not about him!)

           

            I've never liked dreams, for one reason in particular.

            They remind me of things I don't remember- like the first five years of my twisted life. It's as if that locked portion of my mind opens up at night- like the guards go home, or something. Because I see things that I don't want to see, I hear things I don't want to hear-

            And I remember things that were forgotten for a reason.

            But once I'm awake, everything is gone again, the guards back at their posts, the lock bolted shut, and that only makes the situation worse. I know those memories are there, lurking in my brain; but they're totally unreachable.

            I can always tell I had one of those dreams when I wake up bleeding.

            I had dug my nails a quarter inch into my palms, and it hurt. Lines of red ran down my arms- my blankets were shredded. Another disadvantage of being an avian freak- I happen to have unruly nails. Amy gave up painting them long ago, to say the least.

            Gingerly easing out of bed- it must've been four in the morning- I slid downstairs and wrapped up my hands, lining band-aid after band-aid on my arms. If Charlie hadn't been on the other side of town, comfortable in his apartment, he would have helped me. I slid out the back door and towards the workshop, limping. My foot was swollen- I must've kicked the wall, or something. Maybe a bed post.

            I refused to freak out until I was safe in the cab, the doors all locked as I panicked.

            Wrapping the blanket around myself, I started rocking, trying to calm my shaking. My hands burned, but my mind was in a far worse state. I wouldn't be going to school tomorrow- today. There was no way. I reached underneath the bench and pulled out my emergency stash of comfort food, primarily chocolate covered peanuts. (Don't ask- I'm part bird, here. I like nuts.)

            “Jenna?”

            I screamed, my vision blurring from the red that lined my eyes.

            “It's okay, it's okay.” Amy whispered, her voice muffled from the window. “It's only me.”

            Trembling, I eased over and struggled to pull up the lock- my fingers were shaking too badly. She stepped in, her nose wrinkled, and gave me a sorrowful look.

            “You were screaming again.”

            No wonder my throat was so sore.

            I looked away from Amy, concentrating on the chocolate in my hands. A caramel square, this time.        

            “Remember anything?”

            “No.” My voice cracked.

            “Your hands look bad.”

            “They feel bad.”

            She sighed, wrapping an arm around my trembling shoulders.

            “You're not going to school today.”

            I heard both the question and the pronouncement in her tone- she probably thought my eyes weren't acceptable for public sight.

            “You'll be okay?”

            I nodded.

            “You probably should clean this place up.” She began, casting a cursory glance around my little heaven. “I can imagine Troy will be stopping by.”

            She smiled- that mischievous look gave me the shivers. Who knew what she was planning between Troy and I.

            “Okay then. Have a good day.”

            It was 5:15 in the morning- time for Amy to start straightening her hair and doing who-knows- what else to get ready for school.

            “Can you pick up my homework?” I croaked.

            “I probably won't need too.” She smiled again. “Your friends will bring it by.”

            She was right.

            I did a little cleaning, primarily picking up all the feathers on the floor, but besides that, I worked on the truck. And a little table. And shelves. I kept myself busy on purpose.

            It was a good thing I kept my hoodie on all day, because around 3:00, I heard the tromp of feet outside the rusty door and the sound of voices headed my way- Troy and... Carrie.

            “Jenna?” Carrie began, the door creaking open.

            “Under here.” I replied, hiding underneath the truck.

            “Are you okay?” Troy, this time- anxiety coated his tone.

            “Um, yeah. I'm better now.”

            “Amy told us you got sick- she didn't tell us the specifics.”

            “Because you don't want to know.” I replied.

            “Oh, then, um, I'm glad you're better. You'll be at school tomorrow, right?” Carrie asked, kneeling next to the truck and peering at me.

            “Probably.”

            “Cool.” Troy smiled- I could hear it in his tone. “Well, a bunch of us are going ice skating Saturday, if you want to come.”

            “Well, it's a maybe.” Carrie corrected me. “Us girls want to go to Crestview for some shopping.”

            Shopping- not exactly my strength. Amy would probably die of laughter if I went.

            “What day is it?”

            “Wednesday, silly.” Carrie laughed. “But, yeah, we got all your homework. It shouldn't be bad- it was a slow day, for me at least.”

            “Slow for everyone.” Troy added.

            I heard the buzz of a cell phone, and Carrie's muffled response. I knew Troy couldn't hear it all, but I did.

            “Um, Troy...”

            “You've gotta go?”

            “My mom.”

            “Oh, okay then. See you tomorrow, Jenna?”

            “Yeah. See you.”

            My back was killing me from laying on that skateboard for so long. I was about to take off my hoodie when I heard softer footsteps, someone lighter coming to see me. Weird. Troy and Carrie skirted this person, silent. I ducked back underneath the truck.

            The door opened- I peeked and spotted a pair of black sneakers. I didn't recognize the walk.

            “2015 Ford?” He asked.

            I bit back my horror, the hyperventilation that threatened to burst through my lips.

            “You know, I can't see you, so nodding won't help.”

            He'd never spoken to me before- I'd never heard his voice. It was rich and smooth, a rather pleasant tone. I'd always imagined it hard and threatening.

            “Yeah.”

            I heard the creak of someone opening the hood. “Not bad on the inside- why don't you drive it?”

            “No permit, no connect.”

            “Those aren't hard to find.”

            “For this model, they are.”

            Wow. I was actually having a decent conversation with Zachary Rages. Or, was. An awkward pause filled the room as the hood snapped shut.

            “So... you're sick?”

            “Was.”

            Another pause as he maneuvered the piles of stuff all over the garage floor, headed towards my tack board.

            “Have you started any of these?”

            “Some.”

            “The table?”

            “Yeah.”

            “The legs seem thin.”

            “They're the prototype.”

            “Pine?”

            “Hopefully oak.”

            “Size?”

            “4 by 5.”

            “The legs will probably need to be at least 4 inches thick, not the three you have. How thick is the surface?”

            I pulled myself out from underneath the truck, watching him from the floor. He didn't turn, didn't move, and I had the feeling he purposefully didn't want to look at me.

            “Why are you here?” I asked, my predator senses creeping into my words.

            “Why weren't you at school?” He replied.

            “I was sick.”

            He turned, suspicion in his brooding, black eyes. “No you weren't.”

            The breath whooshed out of my lungs in one gust. “How would you know?”

            “You don't look sick.”

            “I'm better now!”

            His look told me he didn't believe me, and I shoved myself back under the truck, infuriated.

            “What happened to your hands?”

            “I fell.”

            He grunted, and I recognized the sound from Charlie. Arrogant kid! He didn't know anything about me.

            “Zoe wanted me to bring this by. I'm putting it on the board. See you tomorrow.”

            I heard the door shut, waiting for his footsteps to recede before sliding out from the truck and hopping up. It was sheet music- a violin line was highlighted.

            On the table was a box- my name was scrawled on a note taped to the top.

           

            Don't go to Crestview.

            What--? Zoe wrote this, or did Zach? What the heck did that mean? Don't go to Crestview? Who were they to tell me what to do?

            People are so confusing.

            Almost as soon as the words registered in my mind, I decided to ignore them. They weren't going to tell me what to do- they were basically strangers! Just because I knew their names and possible criminal record didn't mean I trusted them. Especially meant I didn't trust them. Maybe they wanted revenge on Jessie and Troy's group for whatever had happened between them.

            No way. I wasn't going to be the pawn.

            I opened the box with trepidation- who knew what mischief the Rages could manage? So I wasn't expecting a solid pound of chocolate covered nuts. A solid, beautiful, sweet-smelling box of goodness.

            They were good- both the Rages (in manipulating) and the nuts.

            Was this a bribe? Or just a get-better-soon delio?

            I wasn’t in the mood to wax philosophical, so I poured my attention into my homework, primarily violin. I’d have to come up with a more detailed excuse for my hands- at least they didn’t need stitches.

            I skipped dinner, partially to avoid Amy’s questions about who had dropped by, and partially because I was still too shaken to handle a lot of food. The wind roaring in my ears settled my frazzled nerves, and I was too distracted to notice the dark shapes watching me from the workshop’s shadow.

            I didn’t dream that night.

            School wasn’t so bad- I painted my cradle in Workshop, and I managed to follow along with every other note in Chorus. Mr. Sarks approved of my progress.

            The girls debated ice skating or shopping during lunch- I didn’t have much to say in that conversation.

            Those were the highlights of my day- my first Thursday in real live school.

            Friday beat it hands down.

            Firstly, I decided to go to Crestview with the girls, no matter what the Rages said. The decision had Amy’s stamp of approval, though I didn’t need it. Secondly, the Rages weren’t at school, though Sam was. He looked lonely, but I was too scared to talk to him. The kid is intimidating- partially because he’s twice my weight- easily- and a good eight inches taller. And because he stared at me.

            That sent chills down my spine- it triggered all of my predator/prey nerves right in the middle of class. I wanted to run, but didn’t dare- helpless and vulnerable. It looked like he wanted to ask me a question, but didn’t have the guts to do it. Don’t ask me why or why not- I knew nothing about him.

            The weekend breezed by, chased by the school week. Before I knew it, I had my schedule memorized, and the hallways lost their labyrinth qualities. My lock was a cinch to my experienced fingers; I started recognizing faces from my classes, with names to go with them.

            It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.

            Granted, Algebra went above my head, but I wasn’t flunking or anything.

            Biology was a different matter.

            Zack wasn’t in class that day, though he had been in English, and I wrongly assumed that would make the day better. Just when I was getting used to the stuffed animals and random skeletons distributed through his room, Mr. Natick threw another fast ball at us. That fast ball was called dissection.

            Some people think it’s cool. Others think it’s gross in an awesome kind of way. Could someone please enlighten me? What is so cool about sticking pins and sharp items inside of a body, of peeling aside skin and sinew, just to see something’s guts and to poke at its’ intestines?

            It makes me wonder if the scientists who made me started out like this- high school students poking a rat’s corpse.

            Sam, however, was in the cool opinion- I lost all self control when he pulled out the small intestine, gave me a mischievous smile, and asked: “Do you want to jump rope?”

            Thankfully I didn’t puke or anything- I fainted.

            “Jenna?”

            The voice sounded far away and echoed, like the sound was underwater.

            “Jenna, I’m sorry. Wake up.”

            “Give her some room, students.” Mr. Natick was saying. “Let the poor thing breathe.”

            “She looks like she’s gonna be sick.” Was that Nate? Or was his name Nick?

            “She’s coming around.”

            “Should I go get the nurse?”

            “No- we’ll wait for her.” Mr. Natick replied.

            I didn’t want to open my eyes. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to have to face all my jeering classmates, and I definitely didn’t want to be the laughing stock of the day. But someone touched my face- that jerked me back to reality, reminding me of the memories that I couldn’t find and the reflexes that attested to their existence.

            “Just breathe, Jenna.” Mr. Natick began. He reached over to thump my back but I leapt up, swaying. My vision flickered, and I began falling-

            Nate- or Nick- caught me. “I’ll take her to the nurses’ office, sir.”

            “I should,” Sam argued. “I’m the one who made her faint anyway.”

            “Nathan, go ahead.” Mr. Natick began. “Sam, clean up. You have detention.”

            Nate put his arm around my waist, and if it wasn’t awkward enough, he began soothing me. He really sucked at it too- telling me about how gross dissection was, for Pete’s sake! 1) I already knew it, and 2) My stomach was already having problems.

            At one point, I wasn’t quite sure where we were, my legs gave out. I crumpled like I had been shot. Nate wasn’t prepared- I slipped though his fingers and folded together on the floor. The ground was cold and that was fine with me.

            “Jenna?” He asked, kneeling beside me, anxiety coating his tone.

            “Go away.” I mumbled. The floor’s company was better than his.

            “Are you gonna puke?”

            What a lovely question.

            “Is she okay?” Asked another voice.

            I cringed, both emotionally and physically. Anyone but Zachary Rages would have been better- even the principal, or Amy.

            “I’ve got it, Zack.” Nate spat.

            Zack chuckled, like my patheticness amused him.

            “Obviously you don’t, considering she’s on the floor.”

            I could practically feel the heat between them. I liked the coldness of the floor much better.

            “What happened to her?”

            “Sam asked her if she wanted to jump rope with an intestine.”

            My stomach threatened to revolt.

            “What are you doing?” Nate suddenly asked. My eyes were still closed, and I didn’t care enough to change that until a pair of strong arms pulled me up.

            I felt like a toothpick in Zack’s arms- he acted like I weighed five pounds rather that ninety-five.

            “Hey!” Nate cried, following us as Zack carried me down the hallway.

            “Put me down.” I mumbled.

            Zack chuckled again- the noise rumbled right by my ear, and I noticed how warm he was.

            “Put her down!” Nate echoed, running in front of us.

            I closed my eyes again, too dizzy to follow the conversation.

            “You can’t make me.” Zack replied. “You weren’t helping her, and clearly she needs to get to the nurses’ office.”

            “She wanted to stop!”

            “And do you think that’s what’s best for her?” Zack snapped, his rich tone replaced by a cold hiss. Who was he, to say what was best for me?

            Nate fell silent and followed, opening the door as Zack pulled me into the office.

            “Oh,” The nurse sighed, “There’s always one in Biology. Just put her down on the couch there.”

            To be honest, I didn’t want Zack to put me down. He was warm and smelled like musty leather, and I was comfortable in his arms, even though I initially thought it was awkward. But the couch was squishy, and his arm were, well, hard. Someone put a damp towel on my forehead, and sleeping suddenly seemed like a brilliant idea.

            “You can go back to class, Nathan.” The nurse said. “You too, Zachary.”

            “Actually, ma’am, I never went to class.” Zack began. “And Jenna should go home- she looks sick.”

            There he was again, deciding what was best for me. I couldn’t decide whether he was being a jerk or a gentleman.

            “I should take her home, ma’am. Normally she walks, but clearly…”

            “Alright, Mr. Rages. Drive safe, alright? The roads are slippery out there.”

           I heard Nate storm out of the office, slamming the door. The sound prompted a headache.

            “Jenna?” Zack’s voice returned to its rich, soothing tone. “Can you walk?”

            “Mm-hmm.” I just wanted to sleep.

            He chuckled again and hauled me to my feet, wrapping a strong arm around my waist. For some reason I didn’t really worry about him noticing the Clamp- I must’ve been too sick to care. I leaned on his shoulder and let him lead on, to my locker first- I had to get my house key- and into the parking lot.

            Zack had a truck; I didn’t know that. It smelled like him, or, he like it. I must’ve fallen asleep, because when my eyes worked their way open, I was laying on the couch in my family room.

            Zachary Rages was, beyond a doubt, the most confusing person I had ever met. Maybe he had a multiple personality disorder- I was too tired to decide.

I could break this into 2 chappies- what do you think?

The Act, Chp. 2

Um... wow! I really wasn't expecting the response I got. Evidently this isn't so bad. :) It's not my favorite, so updating it is definitely not going to be regular, but... this is what I have.

Chapter 2: No, I'm not Suicidal. Yet.

            School wasn't bad enough to cater suicidal thoughts, so no, I wasn't jumping to my death. In fact, my feet never touched the ground. There was no need.

            My wings snapped out and caught the breeze, and I glided to the roof of the workshop. My workshop- my haven. The only place where I didn't have to hide. I pulled the latch that opened the trap door and dropped in, landing on a pile of wood shavings.

            I headed straight to the mini-fridge. My high metabolism meant that lunch didn't stick with me- I'd have to bring snacks to eat in between classes tomorrow. Grabbing a can of Coke and a bag of Oreos, I opened the cab of my truck and stretched out to enjoy the peace and quiet.

            My truck is a work in progress. I found it one day in the middle of the woods, totally abandoned and unmarked- no license plate, nothing. Charlie helped me push it home, and since the workshop was a garage, the whole situation worked out perfectly. (Mom and Dad never used the garage- there is no driveway up to it, and they didn't want to ruin the grass. Not that is matters much.)

            I already had tools and everything, and after making just about anything I set my mind on, this truck became my passion. It's not done, but someday, I'll get it running again. Someday.

            And that's where Charlie found me, laying on a skateboard underneath the truck, tinkering away. I heard him come in- he's the only one who ever comes in there. For one, the place has a musty smell that I love and they hate, and with feathers and shavings and spilled oil all over the place. I'm not a neat person- let's leave it at that.

            “Hey kiddo.” He began, sitting on the floor next to me.

            “Hey yourself.”

            “So how'd it go?”

            I pulled myself out, so I could see his face. His warm, brown eyes, his cheerful smile. I gave him a look and he sighed.

            “Just give it a chance, Jenna.”

            “Easy for you to say.”

            “Amy has a point, you know. You have been in the house for a while.”

            “And is that my fault?” I snapped. Amy was, after all, the one who suggested I take online classes rather than going to school. But that was way back- ten years ago, really. “I like the house. I like the quiet. She has no business getting involved in how I live.”

            “She honestly does care about you.”

            “Well, I'd rather that she ignored me, like she used too.” I slid back underneath the truck, fuming.

            “I think she got tired of having an invisible sister.”

            “It's not like it made a difference to her- my going to school only threatens her status as Miss Popular. I don't get it.”

            “Neither do I.” I heard him grab an Oreo and crunch down on it- Charlie always had eaten Oreos improperly. “Girls are confusing.”

            “Boys are confusing.” I replied.

            Charlie laughed, that rich sound I knew so well. “I suppose you met a few of those today.”

            “More than I'd like.”

            “How many guys did you know before today? Two? Me and Dad?”

            “Three.” I said after a pause. “I know Mr. Ervin from the grocery store.”

            “Three guys, before today. And now, you saw... three hundred? Cheers!” He and I clanked Cokes, though I wasn't quite sure why.

            “But back to Amy... you know the last time her friends had study group at the house?”

            I remembered. That was a close call.

            “I think her friends asked her where you were, where you've been.”

            “It's none of their business.”

            “But people are starting to wonder- maybe Amy was trying to save her reputation, showing that she didn't have some freak for a sister.”

            “Well sorry to burst her bubble, but she does have a freak for a sister.”

            Charlie pulled at the skateboard, sliding me out and giving me a hard glare. “You're not a freak.”

            “Oh yeah? Then what am I? Some mutant?” How many times had we had this argument?

            “I don't know- howabout an improvement? A hybrid?”

            “That's the politically correct way to say it.” I complained.

            “Maybe there are other people... like, like you... at school.”

            That had never occurred to me. Then they must be darn good at keeping secrets, at hiding. “I don't think so.” I muttered.

            “So... who did you meet?” Charlie asked. I was glad for the change of topic.

            “This guy called Troy walked me to class a few times.”

            “Oh- his dad works at the cattle farm in Crestview.” Crestview was the little town about an 45  minutes away, and one of the closest to Tolobie. Flying, though, is a whole lot faster.

            “And this girl- Zoe- saved me from getting trampled.”

            “Zoe who?” Charlie asked, suspicious.

            “I don't know. I think she was goth- black hair, makeup, that sort of thing.”

            “Zoe Rages.” Charlie muttered. “Stay away from her. I think she's been to Juvie.”

            “Why? She seemed... intimidating, but not a criminal.”

            “I think. I don't know. She just seems like that type- like she's seen a few fights in her life.”

            I slipped back under the cab. Zoe. Juvie. Hmm.

            “Anyone else?”

            “Um... I'm lab partners with this guy called Sam.”

            “I know him. Red hair, athletic?”

            “Yeah. During lunch he got in a fight with another guy- I don't know his name. He said they fight all the time.”

            “The other boy- dark hair, tan? Athletic?”

            I nodded.

            “Zachary Rages.” Charlie informed me. “They've been best friends since the Rages moved here. Stay away from the lot of them- they're all going to end up in trouble.”

            Great. Out of the four students who had talked to me, three were doomed, in Charlie's mind. His phone rang- well, I could hear the vibration, at least- and it was Amy, calling us in for dinner.

            “Oh my gosh, so Tommy totally cheated on Lizzie, and she's hysterical.” Amy said as she set the table. Dad brought home Chinese- Mom hated cooking, so if I didn't make anything, someone had to bring home pizza or something.

            “Jenna, you smell like your truck.” Mom chided me, wrinkling her nose. No hello, no how was your day. I was used to it.

            “No, she smells like... a dump yard.” Amy replied.

            “And what are you trying to smell like?” I snapped. “Rotten eggs? That perfume is disgusting. It would smell better on a rat than you.”

            “I just got it!” She cried, outraged.

            “Sorry you wasted your money.”  

            “I like it!”

            “And I like how my truck smells.”

            “Did you get egg rolls?” Charlie asked, picking through the bags.

            “I should've.” Dad replied, lumbering into the kitchen. He gave me a half smile and sat down, digging in with Charlie.

            “So, Charlie, who called in today?” Mom began.

            I ignored the conversation, partially to spite them, partially because I always did. My family was weird- I mean, I loved them and everything, but somehow... I never really fit in. Charlie didn't mind me, but the day he carried me home after finding me in that black bag in the woods... let's just say there was a huge argument about whether or not they were going to 'keep' me.

            I remember it word for word.

            And every time Mom gave me a cross look, or Dad was upset with something I made, or tired of me smelling like the truck, or Amy crinkled her face upon sight of me, I was reminded of one thing.

            I didn't belong there.

            Charlie was the only one who didn't mind. Heck, he took care of me more than Mom.

            “Seriously, Jenna, you eat like a pig.” Amy complained. Not my fault that I get hungry easily.

            “And you smell like a pig.” I replied.

            “Jenna, let her off. Didn't you hear? Tommy cheated on Lizzie. They're all upset.” Mom gave me a hard look.

            “They're not the only ones.” I snapped. 

            “Rough day, then.” Dad muttered.

            I scarfed down the rest on my plate and threw it in the sink, running up to my room and grabbing my violin stuff. I dove out the window, back into the workshop, and plugged in my Goodwill TV.

            Music is just so awesome- though, I suppose everyone knows that. But I was finally making some of my own- more than humming little melodies or scribbling down random lyrics. I wouldn't call 'Old McDonald had a Farm' great music, but it was music all the same.

            Charlie was surprised when he came, but I was in no mood to talk, and he said his goodbye pretty quickly.

            That's when I took off.

            Stowing my violin in the cab, I grabbed my windbreaker off its hook and pulled it on, popping my wings through the slits in the back. I clambered onto the cab's and out onto the roof.

            The lights in the house were still on- they'd never notice I was gone. They never had.

            I flung myself off the roof and glided into the darkening gloom, silent as a shadow.

            I'm assuming you've never been hang gliding or skydiving. Or flying with your own two wings. I'm not going to try to explain it- you'll just have to figure it out yourself, because it would be- it is- impossible to justify through words.

            But it's amazing. I just took off, sweeping over the treetops and feeling the cool breeze in my face, playing with my hair, tugging at my jacket. The setting sun cast a great view for me, disappearing behind the mountains, and I landed in a high tree so I could see it and not have to worry about people seeing me.

            Flying erased all my worries, dragged all my concerns down to the ground. The feeling of freedom- total and absolute liberty- made the evening the climax of my day.

            I had this particular spot I liked- sometimes, when I took online classes, I picnicked there and brought my homework- a smallish clearing by a creek. In spring, it lit up with colors of the flowers, in summer, it intensified, and in fall, it seemed to burn with the violent colors of the trees. Winter... I rarely went flying in winter. Birds fly south during the winter. But when I did muster the courage and energy to leave the house, it sparkled in the sunlight and the ice glinted like diamonds.

            It leaned towards burning when I dropped down, jogging to a stop. The trees matched the sky, only not so dark, and I plopped down in the moist grass to watch the stars.

            It was late when I got back.

            I did not notice the dark shape leaning against the workshop, watching as I glided into my bedroom window.

            The next day was just as bad.

            Even though I knew what to expect, I still had several bouts of hyperventilation in between classes. And a few during, too. Like during Mr. Brunn's pop quiz in Social Studies- that was a nightmare.

            Troy, however, had memorized my schedule, and after every class led me to my next one. He babbled the whole way to each class, telling me about this or that person or whichever class he had, but at lunch he caught me totally unprepared.

            “Where are you going?” He asked as I took my lunch and was halfway out the door to the pavilion. “Yesterday I couldn't find you, but I wanted you to sit with me. Come on- it's raining out there.”

            It was strange, having someone who wanted my company. I decided he was like a golden retriever rather than a duck.

            He pushed me through the mob to a table where I thought I would die.

            At least a dozen other teenagers sat there, crowding each other, sitting on each other's laps and on the table, some milling around it. They laughed as they chatted, my ears catching at least five different conversations, everyone jumping in at random times and trading jokes. Two of the guys tossed a football across the table; Troy darted forward for an interception.

            “Hey guys, here's Jenna!” He sang.

            Twenty- some- odd eyes turned to look at me, prying, curious, suspicious. I died internally.

            “Oh my gosh, you're finally here!” One girl cried, leaping up from a boy's lap. She put her hands on my shoulders, shaking me. “Where the heck have you been? I've been bugging Charlie about you for forever!”

            I had no idea who she was.

            “I'm Jessie- too bad we don't have any classes together. That would be so awesome.”

            Jessie, taking over for Troy, who looked a bit put-out, introduced me to everyone at the table. There was Nate, Louis, Mike, Ken, and Dan; I didn't understand their expressions, and Kay, Lisa, Noelle, and Carrie, not including Troy and Jessie.

            I knew I would never remember all their names.

            I recognized some of them from my other classes, Carrie and Louis from Choir, for example. Nate was in Social Studies- he was the one who had written notes on his arm.

            And then I was sucked into the oh-so-wonderful world of teenage drama. I had only seen flirting on TV, but let's just say that it's a lot more involved in real life. Jessie batted her eyes at Mike, who paid Carrie some attention, who was crazy about Ken, and so on and so forth. Their barrage of questions overwhelmed me- when I couldn't take it anymore I stuffed my sandwich into my mouth and chowed away.

            How much do you need to know about someone? They asked every question imaginable- my birthday, what school I had been going too, why (I had to lie), what my favorite color was (blue), what my favorite movie was, my favorite actor (I rattled one off that Amy drooled over), blah blah blah blah blah. I felt like I was being tortured, but I couldn't help but wear a little bit of a smile.

            People wanted to be my friends. They wanted to know more about me, they cared.

            It was really weird.

            I caught Amy watching me from across the cafeteria- and for once, she seemed pleased by my social life's progress.

            “Jenna.”

            Everyone at the table fell silent, some glaring, some staring up at Zoe in wonder. Or hatred. It was hard to tell.

            “Hi.” I managed to say. I had the feeling she was laughing at me by the way her eyebrow lifted. She didn't give the others one moment of her attention.

            “How's your violin?”

            A wide smile spread across my face- it surprised me that she asked. “I love it.”

            “Cool. See you at chorus, then.” She started turning, then spun back around. “Oh, and Jenna?”

            “Yeah?”

            “You better watch your back if you're going to hang out with these people. Be careful.”

            And she was gone.

            “Jerk.” Kay growled.

            “She's the backstabber.” Jessie mumbled, glaring at Zoe's retreating form.

            I gave Troy a questioning look, but he shook his head, like now was not the time to ask. He mouthed that he'd explain later.

            But Zoe's words unsettled me- I had just been basking in the newfound feeling of friendship, and she told me that all of them were backstabbers?

            Predators.

            The thought sent a shudder down my back.

            “Who is she?” I asked.

            “Who are they.” Jessie corrected me. “There's a whole pack of them- they mostly fight. Zack, Sam, Zoe- I think they're the leaders. Unless those upper-class men are involved... Stay away from them- they're dangerous.”

            Well, that told me so much.

            “Like... a wrestling club or something?”

            “That would be tame compared to what they do.” Ken shuddered. Carrie laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, nodding her head of bouncy blond curls.

            “They cheat. Steal. Bribe. Vandalize.”

            “Stalk people until they get their way.” Jessie added.

            “Don't even mention that.” Kay growled again. “Don't listen to Zoe, Jenna. Do you mind if we call you Jenn? Zoe is really good at manipulating people. Like, really good. She's the one who will stab you in the back.”

            What a comforting thought. That would definitely be painful, especially with... my condition. Fine- my wings. That would really hurt. Or was that a figure of speech? I wasn't sure.

            “We don't really know if they do those things.” Lisa murmured, staring at her canister of soup. “It's just our guess.”

            “We're 99.999 percent sure of it.” Nathan replied. “I mean, who else would?”

            I could think of some other people- that last .001%.

            Like me.

            I'm not an angel, after all. And I'm good at taking things apart. And putting them back together. And taking them apart. And... rearranging the parts. Some people call it abstract art. Others call it vandalism. But I always put them back the right way... eventually.

            It was nice, knowing people in my other classes. Being able to sit next to them, listen to their whispers, and even pass notes. I'd never done that in my life- I mean, you can't exactly slide a piece of scribbled paper to another student via computer.

            So, I wouldn't call my second day horrible, but it definitely could be better.

            And, just like before, and just like always, my evening excursion was the best part of my day.

Yeah... I'm not sure about the paragraph about her vandalism/abstract art, but I wanted to give her less of an I'm-a-perfect-and-innocent-and-naive-mutant-bird-kid character. I'll have to find another way. Hmm...
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