Like before, I sincerely hope no one is offended by this. Oh- and I'll warn you- Jenna is not a Christian.
Enjoy! (And remember that I love comments!) :)
Prologue: A Freak
Do you know who you are? Most people do; kudos to them.
I'm one of those few who don't.
Sure, I know the basics, the bare facts: my name is Jenna Walker, I'm fifteen, and I live at 49 250th Drive- talk about unoriginal- Tolobie, Montana. But that's just the crap that goes on passports and licenses, some of it, at least. I don't even know my birthday. When I was found, they guessed that I was six- so for all that matters I could be sixteen. I don't have half a clue who my biological parents are, or who the heck screwed my deoxyribonucleic acid.
Maybe I should have mentioned that earlier.
I'll start at the very beginning. About twenty years ago, scientists began fusing animal and human DNA. Some wanted to prove evolution, while others said it was inhibiting our natural changing. Anyway, the first few years were total disasters- most of the embryos died in days or, at best, a few minutes after their artificial births. It's still a very rough science, but has more or less gained in popularity. Parents are purposefully making their kids part animal, whether so they'll be better athletes, or smarter (hah!) or prettier (who defines beauty anyway?).
I'm one of those pathetic life forms.
Yes, I consider myself pathetic. Why? That's a simple enough to answer.
I'm a freak.
Being one of us has its' definite disadvantages- look at me. I mean, that must be why I was dumped off in the middle of a woods in rural Montana. My creators/parents/mad scientists couldn't have wanted me anymore.
So think again if you know who you are, and consider those of us who have no clue.
Chapter 1: School (AKA Torture)
I've never been to school in my life, so my first day was naturally going to be hell.
I was shaking by the time we reached the brown, brick building; I clutched my thrift-store backpack so hard that my knuckles were white. The cab of Charlie's car was warm and dry, an even greater incentive to stay there rather than face the cold and wet weather, but the many faces passing by frightened me more than anything else.
Predators- every single one of them.
I was about to be shut inside a building with four hundred other teenagers. Not a very good combination for someone who's claustrophobic and afraid of people.
“You okay?” Charlie asked, switching off the engine. I could feel his worried eyes boring into me. I didn't have the strength to reply, even to my brother. “Got everything? Lunch money? Schedule? Locker number? Lock code? Courage?”
“When did we get the last one?” I asked. Bravery came so easily to Charlie, him being a Marine and everything.
He smiled, one of those you're-going-to-be-okay smiles that I remembered from the first moment I met him. “Hey, in a week, school will be a breeze. Think of how great you'll be in Workshop and Choir!”
Breeze. No way.
“I'm going to make you late.” I realized, glancing at the clock. Charlie answered 9-1-1 calls, though Tolobie didn't have a lot, with a population of around eight hundred.
“Go get 'um, tiger.”
Tiger. Huh. I certainly didn't feel like a tiger.
I slid out of the cab, scanning my perimeter.
Predators- all around me.
Every single one of my instincts screamed for me to run, to get the heck out of there, to preserve myself and escape. My back ached already- stupid Clamp. All the same, it was a strong reminder to stay, whispering in my ear that no one would kill me here, no one would hurt me.
I could wish. I could hope.
The car window rolled down, Charlie saying something like 'have fun'!
I couldn't hear him very well anymore, with the roar of terror in my ears.
“Are you coming?” Amy hissed, frustrated.
My older sister glared at me, her hood pulled low over her face. She was probably worried about her make-up smearing in this rain. Or her hair getting messed up in her hood.
She led me to the door, avoiding the puddles that had formed in the paved walkways. I tromped right through them, half to spite her, half because I didn't care. Combat boots can do that to you.
“Office is the last door on the left. Remember to walk home.” She instructed me, beginning to flounce away towards her designer-clad friends.
I was faster, darting forward to grab her arm. “Aren't you coming with me?” Panic built up in my tone, my voice cracking by the end. She was the only person whose name I knew in the entire building. And she was deserting me. What a great start to the day.
“No. You're not helpless, Jenn. You can walk down a hallway by yourself.”
“I can do more than walk.” I threatened.
Her glare intensified, but I didn't care. She was the one who got me in this mess anyway. “Stay low.” She growled. “You know the rules.”
“Your rules.” I spat. “I'm not afraid to break them.”
That was a lie, but it did the job. She gave me a nasty glare and led me down the hallway, prancing like some runway model. In her dreams. I kept on her shadow, unnoticed by most. Those who did see me... I still could not shake off the feeling of danger. My back started twitching, thankfully hid by the over sized hoodie I wore.
The threat did it's job, but I knew I would never have the courage to break it, to admit to anyone what kind of a freak I was. That I was a freak at all. That was one of Amy's rules: Don't tell the secret.
She pushed me through the office's door and bolted for her friends, embarrassed to be caught next to someone like me. My nails weren't painted; I wore no makeup. My hair hung lank around my face. My clothing would never meet her standard. I would probably be labeled as a dork, if anyone at all.
“Hello.” Said the bright, apple-faced secretary. “Jenna Walker, is it?”
A person. Was talking to me. Was even looking at me- was smiling at me. I started hyperventilating. Somehow I managed to nod.
“Here's your papers again- do you need them?”
I shook my head, staring at the puddle forming around my boots.
“You'll be fine dear. No need to worry! You'll love it here.” She was getting worried, I could tell from her tone. Her green flats came into view.
“Are you going to be sick?”
Another shake of my head.
A pause, then “Do you want me to pray with you?”
“No.” I replied, sharper than I intended. I met her gaze for the first time, her gentle eyes patient but surprised.
And then I bolted. I had everything I needed- no need to stay longer than necessary. I slid into the hallway and hurried the way I guessed was English- my first class- and ran headlong into an unknown body.
“I am so sorr-” The boy began, startled, picking up both our things. He seemed to realize he didn't know me. “Are you... Charlie's sister?”
I hoped that would be what I was known as- Charlie's sister. It meant no one really knew me, that no one bothered being my friend. That was okay with me.
I nodded, realizing I hadn't answered his question. He had my schedule in his hands, scanning it and smiling. “We have English together.” He began. “Let me show you there.”
How embarrassing.
I felt like a duckling following its mother, especially when the strange boy started quacking- talking, excuse me- about this and that and how I was going to love it there and blah blah blah blah blah. Poor, naïve, brainless boy. I probably shouldn't called him brainless, with my mind, but still. He didn't know anything about me, and here he was, acting like we were good friends.
I wouldn't have any friends there.
Too many predators.
The boy- he said his name was Troy- dragged me into English. My eyes dropped to the floor as he introduced me to the teacher- Ms. Tragger- and she handed me Macbeth. It would be my third time reading it.
I shuffled to the back of the room as Troy started chatting with another girl. There weren't many people in the room yet, it was too early, but all the same, I buried my nose in Shakespeare.
Until I couldn't bear the feeling of being watched.
One quick glance up, and I instantly regretted doing so. At least five people peered at me, even though I was in the back, and I felt my face flush red. Darnit. Darnit darnit darnit. It made my ears turn cherry, and that brought too much attention to them-
I flopped my hair in front of my face as I bent down again, and I heard a soft chuckle to my right.
That kid looked seriously dangerous. He was really tan, with dark, glaring eyes and an eagle nose, and that means big. He wore leather, wet leather, like he had walked to school, and his dark hair was spiked all around his face. A dimple was chiseled into his chin, but I had the feeling he was more studying how to beat me up rather than thinking I was hilarious. Like a lion smiling at its next meal.
Predators.
I sealed my lips together to control my hyperventilating, but it was hard to concentrate through the rest of class. I knew people were still trying to get their fill of 'Charlie's sister', and I knew I had my fill of them. 2:30 just couldn't come fast enough.
When the bell rang, I made a dash for the door, and got my first taste of high school hallway jams. And how tall everyone was! I thought Charlie and Amy were joking when they told me I was small, but they weren't. Evidently 5'2'' doesn't hit a 6'4'' football player's radar. My claustrophobia nearly pulled me under when a hand shot out and yanked me from the mess, slamming me against the cold lockers.
“Stay to the side.” The girl told me. “It means you don't get trampled, and with someone your size, you've gotta be more careful.”
If I thought the boy looked intimidating, this girl trumped. I think she was goth- she wore dark eyeliner and black clothes and had the same, short, spiky hairdo. Her eyes, though, were more dangerous. I had a feeling that if she got tired of me, or decided I wasn't worth anything, I would become Jenna pudding. The boy would've just let me go. But her black eyes weren't threatening- at the moment- and I felt (again) like I was being scanned, like she was deciding whether or not I had any potential.
“Jenna?”
How the heck did she know my name? She didn't wait for my reply.
“I'm Zoe.”
I squeaked something of a 'hello'. A smile lit up her face- great. She thought my shyness was funny.
“If you need anything, I'll be around.”
And then she was gone. Funny, because I had no idea where my next class was. That creepy kid from English slid past me without a glance- maybe because he was probably 6'1'', and then Troy appeared out of thin air.
“What's your next class?”
“Social Studies.” I whispered. He leaned closer to hear- much too close, in my opinion.
“Oh- I know where. Mr. Brunn, right? Yeah- I have him in the afternoon. Come on.”
Mr. Brunn was the only teacher who made me stand at the smart board and introduce myself, and that helped me decide that Social Studies was going to be my least favorite class, not to mention I was ahead in the material.
Then came Workshop. It was more in my element- more at my speed. Mr. Gads, a man with a chiseled, wrinkled face let the class free to build whatever we wanted, as long as we got something done.
Amid the shavings and the smell of wood, I zoned out the rest of the chattering class- the girls who were afraid of chipping their nails, the boys who wanted to put nails in each other rather than their projects- and focused on the piece of furniture I commanded. And I would've finished the cradle, if it hadn't been for some dolt who couldn't figure out the power saw.
Mr. Gads grunted when he saw my incomplete project.
“You're almost as good as Mr. Rages.” He gestured for me to follow him deeper into the musty, dusty room, and in a corner stood a massive, sheet-covered thing.
A wardrobe.
It was beautiful, and I knew the moment I saw it, that I wanted to meet whoever was building that thing. I also doubted it would fit through the doorway.
“Who's Mr. Rages?” I asked- the first time I'd willingly talked to a stranger all day.
“Another student in my afternoon class. He could finish your cradle, if ya'd like.”
I shook my head. “I'll finish it later. Or could I... take it home, sometime?”
“You have a workshop?”
“More for cars than wood, but it'll do.”
“You're one with your hands, aren't ya?”
I nodded. After all, I had built all the furniture in my house, except for the cabinets. Mom didn't trust me with her kitchen.
“Then you'll have a good time here. Now get along- your next class'll be startin' soon.”
He was right. The next class's students were already filing in, and I charged out the door without remembering to say goodbye. Mr. Gads seemed like a nice man.
And Workshop's euphoria vanished as soon as I realized what my next class was.
Biology.
I slipped into the room unnoticed, tormented by the bright green plant clinging to the ceiling and the anatomy posters on the neon walls. A cat skeleton stood in a glass box- I shuddered at the sight of it- and I felt my breath go whooshing out when I saw a stuffed bird in a cage. My appetite vanished .
“Jenna Walker.” It was not a question.
Mr. Natick stood at the front of the classroom, glasses perched on the end of his nose, list in hand, staring at me. For a moment, I thought he called roll, but since everyone else was still roaming the classroom, I slid to his desk, looking down.
“Is the floor more interesting than me, Jenna?” He asked. His straight, stiff tone made it clear I had insulted him. I tried looking up, but I could hardly meet his gaze, even though his glasses shielded me from the full force of his glare. “Are you prepared for this class?”
“Yes sir.” I whimpered.
“Then what are you doing up here? Go sit down.”
Men are so confusing. I scrambled to the far back table, noting the massive feet stuck in the row to trip me.
It was that creepy kid from English.
I gave him my deluxe I'm-really-freaked-out-right-now-so-I'll-hurt-you-later glare and slid into the cold chair. The boy sitting next to me kept his eyes devotedly fixed on Mr. Natick, but his hands caught my attention. Long and spindly, they twirled his pencil around like a baton, like he was ADD or something. So was I, so distracted doesn't cut it.
And then he noticed, his green eyes glanced at me- did I see panic in his eyes?- and his mop of curly red hair bounced as he ducked his head to scribble down some notes. I followed his example, blushing.
Mr. Natick lectured on intestines, right before lunch, and so when the bell rang, I was out of there like a bullet, heading straight to the bathroom.
The cold water did my spinning head some good- I never had done well with sciences. Just the thought of organs made my inside want to come outside. And I was starving, so that didn't exactly help the situation. I glanced into the mirror, focusing on the water dripping down my chin to get my bearings.
Plain hazel eyes stared back at me, surrounded by pale eyelashes. My hair, dark blond, streaked with browns and reds, flopped over half my face and hid most of my freckles. I pushed it back behind my ear, my fingers running over the scars from when I cut off the tips. A drop of water hung off my sharp nose, and I focused on it, my vision starting to stop swirling as I did.
My rumbling stomach reminded me that my lunch break was ticking away.
I wiped my face on my hoodie sleeve and headed out into the hallway. I was late enough- or lucky enough- that it wasn't crowded anymore, and as I slipped into the line, I realized that Amy was no where in sight. Maybe that was a good thing, maybe not. It wasn't raining anymore, so I headed outside to a deserted pavilion to eat in peace.
Almost in peace.
A mob of chanting boys rounded a corner of the cafeteria, two of them hitting each other like punching bags. I watched, horrified, as the two contenders locked arms and started rolling in the mud, the boys cries growing louder as they cheered on one or the other. Where were the teachers? Wasn't anyone going to stop them?
“Pin!” I heard one cry- he had a deep voice, kind of scary. “Admit it!”
“Fine, fine!” The other laughed, though, I wondered how, since his face was buried in the mud.
Laughed?
“All right, fight's over. Get out of here.” The winner told them, hoisting the other boy up. He looked hardly scratched, and I have good eyes.
The mob slid back around the corner, never having noticed me.
“You alright?” The winner asked. I couldn't see his face- only his dark hair.
But I did know the other boy- I sat next to him in Biology. His red hair was impossible to ignore.
“Yeah- you? I clipped you in the ribs pretty hard.”
“I'll live.”
“Sure, sure. And I'll be the one to die.”
The two laughed, smearing mud all over themselves like animals. I was one to talk.
They turned, still laughing, to re-enter the building, when the winner and I locked eyes. It was the creepy kid from English and Biology, with the dark, intimidating eyes. I glanced back at my sandwich, trying to free myself from his iron gaze.
When I looked up again through the curtain of my hair, they were coming my way.
I started hyperventilating though my bread, which isn't very easy. Rather painful, actually, but I was hoping against all hope that they wouldn't beat me up. My back started hurting again, tugging, itching, burning, and I repositioned myself so I could run more easily.
“I'm okay, if you were wondering.” The red head began, his green eyes prying my face. “We fight all the time.”
I couldn't answer. Boys were talking to me. It was all too much.
“Are you going to be sick?”
I shook my head, my knuckles white as they clung to my water bottle.
“I'm Sam.”
Sam. That seemed like a normal enough name. Was it normal for boys to fight 'all the time'?
“Jenna.” I whispered.
The creepy boy did not say a word.
“Oh, okay then.” Sam began, the awkward gaps in the pathetic conversation getting to him. “Uh, see you in Biology then.”
I nodded, my attempt at a smile making the creepy guy's lip twitch, like he almost smiled. Jerk.
Algebra passed without too many problems, besides the fact that numbers go in my eyes and never make it past there. Whoever coined the word 'bird brain' had me in mind. Math was definitely not my subject. I didn't know anyone from there, so I got lost on the way to Choir, my next class.
Zoe was there, jamming out with a sleek, black, electric bass in the back of the room. A bunch of other people milled around the echo-y auditorium, and an eccentric-looking old fellow stood on a conductor's podium, scribbling on some music.
“Oh, you.” He began, barely glancing up. “Do you have a pen I could borrow?”
I dug one out of my messenger bag and handed it to his pale, wrinkly fingers. He scribbled away some more, his shock of white hair dancing as he scanned the page. When he realized I hadn't moved, he pushed his glasses up his nose and looked me in the eye. “Do you need something?”
“I'm- I'm Jenna Walker, sir.”
He furrowed his brow and rifled through some pages, pulling out a list. “Oh- oh! Yes, yes, I knew you were coming today. Lovely. Do you play anything?”
“Only what I can get my hands on.” I replied. To be brutally honest, I had never seen half the instruments in the room in my life.
A smile shoved back the sagging skin on his face, his eyes brightening as he chuckled. “Oh yes, you're Charlie's sister. Decent fellow, that boy. Now, is there anything you'd like to play? Are you willing to put effort into music?”
“Yes sir.” I'd only dreamed of playing anything my entire life.
“What instrument was that?”
“Any, sir.” I was starting to like this man.
“Well then! Just sit and watch, for today. Ah, yes. Attention everyone! Everyone! Places please!”
I melted into the seats behind the teacher, Mr. Sark, as he drew his conducting wand and brought everyone's attention to their current piece, and before I knew it, thirty students started playing. The song was good, but Mr. Sark was more interesting to watch. He swayed and half-danced to the lively tune, occasionally catching some student who'd gone astray and giving them a glare.
Zoe seemed to be in her own bubble. She had memorized the piece, and tapped her foot with the drums. Her bass was cranked loud enough that half the students had headaches by the end of class, but that was the first time I saw anything like a smile on her face. Wow. Talk about having a passion for music.
And then the bell jolted everyone to reality.
Mr. Sarks was mumbling about 'inconsideration' of the 'flow of emotions', or something like that, when I asked him about an instrument. He gave me a violin, a DVD, and a music book and told me to practice hard.
That would not be a problem.
Leaving the school, though, proved to be a traumatizing experience for me.
The halls were absolutely nightmarish, packed beyond compare. And the sound! It was so loud and wild. After spending my whole life in my house, leaving maybe... three times a week? This many people, teenagers, in one space...
Another bout of hyperventilation washed over me. I sagged against a wall, resting my forehead on the cool surface of a locker. I heard Amy's voice waft by, her gaggle of giggling friends passing by without noticing me, going to a 'study group'.
The thought of being in the workshop, my calm, quiet workshop, revived my courage.
By the time I crawled out the door, school had been out for half an hour. Lugging my backpack and my violin case, I hurried down the road, half walking, half trying to fly in my haste. I just wanted to get home.
But no, Amy said. I have to walk.
I considered heading into the woods, where I could do so much more than walk, but I was passing the suburbs. Drat.
I bolted as soon as I turned the corner onto my street. My house is the only one for a mile stretch, so I didn't have to worry about gossiping neighbors or anything. I didn't have to worry about anyone, actually. Mom, Dad, and Charlie were working- wouldn't be home till dinner. Amy was at her study group.
And that left me.
I grabbed the key underneath the welcome mat and barged into the house, slamming the door and leaning against it, breathless. Home sweet home. So quiet, so nice. Not a soul to disturb me.
I headed down the hallway, dropping my backpack and heaving a chair over to pull down the attic stairs. That's one problem with attic stairs- people my size just can't reach the stupid little drawstring.
Bounding up the stairs, which retracted as soon as I reached the top, I paused, to savor the moment. Home sweet home.
I live in the attic, and it's just perfect. My bed, shoved against the far wall, resembled a birds nest- and that's messy. I had diagrams and sketches tacked to the walls, my personalized wallpaper, and three picture frames held memories of Charlie and I. A bookshelf and dresser were my only other pieces of furniture, each littered with things I had found in the woods and pencils. Everywhere, pencils. Four windows faced each direction- the road, the woods in back, and the side yards- the curtains drawn and the windows cracked.
I tore off my hoodie, my back tingling with joy.
Around my torso I wore a torturing device Charlie and I had made, under Mom and Dad- and subsequently- Amy's orders. I call it the Clamp. They call it improvement. It was like a leather tank top, with buckles so I could loosen the straps and the tightness, meant to make my back side look 'normal'.
I pulled it off, throwing the horrible thing to the floor and drinking in great gulps of air.
And I headed for the west window, the one facing the woods. Scrambling out onto the two inch ledge, I hung there for a moment, enjoying the cool afternoon breeze-
And I jumped out my second story window.
Meeeeep! I love this Rachel.
ReplyDeleteI really like your book, Rachel! Can't wait for the next chapter!
ReplyDeleteI love this, Rachel!
ReplyDelete