let it be known writing music and 'actual music I recreationally enjoy' are two entirely different things, writing music needs to be forgettable but driving
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Brooke asks me if I’m okay a lot. I smile and keep
smiling, and direct her attention to our massive piles of homework, a Freshmen
with her thong hanging out, Mr. Hernandez’s horse laugh. Anything to keep her
mind off me. To make things like they were before – calm and peaceful and
mundane. I want to be her. To be oblivious, again. I want to be them – the
people talking about French class and fish sticks for lunch and driving tests.
Jealousy. It wells up in my throat and corrodes my voicebox.
Why me? Why not them? How many of them are Knights like
me and I just don’t know it? I’m so lost in the possibilities I don’t see the
last step. I eat it hard, my palm taking the brunt of the fall. Some nice guy
asks me if I’m okay. I nod and wave him off and pick myself up. The hall
empties as people hurry to recess. I try to will the pain away, take inventory.
My palm is shredded. Silver paint glistens wetly on my palm, probably from the stairs. The
silver paint chokes out my bleeding, even.
Wait.
I turn and look at the steps. They aren’t wet. No wet
paint on any of them. I dab at the silver paint on my palm with a finger. It’s
warm. My breathing speeds up. No, calm down. Get to a bathroom, wash it all
off. There’s red blood under there, somewhere. I push into a girl’s bathroom
and rinse my hand frantically, rubbing at the broken skin. It hurts, but there
has to be blood. I need to see red. I need to see –
My scrape is clear for one moment. One pure, normal
moment, I’m looking into pink skin and everything is right with the world. And then
the silver paint wells up, and pushes out.
It’s coming from me.
It’s inside me.
My legs give out. Hard tile under knees. Someone’s
screaming in panting bursts – no, that’s me. I’m screaming. Except I don’t
remember telling myself to do that. Stop. Stop it. It’s ringing off the tile.
Someone’s going to hear you. They’ll see you like this. They’ll see the silver
too. They’ll know something’s wrong. They’ll know you’re wrong.
I muffle my mouth with my hand and accidentally taste it.
Blood. The silver’s in my mouth, smeared across my face. It tastes like blood –
normal red blood, metallic, dry, sour. I rub my eyes. Hard. If I rub them hard
enough, it’ll go back to being red blood, won’t it? It has to. It should. I don’t
want this anymore.
The door creaks open. “And like I was ever gonna tell him
–”
“You should’ve!”
Gasps. Swears. “Holy shit!”
“What the hell are you doing on the floor?”
“Isn’t she a sophmore?”
“Hey, hey!” A girl kneels and puts her face in mine. “You
okay? Did you slip or something?”
“Ew, what’s all that silver crap everywhere?”
“Paint?”
“Hey!” The girl in my face pats my cheek. “Seriously, are
you okay?”
Her warm hand on my cold face snaps me out of my panic. “I-I’m
fine.” I cover my hand with my sleeve. “A pen exploded in my bag –”
“I remember those!” A girl behind us crows. “Gel pens
with like gold and silver ink – those were awesome.”
“I liked the smelly markers better,”
“I should go.” I stand. “Thanks. For asking if I was
okay.”
“Hey,” The girl shrugs. “Anybody would.”
I glance at the chattering girls behind her. “Not
everyone.”
“Your hand’s all torn up,” The girl insists, glancing at the
skin peeking from my sleeve. “You shouldn’t leave it covered in ink like that.
Not good for the wound.”
I smile and push out the door. That was close. So close.
If they’d looked much closer they’d –
“You’re fooling no one,” A voice comes from my left. A
girl, dark hair dyed with bright, poppy red streaks. Black eyes, almond shaped,
and a smile so serene it’s like she’s nirvana-happy. I’ve seen her before –
Senior. Nicole Kim. Cheerleading vice captain.
“If you don’t bandage it, everyone will see,” Nicole
singsongs without looking at me. “Wouldn’t want anyone to know you’re a freak,
would you?”
“I don’t know what –”
“My period,” Nicole sighs. “Three years ago, I came into
this same bathroom. Can you imagine finding that silver crap in your underwear?
I thought I was dying. Or hemorrhaging mercury. Either way, incredibly bad
things were going down in my lady parts.”
She hefts off the wall and smiles angelically at me. “Caden
didn’t tell you, then? He can be such a dope – all serious and focused on ‘duty’
crap and ‘the Code’ crap without really telling you the things that matter.”
“Y-You know him? Then that means you’re -” Relief floods
me. She holds a finger to her lips and winks.
“Ah, keep it quiet.”
“This silver stuff –”
“Totally normal,” She flips her hair over her shoulder. “Just
like the evil dudes and their clear blood, us good dudes develop silver blood.
It’s a mark of a true –” She leans and whispers like it’s a Christmas secret. “Knight!”
“And it’s all –”
“Like regular human blood. Works the same, tastes the
same.”
“But what about –”
“Durga wipes the memories of anyone who sees it. She
probably knows about your little stunt already and took care of it. Five, four,
three, two, –”
The group of girls come screaming out of the bathroom,
laughter and perfume. The girl who stopped to ask me if I was okay gives me a
once-over and doesn’t look back. Like she’d never seen me before.
Nicole pats me on the back. “See? Just don’t go donating
blood or dating any vampires, and you’ll be fine.”
“It’s nice,” I say. “I didn’t know anyone else beside
Caden was…you know.”
“Are you planning to join a club?” I shake my head. “You
should try out for cheerleading,” Nicole insists. “I’ve got a feeling you’d be
great.”
I almost laugh. Me? Cheerleading? No way. Ava’s more the
type.
“I’m not exactly friendly, or athletic,” I say. “Or, uh,
smiley.”
“Just try out. No harm in trying, right? It’d be fun. And
we can talk more about, you know, Knight stuff.”
“I’m still not sure if I want to be one.”
“Oh, you’re one whether you’re sure or not,” Nicole
smiles brighter. “There’s no turning back, and the sword never changes its
mind. It only chooses a new Knight after you die. You learn to live with it.”
Words I don’t want to hear. The weight in my stomach
starts to burn.
“You’re the simple type, right?” Nicole asks. “So you’ll
probably fight it for a while. But that’s okay. Do that. Fight. It’ll be fun to
watch. Just know - they win in the end. They always do.”
She leaves a lingering smell of jasmine and sunblock
behind.
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why yes, I made a fourth-wall twilight reference in my young adults book, whatchu gonna do about it
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