Tír na nÓg Trilogy, Book I: The Trials of Cuchulain

Tess Interprets a Dream

Emery walked home rather than return to school, and her mother hadn't minded. She'd called the office and informed them that her daughter would be staying home for a few days. The woman had never seen Emery in such a state; little did she know that that state hadn't entirely been brought about by the disappearance of a friend.

Absolutely bewildered and agitated, Emery went straight up to her room. She wouldn't eat anything, and she wouldn't speak to anyone. So many things were at work in her--anger, embarrassment, desire--but confusion was chief among them. None of what that person--Cullen--had said made any sort of sense in a rational world. Who spoke in such ways? And oh . . . even saying his name created butterflies. But damn those butterflies! He didn't deserve butterflies from her. And she certainly didn't need their disease. She'd had feelings for all manner of other boys. This horrible, forward stranger? No. No, no, no. His audacity! How dare he grab her like that, and . . . and . . .

She couldn't think of that moment. If she did, she started to enjoy it, and that was unacceptable. He was a pervert, probably, or at the minimum one of those cocky guys who thought any girl would feel privileged . . .

And she didn't. Not at all. She should be the one to decide whom and when to kiss.

Throwing aside a pillow she'd been hugging, Emery went to the mirror standing in the corner of her room. She studied her figure. It was tolerable. She'd always known she was fortunate enough in her slimness, in her height. She wished she had bigger curves in a few spots, but there wasn't much to be done about it. Her hair . . . oh wasn't there some way to tame it? The humidity had turned it into a veritable cloud. She grabbed a brush and began to tear through it, only to grow frustrated and lob the brush against the wall, creating a little dent, which she promptly decided to ignore. Nearing the mirror, Emery examined her face. She'd been wearing makeup for three years, now, but her lashes were long and dark enough that she hadn't needed much. Just a little mascara, sometimes. And her lips were full enough though somewhat pouty. A simple gloss helped when she wanted to look particularly nice.

She didn't have that voluptuousness that Deirdre already possessed. There was no one striking feature about her, except perhaps for her flawless freckled skin (she had fantastic genetics to thank for that), or maybe there was something relatively unique in the way her eyes swept into their own cat-like angle without the need of liner. Oh, but Emery knew she would never be a great beauty. If anything, she looked like a--like a lanky, pointy elf. What in the world had he kissed her for?

Angry, Emery turned the mirror to face the wall. Glancing at her room, she felt suddenly that it was all so childish, so stupid. Her mood board filled with images of beaches and vacations she wished to go on, her journals stuffed with excerpts about crushes and daydreams and thoughts that had at one point seemed profound, her closet full of clothing that all looked so boring, suddenly . . . everything she'd cared about even a week ago had so quickly lost all meaning. It was Adam's disappearance, mostly. She knew that. Her perfectly normal world had been shattered by that. But these other things happening--they were impossible. They were weird. And they, too, were tarnishing her previous view of life as a banal but predictably pleasant greeting card.

Emery had to talk to Tess. She'd been holding too much back. But Tess would be able to offer insight; she was sure of it.

Tess believed in the supernatural, in dreams meaning something, in signs from the great beyond, in astrology and fairytales. She certainly wouldn't laugh at Emery; if anything, Tess would be mad Emery hadn't told her sooner.

So later that afternoon, once school had ended, Emery left the house to meet Tess at a sort of small park nestled amongst the shops and cafes in the main part of town. It was a nice area, a large triangle of grass, planted trees and bushes, built up between the intersection of three roads. Along each converging road were the sorts of establishments that were frequent amongst all such towns across the United States: boutiques and ice-cream parlors, wine bars and gift shops, fast food and bar food eateries. There was a post office, too, as well as a couple of salons and an antique shop or two. The park in between consisted of several secluded areas with benches and umbrellas, and there was a large gazebo in the middle for the occasional summer concert or wintertime Santa meet-and-greet. It was a popular area for young people in general, so when the two arrived, it took them some while to locate a seat away from potentially prying ears and eyes.