Destiny

The debut

I caught up to my mom and took the box from her hands that she had just taken out of the car.
"Bianca," she said softly, "I'm fine. I'm not that fragile."
"But you are small."
She rolled her eyes. But she didn't know that this box contained some important things for me. My laptop, my collection of headphones, and my camera.
I've always been taller than her. We both have honey-colored hair, but mine is long and straight, while hers is curly and wavy, reflecting her free spirit. Our eyes are also different: mine are gray and hers are brown.
"Don't brag about the height you inherited from your father."
We both tried to smile when our eyes met, but even after a year, it was still a difficult topic to discuss. My father's death was devastating for both my mom and me. Every night for the past year, she cried and screamed in her sleep. Her extreme way of releasing her pain worried me, but I never confronted her because I knew she had lost the love of her life.
A week before my final year of school, my mom decided that we would move to Salem, the place where my father grew up. The news unsettled me a bit, but I agreed to the move because she was excited about the idea of starting fresh.
Salem, in Essex County, Massachusetts, seemed like a dreadful place to me, despite its museums and lively tourists. However, my mom found an opportunity to resume her career as an editor at a small local publishing house in Salem.
I noticed her worried expression as she bent down to pick up two boxes that suited her size.
"Do you think this was a good idea?" she asked as we walked towards the porch of the new house. She continued speaking cautiously when I didn't answer. "I mean, do you feel good about this? The change was so sudden."
"Maybe it's a bit late to worry about that," I smiled to reassure her. "Mom, I told you I'm fine."
A faint smile darkened her face. I gave her a little nudge to pull her out of her thoughts.
"Come on, let's finish this because we still have to clean."
My mom groaned. Elizabeth is my mom's name, and she hated everything related to cleaning.
Our new house was small, two stories, with a rustic look. But the aged white wood gave it a cozy and picturesque appearance. The dark-framed windows contrasted nicely with the white, and the lattice porch added a final touch.
We bought the house with my parents' savings and the help of Grandma Laura, my mother's mother. We relied on little money, but we were willing to work hard in this new phase without my father.
Despite not having a heater, I took a bath after a long day of moving and cleaning. From my room, I could see the Salem forest, eerie at night with its mist.
After having pizza for dinner with my mom, I went to bed. The next day would be my first day at the new school. As usual, I worried about being behind in my classes, but soon my mind played with different scenarios, some optimistic and some not so much, about what my classmates would be like.
Finally, I snuggled into the blankets and closed my eyes.

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I tried to wake up before my mom, but I was too tired. When I went down to the kitchen, I found her cooking in her blue bear pajamas. I remembered the last time she cooked: it was a total disaster. The kitchen was full of scattered ingredients and there was a strange smell in the air.
I was horrified to see her by the stove.
"What did you do?"
"I wanted to make breakfast for your first day of school, but it didn't turn out as I expected," she said, looking at the smoking pan.
"We agreed you wouldn't go near the kitchen," I said, turning off the stove and tossing the pan into the sink. "Are we in agreement?"
"We are," she responded, raising her hands in surrender. We looked at each other and then burst out laughing.
After breakfast, Mom went to get dressed while I cleaned up. During breakfast, we talked about getting a car for me, but for now, I would have to walk. I said goodbye to her and got ready for school. I took my headphones and focused on instrumental piano music.
As I left, a fresh breeze brushed my face. I looked at the cloudy sky and wondered if it would rain, but I was prepared with an umbrella in my bag. Actually, I loved rainy days, overcast skies—they were my father's favorite days too.
The school appeared before my eyes, an imposing dark brick building with a recently restored sign. I saw some students and teachers in the parking lot, talking and getting ready for the day.
Finally, I reached the school door, feeling a mix of nerves and anticipation. My first stop was the office, where a dark-skinned man with black glasses stood behind the desk. When he noticed my presence, he smiled and then invited me to come in with a wave of his hand.
After asking my name, he searched in a filing cabinet until he pulled out a folder with the name Katherine Portland. He tore off the name and wrote my name with a marker, copying it from the computer. He handed me a paper that the teachers had to sign and then directed me to my first class.
I easily found my first class; it wasn't exactly a big school. A professor with a graying beard and a shiny bald head was animatedly talking about local history. When he noticed my presence, he invited me in with a smile and a nod. I handed him my attendance paper, he signed it, and indicated that I should take any empty seat.
I walked to the back of the room, feeling the curious stares of my classmates. They soon refocused on the professor, who was talking about the Salem witches. A girl named Ariana raised her hand and asked if the Salem legends were related to the death of a girl named Katherine. I remembered the name in the folder I had replaced: Katherine Portland.
The professor disapproved of the question almost immediately, and although Ariana continued mentioning rumors about specific wounds on Katherine's body, she was ignored not only by the professor but by everyone. In the end, the professor assigned an essay on the day's topic.
Maybe the professor didn't give much importance to Ariana's conjectures, but when the bell rang, I heard several students talking about Katherine's mysterious death, which apparently was a murder. Thanks to them, I inevitably remembered my father. I didn't expect every person murdered in this world to remind me of my father, but apparently, that was the case.
A tall, attractive guy wearing the school football team jacket approached.
"Miss," he greeted me with a bright smile as he stopped by my desk. "I'm Alek, nice to meet you..."
"Bianca."
"Bianca. Are you new here? You must be, your eyes are something I wouldn't have forgotten."
I smiled at him despite his poor attempt at flattery about my eyes. I was actually used to receiving compliments about my eyes. In my previous school, I wasn't exactly popular, but I went on dates with some guys—nothing memorable.
"I just moved here from Los Angeles."
"Wow, that's cool," he exclaimed with exaggerated excitement. "How are you finding Salem so far? It's not like the beaches of Los Angeles, but it has its charm."
I don't know how much charm a town can have where girls are murdered in cold blood.
"It's okay. I can adapt," I replied, trying to seem relaxed, though Alek's attention made me a little uncomfortable.
I noticed a group of girls at the classroom door, looking at me with hostility. They were there for Alek, who was momentarily distracted by them.
"It seems you've caught the attention of some people here," Alek continued, ignoring his admirers.
I arched an eyebrow at the girls and then at Alek.
"I'd say they're here for you."
"Right now, I'm talking to you," he shrugged. "If you need anything or have any questions, don't hesitate to come to me."
"Okay," I nodded, standing up and packing my things. "I have to get to my next class."
He nodded with a smile, and I walked towards the door, feeling the girls' gazes as I passed but not stopping.
I spent the day going between Chemistry, Trigonometry, and Literature classes, enduring curious glances from many students. At the end of the day, I decided to head to the library to find additional material for the History essay and catch up on other assignments.
Entering the quiet library, I told the librarian what I needed, and she directed me to the corresponding aisle. As I walked through the shelves, my mind wandered, recalling the conversations about the deceased girl. Her death seemed to have left a deep mark on everyone, or perhaps, it was just a Halloween topic.
I reached the section on local history books about Salem and started searching for what I needed. I felt a strange presence in the air, like a cold breeze, but without any wind. I tried to ignore it.
Suddenly, I heard the dull thud of a book falling in the next aisle. Rounding the shelf to investigate, I saw a boy of stunning beauty bending down to pick up the fallen book. His wavy black hair cascaded to his shoulders, framing his angular face and striking features. He was tall and slender, but there was a confidence and strength in his stance that suggested he wouldn't be easily beaten in a fight—if anyone dared to try. He wore a black leather jacket that seemed to be part of his essence. There was something else, his perplexing alabaster skin—so pale. However, his skin didn't make him look sick; in fact, it made him even more attractive.
My surprise left me momentarily speechless, and my mind struggled to process the image before me. He seemed straight out of a European model magazine. No, he was more beautiful than any model I'd ever seen. Although I knew I shouldn't focus on his appearance, it was simply impossible not to feel captivated.
The boy in front of me turned to look at me, and in those vibrant blue eyes, I found something I hadn't seen in the other students. There was a spark of curiosity that stood out from the rest. A chill ran down my spine when our eyes met. Without warning, he started walking towards me. His steps were decisive and confident, and every movement seemed charged with magnetic energy. My heart began to beat faster, and I was left speechless as he approached.
For a moment, I felt trapped in his eyes, as if being scrutinized deeply. The moment froze when he stopped in front of me, his presence invading my personal space. Fear and confusion made me stay still. But suddenly, as if breaking free from some kind of spell, the boy stepped back.
My eyes remained fixed on him as he closed the book and put it back in its place. In a matter of seconds, the boy had left the library, leaving me in a state of confusion. My mind was racing, trying to find a logical explanation for his behavior.