Asulon: Where Secrets Lie

Chapter One: Run

Don’t tell lies at all. It never does any good - Sirach 7:13

Running is not my thing, but today it is the only thing.

I slip my cell phone out of my pocket, and cringe when I realize that I only have three minutes left. The digital numbers that tick away on the small screen remind me of numbers that tick away on a time bomb - when they reach zero, it is all over. This thought helps me pick up the pace. The last thing I need is an explosion.

The hot afternoon sun mercilessly beats down on my sweat drenched body. With each stride, my backpack seems to become heavier and heavier. On a normal day, these factors would definitely slow me down, but today is different. If I do not bust my butt and arrive at my house in less than two minutes, my life is officially over.

I run along the sidewalk at lightning speed. Houses and trees blur together in a variety of colors as I sprint. Nothing can stop me now. I have never pushed myself to run so hard in my entire life, and I am starting to feel the agonizing burn in my calves. I am not the fastest runner, mainly because of my not-so-long legs that I unfortunately inherited from my short parents. At the thought of the word ‘parents’ I immediately shudder, knowing that if I do not speed it up I could end up with my ear chewed off.

With a plethora of motivation and determination, my house finally comes into view. With only a few yards to go a sudden spark of energy ignites within me, my legs pumping even harder. It actually feels kind of good to run. Maybe I should do it more often.

“Hey, little missy!” a familiar voice calls, just as I am about to reach my yard. I look over at my neighbor’s house and instantly regret that I did. My eyes come to rest on Mr. Willoughby, who is belly dancing to some kind of salsa music in his front lawn without a shirt on.

I quickly snap my head away from the disturbing image, and yell over my shoulder, “Put a shirt on, hippie!”

I admit that it is not the nicest thing to say, but only one word can describe what I am thinking: scarred.

After bounding up my driveway to reach my front door, my breathing is more like gasping and sweat sprinkles my t-shirt. I hastily run my fingers through my straight, auburn hair and take deep breaths. Glancing at my phone, I let out a sigh of relief with one minute to spare. Not bad.

I straighten my posture and take one final big breath before entering the house.

I am not surprised when I am greeted by my mother sitting at the kitchen table with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

“I’m not late,” I point out as I drop my book bag on a nearby chair. Mom does not say a word. I shrug. Maybe she is just having a bad day. I glance over at the open cookie jar on the counter that beckons to me in its evil, tempting way.

“So how was April’s house?” Mom suddenly asks.

Taken by surprise, I hastily say, “Good” and then pop a chocolate chip cookie into my mouth, hoping it will deter a conversation.

“Or should I say detention?” My mother’s tone suddenly turns icy, causing me to stop mid-chew.

An awkward silence fills the room as Mom glares at me with furious hazel eyes. “I received a nice little call from the school today. They were wondering why I was not there to pick you up after detention. Would you like to explain?”

The cookie in my mouth suddenly tastes like sand, and it takes a great effort to force it down. I give a small gulp, not only from swallowing, but also from the fact that if she finds out what I did I may not live to see tomorrow. Why can’t the school just mind its own dang business? I try to conjure up a lie or even a legitimate excuse, but nothing comes to mind.

“Skyler Rae!” Mom’s sharp voice snaps me out of my thoughts. “What did you do?”

I sigh. “It’s nothing, Mom.”

“If it’s nothing, why did you have to go to detention?”

Defeated, I slump into one of the kitchen chairs and rest my head on the cool surface of the table. “I put some frogs in the fountain.”

“What frogs?”

“The ones we were supposed to dissect in biology, Mom.” I cannot help but smile when the whole scene floods back to mind. Mr. Seller’s expression, when he discovered his frogs floating in the fountain water with their little green bellies up, was priceless. I remember April and I trying not to burst out laughing as we watched the spectacle. A little snicker escapes my lips at the memories. I glance over at my mom and quickly wipe the smile off my lips. Her eyes are ominously dark with anger, and her lips twitch as her whole face tenses. I know that look. It is a look I try to avoid.

I timidly clear my throat and say, “I’m going to head upstairs now.” I abruptly stand up and attempt to escape the kitchen before it blows up. It seems that the time bomb I was previously trying to flee from has caught up with me.

“Sit. Down.” My mother’s tone is so sharp and demanding that I do not even think twice before plopping my buns back down on the seat.

Mom suddenly stands up from her chair.

I curiously observe as she walks over to the phone, and starts to punch in a number that she reads from a piece of notepaper sitting next to the phone. Who could she be calling?

Her fingers start to restlessly tap against the countertop as she waits for someone to pick up on the other line.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Pause.

“Hello, may I please speak with Miss Elizabeth Trumbull?”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Who in the world is Elizabeth Trumbull? Is she some kind of guidance counselor? Or even worse, is she a psychiatrist?

Tap. Tap. Stop.

“Hello, Aunt Elizabeth! It’s Sally Hamilton, your niece.”

Aunt Elizabeth? I quickly run through all of my aunts’ names in my head: Cindy, June, Sharon, Amy, Mel, Rita, but no Elizabeth.

“Yes. I have decided to take you up on your offer; if that is all right with you.”

Confusion starts to swirl in my mind. What kind of offer could she possibly be talking about? Is my own mother trying to sell me? I guess I do not blame her.

I do not bother to listen to the rest of the conversation because I am far too worried about what is to become of me. Maybe she is sending me off to a filthy boot camp or a strict boarding school. Both of them do not seem the slightest bit appealing, and I pray that she will not send me to either.

“Okay, well, thank you very much. I will send Skyler off as soon as school is out, around the beginning of June. Mm-hmm. That should be fine. Thank you again. Uh-huh. Buh-bye.” Click.

My mom slowly turns around so that she is leaning against the counter and looking right at me with her arms crossed. I stare right back at her, daring her to speak first. Of course, I never win, and I end up being the one to talk.

“You can't just pack me up and send me off like that! I am not going!”

“Ha! You think you have a choice? You are going, and that is that,” she says in a surprisingly even voice. “You better start packing your bags, girl, because the time will come before you know it.”

*******

The picture on the right is how I picture Skyler!!! >>>>

Thank you for reading the first official chapter of Asulon! I hope you somewhat or hopefully enjoyed it. Please comment, vote, or do nothing at all! Whatever you choose!