Winter Fire

Ch. 1 [Jackets And Pens]

Winter Fire
Ch. 1
Jackets And Pens

I don't regret a lot of things. But I do regret ever enrolling in Margaret Acrid's Academy for the Gifted Youth, or, as the students call it, Maggy. The school itself was great: high level academics, a variety of extracurriculars and a wonderful learning atmosphere. Actually, the only thing I didn't like about it was the location, two hundred miles from my home town and in the suburbs of a big city called Grayson. The dorms were alright, simple, but comfortable, though I roomed with a girl who barely even acknowledged my existence and shared a tiny bathroom between four people. But the school was almost everything I'd ever wanted from high school. It was perfect. I thought I'd made the best decision of my life. If only I knew then how wrong I really was.

It wasn't until second quarter that it happened: the boy and the pen.

Before, I'd noticed him, but barely. I knew he was there, knew he was that boy who sat behind me in pre-calc. I didn't know his name. I didn't know what he was really like. Nobody did, though. Nobody even noticed him. It was perfect, I guess, in a sick sort of way, the overlooked girl and the invisible boy. No one would even realize anything had gone wrong. No one would care. Maybe he'd planned it that way all along, his invisibility, so that whatever he did, no one would ever think it was him. It wouldn't surprise me. Not after what happened.

Had I asked him about it, he wouldn't have told me. He didn't explain much. He didn't really like to. He was impulsive, instinctive. I guess in that way too we're alike. But at least I could recognize boundaries. I suppose, maybe he could too; he just didn't care. I don't think I'll ever really know that either.

The day was Wednesday, November 8th. I wore a sweater, light blue with little white snowflakes, a size or two too big, and white jeans with little white flats. I had my dark chocolate brown hair up in a messy bun that'd been carelessly flung together, and I'd contacts in, since my glasses gave me headaches.

I sat alone at lunch too, picking at my food, tapping the round, plastic table pointlessly, my eyes motionless, my thoughts roaming. I didn't notice him until the pen hit the toe of my flat. I glanced down, staring for a moment at the pen, then I looked up. That was when my eyes met his.

They were an electric aquamarine, shadowed by dark eyelashes and long, tangled hair, black as night. He had that dark, brooding look about him, and had the eyes not drawn me in, the allure surely would've. He wore the same thing as always: long-sleeves, black jeans and sneakers, but that day he looked a little sadder, out of it, kind of . . . lost.

I looked away after a moment more, my skin prickling from the feel of his eyes on me and bent down to pick up the pen. I avoided his gaze as I pushed my chair back and walked over to him, meeting his eyes flittingly only once when I held it out.

"I think you dropped this."

He blinked slowly, then slipped the pen out of my hands. A shiver ran down my back when his cold skin brushed over mine.

"Thanks." He muttered.

I nodded and shifted uneasily. He didn't move, just stared at me, the intensity of his eyes never yielding. I stepped back, folding my arms across my stomach.

"No problem." I replied awkwardly.

Then I turned, stood still for a second before starting back to my spot.