As the night went by, I flipped pages, and lived the life of the characters in one of my favorite lesser-known romance novels.
From what you know about me, you probably wouldn't assume that I'd read every book in my school library. You'd think I had millions of songs on my iPod.
You'd think I've had a crush in the last 4 years.
Well, guessing isn't always reliable.
I set my book down, unable to concentrate on the words, and picked up a journal. When I wrote, it was less of a diary, and more of what I thought about issues in my life. I had my ideas on how much I hated how few rights women in the past have had, how I felt about the dark, and so much more.
It was my way of tying up all of the loose ends. I told myself that maybe someday someone will read it and it will inspire them, like Ann Frank except without the dying young part. She inspired people.
I set down my pencil and stripped off my sweatshirt, leaving the tank top I was wearing under it exposed.
I checked the clock, and it read 8:o6pm. I pushed myself up, and forced my feet to walk into the living room, where Alex and Mom were watching some pop-culture news show.
How could they watch that, when there are real cultures out there in need of real help, and all we want to do is watch the Emmys?
We're pathetic.
I popped my head in, and watched for a few seconds, because I was hoping for some news related to a movie based on a book that had come out that day. Nothing.
I clomped back to my room. The bright blue of the wall rushed out to greet me, but the pinks of the windowsills hung back. Note to self: never let an 8-year old pick the color she wants her room. The spots of color from my various posters beg for attention; Paramore posters, a Pierce the Veil poster, and The Fault in Our Stars movie poster plus a few other posters advertising archery tournaments.
Yeah, I was an archer. I had been practicing for since I was nine. I was a good shot, though, even I couldn't deny that. I hoped to make it to a tournament some day.
I sat back, picking up my book.
An hour later, I was exhausted from the long day, and thinking about sleep, but my phone was calling me.
An hour after that, I was asleep with a book on my chest.
Jordan. I see him in the crowd.
Pushing through the bodies that surround me, I feel as if I need to reach him. I bump into someone.
"It's her!" they scream. Soon the entire group is chasing me, clawing at my dress. Dress? One catches its claw onto my wrist, and I pull away, blood trailing from where the hand ripped away. I run towards Jordan, I can see his white hoodie. White? He's running right in front of me, but he won't turn around. He screams my name, desperate. He knows my name? He runs faster, but he can't loose me. I can't loose him. Not again.
My eyes flew open, and I gasped, trying to catch my breath. I can't. There wasn't enough air in the world. I pawed at my own throat, begging the air to go down. My vision clouded, and another dream consumed my consciousness.
I'm in a little room. It's dug into a hillside, and it's so small I can't stand up. There are chairs crowded around the edges. The wall with the door and the window is made of brick, but the rest is a dark, solid brown. Jordan. He's next to me, telling me to duck down from the windows, as he crouches down in a corner with me. His palm has a slash in it, but he's holding my hands, and it seems normal. My wrist stings. I see figures peer in from the windows, a little red-headed girl with eyes that aren't quite right. She can't see me. "Jordan.." I say, in a tone that emphasizes my alarm.
"Focus!" His dark eyes stare into mine, and I can't look away. An intense pain lies in those eyes. "You can't go out there." He knows who these people are. He knows me.
I woke up, sitting up immediately, and the book that rested on me falling over. What the hell was that? I felt a burning on my wrist. My sharp pencil lay beside it, the tip embedded in my skin. What..?
Coincidence, I told myself, wincing as I pulled the pencil out. The dot wells up with a bright red bead of blood, and I reach for the tissues my nightstand, blotting the scarlet onto one.
My alarm went off, and I slapped the button.
I struggled to get changed, because my wrist bumped into everything, but I pushed through.
An hour rushed by, and I was at the corner of the street, my bus stop.
I pulled myself into the bus, and sat down, plugging my earbuds into my head. I was still dazed from the dream, but I had convinced myself that that was just what it was- just a dream.
As I walked through the halls on my way to first period, I was hyper aware of how thick the crowd is. I dodged bodies, uncomfortable because it reminded me of my first dream.
Barely registering the Valentine's day dance poster next to a locker, I picked out a mismatched outfit, and dyed black-streaked brown hair, cut emo-style, from the crowd and walked towards my friend Savannah and my other friend Julie, whose dyed blue tips brushed her tee, that advertised a cartoon. She pulled her look together with black converse, and black skinny jeans. I envied her natural ability to have an amazing sense of style without trying, but I didn't tell her that.
I put my arms on their shoulders, scaring them. I always did that.
"Hey! You still up for dying it for Valentine's day? " I grinned at Savannah. She'd had the punk-style cut before, and she was planning on switching out her brunette-streaked hair, left over from a bad dye job, for black hair.
It hit me how I was always attracted to misfits- friends, crushes, even hobbies.
Savannah looked really excited, and that was rare for her. Actually, no, it wasn't. It was rare for her to be excited without talking about punk rock bands, or YouTubers. It was nice.
"Hey! Yeah! I wanted to do it today so badly! It can't come soon enough. I cant wait."
We'd all agreed to wear all black on Valentine's day. Yeah, we were that group.
A few girls passing by gaped at Savannah's newfound enthusiasm for Valentine's day but we just laughed. It was a well-known fact that we hated pink and Valentines day, and love and kisses and rainbows..
"It's cool. 'Kay. See you in gym."
I ducked back into the crowd before Savannah or Julie could respond.
Jordan's locker was on the other side of the school, so I didn't have the maybe hope of seeing him in the halls until sixth period, and that was a really small chance.
I wanted to ask him if he'd had the same dream, but decided that would sound very creepy, and concluded that I just wanted to see his palm to see if the gash was still there.
I looked down, forgetting what I had put on this morning. I had a plain blue tee on, and jeans. I couldn't get more boring. I didn't even have a belt or anything. Silently, I cursed my 6th grade love of blue. I had a whole wardrobe of too-small, all-blue, 100% plain and boring tee shirts left over from before I got the nerve to ask for what I wanted.
If I could redesign my outfit, I'd be wearing a black tee and some jacket that made me look badass. I loved that look. And, of course, my trusty black combat boots. They were my trademark.
I opened my locker, still wishing my tee wasn't so small that I could feel the skin showing when I bent down to pick up my backpack.
Inside of my locker, on top of my textbooks, there was a note. It was folded up carefully, and had my name scrawled carefully onto it in a neat, girly script.
YOU ARE READING
Maybe
ParanormálníPierce Summers is a bit of an outcast. She has so many ideas, but no one seems to understand them. But now she's having strange dreams, and they are seeming more and more real, and more like visions than dreams. When she meets Nolan and Bayla, she b...