Hidden In the Knight

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

"What do you think they talk about?" I ask Blaire.

She merely shrugged as she stirred her french fry in her milkshake.

"You can't tell me you don't wonder about them. You can't tell me that you don't think about how the test placed us or why. What goes on in their heads? What are they saying?"

"You know you sound kinda creepy, right? I don't wonder why because I am who I am, whether that means I'm a freak or not. I don't care what they say either. That's their conversation just like this is ours."

"I guess I do kinda sound creepy. I just don't understand the difference and why we have to take that stupid test anyway."

With a full mouth she said, "I don't know," she swallowed, "Nor do I care."

"I don't get you."

She shrugged again.

"Ugh, let's go. Let's go to your place."

As I get up I take one more look at the group. They're all laughing it up, having a grand old time. Just as I'm about to look away deep brown eyes catch me looking. I feel my cheeks grow warm but I can't look away. He stares intensely, his mouth twitching at the corners. If I didn't know better, I was making a top-level guy smile. I turn away quickly, letting my dark hair become a curtain. I make a beeline for the door, the sooner I got out of here the better. By the time I got to the car I was out of breath. Blaire was right behind me, casually watching me.

"As you would say, what the hell was that?"

Holding my finger up for a minute to catch my breath I slowly reply, "I have no idea. I looked up at them and one of them caught me and he almost smiled and he was really cute and so I left."

"Which one?"

"Dark brown hair, brown eyes. The new one."

Opening the car door she simply says, "Didn't notice him."

"Sometimes I wonder if you notice anything girl."

She shrugs and cranks the radio up. Soon I am practically bouncing in my seat to the bass, but I don't mind, the music is great. We turn into her gravel driveway that leads to the dump of a house she lives in. I can't say my own house is much better though. At least what's on the inside of her house is nice. We try to sneak in quietly so her mom doesn't get offended when we decline her offer of some sort of baked goods because we are full. Unfortunately we did not succeed due to a certain squeaky board that I somehow manage to step on almost every time.

We run up the stairs and into her ginormous bedroom. I didn't bother to take off my Chucks because there was no way I could do anything worse to the worn carpet that was covered with stains from Blaire's paints. She is an artist and a damn good one, but the damn test stopped her from being noticed. I used to tell her to send it to a gallery under a pen name like how women used to use men's names to get their books published, but she said that if she couldn't send it as herself then they didn't deserve to view her art. I can appreciate that.

I plop down into my bean bag by the window and sigh. Why couldn't my house be calm and nice like this one? Why couldn't I have a mom like Mrs. Dellure? A mom who baked cookies for my friend and me. But as the saying goes, "wish in one hand, shit in the other and see which one fills up faster." When I go home I'll probably walk into a middle of a fight or Mom passed out drunk on the floor.

I don't know how I turned out the way I did, with my parents being drunks and all. I'm quiet, calm and curious. I take care of myself and make sure I look good. They stopped caring about my schoolwork by the time I was in third grade. I cared and that was what mattered. I basically live on my own using someone else's money to survive. Luckily, since they were dumb drunks, Mom inherited my rich grandfather's money when he passed away. Otherwise, I don't know how we would ever make it. We probably wouldn't. I can't imagine a life with a mom and dad who cared and worked. Never thought about that really...