Kidnapped

A Face

My mother is not normal. She had me. Everyday she forgets little pieces of her life. What she did. Who she was. Where she came from. Sometimes she tells me about the dreams she had. How they might come true. She even acts different sometimes, as if she had another personality. But I love her. And I wouldn't trade her for anything.

Saunders High lets out at 2:30 p.m. now, an hour before the usual time. Principal Riley made the choice and told Superintendent Mason that he couldn't do anything about it, unless he wanted another 'tragedy'. Mr. Mason started to argue, but he really couldn't do anything. He stormed out, as if what Jeremy Clarkson did was her fault. That was a week ago. It's Friday, so when the last bell rang, every student ran out, making plans to see each other.

Mr. Robinson, the only history teacher in Saunders that I could deal with, was left in mid-sentence as everyone rushed out- expect for Mena and I. He ran a hand through his short cut hair- not in frustration, since he smiled- then noticed us, wondering why we were still there.

Mena took her time pushing her history book into her bag and huffed. "It's not your fault, Mr. Robinson. I mean, you're great. It's their fault," she pointed out the door, where kids and teachers alike rush around, trying to get out first. I grabbed my book and stuffed it into my bag, still staring at Mr. Robinson, who was trying not to laugh at Mena. Ever since she came a week before all of our teachers have realized that she loved learning and hated the bell, because it interrupted whatever interesting subject we were discussing.

I pulled my bag on and smiled at Mr. Robinson. "It was very interesting, Mr. R. But I gotta go so..."

Mena jumped up. "Yeah, you tell him G!" She laughed the twinkling laugh that people thought was cute, but she hated. "And come on, let's go. Bye Mr. R!" We made it out the door, before Mr. Robinson laughed under his breath, not that Mena knew. She hooked our arms together and pulled us toward our locker. I let her share it with me since she didn't even know how to open a lock and we had the same schedule. It was easier. She let go of my arm for a second and twisted the lock right and left, the way I taught her. She was getting the hang of it now and she only looked at me once, to make sure that she was doing it right. Just as the locker opened up, a hand slid up the locker next to ours, Oliver Lee's.

The phone that my mom had forced onto me made a noise, probably a text from the phone company since the only people I had in my contacts were my mom and the company, but it was a great distraction from the owner of the arm. I could see his black clothes, though, from the corner of my eye. Black and white were the most associated colors to Lander at Saunders High.

"Oh look, you opened the locker all by yourself, sis," Lander's knuckles started their slow painful knocking. He didn't look at me and I kept my head down. The text, like I predicted, was from the company.

"Yeah!" Mena beamed, ignoring the jab. "I really did!" She crouched down to get her bag open.

Lander smirked, his knocking getting faster. I put my phone back into my pocket and kept my gaze on the ground, which was littered with candy wrappers and paper that was obviously homework. One of the wrappers was stuck to the heel of Mena's boot, but she didn't seem to notice as she put books away. "G, do you need me to put your books away too?" I handed over my bag and nodded my thanks, and that's when I became aware of Lander's gaze. I mean, it wasn't on me before, but the second I moved to give my bag to Mena, his intense blue eyes were drilling into my face as if I tried to smack his sister with my bag instead.

"OMG," Mena's happy chirp pulled my attention away, but Lander's gaze didn't move. "Your bag is so heavy!"

I shrugged at Mena, managing a small smile. "Sorry, Minne," I said, using the nickname that I made for her on a dare. Which, by the way, she loved so much that she's been shrieking every time I said it. She didn't shriek this time though, staring up at me with a raised eyebrow. What's wrong? Mena didn't know that I can read her mind, so whenever I answered a question it made her think that we were connected. She's already calling me her best friend. Sometimes I'd do something that catches her attention and it'd be like she read my mind too. But I experimented and she can't. I would admit something falsely, put my guard down, and wait for her to look at me in a strange way. But nothing. She would look up with a laugh and say, "G, don't think so hard. Your brain will explode!" But, like I said, there are times when she can read what I'm feeling or even thinking. Like right now, when I shrug and Mena studies me with a frown, chewing on the inside of her cheeks. Her eyes move to look in her brother's direction and then back at me, asking with her inherited blue eyes. Him? I don't say anything, but Mena has already decided. She springs up, hands me my bag and slings hers on her shoulder, slams the locker, and hooks our arms together.