1st 5 Pages August Workshop - Allen Rev 1

Name: Kathleen S. Allen
Genre: YA dark contemporary
Title: SHATTERED-REV 1

I finger my charm-laden necklace. The sharp points of the Star of David dig into my palm as I walk. The pale blue and white Virgin Mary charm I discovered under my bus seat last year makes tiny clicks. The blue paint is chipped off in spots, but even without the paint if you peer at it, you can see the indentations of her features. I run a nail-bitten purple-polished finger over it. Hail Mary, full of grace…It’s the only part I know. I heard it on a TV show.

Please don’t let me pass out.

But the bubble swells. Breathing stutters. Heart races. Stomach twists. Skin sweats then chills. Shivers rack my bones. Footfalls behind me propel me to race to the partially open door I see off to the side. It leads to a field, empty of people but full of the smell of rain.

Clutching my bag in front of me like a shield, I venture out. My gaze darts to and fro searching for a place to hide. The rain-soaked air cools the hot bubble and I can breathe easier, I hear the bell ring for first hour.

Welcome to the first day of high school, Zoey. Congratulations, you made it a whole ten minutes.

Careful not to get too wet, I duck under the eaves to watch the rainwater gush from the ends of the half-broken gutter pipe onto the dirt to make muddy puddles at my feet. Glass panoramic walls afford me a view into the school. But if I can see in, my classmates can see out, at me.

I scoot around a corner and jump when I encounter a boy who smiles the kind of smile I wish I could keep in my pocket and bring out to dispel the loneliness of night terrors. I blink, caught in its brilliance. Frozen deer-girl, blinking stupidly at this boy. His smile deepens and bright blue eyes whisper secrets. If I’m still, as still as I can be, I’ll hear those secrets. He blinks and I’m freed from his spell.

The overhang doesn’t afford much shelter. A sharp crack of thunder in the distance draws my attention. I don’t notice him reaching for me until he already has the strap of my leather satchel in his hand, tugging on it. I’m tempted to give it to him. Still, I’m not sure why he’d want it, so I tug back. He pulls harder, jerking me closer to him. My gaze drifts to the ground, and the forming puddles wondering what this boy wants and if I can bring myself to give it to him. Lifting my eyes to his, he smiles.

“Stay out of sight,” he says. “Or they’ll find us.” His soft, soothing voice surrounds me like a warm blanket fresh from the dryer. I long to wrap myself in his words, cocooned inside them.

My grip tightens on the strap of my bag and he finally lets go.

His tall, lanky frame lounges against the side of the building. “I like the rain, too. It doesn’t rain much here so we have to enjoy it when it does.”

I lean against the cool bricks.“Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby.”

“Is that from a song?” he asks.

“Langston Hughes, the poet.” The rain pummels the overhang and gathers into fat red drips before falling. “It was night and the rain fell; and, falling, it was rain, but, having fallen, it was blood. And I stand in the morass among the tall lilies, and the rain fell upon my head-and the lilies sighed one unto the other in the solemnity of their desolation.”

“I know that one. It’s from Edgar Allan Poe,” he says. “And the red is from rust on the roof.” He inspects me as if he’s never seen a Poe-spouting girl before. “Do you write it or read it?”

“Both,” I say.

My insides quake. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something. Instead, he runs a hand through dark curly hair too long to be considered fashionable, unless he’s in a rock band. His gaze sweeps from the top of my head to my muddy Doc Marten’s and back up again to rest on my eyes.

I blink and his grin expands. “Freshman?”

“Yes.”

“From?"

“New York.”

I’ve already shared more than I usually do. Does he know about me? Do I have a scarlet letter emblazoned on me like Hester Prynne? Yes, I’m the same girl you saw in the news, I’m that Zoey Walker. Maybe I should’ve changed my name along with my address. My hands shake more than usual as I wait for the question everyone asks. What was it like? But instead, his eyes turn back to the now-muddy parking lot.

I clutch my necklace and mumble a silent prayer, hoping someone listens, except I know no one does. His cool blue gaze is on me again.

I inhale the scent of the rain as it seeps through my skin to keep it there as a memory for future rain-starved days. He watches me and with a shift of his feet, he’s standing. A move toward me makes me tremble. I brace myself against the reddened-bricks. My eyes dart to the left side but there’s only another building, another brick wall. A nook carved prison just big enough for a small goth girl. I keep my gaze on his face as he scrutinizes me.

“Hold still.”

He reaches out a hand to my hair. I freeze and close my eyes, anticipating the first touch of his long fingers. I shiver breathless as he swipes at the top of my hair. A finger flicks at my cheek.

“Got it,” he says. I open my eyes blurry with visions and he shows me a tiny insect. “This critter was in your hair.” He puts the bug in the grass and it skitters away grateful for a stay of execution.

“You didn't kill it.” Relief washes over me as if I’ve found the hope I so desperately seek.

He steps back and leans against the wall again.“Why should I? It’s not its fault your hair got in its way---.” He smiles. “I’m Rowan.”

He expects me to say my name but I remain silent. When you know a person’s name, you have power over them.

I like the idea of power because I have none. The bottom dropped out of my soul, not all at once but in dribs and drabs. When it finally emptied, it filled again. Not with light or hope or joy but with darkness, horror, and an evil so unspeakable even I dared not say its name to myself. Sometimes I can feel it inside me, begging to be let out, reveling in its glory as I give into it. But I can’t continue to let it take over. It means to consume me and where will I be then? It takes energy to keep it at bay and sometimes, like now, I want so much to let it loose, to give into its baseness but I won’t let it win.

Not anymore.

He leans one foot on the wall. If I reach out I can touch him and my hand aches with longing. One touch. One touch and I’ll be lost. The urge nearly brings me to my knees. I gasp and recoil from the thought. His gaze is kind on mine.

“You okay?”

I bite down on my lower lip to try and keep it inside. I have to get out of here or I won’t be responsible for my actions. He has no idea he’s the rabbit and I’m the wolf in this scenario.This can’t be happening again. I promised. This time will be different, I won’t give in. He turns toward me, blocking me in. I reach out a hand wanting to feel his skin against my palm. Needing to feel it. But before I connect, the door opens. We tip our heads to the side like dogs listening for their master’s voice. A youngish teacher with black-framed glasses too big for her face peers at us from around the corner of the building.

“I thought I saw someone come out here. Back inside, both of you. The bell for first hour already rang.” Her nasal, high-pitched voice grates on my nerves.

The rain plasters her hair to her head. Her curls droop like her expression. Little does she know she’s my savior. Breathing a sigh, I nod.

Rowan shrugs. He takes his time extracting himself from his position against the building. In a leisurely stride he walks to the door. I rush past him to stand in the hallway, breathing hard to focus on calming down.