FIVE772Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjBPRxYDgaS
The Boy
Melanie's last class of the day, History, went by rather slow like the rest. Maybe it was because the teacher, Mr. Gaffhaven, droned on and on about St. Apollo's Academy and blah, blah. It took every ounce of her will to not doze off right there, so she resorted to playing with the pages of her textbook instead.
That's when she felt a cool breeze brush against her from the right, and she instantly turned to look, knowing full well who she was going to see.
The boy was sitting next to her in the empty seat—who definitely hadn't been there a few seconds ago—a ghostly apparition in street clothes. His face was turned slightly in her direction while still facing forwards toward the teacher. His dark-hooded eyes flashed to hers momentarily, but he didn't say a word. He had never said a word since she'd first saw him, and he always looked exactly the same; ratty, worn out clothes that looked singed and blackened as if by flames—what else would leave clothes tattered and black like that? She always had the strange desire to know what happened to him, how he had died. If he would only stay around long enough, that would be one of the many questions she had for him when ever she finally got the chance to.
Melanie stiffened in her seat as she stared at the ghost boy, afraid to turn away for fear he might disappear on her again. He always did that. He would stay, not speaking a word; sometimes just walking with her wherever she went or sitting with her in her classes—until a teacher would call on her—somehow making her look away. Then he'd vanish, not reappearing for days at a time. She'd always tried to ask him questions about who he was, what he wanted. But, unlike the others, he remained silent, with that same tortured expression on his gaunt face. She didn't dare try saying anything now, for fear of being heard, and Mr. Gaffhaven's monotonous voice wasn't loud enough to conceal hers, and the rest of the class was silent around her; she'd easily be overheard.
She'd have to try another time.
So instead, Melanie decided on a friendly smile. Unlike the other ghosts she'd come across, this boy's presence made her feel comfortable and warm—which was strange.
He was her silent companion when the rest of the world remained cold and distant.
The next time he glanced her way, she managed a small, shy wave of hello. And then he did something he had never done before.
The boy spoke.
His usual tortured expression morphed into a friendly one as he smiled over at her; his tight, pale lips tipped upwards and humor laced his voice when he finally opened his mouth to speak. "What an enthusiast this guy is."
Melanie's eyes went wide at the sound of his voice. He spoke—he had actually spoken to her—and she so desperately wished she could talk back.
Witnessing the shock written plainly on her face, the boy's hooded eyes grew soft around the edges—she didn't know what color his eyes were from the shadows that hid them. "Sorry, I'm not used to speaking yet. I haven't for many years that I've almost forgotten how to." He seemed amused by the fact and not at all saddened over his death; instead, his voice was soft and something in that lilting voice of his sounded humorous.
Melanie couldn't stay silent any longer. She leaned a bit across the aisle towards him; she felt strangely drawn to him, somehow making it easier to lean closer. "What's your name?" She whispered it under her breath as quietly as possible. It was the most important question she wanted the answer to—she had to know, before he disappeared on her again.
His once tortured face turned softer and less torturous as his lips curved into a delighted smile. "My name's Braden, and it's very nice to meet you and finally talk to you, Melanie." He said reverently, and her name sounding like a beautifully haunting melody coming from his lips.
Something broke free within Melanie. For the first time since the death of her parents, she actually felt compassion, hope, and most of all relief; assurance that perhaps she wasn't entirely alone as she had originally thought. There might just be a little bit of good in the world after all.
At the sound of her name said so sweetly from his lips, Melanie's heart contracted at the sound, and she swayed in her seat as warmth filled her from head to toe, her brain spinning wildly. It felt like her heart would burst from all the strong emotions she was experiencing all at once.
"Miss Montegrave." The voice broke the connection that had formed between this boy that could fill her with so much warmth, causing Melanie to instinctively jump back in her seat and turn towards Professor Gaffhaven at the front of the room. He had stopped in his droning and was staring at her quizzically. "Not falling asleep in my class, I hope?"
In case he hadn't heard or seen anything, Melanie feigned innocence as she shook her head. "No, sir," she replied in her quiet voice. She sunk lower in her seat, all the warmth sapped right out of her body.
"Well, that makes one of you." Professor Gaffhaven replied in a slightly amused monotone this time. He went back to his lecturing and Melanie glanced out of the corner of her eye to confirm that the boy had indeed vanished again, as was his usual modus operandi, and she blew out a quiet breath from her lips. At least she could put a name to the ghost now... One could definitely say she was finally making some progress.
She couldn't wait to write about this in her journal...
Ally's head violently hit her math book for the millionth time that hour. Was she really sitting there, in this stupid class, listening to the teacher lecture on about quantum physics? This was freakin' Algebra 2, not Physics class! She knew for a fact that she'd never be using quantum dumb-dumb in the future. Ever!
Dragging her head up from her desk with a huge effort, Ally grabbed the closest thing she had for paper—the note she'd received earlier from the office in her pocket, informing her to show that new girl around—and she flipped it over to the blank side. Sadly, she had to stay awake, lest Professor Wiggins would flip out and give her detention.
Stupid adults, she thought bitterly, doodling randomly on the page. Sometimes drawing or doodling would help simmer her frustrations if she tried not to think about anything for a while. But she rarely did so because of the irrational fear that always clung to the back of her mind like a leech; Doodling didn't bring any happy thoughts, that's for sure...
While the teacher lectured on, she continued to absently doodle on the page, pretending as if she actually cared about quantum entanglement, when she felt that all too familiar flip in her stomach, like a switch was flicked on inside her.
Ally pulled her gaze from the teacher down to her hand, and she felt something else that was familiar to her as well; an involuntary jolt zinging through her left arm, causing her hand to twitch uncontrollably. She watched deathly frozen as her hand move of its own accord, the pencil led flowing across the paper.
Allison saw a flash of something jump across her vision as she drew a pentagram, then she drew something new. She drew a boy she'd never seen before, his features dripped in shadow, pitch darkness surrounding him in the background. She drew his tortured face next. He looked sad, tormented by something so awful.
What did this mean? She'd never really drawn something like this before, only pentagrams and dark sorcery-related things. Plus, she was feeling a sense of impending dread greater than she'd ever felt before in her whole life. This was a new one for her, and it freaked her out beyond imagining.
But something snapped her out of her stupor, roughly dragging her back down to Earth. It was the angry professor, glaring at her from the front of the room.
"Miss Marks," he repeated, probably for the thousandth time. "I sure hope you're taking notes because you're so interested about quantum physics and not doodling..."
Ally heard someone's suppressed snicker from across the room and met the amused eyes of Chase McAllister for a moment—how comforting that he found it so funny—before turning her attention back to the teacher, whom she resented almost as much as her father. Ingrates, she cursed internally to herself.
She cleared her throat, feigning a look of interest. "No, of course not... I'm so interested in it that I can hardly contain myself." She said as innocently as she could, a little bit of thinly layered sarcasm in her voice.
The professors' bushy gray brows furrowed at her, returning her sarcasm with a sad excuse-of-a-comeback of his own. It said he definitely didn't believe she showed any interest whatsoever. "I'm so glad you show such an interest. Make sure you're paying close attention and not doodling."
This time, Ally begrudgingly listened, slowly and half hazardly folding the note away, discreetly stowing it back into her pocket once everyone's attention was averted back to Professor Wiggins' boring lecture.
Once class was over, Ally was one of the first ones up, quickly gathering up her things and practically sprinting towards the door. Before she could escape, someone else more annoying reached it first. She stumbled to a stop, narrowly avoid running into him—on instinct, rather; she would've preferred to plow right through him without so much as an apology. Ally internally groaned at the person standing in her way.
Chase just gave her one of his sly, smug-like smirks, leisurely putting his hand on the door handle. "Doodling during class as always, Allison." He said by way of introduction to a conversation. She was not going to be having any sort of conversation with him. "What kind of satanic drawings and visions are we conjuring up today? Is someone going to get killed again?" He leered loudly, knowing everyone around them could hear. The whole school suspected she was a witch who put curses on people, so everyone steered clear of her as a result—but she wasn't. Plus, she absolutely hated the nickname everyone called her in hushed whispers and gossips. But no one was ever going to stick around long enough to hear an explanation. That was the main reason why she hated everyone.
Mr. Thick-Head was blocking everyone's exit, but no one said or did anything to make him move; they new as much as he did they couldn't make him do anything, and none of them was smart or tough enough to even think of trying. Chase McAllister was one of the boys most feared in the school; no one went near him unless they wanted to be burnt to a wispy crisp.
Everything about him screamed 'outcast' and 'Stay away from me and I might not burn you' to Allison. She wasn't afraid of him like most, but he still made her nervous—he was unstable. She'd seen him almost lose his temper more than once when someone pushed his buttons, and it never turned out pretty. However, despite his run-down, homeless outcast vibe, he could be charismatic and equally persuasive when he wanted to, which was equally more scary than when he was in a temper.
Allison gave him one of her best smoldering glares. "Out of my way, McAllister. You're holding up the rest of the class." She said forcefully. "And I am not in the mood for your games today, Flame Boy." She tried to say it as gruffly and as harsh as possible, though she knew no matter how venomous she tried to sound, it wasn't going to make him disappear faster. For some reason, throwing insults at each other seemed like a fun game to him, and it annoyed the hell out of her—as did everything else in the world.
Chase just grinned wider. "Feisty as always... You better watch out, Marks. Stuff like your drawings could get you into some serious trouble." This seemed to amuse him somewhat, and his dark eyes flashed as he leered at her. His voice was low as he continued, speaking in a quiet but more snarky voice. "How's our new little student fitting in? She's a mysterious one, eh? I hope you're being nice to her, since you're father is punishing you to look out for her because of that stunt you pulled with Cathy. That was bold of you, by the way." He smirked, finding his little joke amusing.
Sometimes, she didn't get him; she deducted that the boy was absolutely insane.
Before she could reply back with her usual wise-cracks, Professor Wiggins started trudging up to them. "What is the deal up there? Leave before I give all of you a weeks worth of detention. Now."
Chase winked at her before twisting the handle and slipping on out. "See you around, Witch Girl." He called in a sing-song voice, using the hateful nickname everyone called her.
Heat spiked up her chest, spilling into her face as rage. Oh, McAllister...you're lucky I don't draw YOUR death, too, she thought angrily, storming out.
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