Just so everyone knows, this is going to be a duel-perspective piece changing between Landon's POV and Iras' POV. Also, Landon's vision will continue to be expressed. I didn't want to give all the details away right away. Hopefully that clears up a few things.
Happy Reading!
_______________________________
TWO
Iras
It is always awkward your first week at a new school. Trying to place yourself among students that all start to mimic one another. Eventually, after moving around so much, I figured out a pattern. Every school has a group that are all undeniable attractive, all in sports or some sort of activity, and all that seem to draw the eye like a moth mesmerized by a flickering flame.
Then there were the kids on the low end—the goths, the nerds, the nobodies. All are grouped, all are classified like different kinds of cattle on a large ranch.
All of it’s rather sickening, actually.
I’ve never been one to fall into that stupid class order like the rest of my peers. I think that’s why I adjusted so well with my navy-seal father moving all around the country, dragging his unwilling daughter along with him.
This year, it’s a town called Hallmark, South Carolina. Don’t ask me what a southern state that seems to have started the whole Hallmark Card Phenomenon wants with a navy-seal but that’s where they sent us and that’s where we went. No questions asked.
I sometimes wonder why my father is the one who they send across country. Many times, I’ve tried to get him to spill, making up stories about him being an undercover agent or super-spy with all these tricked-out gadgets. But dad just keeps telling me that he’s just a normal army guy with a lot more training to do.
Picking up the pace, I race to my fifth period science class.
Chemistry, oh how I loathe thee!
Chucking to myself, I nearly run right smack into someone. I’ve been at this school for almost two weeks now but I already seem to be recognizing faces and am comfortable enough to accept an invitation to a sleepover at Caitlin’s house on Friday night. I wasn’t sure at first but I couldn’t ignore Caitlin’s energetic attitude last hour and caved.
The person I nearly ran into shoots me a death glare and keeps on with his running pace. It seems that I’m not the only person that’s going to be late.
To the right, I see the door to my science room and make a break for it. I slip inside just as the bell rings and breathe a sigh of relief. The only bad thing about coming in right at the bell is that it seems to give the whole class an excuse to stare at you.
Head down, I make a beeline for my table—one that I share with a girl, Amanda. She’s short, petite, and seems to think that pink is the new black. I’ve never seen anyone where such florescent coloring in all my life!
I sit just as the teacher makes his entrance. Tall and young with nice features and an enthusiastic smile, he begins the day with a lecture on our new unit of organic chemistry. I tune him out, touring the class—since I sit in the back—with bored eyes. One kid catches my attention.
To be honest, I don’t know why. He’s average looking with a lean build and his jaw is lined with a shadow of stubble that he had failed to shave off the night before. He looks like he just stepped off the train from some distant city of becoming artists with his formal turtleneck the shade of moss and his sunglasses perched tight up against his face, though he’s sitting in the classroom and it’s storming outside. He looked more like he could be in college than in high school.
Maybe its how out of place he looks. Yet, if I would have been less bored or less observant, I feel I would have overlooked him. Furrowing my brow, I try to place him in the academic ladder of high school but can’t. This frustrates me for some reason. I’ve been known for my good judge of character; it’s the reason why I can make friends so quickly. I know who they are before they even say hi.
But this boy… he doesn’t click with the others. Unconsciously, I start to chew on my pinkie nail, still focused on his form when the class stirs and I turn to my partner with a bewildered expression.
She starts to chatter about what our lab is about and my attention is drawn away from her when another girl approaches. She’s taller with thick blonde hair that curls down her back as if she had just gone to the salon that morning. Her clothes are tailored because I don’t know anyone with jeans that fit that perfectly. Her polyester sweater accents her light blue eyes that are surprisingly clear of make-up.
I would know her type anywhere—blonde, confident, self-assured while inside raging with hidden anger and hatred toward any girl that threatens the power they hold. It’s rather pathetic as I see her look me up and down.
As If I would ever be a threat to her.
The pink petite girl stands at her approach and smiles hugely. “Harlow! I didn’t know you were in this class.”
“I wasn’t,” the girl drawls. She has a thick southern accent that would have been ugly on anyone else but makes her look like that chick from Dukes of Hazard. “I switched when I heard you needed it to graduate.”
“Oh,” Amanda twitters, giggling nervously.
“I was wondering if you wanna be partners.” Harlow’s voice is suddenly commanding and I frown. She didn’t phrase it as a question, as if Amanda had no choice.
“Yeah, but Mr. Anderson said that we had to be partners—”
“I know what he said!” Harlow snaps. It seems the girl has a low patience level. “I already asked him and he said since I didn’t have a table partner, I could work with you.”
“Oh!” Amanda brightens then looks down apologetically at me. Harlow follows her gaze, her eyes like daggers, but I’d be damned if I’ll let this Jessica Simpson wanna-be get to me!
“That’s all right, Amanda. I work better alone anyway,” I say, standing to my feet and straightening my tank top underneath my sweatshirt. Harlow smirks before sauntering off, her long legs highlighted by the heels she wears.
Rolling my eyes, I think of the other fifty or so girls that I have seen act like her and can’t help but laugh. One day she’ll realize the life she lives is so consumed by petty acts of jealousy that she no longer knows herself. And then who’ll be the one laughing?
It sure won’t be her.
It would’ve been nice if I had a partner, though. I give the classroom another cursory glance and realize everyone’s been paired up. Being not the most scientifically inclined, I succumb to the inevitable and realize I will have to face the class alone.
Gathering the said supplies, I set up in the back corner of the classroom, away from anyone else. I don’t need any distractions, especially since I don’t even know what I’m doing to begin with.
I was just getting ready to start when a hand covers my own as I go to pour two chemicals together.
“I wouldn’t’ do that if I were you,” the voice warns. It’s low with a husky undertone that makes my knees go weak. I surprise myself when this happens. I’ve never been one to go all ‘weak-kneed’ and ‘googly-eyed’ over a guy. In fact, I’ve never even had a boyfriend.
Not that I would ever admit to that.
“Why?” I ask, quickly overcoming my sudden butterflies and turn to face the voice.
“Unless you want your eyebrows singed off, I would keep to reading the instructions.” It’s the guy with the sunglasses. There’s a girl beside him; his lab partner. She’s dark-skinned with brown eyes and hair that’s braided over her shoulder. She looks like a girl off of the Indian Reservation I had lived next to a few years back, though I know she’s not the same one. There is no doubt, however, that she has an Indian heritage somewhere in her past.
The boy, I notice, has olive-skin, the dark sunglasses setting of his skin tone with a shocking contradiction. His smile is bright, warm, and I can’t help but smile back.
“Yeah, I’m kind of fond of my eyebrows so maybe I’ll listen this one time,” I state, and he laughs, the sound seeming to vibrate the air around us.
“I’m Eva, and this is Landon,” the girl speaks up then, pointing to herself and then to her lab partner. “We saw you didn’t have a group so we wanted to know if you’d like to be with us?”
Instead of like Harlow, the girl actually asked me if I wanted to join them. She had a nice voice, soft and velvety—ancient—like her tribe.
“Sure, I would love to be in your group.”
