Young Writers Society

Michael met Whisper outside the school doors as she walked towards the building, her jacket draped over her backpack to keep the insistent drizzle of rain out of her papers. The rain had begun in the night and continued until now. It was an eerie, beautiful sight to wake up to a forest full of rain and gray sky and silver mist.

Whisper was ecstatic. She’d always loved rain, but in the cities it was always muddy and smelly. Here it was fresh and cold and clear and the only scents were of sea and forest and earth. Marvelous. Somehow it felt as if her heart had swollen three times its usual size; she didn’t know how she’d be able to stay inside when the weather was so perfect.

Michael looked as delighted as she felt. “I love it when it rains!” he informed her, even though he was holding an umbrella to keep from getting wet. “Everything smells wonderful and mom makes the best cocoa imaginable to drink with dinner.”

Whisper spread out her arms and stuck her tongue out to catch the raindrops. “I want to dance,” she finally sighed, “but the school bell is going to ring soon and I still have to go to my locker.”

Taking her arm, Michael led her inside. “I know how you feel. I’m afraid my locker is on the opposite side of school as yours, though, so I’d better say bye for now. I’ll see you at lunch, okay?”

Whisper nodded and watched as he bustled off, a little bit of melancholy creeping into her heart. She was glad to be going to school with Michael, because she felt maybe now she’d have friends. She used to have friends at her old school, but slowly they’d moved or fallen prey to drugs and sex. When Whisper would have nothing to do with it they accused her of “being better than all that” and began to sabotage the rest of her relationships as well. Soon only the bond between her and her parents had remained. Perhaps that was why she was so close with them even at fourteen. Most other teenagers she’d known hadn’t been so enthusiastic about their parents.

Coming out of her reverie, Whisper turned and made her way through the main corridor and into the science hall, where her locker was. She didn’t remember her locker combination right off and it took her several tries, but then she stowed her extraneous things away and took off to find her first hour, schedule in hand.

Classes were horrible that day. All anyone did was review stupid syllabi or go through introductions; Whisper found it terribly boring. She was restless the entire time, her foot bobbing impatiently and her eyes straying to a window whenever one was available. Michael wasn’t in any of her classes. It wasn’t too surprising, since he was a junior, but she was disappointed anyway.

When lunch came Whisper ran pell-mell out of the room, long brown braid flying behind her. She went straight outside, escaping the mad rush to the cafeteria. It was still raining, though most of the mist had faded, and Whisper wound her way to the back of the school. From there she could see the steely ocean beating a washed-out shore. Too bad the high school had a closed campus policy; she’d love to spend lunch walking on the beach. Instead she just stood and breathed in the air and watched with large, wondering eyes.

“I thought I might find you here.” Whisper turned to see Michael next to her, holding a little plastic cup of pudding and half a sandwich out to her. “I know you hate being shut indoors but you still need to eat.”

Whisper accepted them gratefully. “I forgot I was going to meet you, Michael. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind. I’ve never known anyone who hates being shut in more than you do.”

“I don’t mind being inside Siren Manor.” She peeled off the top of the pudding and Michael passed her a plastic spoon.

“That’s only because there’s mysteries and secrets and discoveries yet to be made,” Michael informed her. “You wouldn’t be able to stand it if you had nothing new to learn. You’d be bored in an instant and then it would be just like a cage, too.”

“That’s how I felt about the city. I really hated it. Gray and washed out and crowded and foul….” She took a big bite of the sandwich, unperturbed by the way the rain was seeping through the plastic bag and wetting the bread. Michael looked out towards the ocean, which still held Whisper enthralled.

“Do you want to go there after school?” he asked. “I’ll go with you.”

“Really? Sure. I’d like that.” Whisper fell silent again. She finished the sandwich then stared off into the distance again, her eyes full of that far away look. Michael let her be silent. He knew Whisper sometimes had strange moods and sometimes she was so remote it seemed like she wasn’t really there at all. Finally she spoke, her voice abrupt and blending with the patter of rain. “Michael, do you ever feel like the sea is calling your name?”

“All the time,” he replied, smiling at her. “Come on, Whisper. We’re both sopping wet. We’d better go back in.”

She followed him with a strange sinking feeling in her stomach. There was a moment where she wondered if something bad was going to happen, and then she shook her head. You’re just disappointed about being stuck inside again, she told herself and left it at that.

Gym class was after lunch. This was good for multiple reasons; Whisper really wasn’t ready to sit down again and she needed to change out of her wet clothes into her gym clothes. She got to the locker room pretty early so it was mostly empty when she changed, and then she went back to the gym to wait for the bell.

No one was inside the gym. She figured someone had to have been in there earlier, because there was a basketball tucked hurriedly into the bleachers. She picked it up, bouncing it a couple of times, and then turning to look at the basketball hoop. She backed away past the three-point line, aimed, and shot.

The basketball soared gracefully through the air and straight through the hoop, falling down again and thumping against the ground. Whisper sighed, dispirited. She was very good at any sport she tried, really, but she felt like it was such an impractical skill. Other than track and fencing, no sport had ever held her interest. Back at her old school the girl’s basketball team had spent half their time arguing because some of the girls wanted Whisper on the team and others didn’t. No one had seemed to pay any attention to Whisper when she said she didn’t want to be on the team so it was pointless arguing about it anyway.

There seemed to be nothing else to do, though. Whisper walked towards the ball, picked it up, and resumed shooting hoops, managing to make some truly impressive shots. She just made another three-pointer by bouncing the basketball off the wall when she heard footsteps and someone applauding. Startled, Whisper whirled around, but it was just Mrs. Hayes returning from lunch with a large bag slung over her shoulder. She smiled. “That was a pretty impressive shot. Can you always make shots like that?”

Resigned, Whisper shrugged. “I guess so. I like sports for fun, but I’m not interested in playing.”

“You’re good at basketball, from the looks of it.”

“Well, I’m athletic.” Whisper laughed. “That seems to be where I excel. I’m okay with classes, so long as I am learning quickly enough—I get bored easily and then it’s hard to pay attention—and I’m good at cleaning, but I’m horrid at things like cooking and…well, anything that really involves too much waiting.”

“I was like that at your age,” Mrs. Hayes replied. “Perhaps not quite so much though. Oh and I always hated math!”

“Math is awful!” Whisper replied sincerely, and then laughed. “I find it extremely boring.”

Mrs. Hayes grinned. “I think we’ll get along well,” she said. “Oh, there’s the bell—I’d better go put my things away. Continue playing basketball if you want.” Mrs. Hayes walked off towards the office and Whisper picked the ball back up again, staring at it thoughtfully. Finally she shrugged, backed up, and gave it one final toss from the opposite end of the gym, using all of her strength. It made it, of course, but she wouldn’t be able to make it from any father away than that. She grinned and sat down on one of the bleachers to wait for everyone else to come in.

After fourth hour, Lance had social dance. He was advanced far beyond any level offered at the school, so he was assisting the teacher for a civil credit. He made it to the door just as the previous class flooded out, a lot of them grumbling. They seemed to think something wasn’t fair. He raised an eyebrow, watching the crowd of disgruntled faces. “Why should one girl be the best at all the exercises?” someone said. Curiosity aroused, Lance entered the gym.

Whisper. Her sighed with resigned frustration. She was sitting on the bleachers, her hair still in a long braid. She had one of her legs on the seat in front of her and was stretching—she seemed to have good flexibility, her long, pale legs sticking out of her gym shorts. She struck an oddly impressive figure, sitting there alone. Then her head turned and her eyes locked on Lance; he realized he was staring and looked away, his face feeling a little hot. Why did she have to be in the class?

“Lance, come over here!” Mrs. Hayes beckoned to him. “I want you to get ready to do a demonstration with me!” He nodded and went to her, dropping off his bag in a corner.

More of the class came in, jabbering away. The hustle and bustle of so many people made him feel uncomfortable and he found himself scowling. The tardy bell rang and Mrs. Hayes called for everyone to settle down and take a seat; she needed to talk to them. The boring stuff came first; reviewing the syllabus and what dances had to be learned, summarizing the class schedule, and expectations. Then Mrs. Hayes decided it was time for the demonstration.

“We’ll be learning the waltz first,” she said. “I feel like it’s a simple enough way to start, and it’s really the ultimate classic. I think so, at least. Come here, Lance.” She was half a head shorter than Lance, so he had to look down at her. He took her left hand and put his other hand on the small of her back while she put hers at his shoulder. Elbows up, float, up-two-three, up-two-three, Lance thought automatically. The two of them swept easily into the graceful, gliding steps of a waltz, moving naturally through all the moves Mrs. Hayes wanted to teach the class. For that moment Lance was able to forget his bitterness and felt suddenly more at peace. A vague memory of his mother dancing with his father in their living room emerged in his head, and he felt a warm glow in his chest. When the dance stopped that euphoria lasted for just a few moments longer before fading along with the memory.

Then he was back. The sound of applauding irritated him and drove him back into reality. His eyes were drawn to Whisper again and she was smiling. He looked away, frowning harder than ever.

Mrs. Hayes then explained they’d spend the next two days in her classroom to take notes on the history of dance. Moans ensued and she held up her hands. “I know, I know, I hate sitting and taking notes too. But you do have to take a written test on the dances and you’ll need the notes for that. We won’t go today, though; we’ve got about fifteen minutes left of class so we’ll do some stretches and maybe start the basic step.”

The class spread out on the gym floor—Whisper ended up in the back corner, placing her just a few yards away from Lance who’d taken care to sit well behind everyone else. Mrs. Hayes was in front, facing the class. She started walking them through the different stretches, and Lance participated, albeit half-heartedly. In front of him Whisper flowed through the exercises with ease and grace. She was very flexible.

Lance was very relieved when the bell rang, thinking he might get through class without any direct contact with Whisper, but then realized she was walking purposefully towards him. His heart sank and he felt a flickering of anxiety. “What do you want?” he asked rudely.

Whisper didn’t quail at his tone or his glare, but returned his gaze with steady eyes. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“What?” He was suspicious.

“What were those voices in the forest?”

Suspicion turned to alarm. “What?” he asked again, his heart hammering. Why that? he wondered. If she knows about it then…it means….

“You know what I said. I want to know.” Her voice was low, but her eyes were intense and there was no hint of her mysterious little smile now. “I keep on hearing them and no one else has…but you could, there in the forest. I could tell.”

“You’re insane,” Lance blustered. “Why don’t you leave me alone?”

“Ah, I’ve never been very good at leaving things alone until I know the truth,” she replied, her quirky smile flitting back. She turned. “Bye then, Lance. I hope you’ll loosen up some. You really don’t want that scowl of yours to freeze on your face.” She sauntered off, leaving him confused and upset and off-balance.

Michael met Whisper at the end of the school day. “How did it go?” he asked, holding out an umbrella.

“I guess it was fine,” Whisper replied. “Just really boring. I’m glad I’ve got P.E. and social dance.” She took the umbrella but didn’t open it.

“Did you sign up for gymnastics?”

“Yeah, but that’s not in my schedule until next semester. Do I have to use this?” she held up the umbrella with distaste. Michael laughed.

“Yes you do! Your paper will get soaked without it. It’s raining harder than ever. However, if you want to splash in all the puddles on the way back to Faerie Haven I’ll join right in!” He slipped on his jacket and backpack and lifted an umbrella of his own. “See? I’ve got one too.”

“You’re coming back to Faerie Haven with me?” Whisper asked hopefully. He nodded.

“Your mom doesn’t want you walking home alone and I didn’t have a car today,” he explained. Whisper frowned.

“There’s nothing wrong with walking home,” she huffed. “I did it all the time in the city and I’m sure that was more dangerous than here, even if it was nearly a mile closer.”

“Your mom’s worried about the Gallaghers,” Michael replied. Whisper started.

“As in Lance Gallagher? So I was right—there is some kind of family feud going on?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Though there aren’t enough of the family left here for it to be a real feud. Just Lance and his uncle from the Gallaghers, and us from the Carpenters. Lance is a pretty sour character most of the time, I’m afraid. Have you met him, then?”

“I ran into him in the forest on our when we first came here,” she replied. “Let’s start walking and I’ll tell you all about it.”

It really was pouring. Rain hammered down on the canvas of their umbrellas as they stepped outside, and Whisper let out a whoop of excitement. “This is more like it!” she exclaimed, running forward and jumping into the air in celebration, her braid whipping around and the umbrella nearly tearing from her grip. “Yay! Rain, rain, rain!” She spun around to look at her cousin. “Let’s go, Michael!”

Right behind Michael was Lance. Whisper hadn’t noticed him for once, but he’d noticed her. It was hard not to, with her bouncing around like that. He didn’t understand why, but his eyes were drawn to her, and his heart had begun to hammer.