Flame (Fireborn) (4 page)

"Kenna!"
My mother's voice breaks my spell. She runs toward me, and for one
second her face is abruptly in focus. There's fear there. I run
forward, trying to reach her. She's shooing me away, but I won't turn
back. I won't let her leave me again.

There is a sound
above us, like something being unleashed, and I know it's important
to run faster. I try to warn her. "Don't look up!" I shout,
but she's motionless. She's lost control of her body. Her eyes are
wild, trying to tell me something important. The air is chaos around
her like a fan is blowing from underneath. Her mouth opens.

It's a trap.

I can't hear the
words, but they're in my head.

"What?" I
stop in mid motion.

Her face contorts,
and the voice is no longer hers. "Run!" it tells me. "Run,
Kenna!" I don't hesitate, and I bolt, reversing away from the
ship, sensing the danger. Abruptly, I become aware of a thick
blackness growing around me. The man from before is no longer by the
door, and blackness is leaking from it like a poison. I stumble to
the side to avoid it, but it's no use. The dark fog encircles me,
floating closer and closer. When it touches me, a cold tingling
envelopes my body. I freeze. I don’t know if the fog is freezing
me, or if I'm too shocked to move. All thoughts disappear when the
tingling starts at my ankles and travels to my knees. It moves
further up, and I forget everything. My blood is icy, and I'm chilled
from the inside out. Dimly, I'm aware of a voice. It's too weak to
penetrate through, so I ignore it. There's something stronger calling
to me now. The fog is icy cold- deliriously so. How can something so
cold feel so good?

"Move, Kenna!
Get away!" A feeble sound pierces through my delicious haze. I
blink to clear away something nagging my mind. My body sways with the
intention to lie down.

"Wake up!"
The voice is loud, booming in my mind. The birthmark on my finger
burns, and a shaft of heat shoots up my arms, and down my body. The
blackness shifts, looming above me, attempting to cave in like a
collapsing roof. When I look up I see the dark abyss that waits for
me. Its mouth opens to take me…

Wake up!

Cold hands shake me. I
welcome the iciness because my body's on fire. Dad's face is unclear
at first, but the smell of alcohol drifts into my nose as a pungent
breath.

"Kenna, wake up.
Whas wrong wi' you?" His voice is slurred, but his eyes are
blinking, attempting to focus on me. I sit up, almost begging him to
touch me again. I feel so hot. I palm my forehead, but it's
impossible to know if I have a fever when my hands feel even hotter
than the rest of my body.

"Hot," I
choke out, fanning my face.

He nods. "Feels
like a f-f-furnace in h-h-he…"
Here,
he attempts to
say, as his words slide together like fluid. "Did y…turn…on..?"
His question hangs in midair. I don't need him to say more because a
decade of experience has taught me to decipher his drunken code talk.

"I didn't turn on
the heat," I reply. It's September in Minnesota, but it isn't
nearly cold enough to use the furnace. We can't afford to have heat
early. The house isn't big, but I'm lonely at night.
Maybe it's
because I'm usually the only one home.
The thought reminds me of
a time when it was different, and I push it away as fast as it comes.

Dad rubs his eyes,
making them redder. I check the digital alarm next to my bed. It's
4:30 in the morning. He's still dressed in a light jacket.

"Did you just come
back?" I ask softly. He nods.

"Did you go with
Jack?" I press.

"Don't need to,"
he answers vaguely.

"You shouldn't be
driving when you've been drinking, Dad," I'm unable to hide the
exasperation in my voice. It doesn't matter though because I'm
talking to air. He's turned away; his mind already wandered off. He
circles unsteadily around my bedroom until he comes to a framed
photograph. It's the only thing of value I own. He stares like he
expects it to move. In the picture, Mom's brown eyes peek
mischievously over my head as she hugs me in her arms. The side of
her smile is noticeable behind my thick head of hair. He studies the
picture. I wonder what he sees. The silence feels immeasurable.

"Dad?" I prod
gently in the stillness. He doesn't respond. I walk behind him, my
feet soft on the cold floor. I stand quiet as a statue. When the
silence becomes heavy with more than just alcohol, I whisper, "Go
to bed, Dad."

For a few moments I
think he doesn't hear me, but he turns, moving as quietly as when he
first slipped in. He walks through the door. He never looks back. My
eyes flicker back to the picture that means the world to me. He'd
turned it face down.

The reporters and
cameramen are visible within a mile of the school. National and local
news vans line the streets like spectators waiting for a parade. My
rusty 1997 Toyota Camry is nothing fantastic to look at. I'm
embarrassed driving by as photographers click away.

I press the brakes hard
as the car in front of me makes a sudden stop. I'd been within a mile
of the school for the at least ten minutes. Turtles moved faster than
we are. I understand that we're the first school on earth to have
alien students, but really, is all this necessary? Another bright
light flashes between my eyes as a picture is taken. I guess that
answers my question, I think.

By the time I arrive at
school, my face is flushed with irritation. The parking lot was full,
and I had to drive and park on the street. I ended up trying to power
walk three blocks with three textbooks on my back. Over forty-five
minutes late, I concede that it's not the greatest start to my
morning.

I notice a line at the
front entrance. Men dressed in blue security suits are checking
backpacks and bags. I even see one of those hand held metal detectors
they use at sport games.
Is this going to happen everyday?
I
wonder. A couple dozen students are waiting to get inside, but they
don't seem to mind much. They're probably just happy to miss part of
first hour. I'm barely inside the doors when a voice drifts to me.

"I wonder if
they're here yet," someone says from behind.

"Probably not. Did
you see all the reporters out there? They're still here because they
haven't gotten their story yet," a louder voice answers.

"God, did you see
the guy, Steph? Hubba, hubba."

"Delish," the
second voice agrees. "His name's Rhys, I heard."

"
Rhys
."
She says it with a sigh. "I don't know how I'm going to focus if
he's in a class of mine. I'd-" Her voice cuts off as she bumps
into me.

"Oh! Sorry. I
didn't see you," she apologizes. Her brown eyes are wide.

Embarrassed, I give a
small, fake smile. "It's ok," I assure them in the
I-don't-care-everything-is-normal voice that I'd spent years
mastering.

They walk around and
ahead of me. "I swear I didn't see anyone ahead of us…"
her voice trails off as the pair moves further away.

I wonder if I stood
glued to this one spot, how many people wouldn't "see" and
bump into me? What if I start line dancing with my backpack on top of
my head? I think sarcastically. How many people would notice
then
?
I'm angry enough to try it, but Dr. Bingham's voice booms over the
loudspeaker, trampling any idiotic ideas I considered pursuing.

"Students, please
report to first hour immediately. There will be no loitering in the
hallways. Attendance will be taken promptly at 8:20 am." The
principal's nasally voice repeats the announcement once more before a
loud clicking sound is heard from behind. Then another. And another,
until a hoard of snapping sounds spill inside through the doors.

Cameras.

They'd arrived.

I don't bother to turn
around to catch the action. What's the point? I'd probably be
trampled to death before anyone realized I was there. Eager whispers
and animated excitement ripples through the crowd of students.
Ignoring the heightened energy, I take advantage of everyone looking
back to sidle to the front of the line.

"Open your
backpack, please," the security man says in a bored voice. In a
hurry, I do so. I'm ok, until I notice his eyes traveling over a
bright, mint green wrapping. My cheeks heat up at the feminine
product in my bag. How was I to know there'd be a man rummaging
through my bag today? His fingers find a half eaten Twix bar, and an
unopened Cheez- it pack, before he finally looks up.

"You're good,"
he says.

I lift one backpack
strap onto my shoulder, and rush away, zipping the bag as I walk.
Note to self: hide everything embarrassing ASAP!

The classroom door
creaks as I slide it open, and a few sets of eyes drift over. When
they see who it is, they turn back to the TV, bored. AP English
Literature is in full swing by the time I come. Walking over to Mr.
Bernard, I whisper my name, "Kenna Parker."

He lifts a hand to his
ear. "Eh?" I point to my name on his clipboard. He writes a
checkmark beside
Kenna Parker
and adds a "T" to
indicate tardy. For a split second, I debate whether I should point
out technically I'm on time, but due to external circumstances such
as new alien students, I was forced to be late. I decide it's not
worth it, and find a seat. A third of the chairs are empty. It
doesn't surprise me that some of the students made an opportunity of
this momentous occasion, and skipped school. I might've also, but I
had to do a cooking demo in Home Economics, and to put it bluntly:
I'm bored at home. There's no one to keep me company but a hung over
father, and an overly quiet house. Yes, unfortunately, given a
choice, I would choose school every time.

The lights are dim because we're
watching Romeo and Juliet. It would've been a nice movie had we been
watching the Leonardo DiCaprio version, but we're stuck with a movie
from 1968. It was so old some of our parents weren't even born yet
when it was released. Mr. Bernard had been a young man when this
movie first came out, so he didn't seem to notice or care what we
thought. Last week he'd spent a good fifteen minutes setting up the
old VHS player to accommodate the ancient tape. I wonder how long
it'd taken him today.

"O happy dagger!



This is thy sheath; there rust, and let me die."

Juliet's frantic words
are said with such desperation I pause to look at the screen on my
way to my seat. The intensity in which Juliet stares at the blade she
holds leaves me with a disconcerted feeling. I understand her
anguish.

I go straight for my
usual seat at the back of the room. Even when I'm in the middle of a
group, I have a way of making people forget me. At least, that's what
it feels like. I hate it, but I can't make someone see me if they
don't want to.

A loud snore covers up
the sound my backpack makes as it slips from my shoulder onto the
floor. I want to sleep too, but I know Mr. Bernard will be planning a
pop quiz on the movie tomorrow. It's what he always does, but half
the room is dozing off and appears to have forgotten this pattern.
Instead I cushion my cheek with my hand, propping my suddenly tired
head up. I felt fine seconds earlier, but something about this movie
is sucking my energy dry.

The birthmark on my finger itches,
and I scratch it. The reddish brown stain starts from base of my
thumb on my palm to the tip of my index finger. It's an unusual
looking mark, and it's been itching a lot lately.

"What misadventure is so early up,

That calls our person from our morning's rest..?"

My eyes wander to the
window beside me. It's hard to resist looking out. Now that fall is
here I like to watch the leaves twirl, settling aimlessly about. It's
mundane, thoughtless, yet every second soothes me. Today large vans
and foreign looking cars line the streets obstructing my view. I
stare, but few leaves are falling. Maybe this is the universe's way
of telling me to pay better attention to the movie.

A loud knock interrupts
my thoughts. Dr. Bingham strolls in looking nervous, and a little
agitated. Someone immediately turns on the lights, and it floods the
room, forcing a few heads to look up, dazed.

"Daniel! The
movie," Mr. Bernard waves at it. A blonde haired boy in the
front row jumps up and grabs a black remote. He presses a button,
pausing it.

"This is the
button for pausing, Mr. Bernard," Daniel explains patiently,
showing him. The person ahead of me snickers softly. Dr. Bingham
stands at the front, clapping loudly to get everyone's attention.

"We have a new
student joining your class today," he begins with a small smile.
He gestures to the people at the door. It's then I notice what appear
to be two secret servicemen, the assistant principal, and two other
official looking men. As if on cue, the two security men part and our
first alien student walks in.

Rhys.

Again, the dreamy sighs
I first heard when they landed are reenacted within milliseconds of
his arrival. It somehow sounds just as loud as before even though
only ten female students are in the room. Dr. Bingham seems a little
embarrassed by the sighs. His neck gets red, but he keeps his eyes on
us. Having the hots for an alien is still a novel idea for many
people on earth. I'm not even sure if it's physically possible to
do
anything about it.

Rhys's eyes seemed to
glow less in the light. In front of us, they just look abnormally
bright. If you scan past him briefly, you might not even notice it.
But it'd be impossible to pass over him quickly. His physical beauty
is too seductive to ignore, and even though I'm far away, I blush.
Biologically we're supposed to notice differences like disfigurement
or deformity, but the human eye notices something else too; it
notices perfection. Morning sunlight reveals a face that is perfectly
symmetrical. This is something no camera can capture; you have to
experience it to understand.