Flame (Fireborn) (5 page)

He's dressed in dark
jeans and a plain forest green shirt that contrasts the olive tones
in his skin. The clothes are simple and clean, but he wears them like
they've been made for him.

"This is Rhys, er,
Doe," Dr. Bingham continues. "Rhys Doe," he repeats
more forcefully. I nod in understanding. Like John Doe. Maybe aliens
don't have last names. I'm suddenly curious if I'm right.

"He will be here
for the rest of the semester with us. Please do your best to follow
the guidelines we sent home earlier this month," Dr. Bingham
reminds us. The "guidelines" he's referring to was a letter
of information detailing what we could discuss with our new
"planetary exchange students." The list included human
culture, language, foods, music, fashion, and media. It asked
students to defer from asking "deep, personal questions"
that could threaten national or Saguinox security.

"Welcome,"
Mr. Bernard greets in a forcefully cheerful voice. It's obvious he
has no idea how to handle the new events unfolding in the world, like
having an alien student, but he's willing to make the most of it.
Maybe that's why the national government chose Minnesota. Minnesota
nice extended to extraterrestrial creatures, too.

"Well, um, take a
seat." He gestures to the rows of empty chairs. His white hair
looks whiter next to Rhys' ebony colored head. "We were just
watching a very famous story called 'Romeo and Juliet'. It's, er, a
human story about love." Then he looks at Dr. Bingham as if he's
suddenly realized something. "Does he need an inter-?"Again,
Mr. Bernard stops, not wanting to embarrass his new student.

Immediately, Rhys
replies, "I don't need an interpreter. I am still learning your
language, but I have been studying it and your culture for many
years. If I need help, I know how to ask," Rhys replies. His
voice is smooth, syrupy, and holds a hint of an accent I can't place.
Well, duh,
I abruptly think to myself.
His accents from
outer space!

"Oh, great. Good,"
Mr. Bernard sounds relieved. "Well, welcome again, and take a
seat."

"If you need
anything, let us know," Dr. Bingham tells Rhys. "They,"
he gestures to the security, "will stay and-"

"That won't be
necessary," Rhys gives him a polite smile. "I'm sure they
have other things to do that will be more… beneficial. I think I
can take care of myself." His voice is low, but every person
including me, strains to hear his conversation. Maybe he notices
because his voice gets softer, and I can't hear anything from the
back. An older gentleman from the group at the entrance steps forward
to protest, but Rhys raises a commanding hand, and he stops.

That's when I notice
the air of authority around Rhys.

I straighten, observing
his stance, and the control in his body. He reminds me of an uncoiled
snake, low and disguised, but hiding something lethal. Rhys' head is
bent, but I notice his eyes scan his surroundings even as he listens
to Dr. Bingham. Our principal nods a few times as Rhys talks, then
looks up.

"All right then,"
he says in an irritated voice, stepping back from a conversation I
have no doubt Rhys dominated. "Have a good Monday." With
those parting words, Dr. Bingham leads the small group of people
away. When the door shuts there is an uncomfortable silence as we try
to absorb Rhys presence. The room feels too small, the air too tight
to hold a force like him. When he moves, we shrink back, not from
fear but from awe.

Someone clears her
throat. "Mr. Bernard?" Arianna raises her hand shyly. "Rhys
can sit by me if he wants," she offers. Mr. Bernard agrees,
happy for a course of action.

"Yes, why don't you do that,
Rhys?" He looks at Daniel. "Turn it on again. We'll be able
to finish today." Daniel presses the button and within a second
the Capulets are back on screen. This time everyone is awake. It has
everything to do with Rhys. Every person is aware of the smooth gait
of his body as he moves closer to Arianna. His movements are a
combination of fluid motions that are unnatural to observe. Rhys
smiles at Arianna, and any girl who sees it grins back, never mind
that it wasn't meant for them. He slides into the seat next to her
like it's something he's done before. The excited tension in the air
is so thick I can taste it in my throat. Insecure stares from the
boys. Secrets glances and giddy body language from the girls. It's
all mixing together like a heady aphrodisiac.

Come, Montague; for thou art early up,

To see thy son and heir more early down.

Empty desks surround me, but Rhys is
closest, sitting two rows ahead and to the right. I try to focus, but
my eyes wander to him, noticing the width of his shoulders, and the
way the material of his shirt stretches to accommodate his large
frame. His eyelashes are so thick I see the black color from where I
sit. I can’t stop devouring him with my eyes. When I realize I'm
acting like a creepy stalker, my hands literally force my head to
turn back to the screen. The prince is finishing the final scene.

A glooming peace this morning with it brings;

The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head:

Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;

I feel a tingling on the side of my
face, as if someone is staring. That's unusual. The seconds tick by,
and the feeling remains. Restlessness unfurls in my belly. I turn my
head.

Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished:

Glowing eyes meet my
mine head on. I gasp.

Rhys is looking at me.

His stare lingers for a second more,
then his eyelashes flutter down. The moment is broken, and it passes,
as if it'd never happened at all. But I know it was real. I can't
contain the sudden pounding in my heart.

For never was a story of more woe

Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

I'm not invisible.

He's seen me.

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.