Carson sat alone, as always. Her back rested against the thick trunk of an oak tree as she pulled a fading book from her messenger bag. After scanning the area to ensure that none of her fellow students were stupid enough to follow her into the forest surrounding the school she groped around in her bag for the book she had packed just that morning. She made a small sound of victory as her fingers came in contact with the hard cover. Pulling it from her bag she inspected every inch of it to be sure that the ride to school hadn't damaged the already falling-apart novel. 'Peter Pan' was stamped across the cover in bold, golden letters that glinted in the sunlight and Carson couldn't restrain herself from tracing them with a soft kind of reverence she held only for books. Determining that there was no further damage to her precious book, Carson immediately opened it to the first page and let herself get lost in a world of pirates, fairies, and boys who can fly.
It was hours later when Carson finally looked up from the book. Wind shifted through her white-blonde hair as she glared at the sky; the sun was just dipping below the horizon and school had long since finished. Her parents were going to kill her. They had told her only yesterday that wandering off by herself and disappearing for hours was one of the stupidest habits she had gotten into in her eleven years of life, not to mention the fact that skipping half a school day was detrimental to her education and such. Honestly, Carson thought with a scoff, it's like they think I care. After having a good eye roll at her parents' naivety she pushed herself off the ground, dusting the lingering dirt off her bony hands and onto her school skirt. She felt a brief stab of annoyance at the ugly beige skirt that was a required piece of her uniform and mentally cursed whoever had thought that having a beige skirt and a white blouse was a brilliant idea for a school uniform (not to mention the fact that the winter jumper was the most horrific shade of sludge-grey she had ever seen and managed to clash with every other piece of clothing she wore).
A quick glance at her wristwatch made her thankful that she lived a mere five minutes away from the school. It was 5:24 and her parents were definitely going to award her tardiness with an early trip to the grave. She could almost hear them reprimanding her already and spent the whole journey home bracing herself for the inevitable flurry of hugs and shouting and groundings and quite possibly tears. Her mother was an emotional woman, a trait that thankfully skipped a generation and left her perfectly capable of keeping herself under control when necessary.
"CARSON RAE BLAIRE, WHERE IN GOD'S NAME WERE YOU? YOUR SCHOOL CALLED US ALMOST FOUR HOURS AGO TO TELL US THAT YOU HADNT SHOWN UP FOR YOUR AFTERNOON CLASSES. WE'VE BEEN WORRIED SICK! YOUR FATHER ALMOST CALLED THE POLICE, HEAVEN FORBID!"
The screeching voice of her mother made her flinch as the woman's shrieks assaulted Carson's eardrums. Although she had been prepared for the screeching, emotional hurricane that was her mother she would never quite get used to the way the woman's voice grated her ears and made her head throb. The woman in question was standing in front of Carson in all of her furious glory; her sleet grey eyes narrowed menacingly and her aristocratic features had taken on a harsh edge in her anger. She was quite stunning when she wasn't angry, which wasn't very often as Carson had the nasty habit of causing all kinds of trouble, and she had passed on some of her looks to her daughter. Speaking of whom, was gazing at her mothers attempt at intimidation with a kind of impassiveness that made her mother want to throw her hands up in exasperation. Carson's gaze flickered over to the living room couch and, as she had expected, saw her father lounging back as if his wife wasn't about to murder their only child (and boy did she look ready to kill). As if feeling her gaze her father glanced up and gave her a sly wink, mouth twitching with a poorly suppressed grin. He's obviously finding this whole debacle amusing; Carson thought and suppressed her own cheeky grin (quite a fair bit better than her father had, if she did say so herself).
"Sorry mother. I wasn't far from school, honestly... I spent the afternoon in the library. I was doing schoolwork though. I swear I had every intention of getting back to class! Time just slipped away from me." Carson lied smoothly. She had practice with this kind of thing, after all, and often needed to lie on the spot to avoid potentially dangerous situations (or at least, dangerous for her; situations such as expulsion, detention, and many various punishments threatened by her mother).
"In the... Oh, honestly Carson..." Her mother's voice grew tired, as if being angry with Carson had sapped all of her strength. Carson relaxed slightly as she realized that her mother had believed her lie completely. She almost felt bad for lying, but if it kept her from being grounded then she would happily do it again.
"I have half a mind to ground you for a month" Her mother stated suddenly. All of the tension returned to Carson and her eyes snapped from where they had been watching her father rake his hands through his soft blond hair (a habit she had inherited from him along with the soft, white-blond hair) to assess whether or not her mother was serious. The cold, calculating look in her mother's eyes was enough to make her own widen and in her panic she decided to employ the help of her father for he was the one who usually got her out of such situations. She beseeched him silently to step in and he rolled his eyes in answer, but she caught the flash of a smirk that signaled his agreement to help.
"Lucille" he started quietly, voice as smooth as velvet "what would that achieve? We have been proved time and time again that not only does our daughter care not for the punishment, but that she rather enjoys it. Being locked away from everyone cannot faze someone who doesn't really like anyone to begin with."
Though the words seemed harsh, they were true. That was one of the many things that Carson loved about her father; he wasn't afraid to tell the truth when so many others shied away from it to avoid causing offence. Although most people tend not to enjoy having the truth handed to them in such a blunt manor, Carson was not most people and often found comfort in the uncompromising honesty. It was in the manipulation of the voice, she mused as her mother and father spoke in hushed whispers about what punishment should befall her. The quiet velvety voice of her father seemed to soften the blow of his harsh words, making them feel kid when in reality they were usually anything but. Carson had tried to teach herself the art of bluntness but couldn't quite manage the silky tone required to soften the blow and often sounded harsh and condescending. She had once tried to practice on a teacher who had spelt her name wrong and had ended up in detention for a week because she had accidentally talked to her as if she were the most daft thing on the planet (which, in retrospect, she probably was as she couldn't even manage to spell 'Carson' correctly).
"Go to bed Carson." Her mother said with a tired sigh, bringing her mind back from its drifting. Carson looked at her with a raised eyebrow and a disbelieving glint in her eye. Flickering her gaze to her father's she saw him shake his head slightly and shoo her off with a wave of his hand. He knew she had been about to say something that would have only landed her in more trouble, most likely something mocking and to do with her mother's sudden change from furious to tired. Feeling rather put out that her father had ruined her fun she sent him a subtle pout to which he responded with another shooing motion. After years and years of having to deal with Carson's attraction of trouble they had learnt to read each other extraordinarily well; her father noticed the fleeting expressions meant for only him while her mother raged and she noticed his subtle movements of his head, or his eyes, or his hands that spoke volumes to her. They had developed their own secret language, full of minuscule smiles and faintly inclined heads. Carson turned on her heels and fled towards the stairs that led up to the second floor and ended right outside her bedroom door.
"Harold... What are we going to do with that girl?" Carson paused, halfway up the stairs, after hearing her mother's question. She had obviously not been meant to hear it if the hushed way her mother spoke was anything to go by. A sigh carried through the air, one she recognized as her fathers, and it was so full of exasperation that she almost flinched.
"Lucille, she's only ten years old for heaven's sake. While neither you nor I can say that at that age we would disappear for hours on end just to avoid school, we did get into a fair amount of trouble. It's unfair of us to punish our daughter if she has committed but a minor offence. Although, I do believe that we might need to have a chat with her about the importance of education. At this rate it'll be a miracle if she can make it through Year Five, not matter how much she acts as if she is in the possession of superior intelligence."
After hearing her father's words Carson actually did flinch. A heavy feeling of shame settled in her and, though she still held firm to her belief that her intelligence was far superior to that of her peers, she couldn't help but mentally chastise herself. She was the one at fault for making her father sound so worried, so frustrated. She was the one who was the constant cause of her mothers outbursts; her mother who looked so very lovely when she wasn't frowning, who had raised her with a gentle smile and the same tender love Carson now held only for her books. And she regretted very deeply being the cause of both of those things but, like how her mother couldn't help but be emotional and her father couldn't resist the lash of the blunt truth, she was powerless to stop the way her magnetism for trouble of any and all kinds effected those around her. She didn't go out seeking trouble; trouble just managed to find her. Like a moth to a flame.
With a heavy sigh and tears prickling at the corners of her eyes Carson walked the rest of the way to her room deep in thought. She hadn't realized that she had been worrying her lip until she bit down too hard, making her hiss quietly in pain. After washing herself up and changing into a pair of soft grey pajamas Carson was called back down stairs for her evening meal. They ate in silence that verged on awkward but was still comfortable enough to not prompt any of them into talking to get rid of the quiet tension in the air. Being the first to finish Carson excused herself and hurried upstairs, her head clouded with thoughts of sleep and warm blankets. She all but fell into her bed, finally letting her eyelids droop shut as her world faded into nothing. She dreamt of flying with a boy who refused to grow up while her parents sat downstairs and spoke in length about her future.