Author's Note:
Welcome.
Welcome to what? you might ask.
To be honest, I'm not entirely sure. Story number one? The Adventures of EyesOfEnigma, part I? Who knows. The point is, here it is.
This fanfic has been buzzing in my skull like Christmas time is to Jack Skellington every since a few years ago. It's based very heavily on (and thus I give due credit to) Ellen Potter's The Kneebone Boy. I fell in love with this deliciously strange and quirky novel ever since I opened its three-hundred-some pages, and so . . . yeah. Fanfic. Whoohoo. I highly suggest reading it before you read this, otherwise you'll kind of have no idea what's going on and/or the characters will seem a bit out of place. But whatever . . . it's a free country. I assume.
Okay, sorry to bore you, but as a writer, I don't like having strong female leads in my novels to have defined love interests. It kind of bugs me how cliché it is, but hey, that's just my opinion. Regardless, I tend to let my hair down on this little fact when I write short stories, poems, or fanfics, so I'm going to try to start strong with one I've been nursing for a while.
The rating is like a 13+ for occasional teenage swearing in the future. Just trying to be realistic.
Hope you enjoy. Please leave constructive criticism.
Love and stuff,
EyesOfEnigma.
Collector of the Odd
Chapter I
The classroom smelled like drying paint. Drying paint and old gum. It was almost as if the paint was trying to conceal the shameless and offensive gum under the desks by overpowering them, and failing sorely. Things had not changed at the Little Tunks High School. It was hopeless to think that things would ever change anywhere in Little Tunks. Even the faint tickle of peppermint would carry on the breeze long after the gum factory town was gone.
A blond at the front row stared at the brick wall to his right, trying to ignore the chattering teenagers that surrounded him. He thought the world would change after that week by the sea. In the moment his universe flipped upside-down, but it didn't take long for him to realize that it still looked the same. He didn't change. On the outside, most would say that he had gotten a fair bit taller, older, and his features more defined, but he still had that head of pale, shaggy, and unkempt mass of hair that somehow was still reasonably presentable in public. Though it could hide the one of his pale blue eyes, it couldn't hide how he was still the noodle-limbed boy from four years ago.
Wordless.
Friendless.
He hoped with all of him that the new teacher wouldn't call on him. This middle-aged woman, preparing her first English lecture, eyes buzzing with business and nervous with the trifle of being impressive, would have been informed of the blond's selective mutism by the other teachers, but there was always a chance that she would try to get him to speak. He planned for this. It was simple to make a person feel so awkward and cover up their mistake.
Why couldn't his sister be his twin? He wondered how she was holding up in her first class of the younger year. And his brother two years behind that. They were likely both being ignored, and in return, ignoring the world.
The blond tilted his head back slightly, shut his eyes, and tried to pull his brain out of his dark-turtleneck-and-jean-clad body. Pretending that the old peppermint gum odour was the real herb, he created a vivid mental painting of the slender, strawberry-haired, beautifully freckled woman he knew as his mother. He wished with all his being that he was visiting her, with his siblings and father, in the hospital. For an antique castle by the sea, it wasn't a half-bad hospital. He could get lost in her brilliant grin, the graceful movement of her hands – even the strange things she did and said were becoming endearing and refreshingly child-like, all while keeping the powerful maturity of an adult.
The rumbling words in the classroom were replaced with fleeting murmurs, causing the secluded teenager to look up quickly. He thought that the teacher made a move for silence, but she didn't appear to have changed from just a few minutes before. He followed the quiet gazes of the other students.
He blinked.
Something new.
Someone new.
There was nothing spectacular in this young woman's stature, nor her looks or build. She was remarkably average in all these aspects. Her height was no more than two inches below the blond's own, her eyes were large, expressive, untouched and clean. A sharp nose, a small mouth, no freckles, no glasses. She was not athletic nor unhealthy, and she dressed simply in sneakers, jeans, a loose sweater, and a beanie hat. She would have slipped into class almost completely unnoticed if it weren't for the blaringly obvious.
Her skin was deathly white; her hair, wavy and cropped just below the ears, the same lack of hue. Her eyes were a dull, dark red that could be mistaken for brown at a distance, though there was a challenging sharpness to them that could not be contested. She glanced around the room, entirely comfortable and unflappable with all the eyes on her, and silently strode to the seat two to the left of the blond, and empty desk between them. Her gait was as smooth as a floating ghost.
After settling in and grabbing a notepad and pen, the new student scribbled something quickly. The blond watched quietly, unmoving and fascinated. A collector of the odd and strange, he knew precisely what sort of person she was, and had always wanted to witness someone like her. He flinched slightly when she rolled her eyes at the audible comments around the class. Clearly becoming thoroughly annoyed, she turned in her seat and shot a scalding glare, her voice even and strong.
"You can stare for today, but expect no good graces from me tomorrow."
Establishing a sense of fear in the room, she smirked, and continued as if nothing happened.
The teacher saw this as a good opportunity to assume control. Standing in her purple pinstripe business suit, the blond could immediately tell what sort of teacher she was going to be. Her cold stern gaze said it all, and he internally groaned.
Miss Quinn was her name, and judging by her picky standards (which she made known very quickly), she had been trained for this job in a serious way, but she hadn't been trained for handling students like these. She wasn't a Little Tunks native. She didn't think like them yet. It would be a rough year for her.
"Before we start," Quinn announced after her lengthy summary of expectations, "for my benefit, we'll go up and down the rows: say your name, what you hope to study post-secondary, and a random interesting fact about you. Hobbies, interests, anything. Starting here."
She had, of course, pointed to the blond. He glanced up, dreading the moments to inevitably follow. She waited patiently for him to speak, but was only met with the rippling laughter of the class. She whipped her head around, confused and angered.
"He doesn't talk, Miss," a freckled girl said nasally.
It seemed to suddenly come back to the new teacher. "Oh, right. Hardscrabble, was it? Otto. Yes, I heard about this. My apologies." She motioned for the next person to continue.
Otto sank slightly in his seat, getting comfortable with staring at the wall. And so it begins, he thought, tucking his chin into the collar of his turtleneck. He wished he still had his scarf, but his mother had it. It was right where it was supposed to be, but it didn't mean that he missed the reassuring warmth it gave him.
The uninteresting sounds droned on until, at last, the unfamiliar voice chilled the curious room. "My name is Isabelle Housman. I want to study graphic design," she projected clearly. "And," she hesitated, almost second guessing what she was going to say. Otto never looked away, and he felt his chest hurt with empathy. I know what it's like to be different, he wanted her to know. "I'm an albino, if that wasn't obvious enough." Her voice thickened with resentment as she finished, retreating into her comforting disdain.
The word "albino" left Otto's ears in a buzz. A genetic condition leaving the individual unable to produce melanin, the essence of colour in the human body. Pale skin, white hair, inability to tan, and in most cases, poor eyesight and light sensitivity. Other health problems were not uncommon. She didn't wear glasses, but he guessed contacts. Unless she had surgery when she was young. Or maybe her eyesight wasn't bad at all. The mystery she held around her was almost thrilling.
How could his questions be answered? Otto would barely be able to approach her with such strange probing, let alone actually strike up a conversation. He sighed internally, eying the wall with bitter disappointment.
The first English lecture was hardly anything to sneeze at. The basics, with the occasional ridiculous question to make sure everyone was paying attention. Every 30 seconds or so, Otto's pale sky eyes would flicker towards the snowflake of a girl with intrigue. Only once did their gazes meet, and in a startled reflex, he shot his stare away, later wishing he had kept it there to see what she would do. He was unsure if she had noticed his odd interest or it was just a coincidence, but he thoroughly favoured the latter.
The bell rang, and footfalls followed obediently.
As students collected papers and excused themselves from class, Isabelle lifted out of her seat slowly, turned on her heel, and marched herself right over to Otto's desk. Bewildered from the small catnap he had managed at the end of the period, he looked up towards her with dread and anticipation. She laid a slender-fingered hand on his notepad, her skin almost paler than the paper and her eyes boiling blood.
"Never stare at me during class again," she muttered at him, her tone as if she was talking about the weather, but her searing gaze concealing no ounce of fury.
Mindless, Otto nodded quickly and vigorously to make her leave. She did so, after blinking heavy white lashes in disapproval, in her wake a boy slowly disappearing into his sweater.
Four years after the Hardscrabble children's adventure by the sea, life in Little Tunks has returned to a dull routine. With the beginning of Otto's last year in high school comes a new addition to the class, but she's not like everyone else. She's strange, just like them, but in a completely different way. Always fascinated by the odd, Otto attempts to form a friendship with the new student, dragging her into the family trio. While Otto and Max are willing to accept her quickly, Lucia finds it difficult to trust someone who might end up like everyone else . . . and this strange girl is fearing the same.