I guess from an outsider's perspective, my life seems pretty normal. Charmed, you might say. My family lives in a manor in San Francisco, my mom is a gourmet chef, and her sisters do good things within the community—ever heard of 'Ask Phoebe'? My dad is an absolute angel, and I have two wonderful sisters.
Oh, god, who am I kidding? Big (Stinky) Nasty Demons wreck the manor at least once a week. Mom is never around, due to the fact that owning (and cooking) for a nightclub is a lot of work. My aunts are…insane, to put it lightly, and my dad, the 'angel'--yeah. Left us. Plus, I'm stuck in the middle of two sisters, and my only claim to fame is that someone regularly scrawls 'bitch' on my locker door.
Yeah. Charmed, I'm sure.
At least I have friends. Well, technically, one friend, as in singular. Max Morris—his dad knows my family from…work. We met at the relatively young age of three, when I took his toys and made him cry. He had his revenge when, at the age of ten, he knocked me down a flight of stairs, effectively fracturing my collarbone. I put out two of his baby teeth, and collected the scar on my cheekbone in a rather ill-advised game of baseball in the house.
We know everything there is to know about each other—I know about his dreams of becoming an architect, and that he's gay, and he knows…well, practically everything about me. Except that I'm a witch. And except the fact that I'm hopelessly in love with him. The only downside to that being that, again, Max is gay.
Okay, I really can't use this for Mr. Balkney's essay.
I mean, really, what on earth am I supposed to say? If I give him the happy-skippy la-de-dah, 'my mom's the owner of a (very) successful nightclub, my aunt is a famous newspaper columnist, and the other is a fantastic social worker, and my dad? Well, he and my mom have their differences, but overall, everything is fine' spiel, either he'll see straight through it, and I'll wind up with another one-way ticket to the guidance councilor's office, or he'll believe it, and the prevalent myth that I'm just some constantly premenstrual bee with an itch will continue to prevail.
The twisted side of me is considering just handing in the truth. Honestly—what would be a better essay about 'Who I Really Am' than one about how I'm the future of a line of the most powerful witches alive? I might get extra points for creativity. Or, on the downside; mandatory counseling. Again.
Either way, I'm going to have to start at the beginning.
My locker sticks. It also has black marker smears on it, and a sizeable dent from me beating my head against it. This is what I was doing that fateful Tuesday morning before lunch, hoping that the motion would inspire a thesis for my next science paper, or that I would render myself incapable of writing it due to intense cranial trauma. Max prodded my shoulder.
"Are you going to do that all lunch period? I'm only asking 'cause there's rumors that Melody Winters is facing off with the new girl." He said, shifting his backpack from one shoulder to the other.
"And thunk you want to thunk watch this verbal thunk assault on some poor, hapless girl because?" I asked, finally resting my head against the locker door.
"Because, Kerry, it's like a train wreck. You can't not watch." He replied, and threw the paper airplane he'd been making down the hall. Mr. Balkney stuck his head out into the hall.
"Hey, did you guys see an airplane? In the hall, just now?" He asked. Max hid a grin. I rubbed my forehead.
"An airplane, Mr. B.? It was probably just a ghost—you know these old buildings." I told him, stretching my face into a wide smile. He blinked several times, but didn't say anything. Once he was safely back in his classroom (which is really the best place for people like Mr. B, who occasionally asks my class what all the rainbow flags are for) Max let out a loud guffaw.
"You are absolutely amazing. You will totally get mentioned in my memoir."
"I better get more than just a blurb, Mr., considering all the stuff I do for you." I poked him in the chest, and opened the doors to the cafeteria.
One of the real upsides to being a complete and total social misfit is that you get your own table. Ever since ninth grade, Max and I had staked out a table in what we considered to be the best location (close to the doors, close to the vending machines) and never had to worry about anybody stealing it. After all, who would want to sit with the 'freaks'?
The new girl, apparently. She was sitting under our table, demurely eating a sandwich as if any part of that was normal. I raised an eyebrow and looked at Max, who rubbed his head and shrugged. 'You do it.' He mouthed, so I stuck my head under the table.
"Am I bothering you?" She asked.
"Not really. Is this where people eat where you're from?" I said, kneeling next to the bench.
"No," she answered, like I was the one eating under the table, "There's some girl who keeps throwing things at me." Max joined me on the floor.
"That would be Miss Melody Winters—Bay High's own debutante." He informed her, rolling his eyes, "Charming, isn't she?"
"As a rabid wolverine." the girl agreed, "I'm Rory."
"Kerry." I stuck out my hand, and when she took it, "Welcome to Bay High School—also known as Hell."
"Want to sit with us?" Max offered, "At the table, I mean."
"What about—" Rory started, but Max cut her off.
"She won't bother us. Melody's scared of our little Kerry." He hugged me around the shoulders, and my stomach jumped at the contact. "Most people are."
"What's that on your forehead?" Rory asked me. Before that conversation could get sufficiently weird, my sister dropped onto the end of the bench. Max looked like his eyes would pop out of his head. Rory slid lower in her seat—I assume so she could take a dive under the table if Lin started throwing things. But Lin unwrapped her lunch and arranged her purse on the table before noticing our weird looks.
"What?" she asked me, flipping her hair back like she was really confused.
"Did you hit your head?" I said, tapping her skull, "You never sit here. You hate sitting here." Lin sighed, and made a show of putting her sandwich down. Yeah. Like she'd eat it anyway. She put her hand on my shoulder.
"Can't a girl just sit with her baby sister once in a while?" Lin asked me, eyes wide.
"Not you. And I'm not the baby, remember? Go sit with Rachel." I brushed her hand off of my shoulder.
"Hello? You might be weird and socially retarded, but at least you guys aren't prepubescent teeny boppers."
"This from the queen of teeny boppers." Max quipped. Lin ignored him. Her blue eyes landed on Rory.
"Who are you?" Lin asked sharply. "I mean, you don't normally sit here. What are you, his girlfriend?"
"Um, no." Rory replied, "I'm new." Lin looked surprised. She looked at Max, who shrugged, and then at me. I raised an eyebrow. What? I asked her mentally, She was under our table. Lin's eyebrows narrowed. Under the table? She looked at Rory again. Maybe she belongs at your table, Ker, she's just as weird as you guys.
"Oh, you're the one Mel's having a coronary about." Lin said, nodding sagely.
"Why's—" Rory started, and the bell rang.