I own nothing written by Stephenie Meyer.
And just a reminder, my hybrid vamps will be AU.
Beta'd by Arizona Hale and (EDIT: March, 2012) Project Team Beta.
Warning: this chapter contains the use of a racial slur.
The air is cool and pleasant. Yellow, orange and brown leaves matching the fading light of the day litter the grass-lawn in front of the school. A breeze passes by every so often, causing the flaky foliage to brush towards the far right side of the yard or accumulate at the foot of the two ancient oak trees flanking the concrete pathway leading to the sidewalks. I stroll forward, my shoes crunching against the stray leaves.
For the first time in a while I feel at ease. No longer will I have to stomach Flan's attempts at rooting out my family's secrets or the community's displeasure at my family's presence. We're starting anew in a city thousands of miles from here—hell, one that isn't even in the state. And this time I won't be labeled, I'll make sure of it. This time we'll truly have a clean slate.
I round left into the shaded sidewalk. A little girl with pigtails zooms my way on her scooter and from the corner of my eye, I see a shiny Hello Kitty key chain hanging off her pack, tempting me. With just a twitch of my fingers the chain can be mine, but I bury the impulse to swipe the trinket and instead let the child pass by.
I've messed up. I'm not afraid to admit it. I've done things in my short life that my family isn't proud of. But no matter what Mom or Nahuel or Huilen have told me, I can't bring myself to regret what I've done. Or at least, what I've done prior to moving to this place. I think I can say the same for Miri. My head still spins whenever I think about it: the afternoon sun, my hair whipping away from my face as I race down the road, freshly baked pastry in hand, the angry shouts of the policeman behind me. Miri's shock as I took her hand and dragged her through the crowd...and of course, afterwards, once everything had died down and we could fully comprehend what I'd done.
It made the bread taste even sweeter.
As I happily reminisce, a middle aged woman walking home with her young son gives me a strange look and quickly steers her child to the opposite side of the street. As they cross, she gives me another look: one of undisguised disgust. I stop walking and hold her gaze. Not expecting my temerity, the mother's own bravery falters and is replaced with shock over my cold, unyielding stare. Her shock is quickly followed by fear. Blood pools in her cheeks, and she briefly glances down before staring straight ahead again. Her son is oblivious to the incident, still going on about his day. I resume my walk.
Stealing things isn't as difficult as most people believe. Well, maybe it is for humans, but for someone who can hear, see and smell everything going on around them…sometimes it's like breaking glass: loud, gratifying, and endlessly amusing. The memory of the necklace incident dances through my mind…
Polished sapphire cut into a pristine oval treasure piece, hung by gold rope. Mom didn't find out what we were doing until a year after we acquired the jewel. She wasn't pleased when she got it out of me, after discovering the collection of hoarded trophies underneath the floorboards of my bedroom.
No. Far from it.
And to make it worse, she told Huilen and Nahuel. Miri and I weren't allowed to see each other much afterwards…but that didn't really stop us. Besides, the adults cooled down. Eventually. I guess it's lucky that Reni ages the same rate as a human, or that Nahuel and Huilen were so wrapped up in tracking down Joham, otherwise they wouldn't have been distracted enough for Miri and I to slip away for an hour or two...
Speaking of Reni, where is she? I quickly scan my surroundings. Arriving at the crumbling school, I expect her to be where she usually is—under the oak tree at the front of the yard. I stride past the wooden behemoth, through the grass yard, trying to pick her bronze ringlets out of the mess of rambunctious children celebrating the start of the weekend. And then I see her—she's sitting at one of the benches near the classrooms, stuffing sheaves of paper into her lion backpack/cuddly doll. I whistle softly, too soft for a human to hear, and she looks up, meeting my gaze. Immediately, her mouth breaks into a delighted grin, her eyes alight with happiness. I respond with a half smile, beckoning her over with a tilt of my head. She hops off of the bench, slinging her pack over her shoulder and begins making her way towards me. She skids to a stop at my side and in one smooth transition I have her tiny hand encased in mine and we're on our way.
"So, how was school?" I ask. She tightens her grip on my palm and then answers in her head, "Good. I drew a picture for Ms. Mary."
She radiates her thoughts through her hand more strongly. I sense the threads of her mind trying to connect with my own, so I tug a slimmer of my resistance down, just enough to have a conversation but not share everything.
"That's good," I think. "What did you draw?" A picture of a duck drawn in bubblegum pink crayon pops into my head, which then transfers into the old lady's hands. The look of adoration on the teacher's face is priceless. "A ducky. I made him pink," she replies telepathically.
I chuckle. "Why pink?" I ask aloud, looking down at her.
"'Cause pink is prettier! I wish there were pink ducks…" she says longingly. Smirking, I shake my head.
We continue on like this—her mentally chatting about her day while I patiently listen—until we get to Sandstone Avenue. The intersection is particularly busy today, but instead of waiting for the red stoplight to flash back to walk, I steer Reni around the corner to walk along Elk Street.
"Hey, what are you doing? Home is the other way!" She skids to a halt and proceeds to drag me back.
"Calm down."
"But were going to be late!"
"We don't have to be home until 5:30, we still have time." She isn't listening. She's still trying to drag me back to the stoplight, this time tugging with both of her hands. I put my hands on her shoulders, signaling her to stop. I kneel on one knee, and as I come to eye level with her, she places her right hand on my cheek.
"Why are you acting so funny all of a sudden? Why can't we go home the regular way?" she asks, worriedly.
"I was trying to tell you just now, but you wouldn't calm down. I need to pick up something before we leave—" I begin.
"Why can't we pick it up on our way out of the city?"
I sigh inwardly, impatience and exasperation mounting with every wasted second.
"Because one, the store closes in about an hour, long before we leave. Two, I'll be too busy helping Mom load up the moving truck, and three, I don't want Mom knowing what I'm getting."
"Why?" she asks.
"Why what?"
"Why don't you want Momma to know?"
I pause for a moment, unsure on how to answer. I look around at my surroundings, searching for anything that might give me an idea. Just when I'm about to give up hope, a party truck with a clown painted on the side rumbles by us, and then lightning strikes my head.
"Because it's a surprise," I whisper to the suddenly entranced little girl in front of me. The effect I'm aiming for is instantaneous. You've got to love a four-year-old's short attention span.
"A surprise!" she exclaims aloud, dropping her palm from my face. "For who?"
"Miri," I answer. Her eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up into her forehead, her mouth forming a round O in response. However, her shocked expression soon gives away to confusion.
"Why would you want to keep a secret like that from Momma?"
"Because I think the less people know, the better. Besides, you know how well Miri can read Mom."
"Oh. Okay," she says satisfied.
"So remember," I continue, "don't tell Mom. And if she asks, just say I felt like soaking up the city one more time before we left."
"''Kay."
I stand up again, while Reni obediently clasps my hand. We resume our walk. She's silent for a couple of minutes, verbally and telepathically, her brow furrowed deep in thought. Before I can ask her what she's thinking, she re-initiates her gift and asks in her head, "Soooo, is it for Miri's birthday?" The worry caused by her silence is quenched with sweet relief.
"Not exactly. More of an 'I've missed you like crazy' present. I'm not even sure we'll be seeing her anytime soon," I reply, as the houses melt into grey apartment buildings.
"Where do you think they are right now?"
"Probably in Australia. That's where their last letter came from."
I look around, admiring the graffiti art that covers the dirty, crumbling buildings. We're close. With pleasure, I spot my work among the gang-related scribbles, untouched and still fresh, a good sign.
Soon our destination comes into view; Mac's Metal Works. It's a decrepit, grimy looking garage with its windows painted over with black paint. To the untrained eye, it seems as though this pitiful building is deserted, possibly condemned. But I know better. We make our way across the trash-strewn street, and at the front of the garage door, I knock three times and wait. I know he's there; the shop closes at six, and it's only five-fifteen. I just hope he has the stuff….
Reni's becoming impatient. She shifts from foot to foot, drawing her head back to gaze at the pale orange sky. Just as she's about to ask why the people won't hurry up, the garage door rumbles open and there stands Mac. As always, he's dressed in his anchor blue jeans and white, cotton wife-beater, almond skin smeared with grease. At the sight of me, his round, boyish face splits open into a grin. Arms open, he welcomes me in his alto drawl, "What's good, nigga'?"
"Aww, same old," I say, smiling in response. We enter the musty-smelling garage, the tin doors rumbling shut behind us.
"You got the stuff?" I ask.
"Pfft. Man, you know me. You got the money?"
"Of course. Why else would I be here?"
"Aww, dat hurt bro! And here I thought you came to cry on my shoulder and tell me how much you're gonna miss me and shit, no homo," Mac says in mock sorrow, putting a palm to his heart for dramatic effect.
"Oh hahaha, very funny. Shit... my last day here, and you're still not gonna let me live down last Thursday, are you?"
"Hehe, what kind of friend would I be if I did?" he grins. It's at that moment he notices Reni at my side.
"Who's this?" he asks, staring interestedly at my sister.
"My sister. Reni, this is Mac. He's a friend of mine." I gesture to the greasy young man in front of me.
"Hi," she says shyly.
"Uhh, hi," Mac says, flabbergasted by Reni's adorability.
"Reni," I say, catching her attention, "Mac and I need to get Miri's present. You look tired, why don't you go have a quick rest on the couch." I point to the squishy, green cushions on our right, underneath the painted-over windows.
She gives me an annoyed look, one she reserves for when either me or Mom tries to get her to nap, but I hold her gaze with a stoic stare, silently trying to tell her that I have to talk to Mac alone. She catches on fairly quickly, a dawning of recognition softening her face. Hesitantly, she walks to the couch and climbs on, sitting near the armrest, black shoes dangling above the floor.
"I'll be right back, don't touch anything," I say. She nods, palms flat on the soft cushion, her eyes exploring the interior of the garage with rekindled interest.
I follow Mac to the back office, and sitting on the counter is none other than Jack, a twitchy, pale shrimp, and Mac's foster brother. As always, his nose is in his cell phone, texting. At the sound of my footsteps, he looks up and finally sees me.
"Bruh!" he exclaims in excitement, jumping off of the desk. "Where you been, man? I haven't seen you in helllllla long time-"
"Shh!" I throw up my hands in alarm, afraid that Reni might hear. Mac glares at him and quietly shuts the door.
"Man, keep it down, his sister's in the other room," he snaps to Jack, annoyed. He walks around the desk to get my package.
"Well, shit, I didn't know!" Jack says, bumping fists with me.
"Yeah, yeah, well keep it down. And that reminds me, YOU need to stop texting so goddamn much. You're getting behind on your chores…"
"Da' fuck are you smokin'?" says Jack, his eyes drawn back down to his cell phone.
"That," Mac starts, gesturing towards Jack's cell with the package in his hands, "is exactly what I'm talking about." He sets the box on top of the table while I lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching with a smirk on my face.
He looks to me. "Man, you are lucky your sister ain't the same age as you. See that?" He points towards Jack, who's now rapidly texting a response to his girl. "That is what I've got to deal with all day long."
I chuckle softly. I wonder how Mac would react if he knew the truth about us.
"Hey, it has its draw backs, trust me, man."
"Oh yeah? Like What?"
"…Dude, have you ever had a four-year-old ask you where babies actually come from? And not that whole 'stork shit,' I'm talking about her asking me what a fallopian tube was." He gives me an incredulous look, which I meet with a deadpan stare. Realizing my seriousness, his jaw drops in shock and horror.
"S-she asked that? Where the hell did she hear that from?" he blurts. Meanwhile, Jack is laughing like a hyena.
"Pfft, I don't know, she was probably scrolling through my biology book again. She likes to look at the pictures. She says they're interesting."
"Damn bro. No offense, but that's kind of freaky," Mac says, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Yeah, I guess it is. Which proves my point; You don't have to worry about that with him." I nod my head towards a once again cell-phone-obsessed Jack.
"Yeah, well, I guess." He clears his throat awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable by what we're talking about. "Anyway," he starts. "Back to your shit." He presents the package on top of his desk, as though presenting a priceless diamond to a potential buyer. "I tell ya, man, I've gotten some crazy requests in my time, but never something like this." He opens the box and takes it out, cradling it carefully in his hands.
"Alright, so I've had to make some modifications. Nothing too big; it was tricky though. But all in all, it's stronger than a typical gun, just like you asked."
He hands the device to me. I hold the cool metal in my hands, the handle grip, examining the springs attached to the back.
"Seriously dude, why do ya need this?" He's now dumping the empty box in the trash can in the corner.
"You don't want to know," I reply.
"Whatever, man," he sighs.
He places the metal device in a padded leather case, which I take and place in my back pack. I then give him the yellow envelope full of his payment: $3,300. Carefully slinging my pack over my shoulder, I watch as he counts the money, making sure it's all there. Satisfied, he places the envelope in his jean pocket, and then hands his arm out to me in a typical gangsta fashion.
"Alright man, you take care."
We grasp hands.
"Yeah, you too," I murmur. Realizing that I'm leaving, Jack steers himself away from his phone and gives me a hug. When he's done, I walk away and open the door, feeling their eyes on my back. I spy Reni slumped over the armrest, fast asleep. Smirking, I walk silently over to her and gather her in my arms, letting her head rest on my shoulder. The garage door rumbles open. Without turning around I walk out and head for home, the reddish hue of the sunset, my sister, and the graffiti-covered walls my only company.