CHAPTER 2

I've thought a lot about what I saw in Carol's room. I've narrowed it down to three options: One, Carol's got a new gadget I haven't heard of. Two, the blue light was actually held up by something, and I just couldn't see it—makes sense. Three, I imagined it. I figure those are sensible options. I'm not exactly sure which one is more likely, but I'm assuming one or two is more plausible. One thing I know for sure, though—I'm not telling anyone about that little sighting. I don't want them to think I'm insane.

I'm at the library, sitting in the reading area. I don't actually have a book, but I figure it doesn't matter, as long as I'm quiet. People haven't started looking at me strangely yet, so I guess it's not too abnormal. I drum my fingers on a small table next to me, and a tall man gives me a silencing glare. Oh, right. Quiet. I sigh softly, standing. I head over to the Fiction section to retrieve a book. I'm in searching the Teen category, since all of the children's books are simply defined by their name—childish.

Giving up-- I can't be bothered to read through the first chapter of a book to determine if it's worthwhile –I exit, looking around outside at people on benches, cars in the lot. One particular man in a long black trenchcoat watches me carefully, squinting as if trying to see something up close. I glance over at him nervously as I clop over to the only empty bench --the one next to his. Unfortunately I am deathly afraid of sitting next to a stranger. It's an odd phobia, I'm sure, but small talk gives me the jitters-- as does talking to an old man who wants to know my name and what school I go to out of common interest, because he happens to be sitting next to me. After that, you never know where things could go. A less intimidating prospect of sitting beside a stranger is that one might brush arms with him or even spill something on them –quite embarrassing when the victim is young and even the slightest bit attractive, or even when they're not.

When you imagine the possibilities, it's much safer to just find a separate seat, don't you think? Thus, my logic. So, I set myself on the wooden bench, sliding to the far end, away from the man with the coat. He turns the page of his newspaper, and I can tell he looks at me from the corner of his eye. Fear begins to build inside me. Finally he folds his paper and clears his throat, turning to face me. I don't turn. I refuse to. I pretend not to notice him.

"Excuse me?" He asks. "Miss?" He taps the side of the bench, and I have no choice but to pay attention, lest I seem daft.

"Yes?" I smile kindly, barely turning my head his way.

"Could you tell me... are you related to Elise Hamilton? Could she be your sister? Are you... Marie?" He sounds very intelligent and addresses me politely, so I turn, a radiant smile on my face.

"Yes, I am, sir. And who might be asking?" I'm dying to find out this man's name, so I can confront Elise when I get home. What's she doing, knowing a man such as this?

"Edward Poppy. She goes to school with my son, David. If you could tell her we send greetings, I would be utterly delighted." Drat. This bloody school of hers. I nod nicely to the man, standing. I've had enough of the library for one day. "Marie?" Edward calls as I begin to walk away, in search of a pay phone. "Do you know if you'll be attending next year?"

What an odd question. "I'm only nine, sir. But I assume I'll be attending when I'm of age." Another smile, a wave, and I'm off.

"I hope you're able to." He calls from behind me. This man –Edward Poppy –just won't let me end the conversation, will he? I don't stop moving for him, but he doesn't seem to care. "It's always good to see one of you with your sister's spirit. I hope you've got what she has. We need more of your kind." What is he calling me? I continue on, my heart pounding. Now I've got something to talk to Elise about. 'More of your kind'? I find that insulting. What am I, some sort of alien?

Infuriated, I actually walk the mile and a half home, closing the door with a little too much force. My mother instantly appears in the foyer, hands on her hips. "Young lady!" She announces sternly, pointing to the spot in front of her. I obey her silent command, moving forward. Her finger remains, now aimed at me. "You were supposed to call us to come pick you up. What on earth possessed you to walk home? You know you are not allowed to do such things!" Her voice goes up a notch, her anger more than evident.

Anger pulses through me. "Sorry, mum." I mutter through clenched teeth. I've been working lately on my temper. I don't know if it's working very well at this moment, though; I'm nearly choking trying not to holler back at her. Even though I don't really have an argument –She did tell me it was not allowed, even reminded me this morning when she dropped me off –I'd like nothing more than to slap her right now.

"To your room." She orders, her voice shaking. The red in her face is subsiding. "Do not even think about coming down until you've been called for supper." At this point, she is turning, leaving, going back to what she's nearly always doing: Cooking. I see Elise's face poking out from the stairwell, and I head that way, stomping as hard as I can up the stairs. "Marie!" my mother screams, and I stop, resisting the urge to cry hot tears of rage. Elise runs to her room. I go into mine, stopping myself before slamming the door.

Why should i get so worked up about this? I should've followed the rules, and I know it. Yet my anger is uncontrollable, clenching my hands into fists so tight I can't feel my fingers, shaking my very joints. Elise isn't this way; Elise is perfect. I want to hurl. Why can't my mother ever compliment me? All she does is compare me to my sister, so beautiful and manicured, so smart and precise. My father, of course, is home less and less every year, his work time-consuming and addicting, but at least he tries.

I hate Elise at this moment. I know it's not her fault; she tries to be a friend to me. Yet, the thought of Elise brings a thought of Edward Poppy, which brings curiosity, and all is forgotten. I'd like to talk to Elise, but I want to stay true to my plan not to disobey, which hasn't been working out for me very much in the past few days. Sighing, I sit on my bed just as the door clicks open. It's Elise.

"Hello," she murmurs, gently closing the door and sitting next to me. "I'm sorry." She offers, and I smile. It's not her fault, yet she apologizes. She always knows what t do. Another perfect trait on her.

"'S not your fault, Elise." I mutter. "I shouldn't have done it. But I met this man, Edward Poppy, at the library, and he wanted me to tell you that he and David send greetings. Then he said something about you being awful determined for one of your kind, and said he hopes to see me at that school of yours." I ramble. Elise's face freezes, but she quickly hides her expression.

"Oh, yeah, Edward is David's father. I met him when we were shopping in Diag —for my books. Met him when we were shopping for my schoolbooks." She mumbles.

"What did he mean?" I press. "One of our kind?"

"Oh, he just meant that..." She pauses. "He'd like to see more hard working kids, I guess. I don't know. David's dad usually speaks in riddles." She answers quickly. I shrug. Suddenly the door clicks open again, to reveal an empty hallway –but I look down, and Duke has pushed my door open with his nose again. I broke the latch slamming it, and now he can come in whenever he pleases. I sigh and pick him up, rubbing behind his ears.

"Alright," Elise says, giving Duke a quick pat on the head, "I'd better go study. I'll bring you some tea soon, okay?" I nod, and Elise leaves with a soft smile. I plop down on my bed, turning on my radio. This will be the second day in a row I've missed tea. And now I can't leave my room until supper. I've got a long day ahead of me.