"Left, right, left. I'll go right. Hopefully this is the right one. I've followed the yellow brick road. I'm off to see the wizard. Summer, winter, fall. Shivering and scorching. I can make it. I'm sure I can."
Ms. Blanchard swiftly navigated through the room as she took four packets at a time, and instructed the front row to take one, and then pass it back. I got the very last one from the tall kid in front of me with the unruly mess of curly hair and dark green eyes. He was kind of cute, in my opinion.
He turned his body a bit and handed me my packet with his abnormally large hands with a happy grin on his face. His green eyes looked over my outfit before he pointed to my Coldplay shirt.
"Id be lying if I didn't say that I liked that shirt." He chuckled. His voice was gravely and raspy, and deep. It gave me chills that shot from my lower back to my neck. I smiled in return and looked down, pushing my hair out of the way to get a slightly better look of the shirt.
"Thank you." I accepted his compliment before my eye caught his ZZ Top shirt, and I giggled softly. "I like yours, too." I pointed at his shirt with my index. He looked down and laughed nervously as his slender fingers tugged through the mop of dark curls adorning his head. His tongue ran over his pink lips before he made eye contact with me again.
"Thanks," he smiled at me once again, "ZZ Top's one of my favorite bands." He blinked a couple of times at me, as if trying to process some sort of dream that happened to him, except this is reality, and I'm not a dream.
"Mr. Styles and Miss Stilinski," Ms. Blanchard interrupted, "would you like to answer the question I asked?" She raised her right eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. I heard a snicker next to me, and I immediately knew it was Zayn, who I sent daggers. His hair was down and laid over his forehead with white studs in his ears, and a stupid pink polo, khaki pants, and white converse. How could take this guy seriously when he's in a pink polo with earrings in his ears? Like, seriously?
"Um... can you ask the question again?" 'Mr. Styles' asked Ms. Blanchard as he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. There were snickers all over the classroom, and I sadly looked at the lean boy in front of me, who's cheeks slowly grew to a scarlet color. My eyebrows then creased together as I shot people all over the classroom a menacing glare.
"Hey!" I growled. "It's not his fault, it's mine, okay? I talked to him." Ms. Blanchard seemed confused as her eyebrows creased and her arms uncrossed.
"Care to explain, Fae Stilinski?" A thick, Bradford accent rang next to me. I rolled my eyes and snapped my head his direction. Where he comes from is obvious, England. Why he's in California, I couldn't tell you.
"Care to shut your trap, Zayn Malik. It'll do you a favor." I snapped at him fiercely.
"Want to do me a favor and meet up tonight?"
"Back off, nimmer!"
Zayn's eyes grew dark as he harshly grabbed my arm and abruptly stood me up and dragged me out. How is no one seeing this? He shut the classroom door and threw me against the brick wall before pinning my wrists above my head, and pressing his body against mine so I couldn't get away. His head dipped down to my ear, and I felt the slight stubble from his face prick at my fair skinned jaw.
"You have no idea who you're dealing with," his rough voice said lowly, "I hold a secret that only you would be able to decipher. I know you Faerona Stilinski. How I know, I would never tell you, but I mean something to you. You are the only one who knows, you just haven't processed it. Darkness is approaching your world, Fae, and you have to leave the Barbie doll house behind, and pick up the bow and arrow. It's a scary world out there, and we have to grow up and face it."
I shook under him as he pushed off of me and stalked off down the hallway with fiery eyes and a tight jaw line. I cowered away a little at a screeching door before I stood up straight again to come face to face with Ms. Blanchard. She seemed concerned as she held her hands in front of her tan cardigan with her eyebrows narrowed together. I swallowed my anxiety down before looking into her bright blue eyes.
"Fae, I'm asking you this as a friend, so I'm Mary Margaret for now," she sighed and pushed the black bangs of her pixie cut out of her eyes, "what happened out here? With you and Zayn? He seemed pretty steamed up."
I didn't want to explain what happened to her. It was something I wanted to push to the back of my mind with a swift movement so I would never have to deal with it ever again. But I guess standing here and staring off into space isn't going to do me justice either.
"He was just telling me something... really angry like."
"Fae, c'mon." she egged me on. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" she peered up at me curiously.
I could tell her everything. She was like my mom. My real mom died when giving birth to me due to a major heart failure from a dreadful disease called IHSS, or Idiopathic Hypertrophic Subaortic Stenosis. It skipped over my brother and I, but the doctor said if my mother made it, and had another child, they would get it. Stiles and I have IHSS, it's just a very, very rare amount. We have a very, very small case of IHSS. My mother was so close to surviving, but she just couldn't do it. She gave up on herself. On us. Mary Margaret raised me and Stiles since we were in the first grade, and she was willing to take care of us. She was there for every one of my softball games, dance meets, choir concerts, and cheerleading gigs. She never missed a beat, and she was always so apprehensive about or future. Since my mom died, and she happened to be a close family friend, she decided to take up the spot of helping us plan our future, since Stiles and I's dad was always so busy in the sheriff department.
Mary Margaret knew the inside scoop about everything and anything that revolved around me especially. Her, my dad, and Stiles always gang up on me to make sure I'm hanging out with the right people, wearing the appropriate attire for my everyday life, and making sure that I don't get myself into trouble. What would I do without her, I don't know. Mary Margaret is my rock. She keeps me steadied when I'm just about ready to tip over and fall into the ocean. She's always there for me.
I sighed and looked at her with a soft and gentle face. "Something about our world becoming, like, darker." I tried to explain as my hands moved around with my words. "He told me that I would have to grab my bow and arrow, grow up, and face it. Whatever 'it' is."
"Bow and arrow, huh?" Mary Margaret bit the inside of her cheek before she took a breather and looked at me once again. "Not that I support this, but why did he say a bow and arrow? Why not a gun, or a rifle? Or maybe even a sword or knife?"
I shrugged. I honestly didn't know why he told me to use a bow and arrow out of all the weapons in the world. It was a bit weird. Odd.
The bell hissed throughout the halls and bounced around, and teenage boys and girls hooped and hollared as they filed out of their classrooms and made beelines for the blue ballroom, double doors. Mary Margaret and I turned our heads for a small second before connecting our eye contact again. She hastily opened her classroom door to release her class before gesturing for me to follow her into the room. I complied and came into the cool and now vacant room. She crouched a bit behind her desk before pulling out a folder with my name in sharpie on the front and handed it to me. I took it with ease and opened it, resting the cover on my forearm and flipping through the pages.
"Let's take you home, and I'll explain the assignment to you. I told Red to go on with Stiles, and that I'd take you to the house when you were ready." Mary Margaret's eyes scanned around the room before meeting mine again. I nodded and closed the book before walking over to where my backpack was and zipping it up, throwing it over my slightly broad shoulder and turning back to Ms. Blanchard.
"Let's go home."
I tapped the eraser of my pencil against my chin as I pondered in my thoughts about a really phenominal poem to write for my progress report. I had random doodles on the margins of my college ruled paper, and absolutely no actual literature or vocabulary of any kind written on my paper in any shape or form, and after writing it in English, I'd have to write it in a different language, too!
Ms. Blanchard could really pick interestng assignments.
I heard my door squeak open and my dad's hiking boots sounded against my hardwood floor as he entered the entirety of my soft, baby blue painted bedroom. "How's the homework coming? Anything creative spill onto the pages yet?" his raspy voice sounded. I sighed and shook my head, placing my yellow wooden pencil back into the cubby with all of my other pens and pencils on my desk.
"Nope." I groaned, popping the 'p.' "Coming up with a stupid poem is hard. My world is coming to an abrupt stop." My dad chuckled and pat his hand on my shoulder.
"It'll come to you kiddo," he encouraged, "you're just like your mother was." After giving me a soft smile, he kissed my forehead and left my room, closing the door gently behind him. A low groan errupted from the back of my throat before I threw myself back over the desk and grabbed my wooden pencil again. I tapped it against my forehead until a lightbulb finally clicked on, and a small grin formed on my face as I started scribbling the words onto my lined paper.
Love isn't without flaw
just as a rose isn't without thorns.
Death isn't wthout sorrow
just as a mother says goodnight to her daughter-
one last time.
Arms are for hugs,
ears are for listening,
hands are for holding,
mouths are for-
what are mouths for exactly?
If we ruin it in so many ways.
If only I could use mine,
so I could say 'I love you'
for the first time.
I read the work over and over ebfore I smiled in satisfaction and nodded to myself. "Perfect." I whispered before I thought of a language to translate it in. Spanish? No, that's a popular one. German? No, I'm not sure I could pronouce all of those words. French? No, I don't like French when it rolls off of my tongue. I think it scores as a train-wreck. I snapped my fingers and smiled. I'll do Swedish! I went on Google Translate and typed my poem in before I copied it down onto my final paper in nice handwriting.
Kärlek är inte utan fel
precis som en ros är inte utan törnen .
Döden är inte wthout sorg
precis som mamma säger godnatt till henne dotter
en sista gång .
Arms är för kramar ,
öron är för att lyssna ,
händer är för att hålla ,
munnar är for-
vad är munnar för exakt?
Om vi förstöra det på så många sätt .
Om jag bara kunde använda mitt,
så jag kunde säga " jag älskar dig"
för första gången .
I smiled once again and gently slipped both papers back into the slots in the binder Ms. Blanchard gave me and then swiftly closed it. I put the binder into my backpack just as Red gently knocked on the door before walking in slowly. "Hey, Fae?" she said softly. I turned in my swivel chair and set my elbows on my knees and peered up at her.
"What's up, Red?" I asked her. Her neck moved a bit as she swallowed, and her piercing blue eyes came back up to meet my black ones.
"I found a path in the woods," she smiled small, "it's a scent I've smelled both at school, and in the woods. A mixture of smoke and axe cologne."