The Changelings Part 1

The Changelings.

Elle Casey.

This book is dedicated to my daughter Skye ...

my kicka.s.s little fae-blooded girl who never ceases to amaze me with how awesome she is.

CHAPTER ONE.

I can't take much more of this high school nonsense. I feel like I'm not supposed to be here. So, where would I be if I weren't here? ... I don't know. All I do know is I'm in the middle of all this c.r.a.p, going to cla.s.s, taking tests a but I'm on autopilot, going through the motions, waiting for life to start happening.

I'm sitting in World History, and there's a girl one row over who's the polar opposite of me. She's staring attentively at the teacher, her pen poised above an already nearly full page of notes, eager to write down every nugget of educational wisdom he's throwing our way. She loves it here, and she has big plans for moving on to college next year. She has cheer practice after school and a boyfriend named Mike who plays wide receiver on the football team. Ugh.

I own a pen. I probably have some paper somewhere in my backpack, too. Today, however, I'm using my pen to draw symbols all over my right hand a temporary tattoos. I write and eat with my left hand but do just about everything else with my right. My own body is confused with what it's supposed to do.

I'm in the minority in this school. It seems like just about everyone else knows exactly what they're doing now and what they're going to be doing until the day they die. Me? I don't have a clue. All I know is that this isn't it. Today the bathroom scale said I'd lost another two pounds. I was literally wasting away with boredom. Maybe I was going to just disappear altogether. I wondered if anyone would miss me.

"Jayne? May I ask what you're doing?"

Uh-oh. I'd been spotted by the droner. I tucked my hand under my desk, hiding my artwork.

"Um, nothin' ... just taking some notes." My face was the picture of innocence. Or so I thought.

He walked over and stopped at my desk, looking down at its empty surface. "Where are these so-called notes?"

I reached up with my non-tattooed hand to tap my temple, looking up at him. "Right here, Mr. Parks; it's all riiiight here." I gave him a saucy wink just because I knew how much he'd hate it. Sometimes I do that kind of stuff a my mom calls it cutting off my nose to spite my face. I'm not sure why I do it; maybe to make life more interesting, give myself more of a challenge ... or maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment.

I looked over at the girl sitting next to me, noticing her scowl out of the corner of my eye. I stuck my tongue out at her because I'm not all that mature and I still enjoy doing the things that cracked me up when I was ten.

She doesn't get me at all. I'd heard girls like her call me a waste before. I can't say that I disagree with that comment a I am definitely wasted on this school.

"Cute ... I wonder if the a.s.sistant princ.i.p.al would agree." Mr. Parks went back to his desk, bending down to write out a referral slip. "Take this up to the office and see what he thinks about your mental note-taking program."

I slid out of my chair, standing to walk to the front of the cla.s.sroom with a loose grip on my nearly empty backpack. Bringing books to cla.s.s was also something I didn't normally bother with. My locker is better equipped than my shoulder to manage fifty pounds of blah, blah, and blah.

"Thanks ever so much," I said sweetly, taking the slip from him and turning my head to look at my cla.s.smates. There would be no leaving with eyes cast down and a heart full of shame for this girl.

I caught the eye of my best friend, the biggest dork on the entire planet, Tony Green. I blew him a kiss with the referral slip held between my middle finger and thumb so he and the rest of the cla.s.s could enjoy my one-finger salute. His face turned bright pink and he sunk low in his chair, shaking his head and refusing to meet my eyes. He was probably worried I was going to get him a one-way ticket to the princ.i.p.al's office, too. They don't know him there like they know me.

Tony has been my friend, not necessarily willingly, since he ended up having the extraordinarily good luck to sit in front of me in a.n.a.lytic Geometry, two years ago. He was so pitiful a still is really. Skinny as a sack of bones with crazy, unkempt and un-styled brown hair, wearing clothes I know for a fact his mother bought for him in the little boys' section at Wal-Mart, and shoes with weird, thick rubber soles. The bright pink pimples he always had on his pale white skin did not help this package one bit. The first day I saw him, I couldn't help latching myself right on. He was like a scraggly little puppy who'd had its a.s.s kicked. It's not like I'm miss beauty queen or anything, but I know bad fas.h.i.+on choices when I see them.

I preferred the casual look for myself a usually jeans, purple Converse sneaks, and cute t-s.h.i.+rts ... hoodies in the winter. It never gets too cold in south Florida where we live, so my fas.h.i.+on choices are somewhat limited. I keep my brown hair long because it's so thick; the few times I got it cut short, I ended up having a big, puffy hair triangle on my head. Not cool. But sporting a thick, long, wavy mane in Florida is crazy hot, so my hair is usually up in a rubber band, out of the way. I've been told that I'm pretty or, more often, cute. I don't wear a lot of makeup, mostly eyeliner and mascara, occasionally lip gloss. Adults always comment on my big green eyes and heart-shaped lips, whatever that means. I'm shorter than about half the girls I know, so guess that makes me average height.

Every day I went into Geometry that semester, I'd ask Tony when we were going to start hanging out together. I don't know why I did it; he just seemed so shy and cute, scared to death of everything around him. I wanted to toughen him up or something, maybe break him out of his lonely sh.e.l.l.

As the school's winter dance got closer, I took to leaning forward and whispering in his ear all kinds of stuff. First it was things like, 'When are you going to ask me to the dance?' and then it kind of devolved into, 'Hey, Tony, whaddya say you and I go hang out after school and smoke some dope or something?' I don't do drugs, but I liked shocking the c.r.a.p out of Tony a who I had started calling Tony Baloney by this time. Or Tones. Or Tone-Tone.

Tony had other friends, but they were all computer geeks, and none of them were girls. I know a bit about computers, but I mostly use them to research places I'd rather be than school. I have no idea how to program anything other than the alarm on my cell phone. I had other friends, girls, but they were always busy doing homework and making their parents proud. We didn't have a lot in common and their parents tended to discourage friends.h.i.+ps with me. I'm apparently what some might consider a 'bad influence'. As far as I was concerned, they were the fun police.

Tony's ability to blush on command was unrivaled. All I had to do was say 'b.o.o.bs' or 'd.i.c.k' and instantly his face would be scarlet. I made the mistake of telling my mom about my antics with him one day, and she went off, telling me I was bullying the poor boy. She made it a point to remind me that I sometimes don't realize how persistent I can be. I think when she said 'persistent' she really meant 'annoying' or 'pain-in-the-a.s.s-ish'. My mom's a.s.shat boyfriend was more than happy to chime in on that conversation. He practically lives with us now, which is why I avoid going home as much as possible.

After my mom said that about Tony, I started feeling a little bit bad. I looked back on everything I'd said to him and thought that maybe people could see it as bullying if they didn't realize that I was actually quite fond of the guy.

Over the weeks and months of my 'persistence', Tony kinda warmed up a bit. We talked about things. He learned to brush off my inappropriate comments, even laughing at them on occasion when they were particularly cra.s.s. We walked between cla.s.ses together sometimes. We'd yet to hang out after school, but I had a feeling it was going to happen some day soon.

After the talk with my mom, I decided I needed to clear the air with old Tony Baloney. I didn't want to think about him going home and crying because some mean girl at school was making his life a living h.e.l.l. Lord knows my father, long gone from the household but still haunting me via court-ordered visitation, has given me that credit enough times over the years.

Before history cla.s.s the next day, as we were waiting for our teacher Mr. Banks to arrive, I asked Tony if I was bothering him. The conversation went something like this: "Hey, Tony. Am I bothering you?"

"Yes."

"No, I mean really, Tone-Tone. Am I really bothering you?"

"Yes, you really are."

"Okay, thanks, I feel better now. I thought I was really bothering you."

Sigh. "You ARE bothering me, are you deaf?"

"No, but I know what you really mean when you say 'yes'."

"Ah, so this is one of those 'no means yes' things we learned about in health cla.s.s?"

"Uh ... kind of. Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

"Okay, whatever. Just stop bothering me."

Even though this verbal sparring was fun, I was getting nowhere. I decided to get down to business. I had to let him know I wasn't a bully a just a socially inept girl trying to make friends with a nerdy dude in rubber-soled shoes.

"Hey, Tony, when you saying 'bothering' do you mean 'bothering' or 'bullying'?" I could see he was going to turn around so I put on the most innocent face I knew how to make. I tied it up with as sheepish a grin as I could manage too, just in case my innocent look wasn't as awesomely powerful as I thought it was.

He didn't say anything at first; he just looked at me. For the first time in our relations.h.i.+p I started to feel uncomfortable, which for me is saying a lot. I began squirming in my seat a little bit and felt my smile faltering. I realized as he looked at me that I really, really didn't want to be bullying him. Tony was a cool dude, and it was possible I was the only one in the whole world who knew it. And it was also possible that he was the only person in the world who knew I did give a s.h.i.+t about some things. He was a perceptive dude.

"You're not bullying me, and you're not really bothering me either ... Jayne."

It was the first time I'd heard him say my name. I guess I was a little surprised that he even knew it, though I shouldn't have been. We'd been in this cla.s.s for almost the whole semester. It was the look on his face, though, that blew me away. He looked so friggin' serious, staring me right in the eyes. I felt like he was seeing into my head. My smile came back, but it was totally real this time.

I grabbed my pen and started twirling it in my hand. "Well that sucks, 'cause I was kind of enjoying bothering you." Being a total smarta.s.s when in tight situations is one of my best skills.

"I could tell. So now that you know you're not bothering me, you can stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop bothering me," he said as he started to turn back around in his seat.

"Okay, that makes perfect sense. So when are we going to hang out?" I expected him to do his usual a turn bright red and refuse to answer me, but he surprised me this time.

"How about today?" a still with the red face and neck, and only a little bit of the shoulder hunching that always gave him the appearance of a turtle going into its sh.e.l.l.

"Don't you have chess club or computer club or calculus club or build-a-robot club or some other rule-the-world-someday club to go to?"

While I waited for his answer, the teacher arrived in cla.s.s to start the show.

Tony turned sideways, pretending he was getting a book out of his backpack. "Chess club, but I'll skip it." He pushed his oversized gla.s.ses back up on his nose as he sat up, turning to face the front of the cla.s.s.

Did I mention Tony has the b.u.t.t-ugliest, brown tortoise-sh.e.l.l gla.s.ses you've ever seen? They are not cool or fas.h.i.+onable, even in a statement-making sort of way. I swear he must have gotten them from the dumpster outside of Goodwill.

"Wow, living on the edge ... sure you can handle it Tones?"

He sat up straighter than I was used to seeing him sit. "I can if you can," he whispered.

"Fine. I'll meet you at the front of the school after seventh period. Oh, and by the way, I saw that."

"Saw what?"

"You smiled ... I think you like me." I was staring at his back, but I swear I saw his scalp move.

"No I didn't, and no I don't."

"You don't?"

Sigh. "Jayne, shut up before you get me in trouble."

I smiled and stage-whispered, "Boooooring." But I left him alone for the rest of the period, sure he was anxious to bust out his notebook and take some awesome notes. I had tattoos to draw anyway.

And so The Year I Adopted Tony Baloney As My New Best Friend commenced. Every day since we have hung out after school. I've hara.s.sed him in every cla.s.s I could. The following semesters we even tried to arrange our cla.s.ses so we'd have a lot of them together. Apparently he'd grown quite fond of my hara.s.sment and persistent nature a not that I'd given him much choice. I'd found him, and he was mine a cute little b.u.g.g.e.r that he was, messed up gla.s.ses, funky shoes and all.

As I arrived at the a.s.sistant princ.i.p.al's office and took my seat in the waiting area, I started thinking about all the time Tony and I had spent together these past two years. We hung out after school and got to know each other's screwed up families pretty well a my mother who couldn't think for herself and her a.s.shat boyfriend, and Tony's parents who were almost never around.

Most of our time was spent walking around town and hanging out at the library where Tony tried to study while I found new ways to make him crazy by not studying and making noise. Every once in a while we went to the movies, but usually we couldn't afford it. Tony wouldn't even consider sneaking in or trying to see more than a single movie on one ticket; he was a spoilsport that way, but he kept me out of trouble so I didn't complain.

Some people say it's impossible for a guy and a girl to be best friends, but I completely disagree. Tony and I are friends and that's it. I didn't like him in a romantic way a I preferred the bad boy type and Tony was as far from being a bad boy as I was from being a good girl. I mean, what girl doesn't go for the bad boy really? Actually, most of the guys I knew around school were idiots with their heads so far up their b.u.t.ts I couldn't stand to be around them for very long. They had a lot to learn about how to treat a girl, and I didn't have the patience to train any of them. Case in point, Brad Powers, who was also sitting in the princ.i.p.al's waiting area; only he was probably there to kiss the princ.i.p.al's a.s.s, not to be chastised by him. I barely spared him a glance. He had a rep for being a total douche to girls a using them and then throwing them to the curb. He was a kiss-and-tell kind of guy, if you know what I mean.

That's one good thing I can say about Tony a the guy is an absolute prince. He always holds doors for girls, pulls out chairs, offers them drinks and stuff. I don't think I've ever heard him burp. All this time hanging out with me has somehow not trained the manners out of him. I'm not sure how that's managed to happen really. You'd think my powers of persuasion would be stronger than that.

Tony has his crushes, but he would rather walk over hot coals than actually ask a girl out. He prefers to crush from afar. I offered to help hook him up a few times, but the thought of me being involved in his love life nearly sent him into apoplectic spasms that were frightening to watch.

I did try once to get a girl I knew he liked to warm up to him. It was a disaster from the word go. As soon as I mentioned his name she got a disgusted look on her face. "Tony? Tony Green?! Are you kidding me?" She just stood there with a look on her face like she'd smelled something bad.

"Um, yeah, okay, never mind." I realized it wasn't going well so I bolted. I saw Tony later and confessed, although I left out the hairy details.

"You did WHAT?!" His face turned an interesting shade of reddish-purple and got all blotchy; even the whites of his eyes got a little red.

"Dude, chill. I didn't tell her you like her or wanted to get into her panties or anything."

"Wha ... ? Panti ... ? Wha ... ? ARRRRrrrgggg!" The strangled noises coming out of his throat didn't sound good. He bent over slightly, grabbing the door of his open locker, probably to keep himself from falling on the floor.

"Dude, holy s.h.i.+t what is your problem? Breathe already, she's just a girl for chrissakes." I started beating him on the back, hoping to get him breathing right again.

His reaction struck me as over the top, especially for Tony. It crossed my mind that I could possibly be witnessing some psychological scarring happening right before my eyes. I did feel a measure of guilt over the fact that it was me who had caused it, but I a.s.suaged this guilt by telling myself I was only trying to help the poor guy.

He was breathing deeply, trying to get a grip on himself. He elbowed my whacking hand off his back and stood, running his fingers through his hair until it stood on end. This was nothing new for Tony, as his hair was usually in a state of disarray.

"Do I even want to know what she said?" he asked, the look of hope in his eyes too pitiful to look at.

I sighed. "Not really, dude. She is too stuck up to even see you. I'm actually thinking about going back there and punching her in the face."

He looked stricken, his face now going white. "That bad, huh?"

I was afraid he was going to do that crazy breathing thing again. I put a serious look on my face. "No, actually. She just said your name; like, repeated it. She didn't say anything else. I just took off a I started thinking about the spasms you'd have if you found out I'd done it, and I got scared."

Tony knew my serious look was a load of c.r.a.p. "You? Scared? That'll be the day." He closed his locker quietly, because Tony never slams his locker shut. "Let's go, we're gonna be late for cla.s.s." He sounded really, really tired. Or b.u.mmed.

I felt like c.r.a.p. Now I really wanted to punch that chick in the head, and I'm generally not a violent person. I talk tough, but I'm all talk and no action usually. I had to do something, though, to get him out of this mood.

"Oh boy, biology, hold me back. Tony, I'm so excited, I feel like skipping to cla.s.s!" I grabbed his elbow and started skipping, dragging him along a few feet before he was able to wrestle himself away from me.

"Suit yourself!" I yelled as I continued to skip my way through the crowds, annoying a few people on my way, no doubt.

"Skipping in a crowded hallway is antisocial, Jayne!" he yelled out after me.

"Perfect!" I yelled back.

Poor kid a thought he was gonna shame the maniac out of me. He should have known that was never going to work.

Just then the a.s.sistant princ.i.p.al opened his door, interrupting my reverie. He smiled at Brad who returned the smile and gave him a knowing look. Then he turned his head and saw me, scowling in recognition. Perfect.

I tried to duplicate the look Brad had given him just for fun, but I'm sure my humor was totally wasted on this guy.

"Jayne Sparks, what a surprise. Come into my office and sit."

Just another day of lame a.s.s high school. All I could think about as he blathered on and on about responsibility and respect was: When am I finally going to get the h.e.l.l out of this place?

I met Tony in front of the school after seventh period so we could walk home together. He lived two streets over from me, less than two minutes on foot.

"How'd your meeting with Princ.i.p.al Matthews go today?" he asked.