The Crossing E-Book

Jo Wilde

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

I had my whole world ahead of me. Eager to take the plunge that life offered. Though nothing prepared me for the terrifying moment that changed everything forever. No one can save me now. 

Not even Superman.

After 18-year-old Micki moves in with her father, strange events begin to take place. Something unnatural lurks about in the sleepy southern town of Eastwick, Louisiana.

Trusting the wrong friends, Micki encounters a vampire, and her life begins to spiral out of control. Somewhere between, she finds love and friendship: her BFF, Candy, and the rebellious half-vampire biker Valentine, who are willing to risk their own life to help Micki prevent the inevitable future - The Crossing.

With time ticking away, can they pull off the impossible and destroy the most malevolent and primordial vampire of all time?

Leseprobe

The Crossing

Jo Wilde

Copyright (C) 2019 Jo Wilde

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2019 by Next Chapter

Published 2019 by Next Chapter

Edited by Fading Street Services

Cover art by Fantasia

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

I'd like to dedicate this to my family, for they have been there for me through thick and thin. Without their support, I would not be where I am today.

Thanks, Crazy!

I had my whole world ahead of me. Eager to take the plunge that life offered. Though nothing prepared me for this terrifying moment that changed everything forever. No one can save me now.

Not even Superman.

Exodus

October swooped in, bringing an unexpected chill. The kind of chill that hot chocolate couldn't soothe. With autumn fast approaching, the weather had taken a vicious turn for the worse. The scent of snow clung heavily to the air, burning my lungs.

New York winters arrived early.

Snowflakes dotted my black coat as I entered JFK airport. I paused a minute, taking in the trillion people swarming like bees, all rushing to find their flight.

After standing in a mile-long line, I clenched my boarding pass in hand and ventured onto the plane, departing for Shreveport, Louisiana, where my dad, Henry, awaited my arrival. He lived only a few miles east in a small town called Eastwick. Population, a little more than five thousand.

I whipped out a puff of air, feeling the pressure of regret. I missed New York already. I knew nothing else. For eighteen years, my whole world centered around the Big Apple. But now, I, Micki Lea O'Sullivan, was forced to abandon my precious home for good.

I stopped at row 13A and paused. In the chair next to mine sat a man large enough to fill two seats. A little bothered, I squeezed past him. I settled in my spot, laying my purse by my feet, and nodded to my new neighbor. I quietly blew out a long breath to calm my pounding heart. I needed a distraction. I eyed the small window and slid the shade up and gazed out. By now, the white flakes cluttered the bruised sky. A slight breeze tousled the snow this way and that.

My mind drifted to a luggage handler across the tarmac. The man hurled one bag after another over the rail and down into the bin, several feet below. I gave in to a curt giggle. Several pieces of baggage had missed the container and laid in broken pieces on the ground. Clothing of rainbow colors scurried in the wind to and fro as if in a cat and mouse chase. The handler appeared clueless as he continued in a rhythmic beat.

Restless, I sat back in my seat and started to close my eyes, but not before I checked my seatbelt once more. My hands shook as my heart remained lodged in my throat. First time to fly and first-time jitters too. I listened to the gentle thrum of the engine idling. But my agitation got the best of me.

The man next to me, bathed in British Sterling, agitated me to no end. The left side of his body spilled over onto my seat, pressing me against the window. I started to speak up, but I decided to keep quiet. Ending up handcuffed by a police officer and missing my flight sounded like a bad idea. A recent scuffle with the law taught me a valuable lesson. Jail and stale baloney sandwiches sucked.

I glanced up and met two small hazel eyes. A little boy no more than three, peeked over his seat, flashing a shy smile. I teased the toddler poking my tongue at him, and he shyly responded with a giggle ducking behind his mother.

Moments later, his happy mood morphed into a squalling temper tantrum. I reached inside my handbag and dug out my earbuds and cell phone. I swore under my breath that I would never have children. I jammed the buds in my ears and slumped down into my seat, listening to The Chainsmokers. Maybe music would settle my nerves. Crammed together with total strangers, reminded me of a sardine can. I preferred riding in a taxi with a backseat full of drunks. At least they made me laugh and only rode for a short duration.

All at once, the engine revved with mounting power. A loud ding drew the passenger's attention to a flickering green sign that hung on a panel above the seated guest. Time to buckle up for takeoff. A rush of clicks stirred the coach, and a burst of energy spread throughout. I hurried to check my seatbelt again and then grabbed the armrest, eyes shut tight, embracing for an anticipated takeoff.

The man next to me, up to his elbows, was buried in his paperwork. Documents scattered across the small folding table that hovered barely above his thick lap. A frequent flyer, my guess and not a worry in the world if this flight crashed.

People began to stir as I caught the attendants ushering toward the front, grabbing their seats, and hunkering down as the wheels commenced churning and gaining momentum.

As the powerful jet sped down the runway, anxiety punched me in the gut. I listened to the drum of the wheels gobbling up the pavement, and then my stomach somersaulted as we lifted into the gray sky. My skin paled to white chalk, making me regret not taking a Trailways bus. I shut my eyes tight, squeezing the armrest.

After a terrifying thirty-five seconds, the plane straightened its nose, and the quiet hum of the engine eased my fear. I inhaled a deep breath and smiled. “Whew! That wasn't so bad,” I mumbled to myself.

I peeked under my lashes at the man beside me. A slow rise and fall enfolded his chest. His gray head tilted to the right, hanging into the aisle. He had fallen asleep. My brows bunched together, baffled at how anyone slept through takeoff?

Just when I started to relax, I glanced out the tiny window, and my stomach dropped. Nothing but tiny green and brown square patches blanketed the land. “Geez!” I muttered under my breath and slammed the small shade down. I sat back, clenching my chest. It baffled me how a mere man was capable of creating something made mostly of metal that was capable of soaring above the clouds. My first time to fly and absolutely my last.

The coach had quieted, and even the little boy sitting up front had fallen asleep in his mother's lap. I leaned back in my seat and stretched out the kink in my neck and then closed my eyes. My mind drifted over the past few weeks and the legal troubles that had gotten me into this mess.

Though I remembered a time when life was much simpler. Before my parents divorced, living in Hell's Kitchen on 51st street in New York City was like my little pie in the sky. Congested traffic, cars honking, and the busy stream of people all strolling to the same relentless beat. The smell of pin oak and ice skating in Central Park during Christmas, hot dogs, and exhaust fumes was my little piece of heaven. It was my escape from my parents' fighting.

Every morning, I'd take a brisk walk to the Coffee Pot, grabbing a toasty bagel and a hot Cappuccino before catching the school bus.

Henry drove a taxi. Joan, my mom, worked for a prestigious couple, Phil and Anna Montgomery, who lived on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Joan was an assistant, the go-to girl. The couple recently gave birth to a boy. Mrs. Montgomery needed someone to run errands. Joan couldn't have found a job more suitable for her. She had a knack for shopping for bargains and made quite an impression on Mr. Montgomery.

Though my family lived from paycheck to paycheck, we had all we needed. A roof over our heads and food to eat. For a little spending money, after school and on weekends, I worked a part-time job walking dogs. The money came in handy if I wanted to catch a movie or go ice skating.

I didn't care about hanging out with kids from school. I wore the badge socially inept across my chest proudly. Besides, making friends had its downside.

Boys often asked me out, but considering their lack of probity, I declined their offer. They didn't see me. They only saw my outer beauty, hair of honey, long cascading curls, blue eyes, and curves. The girls hated me despite how hard I tried to hide in the shadows.

I supposed it turned out for the best. I had a secret. One I didn't share with anyone. As far back as I could remember, I possessed a gift. Not even my parents knew. Since the age of five, I saw auras. Various shades of green to bright red. Each color revealed the truth about the individual and at times, their deepest darkest secrets. My colorful auras never steered me wrong. Not once.

Alone all the time, I found ways to stay busy… the theater. A diehard passion of mine. Henry and I jumped at any opportunity to see a Broadway play. The Phantom of the Opera sat top of the list of our favorites. We both teared up many times. A young soprano becomes the obsession of a disfigured musical genius who lives beneath the Paris Opéra House.

Joan, my mom, didn't share the passion. It became mine and Henry's special event.

Then our whole world changed when Joan went to work for a corporate company. Mr. Montgomery offered her a position at his law firm. Apart from my mom's attractive features, glistening, chestnut hair, tall, and hour-glass curves, Joan didn't have any specific skills for the corporate world. A pencil pusher or fetch the coffee described her qualifications best.

I think for the first time in her life, she found an opportunity. A job with promise. Even I understood her newfound zest. As a young woman, she had missed out on so much. Joan and Henry were high school sweethearts. He was seventeen, and Joan was only sixteen when she got pregnant with me.

When their families heard the happy announcement, it was a huge disappointment. Both families had big plans for their children. Getting pregnant was not one of them. After a couple of months passed, Henry's family, the O'Sullivans, and Joan's family, the Watsons, planned a small wedding. In the beginning, Henry and Joan, deeply in love, were confident they had gotten their happily ever after.

Then the happily-ever-after ceased, and Joan gave birth to a baby girl… me. My entrance into this world wreaked havoc for the two star-crossed lovers.

Soon, Henry and Joan came to understand the late-night bottle feeding and changing diapers were only the beginning of parenthood. It was tough for them. Growing up and facing a heavy responsibility wasn't as easy as they once thought.

The couple settled into their roles, but it was not smooth sailing. My parents fought a lot. Every week, they had at least one good argument. It usually ended when Henry ducked out the front door when Joan started slinging dishes. I hung out in my room until the house quieted.

The happiness between Henry and Joan never completed a full circle. Tension rose in the house as angry silence loomed.

Then the day came when my world shattered into a million pieces. Joan left Henry. I saw it coming, but I turned the other cheek, pretending their arguments were typical.

The affair ripped our family in two and set Henry into a spiraling depression. Unable to grasp the fact that his eighteen-year marriage was finished, the reality crushed him. I saw it in his eyes, his walk, his slumped shoulders.

Joan, aloof to the hurt she caused, moved out and into a penthouse with all the expensive perks of the Upper East Side of Manhattan, compliments of her wealthy boss, Phil Montgomery.

In the divorce, Henry got our home, and Joan got me. I think she thought giving Henry the house would atone for her infidelity. And then again, the sky was the limit, marrying her loaded fiancé. Where money was concerned, Joan had the world at her feet.

Henry received a business offer from an out-of-towner that he couldn't refuse. So, he sold the house and moved to Eastwick, Louisiana, where he settled down in a quiet country community. The new surroundings gave Henry the perfect escape. I think watching his wife with a wealthy and powerful attorney was like a swift kick in the gut, more than he could bear.

As our lives shifted, we had to learn a new balance. When Grandma Martha O'Sullivan died, Grandpa Brín moved in with Henry. It was bittersweet. It really crushed Grandpa losing his partner of almost fifty years. Moving in with Henry helped to ease the loneliness. It comforted both men. Every Sunday, the two went fishing down at the bayou. They both loved the outdoors and fishing was at the top of the list. Maybe Grandpa's second. He seemed to be quite social with the widows of Eastwick.

As for the divorce, it was Henry's unexpected break. Henry took the money from the house sale and partnered up with a renowned Eastwick business partner and started his construction business. Carpentry was in Henry's blood. Grandpa was a carpenter in his younger days, and his father before him and so on down the line. The trade ran deep in the O'Sullivan family and was referred to as an art rather than a trade. Henry was brilliant, and his talents paid off.

Living more than a thousand miles apart, I only got to see Henry and Grandpa on holidays and summers. It was a welcome visit and an exhausting return back to living with Joan and my stepfather, Phil. I didn't get along with him. He didn't have the patience for children. He rarely saw his own son. And a teenager intensified his intolerance to almost a breaking point, and it wasn't a lack of trying on my part. I loathed my stepfather.

Phil stayed busy a lot with his firm. He needed absolute quiet in the house at all times. Having a noisy teenager blasting heavy metal at all hours of the night hit his rage button. He'd go into meltdown at least twice a week. I liked pushing his buttons. And he had many.

Appearances weighed heavily on Phil's shoulders. At all times, he demanded we wear our expensive apparel by some stupid designer with a name no one could pronounce. I defied his demands by paying homage to vintage fashion with a modern, sassy twist, all black. I wore nothing but. I wanted my clothes to reflect my dislike for his brainfart rules. Plus, an added bonus… pissing Phil off. All the more reason to black-punk up.

As my spidey senses warned me, after a few months into their marriage, Joan's glee began to wane. Though, shopping helped to ease her woes until Phil put his foot down, demanding a strict budget and firing Joan at the firm. My mom stayed furious for weeks. She loved her position at the firm. I didn't understand how she could be around Phil twenty-four-seven. He was such a nasty sort. But okay. Whatever floated her boat. Happy Joan was much easier to live with. Phil failed to get the memo.

Then my life began to improve when I got busted with a couple of blunts in my possession. I tried to defend myself. “I swear, it's not mine!” I declared vehemently. Neither Joan nor Phil fell for that excuse, and even Henry and Grandpa questioned my defense. Displeasing Phil or Joan didn't bother me, but disappointing Henry ripped through me. I hated having to look him in the face after I'd disappointed him.

Joan and Phil were at their wits' end, and lucky me got sent to live with Henry. This was the best punishment ever. I never wanted to live with Joan. I preferred staying with my dad. As I predicted, Joan packed my bags, sending me straight to Henry.

Phil stood with a wide grin plastered on his face, waving goodbye as I boarded the plane. His intent wasn't to wish me a happy bon voyage. He was there to make sure I didn't miss my flight. He hated me. That was one thing we both agree on. There was no love between us.

Ostentation clung to Phil like dermatitis. With his fancy law firm and his silver chrome Jaguar and his fortress-tight mansion, Phil was a pompous man with a large cork up his butt. His bowlegged walk confirmed my suspicions.

* * *

My flight arrived on time at noon. I took the first flight departing New York. Phil couldn't get rid of me fast enough. I disembarked the plane, lugging my large suitcase on wheels as every scent imaginable struck my nostrils. From bubble gum to cigarettes. I could count on my allergies acting up tonight. Henry would need to stop at a pharmacy on our way home. Of course, Louisiana loved taunting my allergies. The crepe myrtle perfumed the air, making my sneezing run amok, and then the constant rain added to my flare-ups.

I spotted Henry right off, waiting for me at gate 10. He was sorta hard to miss. A tall figure clad in faded blue jean overalls stood at a full six-three toting a frown the size of the Grand Canyon.

Judging by his drawn expression, my fate was sealed. Grounded for eternity. Though Henry reminded me of a gentle bear, he didn't play. Whenever I wound up in trouble, he ruled with a firm hand.

Lugging my suitcase on wheels and with my backpack strapped to my shoulders, I padded my way to Henry. When I reached his side, he drew me into his warm arms and hugged me tightly. Then he pulled me from his chest at arm's length and eyed me like I was five years old again and had fallen off my tri-cyle. “You've grown a foot, Mick.” His deep, blue eyes gleamed. “You wanna grab a burger?”

I got the feeling that Henry was a little nervous.

I ran my eyes over the throng of people. “Hey, where's Grandpa?”

“Pop stayed home. He had some work to do.”

I giggled. “Knitting again?” Grandpa had a stroke a year ago, and ever since he'd been… different.

“Yep. But don't tell anyone. It's a man's thing.” Henry bounced a short shrug.

“I hope he's not knitting me another sweater.”

“Oh, yeah! That one with one sleeve that hung to the floor,” Henry chuckled.

“Remember Grandpa swore it was all the rage?”

“How could I forget. Pop planned to sell millions.”

“Yeah, one of my more unforgettable moments. I still have the emotional scars from wearing it to school. The relentless teases went on for months.” I frowned, but inside I was laughing.

“Jellybean, hate to tell you, but we parents and grandparents are meant to ruin our kids' lives,” Henry winked. “So, are you hungry? A good excuse not to eat Grandpa's cooking tonight.”

I rolled my eyes. “Good idea!” Then my face grew solemn. “Dad, I know I'm grounded. We don't need to do the talk,” I paused. “Just give me my sentencing, please.” Disrespect wasn't my intention. If I told the whole truth, I doubted he'd believe me.

“Yes, you certainly are grounded, young lady.” He blew out a sharp sigh, rocking on his heels. “Even under the harshest punishments, one still needs to eat.”

“All right. I guess I can eat.” A slight scowl creased between my brows.

Henry was a handsome man. He didn't look old enough to be a parent of a eighteen-year-old. Tall and athletic, light brown hair, and a smile that could light up a whole room. His kind eyes always put me at ease. I was lucky to have him for my dad.

“Good!” Henry smiled, taking my suitcase.

We ended up at MOOYAH Burgers and Fries downtown. My favorite place in this backward little town of Eastwick. There was nothing better than sinking my teeth into a white, sugary beignet, except for the burgers here in Louisiana. They were mind-blowing.

After the server took our order, Dad began his speech. I drowned myself in a chocolate shake while he preached about the downfalls of using drugs. Jesus! It was only two joints.

“Your mother and I might not be together, but we both are equally responsible for raising you.” He inhaled a deep breath of patience and then continued. “What were you thinking? You got arrested for possession of marijuana with the intent to distribute?”

“Yes, Dad, I know. I was there.” I fiddled with my straw averting my eyes to the floor.

Sadness rolled off Henry's shoulders. “If it hadn't been for Phil, you would've been charged as an adult. Your whole future would've gone down the pipes.” Henry's words struck me like bullets.

“Well, the charges were dropped, and I don't anticipate any more problems.”

“You have one year left before college. Don't make any plans other than school.” Henry's firm voice left me with no doubt about my bleak future. No fun until I turned forty-five.

“I get it. No life.” I slid down into my chair and crossed my arms. “Dad, those days are behind me. I swear! No more pot!”

“From now on, you're walking a fine line until graduation. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir,” I replied, crosser than I intended.

Dad's tight expression relaxed into a stern but gentle smile. “I get that it hasn't been easy since your mom and I split. But it doesn't mean we love you any less. Sometimes adults grow apart.”

“You and Mother didn't grow apart.” My brows collided. “Mother dumped you for a rich douche bag.” The second the words came out of my mouth, I regretted it.

Henry's smile flipped upside down. “Thanks for reminding me.” That axed our conversation and made our meal rigid and quiet. I didn't know what had gotten into me. Henry didn't cause the affair. Joan made that decision all on her own. Still, I bet he blamed himself.

“Dad, I'm sorry. These days I don't even know myself.”

A loving curve touched his mouth. “That makes two of us, but we're going to pull through.”

I nodded, half-smiling into my burger.

When we arrived home, Grandpa appeared from his man cave, the basement. He did all his tinkering and sleep there. “Well, if it isn't my outlaw, grand-daughter.” He scooped me up into a tight hug. Grandpa loved Snickers ice cream a bit too much and revealed his indulgence by his broad waist. He'd make a perfect Santa with his white beard and rosy cheeks.

My eyes sparkled. “Grandpa, I'm a reformed outlaw. I learned my lesson.” I leaned into the nook of his arm and hugged his portly waist.

Grandpa came to America when he was a young man, and to this day, he still fostered a strong Irish accent. “Glad your home where you belong, Lassie. We need someone to dig for worms when your da and I go fishin'.”

“Uh… I am not digging up worms or cleaning foul fish,” I cringed. “I don't even eat fish.”

Henry and Grandpa burst into chortles.

“Off you go then. Go look at your room. Your da has been really workin' hard.” Grandpa encouraged.

My eyes appled. “Really?” Excitement tickled my heart. I darted straight up the stairs to the attic. Dad bought this creepy one-hundred-year-old Victorian house, including creaks and cobwebs and none of the modern conveniences. Although Henry promised me a fully functioning bathroom. I didn't hold my breath. He'd been working on renovations since he bought the house three years ago. The house needed weather insulation. Cold and drafty in the winter and insufferably hot in the summer. Glad I had only my senior year to finish.

I hadn't decided which college I wanted to attend. It depended on my grades and the deepest pocket for my tuition. Art was my only interest. Maybe after I earned my bachelor's degree, I might teach.

I trudged up two flights of stairs and off to the side, then I climbed another flight, leading directly to the attic. When I reached my door, I turned the squeaky knob and entered. I expected the usual plank floors and twin bed, but when I lifted my eyes, I stood speechless. The old attic had been wholly transformed, including a new bathroom.

Henry leaned over my shoulder and said. “I thought I'd surprise you with a welcome-home gift.” Joy bubbled in his eyes.

“Dad, it's great!” I twirled on my toes and hugged him. The room was beyond my wildest dreams. More work was needed, but with a new queen-sized bed, dresser, and nightstand to match and a drafting table for my artwork, it was a promising start. I loved this old attic. The square footage was the size of the second floor, like a loft. I noted that the vaulted ceiling now had a new skylight directly above my bed. Great for stargazing. At the very back, the center wall had a circular stain-glass window that embellished the room with bright colors of pink and blue. On the other two walls, there were several small windows, opening the attic to loads of sunlight and fresh air. I spotted a 52-inch television, and some CDs nicely stacked on the shelf on the other side of my dresser.

I padded over to the dresser and picked up one of the CDs. I lifted my gaze to Henry, “Casablanca, starring Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman.” I cradled the CD to my chest. “You remember how much I love black and white films. Thanks, Dad.”

“You're welcome.” He scratched his bristled chin. “It's not much, but you can add your own touch. You know, paint the walls. Do whatever you like,” he smiled, eyeing the ample space.

My eyes glided over the room once more. “Dad, it's the best!” I grinned. “This is perfect.”

“I'm glad you like it, jellybean. Since you're going to be living here and let's not forget that you're grounded, I thought your bedroom could use some sprucing up.”

Then my smile morphed into a brick. For a minute, I'd forgotten about my awaiting doom.

Eastwick High

On the first day of school, I woke up to the aroma of sizzling bacon and coffee. Grandpa was up early, stirring in the kitchen preparing breakfast, including a sack lunch. One tasty peanut butter sandwich accompanied by Cheetos. And for dessert, he threw in a honey bun. Though not my favorite, still to me, it was a special meal that only my grandpa could make.

Henry and I rolled up to Eastwick High and quickly found a parking space. My heart pounded with first-day jitters. As we slipped out of the truck, I took a deep whiff of the lingering honeysuckle that drifted in the air. It was better than any of Mom's expensive perfumes. Yet my allergies disagreed. I held back a sneeze.

As we approached the main entrance, I quickly sized up the place like any other small-town school. It covered all the basics but nothing extraordinary. No grandiose red-carpet air. Only two buildings. The elementary was on the west side, and the high school was on the complete opposite, east side. I think the other grades were in the middle.

Henry accompanied me to the office. I tried talking him into letting me register on my own, but he insisted on escorting me as if I were a five-year-old. Yet, taking me to school must've meant something special to him. Henry never took time off work. His job sorta overran him.

When we entered the office, two jocks tapped the windowpane flirting with me from the hallway, giggling like they'd lost their brain cells. No question, those two boys planned to alert every other male about the new girl. Meaning me.

I preferred being the daisy on the wall. I stood out far too much for my comfort. I tried playing my looks down by avoiding make-up. It really didn't help. I still got whistled at and eyed like I was a piece of candy.

Once we finished registering, Dad rushed off to work, and I headed to my first class, calculus.

As the day ventured onward, I managed to survive the whispers, soft giggles, and the constant stares. Five more classes to go. I blew out a barb-wired sigh. My terrible first day would end, and tomorrow would bring forth another day like this.

Unloading my math book and gathering books for round two, I almost bumped into three girls looming by my locker. All three were in a deadlock stare at me. The dark-haired girl spoke first. “I'm Wendy Belle. We have calculus together,” she smiled and paused, facing her two friends. “This is Cindy Ward and Ella James.”

My eyes bounced between the three faces as I replied, “Hello.” I shut my locker with a muffled clank and turned to face the girls. Wendy, the one who did the introductory, I judged as the alpha. Flawless porcelain skin, too bright against her contrasting shoulder-length, raven hair, and a little on the thin side. Eh, attractive, I supposed. She stood almost as tall as me, and strangely, I couldn't see her aura.

The other two girls' auras faded under the fluorescent lighting as if they were a hologram. Weird, I thought. Cindy stood about 5'1 and had acne and frizzy, mousy hair. Not a pretty brown at all. Ella had fiery red hair and more freckles than I cared to count. In fact, her freckles made her face look disfigured, and her blue eyes were dull and lifeless. The way she slumped her shoulders, avoiding eye contact and appearing skittish, made me wonder if she might be a druggie.

The girl, Wendy, jarred my attention. “You should sit with us at lunch.” Her smile brightened her hazel eyes.