Author: Satan's Alter Ego PM
She was a modern day witch. He was the Council's favorite Scout. Every prophecy since 1800 said they were supposed to be together. If only she could stop obsessing over Christian Holden, to date him. Oh, and survive those people trying to kill her.Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor/Supernatural - Chapters: 2 - Words: 4,605 - Reviews: 1 - Follows: 4 - Updated: 07-27-08 - Published: 07-06-08 - id: 2541517
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
"You liar! You said you're not a psycho rapist killer!"
I immediately took a tae-kwan-do stance, with my hands straight and my knees bent and eyes narrowed in a way that would put fear into Jet Li's eyes.
Alright. I don't know shit about tae-kwan-do. I lied. What else would someone do? But I have a mean right hook, for sure. Dad taught me that.
Gabriel chuckled. "Do you even know tae-kwan-do?"
"I could tae-kwan-do your ass right now if I freakin' wanted." I replied, stubbornly. If that didn't work, I could just my witchy ways. I straightened up, after realizing what a complete and utter idiot I looked like.
"I'm not a psycho rapist killer." Gabriel repeated, his chuckles dying down, although I did hear an occasional snicker from him. I was this close to permanently having a feather tickling him until he died by tickling. Classic…
I narrowed my eyes. "Then why are you looking for me?" And being creepy as Jack the Ripper on crack?
"Dad was looking at the high school records and he found your name. You're on the swim team, aren't you?" he asked, still petting Jack Daniels. I sent a mental message to Jack Daniels: traitor! "…you there?"
"Oh? What? Yeah." I said, cussing myself for acting like an idiot. "I'm on the swim team. So?"
"Aren't you defensive…" he said, looking pensively at me.
"Is there a point to this conversation?" I asked, impatiently. Not only was he a psycho rapist killer but he was taking hours in doing what psycho rapist killers did! God. He wasn't even a good psycho rapist killer, not that I've met many. Or any, for that matter.
"Yeah." Gabriel replied, straightening up like he was physically and mentally back into the conversation. "Coach Wilkes isn't letting my try out. Apparently, try outs are over."
I still wasn't seeing the point.
"Why don't you tell him you're the Mayor's son?" I asked, confused. Being the Mayor's son would have some standing, even with the teachers, wouldn't it?
He sighed. "He wants recommendation from a person who's already on the team."
"And you couldn't find anyone else?" I asked, frowning.
Gabriel grinned, charmingly, again. He had one of those Edward Cullen dazzling grins, which left people temporarily dazzled. "Well, you're the best on the team."
I snapped back. "Flattery wont get you anywhere, Lennox. But I'll recommend you, because I don't think you'll get off my back if I don't."
He patted Jack Daniel's head one last time before grinning again. "Thanks, Tarika."
"Call me T." I mumbled.
He nodded. "Thanks, T."
I waved my hand and turned around to march back to the house. I was halfway towards the house when I turned around to call Jack Daniels. But he wasn't there. Jack Daniels was there, standing on the edge of the gardens but Gabriel was nowhere to be seen.
What an odd boy.
"Tarika Allison Clayton, if you're not out of that bed in five freakin' seconds then even God wont save you from me!"
Someone needs anger management. I sighed and rolled over in the bed, pulling the comforter over my head. It was Saturday, for Christ's sake! Who needed to be up before eleven o'clock on a Saturday? Only someone cruel would do that to a person.
I heard the door burst open before Dad's thunderous footsteps came closer to the bed. "You're still sleeping."
"Dad!" I whined, pouting, "Go away!"
Unfortunately, my pouting didn't help because Dad pulled the comforter. I could practically feel him smirking smugly. Dad's always smug because what William Clayton III wants, William Clayton III gets. It's the way of the world.
"God, you're cruel." I snarled, stumbling towards the bathroom, "You're a very, cruel, cruel man!"
It didn't do anything to him. He sauntered out of the room, calling behind his shoulder, "Be ready in twenty minutes. We're going to the gym!"
I looked at myself in the mirror and scowled, even more. There are people like Brad Pitt and Johnny Depp who look gorgeous even after they wake up. There are people like Jessica Alba and Sienna Miller who don't have to wear make up to look absolutely gorgeous. And then there are people like me – witches, in general.
Everyone seems to think that we look immaculate all the time, like Sabrina or one of the Charmed chicks.
I'm looking at the mirror and I am not seeing perfect.
I waved a hand and a brush came flying from the rack close by. I'm too lazy to move that far. Twenty minutes later, I had brushed my teeth and pulled my hair into a loose bun. I was wearing basketball shorts, a tank top and sports shoes. Dad was in the kitchen, munching on an apple.
"You're a dictator." I said, scowling. "You'd probably be Hitler's favorite."
Dad grinned. "You'll thank me when you're thirty years old and still have the body of a teenager."
I grabbed an apple and trailed after him, sourly. The drive to the gym wasn't long. The drive to anywhere in Brooksville wasn't long. We stopped outside a building called Clayton Gym. Dad wasn't very original when he named the place. You see, Dad owns the gym. He got the land when his parents died, along with the house. Because he was retired from the army and had no intention of going to college, he did the only thing he could think of. He started a gym. It started out as a small boxing place, before it eventually transformed into what it is today – a three storey air conditioned gym with a pool and a sauna.
"Hey Mr. C," the receptionist said, "Hey T."
"Hi." I replied, yawning.
We went through the boxing rink towards where all the equipment was kept. Dad had started bringing me along for his workouts when I was nine, when the gym became really big. Because he couldn't run, he used to pushups and crunches while I mostly just swam, which developed into a deep relationship with the water. He's probably right. When I'm thirty, I'm going to thank him for making me work out. But until then, I would wail and cry.
I quickly changed and dived into the pool, on the ground floor. After doing five laps, I took a breather.
"Hey." Jason said, entering the pool side with a towel around his waist. "Where's Mr. C?"
Most people are afraid of Dad. He's young, so that means he can actually beat people up. He's an ex-army General, which means he's killed people. And he keeps four guns in the house. I would be scared of him too if he wasn't my father.
But Jason isn't scared of Dad, anymore. He was initially frightened of Dad, until he came home from Fat Camp one summer and started working out in the gym, which led to a male bonding whatever between him and Dad.
"Don't know." I replied.
He dived into the pool and joined me at the deep end.
"So last night…" I started, "Gabriel Lennox's on the beach. You know, the Mayor's son? He's totally creepy, by the way. He went all psycho on me." I frowned.
Jason was repressing a grin. "The Mayor's son went psycho on you?"
"Yes." I replied, nodding. "He wants me to recommend him to Coach Wilkes."
"So?" asked Jason.
I shrugged. "I don't know. He's odd. Like last night, I turn around and he's not there. Like poof! Just disappeared."
"You think he's…" he trailed off, looking at the other people who were in the pool.
"I don't know." I replied, sighing. "He could be. Who just goes poof?"
"Point." Jason replied, "You should check, though. I mean, I hardly think that Mayor's son is…well, you know."
I nodded. "Yeah."
Jason has known about my witchy ways since I was thirteen, a year after we became friends. Initially, he got really freaked out and didn't speak to me for three months before he finally came to his senses and apologized profusely for a month before I forgave him. Since then, he's been really supportive about my "talents."
"God, this water's really cold –"
Jason pouted. "Come on! One touch!"
I rolled my eyes. "I'll probably boil it or something. Do you really want to be own as the guy who boiled to death?"
I haven't gotten full control over my powers yet. No, it doesn't happen when I'm eighteen. You need to have focus to control your powers. Forget about the focus, I don't even know what all my powers are yet.
"Good morning, Mr. Jenkins!"
Mr. Jenkins was the owner of Brooksville's Books and Baits. He was a man in his early sixties who combined his two favorite things – books and fishing. On one side of the shop was the baiting material and the other was the bookshop. He was an old friend of Dad's who needed someone to help him out on the weekends. I, being the nice person that I am, opted to work for him. It's a cool job – I practically get paid to read books.
"Good morning, Tarika." Mr. Jenkins replied, walking out from the back room. He lived upstairs (thankfully, there was a lift). "How as your week?"
"Alright." I replied, shrugging. "And yours?"
"Absolutely magnificent. I caught a catfish in the creek." Mr. Jenkins replied, proudly. The Creek was a small creek formed by the ocean, where fishing was allowed as long as you have a fishing license.
"Nice." I replied, nodding.
"There's a letter for you, Tarika." Mr. Jenkins said, pointing towards the cashier's desk where I sat. "It was in our mail box."
I didn't usually get letters. I didn't have anyone who wrote to me. I grinned at him and walked over to the table, picking up the letter carefully. It was a thin manila envelope with Ms. Tarika Clayton written on top in neat calligraphy.
I tore it open. Inside, was a note. Just a folded piece of white paper.
Fallen from the sky
Brought light in the darkest of times
Helper to those who bleed
Friend to those in need
Fallen from the sky
Brought light in the darkest of times
That's just the first part, Ms. Tarika Clayton, Star of the Sky. Look aware, we're everywhere.
That is so not cool.
I folded the note and put it back in the envelope before putting the envelope in the back pocket of my jeans. Whoever the person was had a good hand at rhyming words. I leaned back against the chair and closed my eyes.
Look aware, we're everywhere.
Did he (or she) mean that there are people spying on me?
I opened my eyes and looked around the shop. There was no one. God, I would go paranoid just looking if there were people following me. It sucks that being a witch comes with provisions and people sending you creepy letters.
"Everything alright, Tarika?" Mr. Jenkins asked.
I nodded. "Yeah Mr. Jenkins. I'm fine." So not fine.
It's moving slowly. Just bear with me.