The Mayfair Moon (The Darkwoods Trilogy 1)

I spent six days in the care of the State and on the seventh day, I was sent to live with my Uncle Carl and his new wife, Beverlee, in Hallowell, Maine.

Thankfully, Alex left with me. I guess she got her wish to be out of Jeff’s house after all.

2

I HATED EVERYTHING ABOUT moving a thousand miles away from home in Georgia, except for the weather. Of course I loved my southern summers, but September in Maine was like heaven. The rest of it, I quietly kept to myself, I wanted no part of. I loved my Uncle Carl, but really, the last time I saw my dad’s brother was when I was twelve. It wasn’t as if he sent Christmas cards every year. Now, with the new wife and all, I wasn’t sure how well this would go over.

I have to admit, Uncle Carl’s place was nice. He lived in an isolated two-story Victorian-style house mostly surrounded by woods. It wasn’t a rich place by any means; the outside could’ve used a new coat of paint and by the looks of the yard, Beverlee wasn’t much the gardening type. The plants hanging in pots on the porch were mostly dead and what might have been a little garden on the east side next to the shed, was nothing more than a square patch of dirt overrun by weeds.

Most of the time, I spent outside on the enormous dusty porch in a particular wooden chair furthest from the front door. But when Beverlee started thinking of excuses to join me, I found the solitude of my upstairs bedroom more comfortable. I was careful not to say or do anything to hurt her feelings—it turned out that she was actually nice and seemed genuinely concerned, but I still wasn’t ready for all the bonding stuff.

Alex and I both had our own rooms, and just like at home ever since ‘the incident’ she said little and did less. In her room, on the other side of the locked door was where she stayed. And unlike me, Alex was not so careful with Beverlee’s feelings. The onetime Beverlee knocked on Alex’s door to offer breakfast, Alex responded: “If I was hungry, I’d go downstairs and make something.”

I didn’t know whether to be mad at her for being so hateful, or to worry if she’d ever pull out of it. I think it was a little bit of both.

“She needs more time,” Beverlee said sitting on the chair on the porch next to me later that afternoon. “She’ll come around. What you two have gone through is a lot to deal with.”

That was a serious understatement.

It only took about a week seeing how Alex treated Beverlee, to make me feel good about sitting out on the porch again. The sooner I let the changes in my life happen, the faster the awkwardness began to wear off. Before I knew it, I was eating dinner downstairs with Uncle Carl and Beverlee and watching TV with them in the den.

I always thought about my mother though. I worried about her constantly. Apparently, Jeff only spent a few days in jail before they released him. I asked Uncle Carl if my mother was who bailed him out (it didn’t matter to me that he didn’t actually do anything this time).

Uncle Carl didn’t answer.

School. I dreaded it. Getting used to a new home is simple compared to getting used to a new school. I never dressed much like the in-crowd; preferred casual stuff and made it habit to shop at thrift stores. Average girl with white, white skin and freckles; and I hardly ever wore make-up. I admit no one ever accused me of being ‘ugly’, so I must’ve been doing something right. Don’t know what it could’ve been though; definitely wasn’t my chest size because it was as flat as my back. And my idea of fixing my hair was a quick, sloppy wannabe bun, or a barrette on each side to keep my long bangs out of my face.

Uncle Carl agreed to let Alex and I settle in before sending us to school, but a few more days was the limit. The only thing I had going for me was I wouldn’t be starting too far into the year. Alex refused to go to school. Kind of ridiculous when she would be graduating this year. Everything about my loving sister had changed.

“Not sure about the trends right now,” Beverlee said as we walked into a clothing store. “But I’ll give you the run of the place.”

It wasn’t exactly my kind of fashion, but we had been driving around Augusta for three hours, stopping here and there and I was just ready to get ‘home’ and relax.

I never imagined shopping could be so exhausting, or that there was more to it than one store. No, apparently real shopping involved heavy amounts of conversation, critical observations of patterns and how one’s butt looks in at least six different brands of jeans. Oh, and sales. Lots of sales. I think Beverlee spent more money trying to take advantage of every sale than she would have if she would’ve just ignored them altogether.

“Oh, Adria,” she said, holding up a strange ruffly-looking top. “This would be so pretty on you. It’s half-off.”

I knew why it was half-off, but I thought I’d let her down easier than with the truth.

“Nah,” I said, wrinkling my nose enough to indicate disagreement rather than outright revulsion. “I never looked that great in blue.”

She studied it a second longer and then put it back on the rack, taking a white one, identical, into her hand and holding it up for me. “What about white?” she said. “Or black.” She held up a black one then, looking back and forth between each of them and then at me.

I gently bit the inside of my mouth.

“I...don’t really like it much,” I winced a tiny bit, hoping she wasn’t the type that offended easily.

Beverlee smiled and hung both tops back on the rack, the hanger clinking against the metal.

“Yeah,” she said, “I guess they are a little overdone with the ruffles. Reminds me of a poet’s shirt.”

Not exactly sure what a poet’s shirt was, but I went along with it.

Beverlee moved over to the next circular rack and slid her hand in between several different tops, moving each one back in the line until she found a potential.

“Now this one is cute,” she said, holding it up to show me.

Carefully I studied the faint gray pattern against the darker gray fabric. I moved in closer to see what the pattern was. A koi fish. Definitely more doable than ruffles. My hand moved toward the end of the sleeve where the price tag dangled, but Beverlee pulled the shirt away before I could see it.

“Don’t worry about that, hon,” she said, beaming. She placed the top in the fold of her arm as if my question on the price was my way of saying I liked it. “What size are you?” She looked me over once, contemplatively. “Small? Maybe a medium?”

“Medium fits good.”

Beverlee glimpsed the tag and finally placed it in one of those skinny, upright carts made specifically for upscale clothing stores.

“Thanks,” I said.

We moved slowly through the aisles. Every. Single. Aisle.

“Do you think Alexandra will like this?” she said about a dozen tops, a watch, two pairs of jeans and even bras and panties.

I picked out a few likely outfits for Alex and then it was over to the shoe store. After thirty minutes there, Beverlee insisted we stop for lunch. She was full of energy, but I liked her. And I could tell that maybe she was a little lonely and I was perfect for filling some kind of void in her life. Uncle Carl wasn’t exactly the outgoing type and I could see why Beverlee might seek human interaction elsewhere. Really, Uncle Carl was kind of monotone.

My first day at Hall-Dale was just about the way I expected it to be. Uncle Carl dropped me off on his way to work and the few students hanging around out front stared at me as though they’d never seen a thing like me before. I slipped down one long hallway lined by art-filled walls and made my way into the front office. It smelled of cinnamon candles and hospital soap. A man in a navy work jumpsuit stood high atop a ladder with his hands buried in the flickering fluorescent light fixture above him.

“Good morning,” a woman at the front desk greeted. “How can I help you?” She wore tons of gaudy jewelry on her wrists and around her neck.

“I’m new,” I said. “Adria Dawson.”

“Ah yes, I have your class schedule right here.” She pulled a sheet of yellowish paper from somewhere behind the low counter and handed it to me. “Great to have you at Hall-Dale.”

I smiled my thanks.

“If you have any questions,” she went on, “or you need help finding your way around, just ask Julia.”

I glanced around and behind me. The janitor repairing the light grumbled a curse under his breath and briefly sucked on the end of his fingertip.

“Alright, it’s up and running, Mrs. Wiles,” a girl, who I assumed was Julia, said as she came around the corner from an office door. She added, “Just let the defrag finish.”

“Julia, this is Adria...” Mrs. Wiles paused and glanced at me briefly.

“Dawson,” I said.

“Yes, Adria Dawson is new to the school,” she went on, “and if you wouldn’t mind showing her around, that’d be wonderful.”

The girl tucked a book underneath her arm and smiled over at me, though she seemed faintly irritated. “Julia Morrow. I’m everybody’s hall-guide.” She walked fully around the counter, positioning her bag strap over her shoulder.

I gave her a questioning look.

“Oh no,” she said, realizing, “not that I mind at all, really.” She went to the office doors then. “This way—I think you’ll like it here.”

I followed.

“Wait.” Julia put up her arm in front of me.

I froze at the door half a second before stepping back out into the hall. A small group of students walked past. Really loud. Gossiping about how some girl really ‘screwed up her hair’. Not until they were out of sight did Julia let me pass.

“Drama Club,” she said. “As soon as they spot you, Dane Fethermore—totally gay, but don’t think I have anything against that—will either try to recruit you, or you’ll be their next target.”

She led me out of the office just as the first bell rang. Students shuffled casually down the hall while a few darted past so quickly I felt the wind stir my hair.

“Well, I’m not into Drama,” I said, “so they won’t be recruiting me.”

Julia smiled over at me. “Not like real Drama Club,” she said. “They just stir up a lot of crap around the school.”

Oh, that kind of drama, I thought.

“Hey Jewels,” a guy said to Julia as he approached with a single book in his hand. He looked at me then. “All the way from Georgia, right?”

How did he know that? My privacy had been threatened already. What if they knew why I came all the way from Georgia? The last thing I needed was to be the poster child for child abuse or alcoholism.

“Yeah, Athens,” I answered, “I’m Adria.”

“Adria, cool name,” he said, “I’m Harry—not such a cool name, sounds like an old guy name. Parent’s named me after Houdini.” His face held a slightly embarrassed tone.

“Well, nice to meet you, Harry,” I said, “and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with your name.”

Harry was tall and lanky with stringy black hair; cute in a strictly brotherly sort of way.