Nocturnal (The Noctalis Chronicles 1)

“I'll drop it off in your locker later.”

“And I'll drop off my Jane Austen essay for you to look over.” She holds out her hand.

“Done,” I say as we shake.

“One of these days we're going to have to swap brain cells,” I say as the bell rings. Despite our best efforts, Tex and I don't have any classes together, so I don't get as much time with her as I want. We spent a lot of time texting when teachers aren't looking.

“You just tell me where and when and make sure they give me good drugs and a killer wig and you're on.” The crazy thing is that if I asked her for brain cells, or anything, she'd give it to me, no questions asked.

She flips her blonde ponytail at me as she struts down the hall. Tex never just walked. “Call me later and tell me what you get, and don't forget to add unlimited texting so you don't get stuck next time.”

“I won't.” I wave and she's off, pleated skirt swirling so that I can almost see her underwear. I want to tell her about what happened, but the words dry up in my throat before I can. She knows my mother is sick, but she never really asks about it. I've been able to put her off enough times.

Tex believes that secrets are like poison that slowly kills you unless you slash your skin and suck it out, like a snakebite. Now I have not one, but two pretty huge secrets I'm keeping from her. Two snakebites.

I have geometry first and English in the afternoon, which is kind of like eating a cyanide salad and having red velvet cake after. I walk as slowly as I can, prolonging the moment when I have to walk into class and remember that I'm missing most of my math-type brain cells. I've been pulling a B-average, which is pretty much a miracle. I'm slinging my heavier than death bag over my shoulder when I feel someone behind me.

“Hey, short stuff.” Jamie taps me on the shoulder, and I swat his hand away. I throw my chin in the air and start walking, pretending I want to get away from him.

“I'm not going to respond to you if you're going to degrade me like that.”

“Come on,” he says, catching up with me. I slow down and we walk side-by-side. People kind of stare at us as we walk by. We do make an odd pair. Short, average me and Jamie Barton. Tall, blond, athletic, captain of every team Harper High had to offer. Enough said.

“You know, James, you'd get a lot further with the ladies if you didn't insist on insulting them.”

“But you're the only one who's insulted when I call you that. Everyone else thinks I'm a hottie.” Taylor Abbot gives him the once over as she walks by, testing out the model walk she learned a few months ago when she'd been in a mall runway show. She hasn't shut up about it since.

“That's because they're blinded to your faults.”

“And you're not?” He looks at me, raising his eyebrows. It makes him look adorable. What Taylor doesn't know was that he hated his ears and thought they stuck out She doesn't know that he has nightmares and still has to sleep with a nightlight, but I know.

“I know too much. It's why we're friends.”

Where once I'd been saved by Tex, I had been the one doing the saving with Jamie. Once upon a time, he'd been scrawny and really into comic books and had bad skin. We'd been forced to sit next to one another in most of our classes by sheer dumb luck, and he was always drawing funny cartoons of the teachers on his notebook and showing them to me. We bonded in detention.

Since then, he discovered the dermatologist, grown over a foot, and started playing sports. I knew most girls think he's a hot piece of man meat, but he'll always be that scrawny boy who made me laugh.

“So what's this I hear about you losing your phone?”

“Did Tex tell you?” One of the downsides of having Tex as a friend is that she tends to share things unless you specifically tell her not to. Otherwise, she's like one of those boat horns.

“Yeah. I was wondering why I hadn't heard from you.” Apparently, if I'm not in touch for more than a few hours, I'm presumed dead.

“Sorry. I didn't really notice it was missing until yesterday. I'm getting a new one.” We stop outside of my class. Most everyone else is there and Mr. Galakis is already putting notes on the whiteboard. Oh, joy.

“Listen, I have practice tonight, but call me later and tell me about it.” He gives me his winning smile. Braces had also helped him in his transformation from Peter Parker to Spiderman.

“Will do, captain.” I give him a little salute. He smiles and jogs toward the gym.

Before Jamie had gotten all attractive, people thought I was some sort of saint for being friends with him. Now they can't understand why he's friends with me. Why he skips out early on the team dinner if he's promised to take me to a movie. Why I'm one of the first people he wants to see when he wins a game or a meet. I can't explain it; we've been friends and we'll continue to be friends. Even if he gloes off to business school and becomes a CEO of a huge company, or a famous artist. He'll be good at whatever he does.

The morning crawls by, without the distraction of hilarious texts from Tex or Jamie. Even the riveting project of drawing molecules in chemistry can't distract me from the thoughts I try to shove away. I've had a lot of practice splitting my brain into two parts, one that continues to function in the real world, and the other part that obsesses about my issues, so I'm able to make my way through the morning without anyone the wiser.

Lunch is the hardest because I have to smile and laugh and pretend that I want to eat and make small talk. Pretend I still care about who's having a party this weekend or what that player from Madison did, and who do they think they are, and the ref was totally biased. I. Don't. Care. My bitter thoughts make me feel like a total bitch, so I just keep my mouth shut. Is this what it's going to be like?

Finally, I can't take it anymore. I forge my mother's signature saying I have a dentist appointment and skip out on my last class, which is gym and pointless anyway. I have nothing better to do, so I go to the tiny electronics store downtown to get a phone.

“Can I help you?” The guy behind the cell phone counter looks like the typical techie, as if he knows more about gigabytes and motherboards than football or getting wasted. Still, he seems nice enough, but you never know.

“Yeah, I need a new phone. I can't seem to find my other one.” I play the ditz. He starts going on about apps and towers and using a bunch of acronyms that he probably thinks sound impressive. I quickly settle on the phone with the rebate, which is essentially free while he goes on and on. “Dave,” I read on his nametag, is crestfallen at my simple choice, that I haven't been convinced by his spiel. Poor guy.