I threw my Chucks on just in time to catch Kes as he left the bathroom, jogged down the stairs, and grabbed his keys. I followed him outside, throwing my backpack and gym bag into the back, and climbed into the passenger seat.
Dark circles hung heavily under Kes’s eyes and he sat hunched over the wheel, visibly tense. Maybe that was what I was picking up on. He gripped the steering wheel instead of easing it around in lazy circles in the casual way he usually employed.
Something was up. I wondered where he went last night. He wouldn’t tell me even if I asked, but I had to ask something. As I racked my caffeine-deficient brain for the right question, he steered into his assigned parking space.
Before we exited the Mustang, I turned to him. “Do you feel weird?”
He pinched his lips tight. “The harbinger has me on edge.”
“Why?”
“It was a message to me. A warning.”
“What if you hadn’t been at the window to see it?” Crappy messaging system, if you asked me.
“I still would have felt it,” he said, but didn’t elaborate.
Could I be feeling it, too? Maybe being around Kes for so long had given me spidey senses or something.
“What was the warning about?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure yet, but I’m going to find out who sent it and why.”
“You didn’t find anything wrong last night when you left?” I hedged.
“Nope. Nothing amiss.”
He left it at that, and I was able to breathe somewhat easier. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread coursing through me. Maybe I was coming down with something. My head was starting to hurt, so yay for that.
I should have gone inside and left him alone, but the warning bell hadn’t rung and I wasn’t ready to go in just yet. Besides, if I was tardy, I’d be lucky enough to avoid seeing those skanks we don’t speak of making out in the hallway. Kes flipped through various stations, stopping at every news outlet. We listened to lame news story after lame news story.
Someone on Capitol Hill was misusing funds. Shocker.
The local water company was planning to flush the lines next week. So we won’t have water that day, and gross water for at least another. Wonderful.
What to eat to lower cholesterol.
A tragic story of a man who killed his wife and then turned the gun on himself.
Some ancient tomb was found in the deepest jungles of South America. Who cares?
Over the radio noise, the bell rang out. We had fifteen minutes to get to first period.
“I need to get to class,” I groaned, entirely not in the mood for school today.
Kes didn’t unbuckle, but waited until I exited the car and grabbed my backpack from the back seat. Then he promised he’d see me at lunch and backed out of his space, speeding out of the parking lot. I wasn’t sure where he was going – yet again – but the bell rang again and I wasted no time hauling my butt to first period.
If anyone noticed he’d skipped class, they wouldn’t say anything to him. Kes would just flash his smile at the school secretary and make an excuse, and she’d just erase the absence like it never happened. She never did that for me, or anyone else, for that matter.
I slugged my way through my morning classes, unable to focus on anything but the strangeness unfurling in my midsection. By lunch, a headache had grown roots and pounded a steady drum beat against my skull.
I couldn’t shake off the weirdness either. I tried to explain it away, telling myself it shouldn’t bother me. Some sort of celestial message may worry Kes a little, but I was convinced he would figure it out and eventually the headache would fade, or else Kes would work his mojo and send it packing. Things would go back to our abnormal normal and all would be well.
Except it wouldn’t. I could feel it.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise then, that the end of the world began on that beautiful spring afternoon, with the sun shining brilliantly in a vibrant, blue sky.
On the surface, things looked normal. Bees were enjoying the bounty of sweet-smelling blooms on the trees that lined the common area; birds were tucking twigs into tightly bound nests, preparing for the next generation; and my peers were chattering about the latest test, prom and after-prom plans, and college acceptance letters when everything went to hell.
Sitting at one of the concrete tables on a freezing cold bench, trying to soak in as much warmth from the sun as possible and sucking in cold air to help my head, I emitted as many ‘I want to be alone’ vibes as possible. My friends were stuck in study group hell somewhere in the bowels of the English wing, and I wasn’t about to go with them.
I plugged my cell into an external charger and let the battery fill as I massaged my aching temples. Throughout the morning, my headache had steadily swollen into a migraine so intense even the backs of my eyes hurt.
I swore, migraines were like hurricanes. When they started, they were just little storms with barely enough energy to hover offshore. Then the bastards built, spinning over the water, gaining strength. When they finally hit, even high-powered medicine was too weak to fend it off. This one was going to be a category five. I could feel it.
“You okay, Larken?” Xavier asked as he passed by, concern knitting his dark brows. He’d bleached his longish hair, and to be honest, he looked hot. He had already earned quite a few appreciative stares from nearby females…
I tried to smile and pointed to my head. He nodded knowingly. “Do you have medicine with you? I can give you a ride home if you need it.”
“I took some before I came out here, but thanks,” I told him, wincing from the bright halo blazing above us.
“Text me if you change your mind?” he asked.
“I will, thanks.”
He hesitated and gifted me with a small grin, and I couldn’t help but grin back. His lips were pretty. Not thin like some guys’, and a lovely, soft shade of blush pink. “I’m looking forward to this weekend,” he said.
“Me too.”
He lingered awkwardly. It was sweet. “Feel better soon,” he said, tapping the table to say goodbye.
I thanked him again as he strode away.
Apparently, talking to Xavier rid the atmosphere of my ‘I-wanna-be-alone-for-the-love-of-God’ vibes, because a girl made an abrupt beeline for my table after that. I internally groaned when she sat across from me, the food on her tray still steaming.
Effing fajitas. When I didn’t have a migraine, I loved them. But not today. Today the pungent aroma turned my already queasy stomach. I was too tired to stand up and move away from her, so I covered my nose with the sleeve of my sweatshirt and closed my eyes.