| My stories |
[12 Oct 2004|05:43pm] |
In Me
There was nothing normal about the abandoned church on Fifth Street which was a mile or so outside the city of Granville, Maine. It was the only building on the street for miles seeing as all of the houses and businesses by it were knocked down by a tornado fifty years ago. No one knew exactly why only the church stood, but of course they tried to explain it. The townspeople of Granville came to an agreement that the church was protected by God and that it shouldn’t be disturbed. So they left it alone for fifty years, every now and then kids and teenagers would go there at night on Halloween and dare each other to touch it, but none ever did, until about a year ago.
Arista Marcs was the new girl in town and she hated it. She had moved with her family from New York City due to her dad’s high stress. Arista was a tall black haired girl who had the look of a porcelain doll.
“Ariysta Marcs?” the teacher read off the little pink slip.
“Arista,” the pale black haired girl corrected.
“Sorry, Arista,” the teacher said curtly. Arista screwed up her face in a scowl and waited for her to appoint a seat, also hoping that’s all she would do. No suck luck. “Class, we have a new student from New York City with us today, how did you pronounce that dear?”
“Arista,” she said again, trying to remain patient.
“Arista Marcs,” the teacher held out her hands, the some of the teens in the class looked up at her with interest, others not so much. “Why don’t you tell us something about yourself, Arista?” Arista sighed again and looked at the class. The girls in the back were looking at her then turning their heads to whisper to one another. In New York her best friend would have gone ballistic on those girls, but not here, not in Maine.
“I’m from New York, we moved here three days ago because my dad has high stress and he thinks this atmosphere will help,” she inhaled deeply hoping they weren’t going to press anymore.
“Do you like it here so far?” the teacher asked.
“Not really, its different from New York, really different,” she added under her breath.
“Have you made any new friends?” the teacher asked. As if it’s the easiest thing in the world, Arista thought
“No,” the girls in the back sniggered loudly, “I haven’t had anytime to find a person decent enough to talk to,” Arista retorted loudly enough to make them stop and look up at her.
“Does anyone have any questions for Arista?”
“Have you ever cut your hair in your life?” one of the snotty girls from the back asked.
“I get it trimmed every year so it grows healthily,” Arista said through gritted teeth. Her black hair hung a little below her waist, she was very proud of it.
“Is that a nose ring?” a dark haired boy in the front row asked with sincere interest.
“Yeah, I got it last year when I turned fifteen,”
“How many piercings do you have?” he asked again.
“I have my right eyebrow, my nose, six in my ear each, and my bellybutton,” Arista smiled, she had never realized how many times she had gotten pierced.
“Any tattoos?” another asked.
“Three,” she rolled up the sleeves of her sweater and showed the class the two Celtic Knots that winded around her wrists that had identical symbols in the middle of her inner wrist, a present for Christmas two years ago.
“Where is the other one?”
“On my left shoulder, it’s a crow.”
“Alright, well that’s enough, you can get to know everyone at lunch,” the teacher said. Arista had taken to calling her The Teacher in her own head seeing as she hadn’t introduced herself at all. “Arista, you can take the seat next to Damon.” The boy who had asked about the piercings raised his hand.
“That’s me,” Arista smiled and sat next to him.
“Wonderful,” she sat down.
For the rest of the day Damon escorted her throughout her classes. She sensed something about him, he was different, but she couldn’t put her finger on why.
“So where do you live?” Damon asked her as they left the school.
“Why?” she asked suspiciously. He laughed.
“I was going to offer to walk you home,” he smiled.
“You don’t need to, I drove here.”
“You drive?”
“Yeah, I just got my license last November when I turned sixteen,”
“I have mine; I just don’t drive to school,”
“My parents prefer it, as do I.” Arista said shortly as they approached her old black Cadillac.
“Nice car, how many accidents were you in?”
“Funny, learning to drive in New York is tricky,” Arista opened the trunk and put her book bag in. “Want a ride?” she asked.
“Are you sure?” Arista smiled.
“If you’re brave that is,”
“Do you know your way around yet?”
“Its impossible to get lost here this place is as big as my old apartment building,”
“It can get tricky,”
“I’ll be fine, get in.” They got into the car and Arista pulled out quickly, making Damon hold on tightly to the handle above the door.
And thats that.
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