November 21, 2010

• nanowrimo: days 18, 19 & 20.

  Weekend days are makeup days.

  

  “You are so lucky I’ve had my morning coffee already, Eleanor Noreen Norton!” I holler in her direction.

  Eleanor’s nose is in a stupid fashion magazine, and she lifts her eyes condescendingly to look over at me.

  “I beg your pardon?” Her perfectly-waxed brows are furrowed.

  “You heard me,” I snap back, feeling my dad’s angry blood in my veins.

  “Whatever nonsense you’re accusing me of, it isn’t true. I’ve been reading the latest issue of Vogue, and I really don’t appreciate distractions.” Her red-painted upper lip curls up into a sneer.

  Just as I lift my arm, hands balled into fists, Luke catches my elbow. I know I have a comic-book angry face on, because he grins when he’s trying to be serious.

  I’m not that fierce. I try to be, but I know I’m not really that terrifying.

  “Thanks for the save, but I could’ve stopped her arm pretty easily from over here,” Eleanor laughs.

  The sound of her haughty, breathy laughter creates a dizzying rotation of images, each more violent than the last, of ways I could make the sound stop.

  I personally enjoy the baseball bat.

  Or the frying pan.

  “You are scarier than you think you are,” Luke murmurs toward me.

  “Thank you,” I growl.

  Luke cringes a little, “I’m not really sure that was a compliment…”

  “It was to me,” I shrug.

  Eleanor looks up from her glossy magazine that is clutched in her glossy, manicured claws once more. “Listen, could you two take this conversation elsewhere? I really am trying to concentrate.”

  “Sure, Eleanor. We’d be glad to oblige,” I say, keeping my voice even and full of saccharine.

  “Thanks,” she draws the word out. “You’re a peach.”

  “Oh, that’s cute. Because my name is Georgia,” I fake a laugh.

  “Oh. I didn’t even put that together. Huh. Well, anyway… Back to the study of Kate Moss and her exciting life,” Eleanor shrugs.

  I walk past her, and Luke is beside me, or I probably would have pushed the magazine into her little snotty pug nose.

  “She isn’t worth the trouble, Georgia,” Luke rolls his eyes. “She’s shallow, and self-important.”

  “Which is why I want very much to do her physical harm. Is that so wrong?” I shrug innocently.

  “Yes,” he laughs. “It won’t do you any good. People like her will never change.”

  “You don’t think it would make me feel better to take scissors to her perfectly smooth ponytail?” I ask.

  “Maybe for a couple of seconds… but then you’d just feel stupid.”

  “You’re probably right…” I pout, “It’s such a nice thought, though.”

  “I’m sure it is,” he chuckles. “But don’t carry it out. You will just regret it.”

  “Yes, sir,” I tease.

  We are just crossing from the dining room to the hallway via the huge old wooden archway, when Louise stops me, looking frazzled.

  “Georgia, Lydia needs you in her office,” Louise says.

  “Okay – but what’s up?” I ask, frowning in concern.

  “Regina Ward is here early, and Lydia wants you to meet with her like – now,” Louise explains.

  “Um. Alright. I’m on my way.” I start power-walking to the room where I’m needed, Lucas trailing behind me.

  “Do you want me to come with, or should I just let you go do your thing?” he asks.

  I give him a confused look. “I don’t mind if you come along, but you don’t have to if you have other things to do.”

  “Okay,” he shrugs, and there is a moment of awkward silence, as I am not used to male company in general.

  We reach Lydia’s office, and for only the second time since I’ve lived at Autumn Creek – I knock on her door.

  “Come in,” Lydia calls, in her rarely-used ‘business voice’.

  I turn the knob and slowly pull the door open.

  “No readers,” I hear a sharp voice insist.

  I give Lucas a look, and he shrugs and starts back the way we came, looking bewildered.

  “Have a seat, Ms. Freebird,” the razor-sharp voice instructs.

  I close the door quietly behind me, walking further into the office and taking the chair in front of the desk.

  “You are a chronicler, as well as a feeler, yes?” the harsh voice asks me curtly.

  “If by chronicler, you mean I have a perfect memory, and by feeler, you mean I empathize physically with certain people, then the answers are both ‘yes’,” I answer respectfully.

  “Ah. Also a truth-teller. Extraordinary. Come here, child. Let me see your eyes.” A slight Russian accent is evident in certain sounds and inflections of her voice.

  I don’t love being called a kid, but her tone changes so quickly from cold steel to warm matron that I feel obliged to obey.

  “Lydia, look at this.” Regina instructs, and Lydia smiles encouragingly at me. “Look at these irises. They are like a neon sign, screaming it out to the world.”

  I am scared to blink, but nature makes the allowance that my conscientious nature does not. “I don’t want to be rude, or seem ignorant, but what do my weird mood-ring eyes scream exactly?”

  “Well, darling, it is not just your eyes, though they are quite the magnificent beacon. Your mixture of gifts makes it very clear to me.” She pauses, searching my face with her big, round eyes. I realize that they are brown, not gray like I remember from my first encounter with her. It dawns on me that I couldn’t just remember incorrectly – either she has contacts, or they have changed.

  “You are an elder,” Regina gestures broadly with her hand like she is opening a folded, decorative fan.

  “Um. What?” I scrunch up my face, confused. “But I’m only twenty-one.”

  “No, darling. You are not an elder in the devoid sense of the word. To our people, it means you are already an Elite-class Outsider, despite your youth. Your gifts will develop as you age, just as wisdom should with older people. You have more now than when you got here, yes?”

  “Yes, the feeler thing is only seven months old.” I admit. “But I thought it was a weird coincidence. Or that Wyatt Livingston caused it somehow.”

  Regina frowns. “Wyatt Livingston? He is a strong feeler, yes, nearly an Empathetic Elite, despite his age – certainly impressive. But no one person can create those things in you. They are already there, waiting to reveal themselves at the proper time. And your belief makes them real. Events change everyone – from the seemingly mundane, to the obviously significant. For us, life events affect our gifts as well.”

  “This is… I don’t know what to think,” I sigh, and I know my eyes are shifting to dark gray because Regina Ward smiles. Her pleasure at this shared gifting allows her eyes to shift, too. They are a buttery golden-brown: happiness, mixed with pride.

  When we were younger, Nadia and I were bored during homeschooling and started making a list of what colors equal what moods – I remember it, of course, as Regina Ward’s eyes shift back to a warm, muted brown.

  “Understandable,” Regina shrugs. “I felt the same way when my dear Francis – Mister Ward – revealed to me what my gifting added up to. I do not know what I would have done had he not come along. Such a gifted reader… They are perfect soul mates for us, darling, because elders can never be readers, you see.”

  I feel a wave of disappointment rush down my skin.

  “I know you are disappointed. I was, as well. But that is why readers are our natural mates,” she says, as if we’re the subject of a documentary on Discovery Channel. “They compliment us in ways that others cannot.”

  “You make it sound like these others are beneath us.” I appraise her expression.

  Regina shrugs. “Not beneath. Just not equal to us. We are elders, they are not. It is that simple. We are not better – just more powerful. Nothing more, nothing less. We are simply chosen for something they are not equipped for.”

  “And what is that?” I ask, feeling irritation stabbing at my throat.

  “Leadership,” she says the word as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

  I give her a blank look. “You’re serious?”

  “Completely serious,” she frowns as if I am missing some screws.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Mrs. Ward – um, Regina – I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we aren’t our own country or race. There is nothing to lead. We don’t hold any political power and we certainly don’t need told what to do. We’ve got rights just like any other Americans.”

  “Darling, power does not just lie in the hands of weak-minded men who are led by the almighty dollar like a dog is lead by the needs of his stomach. Outsiders need strong figures to look up to, to mentor them, to lead and guide them. Hence, Lydia’s place in the world – she has donated this family heirloom for the use of our people, and runs it without the luxury of a salary. She is a leader. And I am informing you that someday, you will be as well. Sooner, rather than later, you will be trained to be in a place of power in our community. It is nothing to fear, Ms. Freebird – Georgia. It is actually a great honor, and if you choose to see it as such, anxiety will not cripple you the way it is threatening to at this very moment.”

  I go to open my mouth, and she just half-smiles.

  “You will be hearing from me very soon. For now, however, you are dismissed.” Regina waves her beautifully-manicured hand.

  I sigh and stand up from my seat, but as I reach for the doorknob, Regina speaks again: “Remember what I said about readers, dear. I don’t know why that is significant in your life specifically right now, but I feel that it is. So, take it however it is to be taken.”

  I push the door open and walk slowly out into the hall. Waiting across from Lydia’s office in the library is Lucas, sitting in one of the big leather library chairs – his nose in a book about the history of guitars. I enter the hushed warmth of the room full of books – the most comforting place in the entire building, to my heart – and I take the huge, high-backed chair beside him, separated only by a small coffee table.

  I am mentally guarded, and Lucas looks up from the pages he is staring blankly at to search my face.

  “Is everything alright?” he asks in a whisper.

  “I think so,” I whisper back. “Just… intimidating.”

  “Your eyes are this really crazy gray right now,” Lucas says, leaning closer to my face.

  “Thinking too much,” I sigh. “Wait. Is it light gray or dark?”

  “Both,” he inspects from a better angle. “They’re dark on the outside and get lighter as they go in. They’re kind of incredible to look at.”

  “Kind of?” I smirk, trying to make light.

  “Okay, they’re more than incredible to look at,” he admits, smiling. “But I hate making you feel uncomfortable. I don’t want to sound like some crazy stalker who’s only known you for a week but finds all of your features glorious.”

  “You’re not a crazy stalker, Lucas,” I shake my head. “Really though? Glorious?”

  “Absolutely,” his smile widens. “Extraordinary.”

  “Huh,” I say, pursing my lips, considering this.

  Lucas looks back and forth between my left and right eye rapidly, taking in the bizarre color scheme. “I’m serious, though, if anyone saw a picture of your eyes like this, they would swear you edited them. They’re mesmerizing.”

  “They’re stormy,” I shrug. “It happens when I’m concerned, or angsty.”

  “Are you angsty right now?” Lucas raises an eyebrow. “Your thoughts are much better encrypted than your eyes at the moment, so I’m in the dark.”

  “That’s how it should be,” I tease. “But I’m not really brooding­-angsty. More like… deep in thought and considering some things that Regina told me.”

  “What did she tell you?” Lucas asks, and I know he is trying to hear it from deep within my gray matter.

  “A lot of things I have to consider and make sense of before you’ll be able to pull them out of my brain, sweetheart,” I ward him off.

  He smiles. “I’ll get it out of you sooner than you think.”

  “That’s what she said,” Nadia’s voice interrupts from a nearby bookshelf.

  I choke on my own saliva, laughing.

  • 1:42 am
  • 1 Comment