Wicked Sense Read online

  WICKED SENSE

  Fabio Bueno

  Booklings Publishing

  Booklings Publishing

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to events, locales, people, or incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Wicked Sense

  Copyright © 2012 Fabio Bueno

  All rights reserved.

  This book may not be used, reproduced, transmitted, scanned, distributed, or stored in whole or in part by any means whatsoever, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Your support of author rights is appreciated.

  Cover Design by Martina Elise Dalton

  First Edition, 2012

  ISBN: 098587790X

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9858779-0-3 (kindle)

  To

  Daisy

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Drake

  Chapter 2: Skye

  Chapter 3: Drake

  Chapter 4: Skye

  Chapter 5: Drake

  Chapter 6: Skye

  Chapter 7: Drake

  Chapter 8: Skye

  Chapter 9: Drake

  Chapter 10: Skye

  Chapter 11: Drake

  Chapter 12: Skye

  Chapter 13: Drake

  Chapter 14: Skye

  Chapter 15: Drake

  Chapter 16: Skye

  Chapter 17: Drake

  Chapter 18: Skye

  Chapter 19: Drake

  Chapter 20: Skye

  Chapter 21: Drake

  Chapter 22: Skye

  Chapter 23: Drake

  Chapter 24: Skye

  Chapter 25: Drake

  Chapter 26: Skye

  Chapter 27: Drake

  Chapter 28: Skye

  Chapter 29: Drake

  Chapter 30: Skye

  Chapter 31: Drake

  Chapter 32: Skye

  Chapter 33: Drake

  Chapter 34: Skye

  Chapter 35: Drake

  Chapter 36: Skye

  Chapter 37: Drake

  Chapter 38: Skye

  Chapter 39: Drake

  Chapter 40: Skye

  Chapter 41: Drake

  Chapter 42: Skye

  Chapter 43: Drake

  Chapter 44: Skye

  Chapter 45: Drake

  Chapter 46: Skye

  Chapter 47: Drake

  Chapter 48: Skye

  Chapter 49: Drake

  Chapter 50: Skye

  Chapter 51: Drake

  Chapter 52: Skye

  Chapter 53: Drake

  Chapter 54: Skye

  Chapter 55: Drake

  Chapter 56: Skye

  Chapter 57: Drake

  Chapter 58: Skye

  Chapter 59: Drake

  Chapter 60: Skye

  Chapter 61: Drake

  Chapter 62: Skye

  Chapter 63: Drake

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Chapter 1: Drake

  I don’t buy into the high-school-is-hell theory. To me, it’s more like this joyless limbo most of the time, utterly boring, with the occasional humiliation and the rare thrill.

  The new girl is a fine example of the latter.

  “Drake’s got a crush,” Sean taunts.

  Not yet, but I’m… intrigued. She’s different. Alluring. Sitting at an outside cafeteria table twenty yards from ours, absorbed in a small hardcover black book, she remains oblivious to the darkening skies above us and to the Greenwood High crowd watching her.

  “You’re staring too, moron,” Boulder says, shoving Sean playfully. Kind of. “But I don’t blame you guys. She’s hot.”

  Sean chuckles. “An R-rated body.”

  My eyes stay on her. “What are you talking about? She’s petite,” I say before my brain can stop me. Oh, man, they’ve suckered me into one of these testosterone-fueled talks again. With a heroic effort, I take my eyes off her and look at them. “Are we talking about the same girl?”

  “Yeah, the new chick. The brunette chick.” Boulder, the paradigm of subtlety, points to her. “Don’t sweat it, D-Man. Sean is just messing with you. She’s pretty, but she’s no Priscilla. And, for the record, I don’t think you should call anyone petite.” This from the guy who just used a fowl-related word to describe a human being. Twice.

  My head turns to her again, as if a pulled by a magnetic force.

  She peeks over at us. It doesn’t fool me; I’ve been burned before by mistaking a furtive look for something else. Just an involuntary, split-second, rest-my-eyes-in-a-random-direction kind of glance. I know it means nothing.

  “Did you see that? She looked right at me!” Sean says, chuckling once again. It must be nice living inside his head.

  His reward is another of Boulder’s trademark shoves. “Yeah, right,” Boulder says. “With this male specimen here?” He taps his own chest.

  I shake my head. These talks always end in—

  “I’m going over there,” Boulder says. For a built seventeen-year-old linebacker with a square jaw and an above-average vocabulary, Boulder has an alarmingly high strikeout rate with the ladies. I don’t know why; he seems confident. Over-confident. Maybe that’s it. Boulder is over-everything.

  “No,” I say, stealing some of his surplus confidence. “My turn.”

  My brain is definitely taking the day off. I’m never that bold. Sean snickers, predictably.

  Boulder, astonished at my daring, remains speechless for a few unnerving seconds. But soon he grins. He slaps me hard on the back, in what he thinks is a friendly manner, and probably damages my kidneys in the process. “Go for it! Get yourself some hotness!”

  Emboldened by their approval, I get up and start my ill-advised journey to inevitable disaster. For a moment, I think the ominous gray clouds signal a bad day. But in Seattle, it just means it’s another day.

  I cross the muddy grass and the gravel path. In my mind, the schoolyard vanishes. There’s only her, and I process every detail. The book still hypnotizes her. She wears glasses, a delicate red frame with a faint rainbow effect on the lenses. I drink her in: dark brown hair in a tight ponytail, thin nose, and pale, flawless skin. Something about her screams otherworldly—maybe the impossible symmetry of her face. It’s so weird. She’s not stunning, but her face is so maddeningly… attractive. She’s definitely not Sean’s type (bombshell), although she’s Boulder’s type (female).

  I arrive unnoticed and say a weak “Hi.” Yup, I’m that smooth.

  Apparently, the book is still very interesting. Great, I’m losing to dead trees.

  At last, she raises her eyes, still hidden by those weird lenses, and says, “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re nice and all that, but I need to finish this.” Her manicured finger taps the book.

  Love her voice—slightly hoarse, but feminine. And the accent: she must be British, maybe an exchange student. Her accent comes and goes as if she’s an unprepared American actress playing a British character.

  The snub doesn’t shake me. I expected it, and I thought about the perfect reply on my way over. “I understand. But I’m trying to help you. If you don’t talk to me, Boulder over there will try his luck with a much lamer and potentially offensive pickup line.” I look over my shoulder. Boulder, typically, misreads my thumb pointing at him and does the pigeon-chest thing.

  She looks at me, then at him, and then back at me. I’m feeling like part of a tennis match when she closes the book and says, “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

  Of course I haven’t
planned this far. I’m caught flat-footed and fumble my lines about her accent. The familiar panic starts to take over, but the least likely person saves me.

  Exchange girl notices Jane arriving, as does everybody else. I mean, everybody always looks when Jane arrives; she’s impossible to avoid. Jane is a biker chick, and she’s biker-chic. She’s all about leather jackets, customized helmets, strangling pants, and sexy Italian bikes with brand names that sound like dirty words.

  Sean tried to ask Jane out once, and she punched him in the face. Punched him. A firm “no”—or even a good slap—should be enough for most people. But she knocked him down and almost broke his nose. Jane fractured her hand, but she didn’t even flinch. Sean never reported her. Knowing him, I’d guess he said something inappropriate. And he probably went down laughing.

  For once, it’s Jane’s turn to stare at someone else. She pierces Exchange Girl with demonic eyes. Everybody notices. Jane marches toward us, blood-red helmet in elbow, parting the sea of students with her commanding presence. It’s as if we can feel her hatred for the new girl. The weather report said to expect a thunderstorm today. Maybe this is it.

  The buzz in the schoolyard rises. The excitement of a new student’s arrival is compounded by the possibility of an even more sensational event: a cat fight.

  Chapter 2: Skye

  The boy rises. I shouldn’t have glanced over. I should have kept my head down! But his aura is so unusual. I don’t even know how to read it.

  Is he the…? No, he isn’t. Don’t be stupid, Skye. It can’t be that simple. Besides, he doesn’t radiate any energy. Follow the plan. Be ordinary. Lie low. Some contact is inevitable. I’m a little surprised, though. I thought the steroids junkie would be the one to chance it. Or maybe the stocky guy with a buzz cut and lewd eyes. I brace myself anyway.

  Don’t worry. Just be sulky and moody, and he’ll go away.

  Even with my eyes still on my book, I can sense him forcing each step, almost marching. He arrives, hovers for a second, and says, “Hi.”

  I give him my prepared speech; he replies with a somewhat reasonable argument. I choose the lesser of two evils—as I always do—and challenge him to say something interesting. Besides, upon seeing him up close I notice an understated but undeniable cuteness.

  That’s when I feel her presence. Soon she senses me too. When she removes her helmet, the girl reveals a short, spiky, almost-military haircut that she can only pull off because of her thick dark hair. I must admit, she puts on a show, dressed in several shades of brooding and black. Her fury is palpable. I wonder—

  Oh, Goddess! She’s coming over. Is she insane? Everybody’s watching.

  I’m paralyzed, and I’m uncertain if it’s her doing, or my own usual powerlessness. I just sit there, an easy target. Only one thought crosses my mind: don’t break the Veil.

  She goes past the boy, who looks as petrified as I am. She leans over me and hisses, “What are you doing here?”

  Her magical signature overwhelms me. The tingling sensation becomes almost an electric shock.

  She’s tall and muscular like a fitness instructor. She may have an Athletics Charm. Her quasi-gray eyes and her crimson full lips are the only colors on her. I summon all my strength and get up, bluffing, hoping she doesn’t realize my distress, but her black boots add to her height advantage, and she still towers over me.

  I can feel all eyes upon us. I get in her face and do my best tough-girl impression. “Don’t do this,” I say. “Not here.”

  “You came here.” She has a point. “Don’t forget that.” She scans the school grounds and realizes we have attracted an audience. Her frown gets deeper. She mercifully leaves.

  I’m still recovering from all that negative energy when the boy turns to me and says, “So, old friends, you and Jane?”

  “Jane?” I ask, stupidly. He looks at me in a weird way. My mistake. Another one.

  I glance at her again as she leaves. Not only is she a witch, her magical energy flowing from her in waves, but the vibe she radiates is so suffocating that it feels as if I’ve lost a part of my soul just by standing up to her.

  I didn’t know they already had a Sister here. Maybe Jane has no connection to the Mothers. I thought Connor was the Seattle overseer. Connor. All this grief, and that’s before I see him again.

  That Jane girl took away my balance. I vowed I wouldn’t feel sorry for myself anymore, and I stand by it. No more porcelain feelings. No moping around because nobody gets me. And certainly no supposedly amazing boyfriend who stomps on my heart.

  I went through all that right after my Daybreak. It won’t happen again, thank you very much. Nothing is worse than this curse disguised as a blessing. I wish it were as simple as shooting lightning from your fingertips. I can only long for bright sparkles that make everything right. Why can’t magic work as it does in fairy tales?

  Stop complaining, Skye. Most people would sell their souls (some certainly try) to have this gift. Don’t be ungrateful.

  Secretly-cute boy looks at his cell. I forgot about him.

  I say to him. “That was awkward. Listen—”

  Before I finish, he jumps in. “You know what? Awkwardness is one of the biggest threats to our society. We should do something about it, create an organization, mobilize people. Raise awareness, you know? I’m all for social issues. Maybe we should hang out and discuss our plan of attack?”

  His words stun me. I look down at my book to gain time.

  He doesn’t stop. “What do you say? Should we meet and discuss the issue? I’ve even got a log line. ‘Awkwardness awareness.’ Catchy.”

  I’m still lost. My plan was to remain inconspicuous, quietly make a few friends , and investigate. Well, the quiet ship has sailed away after the Jane confrontation.

  He’s trying so hard, and I feel a speck of guilt. His enthusiasm is partly my Allure Charm’s fault, after all. I wish I could turn it off sometimes.

  The boy waits patiently while I try to snap out of it. Oh, okay. I just hope I won’t regret it later. I tell him, “Sure.”

  He walks back, beaming. I just made someone’s day.

  I think about returning to my book, but somehow another girl sneaked up on me while I was distracted.

  It’s been an eventful morning. When I saw the weather, I picked this table outside to be alone, but it seems chilly winds and menacing clouds don’t scare people around here.

  I create a mental catalog of everybody in the parade: hoodie-jeans-sneakers boy with overdue haircut and weird speeches, psychotic biker witch, and now, in front of me, fake-tanned skinny blonde with possible posture problems in her future.

  She tells me her name is Priscilla, and then she goes over the new-girl questionnaire. Her candor is disarming. Name? Skye. Senior? Yup. Where from? New York, London before that. Accent? British. Kind of trying to get rid of it. Know anybody? Nope.

  Priscilla shakes her head in secretly-cute boy’s direction, her heavily highlighted shoulder-length hair billowing as if out of a conditioner ad. “What did Drake want with you?” Wow, she is direct. And now I know his name.

  “I’m not sure yet,” I say. Well, I guess he wants what all boys want, but I try to give her a chance to gossip. “Do you know him?”

  “Kinda. Word is he’s a good kisser.” She looks a little distracted.

  That’s not what I was expecting to learn. “Really? Well, we’re not there yet.” So, quiet Drake has a reputation. Were Priscilla and Drake involved? I wonder if she’s here to tell me to back off. Somehow I can’t picture these two as a couple, though, and I dismiss the thought.

  Priscilla sits down and pulls down on my arm, making me sit next to her. I don’t resist. Our lunch table is next to the building, and many other tables circle us. With everyone still staring, I feel like I’m onstage.

  She lowers her voice. “Listen, I’m not going to lie to you.” Her hand rests on my arm in a sisterly touch. “You need me. I don’t know the school you came from, but this one is a mess
: gossips, backstabbers, false friends. Luckily for you, I’m the helping type. Do you want to hang out?”

  While she talks, I take a good look at her. She is wearing clothes just long enough to avoid detention. Eyebrows plucked so thinly they’d be distracting if it weren’t for her big green eyes getting all the attention. Even her pouty lips seem hand-drawn. She looks like the in-crowd queen. It’s hard to imagine what a drop-dead gorgeous girl like her wants with me.

  Since I’m here to make friends anyway, I accept it. Besides, her aura is mostly pink. It bodes well. “Sure,” I say.

  The bell rings. Priscilla stands, pulling me up with her. She asks about my next class and tells me to follow her. She bosses me around in such a gentle and sweet way that it doesn’t bother me.

  I got three bizarre new connections in just a few minutes. A busy morning. The Mothers would be proud.

  Chapter 3: Drake

  As I throw my verbal Hail Mary, I already know it sounds desperate.

  “Sure,” she says after a while. She gives me a smile, and I want to frame it.

  Daydreaming, I smile back and walk slowly to my friends.

  I sneak a peek to my cell again: “ASK HER OUT STUPID.” Sean uses roughly one-third of the text to offend me. However, against all odds, it turns out to be useful advice.

  He is almost jumping up and down when I arrive back at our table. “So, how did it go?”

  “Not bad,” I say, still relishing that smile.

  Sean doesn’t let it go. “Do you have a date?”

  “I do. I guess.”

  He smirks. “Hold on. You guess?”

  “Well, that’s the thing.” I scratch my head. “I’m not sure.”

  Boulder hides his face behind his overgrown hands. “You’re a disgrace.”

  Sean guffaws. Of course, I want to punch his brains out. Why is it that the closer the friend, the more you feel entitled to punch him? Reasons are aplenty: maybe he embarrassed you, or told you a hard truth, or you want him to see the truth. There’s always a punch-worthy opportunity between friends.