Dark Calling Read online

  Mr. Steffey reaches for the door, but is stopped by a hand. A boy’s hand. A breathtakingly gorgeous boy. He glides through the doorway and slips into the seat next to Keely. Pens from his back pocket fall to the floor. Keely leans down to retrieve them. So does the boy. They almost bump heads. His eyes are on her. Dark eyes, nearly black. She sits up quickly, abandoning the pens for the boy to deal with. She sits very still, careful not to look in his direction as she doodles on the back of her notepad.

  Keely is missing much of Mr. Steffey’s speech as to what his class will consist of and what he expects from his students because she is so focused on the strange sensation overcoming her. Like something crawling over her skin, only this is underneath her flesh. She cringes and shivers. It’s everywhere. Her eyes prickle as she looks up, wondering what is wrong with her.

  Mr. Steffey is staring at her, apparently waiting for some kind of response. She stares back blankly. He looks annoyed. This is fine with Keely; she knows she will not be impressing him with her math skills anyway.

  “I’m sorry?” She chokes out. Her voice is thick, scratchy.

  “Well that answers my question I suppose,” Mr. Steffey breathes. His voice is not cruel, just exasperated. “I asked if you were paying attention, Miss Kiem. You will need to know this information if you plan on passing my class.”

  Kids behind her laugh. “Freak.”

  “That’s enough.” Mr. Steffey shoots her a sympathetic look before returning to his speech. As soon as the attention is off of her the creepy feeling returns. This is not good and not just because it’s a horrible feeling, but because Keely is prone to panic attacks. Her breaths are panting out of her in wheezy little puffs. Sweat is beading across her forehead. She squeezes her pencil—it snaps under her grasp. Decides she can’t take one more second in this room. She attempts to get up, but her limbs are numb, the only feeling is the crawling sensation.

  The class room door swings open abruptly. Mr. Steffey trails off as his attention, as well as everyone else’s, is drawn to the doorway. Nick Wallace stands there, his eyes brush over Keely before he casually strolls over and hands the teacher a note.

  “O.k. Just take a seat anywhere, Mr. Wallace.”

  Keely stares at Nick with frightened eyes. Begging eyes that she knows he couldn’t possibly understand or care about. He walks past her slowly. Slaps down pens and a binder on the desk behind her. His eyes are on the new boy. He looks him over from head to toe before he sits. His back is rigid. The muscle in his forearm twitches as he grips the corner of his desk.

  Nick touches Keely’s shoulder gently with the tips of his fingers. “Are you all right? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

  Keely shakes her head. It’s a stiff and jerky motion, but he understands. “Do you need help? To the nurse’s office, I mean?” Nick asks quietly, his voice filled with underlying meaning.

  Keely nods, one quick tip of her head.

  “I’m going to help you. Don’t worry.” He says this to the back of Keely’s head. This is how the entire conversation has gone due to the fact that she is still unable to move. She isn’t sure if part of it, or maybe all of it, is from fear.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Steffey?” Nick calls casually, raising his hand. “Keely is feeling a little under the weather and would like me to walk her to the nurse’s office.” He isn’t waiting for permission as he stands and moves to Keely’s side. He places her things inside her backpack, pausing on the broken pencil. His eyes dart to the boy in the next desk before tossing the pieces into her bag. Mr. Steffey searches her face for any sign of sickness. He nods and Nick pulls Keely up. His hands are barely on her, but they are doing all the work to move her forward. There’s snickering behind them. Keely, who is holding her breath now, just ignores this. She is too freaked out to care what her fellow students think of her.

  As they clear the door, Nick shoots a look over his shoulder at the boy with the strangely dark eyes. Oddly, that is the only feature Keely can remember about him.

  Nick shuts the door and walks her a little down the hallway. The sickening sensation is wearing off now and Keely can feel her legs again.

  “I think I’m all right now,” Keely says, pulling away from him. “Thanks.” Her cheeks grow warm now that she can feel embarrassed. “So, was I really that obvious?” She fists her trembling hands.

  Nick shrugs. “You looked a little—green.” He studies her face for a moment. “You’re o.k. now though?”

  “Yeah. I think so. I don’t know what that was in there.” She looks at the ground, the toe of her shoe tracing the line on the tile. “I was in an accident a couple of years ago and sometimes I have problems.” Right. Now it’s an accident. Her fingers find the scar at her throat, slide over it from habit. Nick’s eyes focus on her fingers. Realizing what she’s doing, she drops her hand quickly. Pulls at her hoodie. “Well anyway, I guess I should go to the office so you can get back to class. Thanks for your help.” She turns and walks away as quickly as possible.

  “Hey Keely?”

  She stops. Her heart thumps wildly in her chest as she looks back at Nick. “Yeah?”

  “You forgot your book bag.” He looks like he’s trying not to laugh as he holds it out with two fingers. He acts as if it weighs nothing, though Keely has carefully fit as much as she could into that backpack and is fully aware it is extremely weighted.

  Feeling embarrassed all over again, Keely walks quickly back to him. He takes a few steps meeting her, no longer bothering to hide it any longer as he chuckles lightly. He hands her the book bag, their fingers touching in the exchange. “Uh, thanks. Again.”

  The bell sounds above them and Nick is walking away, melting into the sea of students.

  Three:

  Although the trip to the nurse’s office goes quickly, Keely is still late for her English class. She knows it’s silly of her to take a college prep class when she isn’t sure she will be attending college, but besides art, English is her favorite subject.

  She slips through the door hoping to go unnoticed. She doesn’t. A room full of students stare at her. One face catches Keely’s eye. Nick Wallace. He peers at her with that same look as before. Expression and expressionless at the same time. Depth and indifference. Fervor and nonchalance.

  Nick has already bowed his head returning his attention back to the paper on his desk. Keely explains quietly to Mrs. Hall why she is tardy and is told to find a seat. She chooses the desk farthest away from Nick and sinks into the seat. Mrs. Hall slides a worksheet to Keely. “I want you to fill in the blanks with the most creative adjectives you can think of. It’s just an exercise. I’m not grading it.”

  Keely nods in acknowledgement and pulls a pencil from her bag. She sighs as she reads the first sentence. 1. The _____ boy found a/an _____ animal on his way to the _____ school. Keely slides her pencil smoothly across the paper. The sentence now says: The pulchritudinous boy found a forsaken animal on his way to the barbarous school. That seems about right.

  Keely finishes the paper. She has to reread it just to remember what she wrote. What is wrong with me?

  The bell says class is over. Keely moves in a daze. Follows the line of students. Waits in the crowd around Mrs. Hall’s desk. Sets her paper on the stack. Shuffles out of the room. She leans against the wall of lockers. Her head feels fuzzy. She is vaguely aware of the boy descending the hall in her direction. His eyes bore into her. Her ears are humming loudly.

  “I thought I wasn’t going to see you today. Were you waiting on me?” Bryon, one of Keely’s few friends asks from beside her. She blinks her eyes several times. His trim frame comes into focus.

  “What? No. Maybe.” She puts her hand to her face. Rubs her forehead. “I just wasn’t feeling very well.”

  Bryon raises his eyebrows. One is pierced with a barbell ring. “You o.k.?” He steps closer to her. Hesitantly places a long, slender hand on her shoulder.

  Keely nods her head and uses her back to push away from the wall. “I’m
fine now. That’s so weird. It’s the second time today I felt off. I must be coming down with something.”

  She shakes her head and moves out of reach of Bryon’s hand. He’s her friend, but he’s still a guy. She trusts him more than anyone else, but that doesn’t mean she wants him touching her. Bryon doesn’t know her history, but he knows she has issues. They’re friends because he doesn’t ask about it. Ever. And he doesn’t allow anyone else to either.

  Last year, Bryon’s girlfriend interrogated Keely repeatedly about the scar on her throat. She refused to let it go regardless of how many times Keely insisted she didn’t want to talk about it.

  She is now Bryon’s ex-girlfriend. It’s things like that as to why Keely likes him so much.

  “You sure?” Bryon asks. He makes no attempt to touch her again.

  Keely waves away the question. “I’m good. But we’re going to be late.” She starts walking toward her next class. “Where you at next period?”

  “Ugh, History with Giordano.” He makes a face.

  Keely brightens significantly. “Me too!” She smiles and adjusts the strap on her back pack.

  “That’s cool. You can keep me from sleeping.” One side of his mouth pulls up and he shoots his eyebrows up and down. Keely shakes her head and turns into the room. Bryon picks their seats and she follows his lead. Dana Costas slides over a seat so she is right next to Keely.

  “Hey Keely.”

  “Hi.”

  Dana leans forward looking around Keely, her short, dark curls fall into her face. “Hey Bryon.” Her voice goes sugary sweet when she says his name and Keely smiles. Bryon is popular with their crowd. He has just the right look. He’s skinny, but he’s toned and tall. His body trim and hard. His shaggy black hair is just long enough to look good, but not long enough to get in trouble at school. He has bright blue eyes the same color as Keely’s favorite crayon—cerulean. He always wears old band tee shirts that are pretty much impossible to get now of days and fashionably distressed jeans. Girls go crazy over him. Keely is pretty sure it’s his—I don’t give a shit about anything because there is nothing in the world worth giving a shit about—attitude. Plus, he is cute.

  “What’s up, Dana?” His eyes rake over her in a very obvious way and he smiles at her as if she is the only person in the room. Dana eats it up returning the smile.

  “Where were you this summer? I never saw you, like, anywhere.”

  Bryon shrugs, looking away as if he is already bored. “I was working. And when I wasn’t, I was with Keely.”

  Dana looks at Keely. She stares for several seconds. Keely suspects that Dana is trying to decide if maybe she has competition. She does not, of course, but Dana’s gray eyes narrow anyway. “Where you working now? Maybe I can come see you,” Dana says returning her attention to Bryon.

  He turns his head lazily. “Laszlo’s Landscaping. I’m just weekends now until fall.” Keely tunes out the small talk as Dana ignores her and flirts with Bryon. She rests her chin on her hand and scans the room. Great. Farah Fritz is in this class too. Oh. And Nick Wallace.

  Her eyes scan again, this time for that boy with the dark eyes. Relief. He isn’t here.

  “Keely? Do you want to go?” Dana’s voice snaps her back to attention.

  “What? Go where?”

  “I was saying there’s a group of bands playing at Paragon this Friday. A few of us are going cuz Jasmine’s boyfriend’s in one of the bands. Lyrical Portal or something. Anyway, it’s like ten bucks to watch like three or four bands.” Dana inhales deeply. “I mean, they’re local bands, but still. I guess some of them are pretty good.”

  “You want to go?” Keely asks Bryon. He pouts his lip and shrugs. Keely understands this to mean, “I might want to go, but I’m not going to say I want to go because I don’t want to seem too eager.”

  Keely shrugs too. “Well, as long as I can talk him into it, we’ll be there. What time?”

  “Eight,” Dana whispers as Mr. Giordano clears his throat apparently ready to begin. Bryon is already ignoring him as he decorates the side of his shoe in black sharpie. Keely stares at him until he notices her. She mouths, “pay attention.” His eyes widen and he sticks out his tongue letting it flop over his bottom lip. Shakes his head. Keely covers her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. He winks at her and smiles before returning to his shoe art. Keely shakes her head and tries to pay attention herself.

  The sensation of being watched causes her to glance around the room again. She stops on Farah, who is staring at her with black eyes. Keely gasps. Her eyes are wrong. Farah lifts her hand slowly. Points a finger at Keely. Smiles coldly before her lips form the word, “soon”.

  Farah blinks. Her eyes return to their usual pale green. She looks confused. It lasts only a moment before she glares at Keely. It seems weak in comparison to the Farah from a few seconds ago. Keely gazes around. Nobody seems to have noticed the exchange. She shivers. Goosebumps burst across her arms and legs. She peaks at Farah who is thoroughly ignoring her now. Wonders if she imagined it. Wonders if she is crazy. Wonders if Dr. Evans will put her on more happy drugs. Maybe anti-psychotic meds. Maybe she needs them. She shivers again. Decides this is very likely. Tries to picture life in a mental hospital. She could wear her bunny slippers. She wouldn’t have to brush her hair anymore. No need for make-up either. This might not be so bad.

  Keely slides down in her seat. Crosses her arms over her chest. She glances at Bryon. He’s drawn what appear to be two stick figures—a girl and a boy—on the white strip of his shoe. She can just make out her name below an arrow pointing at the girl. She frowns. No. She could never go anywhere that Bryon couldn’t. Dr. Evans will never know as long as she doesn’t tell him.

  Mr. Giordano is handing out their History books. Keely slouches forward resting her cheek on her desk as Bryon’s row is called to the front of the room. The coolness of the desk reminds her of the cold cement floor where she lay her cheek as she was dying. She had died twice, actually. She squeezes her eyes shut. Takes a deep breath. Opening her eyes, she lifts her head and rests her chin on an arm. Bryon smiles at her from his place in line as he waits for the book he will never open. She tries to return the smile, but it’s too forced. He scrunches his eyebrows. Looks over her head. Features return to normal before Keely can even blink. He looks down at his feet.

  Keely twists in her seat. Meets Nick’s eyes before he turns his head. She looks back to Bryon. He still finds his shoes fascinating. She can’t remember Bryon and Nick ever being friends. Her head hurts. She doesn’t want to think. Everything seems wrong today. Everything’s wrong because I’m going crazy, she reminds herself.

  Bryon plops down at his desk, slapping the book down loudly. He stares at Keely, as if he has something he wants to say. Opens his mouth. Gets interrupted by Mr. Giordano calling the next row up. Keely joins the line. Waits her turn. Waits for the teacher to mark the number in her book. As if anyone is going to steal a school History book.

  Mr. Giordano gives her the book. It feels hot as Keely grips it in her hand. Her attention is drawn down. It’s a book, but not the History book she was holding a moment ago. She flips it around. The cover is a strange material. Dry and wrinkled. It’s a strange gray color and smells of decay. She brings it closer to examine and throws it with a yelp as she realizes it is bound in some kind of flesh. Several students laugh. There are derogatory names murmured. Keely’s face reddens with disgust and fear. She points at the book, but as she looks again, it is just her History book. She looks at Bryon to see if he’d seen it and knows from the worried expression on his face that he did not. “Sorry,” Keely says robotically. “I saw a spider.” She picks up her book and nearly runs back to her seat.

  “A spider? Since when are you scared of spiders?” Bryon wonders.

  Keely shrugs refusing to look at him. “Since now.” She can feel his eyes lingering on her. Knows he’s scrutinizing every feature.

  He lowers his voice. “You know you can talk to me, right? I
mean, if there was something wrong or whatever, you know I would help you. Right?” Keely’s eyes burn. She can’t look at him or she’ll cry. “Keely?” From the corner of her eye, she sees his head turn. She is certain he is shrugging. She wants to tell him what’s been happening today, but she can’t find words. She doesn’t want him to know she has finally lost it. After holding it together all this time, she loses it now. Why now? “Keely?” His voice is soft; nearly a whisper, but she can hear all the worry in it.

  “I’m fine,” she says through gritted teeth. She’s up and out the door as the bell rings, not waiting for Bryon. If he shows any more concern for her she knows she’ll crumble. Keely just wants to get to gym class. She hopes they are doing something excruciatingly physical so she can get her endorphins up and keep her mind off her craziness.

  Once inside the girl’s locker room, she pulls her black sweat shorts and tank top from her back pack and changes. She replaces her shoes and pulls her hair up in a sloppy pony tail. Pushing stray locks of hair out of her face, Keely heads for the gym.

  Everyone gathers near the bleachers. Keely sits on the floor and waits. She watches Nick stride across the gym, his eyes searching over the crowd of students. He looks to the girls’ locker room door, then back through the students.

  Coach yells for everyone to take a knee. She is an older woman, in her mid to late fifties. Her hair is more salt than pepper and pulled tightly back into a perfect bun. She’s casually dressed in a pink polo and jeans looking like a sweet grandmother. But looks can be deceiving.

  Everyone lowers themselves to the floor. Nick’s shoulders drop, seeming to relax as he makes eye contact with Keely. She squints her eyes. Something about this is unsettling. His mouth twitches and he looks away. Keely thinks he’s smiling. Of course, she’s crazy, so she’s a pretty unreliable source.

  “I may be old, but I’m not old school,” Coach says. “I don’t segregate my classes.” She looks pointedly at a group of girls. “That’s too much work for me. I have one class. You will all do the same activity as everyone else. Nobody here is special, no matter what your mommy’s told you.” She clasps her fingers around the whistle hanging from her neck. “If you can’t keep up—then get out. I don’t care if you’re having your period.” She pauses as several people chuckle. “I don’t care if you and your best friend are fighting, or if your boyfriend just dumped you. I don’t give a hoot if you are the quarter back on varsity, or the fastest sprinter in cross-country. You will do what is on the agenda for the day. Is that clear?” She takes a step closer to the class. Cups her hand around her ear. “I don’t hear you.”