4
Eric
“Eric Welborn?”
My teacher, Ms. Hinkel, reached the bottom of her attendance list and called my name. Always at the bottom. I raised my hand, and then laid my head on the desk. My head thundered from all the lights and sounds. I was sensitive to everything, but so was every shade, whether they were in their human form or not. School was practically torture.
“Well, at least everyone is here,” Ms. Hinkel said, tapping her manicured nails against her clipboard.
“Not everyone.” Crystal—a girl I’d gone to school with since kindergarten—dragged a girl I’d never seen before up to Ms. Hinkel’s desk. “We have a new student.”
Great. I turned up my iPod. More loud students to get through the system.
If I could just make it through this class, I was out of here. I’d had the same homeroom for three years, and I was mentally done. The teacher was crazy, the class was unnecessarily long, and it was fifth hour—my last hour in the day. Unlike the other students, I got to leave every day at the end of fifth hour for work leave. I hated to admit my father had used his connections, but he had, and I was thankful I didn’t have to stay any longer than I already had to.
As long as I had books, I could teach myself. School was pointless nowadays when knowledge was so easily accessible. I didn’t need the institution of education, and it didn’t need me.
Homeroom lasted two hours with a lunch period in between. After lunch, class passed quickly, and I hadn’t listened to a single word of it. Sadly, I doubted I missed anything. When the bell rang, I gladly followed the crowd of students into the hall.
I hated the hallway—it was loud and crowded—but it was my pathway to freedom, so it ranked above the cafeteria. Cranking my music over the noise of the students, I knew the teachers wouldn’t lecture me. Nobody did. Instead, they pitied me—or they were scared of me—I still hadn’t decided.
I was Eric Welborn, son of the richest asshole in town, and we had everything but happiness. That became obvious the minute my mother passed away, even though I blatantly ignored it until my freshman year.
The accident would always haunt me.
I pushed through the crowd until I reached the front door and went outside. At the end of the sidewalk, a silver BMW was parked, engine still running. Within a minute, I had the car door open, and I was staring at an older girl with short black hair and light eyes —Teresa Young, Camille’s human form, and she had the most ironic appearances I knew.
Camille was a half-breed. Her father was a light, and her mother was a shade. They hadn’t even known they were in different sects until Camille was born. After that, Camille’s mother gave her to the Dark, and her parents fled town, leaving her to be raised in the shelter. She was enrolled in class to meet other struggling half-breeds, but she hated the constant reminder that she wasn’t a full-blooded shade. We never talked about it, other than the fact that her appearance and abilities helped me.
At night, she looked like a light, and she retained the light’s abilities of illusion. She could intercept their signals, sense them coming, and fight them with their own strength. She saw this side as a flaw. In reality, it was her most powerful gift. Still, we never talked about it.
After I sat down, Camille twisted her nail polish cap closed and pulled away from the curb. “How was school, Shoman?”
“Eric.”
She rolled her light eyes and tapped the steering wheel. “So how was school, Eric?”
“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm,” I said, glaring out the window. “You don’t see me calling you Teresa.”
“That’s because I hate my name, and you know it.”
And what if I hate my Dark name?
She sighed, “Sho—Eric,” she paused. “Are you having anybody over tonight?”
“No,” I said, hoping she wasn’t planning on busting my plans. I had freedom—no guard—and she wasn’t going to ruin my only opportunity to figure out what was happening.
“You never have friends over anymore,” she said.
Maybe because I don’t have any.
“Ever since Abby—” she continued, and I shook my head.
“We’re not talking about this, Camille.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, biting her lip as she focused on the road. “But I feel like we used to be such good friends—you, Jonathon, and me—and now you barely talk to us.”
“I have other things on my mind,” I said. Like that girl I saw last night.
Camille immediately raised her eyebrows. Her job was to guarantee I made it to the Marking of Change alive. If I was up to something, she was supposed to know and tell my father.
“What happened last night?” Camille asked, and my throat tightened.
She hadn’t seen the girl. She would’ve freaked out.
“Nothing,” I said, and she squeezed the steering wheel.
“Then why were you acting so strange?”
“Camille—”
“I’m concerned, Eric,” she said, and I groaned, lying backward in the seat.
“You sound like my mother,” I said, and she shook her head. My mother was dead. I didn’t have to remind her of that.
I gripped my hair and dug my nails into my scalp. “Sorry, Camille,” I muttered, searching for a complicated lie. “My father and Mindy are getting to me.” Personal information would distract the conversation away from last night. “I don’t enjoy having a stepfamily. I never have, and I never will. Especially a human one.”
“Mindy and Noah have been around for two years, Eric.”
Right. Noah. I had a stepbrother.
“They aren’t even shades,” I said. “I can’t be myself in my own house.”
“To be honest with you,” Camille hesitated, shaking her head. “That’s probably for the best.”
I crossed my arms, but she was right. The Marking of Change was prophesized to happen on my eighteenth birthday. The battle was almost exactly a year from now, and I wasn’t even ready. On top of that, the Light wanted to know anything about me—my name, my identity, where I lived, where I went, what school I attended, anything—just as long as they could kill me before the prophetic battle.
I was constantly hiding, even from myself, and the only time I had exposed myself, Abby died. Other than Camille and Pierce, she was the only shade I had known in both of my worlds. Now she was gone, and it was my fault.
“Eric?” Camille leaned over to catch my eyes, and I realized we were parked in my driveway. I was home.
I picked up my stuff and opened her car door. “Thanks for the ride, Camille,” I said, ducking outside.
“Are you sure that you’re okay?” she asked, and I nodded.
“Have a nice night off,” I said, shutting the door before she could continue the worst conversation of all time.
“Shoman.” Her resonant voice shuddered through me. “Be careful. I love you.” She was my best friend, my sister, and my mother figure, yet she couldn’t trust me to be alone.
“Love you, too.” I sent a message back, knowing our love was meant for siblings. We weren’t infatuated. That would practically be incest.
Camille’s BMW backed out of the driveway as I burst through the front door. I shut it behind me and listened to Mindy laugh away at my father’s jokes in the kitchen. Our kitchen was on the second floor, next to my bedroom. It was perfect when I was hungry, torture when they were in it.
I tiptoed upstairs, hoping to avoid the situation, but it was impossible.
“Eric, you’re home,” Mindy said, still chuckling at whatever my father had said.
Damn.
My father raised his brow. “Why don’t you come prepare dinner with us?”
Mindy smiled wide behind her bright red hair. “Noah should be home soon, and he’d just love to spend some time with you.” Noah, my stepbrother, was her ten-year-old brat.
“No, thanks,” I said before she could suggest something dumber. I finished wa
lking down the hallway and disappeared into my bedroom.
Crashing onto my bed, I looked at the small, blue nightlight on my wall. Stupid thing. I closed my eyes, enjoying the silence. Nothing was better than a few hours alone in my bedroom, shunning myself from the family.
“I’m home, Mom!” Noah’s high-pitched voice shattered the silence.
“Hi, Noah,” Mindy screamed with enthusiasm. “How was school?”
“It was great.”
Thud! Noah always dropped his backpack in the middle of the entrance hallway.
My father cleared his throat. “Anything interesting happen?”
“Yeah—” Noah spoke again, but I drowned him out with my stereo—hoping to drown my family out with him. My phone vibrated against my leg, and I jumped up, yanking it out of my jeans.
Text from JStone: Hey, man. Bracke told my father we were flying tonight?
My eyes glided over my phone’s screen, and I gaped at the text. I wanted to go out without Camille tonight, but not to see Jonathon. I wanted to see somebody else—the girl who caught my attention.
“Eric.” My dad knocked on my bedroom door and opened it without permission. He walked in, tossed a dinner plate on my desk, and folded his arms. “I brought you dinner since you don’t want to join your family.”
“Thanks,” I said, continuing to stare at Jonathon’s words. Now what?
My dad rubbed his hands together. “How was school?” he asked, and I shrugged.
“Okay.”
“That’s good.”
I nodded without meeting his eyes. I knew I was being rude, but I just didn’t care.
“Are you going out with Jonathon tonight?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I lied. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“That’s great,” he exclaimed, Mindy’s attitude rubbing off his tough exterior. “You boys better be careful, Eric.”
“I always am.” Another lie.
He left my room, and I was alone again. Mindy’s food suffocated my sense of smell, and I lifted my hand, using my abilities to carry the food through the air until it landed on my bed. I bit into my sloppy Joe and typed in my text.
Text from EWelborn: Change of plans. The old man is forcing me to bond with Noah and Mindy tonight.
I waited for a second, and my phone binged.
Text from JStone: Dang. Well, plan on it soon, because I’m getting sick of hanging out with humans every night.
Text from EWelborn: You’re telling me. I’m with the brat all night.
Text from JStone: Have fun with that.
Text from EWelborn: Ha. Yeah right. See you later, Jonathon.
I flipped my phone over and powered it down. I might not be seeing Jonathon, but I told my father I was. Camille wouldn’t show up at the house, and I was free. At least I was doing something productive.
I was still seeing someone; it was just someone they didn’t know about.