Scattered Colors (4 page)

It was the morning of the first day of my senior year. I should have been excited. I should have been making plans for the future, thinking about Homecoming, Prom, college applications. But as I stood in front of my bathroom mirror staring into my emotionless blue eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to feel anything but sadness. My mother wasn’t there to walk me through any of the milestones approaching during my last year of high school. I was stuck in a microscopically small town with no friends, starting over without any type of support system. Just like I’d predicted, as soon as the house was in some semblance of order, my dad had buried himself in his work, leaving long before I woke in the morning and not arriving back home until well after dark. I had to navigate our tiny town all on my own just so I could find my new school and register for classes. Dad had a meeting with his new partner at the hospital in town that day. Of course, that took precedence over getting his teenage daughter enrolled in school.

As I studied my face in the mirror, I tried not to think about how much I missed my mom. I tried to push away the constant sorrow that seemed to follow me around like a dark storm cloud, blocking out any light that could possibly brighten up my black and white world. I didn’t think about how much I looked like her because that would have only led to unstoppable tears, and the only thing worse than starting over at a new school all alone was starting over with a red, splotchy face from crying all morning long.

Two brushes of the mascara wand over my lashes and a touch of clear lip gloss was as good as it was going to get. I’d never been a big fan of makeup. While I loved my blue eyes for being so much like Mom’s, I also disliked them for how big they were. Too much makeup would have made my wide eyes look like they were too big for my face.

I let out a dejected sigh and walked from the bathroom into my bedroom, sliding my feet into my gold ballet flats. My shoes were the only pop of color in my entire outfit. Plain skinny jeans, a plain white t-shirt, no jewelry, and my hair thrown up in a ponytail. Judging by my clothing choice, it was pretty obvious that I couldn’t bring myself to care about my appearance.

I made my way down the stairs and into the kitchen to make myself the same breakfast I’d been having for the past few months: black coffee, a granola bar, and a banana, the breakfast of champions. I took a seat on one of the barstools at the island which gave me a perfect view of the ocean outside the back windows. The morning was overcast and dreary, but I was still amazed by what spread out for miles and miles beyond the cliffs. We’d been in the house for a week and the view of the ocean still took my breath away every time I saw it. I’d have much rather sat at home, staring out at the gray, turbulent water than go face whatever teenage hell I was about to stumble upon at Sommerspoint High School. That choppy, angry sea matched my mood so perfectly it almost felt as if the waves were speaking to me, calling my name, asking me to stay with them.

As I reached for a banana from the fruit bowl, I noticed the piece of paper with my name scrawled across the front. If I was reading it correctly—which was questionable since my father’s handwriting was just as bad as every other doctor out there—he’d left me a note.

FREYA,

GOOD LUCK ON YOUR FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL.

~DAD.

No
I love you
or anything that could have possibly been misconstrued as affection. Just a simple, generic letter scribbled onto a piece of paper as if the note had been an afterthought as he prepared to rush out the door.

I crumpled the paper in my hand as I finished my banana and tossed the letter, along with the peel into the trash can. I grabbed my canvas messenger bag off the table and shoved a granola bar inside to eat on my walk to school, then I was out the door. It was time to start my new life

Sommerspoint High School was just like every other high school in the country, or so I assumed, seeing as I’d only had one other school to base my observation on. There were kids running around like they were on fire, in a hurry to get to wherever it was they needed to be. Others meandered through the halls like they had all the time in the world, clearly not in a rush to learn. Some students stood at their lockers, surrounded by their friends as they talked and laughed without a care. I kept my head down, not wanting to draw attention to myself or get pulled into a conversation I didn’t want to be in. I just wanted to get through the day and go home. I wasn’t looking to connect with anyone.

I caught a few stares from people as I made my way to my locker, undoubtedly garnering interest as the new girl in such a small town. But I just pushed forth, ignoring the looks and whispers as I passed. I pulled the small slip of paper from my bag that had my locker combination on it and began turning the dial. After three attempts, the damn door still refused to open. I let out a curse as the first warning bell sounded, signaling classes were about to begin. I turned the dial again and pulled at the little metal lever to no avail. The bastard didn’t want to let me in.

“It’s kinda old. You have to give it a good hit,” a small voice spoke from beside me.

I turned to see a girl a good few inches shorter than me standing just two lockers down from mine. Her fire engine-red hair sprouted out around her face in a frizzy mass of curls and freckles covered most of her face. Her green eyes crinkled in the corners as her lips stretched out into a huge smile. The bright red hair and freckles were usually a bad combination, especially on a teenage girl. However, on the one standing in front of me, they seemed to give her character, like she owned her looks, flaws and all. She was so tiny with such a mass of fiery hair that she reminded me of one of those little woodland sprites my mom used to read about in books when she’d tuck me in at night.

“Huh?”

“The lockers,” she said, her smile spreading even wider. Oh, no, she was one of those chronically happy people. I had to suppress a groan as she came toward me. “You have to give it a whack if you want it to open. Here, let me try.”

The sprite took the paper from my hand and studied it before turning the dial. As soon as she was done with the combination, she hit the locker door with the side of her fist and pulled the little lever up. The stupid door opened like a charm.

“See, you just have to know what to do.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled as I stuffed the books I didn’t need inside.

“No problem. I’m Stella.” Her little hand jutted out at me as she hopped from foot to foot. Clearly Stella was a very excitable person. I wasn’t feeling the excitement, but there was just something about her sweet face. I couldn’t bring myself to be mean to her.

“Freya,” I answered, reaching out to shake her hand.

“What a cool name! You’re the new girl, huh? Your accent’s funny. Where are you from?” she rattled off at lightning speed.

“You’re really full of energy, aren’t you?” I asked dryly. I wasn’t meaning it as a joke, but she laughed anyway.

“Yeah. My mom says if I wasn’t in dance, I’d never wear myself out.”

My heart squeezed painfully at the mention of dancing. Shortly after losing my mom, I’d tried to throw myself back into drill team, but all it did was remind me of how much she loved watching me perform. I couldn’t stomach the thought of never seeing her cheering me on in the audience again, so I’d given it up completely.

“I’ve been dancing for as long as I can remember. Mom says I was dancing even before I could walk.”

I watched Stella’s eyes light up as she talked about her mom. Mine used to do that, too.

“Does this school have a Drill Team?” I asked conversationally. Stella seemed nice enough, and if she was making the effort to be polite, the least I could do was offer the same in return.

In the blink of an eye, Stella’s hyper behavior deflated with just that one question. Strangely enough, I found myself a little sad that her sprightliness had disappeared. She was so tiny and full of life in just the few sentences we’d exchanged that I already picked up on the fact that the frown marring her face seemed out of place. “Yeah, they’re called the Sommerspoint Sassettes.”

Disbelief bubbled up from my throat in the form of laughter. “Are you kidding me? They actually call themselves that?”

“Yeah,” Stella answered, a small grin returning to her lips. “It’s kinda lame.”

“Are you on the team?”

“Oh, um, no.” Stella’s eyes went to the ground as she spoke. “But they’re having tryouts next week if you’re interested.”

“Oh, no. That’s not really my thing,” I answered, intentionally leaving out the fact that it had been just a few months back. She didn’t need to know that. She opened her mouth to say something just as the second and final warning bell rang. I needed to hurry or I was going to be late for my first class. A class I had no clue how to get to.

I pulled my schedule out of my bag and looked at my first class.

“What do you have?” Stella asked, standing on her tiptoes to get a better look at the paper in my hand.

“English with Mrs. Wilkins. Room 103.”

“Oh, yay! I’m in that class! Come on. I’ll show you where it is.” As I followed behind the redheaded woodland fairy, a wave of unexpected relief hit me. I’d gone from someone who didn’t want to make any friends to someone following after a little ball of energy in the span of just a few minutes. Oh, how my opinion had changed the instant I met Stella. She was one of those people who were impossible
not
to like.

I kept my gaze on Stella as we made it into the classroom, not bothering to look around and see who all was there. Other than my new sort-of-friend, it wasn’t like I knew anyone else anyway. We found two empty seats right next to each other a few rows from the back and sat down just as the last bell rang. Mrs. Wilkins stood from her desk and made her way to the door. She looked to be in her mid-to-late fifties and wore clothes so old they’d fallen out of style, come back into style, and fallen out all over again. And judging by the way she slammed the door shut on a boy who tried to come running in just a few seconds too late, I was pretty sure she was going to be a drill sergeant.

What fun
.

“Rule number one in my class: if you’re late, you’re not getting in. Rule number two: do not disrupt. If you do, you’re out and rule number three: do your assigned work. If you follow these rules, we’ll get along just fine this semester.”

I couldn’t speak for anybody else, but I was going to make sure I followed her rules to the letter. Mrs. Wilkins was a little scary. I reached into my bag to pull out a notebook and pen when I heard a deep chuckle from behind me.

“Well, hey there, new girl. Looks like it’s my lucky day.”

My gaze shot over to Stella who was staring at me wide-eyed before I turned around to see who that deep voice belonged to. I was immediately sucked into a pair of endlessly dark eyes, partially shaded by a flop of brown hair.

Great, just what I need.

“Parker,” I said with a casual tilt of my chin in acknowledgment.

The florescent lights in the classroom glinted off his lip ring as he grinned at me. “Weird-named Freya. How you doing this morning, gorgeous?”

“Well, I
was
doing just fine…until now.” I tried not to let his calling me gorgeous have an effect on me, but my stupid stomach dropped as his stare bore into mine. I’d only seen him twice and I could already tell Parker Owens was going to be a problem for me. A buzzer went off in my brain, sounding,
Danger, Will Robinson! Danger! Stay the hell back!

A disgruntled snort pulled my attention away from Parker and over to the blonde girl sitting next to him. Her top lip was curled in disgust as she glared at me like I’d just peed in her cheerios. Not wanting to draw any more attention to myself than I already had, and
definitely
not wanting to get into trouble on my first day, I spun back around in my seat and faced the front of the room where Mrs. Wilkins was writing something on the dry erase board.

Trying to ignore the hushed voices that spoke behind me and focus on what the teacher was saying was damn near impossible when I heard the girl who had been staring me down whisper to Parker.