Adonis is always smiling at me and I catch him staring at me every day during lunch even though he has a dozen girls at his table swooning over him.
On top of that, he’s a gentleman, always holding the door open for me when we leave school. He offers to carry my back pack or books or whatever I’m holding at the time and he always asks me if I want to hang out. And it rips me open inside when I have to refuse.
Mom doesn’t let me have friends. And she definitely wouldn’t let me have a boyfriend. A boyfriend would earn me a round trip ticket to another state. I remember one of our debates a few years back when we were living in Massachusetts. A kid from my class who I sort of had a crush on, kissed me and I’d let him. The kiss took place on the front steps of the school, in front of the entire student body, and in front of mom who had been watching it unfold from her mini-van. I took my time walking to the car that day because I could see her face, twisted and bunched up from the school steps. She was furious.
“That’s it!” she’d shouted. Pack up. We’re moving.”
“Mom, no!” I’d protested. “It was just a kiss.”
“Persephone,” she’d said sternly. “You know we’re not like the mortals. If we stay in one place for too long or get too close they’ll start to suspect something. Don’t whine. Pack your things. We leave tomorrow morning.”
I like Oregon. I’m not ready to leave yet.
Adonis gazes into my eyes. “I wanted to. It’s nothing much. Just something I saw in a department store downtown that I thought you’d like. And don’t get mad,” he says. “I know you said you hate celebrating your birthday, but it reminded me of you.”
I beam and laugh giddily. “I’m not mad. I’m just saying you didn’t have to.”
He stops in front of me and I come to a halt. “Open it.” His amber eyes shimmer like topaz gems in the sunlight and are filled with excitement.
Eagerly, I rip into the paper and my breathing stops. “Oh my. Adonis, it’s beautiful.” Fanned out along the heel of my hand is a delicate silver bracelet with an ornate rose charm dangling from it.
“Let me put it on you,” he says with a smile.
After I shove the excess wrapping paper in my book bag, I hold my wrist out and he fastens the bracelet. Lifting my hand, I marvel at the gift and as the sun catches the charm, it glistens.
I shoot him a patronizing look. “Seriously though, how much did something like this cost?”
“Don’t you worry about it. It’s your birthday.”
“Still. You could have spent your money on something you wanted or needed. Instead you spend it on a gift me.”
He shakes his head as a smile spans across his lips. “I have all I want and need. Just do me a favor and enjoy the gift.”
A flicker of light reflecting off the bracelet catches my eye and I look down at it again. Then I glimpse at Adonis, but he doesn’t meet my gaze. He’s staring straight ahead, his amber eyes sparkling, and a radiant smile as bright as the sun on his lips. An uneasy feeling swirls around in my gut. This is not a friendly gift. This is a gift that says he wants to be more than friends and that scares the Goddess out of me.
****
Klamath Falls high isn’t a school that holds very many secrets. Every morning as I walk to my locker, I know what to expect. I know that Kate Perry and Grant Pierce will me making out in front of the mass of black metal and I know that I’ll have to shove them aside with my shoulder just to get my books. I know that Mr. Doyle, the gym teacher will be standing at the end of the hall checking his watch periodically to make sure there aren’t any stragglers lingering in the halls after the bell rings. And I also know that the popular kids will stroll past me flashing me scowls before they break out into a hymn of whispers.
I’ve been here since I was a freshman and despite my efforts to be friendly, they’ve never warmed to me. When we’d first moved here, I knew trying to talk to people would be difficult. Klamath Falls is a small town and the townspeople and students have been sorted into their own social circles since they were children. There’s no room for someone like me in those existing cliques. There’s no room for a freak anywhere.
One of the cheerleaders in my biology class labeled me a freak about three months after I’d started high school. During biology, I had a weak moment where I noticed a dying rose on the teacher’s desk. Just the sight of the rotting petals and wilted stem made my heart ache. So when the teacher wasn’t looking, I touched the flower and it magically came back to life. The vibrant red petals regained their full color and the wrinkles in the stem faded away.
Sasha Ferrar’s mouth had dropped open and her emerald eyes followed me back to my seat and then she looked over her shoulder. “What did you do, freak?”
All of the Immortal Olympians are gifted with special powers. In my opinion, I’ve been cursed with the lousiest one. The only thing I can do is revive dead plants. My dad, Zeus can shift into any animal he wants or shoot bolts of lightning from his fingertips. Why can’t I do something like that?
Ever since that day, I never slipped up again. My façade of normalcy is too precious and I prayed every day that my mom would never find out about the incident. She didn’t. Sasha eventually forgot about the rose, but the freak name stuck to me like a sign on the back that says ‘kick me’.
I enter my first period class—which is English and this semester we are studying Mythology. Kind of ironic, isn’t it?
Mrs. Kirk, the petite mousy teacher leans against her desk as I slide into my seat. A strand of my mahogany hair breaks free from my ponytail. At first I try blowing the strand out of my face. I give up when the reddish brown strip only moves a centimeter so I tuck it behind my ear.
Marisol Nicholls plops down next to me. Red flushes her ivory cheeks as she fumbles through her folders. She mumbles a string of choice words under her breath and nervously brushes her curly orange hair over her shoulder. I smile amused. “You okay, Mar?”
“Argh. I can’t find that print-out Mrs. Kirk gave us yesterday,” she whines. “I have a hard enough time in this class as it is.”
Marisol flips through her textbook. She’s the only person I can call an acquaintance. We talk in school and sometimes we text and there have been a few times where we’ve wrote on each other’s Facebook walls, but that’s all our relationship consists of. I wish she could be my friend. I wish we could do all the things I’ve seen other girl best friends do. Have sleepovers, go shopping, and maybe even crash a few parties. But every time I think about it, a vivid picture of mom holding out two plane tickets pops into my head and I remember that I’m lucky we haven’t moved yet.