A Chosen Life Read online

  She chose not to answer and he resumed his stare out the window.

  Fifteen minutes later the waitress returned with their food. After two bites of slightly crunchy pancake, Macy figured it was safe to start asking questions.

  “So you never told me, how are we going to show ourselves to the Ninth?” She gave up on the pancakes and switched to the bacon. She lifted a piece to her mouth but stopped half way—bacon wasn’t supposed to be stretchy. So much for a decent breakfast. Still, it beat trail food and Bastian’s version of a home-cooked meal, which usually consisted of slightly stale bread and whatever animal he’d managed to kill that day. She was about to take a bite when Bastian’s response made her forget all about breakfast.

  “I am not sure yet. We will observe him at the high school first. That is where I seem to be able to see the clearest. Because this is the case, I am leery of approaching him elsewhere until I get a feel for the area.”

  Macy’s head spun and her palms tingled. The bacon fell back to her plate in a puddle of syrup. “What? Wait. Did you just say high school? Why will the Ninth be at the high school?”

  Bastian sighed and laid down his fork. “Because he is seventeen.”

  Not quite an hour later, they passed a sign declaring they were ten miles from Green River, and Macy finally felt calm enough to speak.

  “I thought Chosen were picked when they were little. Train them when they’re young and all that. How can the Ninth be seventeen? I mean, it’s bad enough that I thought I’d be babysitting some bratty six year old—this guy’s probably some stupid, know-it-all, wanna-be rock star.”

  “Yes, another teenager. Hmm.” He glanced at her and shook his head. “You are passing judgment on someone you do not know based on teenagers you have seen on television. Macy, that is neither fair nor mature.”

  She resisted the urge to stick out her tongue.

  Bastian’s jaw flexed. “There are many strange anomalies with this situation. If he has been Chosen since he was a child, why was I never connected to his Watcher? If not, and he was just now selected, why would the Light do that? The logic behind such a decision is frightening to contemplate.”

  He meant it. Macy’s stomach flipped—nothing frightened Bastian. “Why?”

  “Because the only reason I can imagine the need for this sudden choice of the Ninth is that the situation with the Dark is worse than anyone has realized, and the Light could not wait for the Ninth to grow up and so selected an older child.”

  Macy started to wish she hadn’t ordered the special. The crunchy pancakes were thinking about making a comeback. She pulled a pack of antacids from the glove box.

  “Ah, there it is.” Bastian pointed to a scattering of buildings in the distance as Macy stuffed the medicine into her mouth.

  They passed three abandoned gas stations and she snorted. “This is a city? Don’t blink Bastian, you might pass it.”

  Bastian’s eyes scanned the barren desert. “This place is sad. Pity the dying, Macy. Do not scoff at them.”

  She mumbled an apology, and leaned her head back against the seat.

  Bastian turned into a deserted motel, next to one of the empty gas stations, pulled around to the back, and hid the truck between two rusty, mammoth-sized dumpsters.

  “The school is just over there.” He pointed to a plain brick box sitting on the far side of a quarter-mile of dusty fields.

  It was one of the smallest high schools she’d ever seen. Though she had to admit she hadn’t seen many, let alone ever set foot inside one.

  “So how long before the Ninth gets here?”

  “Within the hour.”

  o o o

  Tolen doodled on the chipped plastic tabletop instead of studying for the math final he’d be taking later that day. The aroma of toasting bread—held prisoner in the broken toaster by a spatula—mingled with the awful smell of the tea concoction simmering on the stove.

  Sunlight spilled over the craggy Book Cliff Mountains, casting soft pinks and yellows across the dingy kitchen.

  He caught his reflection in the outside window. His strange eyes stared back at him almost mockingly. He felt his blue eye dilate and focus in on a herd of antelope skipping across the base of the hills, miles in the distance. He rubbed his eye absently, trying to get it to stop, but he knew it wouldn’t until it decided to. He sighed and resigned himself to watching the antelope until his eye decided to settle back to normal.

  At least the Book Cliffs were a beautiful sight to look at. The town and its namesake were both a contradiction. The Green River wasn’t green—it was murky and muddy as it passed through on its way to more inviting areas. The town wasn’t green either, but flat desert, with a shrinking population. There were almost more abandoned buildings than occupied ones now, and the people who did stop here were either lost or passing through, like the river. Towns like this only served one purpose.

  They were a good place to hide.

  Three crows swooped across the back yard to land on the broken fence. Their beady eyes seemed to stare through the window right at him. He shuddered. He hated crows.

  His mother shuffled into the kitchen still wearing her faded flannel pajamas. Her frayed bathrobe hung loose over her thin shoulders. Tendrils of her wavy auburn hair fell out of the bun at the base of her neck, the rich red in stark contrast to her pallid skin.

  Areen Parks used to be beautiful, Tolen remembered. His heart clenched. Now, between the outfit, her sunken cheeks, and the dark circles under her eyes, she looked more like a junkie.

  He bit his lip. She looked worse every day. She wouldn’t be going to work . . . again. He hoped the extra shifts Mr. Grange promised would be enough to buy groceries as well as make up the difference in her lack of paycheck.

  She slid onto the cracked vinyl chair across from him and pushed her briefcase to the side. A few sheets of paper stuck out—Tolen hoped they weren’t important. She met his gaze and guilt washed over her face. She dropped her eyes to the doodles on the table.

  “Would you like me to make you some breakfast?” she whispered hoarsely.

  Tolen squeezed her icy fingers. “I ate some toast. I had to study for my Calculus final so I got up early. I made some toast for you, and I’ve got some tea on.” He scrubbed out the doodles with an eraser and stood up.

  He pulled the spatula free of the toaster and removed the slightly burned slices. Her eyes never left the table as he smeared jam over the bread, poured her tea, or placed her cold fingers around the mug. Her hands shook as she lifted it to her lips.

  A little color came to her cheeks after a few sips. He had no idea why her strange tea always worked when nothing else did. The stuff smelled like dirt, but the way she drank it you’d think it was ambrosia from the gods.

  Tolen started loading books into his backpack. If only she’d let him take her to a doctor—get her some real help—but she wouldn’t.

  “Will you be alright while I’m at school?” He struggled for a calm tone.

  She nodded and started tracing the cracks in the table with her finger.

  Tolen pulled on his backpack and turned towards the door.

  “Principal Stoker called last night,” she whispered.

  He paused with his fingers on the handle.

  She looked up with concern etched in every line of her face. “He’s worried that Jeff Macro might try to retaliate. He thinks you shouldn’t go anywhere alone for a while. Would you like to explain to me what he was talking about?”

  Tolen groaned softly. “It’s nothing. Jeff the jerk just loves any excuse to pick on people.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her cheeks flushed. Tolen could see her worry lines deepen and he gritted his teeth knowing he had to explain before she got all worked up. “Jeff and his buddies were calling me names when I was walking home from work the other day. A branch from the tree above them fell onto t
he jerk’s big head. One little bump and a few stitches—it was no big deal. He was back to his normal obnoxious self two days later.”

  Her face paled. “Did you cause it?”

  Tolen shifted his feet. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Tolen—”

  “Mom, Jeff has no proof it was me and he’d sound like a freak if he tried to say it was. I wasn’t anywhere near the tree. Besides, it happened over a week ago. If he was going to do something, I’m sure he would’ve before now. It’s fine. I promise. Don’t worry.”

  This wasn’t entirely true. In fact, he kept overhearing how Jeff was biding his time until school got out for the summer so he could beat the crap out of Tolen and not have to worry about being suspended. Principal Stoker must have heard the rumors, hence the concerned phone call.

  His fist clenched tighter on the door handle. This was the last thing he needed his mother to worry about.

  Her lips tightened. She didn’t buy his explanation, but she let it drop. “Would you like to do something to celebrate graduation?”

  “Huh?”

  “Since you don’t want to go to the ceremony next week I thought maybe you’d like to do something else to—to celebrate.”

  He knew her pause had to be because of the look on his face. He worked at rearranging his expression as he bit back a remark. She sat there, weak and sick, yet she thought she would take him out and celebrate? Sometimes she made no sense. Pretend to be normal, but avoid everyone normal, while you try to blend in with normal—even if you’re so sick, you can barely function.

  “Dane and I talked about hitting a movie in Price. But we might just stay here and rent movies.” It was scary enough leaving her to go to school or work. An hour away in Price he’d probably have a heart attack, worrying. “Well, I’d better go.” He pushed open the screen door.

  “Already?”

  “Yeah, I need Dane to help me with the rest of the pretest.”

  She nodded slowly. “Okay.”

  Tolen swallowed hard, let the door close, and went back to hug his mother gently. “Make sure you eat something else today besides just toast and tea, okay? I put the leftover chicken in the fridge. Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll take care of them after school.”

  She squeezed his fingers. “Have a good day, and don’t forget your contact,” she added as he walked away.

  He stopped half-way outside. “I’ll put it in before the bus shows up.”

  Her fingers tightened around the mug. “Okay.”

  She looked at him and smiled, but Tolen knew her fake smiles too well to be reassured.

  He hurried out of the house, the screen door banging shut behind him. The smell of sage and dust swirled in the warm desert air. He took a deep breath and strode across the dry lawn.

  There was so much he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t and it infuriated him. His mother was too weak to handle any kind of confrontation and every time he asked about their crazy life that’s what it became—a confrontation.

  Tolen’s shoulders relaxed as he pushed away the invading branches hiding Dane’s shack of a house from view.

  He tossed a handful of pebbles one by one at the tiny attic window, avoiding the front door for fear of the possibility that Hank was hung-over again. Half a dozen stones later, a chubby hand pushed open the window and Dane poked his head out. His muddy brown eyes were puffy, but a huge grin filled his face.

  “You’re up early.” He yawned.

  Tolen smirked. “I need your expertise. I’m stuck on problem fifteen.”

  “Uh-huh, right. Just a sec.” Dane’s face disappeared.

  Five minutes later, he hobbled out the back door—his usual strange breakfast of cold mashed potatoes on bread clenched in his thick fist— trying to juggle a backpack half his size in the opposite hand. Tolen reached down, took the pack, and tossed it over his own.

  Dane craned his neck to look up at Tolen and mumbled, “Thanks,” over a mouthful of potato.

  Tolen chuckled. “No problem.”

  “Hey, slow down. What’s the hurry?” Dane tugged on Tolen’s arm. “You wake me up at the crack of dawn, and now you’re practically running to the bus stop. You really that anxious for another day in the place you call high school hell?”

  Tolen hadn’t realized his agitation was making him hurry. He slowed his stride to match Dane’s stubby legs. “Sorry. It’s been one of those mornings.” He rolled his eyes.

  Dane nodded sympathetically. “Your mom’s not getting any better I take it?”

  Tolen shrugged.

  Dane didn’t push him for any details. “Did you have the nightmare about the half-dead zombie guy again?” he asked instead.

  Tolen kicked at the ground, sending up puffs of dust. The tiny motes caught the first bits of light breaking through the trees. “Yep.” He couldn’t confide in Dane completely. He had to hide his weirdness from everyone, even his best friend. But they could talk about safe things. Things every other teenager had to deal with like crazy parents and freaky dreams.

  “That’s so bizarre. I mean it’s not as if you watch a lot of horror movies. I thought you were gonna cry when we saw that Halloween show two years ago.” Dane snickered.

  Tolen pushed his arm. “If I remember right, you were the one who asked if we could leave early. I think you said you had a stomach ache.”

  “Hey, I ate too much popcorn.” Dane paused, and his voice turned back to serious. “The dreams are coming more often, aren’t they?”

  Tolen gritted his teeth and nodded. “I wish there were some way to get him out of my head. Even when I wake up, it’s as if a picture of his creepy face has been pasted to the back of my eyelids. Every time I blink I can still see him.”

  Worse was the fact that when he finally woke up, shaking and sweating, the pain and misery the man felt was Tolen’s own pain. It took him hours to get back to sleep afterward. Dane waved a hand in Tolen’s face. “Hey, you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” he lied.

  They reached the slab of broken cement that served as their bus stop and sat down. Tolen pulled out his math. Dane did the same, occasionally offering help.

  Several minutes later Tolen slammed his book shut and shoved it unceremoniously in his backpack. “I hate math!”

  Dane grinned up at him, “It’s not that bad; besides if you fail you won’t graduate and you’ll be stuck in summer school.”

  Tolen grunted, took his book back out and started writing. He could feel Dane watching him.

  “Tolen, I know you’re not okay.”

  Tolen kept his eyes on his book.

  “You think you’re good at hiding it, but I can tell how stressed you are. I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but you don’t need to lie to me, okay?”

  Tolen glanced at Dane’s kind face and wished he really could talk to him, tell him everything. Even though Dane couldn’t do anything to help, it would be nice to have someone to vent to. But that wasn’t an option. He looked at the pencil in his hand and shrugged. “I’m just really worried about my mom. She’s getting worse. I can hardly get her to eat. I want to take her to the doctor but she refuses and . . . ” He sighed. “I’m just frustrated.”

  Dane patted Tolen’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I wish I knew how to help you, but look what I’ve got for a parent.” He snorted. “Hey, there’s at least one good thing you can look at. Nightmares can be better than reality, even if they are about freaky zombies. At least you get to wake up and it’s over, right?”

  Tolen laughed without humor, and pulled the case that held a single brown contact from his backpack. Leave it to Dane to try to find something positive. “Yeah, I get to wake up just in time to ride the bus back into another nightmare.”

  A cloud of dust rolled toward them, the outline of the school bus barely visible through the murk as Tolen popped the
brown contact into his right eye.

  o o o

  “Finally.” Macy jumped out of the Scout. She’d been thumping her foot against the dash, headphones in her ears, sweat rolling down her back, waiting for the bus to show up for what seemed like forever.

  “He will be the second to the last to get off.” Bastian spoke in a focused monotone.

  Macy stood on the front tire, wiped the moisture off her forehead, and rested her elbows on the shaded part of the hood.

  Bastian handed her a pair of binoculars. “Do not enhance your sight. Save your strength. I am not sure what we might encounter.”

  Macy held the binoculars to her eyes and watched the front of the school with an unfamiliar feeling of jealousy stirring in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t attended a real school since kindergarten.

  Bastian leaned against the driver’s side door, closed his eyes, and massaged his temples.

  The bus emptied slowly. She tapped her foot impatiently against the tire.

  When she finally saw him, a smirk touched her lips—it didn’t take binoculars to see the Ninth was a total geek. Tall, probably right around six feet and lanky, his dark chocolate hair hung low hiding his eyes. He walked with hunched shoulders and his head down, as if trying to make himself invisible. But there was something about him that still managed to draw the eyes of those around him, especially the girls, no matter how hard he tried to avoid being noticed.

  Macy focused in, trying to see what the girls were so fascinated by. Square jaw, sharp cheekbones. Broad shoulders that hinted of underdeveloped musculature. The girls stared, but kept their distance. Shy? Or something else? Could they sense he was different from them? He ran a thin hand through his hair and glanced toward the group of girls, who quickly looked away. He intimidates them, she realized.

  Bastian huffed by her side. “You find him attractive.” The humor in his tone brought warmth to her palms.

  She tossed him a scathing look. “Bastian, he’s a total dweeb.”

  Bastian’s grin faded and she turned back to the binoculars.