Underworld

The rest of the school week seemed to drag by even more sadistically slow. I forced myself to pay attention and focus in class, determined to end the week well as though to prove that I truly did deserve this trip. My grades weren’t bad but they weren’t amazing either; I usually found something vastly more interesting than homework to occupy my attention.

After school on the last day before break, Bree had to resist the urge to speed back to my house. After I packed, I would stay the night with her so we could leave immediately for the airport in the morning.

We bounded up the stairs, shouting a “Hey!” to Aunt J as we went. Inside my room, a giant, bright red suitcase sat open on my bed, waiting for me to feed it. I’d already made a mental list of everything I wanted to bring; now the real challenge would be to see if I could remember it all in my excitement.

Bree plopped down on my bed as I twirled across the carpet to my dresser. The few pieces of clothing that I’d put in the suitcase blew out in a gust of wind, covering Bree in socks and underwear. She shrieked and batted a striped sock off her face.

“Shaye!”

I laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry! Did I get you?” I sent another gust that ruffled her hair, snatching wisps from her ponytail. She threw a pillow at me in retaliation.

“You just wait,” she said, tossing the wayward clothes back into the suitcase, “Once you fall asleep, you will rue the day.”

“Rue the day? I’m terrified.” I rolled jeans and shirts up tightly, strategically arranging them in the suitcase. I added a belt and a few pairs of shoes, the normal toiletries, and my makeup bag.

Bree checked her phone. “My mom said dinner will be ready soon,” she told me.

I nodded and quickly changed into a fresh tank top and pair of jeans, which I would wear when we left early in the morning so I didn’t have to carry dirty clothes. I tugged the suitcase from my bed and we headed downstairs.

While Bree put the suitcase in the trunk of her car, I stayed inside to say goodbye to Jeanette, hugging her tightly.

“I’ll take a lot of pictures,” I promised. “And I’ll call you every day.”

She snorted. “Let’s not make promises we probably won’t keep, now,” she said, laughing. “I know how distracted teenage minds get. Just take care to check in every other day, alright?”

I nodded and hugged her again. She stopped me as I began to turn away.

“And remember,” she added, frowning slightly, “You need to do your exercises. I know you lose control sometimes and it’s not your fault but…let’s try to limit that, shall we?”

“I’ll remember.” I waved goodbye and then I was out the door.

Instead of going to bed early, as Bree’s mother did, we opted to stay awake all night. We had to leave at 2 a.m to drive to Phoenix, get through security, and make our 6 o’clock flight. We figured we could sleep on the eight-hour flight instead.

By 2:30, we were still wired and her mom was probably regretting her decision to drive us to Phoenix. By five, we were barely passing security in a coherent manner. And by seven a.m, we were well on our way to New York City.

✯✯✯

New York is beautiful, a man-made paradise of unbelievable heights. The setting sun is framed by metal and glass, creating a golden aura in the reflections.

I am standing on top of the world, looking down at the lively stream of people and cars flooding the streets. I raise my arms and the light breeze picks up, gifting me with a sense of comfort as my hair dances around my face.

But something is changing and I am confused. There is a song being carried to me on the wind but I can’t decipher it. I turn, trying to find the source and on the far side of the roof, I see the figure of a girl mirroring me.

She is wearing a long, flowing blue-grey dress that ripples and billows in the wind. She faces away from me and her hair whips about in a frenzy of multi-colored strands. Even from this distance, I can see that they are black-streaked blonde.

I run along the ledge but I know now that this a dream because my legs refuse my command of “faster, faster”, instead weighing me down as though I am wait-deep in molasses. I want to scream a warning to her but when I open my mouth, only silence ensues.

I am so close to her, so close to saving her, for I somehow know that she will fall. Instead, she turns to me and I look into the eyes that are my own. I reach for her, my arm moving agonizingly slow.

She smiles. “You’re afraid. Don’t be.”

And then she turns away and falls gracefully over the ledge, her blue dress like a swirling cloud of smoke. I reached the ledge and frantically peered over but all I can see are leaves dancing cheerfully in the breeze.

I woke with a start as the plane began shuddering from turbulence. Bree had just woken up as well, blinking groggily as the pilot’s voice over the intercom calmly directed us to remain in our seats with seat belts buckled until the turbulence ceased.

Bree yawned, unconcerned with the plane’s rocking. “I thought the flight was supposed to be turbulence-free? Eh, I guess that just proves they can’t predict shit.”

I had a disconcerting feeling in my stomach as though I were still falling, like in my dream. I managed to answer nonchalantly, “No, I guess not.”

✯✯✯

It was nearly seven o’clock—four back in Arizona—when we touched ground at LaGuardia Airport, just northeast of New York City. We were refreshed from sleeping on the plane and not even jetlag could suppress our excitement.

Bree’s dad met us in the food court. He had just come from his office at the New York Criminal Court and wore a dark pinstriped suit with a red tie. He held his jacket over his arm and his tie was loosened. When he saw us, his face broke out in a wide grin.

“Dad!” The two embraced as I followed casually behind. They separated and he turned to me.

“Hello, Shaye,” he said, extending his hand to shake mine.

“Hi, Mr. Callahan,” I said, shaking his hand. A spark of electricity jumped between our palms. “Thanks for letting me tag along to New York.”

He waved my thanks away. “Of course, Shaye; without you, Bree would be stuck with just me for three weeks.”

“That’s true,” she said, and he tousled her hair in retaliation.

After gathering our luggage—my bright red suitcase was easily recognized—we took the expressway to the Brooklyn Bridge. Bree and I had our faces pressed against the glass of Mr. Callahan’s Honda CR-V to watch Wallabout Bay speed by. Being from Arizona, the largest body of water we usually saw was a puddle when it rained.

“Well, I have a surprise for you two,” Mr. Callahan said, glancing at us in the rearview mirror. Bree and I swiveled away from the windows. “But you can’t tell your mother.”

“Are you letting me get a tattoo?” she asked excitedly. I stifled a laugh.

He squinted at her. “So you can get hepatitis? I think not. I was going to say that I reserved a room for the two of you at the Best Western Seaport Inn in downtown. I figured you wouldn’t want to be stuck in my tiny one-room that is in desperate need of cleaning. But”—he cut off our excited gasps—“Don’t think I won’t be checking up on you on a regular basis. I know what havoc two teenage girls could wreak if left to themselves.”

“Wow.” Bree and I sat back against the seat, weary from anticipation.

“This is going to be one hell of a vacation,” she said.

“Amen to that.”

✯✯✯

Our first week in New York was a kaleidoscope of adventure and wonder and…shopping. Whenever my fingers itched for my debit card where the $600 (well, a bit less now that we’d been to more than a few stores) awaited me, I visualized Aunt Jeanette in a fiery rage, potions boiling behind her sinisterly.

Mr. Callahan took the week off as well to spend time with us, taking us to the best restaurants and street venders in the city. Bree absolutely glowed as she and her father caught up with each other, laughing and joking nearly the entire time he was with us. I didn’t mind at all that I spent most of the time trailing slightly behind; this was her time and I wanted her to have it.

The city intoxicated me. I’d never been in such a densely populated area, being used to semi-rural desert life. Whereas the heat in Arizona seeped from the pavement and blacktop of streets where it soaked in from an unrelenting sun, New York radiated warmth from the never-ending flood of people walking side-by-side next to me and from the assembly line of cars lining the streets.

I reveled in the comfort of being in a crowd, their thoughts swelling around me in haze. There were so many, they passed right by me, not troubling me with sharp, individual emotions that pricked like thorns. I found that it was easier to shield against a mass of thoughts rather than one or two and I barely had to concentrate to keep my powers in check. Not that anyone would probably notice in the hectic atmosphere of the city.

But I admit, I was getting restless. I usually use at least a little of my powers each day, if only to sharpen my control, and completely suppressing it began to fray my nerves.

I first noticed this when, during lunch one day, I reached for my drink and knocked it over with my fingertips still inches away. Mr. Callahan had looked at me strangely for a moment before helping me soak up the green tea with paper napkins.

And now, as we leisurely walked back to our hotel, my skin prickled as I walked past the double doors of a J. Crew clothing store. I turned towards it and a breeze ruffled my hair so that loose tendrils reached for the door handle.

“Hey, Bree!” She turned back to see me. “I’ll see you at the hotel, ‘kay? I just want to check out this store.”

Mr. Callahan looked as though he wanted to object to my going alone but Bree reassured him and they continued on. I pulled the door opened and my palms tingled with approval.

Right away, I could tell it was a more expensive shop, with the tasteful tile walkways and impeccably dressed sales-girls. I waved them away and browsed through the shelves and hangers. My fingers brushed against a light blue fabric and froze. I pushed the other hangers aside and my eyes fell on the blue-grey dress from my vision.

I pulled it out and held it up in front of me. It was sleeveless with a square neckline and fitted waist and made of soft linen. It fell in soft folds just below the knees and though it wasn’t the exact dress from my vision—a full-length, billowy skirt would be more trouble than it was worth—it was too similar for me to pass up. Plus, it complimented my eyes pretty damn well.

I bought the dress—trying not to grimace at the eighty-dollar price tag—and walked back to the hotel, wondering what the hell it meant.