Finding Fae

I learned on Friday just how mean teenagers could be. After my tumble in the halls the day before, the shoves and tripping grew into outright warfare. It was like someone declared it was open season and the only game around was me. Who was the Game Warden? Her name was Victoria Maples, Queen B of the school.

I had no idea what I did to her to make her hate me so much, but whatever it was had to have been really bad in her self-centered world. She had faded blue eyes, bottle blonde hair, and fit the typical spoiled brat role very well. Designer everything, from her hair to her perfectly painted toe nails, clearly, someone came from money. Needless to say, she and her gaggle of clones were the top tormenters of the new level of hell I now found myself entering every morning.

Blaine and Ben were in my English class with her and Soul Sucker, who I learned was actually named Malachi King. Ben was a wealth of information about just about everyone and I was informed that Victoria was staking her claim on the frigid Malachi and had been after him like a dog in heat since last year. Malachi, however, kept to himself. According to Blaine, he rarely said anything to anyone, was only seen with one or two people at a time, had a dark and brooding personality, and practically ruled the school since he moved here two years ago.

Saturday was a blessing, though. After two days of hellish torture, I was glad to not have to deal with any more teenage drama until Monday. I didn’t sleep in, because it was practically against Dad’s religion to waste time sleeping when you could be doing something more productive, like learning how to use a sword, which we had been doing from just before dawn until, I was guessing, close to noon now.

“You’re foot work has gotten sloppy,” he pointed out as I laid in the dirt with the tip of his wooden sword at my throat. “I can read you six steps in advanced.”

“My foot work is fine, my legs aren’t,” I glowered and knocked his sword away so I could get up. “In case you didn’t notice, I have a bruise that’s a lovely shade of blue and purple on my knee.”

“There are no excuses, Fae,” he said and lifted his sword again.

“There are plenty of excuses. You just don’t care to listen to any of them,” I huffed and tossed my sword aside. “I’m so sick of all of this bullshit!”

“Fae!” he snapped as I limped back into the house.

I grabbed an ice pack from the barely working freezer and went upstairs, painfully, to my room. As promised, Dad had found some furniture. Well, crap that passed as furniture. A dresser with missing handles and a bed frame that was more of a safety hazard than a toxic dump. I chose to keep using the camping cot instead of the bed, which Dad shrugged and moved it to his room down the hall. I was not about to tempt Fate with ticks, termites, or infectious mold.

My knee was killing me and I hissed a little as I propped it up on the cot and put the ice pack on it. The newest battle wound from high school after a nasty shove that sent me flying to the floor. I had the reflexes to stop myself from getting hurt, but Dad’s dumb rules were standing in my way. I had no idea what the problem was, but I ended up on the entire schools hit list. Minus Zane, Blaine, Nando and Ben, that is.

I was doing some homework for History when Dad knocked on the door and slowly opened it so he could stick his head in. When he saw I was glaring, but decent, he sighed and came to sit on the edge of the cot. He looked a lot older than the last time I actually looked at him. His hair was a little lighter, he had a few wrinkles on his face that weren’t there before, and he looked tired.

“Fae, you know why we do this,” he ran his hand through his hair. “It’s dangerous to stay in one place for too long.”

“But you still refuse to tell me why,” I huffed. “Why is it dangerous? Why can’t I do things normal people do? Why can’t we just pick a house and stay there?”

“I wish it was as simple as you make it sound,” he sighed. “There are things that can’t be explained so easily.”

“That’s a very Dad thing to say to avoid actually answering the question,” I rolled my eyes.

“How bad is it?” he asked, pointing at the ice pack on my knee. Avoiding the subject. As usual.

I took the bag off and lifted my pant leg and he shook his head.

“I’ll make that ointment that helps heal bruises. And a balm for your lip,” he sighed and left me to my homework.

I got up and limped to the shower. After I was clean, I put on some comfy clothes and flopped onto the cot. Most of my homework was done before I left the school Friday, but Art was another story. I had shown up while they were finishing a project, so until Tuesday, I was told to work on a portfolio. Any medium.

I was half tempted to start working on something, but I had no idea what subject. Not that it would matter, since I would be dropping it once the system was fixed and I could get out of the advanced classes. Dad’s orders. I had to take the classes he wanted me to take. I wasn’t thrilled about it. I’d doodled here and there over the years and they were pretty decent. I’d always wanted to do something more with it though. But, that drew attention.

Call it another bit of teenage angst, but I was not about to give up the one thing about this God forsaken school I actually enjoyed. Dad can go suck a light socket. He wanted to keep yanking me all over North America, I was going to take one class that I picked for once in my life.

“Here, cupcake,” Dad said handing me the ointment and plugging in the electric heating pad. He sat on the side of the cot and inspected my lip. “This happened on Thursday?”

I nodded, since I was holding my breath to keep from crying as I rubbed the ointment into my bruise. It was the worst part of the entire process. Dad frowned and his brows crushed together even after the frown left.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Back of my head and I scraped my hands a few times,” I shrugged, breathing in relief now that the ointment was rubbed in well enough. “Nothing new.”

“Back of your head? How did that happen?” he asked and reached back and felt my head. “Nasty bump.”

“How do you think it happened?” I asked and pulled away from him. “It’s not like I haven’t been through this before. I’ll heal.”

He made a funny face but got up and left me alone again. I was a little confused about this. Usually, he would have something to say and the two of us would end up having a big argument for the better part of an hour, at least, before we were both too annoyed and angry with one another to keep it going. The, after a few hours, apologies would happen and all would be right with the world again.

The last couple of weeks, since right before we left New Hampshire, he’s just been dropping it and walking away. Part of me was glad for it. I was too tired of constantly fighting and there was a bit of cynical hope that maybe he’d finally realized the same excuses he had, I wasn’t buying anymore.

But, the part that knew my dad just had to speak up. No way was he giving up. It wasn’t in his DNA to just let things go. He held on to my rebellions and squeezed until they just died. His convictions were so much stronger than mine. I didn’t stand a chance at out lasting his view of things. It’s why I usually ended up giving in over and over again. Dad was many things and they all came together to make the block of immovable stone that he was.

I sighed and went back to homework. I had been given a bunch of extra work to do in most of the classes I was in in a vain effort to make the final grades fair. I mean, it wouldn’t be that great if I came in at the end of the year and got an A in a class I genuinely sucked at, like Speech. I hated public speaking and it was not pretty. I mean, it would be great for me, but the other kids in that class did the work and tried hard to get the grade they did.

I stayed secluded in my room long after my work was finished and just stared at the ceiling. We didn’t have a TV, just an old radio. We were so far off the main road that we got more static than anything else, unless you counted a therapy talk show and a weather station. I had enough problems of my own to deal with and the weather wasn’t on my list of interests.

“Dinner,” Dad said in the late afternoon. “Pizza. Afterwards, you need to put on more of that ointment. I made some tea, too.”

Dad and his remedies. Normal people didn’t have a clue how to make a proper remedy that was actually effective, much less one that was more potent than most medications you could get at a drugstore. I learned a long time ago that there was no way a typical painkiller could ever outmatch Dad’s tea. I don’t know what the heck he put in it, and he did try to explain it a few times, but it was like trying to talk to a fish.

We ate quietly then I sucked down the tea as fast as I could. Dad may be able to out do modern medicine, but it still tasted like absolute crap. It was pretty potent, too, since I was dizzy and light headed before I even made it up the stairs.

“Thank the gods,” I heard Dad mutter before he came to my rescue. “Not awakened yet.”

He carried me like I was a kid back to my room and tucked me in as the darkness came over and gave me a bear hug.