Phoenix Awakens: A Young Adult Paranormal Romance (The Phoenix Book 1) Read online

  Graham's eyes grew distant as if he was considering what Clara said.

  "So anyway, we were going sailing and…" Libby put her hand on Graham's shoulder. He took a deep breath and let it out slow, then allowed himself to be pulled back into Libby's bubble, leaving me to wonder what the deal was.

  Graham obviously had issues with Clara talking about why they left, and Clara didn't seem comfortable with it either.

  Chapter Two

  Samantha blew into ceramics class just as the late bell rang and slipped into her usual potter's wheel next to mine.

  "Where were you at lunch?" I asked.

  She snorted. "I saw you sitting with Libby and those new kids, and decided not to torture myself. I went outside to talk on the phone." She helped herself to one of my balls of clay. "Anyways, what was that about?" She raised her eyebrows. "Libby?"

  "I know," I said. "It was the new girl. We were talking in calc this morning, and the next thing I know I'm sitting with Libby at lunch." I couldn't believe it, either.

  "You were talking to that new girl?" Her nose scrunched up. "She looks like she could be the next Libby Thompson."

  "It's not like that. Clara's nice."

  "Sure, whatever." She sighed and threw the ball of clay on the wheel, planting it dead center with a thunk. Something was bothering her.

  I sucked at confrontations. Besides, Samantha was probably just having a mood or something. She knew I'd never buddy-up to Libby Thompson. I let it go and got to work shaping the bottom of one of the bowls I'd made last week. Centering the first one upside down on the wheel, I fixed it in place with clay, then spun the wheel and brought my tool down to carve out the foot. As I worked, the classroom door clicked open and closed; someone was late. I looked up, and drew in a sharp breath; it was Graham. He waved and flashed me a crooked smile as he made his way to Mr. Smith's desk.

  I smiled and waved a clay-covered hand back at him.

  "Is that the guy who was with you at lunch?" Samantha asked.

  I nodded. "Graham. He's the new girl's brother, and Libby's latest pet."

  "Poor guy. Did you warn him?"

  "Pretty sure he knows what I think of Libby. But does that ever stop them?"

  "True," Samantha said.

  As I stole a glance at Graham my bowl jerked out of my hands and flew off the wheel, hitting the floor halfway across the room. It folded in on itself and became less useful and, let's just say, way more artistic.

  Samantha and I sat in silence a beat before we busted out laughing. "You might do better if you kept your eyes on your work, Julia," she joked. "Though he's not bad to look at, I'll give you that."

  I obviously had some kind of pining look on my face because she quickly added, "Julia, you are so crushing on him."

  I glanced at the kids across from me as my cheeks burned. She knew me too well, but did she have to say that crap out loud? Thank God Graham was across the room getting the class tour. He listened and nodded intently as Mr. Smith pointed out the different glazes.

  "He looks a bit too vanilla for me," Samantha said. "I like mine dangerous and dirty." Samantha and I didn't have the same taste in guys, luckily for me; she was gorgeous - in a lip-pierced, blue-haired kind of way. She was also boy crazy, so having to compete with her would have totally sucked.

  I smiled. "If he's vanilla, I'll take a slice of vanilla cake with vanilla frosting and a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side." I licked my lips.

  She laughed. "Are you psyched for the show tomorrow?" she asked, bringing up the one thing that had a chance of pulling my attention away from Graham.

  "Yeah," I said. D-Gr8ed, our favorite band, was playing an all-ages show on Friday. Maybe the first time they'd ever played an all-ages show in Minneapolis, and definitely the only time I'd ever gotten my father to agree to let me stay out past midnight. The show was sold out, but we'd had our tickets for months. "You're still coming over to do my hair tonight, right?"

  "Absolutely. You sure you don't want to go full red? I mean, streaks are cool, but you would look epic in a head of fire-engine red hair."

  I raised an eyebrow at her and shook my head. I'd never go there. I loved how colorful Samantha was with her blue hair, but preferred something a little more subtle and less standoutish.

  She sighed. "Fine, just a few streaks. We wouldn't want to ruin your whole color scheme." She waved her hands at me. "Black hair, with black eyeliner. I'll help you pick what to wear for the show tomorrow, too. Just the right black t-shirt to go with your jeans and black combat boots," she teased.

  "Thanks." I rolled my eyes and got to work fixing my next bowl to the wheel.

  When the bell rang at the end of class, I cleaned my tools at the sink. Samantha leaned against the counter next to me, absentmindedly scrolling through screens on her phone - the newest model, of course, with unlimited high-speed data. Her parents were both attorneys, so they could afford it. I counted myself lucky to have a data plan at all.

  She glanced up at me, then over my shoulder and smirked. "Listen, I have to run. I'll see you after school. Oh, and tell loverboy I said hey."

  Loverboy? I snatched a peek behind me. Oh God. Graham.

  "Wait," I said to Samantha's back as she tuned into her phone and made her way to the door. "Fine," I whispered. "Leave, then."

  In an attempt to not look nervous as Graham approached, I shoved my wet hands in my pockets, then pulled them out and crossed my arms over my chest. Crap. What did I normally do with my hands? It's not like they were brand new.

  "It's Julia, right?" he said. Hands in his pockets, his lips turned up on one side in a friendly smile.

  I nodded, my mouth unable to speak.

  "What's your next class?" he asked.

  "I don't have one," I managed. When I'd registered, the only thing open sixth period was home economics. A total waste of time since I already knew how to use the microwave; and thanks to my taking an extra class last spring, I didn't need the credit. "I get to go home now." I stared at his chest, discomfort coursing through me. I couldn't look into his eyes for fear he'd read my face and know how hard I was crushing on him. I was such a dork.

  "Can I walk you to your locker, then?" he asked, leaning down to try to meet my eyes.

  My stomach did a double back flip. Walk with him? Oh my God, yes, please. "Okay." I nodded.

  Of course, as we walked the short distance to my locker, my mind froze and I didn't know what to say. Evidently, he didn't either.

  The silence gave my stomach too much time to twist itself up in knots, so I turned to him and opened my mouth, hoping that something intelligent would come out. But the only sound my mouth could articulate was "ge - " before I closed my lips and stared at the ground in horror, searching my pockets for something to do with my hands, again.

  In my peripheral vision, I saw Graham run a hand through his hair and turn to face me. I quickly looked up, hoping he was about to say something, but he just smiled.

  I sighed. Even just a sliver of experience with boys would've helped. But no. I'd always liked safe guys like Zac Efron. Guys I'd never possibly meet, let alone find myself walking down halls next to.

  Come on, brain. There had to be something we could talk about. Wait. Clara! I cleared my throat. "So, Clara seems to think she knows me from somewhere."

  Graham paused a beat, then forced a laugh. "The move was hard on her. I'm sure it's just her subconscious wishing she had new friends already." He stole a quick glance at my eyes, then looked straight ahead. Silent once more.

  Most awkward walk with a boy, ever.

  When we arrived at my locker, there was a piece of paper poking out the top vent. Graham tugged it out, chuckling. "What, people still pass paper notes in this school?" He held the folded piece of paper in front of me, his lips turned up in a teasing smirk. Sure enough, it had my name on it, but I didn't recognize the handwriting. I snatched it out of his hand in a panic.

  Graham's eyes warmed. "See you tomorrow, Julia."

  I
couldn't help but smile. "See you."

  The halls emptied as everyone headed to their next class. I unfolded the note.

  Hi Julia,

  I was nervous about going to a new school after what we'd been through with the move and all. You made my first day bearable. :)

  Thank you so much!

  ~Clara

  P.S. Thanks for sitting with my brother at lunch even though his new friend is a total B-face. Graham's been through a lot, so I try to cut him some slack. Besides, he seemed to like you.

  The P.S. flooded my mind with questions. What did she mean, "He's been through a lot"? A car crash? A bad breakup? An out of body experience? The possibilities were never ending.

  And why, why, why would anyone put such an ambiguous use of the word "like" in a note? Dammit. I twisted a lock of hair around my index finger. Did she mean he liked me, or that he like liked me? He'd been so attentive to Libby at lunch, hanging on her every word. And just now he didn't seem to have anything to say to me. Did Clara know something I didn't? Had Graham said something to her about me?

  I flipped the paper over to check the back. She hadn't given me her phone number so I was doomed to ponder the possibilities.

  * * *

  Even with the window open wide letting in the cool fall air, the fumes from the hair bleach filled the small bathroom making my eyes burn and my head go all floaty.

  "I can't believe your dad is letting you do this," Samantha shouted over the rough chords of D-Gr8ed's latest release. She carefully unfolded one of the foils on my head to make sure the bleach was doing its job. Samantha took the whole coloring-hair thing pretty seriously.

  "I told him if he didn't let me dye my hair, I would just go get a tattoo." I tapped my fingers on the side of the bathtub to the music.

  "You did not," she said. I was so readable.

  "No, I didn't." Dad would find and murder anyone who dared give me a tattoo before I was of legal age, possibly even after. I shrugged. "I don't know why he lets me do some things and not others. My dad is a parental conundrum."

  "Points for the SAT word, and yes, he is definitely an odd cat." She leaned against the bathroom counter and pulled her phone free of the tiny speakers we'd been using to listen to music. My favorite song was over, anyways. She swiped through a screen on her phone then looked up. "How'd things go with loverboy?"

  A euphoric sigh escaped and I had to laugh at myself. "I'm too into him, Sam," I said. Come to think of it, before the hair bleach fumes had fogged my head, I'd been floating around high on thoughts of Graham.

  "What do you mean, too into him? He's cute, why not go for it?"

  "Libby for one." I shouldn't have to spell it out for her, but Libby was popular and rated a ten out of ten for most guys, whereas I was nearly invisible at school and would be lucky to score a seven if anyone cared to notice. Graham on the other hand, was at least an eleven, no doubt about that, and probably destined to spend senior year with Libby. He would only be with me in my dreams.

  "Libby may like him, but you're the better catch, and - in my opinion - more attractive. He looks like a smart enough guy. Besides, you and his sister are already besties." The last part she snapped out as she looked down her nose at the floor. A flash of insecurity crossed her face. It was so subtle, someone else might've thought it was her pensive look, but Samantha and I had been friends since junior high, and I knew her better than she knew herself. She was jealous. Only Samantha never got jealous. Still, somehow, she thought sweet, little Clara was a threat to our friendship.

  "Clara?" I said. "I just met her today."

  Samantha tapped out a quick message on her phone. My God, she was totally turning into a text addict. Pocketing it, she sighed. "I know, I guess I was just shocked when I saw you at that other table today. Anyways, it's a good thing - you knowing loverboy's sister." She waggled her eyebrows at me and straightened up. "It's time to rinse you."

  I draped an old towel around my neck and leaned over the bathtub. She ran the water and pushed my head under the faucet. I tried not to whine at how flipping uncomfortable I was as she rinsed my hair with lukewarm water. It was hard to breathe, and water ran up the side of my face getting close to my eyes.

  When she was done, I happily got up, sitting back down on the edge of the tub. She towel dried my hair and I towel dried my t-shirt, the rest of me, and the floor.

  She produced a new set of rubber gloves and pulled them on. Snap. Snap. "Maybe you want to take your mom's necklace off before we put the dye on," she said.

  I grasped the charm, holding it for a second, then unclasped the necklace - something I rarely did - and held it in the palm of my hand, examining it. Hanging from a silver chain, the charm was a small, black stone, a perfect sphere, surrounded by tiny, silver vines and berries. Mom had given it to Dad with instructions he give it to me.

  Mom left us when I was only one. It was so long ago I could go weeks without thinking of her. But when I did, it was still hard, mostly because I had no idea why she went. Dad refused to talk about it, refused to talk about her at all.

  Samantha put her hand on my shoulder. "You okay, Jules?"

  I blew out a breath and nodded.

  The door downstairs clicked open. "Julia," Dad shouted. Speak of the devil.

  "Up here," I replied.

  "You're sure he said you could dye your hair?" Samantha asked as stairs creaked, announcing Dad's imminent arrival. "Because if he kills me, my parents are going to be so mad at you." She was only half kidding. He wouldn't physically hurt anyone, but he sure knew how to punish someone. He was king of the stern look, and gave one mean silent treatment.

  "It's fine. I promise," I said.

  Dad leaned against the open doorway, crossing his freckled arms in front of him. He was tall with light brown hair and fare skin. Totally Irish. Other than the light sprinkle of freckles on my nose, we looked nothing alike. Although Samantha once told me our mannerisms were so similar it freaked her out.

  He frowned as he scanned the bathroom. "Don't people normally do this at the salon?" Dad looked like he was in pain whenever he let me do something he didn't want me to do. My dad, the martyr.

  "Yes, but most people's fathers let them work during the school year so they have enough money to go to the salon." I stuck out my lower lip.

  Dad's disapproving eyes moved over to Samantha. "Hi, Samantha." He didn't think she was a good influence, and unfortunately his deadpan face didn't hide his feelings very well.

  "Hey, Mr. Long," Samantha said as she stood up straighter. She might've acted all anti-authority, but she always seemed to want Dad's approval just the same.

  "Make sure to clean up in here when you're done," he said. "And Julia, don't forget you still have to clean out the fridge if you want to go to that show tomorrow."

  "I know," I said.

  It was all part of the deal I'd made. He would let me go to the show on Friday if I completed a list of cleaning tasks. The list was small, but the tasks were huge. Almost as though Dad hoped I wouldn't do them and wouldn't be able to go. Yet I'd made my way through the list over the last month. Clean the garage, check. Clean the basement, check. Now I was down to my last task; I just had to clean the fridge and I was golden.

  "I don't want you to have to miss your concert," Dad said. "Our deal was for you to clean all the items on the list."

  "Got it." I nodded.

  He left and Samantha pulled her phone out, flipping through screens before pocketing it again. "Let's get your hair dyed." She snapped one of her rubber gloves for emphasis.

  Thankfully, the dye didn't smell as bad as the bleach, and since she didn't have to worry about the red getting on my black hair - simply to cover all the bleached strands - it took almost no time to apply.

  "You are going to look so punk, Julia. This is going to be amazing!" she said, peeling her gloves off and tossing them in the garbage. I got up and looked in the mirror. The dye was laid on thick so I couldn't get the full effect, but still I smiled. The
girl that looked back at me had my round, dark eyes and olive skin, but there was something new about her. I liked it.

  Samantha quickly rinsed the glove powder from her hands and was drying them with one of my cast-off towels when the doorbell rang.

  "Samantha," Dad shouted up the stairs seconds later. "Starr's here to pick you up."

  "Sorry, Jules. I didn't realize how late it was. I told Starr I'd go out with her. A group of us are gonna have a bonfire down by the railroad tracks tonight. You don't mind, do you? I mean, you just leave the hair dye in for thirty minutes. Longer is okay since it's self-conditioning."

  "Okay, sure." Usually she'd ask me to go with them, but she knew I had to finish my dad's list. Still, would it have hurt her to ask me along?

  I walked her downstairs to the front where Starr leaned against the frame of the open door, her trademark long, deep purple hair framing her pale face. "Hey, Jules. Long time no see," she said, stepping forward and giving me a hug. It had been over a week, which was a lot since we used to have classes together every day. But she'd transferred to Como, so I rarely saw her now.

  "I know, I miss you," I said.

  Outside at the curb was Starr's beat-up, orange hatchback with her girlfriend riding shotgun, and Tara and Jake in the back: all friends of ours who'd also transferred to Como. Samantha gave me a half hug and followed Starr out to her car, squeezing into the back seat. They waved, then took off, leaving me with half-dyed hair and a hella chore to complete. Yay.

  * * *

  I stared at the open fridge, trying to remember where the blue containers were supposed to go. Dad kept the house cleaner than an operating room. Seriously. My cleaning the refrigerator probably made it dirtier. Putting all his color-coded containers back in the correct place was a skill I didn't have. The saddest part was that Dad probably knew I was messing it up, and would most likely reclean it when I was done, but he was all about principle.

  I crammed the last of the containers in a crisper drawer, forcing it closed. Dad would definitely be recleaning this. I sighed, having had just about enough of the whole cleaning thing and headed to my room for refuge.