Young Blood

Chapter 1  -  School and Headaches



I sit in class, my legs folded up underneath me, Indian style.

Me, Joe Tilton, sitting in an ordinary, boring, history class. I'll be honest; this doesn't happen very often. When it does, it usually doesn't turn out very well. Why not? Well... I guess I might be a little... different.

“Josiah Ross.”

I glance up. “Yes sir?”

My history teacher studies me. His fingers twitch by his side and he shifts his weight onto his left foot.

Unbalanced, a busy corner of my brain notifies me. Twitching fingers indicates slight nervousness and - I tune out the automatic analyzing and wait for the question sure to be fired my way.

“What started World War 1?” he asks.

“The murder of Franz Ferdinand, Archduke of Austria,” I smoothly reply.

The teacher pauses. A corner of his mouth quirks up, and he says, “Thank you, Joe,” and returns to his lesson.

A scrawny boy beside me stares at me, an eyebrow raised. “What do you do in your spare time, read?” He mutters.

I glance sideways at him and smirk. “Naw. Just got a good memory.” I murmur back, and he snorts, going back to scribbling notes.

VVVRRRIIIIINNNNGGGGG!!!!

For the fourth time that day, I let loose a horrible shudder at the bell. That terrible, grating, shrill sound that was like bones grinding together (a feeling I knew too well).

It reminds me too much of Iceland. When that door opened... the bell was an announcement, to them, but to me it was a warning, an alarm.

I groan, dropping my head into my hands. Not here, I think.  They won't find me, I’m... safe... here.

I cringe once more and drag myself to my feet, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. As I was stepping out the door among the stragglers, a hand on my shoulder stop me. I turn to find Mr. O’Connell gazing at me, his brows furrowing. “Are you feeling alright, Joe?”

I fake a smile and nod. “Yeah, just a headache,” I lie. (sadly, I was good at that.)

Mr. O’Connell hesitates, then nods back. “Good to see you back, Joe.”

“Thanks.” I grin at him before turning down the hall. As I walk alongside rows of lockers, my hood up, hands in my pockets, I feel the stares immediately turn to me. Whispers dart back and forth between the cliques, heads turned.

“He's back... heard he was in a gang- dealing drugs- crazy freak-” the boys snicker to themselves. I roll my eyes at the rumors and trudge on, passing a huddle of girls on the way out the door.

“He's hot, for sure,” one of them murmurs, “but that girl he hangs out with is a loser,” she sneers.

My sharp ears pick up on the hushed tones and I flinch. Not for myself, but... no, they wouldn't dare... would they? I curl my fingers into fists.

Finally, I step into the sun and let my eyes rove the parking lot. I'm looking for a couple of things; My guardian Red, Phoenix, and the ever present- danger.

There - Phoenix is standing with a blonde haired, brown eyed guy next to the flagpole.

For the first time in months, a real smile creeps onto my face as I shoulder through the crowd to meet her.

“Hey,” I say, standing a few feet away from her.

She turns, her mouth open, eyes wide. For a moment she gapes at me.

I don't blame her. It was months ago that she had last seen me.

Then she let out a true Phoenix-half-shriek and tackles me in a hug. 

“Joe!” she yells into my shoulder, half mad, half joyful.

I laugh, and it's a real laugh. “That's me. Alive and kicking.”

Phoenix yanks away and glares at me. “Where have you been? Are you okay? What the heck happened?!?!” She demands.

My smile slips a little. “I'll tell you later,” I say.

My best friend narrows her eyes and studies me intently. Phoenix is one of the few people who can read me. And when I say few, I mean few.

So while she searches me for new scars and hints, my gaze drifts to the guy standing awkwardly to the side.

As I said before, his hair is a golden blonde. He has on regular jeans and a hoodie, a backpack resting on the grass beside him. But I  already noticed all that, so I skip to the most important part- the eyes. They are warm, trusting, caring, brown eyes.

The eyes betray the persons main characteristics, and his are honest. That's a good sign, but a true actor can change his eyes. So I'm far from trusting him.

Phoenix finally gives up on her scrutiny.

I grin at her. “Done now?”

“No.” she replies. “And far from it.”

I roll my eyes. “Well meanwhile...” I give her a pointedly patient look.

Phoenix gasps. “Oh my gosh!” She spins around with a sheepish smile directed at Blondie. “I'm sorry. This is Cade, he's new here.” she says.

I offer a hand to Cade, trying not to feel guilty. To him, it's a simple, friendly gesture. For me, it's a way to study his hands, the second most important feature on a person. The hands tell the past of a person, what they use them for, and hints and clues to their current life. And I don't mean in the palm-reading, creepy way.

And Phoenix knows exactly what I'm doing.

“Joe.” I say.

He shakes my hand.

Soft hands, hands that haven't seen much wear. One thing though... a small scar, a slice cut into his palm. It is fresh.

A knife, handled clumsily, maybe a kitchen accident. That furiously busy corner of my mind informs me.

I might've gone with the kitchen accident theory, but my eye catches onto something else. On his left sleeve the fabric is slit. Also from a knife.

Before he can withdraw his hand, I twist his hand up to face me, examining the scar. Yep... definitely from a well sharpened blade.

“Kitchen accident?” I ask dryly, meeting his surprised stare.

He blinks. “Uh, yeah. How did you know?” he asks, licking his lips nervously.

I release his hand and grin. “Just a guess. Had a couple myself.” I can feel the tension in the air, something that actually relaxes me. I'm not used to this ordinary school life. At least, not anymore.

“So, you're new here this year?” I ask.

Cade nods. “Yeah, I moved here this summer with my Aunt.”

“Really? What about your parents?”

“They passed  away a few years ago.”

I soften, maybe just a little bit. My own parents were lost at sea when I was four. They are now presumed dead, officially marking me as an orphan, with no relatives to turn to.

Before I can say something, I'm interrupted by a blaring horn.

I glance behind me. “That would be my cue. Nice meeting you, Cade. Phoenix, you coming over?”

Phoenix hoists her backpack. “You bet.” She gives Cade a one armed hug, yelling, “See you tomorrow!” over her shoulder as she jogs behind me.

As we cram into the front of Red's pickup, she hisses at me,

“Did you have to do that?”

I shrug. “Sorry.” I leave it at that, wisely keeping my “spy sayings” (as Phoenix likes to call them) to myself.

“Sheesh, you guys. Took you long enough.” Red complains good-naturedly. “Phoenix, who's the new guy? You finally find a boyfriend?”

I laugh as Phoenix fake gags. “Ha. I'll get a boyfriend when Joe here stops scaring 'em all away.”

“My bad.” I confess.

“He moved here with his Aunt this summer.” Phoenix told Red.

“Hmmm.” My guardian muses. “Name? DOB? Heritage?”

“Background? Recent relations? Favorite food?” I add.

Phoenix moans and face palms.