coming to terms with my past. I’d cut metaphysics out of my life because to me, that had been the root of our problems. For the last few years I stood firm in my decision to be a normal teen and connecting with my guides wasn’t part of the plan.
The cards felt awkward in my hands and my fingers were clumsy. I didn’t even know why I bothered with them. I made a half-hearted effort to focus while shuffling the cards, but gave up when a card caught the edge of another, did a flutter flip, and landed on my lap. I flipped the corner of the oracle card up with my freshly painted pinky nail. The card was " Release" and was symbolized by a beautiful woman, elven-like, with shimmering midnight blue hair, the hem of her pale-green gown raised slightly as if carried on a breeze. Her hands released multi-colored leaves to the wind and she stared at me with a strange, captivating mix of both sadness and hope in her violet eyes.
My h eart lurched. I never considered myself compassionate, especially towards a stranger. Concerned, perhaps, but to feel an actual ache for what I saw in this woman’s eyes had me, well, kind of freaked out.
I opened the instruction book and found the page that explained the meaning of this card. After speed-reading the paragraph three times, I realized I wasn’t absorbing a single word on the page. Partly because I didn’t want to tap into the wisdom of the cards, and partly because I was supposed to be getting ready for a party. Mostly, though, because the weight of the emotion hung around my neck and threatened to choke me.
“ Release?” I asked the card, quickly forming my own interpretation of it to deflect the effects of her stare. “I’ll release all right.” I gathered the cards and explanation book and tossed them onto the bed before standing up.
I h ad more important pursuits than analyzing my past, present, and future. This summer there was some serious socializing to do.
~ ~ ~
A few houses away from Taylor’s, I parked behind Justin Coon’s truck. Compared to his Nissan, my Audi was pretentious, and very shallow, especially for this area, but it helped create the image I wanted. The makeup and clothes we wore, the money we flashed around, are either a fortress or a window to our soul. I’d chosen my image to be an armor to hide the fact that I was the daughter of an alcoholic. As time went on, I hoped that image would stick and Justin would be drawn to the illusion that I created: a well-off party girl. I was still waiting for him to notice.
I took a cigarette and a lighter out of my purse and s houldered open the door. Leaning against my car, I lit up, giving me a few minutes before going inside. Had I known Justin would be at the party, I might not have shown up at all. He obviously wasn’t interested in me. Why I still bothered to think about him anymore was beyond me, but, just like smoking, pining after Justin was a nasty habit that would be hard to break.
In our freshman year, when Taylor and I first noticed him, he sat in front of us at a football game. There was one of those moments I read about in teen novels when the girl can’t freakin’ breathe when she sees the guy. That was me. Of course, Taylor was all into him, too. She kept nudging me, asking me what she should say.
She finally quit poking me when the cheerleaders walked in front of the bleachers, throwing candy and t-shirts up into the stands. Like everyone else, Taylor yelled, trying to get their attention. The cheerleaders launched a rolled-up shirt our way and dozens of hands rose in response – right along with mine. From the moment it left the cheerleader’s fingertips, as it sailed over and through the hands that shot up to intercept it, I focused on the shirt. It was mine, but my concentration shattered when it grazed someone’s fingertips and broke its path to me. Justin’s hands got caught up in the mix and for a few seconds it was just the two of us, fighting for control. I don’t
The cards felt awkward in my hands and my fingers were clumsy. I didn’t even know why I bothered with them. I made a half-hearted effort to focus while shuffling the cards, but gave up when a card caught the edge of another, did a flutter flip, and landed on my lap. I flipped the corner of the oracle card up with my freshly painted pinky nail. The card was " Release" and was symbolized by a beautiful woman, elven-like, with shimmering midnight blue hair, the hem of her pale-green gown raised slightly as if carried on a breeze. Her hands released multi-colored leaves to the wind and she stared at me with a strange, captivating mix of both sadness and hope in her violet eyes.
My h eart lurched. I never considered myself compassionate, especially towards a stranger. Concerned, perhaps, but to feel an actual ache for what I saw in this woman’s eyes had me, well, kind of freaked out.
I opened the instruction book and found the page that explained the meaning of this card. After speed-reading the paragraph three times, I realized I wasn’t absorbing a single word on the page. Partly because I didn’t want to tap into the wisdom of the cards, and partly because I was supposed to be getting ready for a party. Mostly, though, because the weight of the emotion hung around my neck and threatened to choke me.
“ Release?” I asked the card, quickly forming my own interpretation of it to deflect the effects of her stare. “I’ll release all right.” I gathered the cards and explanation book and tossed them onto the bed before standing up.
I h ad more important pursuits than analyzing my past, present, and future. This summer there was some serious socializing to do.
~ ~ ~
A few houses away from Taylor’s, I parked behind Justin Coon’s truck. Compared to his Nissan, my Audi was pretentious, and very shallow, especially for this area, but it helped create the image I wanted. The makeup and clothes we wore, the money we flashed around, are either a fortress or a window to our soul. I’d chosen my image to be an armor to hide the fact that I was the daughter of an alcoholic. As time went on, I hoped that image would stick and Justin would be drawn to the illusion that I created: a well-off party girl. I was still waiting for him to notice.
I took a cigarette and a lighter out of my purse and s houldered open the door. Leaning against my car, I lit up, giving me a few minutes before going inside. Had I known Justin would be at the party, I might not have shown up at all. He obviously wasn’t interested in me. Why I still bothered to think about him anymore was beyond me, but, just like smoking, pining after Justin was a nasty habit that would be hard to break.
In our freshman year, when Taylor and I first noticed him, he sat in front of us at a football game. There was one of those moments I read about in teen novels when the girl can’t freakin’ breathe when she sees the guy. That was me. Of course, Taylor was all into him, too. She kept nudging me, asking me what she should say.
She finally quit poking me when the cheerleaders walked in front of the bleachers, throwing candy and t-shirts up into the stands. Like everyone else, Taylor yelled, trying to get their attention. The cheerleaders launched a rolled-up shirt our way and dozens of hands rose in response – right along with mine. From the moment it left the cheerleader’s fingertips, as it sailed over and through the hands that shot up to intercept it, I focused on the shirt. It was mine, but my concentration shattered when it grazed someone’s fingertips and broke its path to me. Justin’s hands got caught up in the mix and for a few seconds it was just the two of us, fighting for control. I don’t
Similar Books
