The Hierophant (Book 1 in The Arcana Series) by Madeline Claire Franklin Page A

them move before. I can’t read him sometimes, not like I can read most people, and it unnerves me.
    “Is that so?” He wonders, almost to himself.
    “Yeah. It’s one of Kyla’s friends. We’re going to get coffee tomorrow.”
    His expression softens. “Sure it’s not a date?”
    I squirm in my blanket mountain. “Dad. It’s not a date. I don’t date guys from my school. Guys from school don’t want to date me.”
    My father laughs. “Sure, sweetheart.”
    “What?”
    He chuckles. “Nothing. I’m not good at these kinds of self-esteem boosting conversations.”
    “I don’t need you to boost my—”
    “Listen. I’m just trying to say this in the least cheesy way possible. Let me get it out: you’re stunning, Ana. Maybe you’re not a model or a movie star, but you’re unique—you have an unconventional look, and it makes you stand out. I know, I know—standing out has made you a target for a lot of bullying. But you’re going to love those things about you that stand out some day. Trust me on that.” He turns back to the television. “In the mean time, you’re building character, and I think that scares me even more. You’ll be a double threat when you’re all grown up, if you aren’t already. And probably a heartbreaker, like your mother.”
    “Da-aad.” I blush and squirm down lower into my blankets.
    “Take it from a man who almost missed his chance with the girl of his dreams because he was too afraid: You’re right, you’re not the kind of girl they’d date, at least not at this age. You’re the kind of girl they fall in love with, and nothing is more frightening than that to most young men.”
    “Da-aaaad,” I groan again. And then I mumble: “Thank you.”
    He smiles, and arches an eyebrow. “Now stop getting detentions.”
    “Yes, Sir.” I laugh. It feels nice to have a normal conversation with my father, even if it is the clumsy heart-to-heart kind he’s so fond of lately. Not that I’m about to start basing my self confidence on what my father says about me, but he does have a nice way of putting things into a less adolescent-based perspective. I appreciate his—awkward—efforts. They help.
    Confidence boosted, I stare at my phone for a second, and start to compose a new message, heart galloping in my chest. Hey, I begin to type. I’ve got your coat…
    But a message appears in the conversation before I even have a chance to finish.
     
    TREBOR: Hey, it’s Trebor. I got your number from Andy—I hope you don’t think that’s too weird. I just wanted to check in and make sure you were doing okay today.
     
    I stare at his perfect punctuation, spelling, grammar—in a text message. He really isn’t human.
    But a slow smile has crept across my face regardless, and my stomach is suddenly filled with fireflies.
     
    ME: It IS weird actually. YOU are weird. Im changing your name to Weirdo in my contacts
    TREBOR: Oh, so you already have my name in your contacts. I’ll take that as a good sign.
     
    My eyes widen, caught in the act of maybe thinking about him when he’s not around. I blush involuntarily at the accidental reveal.
     
    TREBOR: But really, are you feeling okay?
    ME: I’m fine. a few scrapes and bruises but I’ll live
    ME: thank you. again. for saving me.
    TREBOR: You don’t have to thank me. It looks like you’ve got enough trouble on your hands
    ME: Meaning?
     
    There is a long pause.
     
    TREBOR: I think you know. The Sura are interested in you.
     
    I hunch down further inside my mountain of blankets and stare at the words. They don't come as a surprise— I knew they were watching me—but seeing it spelled out, knowing the words come from someone else, makes it more real, more true. And the fact that there is someone else out there who even knows about Sura makes it more frightening.
    I debate what to write back. In the end, I decide to push forward through my discomfort.
     
    ME: apparently you’re interested in me too. whats your deal