Radiance (Riley Bloom #1)(5)

And as far as the students went, well, they were weird too.

And there was just no getting around it—the whole thing was giving me a major case of the creeps.

I continued to gaze all around, desperate to find someone, anyone, that I might be able to talk to, someone who might be able to clue me in to where we were all heading—and what I was in for once we got there.

But—nothing.

Most of them wouldn’t even look at me, and the few who did merely smiled politely then quickly looked away. And it left me feeling so lonely and homesick, it felt like I had a vise shoved deep into my middle—one that was clamping down on my insides.

Still, I kept moving, placing one foot in front of the other, ignoring my worst fears, while trying to stay hopeful and bright (or at least appear that way), and to just allow myself to see where it led. But deep down inside, I was anxious, nervous, and more than a little scared, and all I really wanted was to head home, slip into my PJs, and curl up on my bed with Buttercup by my side.

The day I’d been dreading, the day my parents swore would open up a whole exciting new world, providing all of my favorite things, like art classes, and literature classes, and foreign language classes, and maybe even classes on singing, and acting, and dancing, and fashion design, and horseback riding too—the day that was supposed to make me forget all about my old life and happily embrace my new one—well, it was turning out just as I feared:

It was awful.

Nothing at all like they said it would be.

And it was pretty dang clear that when it came to these sorts of things, they really didn’t have a clue. Nothing they’d promised could be found on the agenda—or at least not my agenda.

From everything I’d witnessed so far, this school was chock-full of bizarre rituals and bizarre glowing people who said bizarre things I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. And any forced excitement that I may have started my day with, well, it was quickly snuffed out and completely obliterated by my absolute certainty that I didn’t fit in.

Would never fit in.

And most certainly and positively, did not belong Here.

There had to be some other place better suited for me.

And not only was I sure of it, but I was determined to do whatever it took to find it.





5


After everyone disappeared, and I mean seriously, just took off in what seemed like a gazillion different directions, I decided to take cheerleader girl’s advice and try to appear like a person who was just chilling. But the truth is, it was a total fake out. Because inside I felt all nervous and twitchy and more than a little humiliated to be standing there, all by myself, looking so lost and clueless like that.

Like a complete and total failure on my first day of school.

And I knew that anyone who saw me would agree it was true.

I plopped myself down on an elaborately carved wooden bench, acting as though I was just minding my own business as I took in the water-spouting, stone cherubs that lined the fountain before me, when what I was really doing was trying to decipher just what that cheerleader girl meant when she claimed the right person would find me and show me the way.

Did she mean like a guide?

Like a counselor or guardian angel of some kind?

And if so, was I supposed to do something to let them know I was Here? Ready, willing, and able to get this party started before I lost all my nerve and decided to head back home and never return?

The crowd thinned around me as I chewed on my nails in a way that instantly downgraded my manicure from ragged to downright pitiful. Not stopping until my nails were bitten to the quick, the quad was completely cleared, and it was just me and him—the dorky guy who had sat in front of me at the assembly.

The one who told me to Shhh!

The one with the greasy, slicked-back hair and black nerd frames perched high on his nose, the glass of which was so thick and heavy it obscured his eyes to the point where I could barely even see them.

The one with that deep, greenish glow who elicited a startling amount of catcalls and whistles as he made for the stage.

Though the longer I studied him, the more convinced I became that that little fan club of his was meant to be more ironic than real. And when I took in his dork shoes and weird, dark suit with the white shirt and skinny black tie that made him look like he was either on his way to a nerd convention or a job interview with the CIA, I was sure.

And all I could think as he stood there before me was:

Great! My first day of middle school, and I’m left with Monsieur Dorky Guy.

And a dead dork at that.

Pretty much my biggest nightmare come true.

Temporarily forgetting the fact that thoughts are energy—that they can be heard by everyone Here until he turned to me and said, “Dorky guy?” Balking in a way that made his eyes bug out so much they practically pressed against his lenses, gaping at me as though he’d never been called that before, which, sorry to say, I found very hard to believe. “Did you seriously just call me a dork?” he repeated, clearly offended.

I stood there, lips screwed to the side, shoulders lifting in embarrassment, knowing there was no way to take it back, or at least not gracefully anyway. Deciding to just step up and own up when I said, “Well, maybe if you lost the suit and tie and ungreased your hair a little—you wouldn’t look quite so—er—” I paused, reluctant to use the offending word yet again even though it was clearly the only one that would fit.