Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Wren
Ten Years Ago—Tenth Grade
I’m late . . . again.
My stomach is turning because I’m pretty sure Mom fed me something I wasn’t supposed to eat and because today we’ll be assigned our partners for the midterm history project. I don’t work well with other people. Most of the time, I end up having to miss a day during the week, and they get upset. Also, I’m too soft-spoken. It takes time for me to feel comfortable around others. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been in this class for four months and that I know everyone’s name. I’m the odd one out because I’m the quiet girl with no friends. They’ll only laugh at me.
They always do.
The warning bell rings. I take in a sharp inhale and slowly release it. With a silent prayer to whatever force is watching over me, I step into the fluorescent-lit hallway and speed walk the rest of the way to class.
Taking my seat in the last row, I open my notebook and keep my head down. My leg jostles restlessly, only growing worse when my peers giggle and whisper around me. There’s about a forty percent chance they’re talking about me, but that doesn’t stop my cheeks from burning. This is something I’ve spoken to my court-mandated therapist about. Not everyone is gossiping or laughing behind my back. I’m working on rewiring my brain, but it’s taking too long. I sink deeper in my chair and nearly sigh when Mr. Hansberry closes the door and the bell chimes.
“All right, let’s get settled. We have lots to go over in very little time.”
Mr. Hansberry is one of the few teachers who is sympathetic to my circumstance. It may be because of my natural interest in history. Or perhaps he’s just a decent person. I run into very few of those... so I’ll go with the first probability.
“The goal of this experiment is to place yourself in the shoes of the average American Revolutionary soldier. I want you to read, discover, and think. What would it be like to be a part of something that could change history? Would you be excited or terrified for yourself and your loved ones? Would you yearn for justice? That is for you and your partner to discover?—”
Cue the disgruntled groans . . .
“When I call your name, the next name that follows will be your partner for this assignment. When I finish, gather up and devise a plan.”
One by one, teams are paired. My leg shakes while a thousand thoughts run wild in my head. I would do better if I could work by myself. Why do we have to work in groups anyway? Maybe I could get Mom to write me a note. If I get her when she’s in one of her good moods. . .
“Wren Jacob.”
My attention shoots to the front of the class. Mr. Hansberry is twirling his pen between his fingers as he casually follows my name up with, “Theo Torres.”
I don’t stop my brows from creasing nor allow the whispers to bother me. For the first time in years, I can ignore the laughter and mumbling from the people around me. It doesn’t register that they’re calling me a freak because they’re calling him one too.
“Smart move, teach. Pair the weirdos together.”
“I didn’t know she was in this class.”
“She’s barely here and doesn’t talk.”
“He’s just as strange.”
“Silence,” Mr. Hansberry commands.
Theo Torres. Why doesn’t his name sound familiar? I thought I knew everyone in this school. I can’t see him from my seat, and I don’t want to make it evident that I’m looking for him. So, I wait until our teacher gives us the okay. Only then do I turn around and scrunch my lips together in deep thought when I see the only other person without a partner.
He’s wearing a formfitting black athletic long-sleeve shirt and baggy dark blue jeans. His skin is tan and free of blemishes, and his dark brown hair is long and curly. His eyes are cast down on his notebook, focusing on what he’s writing or doodling.
I hate this. Not only do I have to make the first move. I also have to introduce myself because we’ve never met. Did he transfer here while I was out last year? And how come I haven’t noticed him until today?
Desks screech as they move across the floor. Taking a deep breath, I gather my belongings, sling my bag over my shoulder, and approach him.
Just be cool, I tell myself as I close the distance. He’s just a person. You’re a person. We can relate to that. Be natural.
My eyes are planted on my white Adidas knockoffs when I near him. With my notebook close to my chest, for the first time ever, I speak without thinking. “Hi.”
Wow. So natural.
He doesn’t look at me; he’s too zoned in on a rather impressive drawing of an orc on the margins of his notes.
A typical teenage girl wouldn’t know what an orc is. Unless they played endless hours of the popular, massive online multiplayer game like I have. There, I can be whoever I want and roam the regions, completing quests and gathering mounts and pets. I use that game as an escape, and it’s the first thing that comes to mind when I see his drawing.
“Do you play?” My question surprises me. It’s like the bubble I surround myself in popped the moment that game comes to mind.
He slowly lifts his head, and his dark eyes meet mine. They almost shimmer under the blinding lights.
“Play what?” His voice is deep, intensifying the butterflies in my stomach.
“ World of Swords and Fire ,” I blurt out. “That orc looks just like a certain race in the game.”
The corner of his mouth tilts upward.
I gulp in response, and my cheeks burn. I just made a total idiot of myself. There’s no way this guy plays. He’s probably at the gym or hanging out with his friends. Why would he spend his free time in front of his computer? He probably has a girlfriend or?—
“Let me get this straight.” He shifts in his seat to face me. “You play WoSaF ?”
“Yes.”
“No way,” he says with a wide smile. “What faction? Wait, before you tell me.” He scrambles out of his seat and drags a desk next to his, gesturing for me to sit.
Dropping my bag, I sit and wrap my arms around my stomach to try and settle it.
“What’s your name again?” he asks.
It doesn’t hurt my feelings. Since I miss a lot of time and don’t have any real connections, I tend to be forgotten about.
“Wren.”
“That’s such a cool name,” he remarks. “So, which faction do you play?”
“Human mage. It’s basic, but I enjoy the reputation boost. I’m a bit of a completionist.”
“I can respect that. I tend to main a dark elf knight, but I have a side character who’s a human. We should play together sometime.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Hand me your phone.”
I pull my out-of-date phone from my hoodie pocket and give it to him. He doesn’t tease me for the old technology. Instead, he enters his phone number and sends himself a quick text.
“We can play after we get some of this assignment done.”
“That sounds great,” I say with a shy smile. “By the way, what’s your character’s name?”
“Glavnir.”
My heart drops into my stomach, and the room starts to spin. It’s as if time stops.
He can’t mean Glavnir, the same Glavnir I’ve been playing with since the start of this past summer. There’s no way?—
“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he says jokingly, but if only he knew that’s exactly how I feel.
“Glavnir, as in Glavnir Stormbringer?” I ask to be certain.
“Yes.” He draws the word out. “Why?”
“It’s me,” I mutter, afraid to voice the words. “Aralin.”
Theo looks at me before blinking numerous times. With a grin of disbelief, he shakes his head. “What?”
“My character’s name is Aralin, Master of Fire. The girl you’ve been talking to since June.”
“I don’t understand,” he mumbles. “That’s not possible.”
“Your favorite color is forest green,” I blurt out, and his posture stiffens. “Your birthday is August 3rd. Your mom is a nurse, and you hate scary movies.”
Silence settles between us. The chatter around the room seems to grow louder, but it doesn’t match the thumping of my heart.
This is the same guy I’ve confided in for months, someone I thought I would never meet in person, but here he is. He’s real, and he’s right here.
“Your favorite color is periwinkle.” His response causes my cheeks to burn. “You have two sisters who don’t give you the time of day, you love cartoons, and your mom is my mortal enemy.”
I chuckle, and his smile returns. “It’s me,” I say.
With a deeper tone than I thought he would have, he responds, “And it’s me.”