Flight of Life (Essence Series #1) Page 14

  “Are you serious?” he asked. “That guy that came yesterday sabotaged you like that?”

  Calloway nodded. “And the camera is worth two thousand dollars. My aunt is sick and can’t work so I’m trying to get the money before she has to find a job—she shouldn’t have to pay for that.”

  “It’s a good thing you waited to tell me,” he said. “I would have punched him in the face right in the middle of the store—or even better—I would have wiped the bottom of my shoe with his bread.”

  Calloway started laughing. “Hawk isn’t worth it.”

  “What kind of name is Hawk?” he asked. “Is he a bird lover or something?”

  “It’s his middle name,” Calloway explained.

  “I doubt it’s much better than his first name.”

  “It’s Maurice,” Calloway said.

  “I stand corrected.” Marquan laughed.

  Calloway walked to the ball and tucked it under his arm. “After the school year is over I’ll never have to see him again. I’m just trying to focus on that moment.”

  “You shouldn’t have to,” Marquan said. “Bullies like that need to be put down.”

  “I can’t think of a way without getting in trouble. Since I’m applying to college I can’t risk receiving any infractions on my permanent record.”

  “I hear you,” Marquan said. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help—anything. I’m totally willing to help you out with the money.”

  Calloway stared at him for a moment. “I really appreciate that but I can’t accept it. I’ll get the money eventually—don’t worry about it.”

  “Let me know if you change your mind,” Marquan said.

  “Thanks, MQ,” he said. Calloway was touched that Marquan had offered his assistance in such a way. He knew his friend was just as poor as he was, and the fact that Marquan offered his own money astounded Calloway. It solidified his belief in humanity—they were innately good.

  A Line that Can Never be Uncrossed

  The delicious scent of the waffles woke Calloway. They were dripping with syrup and butter, along with the scent of cinnamon. The smell attracted Calloway to the kitchen table and he ate his breakfast quickly, like every other morning. His aunt was an exceptional cook—the best.

  The kitchen table was covered in newspapers and advertisements, and Calloway read through the comic section while he ate. Breccan was already eating his meal and he was almost finished. His cousin practically inhaled his food. Aunt Grace was sitting at the kitchen table reading the classified ads, looking for a full-time job to pay for the camera Hawk destroyed. The cost of the camera plagued Calloway’s mind and filled him with dread—it was his fault. Calloway glanced at the red circles on the page and hoped he could make enough money before his aunt started working—he didn’t want her to suffer. Calloway and Breccan were ignorant to Aunt Grace’s sickness because she hid her symptoms very well. She seemed so happy that it was hard to believe she was sick at all, but they knew she couldn’t handle a full time job.

  After they finished their breakfast, Aunt Grace drove them to the corner. Everything was exactly the same when Calloway arrived at school. Everyone ignored him, knowing he was Hawk’s biggest nuisance, and Calloway spent his time in isolation when he wasn’t with his two friends—the other class freaks

  In English class, Beatrice continued to act like she didn’t see him. There was no Calloway Martins—he didn’t exist. Despite her betrayal, Calloway found himself staring at her locks of blonde hair as they trailed behind her back. Every time she smiled, Calloway wondered how it would feel if he was the one she was smiling at. Calloway shook his head and forced the thoughts to the back of his mind. Not only did Beatrice have no interest in him, but she didn’t care for him at all. She was selfish and stupid—nothing like Calloway in every respect.

  At lunch, Calloway saw the booths in the quad, selling tickets for the formal dance. He stepped closer and read the sign—it was seventy five dollars per couple. Calloway sighed. He had no idea how expensive it was going to be. Since he didn’t have the funds to pay for the dance, he turned away and advanced to the library.

  Easton was staring at the pages of the Kirin Book when he walked inside. Her eyes were focused on the symbols in the text as she concentrated on deciphering the language. Calloway was surprised they weren’t closer to decoding the text with her unrelenting determination.

  “How’s it coming along?” Calloway asked as he sat down.

  She sighed. “I’ve translated a few more sentences,” she said as she grabbed her notes from her binder. “Apparently, the essence of any human can be taken or given freely, but it’s much easier for the Hara-Kir to take the essence if the human already feels no purpose.”

  “What does that mean?” Breccan asked.

  Calloway looked at him. “It means if someone is depressed—full of sorrow—then it’s easier to wrestle their essence from their body,” he answered. “Perhaps that’s why the Hara-Kirs haven’t tried to take our essence—we have too much purpose for it to be stolen.”

  “Possibly,” Easton said. “That makes me feel better but it also makes me feel worse.”

  “Why?” Breccan asked.

  “It means that the Hara-Kirs prey on individuals who are sad and feel a sense of hopelessness. Humans can feel this way for any reason—it’s a part of life—and the Hara-Kirs can take advantage at any time. What if the Hara-Kirs had attacked me when my father died? I wouldn’t have escaped.”

  Breccan nodded. “At least we know everyone in Disneyland is safe.”

  Calloway laughed. “I’m glad you recovered this, Easton,” he said. “This is helpful.”

  Easton nodded. “I’m doing my best.”

  Calloway looked at his cousin. “Did you see the fee for formal?”

  “No,” Breccan answered. “What is it?”

  “Seventy five dollars per couple,” Calloway answered.

  “Yikes,” Breccan said. “At least Easton and I can split it.”

  “Excuse me?” she said as he looked at him. “I’m your date. You’re taking me out.”

  Breccan sighed. “Damn.”

  “I’ll pay for both our tickets when I get my first check,” Calloway said.

  “That isn’t going to work,” Easton said. “Tickets are due by the end of this week and you just started your job. You won’t get paid on time.”

  Calloway sighed. “That’s great,” he said sarcastically.

  “We can just ask Mom and Dad,” Breccan said.

  “No,” Calloway said quickly. “I’ll figure out a way to pay for my ticket. I’m not asking Uncle Scott for anything.”

  “They don’t care, Calloway,” Breccan said. “It was their idea that we go to this dance to begin with.”

  “Well, I care,” Calloway said. “And I’ll figure something out.”

  “You are so stubborn.” Breccan sighed.

  “No,” Easton said. “He’s selfless.” She looked at Breccan then returned her gaze back to her book, letting her final words linger in the air.

  Breccan stared at her. “Why is this book in a different language anyway?” he asked. “They speak our language.”

  Easton rolled her eyes. “What are you talking about now?”

  “One of them spoke to Calloway,” he said. “And Calloway understood everything the heathen said.”

  “I didn’t notice that,” she said quietly. The pen in her hand trembled in her palm. “Perhaps this is a language they created to hide their secrets.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Breccan snapped. “Why would they detail their secrets at all if they were concerned about exposure?”

  “I don’t know.” She sighed in frustration. “But that’s the only logical explanation.”

  “And how did the book get on our side?” Breccan asked. “What happened? They just misplaced it?”

  “My father took it,” Calloway answered.

  “But how did he get it?” Breccan asked. “Obviously, he d
idn’t travel to the other side and return—that’s impossible.”

  The sweat under Calloway’s palm became evident as his flesh stuck to the surface of the wood. He wiped his hands on his jeans then looked at Easton. The expression on her face indicated her frustration—Calloway felt the same. “I don’t know.”

  The lunch bell rang and ended their intense conversation. They left the library and headed to the next period while Calloway dreaded his last class of the afternoon. Somehow, time sped up when Calloway wished it wouldn’t and he found himself walking to the photography building a moment later, dreading the class with every step of his shoe. He anticipated the remarks and cruel jokes he would receive by Hawk when he arrived. Would he throw a Togo’s sandwich at him and ask him to remake it in front of the class? Would he tell everyone he was paying the mortgage because his family was too poor to pay their bills?

  Calloway didn’t look at Hawk when he walked inside. The entire class was already sitting in their seats and they glanced at him when he came into the room. The only student that didn’t look at him was Beatrice—she was still ignoring him. He took his seat next to Breccan and patiently waited for the class to begin, staring at the whiteboard straight ahead.

  “Aren’t you going to be late, Calloway?” Hawk said from behind him.

  Calloway sighed loudly, controlling the anger in his body. He was assigned detention because of Hawk’s provocation and he didn’t want the punishment to escalate into something more severe like a suspension. He was lucky Mr. Avey was the one that caught their fight. Any other teacher would have given Calloway a suspension and dismissed Hawk with no discipline at all.

  “I’m sure your shift starts soon,” Hawk said loudly. “Maybe if you work there long enough you’ll become the manager and start making some real money—like your uncle at the hardware store.”

  The knuckles under his skin stretched from the tension in his clenched fist. His palms were shaking in anger but he ignored the impulse to punch Hawk in the face—it would have to wait. Calloway saw his cousin tighten his fist in anger. Hawk’s vicious words were getting to him. Calloway didn’t blame Breccan for being upset—Hawk was going too far. The constant hateful comments and attacks were destroying their patience and control—they both wanted to retaliate but they were inhibited by their circumstance. The teacher sat at her desk and ignored the audible exchange carrying on in her classroom, indifferent to the harassment.

  “Hey, Calloway,” Hawk said. “Your sandwich tasted like crap.”

  His friends laughed at his comment and gave him a high-five. Calloway didn’t understand the valor in the words—Hawk just repeated the same jokes. Calloway sighed in relief when he saw Mrs. Ezquibel address the class. She told them to take their cameras outside and work on their assignment—portrait pictures—until the period was over. Calloway and Breccan stayed in their seats while the rest of the class filtered out of the room.

  “We’ll get him when we graduate,” Breccan whispered. “And we’ll get him good.”

  “I look forward to it,” Calloway said.

  When the class was over, Calloway walked to Mr. Avey’s room to serve his detention. Mr. Avey smiled at him when he walked inside. “Good afternoon, Calloway,” he said. “You will be serving detention today so homework isn’t allowed.”

  Calloway nodded. “That’s fine.” He sat in his desk and looked at his teacher. The SAT was an expense he couldn’t afford and Mr. Avey generously paid for it—he didn’t even ask Calloway to reimburse him. The formal fee was another payment that Calloway couldn’t cover and he wondered if his teacher would assist him once again. “I wanted to ask you something before Hawk arrives.”

  Mr. Avey looked away from his screen. “And what would that be?”

  Calloway sighed. “Well, I’m attending the winter formal but I don’t have the money for the entrance fee. My job started this week and I won’t receive my first check until after the dance. I was hoping you would loan me the money and I can reimburse you after I get paid.” Calloway shifted his weight. “If not, that’s totally fine.”

  Mr. Avey pulled the money from his wallet and handed it to Calloway. “Of course I will,” he said. “I know you’re good for it.”

  Calloway took the money and placed it inside his wallet. “Thank you, Mr. Avey.”

  He nodded. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

  “She doesn’t go here,” Calloway said. “She’s in college.”

  Mr. Avey smiled. “An older woman—she sounds nice,” he said. “I hope you have a wonderful time.”

  Calloway nodded then took his seat in the front row.

  “Is this young lady your girlfriend?” Mr. Avey asked.

  “I can’t afford a girlfriend.” Calloway laughed.

  Mr. Avey laughed. “And they don’t get cheaper as you age.”

  Calloway wondered if Mr. Avey was married or had kids. He never thought about it before. His teacher didn’t wear a wedding band, and there were no pictures of his kids on his desk. Calloway didn’t ask because he thought the question was too personal.

  Hawk opened the door and walked into the classroom. He didn’t speak or look at Mr. Avey as he took his seat on the opposite side of the room, as far away from Calloway as possible. Calloway didn’t mind—he didn’t want to be near his tormentor.

  “You will both serve an hour of silence as discipline, “Mr. Avey said. “Your time begins now.”

  Calloway leaned back in his chair and stared at the clock on the wall. The tension in the silence was pressing on Calloway’s eardrums. The clock ticked, and the sound was loud in the room, counting the minutes until he could leave. He wished he could do something with his time—even math homework—instead of staring at the whiteboard in front of the classroom. Even though Calloway couldn’t see him, he knew Hawk was furious that he’d been given detention. His father couldn’t spare him this time. Mr. Avey was the only teacher that didn’t feel threatened by Hawk’s connections, which was another reason why Calloway liked him so much—he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.

  Mr. Avey walked to the door, holding a stack of papers. “Don’t move or speak,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” He left the classroom and shut the door behind him.

  The door clicked in the frame and announced their teacher’s departure. Calloway didn’t turn around in his seat to look at Hawk. He pretended he wasn’t in the room. A moment later, Hawk returned to the offense and attacked.

  “You know why Beatrice wants to go to formal with me?”

  Calloway sighed. “I really don’t care. Now shut up and be quiet—your words mean nothing to me.” Calloway stared straight ahead, not bothering to turn around to face his aggressor.

  “Well, I’ll tell you anyway,” he said. “She wants a date she isn’t embarrassed of. Beatrice hates it when you stare at her—she’s ashamed to be in the same room with you. It grosses her out.”

  “Tell her to wash her hands, then.”

  “You should have just stayed out of it, Calloway. Now you’re going to pay for it.”

  “As will you,” Calloway said.

  “Are you threatening me, Poverty Boy #2?” Hawk laughed. “What are you going to do? You aren’t man enough to touch me.”

  “Ask me again when we graduate,” Calloway snapped. “And I would rather be poor than stupid. Daddy’s money will only last so long—what will you do, then?”

  Hawk was quiet for a moment. “At least I have a dad,” he spat. “And not one that killed himself because he was ashamed of his only son.”

  Calloway jumped to his feet and stared at Hawk. “My dad didn’t kill himself!”

  Hawk smiled, delighted that he successfully angered Calloway. “I don’t blame him for what he did,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to be stuck with you either.”

  “I’m going to kill you!” When Calloway gripped the desk before him he felt his knuckles pop from intensity of the force. Anger was not a novel feeling to Calloway but he’d never experienced it at such a high l
evel. Calloway stared him down and imagined snapping his neck, permanently removing him from this plane. He wanted to make this kid suffer—make him disappear. Calloway was exhausted from the constant insults and comments. He didn’t do anything wrong. The comment about his father made him snap. The authorities said his father had been killed but a body was never recovered. It was all a mystery and the suggestion that his father left him willingly was too painful to think about. Even a decade later, Calloway still thought about his father every day—he was always in his thoughts. “I’ll make you regret saying that.”

  Hawk leaned back in his chair. “Go ahead,” he said. “Do your worst, Poverty Boy #2.”

  Mr. Avey returned to the classroom and stared at Calloway, who was still standing and gripping the edge of the desk with a look of hatred on his face. Mr. Avey sighed. “I can’t leave you two alone for even a moment,” he said. “Sit down, Calloway.”

  Calloway dropped into his seat and faced the board. The pale color of his cheeks was replaced with the fire of ferocity that coursed through his body, making his skin redden. A line of sweat formed on his brow and dripped to his upper lip. He’d never been so angry in his life. While Calloway sat in his seat, bottling his rage, he reminisced about his father and reflected on his memory of him. He admitted his father was different than most other parents, other people. He spent a majority of his time in his study, reading old manuscripts and analyzing old history textbooks. As a historian that taught at Fresno University, he dedicated his time to academia and research, choosing to study the events of the past instead of living through the happenings of the present. The lectures Calloway would sit through were boring and uneventful, but he had to listen to his father’s classes in silence because he was too young to stay at home alone. He recalled watching his father walk across the room as he explained the civilization of human history. The look on his face was always animated when he spoke about his profession—he loved his job. Sometimes Calloway wondered if his father loved it more than his own son. Their relationship was strained and quiet, never close to perfect, but Calloway still loved his father unconditionally.