Running With The Pact - Chapter 2
Sunflower-Yellow
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Chapter 2 - Sunflower-Yellow
Adira Elm
Friday, November 1, 1996
“C’mon, Ms. Irit,” I beg, shaking, looking into the jaws of certain death. “I shouldn’t… Ari and I shouldn’t be here.”
“Go,” Danny hisses, his annoyed face grimacing as he stands with a stick up his butt like a sentry, which looks ridiculous in his skater shoes, baggy jeans, and blue flannel shirt over his little see-through wife beater. Why did the girls at school think he looks like Brad Pitt? He’s a knock-off Joey Lawrence if the light is low enough, much lower than it is here.
“Let’s go Addi,” Ari says, bumping me in the shoulder.
“That hurt you douche! Out of my way,” I try to bump him back as I steam past, knowing for sure I hurt my shoulder in the process.
Find Clan Nachtulf, Addi, find your ally.
Clan Nachtulf is my ally, Clan Peri and Clan Diiv are my enemies.
My eyes dart around the room, further souring my mood. I mean, the Jack of Hearts didn’t have to rent out a ski resort too, but he could’ve done better than the smallest conference room at this random Marriott on the outskirts of Atlanta.
Ms. Irit, Ari, and I make our way to our table. My stackable chair catches on the carpet, letting out a similar groan to the one I’m holding in about this dump. I sit at the particle board table with cheap linen on top, glancing around the room, avoiding looking at the other delegations. I probably look like I smell old fish, trying to reconcile the lackluster conference room with the idea that looking at the other delegates makes think I’ll pee myself.
I close my eyes, take a breath, and quickly scan all of them, realizing this conference looks like the afterparty of a school formal at a sad, outdated, Wendy’s—minus the ambiance of their curved atrium by the drive-thru and the salad bar.
At least the secondhand-smoke-smell fits, which probably explains the dripping grease look on the walls.
Speaking of dripping, I’m sweating in my bra. It would be, like, so embarrassing if someone notices me with underboob sweat stains.
I really have no reason to be nervous, which I’m not, because no one here is dumb enough to shift into their monster form and attack when a normal human could walk into the room at any moment.
Everyone knows the one universal rule—never monster out in front of the public, or something like that.
“Boy, they really went all out renting this place, right?” Ari, my idiot twin brother, whispers all sarcastic in my ear as we sit down. I look at him as if I could hurl, and looking at that vertical-striped khaki shirt I swear he borrowed from Dad, I almost do. “Addi, are you okay?”
Leave me alone Ari! No, hold it together, Addi—don’t spiral!
“I’m fine.”
There, I proved it! I’m not spiraling, it’s going to take more than being a trainee at some huge inter-clan conference to unravel Addi Elm!
It’s just, like, I’m so close to initiation I can taste it. And I’m not too nervous to look up again, I’m just studying—yeah, studying—the blank notepad on the table in front of me. And it’s hot in here. Like, the hotel must have cranked the thermostat to, like, ninety degrees.
The turtleneck sweater I picked for tonight isn’t helping. But it’s cute and hugs my curves just right and perfectly compliments my Mudd dark-acid-wash flare-cut jeans. I’m also grateful curls are in fashion right now—thanks Scary Spice for making it stylish to keep the hair off my neck, and keeps me cool.
That’s right, stay cool Addi.
The Jack of Hearts is running this conference, and he’s a war hero, all business, there’s nothing to worry about.
“Attention honoured guests, on behalf of Clan Peri, I welcome you to the FOUR Pact Renewal Conference, Ninety-ninety-six. Our only agenda item this evening is introductions, so please, kindly take your seats,” says a super-sophisticated English accent so high-pitched I almost laugh. It sounds like she inhaled a whole balloon before speaking.
I guess the Jack of Hearts has a squeaky little town crier to introduce him. Cool, I can deal with that, and I let out a tightly-held breath. There’s no way I can screw up introducing myself.
I lift my head up to find the Jack of Hearts little toady, and my jaw almost hits the table. Okay, like, her voice totally matches her—she is tiny. But her size isn’t what shocks me, it’s she really just strutted in here dressed here like… that!
Mom would have a cow if I walked in anywhere dressed like her. She wouldn’t let me go to a formal event dressed like that, I wouldn’t get out of the house with her outfit on. I wouldn’t even get to the bathroom before she freaked out on me, even if Dad and the boys were out of the house.
But this girl, who looks even younger than me by the way, just walked into this huge, mega-important, super-political conference like it’s nothing in her light-gray fitted blazer that redefines plunging v-neck. Which wouldn’t be a big deal, except she doesn’t have a shirt on under it!
All I can see is her black lace bra and massive cleavage on full display.
I look her up and down in disbelief. Is this a joke? The flared business slacks that match her jacket, thick blonde hair styled like Cindy Crawford’s, and insanely-high diamond-studded stilettos with red soles look even better on her than they did in Vogue.
Nope, no joke. I mean, you go girl, but screw you, you… you… ahhh! I’ve got nothing—she looks fabulous!
No one says anything about Ms. Shirtless. Even wearing an actual top, I feel woefully under-dressed compared to her and her clanswomen, dying inside as the toy-sized excuse for a monster takes a seat between the other two well-dressed ladies wearing navy blue pant suits at Clan Peri’s table, a brunette closer to us and a redhead closer to the clan across from us.
I sense eyes on me from my left. Three guys dressed like bankers in three-piece suits and big aviator glasses. Some about them makes the well-tailored suits seem cheap. And they’re wearing way too much cologne covering the fact that their soap smells like butt. Please let that smell be soap.
Their eyes are locked on my sweater, just below my neck…
Gross.
Their leering leaves a puke-taste in my mouth, a distinct feeling of slime licking my neck, and my skin screams for me to run away.
They must be Clan Diiv. Ms. Irit warned me to be weary of the Diiv; they’re tricksters.
Between Bra-only Mighty Mouse to my right and these creeps to my left, the fun of wearing something that I thought made me look cute is, like, totally ruined.
“Hey Skeevy Deevy! Cut. It. Out!”
That nasty, creepy feeling vanishes the moment I hear that voice. I search for my dorky wannabe rescuer. A for effort, but he should quote someone cooler than Uncle Joey from Full House.
Then I spot him, sitting and smiling at me from the table in the seat directly across from me.
Holy crap, forget what I said….
He can quote Uncle Joey to me all night long. What a man, what a man—what an absolute MAN! He looks about my age, college sophomore at most.
Who gave him permission to sit across from me with that Brendan Fraser smile and long light-brown hair from George of the Jungle? I bet he’s got the abs to match under that white oxford, his shirt buttons sewn on with steel with the way they’re rudely containing his massive chest and shoulders. He’s formal up top but partying down below with his dark wash jeans and Timberlands.
But that’s not the reason he’s stolen the air from my lungs.
It’s his sunflower-yellow eyes. They’re so bright, so beautiful—even in his human form. A blaze lights deep within me. His eyes, they’re more than beautiful, they’re hungry, and I’m so… so thirsty.
Like, seriously, my throat is parched!
I pour a glass of water from the pitcher on the table and slug it down.
He laughs—is he laughing at me?
I knew it was too good to be true. He’s… him, and I’m just a joke.
Take a chill pill Addi! Holy crap the water went down the wrong tube, and with this tight sweater I’m coughing, heaving—OH CRAP—my chest is bouncing right at him! NO!
I clear my throat, look back at him, lingering… oh man I’m staring at him slack-jawed!
Close your mouth dummy! Got it. No, don’t bite your lip like that in front of him! Stop staring!
Wait… Clan Peri to my right, Clan Diiv to my left, which means he belongs to…
Clan Nachtulf. Hottie McNachtulf is my ally! Score!
“This place is disrespectful. And you dishonor Clan Diiv by seating us next to them,” the Diiv perv closest proclaims with a disgusted sneer, nodding at me.