A Girl's Heart

Every girl wants a boy. Not just any boy, not a perfect boy, but her boy. 

She'll find him and she'll love him. He won't give her a second thought. She'll think about him before sleeping at night.

She'll wake up crying because he loved her in her dream. 

She'll put on a fake smile to see him again. 

He'll leave her. 

She'll look into his eyes and he'll look away. 

Her heart will shatter into pieces. 

Tiny 

Pieces. 

He'll walk away from her.

 She'll painfully watch him fall in love with another girl. 

Every night she'll cry, not because

He doesn't love her, but because 

Her best 

Wasn't good enough. 

But she has friends. 

She has that friend that is more of a brother than a friend. 

She'll run to her brother and cry. 

Her brother will hold her hand when she needs an anchor to the world and he'll hug her softly when she's about to shatter into a million pieces. 

The boy she once loved will become a distant memory, 

A constant what if, but the friend who was a brother had been waiting a long time. 

So he kissed her. 

And she kissed him. 

The world fell into place. 

Her heartbreak made sense. 

The only reason the first boy left was because that wasn't her boy.

And she would love her boy with her overthinking personality and shy nature. 

She'd love him true. 

And he'd love her, too. 

Chapter Five MIRRORS~|~SRORRIM

BRAD'S P. O. V.~|~.V .O .P S'DARB

The tip of my nose touched her's in such a delicate way that it made me think of a hummingbird. A light hover, just barely touching. I looked into her icy blue eyes and I saw something. I saw something. It wasn't hate. Or anger. Not like normal. I saw something.

She had a piece of copper hair falling in her eye. I reached up and brushed it behind her ear. She blushed. I couldn't help but smile. The way the light fell on her face softened her features and her icy blue eyes became a softer, azure color.

There was something inside me that said, now. I thought I didn't know what that meant, but, apparently, I did. I leaned closer to her and my lips brushed her's, soft and sweet, like a flower. I was surprised at myself.

I was even more surprise when she kissed me back. Almost like fire, I guess. I slipped my fingers into Trumpet's, trying to be stealthy, but clearly that wasn't working. I don't know why she wasn't hitting me, punching me, slapping me, something.

I guess the lights melted away, through a sepia filter. The only thing that wasn't sepia was her eyes, that soft azure and full of burning desire. 

Just her, me, and this moment. I was blind to anything that wasn't her, deaf to anything but my own twittering heartbeat. A bird that was being scared to death was clearly trying to escape my ribcage. 

I would have jumped out of my skin if I wasn't so wrapped up in the moment. Forget wrapped up, I was entangled in sticky spiderwebs. 

She acted like I was more important than oxygen, like I was her only tether to the world. It made me feel powerful, almost hungry and predatory. Scary. I felt scary. And that scared me. 

"Oh, woah!" I knew it was West. Only he would go into a practice room without knocking first. And his voice is unmistakable. "Ooooo-kay! This is awkward! Really, really bad!" I didn't care. Then Trumpet jumped away and I got a little bit cold.

She was red. Like, redder than that kid who can't play high notes without having a stroke. Like, RED. She was beautiful, even blushing. I just kinda shrugged at West, who was giving me a classic 'Brad-You-Moron' look.

"At least we know you two sure can fake things, huh?" West smirked. "And look at how red she is! It's almost cute."

Trumpet gave him a glare. If looks could kill, we'd need some bleach, a body bag, and a deserted area. And shovels. Definitely shovels. I just laughed. God, this is funny. "Brad and Trumpet, sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G..." West began.

"Ah, but you are wrong. We are clearly in a practice room." I interrupted, laughing. West rolled his eyes and started over. "Brad and Trumpet, sittin' in a practice room." He fumbled over his last two words, then broke down laughing. "Doesn't have the same ring to it." I smiled, regardless.

"So what are you in here for?" I asked. No trombone in hand, just plain ole West. "Well, Remember Saras? The big dude? You'll never guess who's asking for you!" West laughed. I rolled my eyes. This guy!

Saras was the leader of the Trumpet Cult until Riley beat him in hand-to-hand combat. Literally. Initiation into the Cult is harsh, to say less-than-least. "Why does he want me?" I asked. "Why did he send you to get me?" 

"Well, he didn't. I accidentally overheard while I was listening at the door." West said, his face a mask of seriousness. Trumpet poorly stifled a giggle. West gave her an uneasy glance. My mouth tightened. "Well, crap." I said simply.

"I also accidentally eavesdropped that he was mad at you for not joining and he'd rather you be leader than Riley. He's out for blood, Brad." West bit his lip and shifted his weight.

"Blood? My blood?" I whispered, shocked. Has it really gone this far? Trumpet went from sort of laughing to horrified. I don't think she even knew she was doing it, but she grabbed my hand and squeezed it. West's eyes darted from my face to my hand, then back to my face. How lovely.

"What are we gonna do?" Trumpet whispered. I don't think she saw it, but West's lips tightened. Unrequited love, I thought. I have to admit, I could tell my best friend was jealous of this girl I had because of a business arrangement.

"Brad shouldn't walk around unarmed." West said, rubbing his right wrist with his left middle finger and his left pointer finger. Man, he was either really mad or really nervous. I stuck my free hand in my pocket. "I have a pencil." I announced. The one day I leave my pocket knife at home...

"Then you're on your own." West said coldly, and his face was tight. If I learned two things from Randall, I learned to play the trumpet and how to read body language. West was not a happy camper. Or a happy anything, for that matter. West threw one last razor sharp glare at Trumpet's fingers laced into mine, looked me right in the eye, and left the room.

"The cults...they mean business." Trumpet said. I don't know what I was doing, but I pulled her to me, using her as a lifeline to stay grounded in reality. 

A lot of people would think I'm moving too fast, but this was my dream girl. I've liked her forever. I don't care who she was, but now that she's mine, I want to make the most of this before it's over, because I knew it would end. It would end quickly. 

I put my other arm around her shoulders and pressed my lips to the top of her head in a comfortable, yet intimate hug. Her coppery hair smelled like a warm spring day. A little bit of citrus, sweet flowers, and a surprising nip of rotor oil. I had no idea about that last part, but somehow it fit. So pretty, so sweet, so fiery, so Trumpet.  

She buried her face in my shoulder, and I hugged her tighter. God, we were forced to grow up so fast, so harshly. I guess that's how we have to be, all because of the cults. Because of Randall. We're not twenty, we're twelve! Thirteen, at the most. Why did Randall do this to us?

I don't know how long it was, but I moved. I hadn't wanted to break away, but I couldn't just make her fall for me. I may be a jerk, but I wouldn't do that to anyone. Ever. 

I don't know how long the Middle School Mafia will give me. Hours? Minutes? Seconds? 

Trumpet squirmed away from me. She stood on her tip toes and kissed me on the cheek. That's when I knew. Trumpet wasn't faking. And neither was I. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I manage to get home without incident. I walked Tumpet to her house, carrying that monstrosity of a French Horn. 

I bid her good night and started toward my house. A cold shiver went through me and I knew who'd be waiting in the mirror 

when I got home. And he hated waiting. 

I faced the mirror in the bathroom, trying to convince myself that I saw only my reflection. But I knew better. TRG. He tousled his blonde hair. Neither of my hands had left the counter. I knew he was here. 

"Brad. How lovey to see you here." He said. The voice was inside my head. I felt frozen in time. The way he worked was strange. When he tortu--er, visited me, time stopped. I could only communicate with him telepathically. 

"I didn't want to come." I answered with a mental growl. My mind wandered to Trumpet, and the kiss. Randall's face twisted sadistically. "Making out with French Horn wannabes, are we? You can have any decent trumpet girl, but no, you have to have the enemy's daughter..." 

"She's not our enemy. She's my girlfriend." I grit my teeth. The jerk better get the message. 

"Brad, she's not your girl-anything. She's only trying to exploit your weaknesses. She's just another spy." Randall said, sneering. "Trumpet's not like that!" I protested. 

Randall's eyes went from sadistic to soft. "Brad," he said in the most caring tone is ever heard from him, "women exist only to hurt men. I left because I your mother. She would have killed me, if I had stayed. Brad, don't let her fool you. She'll only t you killed." That's when the mirror melted away. 

I collapsed on the floor, gaspin for air. I felt like I was breathing Jello. After five minutes, the sensation was gone. I got up off the floor and brushed off my shirt. I took one glance at y own eyes in the mirror, and I left for my room. 

Once in there, I eased the door shut. I wanted to grab for my phone, to text Trumpet. But I didn't. I couldn't. Then I spoke, but I didn't want to. "You're mine now."

Chapter Four MIRRORS~|~SRORRIM

I was at the bus stop the next morning. Alone. Sure, I was half an hour early, but still! I reached into my backpack and pulled out a small cleaning cloth. I pressed it to my nose and inhaled deeply. Valve oil, cork grease, and a sharp, citrusy tang mixed in my nose and I wanted to cry. But I just carefully tucked the cloth back into my bag. My throat tightened, my eyes brimmed with tears, and I got cold.

 No, no, I won't let myself think like that. Not here, not now, not ever. I hugged myself and just waited for someone to come along.

 I heard a door slam. I quickly righted myself and looked bored, messing with my nails. I glanced in the direction of the noise. I saw a trombone case as mentally facepalmed. "If it isn't my favorite trombone player!" I remarked sarcastically. "And that French Horn player is the best looking person I've ever seen!" West called. I wondered if I had just imagined it, or if West wasn't being sarcastic.

I laughed as he approached. He tripped on that stupid uneven patch that he tripped on every single day. He dropped his trombone case heroically. "Just graceful. You could be a ballerina!" I teased. "Says the bull in the china cabinet!" West retorted. "What?" I asked. I hadn't heard that phrase in forever. "The tuba player in the cymbal shop." West sighed. "Oohhhh." I facepalmed. I can't be so old fashioned. 

I heard another door slam, but ignored it. West and I were too busy trading insults. "Dumb and dumber!" West grinned. "That makes you dumbest!"

"Alright, Santa!"

"Was that a fat joke?"

"Nooope, not at all!"

"You jag!" 

Someone cleared their throat. "Lay off, West. She's taken." I knew it was Brad. Nice acting. "Hi, Brad." I said, waving. "Wow! You listened to me!" West walked over to him and slapped him on the back. Brad nearly dropped the trumpet case he held. That looked like it hurt.

West elbowed Brad and Brad glared. Whatever the heck they were talking about, I had a feeling I didn't want to know.

"Soo, ice broken?" West asked. "Nope." Brad and I answered in unison. I glanced sideways at him. He shrugged. Okay, total weirdness overload.

"Well, break it!" Wes announced. I stayed where I was, Brad stayed where he was, and we were both happy. West wasn't. "No, that won't work! You-" he pointed at Brad, "Go over there. Closer, closer, okay, that's better." 

Brad was literally inches from me. He settled down and boredly whipped out his phone. He opened Flappy Bird and proceeded to smash records, by my standards. More kids joined us on the corner. I moved closer to Brad, trying to look happy. I just felt...awkward, I guess. Brad didn't look any more comfortable.

I heard a couple of creaks and groans, so I jumped up. Brad locked his phone and shouldered his backpack. I grabbed mine and my overly large case. We shuffled onto the bus after it screeched to a halt in front of us.

I went to my usual seat and Brad sat in the one across the aisle. The horn case took up too much room for two people to fit comfortably. It suddenly occurred to me that I owned a phone. I sighed inwardly. I have such a pitiful social life that I forgot I had a phone. Great move, Trumpet.

Brad noticed the sudden appearance of my phone. "What's your number?" He asked, pulling up a new contact. I rattled it off shakily. I am surprised I even remembered it at all. Brad did some typing. My phone lit up with a text.

In all of its elaborateness, Brad's text said:

hi

I smiled and saved the number into my phone. I wonder if the cults can tap phones. Of course they can! They could probably pull up footage from twenty different angles of people kissing in an alley. It has happened before.

Finally, we arrived at school. I grabbed my giant block of misshapen wood and fought heathens to escape the bus. Brad was waiting for me on the sidewalk outside. "Thanks for waiting." I told him.

"Anything to get rid of the cults." Brad said. I cracked a smile. Brad rolled his eyes and started toward the door. Something in his walk, something about his stature, I don't know, but I wanted to follow him wherever he went.

Brad graciously got the door, trumpet case and all. "Why thank you, Mr. Gaites." I said with exaggerated formality. Brad grinned. "Tis no problem, Miss Danger." A dark look flickered across my face. "Don't call me that." 

"Relax, Trumpet. I was joking!" Brad backed off. I sighed. Brad really pushes my buttons sometimes. All the time. 

We walked down to the Band Hall in silence. That awkward silence. Lovely. After stashing our instruments, we headed back out. Brad had slipped his hand into mine and I smiled. I really hope it looked fake.

And guess who happened to be outside the Band Hall as Brad and I were leaving? The other Riley pursed his lips and we walked past, laughing about something stupid. I felt Riley's brown eyes burning into the back of my head. I knew he was mad. Like, MAD mad.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Life happened, and I turned around and boom, it was lunch. I went to the cafeteria and nervously waited for Brad. About five minutes later, his blonde head showed up. "You still wanna learn to play, right?" I asked. He nodded. "Let's go." He grabbed my hand and we set off toward the Band Hall.

I swear there were cult spies everywhere. Everywhere. I knew it anyway, but I could feel it now. Their eyes on my every step. I could feel the hatred of the 'affection' between Brad and I. I was almost relieved when Brad shut the practice room door.

We practiced buzzing again for a while. "I think we've gotten that down. Can you teach me to hold it?" Brad asked after the millionth drill. "I guess." I said, taking the horn out of the case. Brad set the mouthpiece on the stand.

"Okay. You see how I'm holding it? My left hand is here, on the valves. The pinky goes in the ring." I instructed. I placed the French Horn in Brad's lap. I held onto the bell as he curled his fingers onto the valves. I moved his pinky into the ring.

"Feels...strange. Your pinky doesn't go in the ring." Brad murmured quietly, mindful of my ears being so close. "Well, it does now." I smirked. All the while, I was gently cupping his hand and placing it in the bell. "Please, don't drop it." 

Brad nodded and wiggled around until he was comfortable. He was still holding it right, with one exception. "Brad. Pinky. Where does it go?" Brad's pinky went into the ring.

I moved him around. "Okay, that's good." He got up and put the instrument in the case. He turned to look at me and I was standing too close. Our noses touched. His brilliant blue eyes probed my soul.

He didn't move away, like I'd hoped. Did I really? I didn't even know what I wanted anymore. Brad brought his hand up and brushed some hair behind my ear. I felt the heat flood into my cheeks and a small smile played on my lips.

Brad touched his lips to mine. I nearly jumped away, but I didn't. I kissed him back. He slipped his hands into mine and grasped my fingers tightly. The warmth of the feeling I had pressed against him was like nothing I've ever felt before. I melted away into Brad's arms, greedily and desperately needing his touch.

I don't know what raw passion feels like, but this would be my closest guess. My heart tried to beat its way out of my chest and my stomach tried to take up contortionism. I gripped Brad's fingers tighter, pressing my body closer to his, hungering for his warmth, needing it...

 Why did I like this so much? I-I hate him, right? This is purely business, right?

"Oh, woah! Ooooo-kay!" A voice that wasn't mine or Brad's. "This is awkward! Really, really bad!" I knew it was West. West. West.The worst possible person. I nervously jumped away from Brad, really really fire truck red. Brad just shrugged. The heat of the moment was frozen in place, pure arctic white and freezing.

"At least we know you two can sure fake things, huh?" 

Repent

Darkness rejoice as new times fall
Evil repent as new times rise
The fall of one will lead to another
Rising of the blood spilled

Stone sword, sharp edged blade
Light pray for mercy
Good be sacrificed
Crucifixion of irony in mangled ribbons
Slow and sudden darkness win

As sin of modern love
Hate bourne of jealousy
Joke not, live not, breathe not
As malicious forces rise
Repent

Aghast be your sorrow
Sadistic be your fears
Insanity be your happiness
For all the world to hear

Darkness rejoice
Evil fall
Insanity
Repent
Injust
Man

Chapter Three; MIRRORS~|~SRORRIM

Brad looked at me with a worried gleam in his blue eyes. My heart fluttered. Sure, this wasn't real, but he's mine...

"You're sure?" He asked. I nodded. "As sure as I am the cults are coming down." Brad blushed and had a sudden interest in checking for cult spies. While he poked around in the bushes, West and Jess headed down to the creek, and Sam excused himself to leave, claiming homework(like anyone actually does their homework), leaving me alone with Veronica. "You like each other, you know." She said.

 I shook my head frantically, and I could feel the heat on my face. "No, we don't." I said quickly. Veronica laughed. "Your face is bright red. Yes, you do." "Shut up." I suggested. She shook her head. "No, I think I'll help you plan. West is gonna help Brad. Your 'relationship' needs to be convincing."

"Convincing how?"

"Get caught trying to sneak away with each other. Kiss him. Have your face light up and add a bounce to your step when you see him."

"How do you know what is convincing and what's...flat?" I smiled at my cheesy Band humor. 

Veronica thought for a minute. "An actor gets very good at faking things." She answered, but I didn't believe her.

BRAD'S P. O. V.~|~.V .O .P S'DARB

 I poked around the bushes importantly. I had to get away from her. Yesterday, I hated her. Today, she's my girlfriend. That's messed up. And I'm not complaining nearly as much as I should.

I honestly do like her, but I don't think she likes me back. Trumpet is...complicated I guess. But, then again, she's a woman, and women are complicated. But they're no way she doesn't like me! I mean, who could not like all of this? But who am I kidding? I can be a real jerk. 

"Yo, Brad!" I heard. Perfect. West and his dating advice. "What?" I called back. "Stop messing with the leaves and get your butt down here!" Growling, I turned and saw him beckoning from the edge of the creek. Throwing a glance and Veronica and Trumpet, I jogged down to the creek to join West and Jess.

"There he is!" Jess clapped his hands together. West smirked. "Looking for a place to get serious with her, huh?" I glared. "What do you want?" I said bluntly. "Well," West said," I specifically remember you asking me how to fake a relationship." 

"And?"

"I can tell you...for a price."

"What do you want now?"

"When the cults go down, she's mine." 

"Wait, wait wait, you can't be serious. You? Liking Trumpet? Yeah, that'll go over real well."

"Deal or no deal?"

I bit my lip. Why not? It'll be her decision in the end. "Sure. Now, spill." I commanded. "Well, you have to be all protective and stuff. If some dude is hitting on her, you gotta stand up for your girl." West said. "You've gotta be all happy to see her every time you meet. Kiss her, hug her, hold her hand. If you skip class, have her do it, too. Be together. At least act like you're in love." 

    "And you know this...how?" I asked. "Let's just say someone, coughcoughJESScoughcough, is an awful matchmaker." West answered, elbowing Jess. Jess shoved him playfully.

Sometimes you'd think those two were brothers, not best friends. "Okay, then." I said, uneasily.

 "Hey, boys! It's getting late! We should all head home!" We all looked up as Veronica yelled. She was right. The sun was going down. West look at me with raised eyebrows. Of course.

 I ran to catch up with Veronica and Trumpet, West and Jess behind me. We walked in silence to the trailhead, where West and Jess, along with Veronica, turned left. I offered her my hand. "Allow me, madam, the pleasure of walking you home." I said teasingly. "Only if you promise to drop the old fashioned junk." She smiled. I nodded and laughed, and she took my hand.

We walked down the street in silence. "Brr." I commented. "It sure is cold... I think we've got some warming up to do before school tomorrow." "You actually read the Hunger Games?" She looked at me, surprised. Ouch. She doesn't think I read. Wow. Insulted. "Of course I did! I'm not a tuba player!" I objected. Trumpet laughed.

 All too soon, we got to Trumpet's house. I insisted on walking with her to the path, and she rolled her eyes. As soon as we got there, she dropped my hand like a hot rock. "So, see you tomorrow? Bus stop?" She asked. "It's a date." I said and winked. She laughed again and walked to her front door, keyed it, and went inside. Her laugh was sweet. Like...honey. Timeless. 

I shrugged and started walking home. Four houses away from hers, I approached the front door. I found the key in the plant, unlocked the door, and dropped the key back in its place. "Brad's back!" A small, squeaky little voice announced with delight. I nearly fell over as a big yellow Lab puppy and my little sister crashed into me. My sister hugged me and the puppy tried to get to my face to lick it.

"Good to see you guys, too!" I said, pushing the puppy off of me and scooping up my little sister. I gave her a crushing bear hug and set her down. The puppy saw his chance, and charged my face. He knocked me over and proceeded to 'wash' my face. With dog spit. "Gross! Get off, Whiskers!" I pushed the puppy off and got up. I walked into the kitchen, where my mother was busily preparing dinner.

"Hi, Mom." I said. She smiled at me. I raised my eyebrows. It was an unspoken question. Dad? She shook her head. I pursed my lips. Every day, the same answer. It had been like that for nearly five years. And I hated him for that, and for what he made me do. 

 I was distracted by my little sister pulling on my hand. "Come see what I learned in preschool today!" She squealed. "Okay, I'm coming." I smiled. "I'll call you when supper's ready." My mother said.

"Alright, Jay, lead on!" I said. She excitedly pulled me to her room and sort of pushed me onto the bed. "I wrote my name today!" She said proudly, showing me a paper. Sure enough, there it was, scrawled in bright yellow letters. "J-A-M-I-E! Jamie!" She giggled. "Great job, Jay!" I praised. God, if only my Dad would come back... But I'm not sure I want that. 

TRUMPET'S P. O. V.~|~.V .O .P S'TEPMURTS

My fingers were still buzzing when I got to my room. The warmth of Brad's touch lingered on my fingertips. I blushed just thinking about it. But, alas, I will flunk out of Spanish if I don't get that homework done. I dragged some paper out of my bag and started writing. Somehow, I wrote a love song in Spanish. Oh well. I'll turn it in anyway. Maybe I'll get some sort of extra credit.

 I checked the time on my alarm clock. It read 7:00. Yay, I get to make dinner. I went to the kitchen and skimmed through the pantry. The words of my song played back in my head.

No sé por qué no puedo ver la mirada en tus ojos

I don't know why I can't see the look in your eye

I gritted my teeth and dragged out some cereal. I busied myself with making a bowl and flopped down at the table to eat.

No quiero entender

I don't want to understand

 I suddenly lost my appetite. I stuck the cereal in the fridge, because that's how stupid I can be, and go to my room. I flop down on the bed. So much happened today, and I wasn't sure I was ready for any of it. 

The Dresses I: Veridian Ice Princess

VERIDIAN ICE PRINCESS

In. Out. Listen. In. Out. Your breath echoes in your ears. Your heartbeat thuds in your head. You're cold. Really cold. The frosty type of cold that chills you to the bone, threatening to break you into little ice splinters. 

In. Out. Hear it? In. Out. You grip the worn leather handle of a smooth ice sword, the edge sharp enough to draw blood on contact. On contact, if you're a human. But you're not. Your blood roars in your ears as you raise the blade. The light seeping through the walls of the arctic Winter Palace reflects off the razor edge of your ice sword. 

In. Out. Listen. In. Out. It's coming. You know it is. The one thing you have dreaded since you knew who you were, who you should be. You hear it. The roar. THE roar. Not the roar of the Blizzard-Winds, not the roar of the Great Whale Pod, but THE roar. 

In. Out. Keep breathing. In. Out. The frosty air bites your nose, stings your throat, and keeps you awake. Every small sound is amplified by the ice walls of the Winter Palace. Your heartbeat flutters in your head, your breath quickens in your ears. It won't be long now, it won't be long until you come face to face with your long-time friend: Death. 

__________________________________________________________

"Mika, Mika, wake up! Wake up!" You hear someone shout, as thought they were far down a tunnel. The protective black oblivion that you so graciously welcomed receded away from your eyes. The insides of your eyelids turn a dull white, almost a light grey. 

Louder, the person, a small boy, squealed again. "Mika, Mika, wake up! Wake up!" You slowly open your eyes to a small, pale face with brown eyes and framed in wild black curls. 

You feel a groggy smile play on your lips. "Ai, ai. Good morning, Xeric." You say sleepily, the words slurring together. You sit up, the silken sheets and frosty blue covers slipping off of your body to reveal an azure nightdress. 

"Mika, Mika, guess what!" Little Xeric dances about excitedly. Still heavy with sleep, you play along. Much of your brain isn't working normally. "Today is your birthday!" The black haired boy shouts. "You're sixteen!" 

Your eyes snap open and you suck in a sharp gasp. Sixteen! You're finally an adult! Your birthday celebration is tonight, and tomorrow, you're off to a new life! But what shall you do? "Little Xeric, please leave while I get dressed. I won't be but a minute." You shoo the boy out of your room and close the large door, the blue glacier ice greedily trying to hold your hand in place. 

You skip to the mirror, your nightdress flowing out behind you. Sixteen! Today, you will get your new life, your powers! You are the Ice Princess! You look in the mirror excitedly. No one else will ever notice, but you know you have changed. 

Your long hair has a glacier blue streak in it that seems to always interweave with your coppery locks and mark you as Veridian. And you wear the title proudly. Your eyes are the frostiest shade of electric blue. You're pale, but not waxy like Xeric. Your skin has a soft rosy glow. You smile and your teeth are a brilliant white, just like freshly fallen snow on a crisp autumn morning. 

You turn away from your mirror and see your room. The walls are blue glacier ice, the same as your door is. The door has white designs carved into the ice toward the top, which narrows towards the ceiling. Your bed is large, with deep, royal blue silken sheets and a frost blue comforter. Although it is messy, you can still see the snow capped moutains of soft, downy, and squashy pillows you are constantly rearranging. 

Next to your bed, a sun bleached grey nightstand teeters on the snow-white ice underneath your feet. On the nightstand, a small picture frame and a necklace claim space. Inside the picture frame, a picture of a little girl with braided copper hair, plus a blue streak, is laughing with her arm around a very, very pale boy with black eyes and curly brown hair. His arm is around her, too, and he's grinning like an idiot. 

You smile as his name comes back to your mind. Nakir. On an off note, you wonder if he ever thinks about you, remembers your name, or even has a picture of you. You walk easily to your nightstand, being Veridian. Ice does not bother you, does not trip you, does not hurt you. After all, you are Veridian, AND you are an Ice Princess. 

You run your fingers along Nakir's cheek in the picture. You smile as you remember your childhood friend. The two of you declared yourselves closer than family. The Nakir had left, erased from your life. And you didn't even get to say goodbye. 

You shake your head. Not on your birthday. Not the day you are to be empowered! A real Ice Princess! Oh, your heart flutters at the thought of your own kingdom, your own people! Most importantly, your powers. You've waited many, many star cycles for this. Sixteen of them, in fact. But how shall you dress? You simply cannot attend your celebration without the proper clothing. You open the wardrobe that occupies the space next to the mirror. 

After much thought. You pull two dresses out of the wardrobe and place them on the bed. Oh, how you love them both! 

The first dress is azure, like your nightdress, and seems to be many layers of silk wrapping around your body many times. The material is studded with pearls. The story the pearls told was one of happiness and submission. You smile as you remember the many balls you attended, intending to cause mischief with Nakir. You remember the day your father remarried. This was the dress you wore at the wedding. Alongside Nakir, of course. You remember that the dress has a back with a long V cut out of it. Along with all the good memories you had with the beautiful dress, you're afraid of the message it will send. 

Upon the other foot, you have a stunning red dress with a long opening from your foot to a few inches below your waistline. The other side of the skirt, which is completely closed, traces a pattern of flames burning from your toes to just below your collar. Only because the dress is strapless, of course. At least the neckline was modest enough. The dress is many shades of crimson. You love the message of rebellion and dominance it asserts, but you are an ice Princess. 

Oh, dear, which one should you wear?

Chapter Two; MIRRORS~|~SRORRIM

 I barely made it through Spanish. I had my next class, History, with Brad, so we could discuss the cults.

After sort of listening to my homework assignment, I jumped up with the bell and rushed to my History class. Naturally, I nearly collided head on with Brad. He's two inches taller than me, so that would have been awkward. Maybe I would have liked awkward, just a little bit...

    "I need to talk to you." We both said at the same time. I blushed. Brad glanced sideways. "Just, not here." He said, slipping me a sticky note.

 "Don't read that here; I don't want anyone else to know about it." He turned and stormed into class, like we had just argued. That's funny, seeing as I didn't actually say anything. Wait! I didn't get to say anything! Jag.

Ugh. Brad.Too cute for his own good. I shrugged and marched into class, looking triumphant.

 I glanced at Brad, who gave a very slight nod. Good. I understood him right. That's kinda cute.

I scribbled furiously in my notebook, just to look busy. I was really drawing a cat. I couldn't quite name him yet. He was gold with brilliant green eyes. He had a small white smudge on his chest, over his heart. I was so absorbed, someone had to poke me in the back to get my attention.

 "Is Trumpet here today?" My History teacher asked. "I think so." I answered, cocky. My teacher gave me a glance, but said nothing. That's nice, calling me by my nickname and all. But, I was uneasy.

Something told me he saw what happened in the hall. I don't know if I can trust him. The weirdest people could be with the cults. There's a rumor the principal is even in on one...

Most of History passed without incident. I kept glancing at Brad, who never even once looked at me. That hurt a little bit, but I knew members of the Trumpet Cult were in here, as well as a few of the French Horn Cult. They can't be hawking us that closely, can they? Of course they could.

After History, the most boring torture ever conceived by human minds, the day passed by in a blur.

 I didn't talk to anybody. No one spoke to me. Finally, the bell rang, er, screamed bloody murder, for us to go home. I started toward the Band Hall. Maybe I'll see Brad there before we get on the bus and act like we hate each other again.

What's the point? I don't hate him. He's a nice guy! Why am I such a jerk to that cute little trumpet player?

Sadly, I ran into the other Riley before I ran into Brad. The other Riley was the Trumpet Cult leader. I knew he, out of all of the leaders, would hesitate the least to kill me. This kid scared me.

 "Ms. Danger." He nodded, with false politeness. It just dropped from his pores. Repulsive. "Why are you in a hurry?"

 I had to think fast.  C'mon, believable lie! "Because I don't wanna fight the crowd to get my instrument." I lied. Sort of believable. Certainly not inconceivable.

 Riley pursed his lips. The kid was a scarecrow with Native-American roots. He stared at me with his unnerving brown eyes a little longer and said, "The cult will know everything." He vanished into the crowd of semi tame beasts known as middle schoolers.

I made it to the Band Hall with no further incidents. No Brad, either, and his trumpet was gone. I missed him. Great.

I grabbed my instrument, who's name was Jacque, and fought through the river of people to the bus.

Yes, I named my French Horn. You're supposed to name your instrument. Its an unspoken rule in the wide category of Band.

Brad went all out and named his Trumpet. That was kind of awkward, cause of my nickname and all. Kind of sweet, too, but he does play the trumpet.

I burst outside and walked to my bus. I took my usual seat in the back and opened Brad's sticky note. In his slanting handwriting, he wrote:

MEET ME AT DOG CANYON CREEK. DON'T COME UNARMED.

-BRAD

   What did that mean? Don't come unarmed? Were we fighting?

 I puzzled over it all the way to my stop. I got up, grabbed Jacque, and tried to shove him down the bus aisle. I tried to ignore the three or four people that got off behind me. The case bruised my knees as I made my way to my house.

 I'm going to be the first to admit that we live in a rich neighborhood and we aren't cocky about it. The houses are grand and the cars expensive. And we couldn't care less.

I reached my house. It was covered in Ostend Stone and had a black roof. The door was stained dark, dark brown, almost black, and I fumbled for my key. I unlocked the door and slipped inside.

Inside, the floors were a rich cherry wood color, and the walls were a nice beige. I walked through the kitchen, which had white tile and blonde wood cabinets.

 I finally got to my room, where the walls were azure and the carpet royal blue. I dumped my French Horn and grabbed my pocket knife. Brad said not to go unarmed.

I wondered what time my mom was getting back from the fire station. She's a firefighter and inherited her money. She risked her life to help people. And because she likes the danger. I guess that's why she loves my dad. She loves Danger. 

 I slipped out of the front door again and locked it. I knew my mom wouldn't be home until late, maybe even tomorrow, but I didn't mind. I liked being alone.

 I whistled as I walked down the sidewalk. When I got to the woods, I followed the familiar trail down to Dog Canyon Creek.

I was silent and listening. The wind whispered around me and my feet bounced on the trail.

Near the rushing waters of the creek, the trail widened into a meadow. Once upon a time, my friends and I hung out here. Then the cults declared it off limits, so most of them stayed away. I could hear voices ahead. I had a feeling Brad wasn't alone. Did he seriously lead me to a trap?

   I stepped off the trail and saw five people. One was unmistakably Brad, with his blonde hair. Another was tall enough to be Sam Bruce, first chair French Horn. I didn't know the other three. "Hey, she came!" One of the people I didn't know, a girl, called out. We met in the middle.

Brad grabbed my wrist and pulled me aside, gesturing for the others to stay back. "You can't let the cults know." He warned. His eyes, his big, blue eyes, were dead serious. "I wouldn't give them the time of day." I said. Brad nodded. "You can let go of my arm now." I announced. Brad let go and my skin felt electric.

"Who are these people?" I asked. "Well," Brad began,"you know Sam. This is Veronica, Jess, and West. Guys, this is Trumpet." Brad pointed to each one in turn. Veronica was the only other girl here. She was slightly big, had glasses, and messy dirty blonde hair. Jess was pale and had hair that was almost bronze. He blinked a lot, so I guessed he was wearing contacts. West was short, tan, and had caramel colored hair.

 "Hi, guys." I said unenthusiasticly. "Why are we here?" I asked, looking at Brad. "Because we're the Resistance." Veronica piped up. "We're going to bring down the cults." Jess added importantly. "With six people?" I asked. "We've got to start somewhere." West grinned. His voice was an odd mix of bear tones and low hums. That was unusual. Then two and two went together and became four. This was that annoying trombone kid! The one that would never leave me alone. 

 "Okay, um, what makes you think you have the power?" I asked. "We have Brad, West, and you. If we can get enough people against the cults using you guys, the cults will lose power because no one is afraid of them." Sam explained. He seemed so sure of himself. He believed it. With all of his heart. 

 I shrugged. "So, what are we doing here?" Brad gulped and looked around nervously. "We have a plan, and a big part rests on you." He said, trying to avoid my gaze. He spoke quickly and turned a little pink. "Maybe she should sit down." Veronica suggested. I gulped. What could be that bad?

 They led me to a log at the water's edge. We all flopped down on it. I felt it shift under our collective weight. "You publicly hate Brad, right?" West asked me. I nodded. Where was this going?

"And the cult doesn't try and stop you." Jess stated. "So," West said in a concluding tone," if you and Brad were in love, that could be a major blow to the system, because you and Brad can't be manipulated easily, so the cults couldn't break you apart. Other people could finally come out of the dark and inter-band relationships could become more common. The cults couldn't stop it anymore." 

If there was one thing the cults hated more than instrument traitors were inter-band love stories. They were greater acts of disloyalty than doubling up. I didn't understand at all. 

 I looked around. "You've got to be joking." I bit my lip. If I wasn't redder than a fire truck, I will never be. "Brad's already agreed to it." Veronica pointed out. He what?! "Anything to get rid of the cults." Brad said quickly. I swallowed. A chance, even a fake chance, to date Brad? What kind of question is that?

My voice wavered on the way out of my lips. I don't even know how I did it. 

 "Alright," I said, "I'll do it."

So Bitter, No Sweet

The candles burned low and bright, but they did nothing to illuminate the dark, dismal tomb. The dust danced through what little light that wasn't swallowed by the void. 

The monster huddled in the middle of the lightless void, sniffling and crying. Crying, certainly. The monster was not stone cold. Not like the others. This one was not always a monster. 

It wasn't a man. The monster was too deceptive. It was cunning, wicked, heartless. But it cried. Cried at every corner. Say what man will, but this monster had feelings. Never will one know. This monster is too rejected. 

Rock hard, stone cold. Feather soft, baby weak. So fragile, so light. Hummingbird flight, feathery brisk, yet rock solid ice splinters. 

The monster looked up at the roof of the tomb where it had been left to rot, broken, torn, scattered. It opened bright blue eyes. Innocent baby eyes. 

And thus the monster let forth a wailing cry as the tomb was flooded with moonlight. At the newly opened entrance a reaper dressed in all black loomed. "Come." He hissed, whispered, and yelled all at once. The monster let out a cry of torture as it was hauled to its delicate clawed feet. 

It was to be broken again, the monster. It did not want to understand the hurt of deceit once more. But that was unavoidable. The monster had but one name, too often spoken. 

"Come, Trust, you will be shattered again soon."

And the candles went out. 

Chapter One; MIRRORS~|SRORRIM

"This is the third time! Do it right!" My director snapped, narrowing his muddy brown eyes. But I don't even know HOW to do it! I didn't go through Symphonic like the others!

 "I-I can't." I said, slipping my pinky on top of the ring. Like a trumpet. That is very bad right now. I moved my pinky back.

"I picked you because I thought you could! Maybe I should get someone else!" The director shouted.

I don't know how! I wanted to scream. But I couldn't. My voice died in my throat. I looked down.

Please, someone, help me.

"Lay off her, Mr. Flamested. She didn't learn in like we did." I was surprised when first chair spoke up. Sam, I think, was his name.

Mr. Flamested narrowed his eyes again. "Then, because you learned, you wouldn't mind teaching her, now, would you, Mr. Bruce?" 

Sam nodded. "I will." The director gave him a glare that was met by the fire in Sam's brilliant green eyes. Challenge accepted, Sam's eyes said. You're on, Mr. Flamested's answered.

Their staring contest was interrupted by the bell, shrieking awful. Lunch time. Yay.

I wasn't hungry, so I got up and stepped toward Sam. "Thanks for sticking up for me." I said in a whisper.

 "No problem, Trumpet. I was there once, too." Sam smiled and ducked into the cubby room to pack away his instrument.

I gathered my things and went into a practice room.

I set up away from the window. I hate an audience when I'm practicing. I had just adjusted my stand when I heard the door open.

 Someone stepped inside and closed it. I saw a silver glint and rolled my eyes. "Come to bother me again, Brad?" I asked the trumpet player grouchily.

 Brad rolled his eyes. "No, I came to make a deal." He said, setting up beside me. "Shoot." I said, leaning back and letting my instrument rest on my lap. Sort of. The thing is the size of my chest.

 "You teach me, and I'll teach you." He pitched in a riddle-me-that tone that only a trumpet player could pull off. "Uhh, what?" I asked, confused. What in the world?

"Teach me," Brad said slowly," to play the French Horn. I will teach you to play trumpet." I thought for a second. "Is this a joke?" 

"No." 

"What about the cults?" I asked, almost whispering, as if I was afraid they were listening. I knew they were. They know everything. Everything. You just don't mess with them.

"They don't have to know." Brad said, grinning. "Then why not?" I said, slightly confident. Maybe Brad found a way. Maybe he could silence them.

Brad set some mouthpiece cleaner on his stand, took his mouthpiece out of his trumpet, and proceeded to clean it.

I loved the way his hands deftly shifted and polished. I snuck a glance up to his face, which was a mask of concentration. His cheeks would redden a little bit, and it is so cute. I mean, for a trumpet player.

I carefully set my French Horn on the ground, valves up, and removed my mouthpiece. "Why do you want to learn?" I asked. God, please don't let me say something stupid.

"Maybe because I need a change." He said nonchalantly, rubbing the inside of his mouthpiece with a cloth. "Catch." He tossed me the cleaner. I almost missed it, watching him. After blushing furiously and nearly missing it, I caught it. How fabulous. Smart, Trumpet. So smart. 

 "Why do you want to learn?" Brad asked. I sprayed some of the cleaner in my mouthpiece. Why do I want to learn? Is it because Brad is teaching me?

"It's my nick. I have something to live up to." I rubbed the inside and tossed his cleaner back. He caught it on reflex. Why did he have to play trumpet? Why did the cults have to form? Ugh! Stupid life. 

"Here, let's swap mouthpieces. We can teach each other to hold it and stuff." He offered me his mouthpiece. I swapped it for my own. It buzzed in my hands, I thought, anyway. Almost like it was charged from Brad's touch.

"Now, put it to your lips like this..." Brad guided my hand to my lips, gently positioning the mouthpiece. He brushed some hair out of my eye. Was that really bothering him, or was it something else? 

No, it wasn't anything. It was just bothering him. "Now blow." 

He instructed. I blew a good, steady airstream out of the mouthpiece. Brad nodded. "Buzz now." God, I'm lightheaded.

I buzzed like I would for a smooth horn tone. Soft, sweet, and calm. Brad shook his head. "Firmer. You're too...mellow." He said mellow like it was poison.

Frustrated, I blew my air faster, and Brad was satisfied. He had a trumpet player's smirk, the 'I-know-everything-and-I-don't-have-time-for-your-correction' smirk.

We switched, and I was positioning Brad's hand. I don't know how my hand stayed steady and my voice didn't crack down to a whisper.

I angled the mouthpiece down a little, like you would to play the French Horn. "Blow." I commanded, feeling kind of awkward for telling him to do something.

Brad blew a weak, pinched stream into the mouthpiece. I pursed my lips. Typical trumpet player. This is why I act like I hate him. But is it an act?

 "Relax, drop your jaw, and take a deep breath." Brad visibly relaxed, like, he deflated like a balloon or something, and blew a decent stream out. I nodded. "Try buzzing." Brad buzzed, high and pinched. I put my hands over my ears. So that is what a trumpet sounds like!

 "No, no. relax, Brad, it won't try to kiss you or anything." I might, but it won't, I added silently.

 Brad visibly relaxed again and buzzed weakly. "More air, Brad." His buzz was stronger, if not smoother. I loved feeling his name pass my lips. It felt so right, so perfect.

 We ping ponged back and forth until the bell. Brad nearly dropped my mouthpiece. Graceful. "Watch it, man!" I teased. Brad packed up, masterfully securing his trumpet and mouthpiece in the case. He stood up and looked me in the eye. I wanted to melt in his gaze.

"Thanks, Trumpet." He said, almost sincerely.

He knew the risk as well as I did. They might, quite literally, kill us.

 Yes, we were just seventh graders. But we were put in the eighth graders' world. And, of course, we knew about the cults in sixth grade. We all did. They were the catch, the wild card. They are the power here. It makes me sick. I shrugged off my feeling of unease and packed up.

 As I was going to put my horn up, I saw one of the French Horn Cult.

He was thin and dark. He wore a black hoodie, dark jeans, and a malicious grin. I couldn't see his eyes, but then he pulled off his hood. They were practically black.

Upon entering some kind of staring contest with him, I knew they knew, and I knew they weren't happy.