SKGfun iWrite Edition (November/December)

WINGS NOVEMBER/DECEMBER 2017
“You did that wrong, and anyways,
we’ve got to go.”
I shriek, turn violently towards my
left shoulder to see who is talking,
and shriek again when I realize
there's a strange boy standing there.
“Stop screeching. You do that a lot,
you know?”
I open my mouth to say something,
but I don’t know what to say and so
I shut it again.
"Wha— do I know you?"
He shrugs. "No, I guess not. But I
know you."
I narrow my eyes. I'm pretty sure
I've never seen this guy before.
"No," I say with certainty, "you
don't."
"Yes, I do, Eva."
Okay this got interesting. "How—"
"How do I know your name? I'm
not sure honestly, because we were
never properly introduced. But I
know it, as I know many things
about you, and there you have it."
I shake my head. "I've never seen
you or spoken to you before—
there's no way you know anything
about me."
He smiles then. "You're sixteen.
You come up here Tuesday and
Friday afternoons, except for every
third Friday because there's a group
that meets downstairs and you'd
have to interrupt their meeting to
get here. You hate tea, you love
birds, and you constantly hit your
right shoulder on the doorframe
when you exit your bedroom . . .
even though you know it's there; it
never moves." He gives me a grin
that I view as condescending, but I
don't bother to defend myself.
Because it's true. But how does he
know that? He doesn't. Obviously.
He's guessing . . .
While I argue with myself, trying to
sort through my sudden feelings of
vulnerability and slight curiosity, he
clears his throat and continues.
"Your birthday is February 13th.
You have two cats, but you secretly
name and claim every stray you
happen to pass by. You love
strawberries, but you hate
blueberries."
I actually gasp. Those are my exact
words! I think as hard as I can, but
I'm not sure if I've ever actually
announced this opinion out loud—
except maybe to a cat.
He seems to know that he's gotten
my attention. "Yes, I am very welleducated
in the insanity that is your
character," he says cooly. "So, can
you agree to trust me for maybe
half an hour?"
I mean . . . he does know a lot about
me . . . Stalker, probably. Creepy
psychic? Psychic stalker. But . . .
"Obviously I've been around you for
quite some time," he points out. "If I
wanted to hurt you, I would have
done it by now."
I continue to consider. Well, that's
true. Anyone who knows that much
has to have had many opportunities
to kill or kidnap me by this point.
"And," he says casually, "if you won't
listen, I won't tell you who I am,
why I'm here, or how I know so
much about you."
Oooh. It's a well-worded sentence,
seemingly created to play along
with the fact that I'm possibly one of
the most curious humans ever. He
knows that, I realize, seeing the selfsatisfied
look on his face. And of
course he would. Trusting this guy,
even just for short while, goes
against the practical side of me, but .
. .
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