Capella Bright

By Tara McCausland

Maggie Hart has one thing on the brain: leaving her bland Idaho hometown and putting plenty of distance between her and her dysfunction-riddled family. As Maggie’s senior year at Brassfort High commences, her life spins a 180 when she becomes acquainted with a handsome, peculiar, new move-in named Alexander, who keeps a well-guarded secret. Maggie stumbles upon the truth and entangles herself in a web of lies and risky intrigues as she attempts to protect Alex and his little sister from deadly enemies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 4, 2012
• ISBN: 9781620957134

Book preview

9781620957134

Chapter 1

Here we go again, I mumbled under my breath. My parents were bickering over something totally lame — whether Dad’s long-time friend Barry Nelson’s last name ended in s-o-n or s-e-n. It was fast approaching the absurdity of a quarrel they’d had last week, which started as a silly debate over dinner’s main course and then somehow ballooned into just why the other was to blame for all their marital discord.

You never pay attention to detail, Mom criticized, thumbing through a magazine. You couldn’t spell my mother’s name for the first five years of our marriage. But then you never liked my mom anyway.

Dad slammed his newspaper down on the kitchen table. That has nothing to do with this. Though she didn’t exactly roll out the welcome wagon for me, Sylvia. Remember it was her choice not to come to the wedding.

As he shot up from his seat, I could almost hear the hot blood bubbling under his leathery skin. I hovered over my bowl of cereal with my head buried in a book, trying not to make eye contact.

Well maybe I should have said ‘no’ when you asked in the first place, Mom snorted.

Maybe I should have never asked!

Dad stormed out, slamming the sliding glass door that connected the kitchen and patio — no doubt to pay Vicki another visit. Vicki was his old ‘58 Mustang that had lain dead under a yellowing bed sheet for as long as I could remember. He’d been spending a lot more time with Vicki these days.

Mom stomped past me, her face the same fiery shade as her red hair. She grabbed a bag of cookies from the pantry and huffed back to the sofa where she plopped herself down with a loud grunt. I glanced back at her to find her absently nibbling on a cookie with one hand and pulling the pudgy fingers of the other hand through her hair, visibly fuming. Someday I’m going to… Another cookie found its way to her mouth.

I chewed my cereal thoughtfully, trying to think of a time when things weren’t this bad. My parents were a high-school-sweetheart success story. They had been going steady since the tenth grade and were married fresh after graduation. To make ends meet, Dad went to work temporarily at the Brassfort Steel Mill. At the time, I guess Mom was content enough being the new bride of a burly, blue-collar hunk. But now, after twenty years of living on Dad’s meager wage, she’d grown more dissatisfied with her deprived life.

Where’s your brother? she hissed, still seething from the fight. I told him if he didn’t clean his room today I’d throw out all his video games.

I rolled my eyes. She had made empty threats like that before and as far as I could tell it was always just a lot of hot air. Spencer’s house probably. Where else? I stuck another spoonful of cereal in my mouth.

Randy, my lurpy, greasy-headed little brother was rarely at home these days, apparently preferring his best friend’s place to this hole as he called it. Not that I could honestly say I minded. Randy was…well…fourteen. When he was around he barely showed his face anyway, and when he did a fight generally ensued between him and Mom about something like the noise that eternally blared from his health hazard of a room. The place smelled like a locker room at best and was a picture of man-made disaster. It needed to be boarded up and condemned.

Mom sighed loudly. So, she began, Sue from across the street came by this morning asking for a cup of sugar. I gave it to her, of course, but I have no doubt she came just to show off that fancy new diamond ring her husband bought her for her birthday. Disdain was evident in her tone. Mom always found a reason to despise people that had more money than we did. She hated a lot of people.

Oh yeah? I commented, uninterested, placing my cereal bowl on top of the mountain of dishes that sat in the kitchen sink.

…and yesterday when I was giving Carol a perm, she told me that Sue’s family is going on a cruise in December. I would sell my soul to go on a cruise.

That was my cue. I could sense another one of her full-fledged whine fests coming on so that meant it was time for me to split. Hey, I need to get ready to go to work, okay?

I darted up the stairs toward my bedroom, taking two steps at a time. I couldn’t count the number of times Mom had fussed about not having something the Johnson family had, whined about having to drive a rusty old Honda Civic, droned about having a wardrobe exclusively from the local super-mart. It was a relief when I had a reason to excuse myself from another depressing monologue.

I showered and dressed, all the while jamming to a self-made CD of the classic 80’s. Prancing back into the bathroom, I grooved in front of my vanity mirror as I got ready to go to the library where I’d worked part-time since I was fifteen. Making a few bucks was the primary motivation for working, but it was also a place to get away from this — the Hart family feud. This summer had seemed especially long since my friend, Michelle, went out of town on a month-long family vacation to the east coast. Aside from the library, her house was one of only a handful of places I could go for some peace.

I bolted down the stairs, running late as usual. Hey, can I take the car to work? I asked as I stole through the kitchen to grab a few things for lunch.

I suppose so, Mom answered. She still sounded sullen, and she would continue to be for another twenty-four hours or so. That seemed to be the going rate of time it took her to unwind after a bad tiff with Dad.

Thanks. I ran back up the stairs and grabbed my quilt off my bed, thinking I might hit the woods after work for some alone time.

This summer my hours had been slashed due to decreasing numbers of library goers, leaving me with that much more time to kill. The forest behind my home had become my replacement getaway spot during Michelle’s absence.

See you later, I shouted, running out the door.

A blur of trees and houses passed by as I drove to the library, looking forward to being in a place where books outnumbered people. It was no secret that I preferred the written word to conversation and reading to reality. I’d never been one of those girls that obsessed over the cutest boy or the latest fad. The constant drama that seemed to plague every part of the pubescent girl’s existence was perplexing to me, not to mention annoying.

I chuckled out loud to myself, realizing that I was describing my friend Michelle to a T. We’d been friends since grade school, mostly by default. She moved in halfway through my third-grade year. I suppose my mother hen instinct must have kicked in because, in spite of my typical lack of sociality, I didn’t want her to feel lonely on her first day at school and invited her to play hopscotch at recess. By some strange happenstance we’d remained friends ever since, even though we were practically each other’s opposite in every way.

I skidded into a parking spot of the library, and high-tailed it into the double doors, ten minutes late.

Hi Shirley. Sorry I’m late. I shook my bag off my shoulder behind the front desk and paused to catch my breath.

She looked up from her book and scowled. Yep. And I’ve had enough of it. You’re finished here! I shot her a half-smile, waiting for the punch line. I’m kidding. Well…sort of.

Sort of?

I’m sorry, Maggie. You know how our numbers have been dropping. For some reason people just aren’t coming to the library much these days. I think it’s that darn Internet that’s the culprit. She shook her head disapprovingly, the loose skin on her neck jiggling like a turkey’s gobbler.

So? I prodded.

So, what I’m saying is that Friday will be your last day. There’s just not enough for you to do anymore.

Oh, c’mon Shirley! There has to be something I could still do. I’ll never find another great job like this.

If you want to come and volunteer every once in awhile I’d love to have you, but I’ve already made up my mind. She stood, brought her hand to my chin, and shook it vigorously. Cheer up, dearie. I’m sure you’ll find another job. They are always hiring at Taco Boy.

Case in point. I wouldn’t work at a fast food joint if my life depended on it. Well, maybe if my life depended on it, but not a millisecond before.

I spent the next few hours re-shelving books, heartily depressed. As soon as my shift ended, I poked out to the car and headed back home, driving extra slowly. Several minutes later, I pulled into the driveway and parked the car. Without bothering to go inside, I grabbed my book and blanket, and set out for the woods that lay a short distance behind my house — prepared to drown my sorrows in a good story.

My hometown of Brassfort was nestled between a vast forest to the west and a mountain range to the east, cutting us off from the rest of the civilized world. The only thing that kept people here was the steel mill where half of the town’s population worked, including my father. No one came to Brassfort unless they lived here or were visiting relatives. It wasn’t a miniscule town, but very little ever changed here. I just happened to be one of the residents of one of the dullest places this side of, well, anywhere.

I walked for several minutes, winding deeper into the woods. Large pines and aspens towered over me, almost completely shading the ground beneath. I took off my shoes and waded through the shallow stream that wound its way for miles through the wooded terrain. Then continuing a short distance further, I found the perfect patch of ground. I spread out my quilt, sprawled out, and opened up my all time favorite book, Pride and Prejudice. The book absorbed me for a couple of hours until the light began to wane. I closed the book and lay quietly, letting my mind wander until it found a settling point. School.

The summer was soon coming to an end, which meant my senior year at Brassfort High was nearly upon me. I actually enjoyed school. I found I could happily throw myself into my studies through the months of September until May; schoolwork provided a welcome distraction from my less-than-ideal home life. Naturally, I favored English over other subjects, but found I could cheerfully tolerate the sciences, history, and PE. But I had already started having nightmares about my calculus class, which sent sheer fear through every part of my being when I thought of it. I’d heard all the circulated horror stories about Killer Kirschbomb’s class since my sophomore year. The class was not for the faint hearted or the math impaired — like me. I would’ve just dropped it altogether, but my overwhelming desire to have an impressive report card to show prospective colleges had won out in spite of my general phobia of numbers. But it could also be the end of my sparkling 4.0 GPA, my golden ticket into a good university far, far away from this town and my family.

As I lay pondering over who would make a good calculus tutor, I was startled by a thunderous crash a short distance away from me.

Whoa! I said out loud. I sat up, listening intently for any resonating aftermath, but heard nothing. At first I thought it may have been one of the enormous forest pines tumbling down, but it was too instantaneous to be a falling tree. The area was so wooded that no tree could fall without bringing down others in its path. In that case, the sound would have been much more elongated and haphazard. Something certainly crashed onto the forest floor, but what natural thing could have made such a sound? Curious, I gathered up my things and set out to investigate.

I walked slowly, detouring around the occasional boulder and kicking forest debris as I went. My eyes, growing more limited in the fading light, saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just the typical forest scene — trees, rocks, bushes, pinecones. Then I heard another noise. This time it was much more subtle but sounded as though something was moving carefully through the foliage. Just as soon as I stopped, it too, stopped.

A wave of fear now replaced my curiosity, and I found myself running as fast as my legs would carry me. I dodged trees and rocks with as much agility and speed as my semi-athletic body could manage. As I ran, my imagination started spinning images of the fanged beast that could be in pursuit. I ran faster at the thought of becoming some wild thing’s dinner. Turning to glance behind me, I somehow managed to catch my blanket in a dead bush. Beads of sweat ran down my face as I tried desperately to pull the blanket from the clinging branches; my shaking hands weren’t helping anything. I heard another sound and reluctantly abandoned the blanket and the precious book that were impeding me. I continued through the woods at a manic pace, not looking back again.

I was soon at my front door, unscathed except for a few scratches on my arms, inflicted by the surrounding foliage. I jerked the screen door open and scurried inside, the door crashing behind me. Hunched over, I panted wildly, unable to catch my breath as panic still pulsed through my body. My ears quickly attuned to the shouting coming from the back of the house. Mom and Dad were at it again. Oddly, I felt a sense of calm return in the familiarity of their voices, even as strained as their tone sounded. I was home…safe.

I took the last box of books that needed re-shelving, certain that at any moment I was going to break into tears. Shirley told me it was because of bad numbers that she was letting me go, though I couldn’t help but take it as a personal slight. She was holding onto one of the other part-time employees, and I’d come here to work long before he had. I did wonder if my excessive tardiness had anything to do with it. But stressing about the reason for my dismissal was fruitless. There was nothing that could be done about that now.

As I searched for the appropriate shelf, my mind reverted back to a few nights before, when I’d heard that strange noise in the forest. I had determined, the day after frantically fleeing the woods, that I would say nothing to anyone about the unusual sound I heard the previous night. I had simply scared myself silly, and I felt foolish enough as it was without having to admit my idiocy to anyone else. I was, however, now mourning the loss of my favorite book and blanket, which I had surrendered in my unnecessary flight home. I had since gone back to try and retrieve my lost treasures, but was unable to find them. I could have dropped them anywhere that night. Curse my stupid imagination!

My mental ramblings were interrupted.

Hello, how can I help you? asked Shirley.

I would like to take these books, a young man said.

Okay. Do you have a library card, dear? Shirley asked.

No, he answered.

Alright, she said, getting up from her squeaky chair. I’ll need you to fill out this form. I heard the filing cabinet open and the rustling of crisp paper. There you are.

My body leaned around the shelf as I tried to get a glance of the young man. I didn’t know every boy in town, but I figured I’d at least recognize his face if he lived here. He had his back to me and was hunched over the checkout desk, the pen unmoving in his hand.

Is there a problem? Shirley asked.

My family is new to the area and I cannot remember my address. The rhythm and inflection of his speech seemed odd, though he didn’t have an accent.

Well, I’m sorry but I can’t let you check out any books until you fill out this form completely.

I understand. Thank you.

He turned and walked out the door, leaving the books on the counter. He left so quickly I only caught a glimpse of his profile, which was completely unfamiliar.

Returning to my work, I shelved the last couple of books and walked over to Shirley’s desk. That was weird.

Yes indeed, she said, the skin between her eyes pinching together in confusion. Well, before you go, do you want to re-shelve these for me? She pushed the boy’s pile of books toward me.

I sighed. Sure.

As I walked around the room to put back the books, I couldn’t help but notice the selections the boy had made. They were all non-fiction. Two of them were about the World Wars, one was a general history book, and the last was a book on astronomy. Whoever he was, if this was a good reflection of his interests, he was either very academic or a complete stick-in-the-mud — maybe both.

When I finished, Shirley sent me off with a sympathetic hug and my last paycheck. On the way home, I noticed a help-wanted sign in the window of Taco Boy, but I didn’t stop. I wasn’t that desperate yet.

Chapter 2

The next couple of weeks passed uneventfully as I waited, impatiently, for school to begin. In the meantime, my mom was determined that Randy get a haircut.

For Pete’s sake, Randy, you’re starting to look like a girl, she nagged. Randy had begun sporting what he described as the cool look and utterly refused to let mom cut the greasy mop on his head. Sometime in the last ten years, Mom had determined to bring in more bacon by opening a small salon in the garage of our home. Mom hadn’t received any professional training in preparation for this moneymaking venture. How hard could it be? It’s just hair, she’d retorted when Dad had tried to dissuade her because of her inexperience. That was yet another battle that Mom had won. Ever since then, she’d been massacring sweet old ladies’ heads throughout the neighborhood.

Capella Margaret, you could do with a trim too, honey. May I?

Mom, you know I haven’t let you near my head with scissors since the sixth grade, I reminded her. Memories of the other kids’ relentless teasing flooded back as I recalled having had a perpetual bad hair day for the six long years of elementary school. I’ll just go downtown to see Patty, okay?

Okay, she whimpered with a rejected expression, trying to make me feel guilty. That face had long since stopped working on me ever since I realized a decent haircut did wonders for my appearance. Besides that, whenever she called me Capella, a bit of resentment always crept in. Capella was my Italian great-grandmother’s name on my mom’s side. Supposedly she was this really spunky woman, but I’d rather have just been named something normal like Jenny or Katie. Finally, after years of people butchering the pronunciation, I started going by my middle name, Margaret, which became Maggie by default.

After hearing a few more guilt-inspiring remarks from my mom, I decided it was time to head down the road to see Patty, my hairdresser and savior for the past several years.

See you later, Mom, I called out as I walked through the whiny screen door. It was in desperate need of some WD-40.

As I walked the several blocks toward Main Street, my thoughts wandered to my unlikely friend, Patricia Felix, or Patty as she preferred to be called. She was what you might call my self-deemed godmother, though she wasn’t anything particularly special to most. She was plain looking, pear shaped, and a bit of redneck. But over the last few years she’d become a great mentor and friend. I originally went to her to reconcile the uneven mess on my head. We became fast friends as I continued to go back for routine haircuts.

Not only did Patty work a small miracle by transforming my butch cut into a suave salon masterpiece, but I was immediately drawn to Patty’s happy countenance and perkiness. She rarely talked of herself, but seemed to have ears to hear about every part of my small life. We talked about home and school and just about everything in between. Patty had been divorced herself and was unwaveringly empathetic about the difficulties besetting my parents. However, she was amazingly positive about marriage and the importance of keeping it together, which I found astonishing. In watching my parents’ marriage fizzle, I’d become love’s biggest cynic. The idea of true love was little more than fiction to me.

My train of thought was quickly interrupted when I realized that I’d already reached Clippers. Opening the door to the small salon, I heard the chime of Patty’s cheery voice from the back.

Well hello there, stranger, Patty spoke with a forced western drawl. Haven’t seen you ‘round these parts for months.

I know, Pat. Shame on me.

I moved past the familiar faces of the other hairdressers toward Patty, the smell of hairspray and spearmint gum suddenly filling my nostrils. Aromatherapy. It was the scent of familiarity and it put me at ease.

You got your hair cut! I said in surprise. Her once-long hair that was generally pulled back in a ponytail had been chopped to a stylish bob.

I know, I know. Her plump cheeks pinked in embarrassment. The girls insisted that I needed a change. Whenever she said the girls, she was always referring to her two daughters that both lived in Arizona, much to Patty’s dismay.

I plopped myself down in front of her. Work your magic, I said with a smile.

So what can I do for ya today, honey? Do you wanna try something different for the new school year? Ya know we could try some color. Oh my, you would be a gorgeous blonde, she chirped. You’d break hearts everywhere you went, you with your peach complexion and petite figure.

Tempting, but I think I’ll pass. If only I had the appetite for man-eating, I smirked. Besides that, you know I don’t have the money to pay for a color and cut.

Don’t worry about the cost, Maggie. Patty rarely ever charged me full price for her services, against my wishes. I’d often tried to sneak money into her purse when she wasn’t looking, but experience had convinced me that the woman had eyes on all sides of her head.

I won’t have that, Pat. Thanks though. Let’s just trim up the dry ends.

Okay, honey. But ya know we really could have some fun. How ‘bout some highlights?

Patty!

Fine, fine. Have it your way, she whined.

Patty must have sensed that I was in no mood to talk about my woes today so she spent the rest of the time updating me on her grandchildren, all the while carefully cutting away at my auburn tresses. She finished up, snipping here and there, always determined to produce nothing short of hair perfection.

Thanks so much, Patty. You’re the best!

I’m here to be used, she said with a smile, a phrase I’d heard her repeat dozens of times.

I left her with some cash, a squeeze, and a promise that I would come in soon and tell her my latest news about school. I felt rejuvenated and anxious to start back into the world of academia. Something inside of me said things were going to be different this coming year, but I didn’t have any idea why. Waving a final goodbye to Patty, I pushed out the glass door and felt a whoosh of crisp fall air brush across my face. The weather was changing.

Get up, Maggie! You’re going to be late, Mom yelled up the stairs. Opening my eyes, I squinted at my alarm clock, which apparently didn’t go off. My vision adjusted, and as soon as I saw the red numbers flashing 7:14, I whipped my covers off and sprinted to the bathroom.

Crap, crap, crap!