Lark awakening Read online

  Lark awakening

  L. K. Beal

  Editor Eileen Troemel

  Cover Dream covers by K&L

  Interior formatting Trice Ellis

  Copyright © 2021 by L. K. Beal

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  First edition

  I'd like to dedicate this book to my husband & my son. You're my food provider, my shower reminder, the reason I get up every day, all the love in my heart Thank you for not unaliving me… yet. xoxo

  “You never know how strong you are, until being strong is your only choice.”

  Bob Marley

  Contents

  Monday Blues

  Too school for cool

  New boys

  No meat for newbs

  Nothing to wear despair

  Slow dance with an implant

  Tuesday

  School delight

  The days fly by

  Monday - Third wheel, much?

  Meet the folks

  Fitting in

  Monday, again!

  If you go down to the woods today

  Death by teeth

  Waking up

  Tuesday movies

  You can't catch me, I'm the massive wolf intent on eating you

  Friday - Catch and Patch

  Monday Funday, not

  Lava and ice

  Humpday is officially the worst

  How it ends

  Awake but not

  Blessing moon

  Free as a bird in a box

  White paws and ambulance rides

  Doctor's orders

  Girl things and bats

  Sunday funday

  Moving in

  Sub zero

  Time to say goodbye

  Nightmare on Third street

  The enemy of my enemy

  The whole nine yards

  Home sweet deceit

  Mates and answers

  The morning of the beginning of the end

  The truth will out

  Hell in a handbasket

  Rest in peace, Lark

  The prom

  More by L. K. Beal

  Monday Blues

  "Daddy?" I bite my bottom lip and smile up at my dad. The morning newspaper is spread out on the table in front of him, his nose practically touching it as he squints to see the words. He refuses to get them tested, I guess I get my determination from him. Light streams through the window beside me, warming my skin, highlighting the dust motes in the air. It's your typical not so typical Monday morning.

  "Yes, Cupcake?" He replies without looking up, his finger tracing the lines of writing so he doesn't lose his place. I bite my lip to suppress the smile threatening to reveal I'm up to no good.

  "Can Jenna come here after school today? We've got a big project due tomorrow, we need to get it finished." My smile fades when dad looks up at me, his grey eyebrows raised, his finger frozen mid sentence.

  "You left a project until the last minute?" He sits up straight, rubs a hand across his beard, leaving behind a smudge of ink on his cheek. He frowns at me. I swallow hard.

  "Ah huh," I twist the material of my ever-present hoodie around my finger, unable to meet his eyes. He'll see right through me if I look.

  "Hmm," I feel, rather than see his eyes narrow, assessing whether I'm telling the truth or not.

  "Are you sure, because that's not like you, Cupcake?" The newspaper crinkles loudly as he folds it back up, putting it aside, setting his unwavering gaze on me.

  The little hairs on the back of my neck stand up, I suppress a shudder. The fact I'm lying to my dad makes me uncomfortable, but there are very rare occasions when you just have to do it. This is one of them. He wouldn't approve of the plans Jenna and I have for tonight. So I gather what little bravery I have then lie some more.

  "Um, yeah, I mean, it's almost finished, we just need to finalise the stuff - I mean it won't take long." My hands shake on the table, as I look up, dad's eyes flick down. Quickly, I thrust my hands under the table and conjure up a small, but very fake, smile. I might be seventeen, almost eighteen, but I still make a point to ask my dad if a friend can come over. It's just polite. But lying doesn't come naturally to me.

  "Ok, but you'll have to feed yourselves, I have a meeting with Tim at six." He rises from his chair, the wood is worn and chipped from years of use but he refuses to throw them out because 'mom bought them', "I'll leave money for pizza and ice cream."

  He adds when my smile fades and is replaced with a frown. I look up at him, because I know he thinks him not being here has made me sad when really, it's the mention of mom that did it. Every time he uses the excuse of 'mom bought it' or 'your mom loved this' as a reason to keep something, my heart starts to feel heavy and sadness settles over me like a dark cloud. The house is full of things that should remind me of her, but don't. Mainly because I was only four when she died so I don't remember her but to him, everything is a memory of the love of his life that he lost so suddenly. To me, they're just old things and that makes me feel bad for forgetting what her face looks like.

  "Ok, but make it a big pizza because I'm starving." I try to sound cheerful, even being a little dramatic as I throw my arms out to indicate how big I want the pizza to be, but to my ears, it sounds fake. Dad, well, he falls for it because he drops some notes on the table and kisses the top of my head.

  "Make sure you leave me a slice, Tim can't cook worth a dime and Emma won't be there."

  "I can't promise that," I giggle when he pretends to be offended with a gasp. "We're gonna be late, dad." I roll my eyes and stand up too, my chair creaking as I do. The thing is on its last legs. Literally. I'm pretty sure it's held together with duct tape.

  "Um, Cupcake and remember," he reaches out and snatches a blueberry muffin from my uneaten breakfast, "you'll never -"

  "Be a brain box unless you eat your three square meals a day, I know, dad but it's not like I do it every day." I finish the saying he always repeats when I don't finish a meal while pointing out I normally eat a big breakfast. The man just loves clean plates and full bellies. It's a thing.

  "Yeah, and don't even think about making it a habit. You kids and your obsession with looking like you're starving." He shuffles down the hall, his wide shoulders and over six foot height cast me in deep shadow as I walk behind him.

  "I'm naturally thin." I point out while grabbing my coat.

  "There are kids all over the world that would love to have an amazing dad like you have who makes the best lunches for school." He gripes as he picks up his keys from the chipped bowl on the antique dresser in the hall. More of mom's 'favourites'.

  "Sure, dad, every kid wants panda-shaped ham in crustless sandwiches at seventeen." I point out as I hand him his coat. He frowns slightly at my offering but takes it anyway. It's not raining or cold right now, but it will be later. I feel it in my bones.

  "What's wrong with panda ham?" He raises a brow, his light grey eyes boring into mine as he slips his jacket on.

  "Nothing, nothing, except, I'm not five anymore?" I giggle as he unlocks the front door then steps out into the warm sunshine. He raises his face to the sun like he does every morning.

  "Your room sure looks like you're five." He points an accusing finger at me while blinking the sun from his eyes.

  "It's organised chaos, I know where everything is," I claim, even though we both know there could be twenty cats in there and I wouldn't even know. Heck, there could be an elephant under the stacks of books and I would be none the
wiser.

  "Pfft, yeah, and your uncle Sam is Santa." He replies. Uncle Sam is a thief, a very rich and mean thief at that. He wouldn't give you a penny even if your life depended on it. We laugh, the idea completely opposite of the man himself. Grabbing my pack from the stand in the hall, I follow dad outside and lock the door behind me, slipping my key into the front pocket of my bag.

  "See you tonight!" I yell as I climb onto my bike and pull on my helmet. Dad mumbles something I don't catch because my helmet is more of a motorbike helmet than one for a peddle bike like mine. But 'safety before fashion' is dad's motto. I only narrowly avoided having to wear full leathers because they don't make them my size. Waving over my shoulder, I set off towards school, the summer sun beating down on my coat covered body.

  With the beautiful weather and the morning being filled with giggles and fun, you'd think this was going to be a great day, but you're wrong and so was I as I walked into school a little while later with a pep in my step. Boy, was I wrong.

  Too school for cool

  * * *

  "Holy Spirit, could her hair be grosser, I mean, look at it, it looks like bits of string." Marnie Fletcher whisper-yells to one of the girls surrounding her. She sets her evil eyes on me as I walk past, pretending I don't hear their taunts. My hair hangs loosely around my face, wet from the rain that started to drizzle from the sky just as I made it to school.

  "Ew! Doesn't she ever wash it?" The girl replies, her pretty face scrunched up in disgust. I blink at the group, The Saints as I call them and continue on my way to class. Just looking at them is an invitation to pick me apart some more.

  "Does she live in the woods? The last I heard, she was being raised by wolves." Another just as nasty girl adds her opinion to the pile. At the door to my first class, I look up at the cross above it and internally curse God for making girls like The Saints. Despite this being a religious school, I can't say I believe the things they're teaching us, not when girls like Marnie get away with the stuff she does and the rest of the evil that saturates this world. That girl is the devil incarnate, I swear.

  Ignoring their jibes, I walk into class with my head held high. I mean, they only have power over me if I give it to them, and I refuse to be their victim no matter how hard they try. Since we started high school, The Saints have made it their mission to make sure I know my place in the small town of Sidney, Hibiscus just off the coast of Farside. It's a small town, you know the type, everyone knows your name, height, weight and shoe size, what you ate for breakfast. There isn't much to do in Sidney, only a few shops and one restaurant, so gossip is the staple of their lives. We are surrounded by sprawling forests and lakes, a few taller-than-hills-but-not-quite-mountains here and there, cut off from the modern world, we don't even have a cinema, but we do have a huge church. The people in this town know your business before you do. Marnie and her crew just thrive off people like me. Those who are different. Not that I blame them since I'm a walking, talking cliche, just like them.

  My hair is long and blonde with clip in purple streaks for added 'goth effect' as my dad calls it. My clothes are all black with band names no one my age has ever heard of, and my eyes are rimmed in black eyeliner. My bag is crammed full of books that most of my teachers haven't even read and my thirst for knowledge makes me a target. Nothing screams 'bully me' like a nerdy goth girl who lives with her single dad.

  I digress. I gotta be me, ya know? I couldn't be a Saint. Gosh no, I'd rather walk around looking like I have two bushy caterpillars on my face than pluck my eyebrows, I'd wear a neon green onesie rather than wear skirts. No thank you, I'd rather not. My status as a nerd is cemented when I open my textbook as soon as I take my seat and begin reading before the teacher even walks into class.

  "Hey, homeless girl, what's with the panda eyes, did someone punch you for your cardboard box?" Trent Richards yells as he strolls into the room followed by his flock of sheep, I mean, hockey buddies. They laugh, like what Trent just said was the most hilarious thing ever, even though he says it every-single-day! Or some variation of the same jibe. I roll my eyes as they high five their leader and then sit on tables, tossing a puck between them. For the next five minutes, they leave me alone, talking loudly about who got to kiss Marnie last night (it was Trent, again) as I speed my way through today's lesson plan. The French Revolution won't teach itself, you know and our teacher Cameron isn't exactly the best there is, especially since he's a drama teacher on loan while Mrs Trinkfeed is off sick.

  The rest of the students pile into the room and take their seats, I don't look up until my one and only friend Jenna Patch walks in.

  "Huh, Mr I-have-no-idea-what-I'm-doing isn't here yet?" Jenna asks as she takes the empty seat next to mine, where she always sits. I quickly read the last sentence of the chapter and then look up at her with a smile. Her vivid ginger hair is all over the place as usual and the green oversized sweatshirt she wears clashes with it, making me squint at her. The bright pink leggings and builders boots complete her look which she has lovingly dubbed the ‘IDGAF look’

  "Nope, maybe you should teach us today?" I laugh which earns me a scowl from Marnie who watches me from the corner of the room. The contrast between Jenna and Marnie is astounding. Whereas Jenna is all bright colours and cheerful personality, Marnie is designer clothes in muted colours that compliment her tanned skin and death stare at anyone she doesn't like - kinda girl. I raise one bushy brow at Marnie, to which she scoffs and says something to The Saints, who then all turn to stare at me with laser beam eyes.

  "Ha, these idiots wouldn't know what I was talking about, let alone pay attention to me. But one can dream, right?" She wiggles into her seat, frowning when it takes a little more wiggling than it did before the holiday period, waiting for me to answer. Finally, she gets in her seat with a huff. Christmas is hard on everyone's waistline.

  "Totally, you'd make a great teacher, Jenna," I reply, turning away from Marnie and giving my friend my full attention.

  Jenna primps under my complement, a slight pink colouring to her cheeks as she flicks her wild hair behind her back.

  "Just seven more months, Lark, and then I am out of here!" Jenna whispers excitedly.

  "Lucky you," I grumble. My dad would just about expire if I said I wanted to attend a college which isn't within a thirty-minute drive. Jenna plans to go to Granger university which means she'll be six hours away by car. I couldn't do that to my dad. I'm all he's got. Nope, I'll stay here in this town where everyone is super nosey and mean. Yay.

  "You should go," she begins to unpack her backpack while we wait for Mr substitute teacher to finally arrive. "You know Avery Song graduated from there, right? All the most popular writers went to Granger."

  "Oh, of course, I can just see the announcement on their website now, 'Lark Fitzgerald, author of such books as How to not have friends and What depression looks like in teens, just great." I shrug and pull my hood over my hair, trying to escape the world around me as if talking about hopes and dreams will bring the wrath of teenage girls down on me.

  "I'm your friend," Jenna says quietly. I look up at her, a genuine smile on my face.

  "Yes, you are, and I'll like you for that always."

  "Aw, shucks, Lark, that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me!" Tears glisten in her eyes and for a moment, I think she is going to start crying but she fans her face dramatically and looks at the ceiling. "Ok, enough with the girly granola, let's talk about the good stuff. Tonight-" she stops mid-sentence and quickly turns to the left, looking over my shoulder, "Jeff is staring at you again."

  I wince and slide down in my seat some more. Jeffrey London is my childhood sweetheart, well, I'm his, not the other way around really. We've been friends since we were kids, the only person within a million miles who knows I love My Little Pony and singing even if I am way off key. We have the same tastes in music and reading. We got along really well until puberty hit him. Then it turned into something I am ashamed to say made me back away. I just don't
like boys. It's as simple as that. For the longest time, I thought I was gay, not a single guy or girl has piqued my interest, not even for a second and that made me question a lot of things. But I don't find girls attractive, either. Well, I find them beautiful, and some boys handsome. I can appreciate a person's outer beauty but it goes no deeper. Then I thought maybe I just didn't work that way, neither sex had what I wanted or needed. Not that I know what those things are, but - you understand, right? So Jeff's attention is unwanted but telling him is easier said than done when I didn't and still don't understand it myself.

  More than once The Saints used my friendship with Jeff to taunt me to the point where I stopped hanging out with him on weekends and during the holidays. But that didn't stop Jeff from continuing his obvious obsession with me. Like right now.

  Suddenly by my side, I jump as Jeff speaks. "Hey, Lars."

  "Holy canola!" I yelp as my hood falls back. "You scared me." I peer at him through my eyelashes, trying not to give him the excuse to take the empty seat next to me and strike up a conversation. He does anyway. Jenna raises her brows at me and then conveniently gets a text and turns to read it.