Fated

How’d that song go again—something about strength, perception, and giving direction ? Maybe you should sing it for us?” Her dark eyes flash on mine as her friends fall all over themselves, laughing hysterically into their hands.
    I start to walk away, only to have her slip right before me, and say, “Seriously.” She nods, smiling like she means it. “We’d really like to hear it. So go ahead—sing your psycho song.”
    My hands curl to fists. She’s mocking the mountainsong. Has no idea how much power it holds—how much power I hold. I could crush her in ways she couldn’t begin to imagine. Or, at the very least, humiliate her in a way she’d never live down.
    But I can’t.
    Won’t.
    Paloma warned me about that. Said I had to use my skill for the greater good—to not squander my powers on protecting my ego.
    I try to move around them, but they move right along with me. Their arms linked together in an impenetrable wall of designer knockoff jeans, padded bras, and pop-star perfume. Still, as much as I make fun of them in my head, the actual effect is far more intimidating than the big iron gate that surrounds the school grounds. Without the use of my magick, I’m no match for them. I have no idea how to deal with this. No idea how to get out of this.
    “How’d you get to school?” one of them says, the one on the right with the glossy pink lips. “Is your horse parked out front?” She laughs well before the joke is out, which kind of ruins the timing. Still, her eyes flick toward the girl in the middle, seeking her approval, as I stand there and stare, telling myself that they’re silly and stupid and not worth my wrath. But even though I know it to be true, the crowd of students growing around us pretty much deletes all that.
    They press closer, everyone wanting to get a better view of the kind of new-girl hazing they don’t get to see every day—every last one of them relieved that it’s me and not them. The sheer size of the audience encouraging the girl in the middle to speak up again, voice rising when she says, “Clearly nobody told you we don’t allow psycho girls at this school. So maybe you should go back to your mental ward.”
    I swallow hard. Tell myself to let it go, to not make it any worse than it already is—but discard that thought just as quickly. It’s better to nip it right now. Let them know I’m not one to be messed with. My silence will only encourage them to stalk me until graduation.
    Despite a lifetime of being told to remain unobtrusive, in this case I’ve already failed. I’ve been spotted, picked out of the crowd, so there’s really no point in acting submissive.
    “No psychos?” My eyes dart among them, until I settle on the ringleader and take a step toward her. “Then how do you explain yourself? Did they bend the rules for you ?”
    Her eyes bulge. Her face burns with rage. As her sidekicks stand mutely beside her, too shocked to react, or at least not right away.
    She steps toward me, face scrunched and feral, but I remain in my place, staring her down and keeping my cool.
    She has no idea who I am. Has no idea what I’m capable of, the kind of magick I’ve been practicing since I completed my vision quest. A verbal insult is nothing. She’s getting off easy.
    With her face just inches from mine, so close I can just make out the circle of pink, unhealed skin surrounding her Marilyn piercing, she reaches for my shoulder, presumably to give me a nice good shove—start a fight she cannot, will not, win—when he appears, masquerading in his favorite role as the noble white knight on a mission to save me.
    “These girls messing with you?” He stops the girl from going any further by sliding his arm tightly around her and pulling her close to his side, the move instantly subduing her to silence. His gaze fixed on mine when he adds, “Or, maybe it’s the other way around—you bothering them?” He throws his head back and laughs, the sound so alluring, so magnetic, it causes the girls to forget about me and train their focus on him. “Sorry you got off to a rough start.” He smiles. Extends his right hand. “Maybe I can make up for it. We’ve met a few times already, I know, but never formally, so now’s my big chance—I’m Cade. Cade Richter.”
    His hand hovers before me, but I make no move to take it, no move to acknowledge it. “I know exactly who you are,” I tell him, noting the way his lip twitches with delight, as his gaze