Chapter 2: Avian (three months earlier)
“Avian Giovanni, there is no reason for you to be failing my class!” Mr. Symianidius yelled. He was so frustrated by my calm that, if he hadn’t been trying to look remotely professional, he would have been tearing his hair out in a second, rolling on the floor, and crying from an overload of mental anxiety…..now THAT would have been an impressive sight to see; Mr. “Hard-knock” Symianidius, blubbering all over the old linoleum floor of his classroom like a little baby.
“Avian, you have so much potential! Why can’t you see that?” oh, great, here we go again with the whole, age-old “So Much Potential” speech. Honestly, I think teachers get paid mainly for the purpose of giving that old cliché; That’s all they’ve ever given to me, and I’ve been to dozens of schools across the country. They’re all the same.
I leaned back on my chair and waited for him to finish. I really didn’t know how much it really mattered if I failed English; I’d be moving again soon anyway. Who cared? Because I sure didn’t!
I was soon on my way home, cheered slightly by the fact that Mr. Cliché was now crying his eyes out in that classroom. But what I really wanted was to be back in my garage, up to my elbows in oil and dirt, and the smell of fresh paint in the air. Yes, I do have strange cravings for a sixteen-year-old girl, but you have to understand that I am anything BUT an ordinary teenager. It was a good thing, too, or I would have been killed a long time ago.
As I walked into the front hall, I was greeted to the sound of my mom and little sister screaming at each other in the kitchen. I couldn’t help but tune in to what they were saying, curious to know what their most recent fight was about.
“Don’t give me that crap, Hamilton Giovanni, I heard you say it!” My loving mother yelled at my thirteen-year-old sister, Hamilton.
“So what if I called you a biotch? EVERYONE was calling you a biotch when you were off the anti-depressants!” Hami hollered back, somehow managing to shriek it all out in one breath. I would never know how she did it, but that’s Hami for you. Once a loud brat, always a loud brat.
My small family was quite prone to loud arguments; The neighbour had once filed a police report on us for noise pollution. No need to tell you that we moved soon after that little incident.
Umm, I should probably explain my sister’s name, Hamilton. You’re probably thinking, “Wait, isn’t that a boy’s name?”. Well, really, it is, but don’t tell that to Hami; If you do, your nose will most likely never be the same again.
You see, My grandpa’s name was Hamilton, and right before he died, he made my mom promise him that, if she ever had a boy, she would name him Hamilton. Well, as it turned out, after my sister was born, my mother was told that she couldn’t have any more kids. And, wanting to honour Grampy’s last wishes, she named her Hamilton, much to her eternal embarrassment. Poor Hami. Mind you, I can’t really feel sorry for her; I mean, really, Avian? Could you GET any more lame? Oh, well. It’s still better than Hamilton.
My rather loud entrance was muffled by the noise from the other room, and I managed to make it to the garage without detection. Ah, my sanctuary.
I love cars. My dad was a mechanic, and had taught me how to change the oil in most types of cars when I was little. By the time I was ten, I knew almost more than he did. But you would think that, after what happened to my dad, I would be terrified to be anywhere near a car. And that’s partially true; I still refuse to drive, and won’t look out the window at any point during a car ride. But just working on them doesn’t bother me.
I had only been in the garage a few minutes, bent over my math on the work bench, when Hami burst through the door. She slammed the door behind her, and jumped onto the bench. Hami had never found the comfort in this room that I had, but that had never stopped her from coming in here when I wanted “alone time”. In this house, saying that you wanted to be alone was practically like asking my sister and mother to come and annoy me.
She pulled her feet up to her chest and hugged them like they were a security blanket. Her dark red hair made her face seem even more red. I realized that her feet were bare, something that she knew that she wasn’t supposed to do in the garage; Mom was afraid that she’d step on a nail, or something. I didn’t bother telling her that I didn’t leave things lying around, much less even use nails.
Hami glanced at the cardboard boxes that lined wall. Most of my tools were in there, the same ones that usually lined the hooks on the wall.
“We’re moving again,” she deduced. It wasn’t a question, just a simple statement. “It’s because of them, isn’t it?” I nodded twice, and her hand flew to the thick silver chain that ran around her neck. An identical one hung from my own, but I kept it hidden under my shirt; letting it show was worse for us than sending up a flare for the blood-suckers. And they were trying to kill me enough without giving them another reason to.
“Well, um….I am. You’re staying here with mom,” I said carefully. As I said before, Hami isn’t above throwing a tantrum when she’s mad. But I think this was worse. She just stared at me like I had suddenly grown an extra eye. And what she said was worse than any look she ever could have given me.
“So….you’re abandoning me.” Again, no question, just a statement.
I stared at her. And then I punched her shoulder. “Oh course not, dope. This is going to be brilliant, though! I’ll be going somewhere the leaches will never think to look for me, and I won’t be here to put you in danger! We kill two birds with one stone!”
She made a face. “And why would I want to kill birds? Besides, won’t they just come after me?” I ignored her logic, and walked over to my mom’s car. She was paying me to give it a tune-up. Hami took this to be the end of the conversation, and left.
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