Cassandra 1

         Cassandra watched the sun set from her Pasadena townhouse rooftop, and felt a sense of calm finally wash over her. She sat up, pulling her knees to her chest and holding them there. Breathing in the crisp, fresh air the night brought, she smiled. Sirens sounded a few blocks away, car horns beeped loudly, dogs barked at the rising moon. This is my Cali, she thought. Busy; everyone is always busy. Except for me. She grinned to herself.
         No one knew her yet; no one understood her. It had been the same way with all of the other schools she’d been to in the past four years. They’d come up with their own opinions of her judging by the way she walked, talked, and dressed; then they’d come up with strange stories about her that would “explain everything”. Cassandra thought the entire concept was laughable. No one had the guts to just walk up to her and ask her about herself. But even if someone did come up and talk to her, she had no idea what she would say or do. By far not a people-person, Cassandra didn’t communicate very often with people. Why even try talking to people when I know I won’t be here for more than a few months? She thought bitterly to herself.
         Cassandra had lived in California for almost a year, but in a different city—San Francisco. Before that she’d lived all over the country, and the world. Every year it was a different state or country; ever since she was 12 years old. She’d lived in Romania, Ireland, Italy, Egypt, and then had also spent two years living in the states along the East Coast of the U.S.A. It was different being on the West Coast. It was nice; Cassandra loved it. But it was nothing compared to Bucharest.
         “Cassie!” Her mother called from the grass. “What are you doing up there?” Then, without waiting for her reply, “Get down here and do your homework!”       
         “My name is not Cassie!” She hated it when her mother barked at her with that stupid pet-name. It was ridiculous; if her mother had wanted to name her Cassie, then she should have skipped out on Cassandra and just put Cassie on the birth certificate.
         “Cassandra Louise Porter, get down here right now and do your homework or I’ll take all of your books!” Her mother shouted. That hit Cassandra hard; her books were her life. She slid down to the edge of the roof, and jumped off, landing on her feet. Her mother squealed.
         “What is wrong with you? How did you get up there? You could have fallen!” Her mother held a terrified, yet angry expression on her face. Her long, straight blond hair was blowing with the wind, and several strands were in her face. However, she didn’t seem to notice, because her piercing blue eyes bore directly into Cassandra’s.
         “I just climbed up mom. Don’t worry. Obviously, I didn’t fall.” Cassandra looked nothing like her mother, so she assumed she had her father’s features. She had wavy black hair that shone like silk, and reached the small of her back. She never put it up though; she loved to watch it fall in front of her face, to feel it. It was natural, and real. Then she had green eyes, too, not blue. And her eyes were large, unlike her mother’s smaller ones.
         “But you could have slipped, young lady. Don’t do that ever again!” Her mother did seem truly upset, but Cassandra just couldn’t understand why. Her mom did what she wanted and dragged her along; she didn’t do anything for her.
         “Fine.” Cassandra pushed past her mother and went back inside the house. She walked swiftly to her room, and went to her window. Pulling back the curtains, she watched the stars come out to play with the moon. The sun had nearly completely set now, and the moon was lighting up the sky.
         Homework. Yeah right. she thought. No way am I doing that. There's no point. Nothing that pathetic Chemistry teacher could show her would help her into adulthood. He was stupid, and had probably spent his whole life in that box. Mr. Gales wore his class ring all the time, and the Pasadena High school mascot was etched into the center stone. He'd graduated there, gone to college nearby, then come back to teach there.
         Before she sat down on the window bench, she retrieved her latest book from her shelf. It was A Silver Kiss by Annette Curtis Klause. A vampire was currently telling a depressed human girl his life story, or technically, his death story. It wasn’t a bad novel, but it was by far not her favorite by this author yet.
         She read until her eyes began to ache; after about three chapters. She looked outside into the night, saw the stars above gleaming. They were so beautiful, and so far away. She sighed, then marked her place in her book, setting it back on the shelf.
         Turning on the light, she waited a moment for her eyes to adjust.
         “Whoa.” She whispered. She could hear Mr. Crowley next door, snoring. He was nearly eighty, and she thought he should definitely be put in a home by now. He couldn’t walk, so he was in a wheel-chair, and he had to carry around an I.V. 24/7.
         She opened her door, and looked out into the hallway. The television was off, and no music was playing in her mom’s bedroom, so she guessed she had already gone to sleep. Slowly she crept out of her room, and with the prudence of a burglar, she made her way to the kitchen.
         Quietly, she opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the pizza box. She grabbed a slice of Meat-lover’s stuffed-crust and slid the box back into the fridge, then closed the door.
         “Yum.” She whispered before taking a bite. Cold pizza was the best pizza ever; there was no doubt about it in her mind. Sure, hot pizza was good, but nothing could hold a candle to the taste and texture of pizza after spending three hours in the fridge.
         Just as stealthily as she had entered the kitchen, she exited it, and entered her bedroom. She softly closed her door behind her, then went back to sit on the window bench. She finished off her pizza, the only light being that of the moon and stars shining through the glass.
         After her pizza was gone, she silently opened her window and climbed out. With the ease of a cat, she climbed the oak tree that stood in front of her room. She imagined it had been there for at least a hundred years, what with its large branches that could hold approximately two hundred pounds, and its trunk large enough for two people's arm-lengths to go around.
         She swung herself up from her usual branch and onto the roof. She landed with just the lightest thud as her Chucks hit the shingles. Watching every step she took, she made her way to the center of the roof. She lay down on her back and gazed at the twinkling stars above. A strand of her hair was dancing inches in front of her face, just itching to fly with the wind. She ran her fingers through her hair and whispered, "Why didn't you want to know me?" It was said to her father even though she knew he wouldn't hear her. He had disappeared sometime when she was in her mother's womb.
         Once, when she was around six years old, she'd asked her mother where daddy was. The only reply she received was, "He's not here." and a door slammed in her face. She hadn't dared ask again.
         "I want to know you." Said a voice whose owner she couldn't see. It startled her, and she bolted upright. Within seconds, a face popped up from her branch, from her tree.
         The dark-haired teenager pulled himself up and onto the roof, sliding until he was just a few inches away from her. The moonlight lit his features, and she recognized his curly locks and chocolate eyes. His name was Nick, and he was pretty much the class burn-out. He was late for almost every class, (Cassandra knew because she had all but Government with him.) he came to school high at least once a month, partied every weekend, drove a beat-up Volkswagen Beetle, and wore his hair in a pony-tail. His hair is almost as long as mine. She thought. But what was he doing here, attempting to talk to her?
         "I'm Nick." He said, offering his hand for her to shake. His fingers were long, the type fit for piano or guitar players, and he wore rings on every finger; each with a different symbol. Most were ones she recognized: one was a gold banded pentagram; another was black with a platinum skull; then there was a class ring on his middle finger with a blood-red stone with a peace-sign in-laid in the center; on his ring finger he wore a plain silver band, then on his pinky he sported a band with an intricate silver cross. She wondered if he was gay, wearing all that jewelry, but then she looked into his eyes and realized that there was no way he was gay, his eyes were every bit as masculine as the captain of the football team's, and they had a strange look about them: both tiredness and laughter hidden in their dark mystery.
         "Cassandra." She said, not taking his hand, and looking ahead at the neighbor's completely un-fascinating front lawn instead so she wouldn't have to look him in the eye anymore.
         He pulled his hand back and clasped his hands in his lap.
         "Who were you talking to?" He asked her, looking in the same direction that she was.
         "Nobody." She said pointedly.
         "Well you had to have been talking to somebody. I mean, the words came out of your mouth, so you obviously wanted someone to hear you. Therefore, you were talking to someone. It could have been yourself, a stranger passing by, or the wind, or the tree, or a bug,--"
         "My father." She said, resigned. She didn't want him to continue blabbering, more wanting him to shut up and leave her alone.
         "I see. Where is he?"
         "Not here." She answered coldly; the same way her mother had answered her all those years ago, simply without the slamming door.
         "My mom left when I was six." He whispered.
         "Why are you here?" She asked outright, facing him. Why was he trying to relate to her? What made him think she cared? Why did he care?
         "I've seen you around school. You're weird-- not like everyone else." He shrugged as he spoke.
         "I suppose that's meant as a compliment?"
         "Yeah, it is."
         Silently she pondered this. He thought she was weird...Well, he was right. She had to give him that. She wasn't like anyone else by any means.
         He was just barely scraping the surface of how weird she really was.
         "So, where are you from?" He asked, still not taking the hint that she was apathetic as to whether or not they talked.
         She couldn't trust him. Her senses were tingling, telling her to keep her guard up. This was not someone she wanted to befriend, or spill her life story out to. He'd conned her into telling him she was just talking to her father. He'd made the deduction that her father had left. He was too smart; he was devious, coy. Nick was dangerous. To everything she was, and wanted to live to be.
         "Not here." She said.
         "Obviously. Why are you hiding?" He asked bluntly.
         "Excuse me?" She asked, shocked at his audacity. "I'm not hiding." She muttered defensively.
         "You don't talk to anyone at school. You don't even look up at people in the hallway. You rush to class, only to sit there, staring around the room. You speak so softly that even the teachers who enjoy torturing shy students don't even call on you anymore. Don't try to deny it. You're hiding."
         Now she was absolutely dumbfounded. She had no idea that anyone observed the world like she, and yet, he had managed to analyze her every day without her knowledge. It was a strange phenomena to her- something she'd never experienced before. She wasn't sure whether she liked this feeling or not.
         "I mean, hell," He continued, "I'm the school hippie; nobody really gives a shit about what I have to say, but I still talk to people."
         A hippie. So that was what he called himself. The idea made her want to laugh. He was a burn out, nothing more, nothing less.
         "I won't be here for long. I'm better off alone." She surrendered to telling him that much. With that, she leaped off the roof, landing on her feet just as she had before. Looking up, she could see the awed expression on Nick's face. She swung herself into her room through her still opened window, then shut it, not caring if Nick made it down from her roof or not.
         Swiftly she closed the drapes, and let her eyes adjust to the complete and total darkness that engulfed her bedroom. She untied her high-tops, then kicked them off. Lazily, she sat down on her bed to undress. Then she pulled on her over-sized t-shirt that she usually wore to sleep in. She clicked her lava-lamp alarm clock on, and watched the red globs move up and down in strange shapes until finally she had the sweet escape from life, and entered a dreamy sleep.