The Tiff Singularity (A Collection of Lake Wonder Fiction)

Esther Gets Her Chosen On

Humid air hits her skin just outside the portable just like it always does. It's not the humidity that's the issue. It's not the way the sun beats through the black pantyhose and dark blue skirt of her uniform, either. It's something else. She isn't sure what. Whatever it is, the air is electric and thick with it.

Esther Cain looks the same as she always does: uniform pressed into her body from all the sweat and humidity; black Mary Jane-esque shoes shining like the puddles in the asphalt; skirt rolled up a bit at the top so it doesn't hit her knees in the way she hates; brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail that is, now that it's an hour or two after the end of the school day, falling apart into a wispy mess; face set in a neutral sort of smile, pleasant enough that it makes people like her. It's an image cultivated carefully, snipped at with a gentle apathy, and left to bake in the near-constant central Florida sun.

Staying after to help with the math lab (and receive help in turn with advanced physics in turn) is par for the course for her. She likes math and science. They make sense. They certainly make more sense than the Bible she keeps in the bottom of her backpack or the general off-ness of the afternoon.

She first noticed it after she got out of her sixth-period class, on her way to seventh out in the third portable from the back cafeteria door. AP Calculus BC should have been on her mind. Instead, her skin was crawling and she felt like death was breathing down her neck. It hasn't gotten better.

But she can pretend nothing's wrong. She's very good at pretending that. It's the default state these days, and it has been for a long time.

She ruminates on it while she walks to her car. It's alone in the lot. Most of the people in the lab at this time of day are freshmen who get picked up by their moms and seniors who park elsewhere, so that makes sense to her.

Things have been odd lately-- more odd than this afternoon. Ruth, her younger sister, has gotten more anal about the idea of righteousness; Mike, her brother, has been acting weird ever since he came back from that trip with their father; and she's worried about both of them.

Esther sighs, unlocks the door, and, without checking the inside, climbs into the car. With one hand, Esther turns on the radio and turns up the sound of Page Hamilton singing about street crabs. With the other, she sweeps the hair from her face once again. It might be a good idea to search the ground of her car for a hairclip or a bobby pin. Anything could work.

"Esther Cain."

She yelps; her mind goes blank, except for one thing. No, no-- there's someone in her car, there's someone in her car, and her mother was right about creeps and church-sponsored self-defense, and she's going to die here. Esther barely even turns to see who it is. It's enough that someone is there and she's going to die in the high school parking lot in goddamn Fort Reverence, Florida.

"Oh my god!" Esther shrieks, reaching for the door handle. She's still buckled in; when she finally realizes that and presses the button, she falls backward onto the asphalt and tries to push herself up. She can't, though. Her foot is tangled in the seatbelt, and the clasp of her shoe is stuck to the fabric of the seat. Heart pounding, she tries to free herself. She forgets that she has hands until she remembers.

The person in the passenger seat blinks, long and slow, like he is unsure about what's happening. It's only now that Esther gets a good look at him: hair blonde and blazing like a white-hot sun; armor polished to a golden sheen, almost iridescent; flaming sword resting against one metal-clad thigh; and a cherubic mouth set in an apprehensive frown.

And he doesn't seem sure about how to open the car door.

While he struggles with that, Esther goes about freeing herself. Something about all of this strikes her as odd, though. The passenger side door is still locked. This person doesn't seem human, either. She can put together that much. There's no time for a crisis of faith (or unfaith, as it were). There's no time to reassess what she has been told her entire life. Whatever is happening... Well, it's happening, and it's important to her that she rolls with it.