Something Of A Kind (30 page)

“I don’t know everything,” he confessed. “I’d really like to know
how this happened.”

“Oh, you can hear the whole story,” she began, adding, “on the
condition that you accept that it was an accident, not some hell-bent
attempt to get your attention or some beyond the grave conspiracy
that Mom is trying to destroy whatever you’re doing here.”

“You’re so much like your mother,” he murmured, squinting. For
the first time, it didn’t sound like an insult. Forcing a laugh through
his irritation and perplexity, he continued, “Alyson, I know I haven’t
always been the most objective. It’s gotten me into more trouble in
my own work than anything. I know this was something you
explored in selfinterest. My comments were in my own. I’m
fascinated by your investigation, and I’m glad you and your friend
learnedyour lessons.”

“If you’re talking about his arm,” Aly warned, her voice low and
seething, “I will not hesitate to confiscate my camera, tell everyone
in your business that it was a hoax you perpetuated, and I’ll punch
you harder than Mom when you tried making her get out of the car
pregnant and alone, dark in the woods on a road fifteen miles from
town.”

“Just like your mother,” he repeated. Greg scratched his growing
stubble, loud enough to hear across the room. Embarrassed, he
admitted, “I was not a nice kid. Both of my… suggestions were…
uncalled for.”

“You’re damn right. We’re going to respect each other, from now
on, no exceptions. Noah is off limits, so is Doctor Whatshername. I
think that’s fair,” she demanded, arms crossed. He nodded curtly,
lifting her camera.

“I think it’s important,” he began, hesitant, “for you to be aware
that the professional relationship with Lee that I’ve referenced in its
entirety… it was going nowhere, fast, anyway. I apologize for
making it seem that that was any fault of yours specifically. Also, the
issue with your mother…”

Aly swallowed her comments, allowing him to finish.

 

Maybe she should be off limits too.

“She had a lot of distain for everything I did. She wanted me to
get a fanciful job and an extravagant house so she could raise you
like
her mother,
barefoot and cleaning and
all
that glorified
traditionalisms.”

Aly raised an eyebrow, motioning for him to go on in spite of
every
alarm blaring that he
was either
dead wrong, insane,
misunderstood, or generally, her mother had changed and warped in
ways she’d never seen.

He continued, “I had a lot of issues, especially with my father
growing
up.
When she
paralleled some
of
his expectations, I
checked out. I wanted to forego everything I loved about her and
leave town, never looking back. There was one fight too many, and I
didn’t see to her term. I ran, as always. When I went back, I was too
late– I was a stranger to you, she wasn’t interested, and there was
another man that apparently made her hate us all forever. When I
tried again, she was… dying and you were a ferocious teenager, and
again, I was too late.”

“It never is,” Aly corrected, filling in a hanging silent. “You have
opportunities to change things now. I’ll leave that at that. As far as
the video…”

“You want to know what to do with it,” he said, leaning back. “If
it should be kept secret?”

 

Aly nodded.

“Well, it depends on a series of factors. How do you feel about
the species? Do you want it noted or cataloged? Do you want to
handle the ridicule that comes with coming forward? What is your
stance
on
it –
should
it
be
protected, studied, left alone, or
contained?
After
evaluating
that, prepare
yourself for
ninetysomething percent of people to completely write you off. Consider
dealing with a tarnished reputation, having your name on something
that would affect future career choices. And”

“And Noah’s as well,” she finished, nodding. “Can you use the
footage anonymously?”

 

“We could, if that’s what you want,” he agreed, expression grim.

 

“I’m going to talk to Noah. I’ll think about it,” she decided,
analyzing his expression for approval. He seemed pleased.
“You do that,” he said.
~

Though eternally confused, the experience of running in the
sunlight was much different than when she was sobbing beneath the
stars. Yards away at the docks, Aly watched Noah half-hug his sister.
Sarah stood, tears falling, chest heaving. Nodding at her brother, she
smiled at Aly as she passed, breaking into a run towards the house at
her back.

She knows.

As Aly crossed the pier, Noah stood, meeting her halfway.
Unsure whether touching his arm would hurt, she waited until he
wrapped the good one around her waist, pulling her close, tight
against his chest. He smelled of wood and leather, classic and
comforting. She smiled as his lips brushed her forehead.

Heart fluttering, she tried to hold her breathe, lest she audibly
lose it. Her flesh tingled, sending gallons of adrenaline through her
veins, where his fingertips trailed her face. Holding her close, his
voice no louder than breath, he murmured her name. She flushed;
skin alive as she pressed her lips to his. Sliding her arms around his
neck, trying to favor one side, she whispered, “Everything okay?”

“Mine, ours – the world’s different,” he sighed. “You?”

 

Aly mused, “I think I’m staying in town for a while.”

 

“What? Not scared off?” Noah teased.

 

“If the Gigit can’t do it, there’s a good chance I’ll stick around.”

 

“Oh, but you haven’t meant Illie, yet,” Noah laughed.

 

Aly blinked. “Illie?”

 

“You are Greg Glass’s daughter,” he said, “And you’ve never
heard of the lake monster?”

 

“Illie?”

 

“Aly Glass.” Noah shook his head, leaning his forehead against
hers. “Please don’t ask me to take you to Lake Iliamna.”

 

He kissed her before she could reply.

 

Something Of A Kind
©2012 by Miranda Wheeler.

 

A
BOUT
T
HE
A
UTHOR

 

A current high school student, 16-year-old
author Miranda Wheeler lives with her
loving
family
in
her
hometown
of
Torrington, Connecticut. An avid reader,
she’s been whipping through books and
producing novel-length projects (though

none published prior to Something Of A Kind) from the early age of
eleven. Having previously released short stories, some published in
magazines such as TeenInk and others via “indie” mediums, she has
many plans of
continuing
to write, as
well
as pursuing other
passions and an eventual teaching career. While the official cover is
a work in progress and the title won’t be released until the
promotional media is obtained, several other projects are in the
works: a YA steampunk novella and a YA sci-fi-romance novel, in
addition to unofficial talks of a Something Of A Kind sequel.

For more information and updates on her latest work, visit the
author’s website at: http://mirandawheeler.blogspot.com

 

A
CKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Firstly, I thank my mother. A talented author, no one else was
more
supportive, amusing, reflective, helpful,
and wonderfully
amazing than she. This book is dedicated to her, because without
her, I would have never written it. Had she not insisted so ardently,
occasionally via parodied poems or impromptu lyrics from songs
that both do and don’t exist, I would never have braved the first
chapter. In the same way she magically manages to shove me
through the doors of school each year, or make me laugh at my most
horrific failures, she got me through this novel – even when the silly
expression on the other side of the laptop hindered many-a-chapter.
Thank you for pulling me through this odd dream of mine. It’s was
never something I even dared to fathom creating at a lowly sixteen.

Secondly, my entire family deserves credit, specifically my
father and my younger brothers, Justin and Bobby. No one else
endured such
a
brunt of
infuriatingly boring documentaries or
instigative debates over things my inner dreamer intends always to
believe
in.
Additionally,
the
grandmothers
who
offered
encouragement and my grandfather, another author, for his bizarre
and entertaining Adirondack stories, as well as the aunts, uncles,
cousins, and secondcousins who told me to “go for it” – they all
absolutely deserve my utmost appreciation.

My friends, who though teasing, never (vocally) doubted the feat
could be accomplished, were beyond patient with my MIA behavior
during this process. My church family, who consistently expressed
belief that I shared my parents’ talents, always has my love. To the
myriad of teacherswho said they knew I’d be an author – thank you.
While
blushing, I
secretly
adored every
suggestion of
hope,
swallowing whispers of happiness every time I was encouraged.

Final but foremost, I seek to glorify my heavenly Father. May
He forgive me for capturing the absurd moments of the story people
who so boldly cried out to me. I’m for You, always.

Something Of A Kind
©2012 by Miranda Wheeler.