The Reaping (The Fahllen #1)(7)
Author: M. Leighton

I walked back to the mirror to put on lotion. As I massaged the scented cream into my skin, I noticed several other subtle, nearly imperceptible changes as well. My waist, it looked a little more trim that usual, my belly flat and taut. My hips flared out in a more womanly curve then tapered down to legs that had never looked leaner. And my boobs—they seemed fuller and were tipped with a perfect dusty rose.

If I didn’t know my body so well, I might not have noticed. But I did. I don’t know how long I stood studying my reflection and all the differences I found there, but I was so immersed in my own thoughts, I jumped when Dad knocked at the door.

“Hurry up, Carson. We’re going to be late,” he boomed.

Pushing the bizarre thoughts out of my head, I hurried to the closet and pulled out a neat fitted dress in black that buttoned up the front. Church clothes were the one area in which Dad never fussed about me splurging and looking like a girl.

I slipped on my shoes and went to stand in front of the mirror one last time before heading out the door. Sure enough, even my clothes fit a little differently, the material a little more snug around my hips and chest, looser around my waist. I shook out my hair, which looked even lighter against the black of my dress, and then rushed out to meet Dad.

I hopped into the truck, which was already running, and Dad sped away. I saw him cast several sidelong glances in my direction, but, much to my relief, he didn’t say a word about my appearance. I hoped he wouldn’t notice anything but my hair. I doubted that would be the case, however, because Dad is extremely observant.

We walked into church just as the choir was starting to sing. There were no seats near the front so we had to walk all the way down the aisle to the back row where there were still a few empty spaces on the pews.

As we passed, I saw several people who normally never paid me any attention looking at me and whispering. Some were girls, some were guys. I wondered what they saw. A freak, a weirdo, a pretty girl, something different they couldn’t quite put their finger on? It made me more than a little uncomfortable. I’d been a wallflower all my life, plainly not noteworthy. I’d wanted attention, yes, but in a good way. The good kind of attention. I didn’t know if I could stand the curiously repulsed attention that being a freak would get me.

Appropriately, Mike, Dad’s pastor, taught in 2 Corinthians 12:6–8. I didn’t usually pay much attention, but this time I couldn’t help but see the parallels to my own life. Paul had some sort of affliction, one he called a “thorn in the flesh”. Three times he asked God to remove the thorn, but God didn’t.

What a God, I thought bitterly. Paul was one of His best helpers and He wouldn’t even take away a simple “thorn”. I’d never really thrown in with Dad’s beliefs. And hearing lessons like this did nothing to convince me that I was missing out on much of anything. But Dad always made me go, though usually it wasn’t too bad. I mean I got to dress up to go sit and daydream for an hour. I’d definitely had worse hours in my life, that’s for sure.

That night, my sleep was anything but restful; my dreams were plagued with the same images. Over and over, I’d find myself in the bloody snow, terrified by a dark stranger. And each time, at the same instant, I’d wake up in a near-panic, only to fall back asleep and dream it all over again.

By the time Monday morning dawned, I was exhausted. I got ready in a daze, dressing in my usual jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt. After brushing my hair out straight, I had a quiet breakfast with Dad then walked up the street to meet Leah.

She was waiting by her mailbox, as she always was. Dressed in a plaid skirt, red sweater and knee-high socks, she looked like a Catholic school girl, as she always did. A geeky Catholic school girl.

She fell into step beside me, matching my rhythm. She had to take almost two steps for my every one, though, what with her shorter legs and all. But we moved together like a well-oiled machine. She started chattering instantly, telling me all about some book she’d read over the weekend. As usual, I tuned her out.

Leah’s hand on my arm brought me back to the present. She stopped and faced me, fists on her hips. “So what’s the deal? Are you going to tell me about your makeover or what?”

“Huh?” I was lost.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Come on, Carson. Spill,” she urged in a conspiratorial tone, pushing her tortoise-shell glasses up her pert nose.

“There’s nothing to spill,” I said, turning to resume our walk to school.

“So your hair just got lighter all by itself?” She was teasing. I could see that by her mischievous grin, but it was poking my increasingly ever-ready temper.

“I guess so,” I snapped.

“And I guess you didn’t get contacts either, right?”

That got my attention. “What do you mean?”

“Your eyes. They’re really, really green. I guess that happened overnight, too?”

I hadn’t paid much attention to my reflection this morning, although it seems that I should have.

“And I suppose the teeth bleaching fairy paid you a visit as well?” She giggled, really having fun with this. Even so, it was all I could do not to slap her silly. “Does she work with the Tooth Fairy or does the Tooth Fairy just moonlight?”

“Leah, I’m really not in a very good mood today. Can we have this conversation later?”

If my tone wasn’t enough to warn her off, my expression must’ve been. “Sorry,” she said quietly, instantly contrite. Poor Leah, I was ruining her rare bit of fun all because I suddenly couldn’t handle a little good natured teasing.

I sighed, feeling guilty, but rather than apologizing for my prickliness and inciting more questions (thereby furthering the conversation), I chose to ignore her altogether and remain silent the rest of the way to school.

When we arrived, it became apparent just how obvious the changes actually were and who was to be the most affected by them—males.

From the courtyard that led to the front doors, down every hall on the way to my locker and inside every classroom, guys and girls alike ogled me. I saw them stop and stare, mouths agape. I saw them whisper to one another as they watched me walk by. From the guys, I got catcalls and explicit comments, as well as pledges of undying affection and promises of carnal delight. I’d never seen this side of them before, mainly because I’d never made it onto their radars. But suddenly I was noteworthy. Suddenly I was interesting. Suddenly, judging by their comments, I was beautiful.