Orphan of Mythcorp Read Online Free Page B

advanced Theorics and
stole down the hall towards the yahoo. He caught me approaching,
swiveled, and began to flee the opposite way. I picked up my pace,
and shuffled around in front of him. There was something strange in
his expression.
    “ Were you watching me?” I asked. He
didn’t answer. “What’s your name?”
    His head dropped and he sighed. “Morgan.” He
seemed embarrassed—understandably.
    Strangely, he was not looking at me but at
something over my shoulder. I turned to follow his gaze. The hall
was vacant. “Why were you staring at me?”
    He hesitated before leaning forward and
whispering, “Do you . . . see them?”
    I mimed his gesture and tone. “See who?”
    He straightened up. “Nothing. Sorry I
gawked.” He then did an about face and raced away. It was only then
that I remembered Principal Steck’s assembly, when he’d informed
the student body of the impending arrival of those freaky Mythcorp
orphans. That must’ve been who Morgan was. Some orphan. I’d thought
they were supposed to be like a bunch of grotesque albino’s,
More-eyes or something like that.
    Later that day, at lunch, I was sitting alone
sensing I was not alone. Always I sense others who chill the air
around me. I don’t feel this chill; I see it in faint
breath-clouds. Just another inexplicable aspect of the Sanson
family curse. Gramps referred to it as the Sanson Chill. Dad calls
it free AC. I call it BS.
    By now it was clear who the orphans were.
Twelve snow-white yahoos with eyes the shade of crystallized milk
and platinum ponytails running down to their bums sat together at
the long table in the center of the cafeteria, along with Morgan.
Lexi, princess of the Goths, strode up to the long table with her
slightly-less-Goth girlfriends Missy and Misty, whose personalities
were as interchangeable as their pink-highlighted hair and names.
“Mind if we join you?” Lexi asked Morgan. He offered a look of
surprise before nodding.
    As he shimmied over to make room, the
smallest orphan, whose name—Ash—I’d overheard someone mention,
stood. It was a very old gesture I’d seen in some movie. Ash sat.
The girls giggled.
    Lexi and Misty and Missy dropped their
conversation with Morgan after only two minutes. Their occasional
glances at Ash had become more and more obvious and lingering. Now
they were completely focused on the pint-sized Morai. More than
focused. They seemed mesmerized, heads leaning on fists, elbows on
table, eyes unblinking, tongue’s tracing lips.
    If I was cursed, this Ash was blessed.
    Throughout the conversation—or soliloquy, as
Ash did all the talking—the girls laughed and smiled and shifted
closer and closer to Ash. Meanwhile I watched Morgan talk to
himself in hushed tones while I downed some Nanex, the medical
solution designed to keep my joints lubricated. I was going to like
these orphans. They made me look normal.
    Maybe this Ash would even know how to lift my
curse.
    I made a point of following him at the end of
the day. Unfortunately the Goth chicks seemed to have the same
idea, though I imagined their intentions were somewhat
different.
    How to ditch these chicks?
    The final bell rang. Halls filled with
students. By the time Ash and his black-clad shadows reached the
former Undertaker Classroom, I was stewing in impatience. What were
these girls expecting, a four-way albino quickie? That’s it, I thought, one more giggle and I’ll—
    Misty (or Missy, I can never tell the
difference) giggled, reaching out to grab Ash’s hand.
    “ Achoo!” I added a nose wipe for show
and pretended to flick snot on the floor. The chicks snapped off a
trio of ‘Eew’s’ and pattered away. Like every other yahoo at
Philicity High, they’re convinced my ‘condition’ is
contagious.
    Ash stood there looking me over, feet facing
the stairs to his dorm. I approached and he shifted so that his
entire focus was on me. “It’s Ash, right?”
    “ That’s correct,” he nodded and for a
second I