Page 10 of The Princes of Stone and Steel

I was already grumpy from my troubled sleep, and on top of that, we had to leave the house ungodly early for me to get to school on time because she refused to drive any faster than twenty-five miles per hour.

Thankfully, the weather had held out for us so far. October in Michigan could go a few different ways: beautiful summer weather holding on, crisp fall, or polar vortex. We were middle ground this year with crisp fall, real sweatshirt-and-jeans kind of temps. Aunt Cynthia would have preferred for me to “dress like a girl,” whereas I preferred my Docs.

Wait—what? I scrubbed my hands over my eyes vigorously. This all felt too familiar, like déjà vu familiar. I couldn’t shake the feeling and that rippling cold air blew stronger, colder, even in the car. As we reached the end of our very long country road, Cynthia slowed but didn’t stop.

I threw my arm out, shouting at her. “Stop.”

She pressed down on the brake pedal just before a Jeep running perpendicular to us sped through the intersection, missing the front end of our Olds by more than a few inches because I knew we had to stop this time. My poor aunt pressed a hand to her heart and we both watched as the Jeep raced past without a second glance.

“I think I peed a little.” I tried to joke, hoping to ease a bit of the tension in the car but she bristled out a look that said she’d have none of that. This time, I laughed. My aunt glared at me but I couldn’t help myself. I’d said the exact same words in the exact same situation once before. Only now, my head felt clearer.

With all the “excitement” of the morning, I barely made it to school on time, what with her dropping down from her speed racer twenty-five to a respectably safe fifteen. Most people groaned about getting caught behind a school bus. From what my classmates said, the bus driver groaned about getting caught behind my aunt. The kids who had beat us to school shot out ridiculous taunts from the sidewalk as I exited the passenger seat, directly in front of the school’s entrance, where Cynthia insisted she drop me off every day. The kids emptying off the bus taunted us from behind.

“You sure you’re all right?” I asked. I didn’t hold out much hope of her letting me skip today, because I’d lived out this day already and when I’d asked this question the first time, it led to an emphatic “no” from her. A girl had to try, though.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you for your concern.”

“If you need me—”

She cut me off with a raised hand universally signalingstop, and I knew darn well not to push the issue with her. “I’ll be fine,” she repeated. Her words put a period on that particular subject.

“Well, remember, I get out late tonight. Working off my volunteer hours at the day care.”

Aunt Cynthia nodded. “See you at six.”

Shake it off, Millie, I ordered myself. Sure, I wanted to get out of school today but when I thought about it, I didn’t want to be tethered to Cynthia for the rest of the day either, and I couldn’t exactly play sick because, again, Inevergot sick. Moreover, I needed this bit of normalcy because I felt like I was losing my mind. No, I could do this. I could be normal for the time being.

School went along as school always went along, that was to say, slow as freaking molasses in the middle of January. Only, throughout the rest of the day, every time I closed my eyes, even for a second to gather my thoughts or take a breath, the images of that other Millicent flashed like memories in my head.

Whoa.

Unnerving, unnatural images. Even worse than the images now were these feelings attached to the images, feelings of dread clawing at my insides ever since that déjà vu episode this morning. It was hard to explain, even to myself. Like she just didn’t belong. LikeIjust didn’t belong. But belong where? Here? There? Maybe instead of dreams I needed to start looking up books on psychotherapy.

A kind of panic seized me—sweats and a tightening of my chest making breathing difficult. Panic? Onedid notsuffer panic attacks in Cynthia’s home. This came on unexpectedly and needed to be quelled a.s.a.p.

I ducked inside the closest restroom, checking under each stall to make certain I was alone and then pressed my back against the cool tile wall.

‘Panic does nothing to help the situation,’I remembered the words she’d spoken on several occasions over the years, and swallowed hard, pushing back the emotion. I could do it. I’d spent my entire life pushing back emotion.

Friends? Boyfriends? Who needed them? Growing up with my anemically or pragmatically aloof aunt diminished any desire for close friendships, and I much preferred to go solo most days.

The other students had no trouble obliging. Not like I was rich beyond belief or some super athlete. That we know of. Maybe I could’ve been a super athlete in some sport or other, but Cynthia saw no point in me engaging in such activities. After all, I was a “younglady” and young ladies “needed to keep their attention on more productive pastimes.” So she’d explained while nixing the sports back in, like, kindergarten when I’d wanted to take tap of all things.

Plus, she disapproved of pretty much any form of entertainment for a girl aside from sewing, needlepoint, knitting or cooking. She acted like she belonged in dream Millicent’s time. The word feminism never left her lips. Sports, acting, dancing, and reading were all very unladylike. Sometimes I wondered if she even would have bothered to educate me if the state hadn’t mandated it.

The coolness of the tile and Aunt Cynthia’s words did the trick, calming down my rapidly beating heart. I splashed water on my face, blotted it off with a paper towel and slipped back into the hallway in time to make it to my next class.

When the final bell rang for the day, I stopped at my locker to grab my homework, then proceeded to walk the four blocks to the daycare. All graduating seniors needed a total of forty community service hours to get that diploma.

“Miss Millie! Miss Millie!” Several pre-Kers raced toward me as I walked through the doors of the center, clinging fervently to my legs, just about pulling us all down in the process.

“Okay. Okay, that’s enough. Good to see you, too.” I pushed my arms between my legs and their arms to break us apart.

“Go play—all of you.” The beautiful, glamorous-even-in-clothing-to-work-at-a-daycare Korrigan, the one exception to me not wanting a friend, and a new addition at that, stepped in to break up the powwow the kids had going on around my legs. We’d only known each other for a few months, since I’d started volunteering at the daycare. But she and I had clicked right away. She loved to wear metallic colors in her hair. Today she sported blue metallic tips on her short, spiky brown locks.

I wished I could get away with metallic tips in my hair, but Cynthia would throw a conniption fit from me bringing attention to myself. Ladies didn’t bring attention to themselves. Ever.

“We going out tonight, Mils?” Korrigan asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

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