Curse of Genius
Taylor White
Curse of Genius
Taylor White
Copyright ? by Taylor White
TABLE OF CONTENTS
1 - Birthday Wish
2 - Monday Morning Blues
3 - The Plan
4 - Power Struggle
5 - Awkward Signup
6 - Trouble Sleeping
7 - Near Exposure
8 - Cheerleading Horror
9 - Confrontation
10 - Uniform Fiasco
11 - Clarification
12 - Bus Ride
13 - Game Time
14 - Strike of the Curse
15 - First Date
16 - Change of Heart
17 - Homebound
18 - Awkward Unveiling
19 - Date Night
20 - First Meeting
21 - School
22 - The Invitation
23 - Game Time
24 - Problems
25 - Shocking Request
26 - The Party
27 - Chaos
28 - Unraveling
29 - Blowout
30 - Free Fall
31 - Unforgettable Night
32 - Aftermath
33 - Decision
34 - Execution
35 - Realization
36 - Verdict
Epilogue
1
Birthday Wish
"Well, are you going to blow out your candles or not?" my mom asks as she stares at me, with a much more important question looming behind her wide, hopeful eyes.
Sitting here at the kitchen table looking at my cake, all sixteen candles brightly lit, I can't stop my mind from racing back through my previous fifteen years at this very moment?well, as many as I can remember. Every year, the same birthday wish; every year, a little more nerve-wracking than the one before. But none of them compares to this year, this moment. Along with the nervousness, there's a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. A feeling which has been absent the previous years, a feeling I wish would vanish without a trace. It's that sick feeling you get when you realize it's finally time to face a demon in your life--a demon that has hovered over you for as long as you can remember, that you would rather run away from kicking and screaming than look at in the face even for a second.
As my dad peers around my mom's long, wavy, blonde hair, I notice the expression on his face, as well. It's actually the very same hopeful expression that has taken over my mom's face. As if they coordinated this look with each other before they walked in the kitchen ten minutes ago, the way they coordinate their jogging outfits every weekend for their Saturday and Sunday morning run.
Whether they know it or not, I'm very aware of the meaning behind the expressions. Their hope is that my birthday wish will be a different one this year, that I've turned over a new leaf.
My seventeen-year-old brother Carson sits at the table with an altogether different look on his face. He's simply staring at the cake, trying not to drool. Sitting across from him is my seven-year-old sister Hailey. It's one of the few occasions the entire Woodsen family gathers around the kitchen table.
Hailey begins to glare at Carson, eyes squinted, with a look of disdain. This is not unusual at all. My brother Carson, not being the sharpest knife in the drawer--actually, if you were to gather up every single knife in the world and put them into a pile, he would probably be the dullest--gets under Hailey's skin on a catastrophic level. The same way rising taxes, or bold-faced lies, or waiting two hours in line to ride a 20-second ride at a theme park would get under most people's skin, Carson's unintelligence gets under hers to that extent, times a thousand.
Probably the reason for that is because Hailey herself is extremely smart for a seven-year-old. She's head and shoulders above her age group, which adds a splash of sass to her personality that is well-disguised by her beautiful, innocent, blond-haired, blue-eyed look.
Then there's my best friend Rebecca Camery, aka Becca, sitting right beside me with an intense look of concern on her face. She feels my pain, like she always has. Becca has always felt my pain, my joy, my laughter, my tears, and vice versa. She grew up two houses down from me, and we've pretty much been inseparable since we were two years old.
The sweet, nurturing look of concern displayed on her face as I sit here, preparing to blow out my candles, is the soft side of Becca only I'm lucky enough to experience one hundred percent of the time. Kind of comparable to a cub never being the focus of the tiger's anger, but the tiger is unpredictably violent to anyone or anything else. Would I describe Becca as violent? No, I wouldn't. Although, there was that one time?okay, three times?umm?I'll just stop there.
But luckily for me, her bad side is a vault to which I've never had the combination, and I'm one hundred percent certain I never will. She is a kind person overall, but there is a bold side to her that will not put up with any rudeness or bullying or anything of the sort, from anyone, which is actually a perfect offset to my very shy, non-confrontational personality. I couldn't hurt a fly, even if the fly deserved it. It could buzz around me all day, and I would politely ask him to leave. Then if that didn't work I would get up and leave his space. The only meanness that exists in me is in my thoughts from time to time--which I think is normal--but I'm not capable of showing it.
"Go for it, Dori," Becca says supportively while looking at the candles.
My name is Doreen, by the way, although I honestly can't remember the last time anyone called me that. When Becca and I turned five--her birthday was a couple months ago--she started calling me Dori, sometimes even just Dor, and it completely stuck. I don't even think most people know my real name.
I finally take a deep breath and blow out my candles. Immediately after, Becca and I look at each other then perform the same ritual we have performed for the past ten years or so. We both close our eyes tightly and scrunch our faces with our fingers crossed. We then open our eyes and look at each other with a hopeful look.
"What is 123 times 2,211?" Becca asks, fingers still crossed.
I guess I'm insane, because every year I hope for a different result. I mean, it's not like I don't know this could never happen in a million years. I do understand it's completely impossible; I even understood that as a child. But that's the level of my desperation. This fairy tale part of me has no choice but to believe it's a possibility, and every year, whether she thinks I'm crazy or not, Becca believes along with me.
Dejectedly, I reply, "271,953," as I slouch with disappointment.
Believe me, I know how silly it sounds, but my disappointment lies with the fact that, of course, I'm a genius. It makes me want to slap myself across the face, having moaned and groaned my entire life over something seemingly so great. I'm sure most people would love to be in my shoes and would surely slap me as well if they heard me complain.
"Honey, you're going to have to accept it at some point and move on with your life," my mom says, as the previous hopeful expression on her face quickly turns to one of aggravation.
"Christie, let's not make a fuss about it on her birthday. We'll discuss it more tomorrow," my dad replies.
I silently appreciate him defending me. I even wish he would take it a step further and tell her that one more word, and she's going in time-out.
"Mom, I know I've disappointed you, but I've kept my genius a secret for a reason," I reply, with half-conviction, half-fear in my voice.
She takes a deep breath and crosses her arms. "I understand, but I think revealing it is what's best for you."
I look down immediately because looking into her eyes when she's upset is like looking into the sun. The level of her intolerance at the moment is my fault, though, because I've always told her--really just to get her off my back--I would probably reveal it when I turn "sixteen or so."
But she forgets how hard it is for me. How deathly afraid I am to jump ahead in life and have that kind of attention on me. I've always been this way, which is why I made the decision as a child to hide my genius from the world. And technically, I didn't promise I would reveal it at sixteen.
We all sit in an awkward silence for the next thirty seconds or so, the tension so thick a knife wouldn't stand a chance--you would need a chainsaw.
"Well," my brother Carson begins, "all I have to say is that cake looks awesome! I wish I could just swim in a sea of white icing cake and eat it up as I go." He closes his eyes with a huge, goofy smile on his face.
I can see Hailey's cheeks turning red. She won't let him get away with that one.
"You can't even swim!" Hailey shouts, her tone all loud and sassy. "So give it a try," she adds with a look of disgust. Carson glares back at her, wanting to reply, but clearly too afraid. Despite Carson's sometimes cocky, rude attitude, it's no match for Hailey's aggressive sass, and he rarely stands against her.
"Okay, that's enough," says my dad Ken, attempting to intervene as he and my mom hand me my present. I already know what it is as I grab the small box and tear it open to find a gift card to the local bookstore.
I'm a book fanatic. I need books like vampires need blood--well, if they were real--but you get the point. Reading is my passion, and my room is absolutely full of books, along with the hundreds of books on my Kindle, because every year for my birthday, my only request is for my entire family to pitch in and get me a big gift card to the bookstore.
Becca, however, never fully abides by this request. She does contribute to the book fund, but she always does something creative and special for me, as well. Like one year, knowing how much I love pizza, she decided to make me one from scratch, despite the fact that she's a disaster on two legs in a kitchen. It actually took her three birthdays to get that one right, but it was definitely the thought that counted.
"Thanks!" I say with a huge smile, as I'm already thinking about the books I want to get.
"Okay, okay, time for the real present," Becca says with a half-grin as she grabs the gift card from my hand and slaps it on the table.
"Here you go, Dor." She hands her present to me, very neatly and carefully wrapped as always.
I take it and put it on the table in front of me, noticing how heavy it is, and also taking in Becca's huge smile as I begin to open it. When I finally finish clawing off the wrapping paper, I see a massive scrapbook, probably the biggest scrapbook I've ever seen, and spelled out with cut-out letters, it says "Best Book of All. Love, Becca."
I begin to smile as I open it and flip through, seeing pictures of us and our families from the time we were little, leading up to the present. Pictures of vacations we all went on, first day of school pictures, birthday pictures--she had them all. And under every picture was a paragraph or so describing the event.
"This is so awesome!" I say enthusiastically as I lean over to hug her.
"You're welcome," she says, pleased with my reaction. "And the second half of the book is blank, so you can fill it up as time goes on," she explains.
My mom walks around the table to hug her, as well. "That's a really nice gift, Becca."
"I guess. I mean, it's kind of dumb," Carson mumbles under his breath, his eyes never really leaving the cake.
Becca shoots an evil stare at him, noticeably trying to keep herself under control. If my parents weren't here, his head would be in the wall right now, and he knows that.
"You want a fist in the mouth?" she asks him sweetly. Carson looks at her, eyes narrowed, trying to tell how serious she is.
"Whatever," he finally replies.
Much like my sister Hailey, Becca has an interesting relationship with Carson. They're always kind of at each other's throats, in a playful way?most of the time.
"Alright, let's eat some cake," my dad says with a slight laugh at Becca and Carson's exchange. He grabs the knife and begins to cut as my mom picks up the scrapbook and starts flipping through it.
"You know, revealing your genius will surely help fill your scrapbook with pictures of all the great things you'll go on to achieve," my mom says while looking down at the book, trying every angle she can to sway me.
"Yeah, but how many of those pictures would involve me, and would Dori be happy in them?" Becca asks.
Becca would support me either way, but she knows where I stand for now, and she'll stick up for me until I change my mind.
"Exactly," I reply. "My life would change so drastically, and I'm not sure for the better."
"Dori, your life is going to change regardless as you grow up," my mom says.
"Your mom's right, sweetie," Dad nods, cutting even squares across the cake. "Your intelligence is something you should be proud of."
"Yeah, I mean, I would love to be a genius!" Carson exclaims.
Hailey begins to reply but is interrupted by Dad yelling "Hailey!" in an attempt to derail her sarcastic comment to Carson. She whips her ponytail around and stomps off to the living room, clearly not happy about being shut down, even to the point of missing cake.
"Well, y'all may not have to wait long for the secret to be out anyway," Becca says, "because this snob in our class, Summer Stevens, told Dori she knows her secret, whatever that means."
"Oh, really?" Mom asks.
"Yeah. I don't know how she would know, but I'm so worried she does," I reply, thinking back to the moment Summer told me that in the hall at school, making my worried feeling more intense.
"She won't say a word. I'll tune her up," Becca grins with her usual protective attitude toward me. My parents quickly look at her, shocked by her words, not having a full understanding of Becca's true personality. Over the years, they've watched and laughed as she and Carson would go at each other, but as far as they're aware, it's playful and it stops with Carson. She's done a great job of making my parents think that otherwise, she's a perfect angel. Except for occasional slip-ups like this one.
She tries to cover her tracks, giggling and smiling innocently as she explains that by "tune her up," she simply means she will reason with Summer and politely ask her to leave me alone. And once again, my parents fall for it, hook, line, and sinker. What a terrific performer Becca is.
"Well," my dad shrugs, glancing at me, "you know we think the secret coming out would be for the best."
"I know," I reply as I stare at my cake, feeling too sick to eat it.
