When Norah Olliver sees the girl with the mockingbird tattoo for the first time, she senses there's something off about her. But when she appears a second time, Norah KNOWS there's something off about her, and she has a suspicion. With the help of her boyfriend, Somer, and her best friend, Samantha, how can they uncover the strange mission that the girl with the tattoo has? But that's when Norah meets Jack. Mysterious and sexy, Jack seems to be the only person who really gets Norah. Norah must make a difficult decision-- return to the life she's known forever or face danger with the person she...more When Norah Olliver sees the girl with the mockingbird tattoo for the first time, she senses there's something off about her. But when she appears a second time, Norah KNOWS there's something off about her, and she has a suspicion. With the help of her boyfriend, Somer, and her best friend, Samantha, how can they uncover the strange mission that the girl with the tattoo has? But that's when Norah meets Jack. Mysterious and sexy, Jack seems to be the only person who really gets Norah. Norah must make a difficult decision-- return to the life she's known forever or face danger with the person she most loves.
Chapter One:
The girl with the mockingbird tattoo glares at me. Her strong perfume overpowers me, fresh from Sephora. Her blond hair is pulled up into a bun. A few rebellious ringlets sneak out and frame her face. Her eyes are dead black, as black as a winter night. My eyes are locked on hers for a few seconds. Those few seconds feel like hours. I finally tear my gaze away and run down the street, clutching my locket in the palm of my hand.
When I round the corner, there a few girls dressed in black from head to toe. They wear thick eyeliner and mascara, making my own eyes feel heavy. A few of them laugh as I rush past, but I don’t give them a second glance. I just keep walking, my steps quickening. It isn’t until I see the mockingbird flit past me that I start sprinting.
The door to the apartment opens easily, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Even if the old, creaky apartment isn’t the safest place I could be right now, I feel safer than out in the isolated streets. Habitually, I call for my mom. She answers her typical, “Here!” like I’m a teacher taking attendance. I walk in the direction of her voice until I see her lounging on the sofa, eyes glued to a computer screen. She’s typing something rapidly, so fast I can barely see her fingers.
Leaning against the cold robin’s egg blue wall, I wait until she pauses until I ask, “How was your night?”
She glances up as if I forgot I was there. “Oh! It was good. Just doing a little work here.” Her eyes flit back to the screen, as if to add, And I’d really prefer some time alone.
I sigh and say, “Okay, well, I’m going to get some homework done, and call me if you need help with anything.”
There’s no reply. But I’m already halfway up the narrow stairwell.
My room is small. That’s putting it generously. I’ll never have one of those rooms that’s the size of the apartment. My room is the only room upstairs, so I guess you could call it the attic. It’s teeny tiny, about half the size of the miniature living room. My best friend, Samantha, thinks it’s cute, but I just think it’s small. Too small to be cute. If that makes any sense.
It’s not like I’m some snobby rich kid wanting more and more and more. My mom and I aren’t poor exactly, but we’re not as well off as most of my friends, or all the other kids at school. We can afford the apartment, but just barely. My dad died when I was eight, and since then nothing’s been easy. I sigh and look around the room before dropping my backpack on the floor and sitting down at my desk, which is my one prized possession, if you don’t count the antique dolls Gramma gave me when i turned seven. Thinking of them, I take a peek over at them, and there they are. Tangled hair, cracked skin…I played with them a little more than you’re supposed to play with china dolls.
Instead of taking out my chemistry homework, I flip open my laptop and pull up Google. I type “Mockingbird” in the search bar, knowing I’d only find Wikipedia and endless pictures and videos of them. I read through the Wikipedia, hoping I’d find something of interest. When I don’t, I close the laptop and rest my head on my desk. I can hear my mother singing downstairs, and the sound is almost comforting.
My mother is everything I am not. She has long, straight blond hair and huge blue eyes that are childlike, but in a good, youthful type of way. She’s full of shape and curves, while I’ve been compared to a toothpick several times in my life. While my legs and arms might look tiny, neither my hair nor my bra size is. Yeah, every girl wants to brag about her bra size, but honestly? I wish I were an A cup. I’ve gotten endless insults thrown at me, mostly by the cheerleaders and their supposedly hot quarterback boyfriends. And my hair? Don’t even start. It’s dark brown and could be pretty, I guess, if I took better care of it, but the last thing on my mind in the morning is the appearance of my hair.
Samantha always tells me my hair is beautiful, but she’s got shiny, glowing brown hair that is stick-straight except for the ends, which are always curly and pretty. My boyfriend, Somer (yes, I have a boyfriend, despite my unflattering looks), reassures me, too. Which always makes me feel a little bit better, but then again, why am I worrying about my hair in the first place? Hair is so frivolous compared to some other things.
My cell buzzes, and I wrestle it out of my jeans pocket. It’s from Somer. Well, speak of the devil. Or rather, think of the devil.
i’m at olly’s, is what the text says, meet me here in 5?
sure thing. see you then:), is my reply. Oh, well, I can do chemistry tomorrow. It’s not due until Friday, anyhow.
I pull on my jacket and shove my feet into my boots. Although i’m not completely excited about the idea of going out in the streets alone again, with the chance of the bird girl lurking around, Olly’s is my favorite place to go and hang out. It was discovered by Somer when we were first getting to know each other, and now we go there at least once a week. the best part? No one else knows about it, not even Samantha. No offense to Sam, but if she knew about it, the whole freaken school would know about it.
“I’m going to Olly’s,” I tell my mom, holding up a hand. She nods slightly but says nothing else. She’s still typing away at that computer aggressively. Wow. It’s been a long time since my mom was this inspired.
I’m just about to open the door when my mom calls out, “Be back by ten.” I glance at my watch. It’s only five thirty. Geez. Who does she think I am? I wouldn’t stay out for four and a half hours.
I sigh, open the door, step out, and then close it, praying I wouldn’t see the girl with the mockingbird tattoo.
Chapter 2:
Surprisingly, I arrive at Olly's unscathed. I pass by the creepy Goth chicks again, and they laugh at me again (save for one, who has disappeared since the last time I passed by), but I disregard them. When I open the door to Olly's I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing I can't jinx myself once I'm inside the small cafe. The door screams its trademark jingle as I twist the handle open. The jingle is supposed to be comforting and pretty, but really sounds more like a toddler getting beheaded. (sorry for the gross visual.)
As expected, Somer sits at our usual table, his eyes flicking over the menu. When he hears the bell, he glances up and smiles. "Nor," he says, and pats the seat next to him. I sit down without a word and inspect him. He's wearing his usual, plaid flannel and dark-washed jeans. His black hair hangs in his equally black eyes. He's looking at the menu studiously, something he has not done in two months. We've memorized the menu, so we never need to look at it anymore. Besides, we know our orders--everything bagel and fresh chocolate chip cookie for me, poppyseed bagel and peanut butter cookie for him.
"Why are you looking at the menu?" I ask him. "Or, rather, when was the last time you looked at the menu?"
"To answer your first question," he replies, "I'm looking at the menu because they edited it and there are several things gone and several things added. To answer your second question, it was 64 days ago."
Oh. That's the other thing. Somer can remember things. I know, I know, everyone can REMEMBER things, but Somer remembers everything, from the color of someone's fingernails to the order of the presidents to the number of days until Christmas. He has a photographic memory. It can be a little intimidating, I must say, having a genius boyfriend with a photographic memory. I'm straight B's and C's, and he's straight A+'s.
But focusing on his first comment, I can hardly believe it. Olly's--changing their menu? My mouth is touching my elbows. (Not literally.) I grab the menu from his hands and devour it with my eyes. Not much has been taken off of it, but I notice they do have, like, full meals now. For breakfast- Pancakes. French toast. Breakfast burritos. For lunch- Grilled cheese. Burgers. Hotdogs. For dinner they have some fancy entrees. Wow. This does not sound like Olly's. At all.
Before I have a chance to say anything to Somer, Elizabeth, the waitress/our friend, comes up, holding a pad of stark white paper. "hello, can I take your order?" she says in this ridiculously fancy voice, and it takes everything in me not to burst out laughing. Elizabeth looks like she's trying to hold back a laugh, too. She leans down and drops her voice to a casual whisper.
"I'm sorry, I have to do this. Brenna wants to make sure everything's perfect."
"Brenna?" Somer and I repeat in unison.
"Yeah. The new manager. She sucks."
"New manager?" Olly has been the manager since, well, since the place started. Which was something like 1950. It's 2012 now.
Elizabeth nods and points to the walls, which were once adorned with awards and pictures of movie stars coming to visit Olly's. In all of the pictures, Olly, either a fresh young woman or a wrinkled old woman, is grinning from ear to ear as she twists her arm around the celebrity, are now bare. Except for one thing. There used to be a plaque right above the kitchen door that read "Olly's" in Edwardian Script, but it's now replaced with a new, loud, intimidating plaque reading "Brenna's." How did I not notice that when I walked in??
"What happened to Olly?" I whisper.
Elizabeth shrugs. "I don't know. No one does, really. Maybe she's sick?"
I sit back on my heels and look at Somer, who is just as astonished as I am, if not more. "Oh. Well, I'll get my usual, I guess."
"As will I," says Somer, who stares back at me. We share wordless words through our eyes.
Elizabeth nods and looks at us sympathetically. She knows all this place has meant to us since we first started dating, back five or six months ago. I know it's valuable to Elizabeth, too.
"That's weird," I say to Somer when Elizabeth's gone.
We eat our meal in silence. When it's finally time to go, Somer and I walk outside and look at the building that used to be Olly's, but is now mysteriously, Brenna's.
"Can you walk me home?" I ask, my voice barely audible. Walking home in the dark is something I never like doing.
"Of course." He nods slightly, kisses my forehead, and takes my hand.
"What do you think happened to Olly? She would've told us, right?" I ask him.
He shrugs. "Maybe Elizabeth's right. Maybe she's sick." He pauses for a minute and then turns to me. "When was the last time we were there?"
I calculate the days in my head. "I think...last Sunday?"
"And everything was normal then."
"Yeah," I say, looking up at him. "Everything was normal then."
We stop walking as we round the corner. "Well, that's weird," he says. And it is weird, but it's also sad. Because Olly was one of our best friends. She would always laugh and smile and kiss our cheeks like we were her children. She was the mother that neither of us had.
It's like that thought passes through both of our minds at the same time, because all of a sudden, there are tears in my eyes and sadness in his. He leans down and kisses me, slowly at first, but then faster and more persistent. He backs me against the wall and I rub his back. His lips lower to kiss my neck. There is no space between us. It's as if we are one body, one soul. I stroke his hair, and his fingers move up and down my thigh. Finally, I pull away.
"Stop," I say breathlessly. "We need to stop."
"Why?" He looks around. All that's around is the dim streetlights and blank streets. No sign of the Goth chicks.
"It was just... not right." Those are the wrong words, but they're the only ones I can think of. He doesn't reply. Instead he just kisses me one last time and we head down the street.
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