The Omada

“Why are you hiding?” Was I hiding? It didn’t feel like it; I just wanted the sad faces to stop looking at me. Everyone has been giving me sad faces for the last week! And now it was a bunch of new faces I didn’t even recognize. “I’m not hiding,” I replied in a whisper to the little boy as he climbed under the table with me. “I’m hiding,” he said. “My dad is making me meet everyone he can, and I’m tired of it. It’s so boring out there, and sad, everyone looks sad.” I agreed and nodded slightly. Maybe I wasn’t the only one tired of the sad faces. “Does everyone say sorry to you too?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t the only one. Hoping he was feeling as lost and alone as I was. “No, they all just talk about how strong I look and how lucky my dad is to have such a strong heir,” he rolled his eyes as he said that. “I’m over people saying that ever since my mom died; that’s all they talk about. My dad, lucky to have four strong sons before his mate perished, like that was all my mother was good for.” The boy’s face looked sad and frustrated. My eyes start to water; I turn my head away and whisper. “My mom died too; today is her letting ceremony.” His eyes go round, and something like regret crosses his face. “I’m so sorry I didn’t really mean to say it was boring, I just-“ I cut him off, “It’s ok, it is boring, and everyone makes sad faces, but I don’t think they are really sad.” I wipe the tears from my face. “I think they just came to try and be friends with my dad.” I look at my hands, fingers locked together, squeezing tight as I think of how much I miss my mom. Another tear slips out, and down my cheek I feel a feather-light touch right before a bolt of electricity zings from my cheek all the way down to my toes. My eyes lock with the boy's; his are wide and go from the deepest dark chocolate brown to swirls of gold. I rub the spot behind my right ear as a burning sensation starts. “What was that?” he asks just as my father's voice booms. “Zyla May Stone, show yourself.” I know he means business when he uses my full name. “I have to go,” I whisper and scurry out from under the table. Glancing one more time at the boy, I see him rub behind his right ear too.