Page 20 of How Does It Feel?

My boots were already half removed by the time I stepped onto the cold white tile of my entryway. The backpack landed with a thud as I neatly tucked my boots under the bench by the door and continued onto the surprisingly light pack, removing the specimens that needed refrigeration. After putting away what was absolutely necessary and electing to leave the rest for the morning, I hurried into the shower, excited to get ready for our dinner date.

I was oddly eager to get dressed up. Maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t seen myself in anything but pajamas and a khaki-green uniform in a long time, but I was thoroughly looking forward to going out and feeling like a normal human for once. Maybe it was also the fact that I could get as glammed up as I wanted, and I knew my date wouldn’t assume it was so he could have sex with me. Yes, that was a definite plus. I giggled at the thought.

An hour later, I had gone so far as to paint my nails a deep red (it was the only bottle of polish I could find, and likely from when I was sixteen), my hair sat patiently in giant rollers as I perched atop the bathroom counter, and I attempted to finish my makeup. The YouTube video I had watched said a smokey eye was easy, but I earnestly begged to differ. I had already scrubbed it off and started over at least three times, concluding I had looked like a bandit-eyed raccoon. Eventually, though, I accidentally smudged in the right spot, achieving a sultry, smoke-like appearance that I was pleased with. I wiggled my loose wisdom tooth back and forth with my tongue, a new nervous habit I had picked up. I swore I would get it pulled soon before it grew more painful, but I never found the time, and the thought of being all loopy from anesthesia made me nervous. Next month.

It took me an agonizingly long time to dig about my closet and find the box I was searching for. Several boxes littered the walled edges of the small closet, and the one I wanted was hidden farthest in the back with the least amount of use.

I set the beaten cardboard container on the bed with a small grunt. The box had been through a lot of moves, and to be honest, I didn’t know why I had even kept it. More likely than not, I had assumed it was full of training equipment or something. I liked pretty dresses and fancy hair and outfits, just not on me. What did I need to dress up for?

I supposed the box in front of me answered that question.

I grabbed one of the blades from a scattered training box and cut open the lid to rummage through the clothes, setting out a few on my bed that could potentially work. Thankfully I was an excellent packer and had vacuum sealed each item because I wouldn’t have time to wash them. I snorted at the slutty ones I would never actually wear and attempted fruitlessly to remember how I had acquired them. Some of them seemed ridiculously small.

On went a pair of black pumps with an elegant yet feminine pointed toe that I used to wear to meetings.

When I was younger, I had actually been scouted by a few modeling agencies at a local mall a couple of years in a row. It had set Claire—the lady that cared for me after the accident—off into being an incredibly disappointed dance mom. She was supportive of my career, but every time I signed up for science camps instead of cheerleading or opted for more academic challenges than, say, modeling—which I’m quite certain they asked everyone at the mall anyway—she pushed even harder to force me into a mold I apparently appeared to fit better in than academics. I didn’t blame her. Honestly, I likely would have followed that path had she not pushed so hard. I had a tiny rebellious streak, I supposed.

With the memory of my family and a squeeze of my heart, I walked to the small wooden desk in my kitchen, opened the large leather-bound book that rested atop the worn surface, and pulled an unread letter from the first page of the book. I shuffled back to the brightly lit bathroom to finish my tasks while I read over the latest letter from my adoptive mother. Plans of travel and enchanted little places she could take me to, whenever I was able to visit, were scribbled across the pages and followed up with a sparkling butterfly stamp near her signature that I knew she had added just for me. She was so incredibly sweet and thoughtful. I startled out of my cozy reflections with a glance at the time.

I pulled off the perforated plastic of a red “all day wear” lipstick tube and read the instructions before painting it on my lips. It was most certainly expired, but I would try and ignore that as it made my already pretty full lips look absolutely pouty and voluptuous. I snorted in the mirror and tried to wipe it off, but true to my usual luck, it wouldn’t budge.

Debauched red lips and over-sexed smokey eyes stared back in horror as I rubbed vehemently to remove the red lip to no avail. What was in this stuff? Maybe I should put it under my new micro—

My microscope.

Oh my god.

I had left my microscope in the forest.

No.

The case wasn’t with me in the car.

In a flurry, I frantically ran to the front door, throwing coats and anything else, making sure Earl hadn’t grabbed it.

But in a flash of memory, I knew he hadn’t. I painfully remembered everything I had hurried to place in Earl’s car in our hysteria to leave the forest, and the hefty black case had not been there. I needed to call him and check.

I was so close to reaching my goals. How could I mess up like this?

But then Earl would have to stop what he was doing to take me over there and hike into the woods again. That had to have already been so taxing on him and his aging body.

How embarrassing! This isn’t how you treat equipment with the price tag of a car. He would think me unprofessional, and then he definitely wouldn’t let me work with him on this new mushroom adventure, and I needed to find more of those mushrooms.

But how would I get there? The back end of the park where we had been wasn’t actually that far from the end of my property if I went through the woods and didn’t take the roads. I would have to. I couldn’t leave it out in the woods to get ruined.

There was only one way I could think of to get that far back into the woods and back before anyone knew I was gone.

Chapter 7

Into the Depths of Darkness

Callie

Callie: Running late, can you pick me up at 9?

Earl: No pomegranates.

Earl: No pomegranates.