Glow

GLOW

by MarcyKate Connolly

Chapter 1

The Deadline

When I left the Boston Public Library that night, the moon was high and so full it was almost daylight. The stone steps of the library and Trinity Church across the street were much clearer than they normally would be at ten o’clock. A row of trees lined the small park in front of the church and threw awkward shadows into Copley Square. Restaurants and bars up and down the street were open, their sparkling lights giving them away, but I felt completely alone—an odd feeling to have in the middle of the city.

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

A young girl, no older than eight or nine, stood behind me with her hands clasped in front of her. Her brown hair was so dark it was nearly black and when she lifted her head, I discovered she had bright violet eyes. I sucked my breath in sharply. What was this beautiful child doing out so late at night?

“Will you buy me a hot chocolate, please?” she asked, tilting her head to one side.

“Buy you a hot chocolate?” I said, puzzled.

“Yes, please. I’m going to read your palm, but it’s chilly out here. It’s better if we go somewhere warm,” she explained in a matter-of-fact tone.

“You’re going to read my palm?”

“Of course. You need to pay more attention to your future.” Smiling, she slipped her small hand in mine and led me down the street. Sense might dictate otherwise, but I couldn’t help being swept along by the strange child. She had a way about her that put me at ease and dulled the sharp pricks of fear creeping up my back. I was disturbed by the girl’s sudden appearance, but I couldn’t argue with her. Something inside me ached for direction. I’d just begun my junior year at Boston University, adrift in a sea of a million people, but I hadn’t declared a major yet. I loved music, but it seemed too impractical. Perhaps a taste of the future would do me good. I’d never put much faith in fortune tellers, but there was something commanding in her voice—a confidence—and a wisdom in the violet eyes gazing from her young face that belied her age. I was intrigued.

“What’s your name?” I asked as she opened the door to a Starbucks.

“Anna,” she said softly. Her face brightened and she grinned. “A white chocolate, please. It’s my favorite.”

I smiled back. It was my favorite too.

I walked up to the counter, her hand still in mine, and ordered a white chocolate for her and a white chocolate raspberry mocha for me. Outside, the fall season approached but had not yet taken over; the coffee shop was infused with an atmosphere of warmth, anticipation, and pumpkin spice. Drinks in hand, she led me to a small table in the corner by the window. She climbed onto the chair, her legs several inches off the floor. She swung them gently. I shivered at how cold the street looked under the bright moonlight.

“Give me your hand, Lily.” Surprise shot through me; I never told her my name. Tentatively, I placed my hand on the center of the table. She took it in her smooth pale grasp and gazed at the lines on my palm, tracing her tiny fingers over them and frowning occasionally. After a moment, she put her hand, palm down, on top of mine and closed her eyes. She was so still I couldn’t tell whether she even breathed. A minute or two later, she opened her eyes again. They were wet with tears.

“What’s wrong, Anna?” I’d begun to feel protective of the little waif and didn’t want to see her upset.

“You may not want to hear your future, but I still think you should know,” she said in a small voice. “Let me show you.” She lifted my palm to face me and pointed out the creases as though she’d memorized them in that short time. “This is your lifeline.” She indicated a curve that forked into my palm. “Most people have a single line, with small offshoots that represent other paths they could’ve taken, but did not. Yours forks. One path,” she tapped her finger on the branch that went into the center of my hand, “is short and if you choose to take it, will end very soon. The other,” she gestured to the longer arc, “is winding and filled with many hard choices. But it will lead to an unusually long and happy life.”

“OK . . . How will I know which path to choose?”

She pouted. “You’ve already chosen.”

I didn’t like how she looked at me. Her eyes, so bright before, brimmed with knowledge and the grief that all too often accompanies it.

“English, please,” I said.

“You’re on this path now,” she sighed, touching the shorter branch. She leaned closer and I could see the tears glistening in her eyes. Her voice was only a whisper.

“You will die before the New Year.”

The serious tone and finality of her words shocked me and I pulled my hand away as if I’d been burned. I jumped up from the chair, knocking it over and earning a stern look from the barista behind the counter. Anna sat very still—unnatural for one so young—her grief at the news palpable. I knew she meant every word she spoke and I had no choice but to believe, however much common sense resisted taking advice on life or death from a child.

Suddenly, I was terrified of the girl staring up at me, who mysteriously appeared out of nowhere to condemn me to death without reason or explanation. My heart frenzied in my chest as I backed away from her, unable to wrest my eyes from her hypnotic violet gaze. I reached the door and barreled into the street, knocking over several chairs and an elderly gentleman in the process. The unseasonably cold air slapped my face, waking me, bringing me back to the real world. I glanced through the coffee shop window to our table in the corner.

Anna was gone.