I always carry my amulet.

It's not a question of trend, color, or any sort of relation to other appearances. I don't care about that stuff, anyway. It's a silvery pale sort of color, and I can never look at it straight on.

Whenever I take it off, strange things happen.

Like the old man who followed me three streets down a dark alley. The lady with glasses and a cheap wig that was offering some greasy hundreds so I could visit her house for some scones. The bats that tangled themselves in my hair all day. And the person that looked, talked, and acted like me that appeared on the day I had the flu and stayed at home, only to disappear after I recovered—by which time the school was ready to expel me by all the havoc 'I' had made.

I keep it on all the time now.

Of course, I lose some things from it. Kathleen DeRoshbridger snubbed me forever after because I never wore her birthday present to me—a necklace with a blue dolphin on it. Mira Senubeeane told everyone I was horrible bully after I slapped away her necklace-prying hand.

Ironic that, afterwards, I would be the person to smash it myself.

"Why do you never take it off?"

That was Randy Bullington's question on a Friday afternoon. School was letting out for the summer soon, and everyone's nerves were high.

"I don't know." I answered as truthfully as I could without making myself sound like a complete idiot. "I keep it because it gives me good luck. Like a charm."

That was also true. While it perhaps didn't make my luck any better, it certainly kept bad luck away. It might as well have meant the same thing.

"Hmph." Randy went back to his "fox-face" mode. "Surely you don't need to wear it all the time."

"So what's your theory?" True or not, he should take people to their word. How far would this habit get him in life?

"A boyfriend."

"What?"

The thought was so preposterous, I practically choked over my own words. Me? Bullington knows full well I hate every boy with a passion strong enough to force them into the pits of Mount Saint Helens. My parents had lived in an area near the mountain for three years, but moved to this miniscule town on the corner of the map after an explosion evacuated thousands of people—including my parents. They had me shortly after, and decided to stay here.

"I'm thinking a boy that you knew back when you stayed at Mt. Saint Helens. He gave you it, and you never take it off to prove your love for him."

"Bullington, this is just an extra length of your imagination. My parents moved here before I was born. And you know fully well I hate any people of the Y-Chromosome gender!"

"Maybe you were betrothed."

This was so ridiculous, I gave out a harsh laugh this time.

"Betrothal before birth may happen in those stupid romance novels you read, Bullington, but this is real life. Obviously, I know you don't have a life, but at least try to understand it!"

"Then take it off. Come on, do it."

"Will you go jump into a hole and die if I do?"

"Yes." I could feel the concentrated sarcasm focused on me in that one word.

"Fair enough."

I knew this was the most stupid move in the history of my life, but Bullington knew he had me hooked. I have a stubborn nature and a short fuse. Especially when it came to boys.

Even with that, though, I hesitated. Was I really going to have another short game with fate?

"What, Greta? Too in love to stop declaring undying passion?"

Okay, that was it. I yanked it off, dangled the chain in front of his face, then quickly put it back on. "There you go, Bullington. Now hurry up and get lost."

"Well, I gotta say, you put that on awfully quick. Almost like you were afraid that someone might catch you…"

"Let me guess. You changed your theory."

"Maybe it's a boyfriend you have in this school, then. Possibly…John Pattron?"

"THAT idiot?"

It was common knowledge that the class pervert bedded girls like a particularly avid shopaholic changed clothes. His bedposts were covered in notches for every girl he'd used, and that was exactly the person I hated. I couldn't count how many times I'd screamed, yelled, punched, kicked, and generally abused that organic life form. I'd thrown backpacks, textbooks, papers, and gum wrappers (with or without gum inside) until my arm was as good as any pitcher.

And yet this was the person this numbskull accused me of liking.

"Listen, I don't know if you've struck a deal with this idiot or something, but I'm not doing it and you definitely cannot make me."

"Touchy, aren't we? Honestly, though, I'm pretty sure John mentioned something about getting together with you over the summer…and I'm sure he won't be happy when he hears you've been unfaithful—"

"Unfaithful? Really, how stupid can you get?"

"Then you won't mind getting rid of it. Holds no emotional value, holds no value at all."

"In your world, maybe. I hold love in the lowest esteem possible, I assure you."

"Enough with the big words. Get going and give it to me."

"Give it to you? I'll take it off, get rid of it, but you? I might as well just throw myself to the wolves. It's my charm, and believe me when I say it works. Give it to you? Why don't you just stuff me into a bag of steak and throw it to a pack of hounds?

"Then destroy it yourself. What do I care? Just. Do. It."

"Yeah, alright. Then you're going to be subject to my humiliation."

"JUST DO IT! Or are you stalling so your beloved will—"

"Beloved?"

In two swift movements, I ripped the chain and flung it on the floor as hard as I could, smashing it into pieces.

Stupid, I immediately thought. Stupid, stupid. How was I goaded into this? Not possible. I would have bad luck of every shape hounding after my blood. How did this happen?

But it was me, Greta Arcana. Do not think you've avoided me yet.

The voice in my head spoke back.

Get out of my head, evil alter ego, I remonstrated personally. You have no business being here.

Why, I do. I'm part of everyone, you included.

I shrugged the voice off, picked up the nearest lunch tray—that was caked in gum, might I add—before thwacking Bullington hard in the head with it. Proceeding to go in hot pursuit after the coward, I noted later with satisfaction that the only other noises in my head were his—it's cries for mercy amid those bawling bloody murder.

I regretted it in the morning, of course. Don't I always?