7.

Northrop High School was buzzing that morning as Tristan arrived in the parking lot, but she quickly noticed that it wasn't her who was drawing in all the attention for once. It came as a temporary relief from the otherwise torture of being in high school when no one likes you. Tristan counted herself as lucky for the time being that she had been spared from the usual torture.

Parking at the edge of the lot nearest to the exit, Tristan waited in her car for a few minutes to collect her thoughts. She didn't care if the God wanted to manipulate everyone else, Tristan didn't want to be part of it. The last thing she needed was for her dads to find out that she was being pursued by a God.

If all Esme wanted was more believers, then why didn't she pursue all the other students that were pining over her attention?

Regardless of Esme's reasoning, Tristan needed to be free of her. Tristan couldn't stop thinking about the last thing that Esme had said to her, wondering why she would say something so outrageous. As terrible as Twila's bullying was, she didn't deserve that kind of punishment. If anything, Tristan wanted Twila to be the same person she was before the kiss happened.

Tristan wished and hoped that she could get Twila to forgive her for what had happened, that maybe Twila would come to understand eventually. But after eight long months, it seemed the opposite was happening. Twila was getting more and more vindictive in her pursuit to make Tristan feel bad about the kiss.

But in no way did that mean that Tristan wanted Twila dead, even if she wished that Twila would move away to a country far, far away. She still loved Twila, as much as it killed her to admit it. Tristan was head over heels in love with who Twila was in the time they were together, clinging onto the last shred of hope that she may be able to resume being the way that she was.

Deciding to brave the wild, Tristan exited the car and made her way through the parking lot towards the front entrance of the school. She ducked out of sight any time she saw a group of people approaching, hiding between parked cars until she was able to walk freely without being harassed.

Tristan got to the stairs of the school where there were people hanging all around as they chatted before the first bell rang out. A few of them looked in her direction, ready to spit names at her, and yet something stopped them every time. Tristan was relieved momentarily, that was until she thought about why people were now ignoring her.

After months of being put through exhausting mental torture, why had everyone collectively decided to stop bothering her?

Had Twila finally decided to give her anger a rest? Tristan had never been given the opportunity to explain herself, let alone talk to Twila one-on-one. Twila kept herself surrounded by her friends at all times, the same friends who seemed to only care about her so long as she had something that they wanted. Tristan knew this was true about Twila's friends from the beginning, but never wanted to upset Twila by saying so. Instead, Tristan always bit her tongue and tried to be polite to Twila's gaggle of friends.

None of that mattered now, Tristan thought. Because as much as she wanted to believe that Twila could come to her senses, she knew better than to be so naïve. Tristan knew something was amiss. Twila wasn't one to quickly let go of her anger, not in this case.

Tristan was walking on eggshells the second that she darted through the front entrance of the school. She could see the resentment in people's eyes and yet they all seemed to shy away as soon as Tristan came near. This was a first. Something definitely had changed.

The first bell rang, giving Tristan little time to get to her locker and then to her homeroom class. She dreaded the thought of going to class, presuming that Hasson would be waiting once again in her seat. She expected as much.

But when Tristan entered the classroom, she was surprised that it was entirely empty... except for one person, or, more specifically, one God.

Tristan was about to turn around to exit the class when Esme called out her name in a way that made Tristan stop before she even had the chance to begin. Tristan felt as though she couldn't control her limbs any longer, suddenly marching into the class so that she was standing at the blackboard facing Esme. She felt like a doll now, propped up on display for Esme.

Esme smiled as bright as the sun as she sat perched at one of the desks, her hands folded one on top of the other. She was so beautiful, that much Tristan could admit, but there was a sense of danger behind that very beauty that scared Tristan in a way she had never been before.

"Did you have time to think about what I offered you?" Esme asked. "I figured you needed time alone to process your thoughts."

Although Tristan was still unable to move her feet or hands, she could move her head freely.

"If you even think about hurting Twila..." Tristan muttered. She stopped herself from threatening Esme. "I don't want her dead."

"Oh? I thought you might with how she's been treating you," Esme contemplated. She looked Tristan over once, nodding at her own thoughts. "Maybe I've misread the situation?"

"Just a little bit," Tristan said. She knew she had to be careful about what she said to the God, knowing that whoever this God really was, she was dangerous. "Twila means everything to me. I hurt her. I deserve this."

Esme perked up at what Tristan was saying, but then deflated soon after.

"I'll have to disagree with you. I don't believe you did anything wrong," Esme replied.

"You know what happened?" Tristan asked. She tried to hide the fact that the idea of having a God on her side as proof would definitely sway Twila back to the truth.

"No. I don't. But I'd like to understand why you feel the way that you do," Esme said. "I can sense that you are telling the truth. I can feel it for myself without even knowing what happened."

Tristan shrank a little at Esme's response. Still, she reminded herself that having a God on her side would be more valuable than having anyone else's word.

Esme got up from the desk and crossed the room until she was within five feet of Tristan, who still had no control over most of her body. Tristan thought about questioning it, but she figured that it was more than she was able to understand at this time.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Esme scanned Tristan.

"It's not like I can read your mind or see the future," Esme said. "I can feel what you feel. Can't you feel what I'm feeling now, too?"

Tristan shook her head.

"Oh. Maybe the blood bond didn't work properly?" Esme questioned, mostly to herself as she thought it through. "But if it didn't work, then how come I'm awake right now?"

Tristan didn't know what to say, so she stayed quiet and listened to Esme work through her thoughts.

"I think something went wrong. You don't believe in me, do you?" Esme asked.

"No," Tristan replied, sharply.

"Exactly. So why am I awake right now if you don't believe in me?"

"Sounds like a problem you should figure out for yourself," Tristan replied. "I don't know who you are or what you want from me. But I don't need it or want any of it."

Esme nodded. She stepped forward so that the distance was short between them. Her face dropped a little as she continued to work through what was going on.

"I'd like to think it would be that easy. But you have a right to me now. You made the blood bond, not me," Esme said, pointing to Tristan's healed hand. Except when Tristan looked down at it now, her hand wasn't healed anymore. The wound returned and was looking rather red and swollen.

Shocked, Tristan tried to move her hand but it was of no use. For whatever reason, her body was paralyzed in place.

"You really don't understand what is going on, do you?" Esme asked. "Was it an accident that you woke me? I thought you would be excited to see me. But, it's the opposite. You can't stand me."

"Well," Tristan said, pausing for a moment to look down at her paralyzed body, "it would help if you hadn't done this to me. Doesn't really help your case much when you have to force people to hear what you have to say."

"You're stubborn," Esme replied. She sighed. "But, you're right. Sometimes I forget that I can't do the things that I once did. I promise I wasn't meaning to hurt you."

"Then get your magic off of me," Tristan snapped back.

Esme laughed. "You can move any time you want to. It isn't magic."

Tristan fell forward onto her knees, collecting herself off of the floor before Esme had a chance to offer her hand. The two stared at each other as if they were in some sort of showdown. Esme, however, only wanted Tristan to understand that she didn't mean any harm. Whereas Tristan was sure that Esme was using magic on everyone to get whatever it was that she wanted.

"This is an odd predicament we happen to be in," Esme announced, tucking some of her wild red hair behind one ear. "You want something that you can't have and so do I."

"There's nothing you can do to help me," Tristan reminded.

Esme nodded. "So you say. Maybe I was too harsh before, but the point remains: I can help you. I know you want Twila to forgive you, and you want that parasite Hasson to be forgotten."

These were obvious facts if anyone paid close enough attention, Tristan thought. But no one had... until Esme.

"So? How can you help?" Tristan asked, more humouring Esme than anything.

Esme didn't hear the sarcasm in Tristan's tone, instead she ushered Tristan to a desk where she made her sit down at it. Tristan begrudgingly obliged, more to hear what it was that a God like Esme could want from a girl like Tristan.

"Well, first off let's figure out why I'm here," Esme said, leaning against a nearby desk. "You cut your hand two nights ago on my grave. Somehow, without your knowledge, it was seen as an offering --- a blood bond so humble and yet so strong in its beliefs."

"Even though it was without my knowledge?" Tristan questioned.

Esme shrugged. "We Gods can be a little presumptuous."

"Okay, so I cut my hand, blood dripped on your --- you said grave? So you were buried in my dad's vegetable garden?"

A smirk played out over Esme's mouth, nodding. "It wasn't always a vegetable garden."

"It has been for at least fourteen years."

"And I've been asleep for fifty," Esme replied. "I knew someone who lived there long before you and your family."

"So they trapped you in a grave in the garden?" Tristan asked.

"No, no one trapped me. I chose to go there to sleep. It was the safest place that I could think of. I don't think it's uncommon for gods to sleep underground, do you?" Esme replied.

Tristan didn't know how to respond. She shrugged. "What do I know about Gods?"

"Not enough. But, that's neither here nor there. The point is, your blood was seen as a valid offering, and the Gods granted your beliefs true. Now here I am, wondering how I am supposed to help a believer that doesn't even believe in me," Esme said, deflating a little. "I was excited to meet you. I wanted you to believe in me --- I still do."

"I can't help you there. If my dads knew that I was talking to you, not to mention all the nonsense you just told me, they would ground me for the rest of my senior year," Tristan lamented. "I've had enough of being grounded for things I didn't mean to do."

"Then don't tell them," Esme replied. "Simple as that. I won't tell your dads if you don't."

Tristan weighed through that momentarily, shaking her head. "No. It's not safe."

Esme smirked a little at the thought. "But being bullied day in and day out by your ex-girlfriend and your ex-best friend is safe?"

Tristan paused. "Well, it's not like they threatened to kill anyone. But you did."

"A lapse in judgement on my part," Esme retorted. "I felt your anger was vengeful and I acted on it."

"My anger is my own. I don't need your interpretation of my emotions," Tristan replied.

Clearly Esme was frustrated, but still amused at what Tristan was saying.

"Wouldn't you prefer it if you and Twila were on good terms?" Esme asked.

"It doesn't matter, because we aren't."

"But you could be. It's simple, the way I see it. You need someone to intervene where you can't get the courage to. More than anything, you want to be understood rather than persecuted. I don't blame you. You don't deserve this type of treatment," said Esme. "Twila needs to have less of an ignorant approach to what happened between all of you. I don't know the details, but I know that you are telling the truth. I can sense it. Frankly, I can see it."

"Humour me, then. Tell me what you see," Tristan persuaded.

"If you let me be the one to help you, I would start with your peers first. They are all rather susceptible to manipulation; it doesn't take much to tell them what to do and how to behave. Take away the believers then what faith do you have to stand for? If Twila feels as if she hasn't got a leg to stand on, maybe she will come to her senses and, at the very least, give you time to explain your truth," Esme explained. She pressed down her dress as she sat properly at the desk beside Tristan. "I know you aren't the type to hurt people, Tristan. The lies that Twila spreads like wildfire, the same ones that Hasson tells --- those aren't your truth."

Tristan shrank into her desk a little. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"I want you to stop being so afraid of the unknown!" Esme exclaimed, calming herself soon after. "You are so afraid of what happens when you confront your enemies that you would rather live in their cruel punishments. What kind of life is that?"

"The kind that doesn't involve manipulating people."

Esme rolled her eyes. "I only do what people want me to do. If someone wants to me to manipulate them, they have to be the one to initiate it."

"You're telling me that the entire school wants you to make them parade around like little puppets, willing to do whatever you say?" Tristan questioned.

"Subconsciously, yes. Some more than others. But, there are exceptions."

"Like what?"

Esme was quiet for a moment before her eyes drifted over to Tristan. "Like you."

This almost made Tristan laugh. "I'm not special. I'm just... me."

"That's the thing: You are special now. Maybe before you were like everyone else, but that changed two nights ago for you. Now, I expect you will take responsibility for your actions and honour your commitments," Esme explained. "Most of all, I want you to believe in me, Tristan. You can't put me in this position. If you do, I might not... make it."

Tristan got up from her desk and paced the length of the aisle before stopping at Esme. She scanned the petite God, wondering how someone so small held so much power.

"No pressure, right?" Tristan joked. "How come you won't make it?"

"By now I would have figured a smart girl like you would have figured out how scary falling asleep is for a God like me," Esme replied.

"Why? What's so scary about sleeping?" asked Tristan.

Esme shook her head. "Not sleeping when you're tired. Falling asleep is a term we Gods use to describe what it means to have no faith, no believers that can keep us awake."

"If people don't believe in you, then you fall asleep?"

"Yes, exactly. We got into a sleep-like state until someone either wakes us through belief or, like in your case, you form a blood bond," Esme further explained.

Tristan paused as she thought it over. "You said you were asleep for fifty years? That's... five decades. You're trying to tell me that you were sleeping for five decades in my dad's vegetable garden that wasn't always a vegetable garden?"

With one curt nod of her head, Esme stood up now so that she was facing Tristan instead of sitting at the desk.

"It was Rose's garden," Esme informed.

"A rose garden," Tristan confirmed.

This made Esme laugh. She shook her head.

"No. Rose was a woman. But, it was a garden. Just not roses. Flowers. Lots of them. The most beautiful I have ever seen in my waking years," Esme drifted off for a moment before collecting herself. She took a deep breath as she came back to reality. "I'm sure it makes a lovely vegetable garden now."

"Julian takes care of it, yeah. But the raccoons keep getting into it and ruining all of his hard work," Tristan said. "Why did you bury yourself there?"

Esme's face dropped a little. "Well, it felt like the safest place for me to go at the time. We tend to bury ourselves when we are going to sleep for an unknown period of time. It keeps us safe until the right hands find us again."

"Just like that?" Tristan asked. "Someone could stumble on you sleeping underground and that would be enough to wake you?"

"Potentially. Depends on the level of belief that the person is willing to give into," Esme replied.

"And my blood accidentally falling on your ---" Tristan paused, unsure of what to call it.

"Grave."

"Yes, grave --- was enough to wake you from your fifty year slumber?" Tristan further questioned.

"It was. If it wasn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now," Esme informed. "You're responsible for me just as much as I'm responsible for you. But, there's a stipulation: If you don't believe in me, then I can't continue on. Eventually I'll feel the pull to sleep again. Before long, I'll be back in the ground."

"Isn't that your kryptonite? Why are you telling me your weakness?"

"Transparency, my friend. I know you aren't used to it considering your current situation. You are so used to the lies and deceit that when a good thing comes along, you can't see it. So, what good would it do for me to hide more from you when all you want and really need is someone to be honest?"

Tristan weighed this through for a moment before turning her attention back to Esme. "Something isn't adding up. What happens to me if I don't believe you? I just get to go back to my life as if I didn't summon a God from the underground?"

This time, Esme looked as though she wanted to avoid the answer. But Tristan prodded her for an answer, forcing her to say what she didn't want to.

Esme turned away so that she could think through her answer, facing Tristan as soon as she was prompted once more.

"I can't lie to you. You can't just start a blood bond and sever it without repercussions. You'll always be marked, Tristan," Esme said, pointing down to Tristan's hand. "I can make that mark disappear so long as we are together. But if you stop believing in me, I can't fix you. My power is only as strong as your faith."

Tristan eyed her palm, noting that the scar hadn't healed much at all. It looked like it was on the verge of being infected.

"So what? What does a little scar mean?" Tristan asked, shoving her hands into her pockets.

"It's not just a scar. It's a mark. All the Gods will know the blood bond is broken and they will come looking for their own answers," Esme replied.

Tristan couldn't help but laugh. "And do what? If I don't believe in any of them, what harm can they do?"

Esme's eyes darkened. "It's not funny, Tristan. A blood bond is forever."

"Even if I don't believe in you and you fall asleep?" Tristan asked.

"For the rest of your life and the rest of my existence," Esme added. "Even after death parts you from me."

This didn't sit well with Tristan. She didn't know what to make of what Esme was saying. She looked around the classroom, eyeing that no one else had entered in the time they were talking.

"How is it that you make everyone fall in love with you? Is it magic?" Tristan asked, changing the subject.

"No. It's the human brain. Such a docile organ and yet capable of so much emotion. Sometimes I wonder how far I could go with my manipulation, but then I remind myself of why I'm here," Esme explained. "I'm not here to play games anymore."

"You manipulate people into doing what you want?"

"It's something that you weren't designed with. It's a power, if you will, that some of us Gods have. But I'm not here to do that anymore. I don't want to manipulate people into doing anything that they don't want to do," Esme replied.

"Then why are people still acting like..." Tristan paused, looking over to the door to see that someone was peering through the pocket window with a smile beaming from ear to ear, "Like that?"

"The best way I can describe it is that people want to understand what they can't even begin to comprehend. They would do anything to be special, to stand out from the crowd. If they sense that there is the possibility for even the tiniest taste of greatness into their lives, then they will constantly seek it out. You could say I'm sort of like a magnet, attracting certain types that need someone to stick to for support," Esme said.

Tristan chuckled to herself. "I call it The Esme Effect."

A smile toyed at Esme's mouth, but she quickly straightened herself out again so that she could keep a level head. Tristan couldn't deny that she felt something towards Esme -- even if it was the need to get away from her forever. She could simply stop Esme from existing by continuing to not believe in her, and then her problems with the pesky God would be solved.

However, as Tristan thought this through, she noticed that Esme seemed to change her expressions just as Tristan visualized Esme being buried underground again. Esme looked a little surprised, then disappointment took over soon after.

"You could stop believing in me, Tristan," Esme replied. "But, if you did --- they would come for you. They would want blood."

"Who are they?" Tristan asked.

"You don't want to know."

"Okay, fine. I don't get to know. That's cool. But what I don't get is why you are telling me all of this?"

"Because I want to be your friend," Esme replied. "I wasn't always this way, either, Tristan. I didn't always care about my believers. They could come and go, it wouldn't make any difference to me. But, this blood bond is different. It changes everything."

"In what way?"

"I can feel you. I could feel you from the second your blood fell onto my lips. The pain, the anguish, the anxiety of living. You feel a lot of guilt about carrying the weight of your emotions," said Esme. "I believe that the blood bond has made my connection to you as real and as raw as it comes."

Tristan couldn't deny that what Esme was saying made sense, but she also knew that she didn't want to give into a God that had openly admitted to using manipulation as one of her powers.

"What happens if I start believing in you?" Tristan persisted.

Esme seemed to light up at the question. "It means we can be friends, that I can do for you what a friend would do. You can forget all the others that make you feel as badly as they do. You have your own personal God now. I won't let anyone make you feel bad ever again."

The idea made Tristan feel something akin to warm and fuzzy, but only momentarily. She could practically hear both of her dads yelling at her now. Despite that, Tristan enjoyed the idea of having a God that practically worshipped her.

As Tristan scanned Esme over once more, this time she took a little bit longer to examine who she was looking at. Esme looked otherworldly, and yet so normal at the same time. No one could be human with how beautiful Esme was. That wasn't all that Tristan noticed about her newfound God. As Esme brushed back her hair once more behind her ear, Tristan saw the dirt caked under Esme's nails and all over her dress. She was dressed almost in a smock that was cinched around the waist, in a horrid shade of green with a long sleeve shirt underneath in the colour taupe. Tristan noted how old and outdated everything Esme was wearing appeared to be.

Had this little God really dug her way out of her own grave? Tristan cringed at the thought.

"Prove to me that you can make them apologize," Tristan said, almost demanding.

"Twila?" Esme asked.

"No. Him," Tristan said, chucking her thumb over her shoulder at the random guy hanging out in the pocket window, gawking at Esme.

"Who is that?"

"I don't know. Some guy, I guess. I do know that every single person in this high school has had a hand in hurting me over the last eight months," Tristan said, trying not to show how annoyed she was at the prospect of giving into what this God wanted. "So, if he actually knows who I am then make him apologize to me. He will be our test subject."

"Sounds easy enough," Esme replied. "And if I get him to apologize, you will believe in me? We can be friends?"

"Let's start with the believing in you crap first, okay? I'm not sure I need any new friends."

The words stung as Esme wanted nothing more than to be friends with Tristan. She held back the flutter of emotions that came and went.

Esme, now determined to prove that she could help Tristan, crossed the room towards the door. When she opened it, the guy who was hanging around outside almost fell right onto her. She managed to catch him just before he dropped all of his weight onto her. Not that it would really matter, as Esme was stronger than any person ever could be.

"Hello, clumsy friend," Esme said, putting on her best friendly voice. "What an entrance!"

The guy, a little embarrassed that he had made such a rude introduction, brushed his sweaty palms off on his pants before throwing his hand out for Esme to shake it.

"Sorry. I'm Brad," He introduced. "I wanted to meet you all day yesterday, but you were so busy. I mean, I understand --- but I sure would like to get to know you."

Esme patted Brad on the shoulder, even though she had to stand on the tips of her toes to do so.

"That's all well and good, Brad, but could I ask you something first?" Esme inquired.

"Anything," Brad nearly collapsed at the thought.

Esme turned her back to Brad so that she was facing Tristan now, rolling her eyes before collecting herself.

"Do you happen to know who this is, Brad?" Esme prompted.

Scratching his chin thoughtfully, Brad nodded. "That's Twila's cheating ex."

Esme accepted this answer, facing Brad again. "Tell me something, Brad?"

"Ohh, I have so much to tell you," Brad said almost in a sing-song voice.

"Then tell me: Did you, or have you at any point in the past, said hurtful things to Tristan?" Esme questioned, her tone changing.

Although Esme wasn't looking and neither was Brad, Tristan was nodding her head exaggeratedly.

Brad seemed to be sucked into the eyes of Esme, drawing closer and closer to her as though he was under her spell.

"I did and I have," Brad replied monotonously.

Esme reached up to stroke under Brad's chin like a faithful little pet. "Oh, Brad, that's not any good. Why would you do such a horrible thing?"

"Because Twila asked us all to treat her like that," Brad added, still zoned out in Esme's eyes. "And I do whatever Twila says."

"Why?"

"She's hot," Brad replied.

Tristan snorted, trying to hide her laughter. Esme acknowledged Tristan now, but only for a moment before placing her attention back on Brad.

"Can I ask you one more favour, Brad?" Esme requested, giving Brad's cheek a friendly smack.

Brad nodded excitedly.

"Can you, for one moment, go over and apologize to Tristan for treating her so poorly?" Esme asked.

Once again, Tristan made a sound of disapproval. But Brad nodded and accepted what Esme said, heading across the room towards Tristan. As soon as he approached Tristan, she threw her hands up and backed away.

"I'm sorry, Tristan," Brad said, straight to the point and without any remorse.

Brad extended his hand to shake Tristan's, but not before telling her that he promised he wouldn't bully her any longer.

"And, if I do..." Brad stopped himself to think it over. "Then you can punch me in the balls."

Tristan couldn't deny that sounded like a really good deal. Yet, somehow, Tristan had it in her head that Brad was only saying what he was to appease Esme. Either way, Tristan shook Brad's hand. Except the second that their skin met, an electric shock went through Tristan's arm and into Brad's. He let out a high pitched scream, jumping back from Tristan.

Tristan wasn't hurt at all. She checked herself over once before running to Brad's aid, who quickly melted to the floor. Tristan took his pulse, noting that it was racing erratically. Brad's eyes began to roll back in his head, convulsing on the spot.

Holding Brad in her arms, Tristan looked to Esme for help. But Esme stood nearby, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched on. The convulsions lasted for well over two minutes before Brad came to a dead stop. Tristan thought for a moment that he was dead. Luckily, he came to not long after, scattering out of Tristan's embrace like a wild animal.

Brad climbed over the desks, knocking them over as he did. He fell to the ground as a desk tipped over with him still on it, crawling to get away from Tristan. He began screaming about how he was sorry, how he didn't mean to, and that he didn't want to feel it anymore.

"Why are you just standing there? What happened to him?" Tristan shouted at Esme.

She shrugged. "I just gave him a taste of his own medicine."

"Meaning what, Esme? He's going crazy like a feral cat!" Tristan exclaimed, pointing over to Brad who was practically clawing at the walls to get out.

"He'll be okay. All I did was transfer what you felt to him," Esme replied. "Forget about him."

Tristan rolled her eyes, grabbing Esme by the arm so that the two could exit the classroom together. The hallways were empty, everyone in their respective classes.

"Where is the rest of our class?" Tristan asked as she guided Esme down the hall.

"I told them to have class outside today," Esme replied, trying to keep up with Tristan as she pulled her along. "Do you really have to manhandle me?"

At that, Tristan let go of Esme's arm, turning around to face her so that they were nearly a few feet apart.

"Do you really need to manipulate everyone to get what you want?" Tristan said in a mocking tone.

"No. If I did, then we wouldn't be having this conversation," Esme replied with a smile.

Tristan felt like the walls were beginning to close in around her, trying not to let it show that she was having difficulty breathing. She shoved her own feelings aside, focusing on Esme instead.

"That's not funny," Tristan snapped.

Esme shirked her shoulders. "In bad taste, but it was funny."

Wiping a hand over her face, Tristan tried to let go of the frustration that was building up. "I thought you didn't want to play games?"

"With you."

"Oh, so everyone else is fair game?" Tristan mocked.

"If it helps you, then yes."

This seemed to frustrate Tristan even further. "I don't want it to be that way. At least not with Twila. If she doesn't mean it, then why bother? I want her to hear me out as she is, without any manipulation. Is that understood?"

"So does that mean you're thinking of believing in me?" Esme asked, trying not to show her excitement but failing miserably.

Tristan gestured at Esme to calm down.

"It means I'm thinking about it," Tristan replied. "I'm not making any promises. I just want to understand how we can all benefit from this."

"Because if you don't it won't benefit either of us," Esme added.

"Cryptic, but you're right. So, let me get this straight: If I believe in you, then you will help me get rid of the bullies. If I don't believe in you, then Gods that I don't want to meet will come after me looking for blood. But why?"

"Not just any Gods," Esme corrected. "The Gods that are barely scraping by. There are many Gods on earth, too many to count. They come in all shapes and sizes, perfectly packaged for the people that need them. But then... there are others. I can't quite tell you what went wrong, but these Gods are the seeds of the underbelly. They don't adhere to what people want, they just want their piece of the pie."

"And what kind of God are you?" Tristan questioned.

"Not that kind."

"I thought Gods were supposed to be good?"

"Gods can be both good and evil," Esme said. "We can be whatever we want."

Tristan paused. "You never answered my question."

Esme smiled a little. She shrugged. "I'm a God that is here now, with you, not trying to stir up trouble. Make of it what you will."

"A mediocre God," Tristan said, jokingly now.

"Hey now, I'm not an emotionless God," Esme added.

Before the two could say anything further, Brad pried the classroom door open to dart from it into the hallway. He skidded to a stop, looking over to his right at Tristan and Esme who were a fair ways down the hall. He screamed at the top of his lungs, running as fast as possible in the opposite direction.

Both Tristan and Esme watched him disappear from view before looking at each other again.

"Come on, let's get out of here. I know a place where we can talk," Tristan said.