Catalyst

by Kristin Smith

  Catalyst

  By: Kristin Smith

  ***

  In a crumbling, futuristic Las Vegas where the wealthy choose genetic modification for their children, seventeen-year-old Sienna Preston doesn't fit in. As the only "normal" girl, everyone around her is a little too pretty, a little too smart, and a little too perfect. But when her father dies suddenly, her world changes in an instant.

  Praise for Catalyst

  "This book has everything I love in a young adult book: a strong, Harley-riding, brilliant female character, a captivating plot set in a vividly imagined futuristic city that I know and love (Las Vegas), and a scintillating romance that leaves me wanting more. It's a good thing that more has been promised in this series!”

  ~Jessie Humphries, best-selling author of The Ruby Rose series

  "A gripping thriller with a tough, but vulnerable heroine who must fight against a corrupt underworld. High stakes and non-stop action paired with terrific writing will have you turning the pages late into the night.”

  ~Kimberley Griffiths Little, award-winning author of the Forbidden trilogy (Harpercollins)

  "An action-packed sci-fi thriller filled with romance, danger, and twists you won't see coming, CATALYST provides a glimpse into an eery future depicting what can go wrong when those in power attempt to make things right.”

  ~Ilima Todd, author of Remake

  "Compelling. Intriguing. Fantastic! Catalyst gives us a view into a different world, but with relatable characters that everyone can understand. The novel’s exhilarating pace only gets better as the story reaches its heart-pounding climax. A YA read reminiscent of the best that the genre has to offer. Hunger Games and Divergent, eat your heart out.”

  ~Mark Noce, author of Between Two Fires

  “Catalyst is a stunning and unique addition to the dystopian genre. Fans of The Maze Runner and Divergent series will devour this series opener.”

  ~Sherry D. Ficklin, best-selling author of Queen of Someday

  “It takes a lot to literally make my jaw drop open but Catalyst did it! Packed with adventure and emotion, this book will have you turning the pages at a frantic pace. A brilliant start to a new series.”

  ~Nerd Girl Reviews

  THIS book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  NO part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Catalyst

  Copyright ©2016 Kristin Smith

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-63422-998-2

  Cover Design by: Marya Heiman

  Typography by: Courtney Knight

  Editing by: Cynthia Shepp

  ~Smashwords Edition~

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  For my boys

  You are my heart and my inspiration. You are my life.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  “There are no limits, only possibilities.”

  -Harlow Ryder

  Creator of Match 360 and Chromo 120

  CHAPTER ONE

  School is only good for two things—grades and social life. Considering I’m not exactly excelling in either of those areas, I’m not sure why I’m here.

  Professor Armstrong walks down the aisle, his comscreen in hand. “All right, class, your test scores have been uploaded.” He stops beside my desk, the smell of his cheap cologne overpowering, and stares down at me through his rimless glasses. “If you have any questions, please see me after class.”

  I avoid his gaze and focus on my desk-screen, dreading my latest calculus test score. The screen lights up, a digital device that displays my name, the date, and my test grade.

  C minus.

  Again.

  Professor Armstrong continues down the aisle, and I groan inwardly, swiping the screen off.

  Is it too much to ask for one good test grade?

  When the bell rings, I escape into the hall. Chaz is already waiting for me.

  “Hey, Sienna, you coming over to my house tonight?” He smiles, his dark round face giving way to a row of white teeth. “We still need to watch the final season of Return to Space.”

  A group of girls glides onto the Stairway to Heaven—as they call it. I like to call them the Stairs from Hell. I avoid the see-through moving contraption of death and take the normal stairs instead. Mainly because that thing scares me, but partly because I know I’d collapse by the time I made it to the top. I watch as the girls’ long legs work their way up the moving stairs—kind of like a mini-workout just getting around school. “Haven’t we already watched all the episodes, like, three times?”

  Chaz shrugs. “I dunno. Who’s counting?”

  Once we make it to the top, I stop and face him. “I am. And once was enough for me.” I shift my backpack on my shoulder. “Besides, I have a ton of homework to do. I think the professors forget that not all of us are blessed with enhanced genetics.”

  Chaz snorts. “Oh, you mean the two of us who aren’t?”

  Chaz and I are the only ones at the Genetically and Intellectually Gifted Academy—GIGA for short—who aren’t genetically gifted. Which is probably the reason we bonded in the first place. At least Chaz has the intellectually gifted thing going for him. Me? Not so much.

  I guess you could say we’re lucky—or cursed, depending on how you look at it—to have fathers who are professors at the school. It affords us free tuition and automatic acceptance. But for Chaz, the only boy in a sea of perfect GM girls—thanks to our segregated schools policy—life is good. Unfortunately, just because we go to this school, it doesn’t mean we belong.

  Case in point: Rayne Williams and her entourage of perfect human specimens. I watch as they stride past, their legs long and endless, their hair perfect, their teeth straight, and their clothes
tight and curving in all the right places. These are girls who never smell and probably never even sweat, whereas I’m like an overworked sweat gland factory. How can I ever compete with that perfection? I can’t. Therefore, I don’t try to.

  Sighing, I turn back to Chaz, whose eyes have also followed Rayne and her friends down the hall. “Dang,” he says. “That sight never gets old.”

  I slug him in the shoulder and take off down the hall in the opposite direction of Rayne & Crew. Chaz hurries to catch up.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” he says. “Come over after school. I’ll help you with your homework, and then we can watch Return to Space. It’s a win-win.”

  How can I possibly argue with that kind of logic? Especially when it comes from my best and only friend? “Let me run by my dad’s room and tell him I’m riding home with you.”

  “Meet me at my car?” When I nod, he adds, “Don’t take long, okay? You know how Destiny doesn’t like to hang around school any longer than she has to.”

  I bite my lip to hide my smile. Destiny is Chaz’s beat-up old cruiser. “I’ll be so fast you won’t even realize you’re waiting for me.” I pick up the pace and turn down another hall as Chaz keeps going straight, headed for the parking lot.

  When I reach my father’s classroom, my eyes flit to the nameplate on the wall outside his door. Without thinking, I place my hand on it, tracing the engraved grooves. Ben Preston. The name is solid, sturdy, just like my father.

  I find my dad inside, hunched over his desk-screen, doing grades. His tie is loose around his neck, and the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow are already evident. He looks up and smiles when he sees me. “Hi, sweetie. You headed home?”

  Tapping my finger on his screen, I eye the grades, even though I probably shouldn’t. I don’t really understand the purpose of giving grades when they’re all nearly the same—95 or 100. That’s what happens when you have a school full of genetically modified kids whose parents picked their characteristics like ordering off a drive-thru menu.

  “I’m going to Chaz’s house. He offered to help me with some of my homework.”

  Dad gives me a sympathetic smile. “Is calculus still giving you trouble?”

  “It’s all giving me trouble,” I say, my tone wry.

  “Well, hey, you know how much I love math. If you still don’t understand after your study session with Chaz, maybe I could sit down with you tonight. Go over some math problems?” He winks at me, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “You have to give your old man a chance to prove he still knows a few things.”

  I laugh. “Trust me, Dad. I don’t think I’m in danger of forgetting that.” Leaning over, I wrap my arms around his neck. Like always, he smells of a combination of cedar and leather. He reminds me of a classroom, but he also reminds me of home. “See you tonight.”

  As I’m headed out the door, he calls to me. “Sienna?”

  I stop and turn, one hand resting on the wooden doorframe.

  My dad smiles, his hair tinged with gray, his hands lightly clasped on his desk. “I’m so proud of you. I know it’s not easy…” He gestures around the room. “Being here, I mean. But I’m proud of you for sticking it out.”

  I smile back at him. “Thanks, Dad.”

  That’s what I love about my dad. He always knows what to say and when I need to hear it.

  ***

  When I arrive home later that evening, all the lights are on inside the house. Mom and Emily aren’t here because it’s Thursday night, which means Emily has dance class.

  I don’t know why my mom insists on taking my four-year-old sister to dance. It’s mostly just a class where she learns to spin around and touch her toes. I could teach her that at home for free.

  “Dad?” I call out, entering the foyer. “You home?”

  I’m greeted with silence.

  I walk through the living room to get to the kitchen. A comscreen broadcasts a local news channel. As I enter the kitchen, I see him. Sprawled out on his back on the kitchen floor, eyes wide open, mouth slightly parted.

  My heart drops, and I fall to my knees beside my father, my fingers searching for a pulse. I cringe when I touch his skin—so cold, so very cold.

  “No,” I whisper, tears stinging my eyes. “No, no, no, no.”

  I pull my Lynk from my pocket and call rescue services. With sobs shaking my body and my words coming out in gasps, I’m not sure if they understand what I’m trying to say, but they promise to send help.

  The next few minutes are a blur. I hold his hand because I don’t know what else to do, but my tears stain his dress shirt and silk tie—his work clothes. He never even had a chance to change when he got home.

  Rescue services burst through the door and begin working on him, but I can see it in their eyes. It’s in the way they move, the way they whisper to one another. It’s too late. But no one wants to tell me.

  And then, finally, they do.

  ***

  Later that night, after we’ve dragged ourselves home from the hospital, without Dad, because Dad will never step through that door again, I sit in a kitchen chair and stare at the spot where I found him. Mom and Emily are already in bed, but my mother’s sobs trail down the hallway.

  How can I ever go to sleep again? After finding my father like that, how can I ever close my eyes and dream?

  Tears fill my eyes as I stare at that corner of the room. The exact spot where only this morning, my father stood, making chocolate oatmeal for my sister and me. I can practically hear his off-key humming and smell the aroma of cocoa and peanut butter. I miss it already. I miss the life I’ll never have with him. I miss the years that have been stolen from us. And what about Emily? My heart breaks for her. She’s too young to understand, and I think that’s the saddest part of all. She doesn’t even know what she’s missing.

  Salty tears run down my cheeks and into my mouth, but I don’t bother to wipe them away. Despite the blurriness, something catches my eye, so I stumble out of the chair to get a better look. A black leather briefcase rests against the kitchen cabinet. Dad’s briefcase.

  I rake a palm across my face and reach for the bag, clutching it to my chest. When I breathe in, the distinct smell of leather fills my nostrils and gives way to a thousand memories. This is the smell of my father. The smell of old books, classrooms, and shoe polish. And this is all I have left of him.

  Before I can stop myself, I unzip the compartments of his briefcase, searching for something, anything, I can hold. Anything to remind me of him.

  In a small inner pocket, I find something. A photo. But as I stare at it, I realize it’s not at all what I was hoping to find. It’s odd. There are two people in the photograph—a man and a woman, both smiling, the man’s arms wrapped around the woman’s shoulders. This man is a much younger version of my dad, but the woman, with her long, dark hair and beautiful smile, is not someone I recognize. Strangely enough, the handwriting on the back of the picture says Mitch and Penelope.

  Who are Mitch and Penelope?

  Every nerve in my body tingles from exhaustion, and my head pounds from crying so much. Too drained to contemplate it further, I slip the photo in my pocket and tiptoe down the hall to Mom’s room. Her lamp is on, as if she doesn’t plan to go to sleep. It casts a glow over her hair, which is red like mine, untamed and uncontrollable. I quietly slip into the bed next to her, as I did so many times before when I was a small child, seeking comfort. Back then, cocooned against her bosom, every fear, every doubt, would melt away.

  But now, I wrap my arms around her, trying to provide some comfort. The warmth of her body radiates through her thin nightgown, and I inhale the scent of lavender. A scent that takes me back to memories of Mom, Dad, Emily, and me, of us together as a family—summer picnics, family dinners, and nights spent stargazing.

  I never knew how good I had it. How could I know I wouldn’t have more days, months, or years of that life? I never dreamed things would change so drastically.

  If I had kn
own… If I had only known.

  I might have been prepared.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I sold my soul only weeks after my father’s death. It’s fitting that one year later, I would be in an underground pool hall, requesting a meeting with the Devil.

  The air is thick with cigarette smoke and the pungent smell of men’s cologne. I’m clearly the minority with my fiery hair and fair skin—not to mention my boobs.

  Wearing the shortest, tightest skirt I own, I weave past tables full of men with lingering eyes until I reach Victor, where he stands at the back of the pool hall. With his arms crossed over his chest and his hair slicked back with grease, he looks like the average criminal. Once again, I wonder how I got mixed up with his kind.

  “Good job last night,” Victor says, smirking.

  My eyes narrow. “If you thought you could do better, you should have done it yourself.”

  “A crowbar and twine? Really?” He leans close. “Next time you break in somewhere, don’t be so careless and leave evidence for the Enforcers to find.”

  A muscle in my jaw twitches. Apparently, he saw the news this morning, just like I did.

  “I did what you asked. I stole the file and got it loaded to Video Share. Now you owe me a meeting with the Devil, just as you promised.”

  Victor sneers, the bling in his mouth on full display. I’ve never understood the desire to have gold and diamonds in your mouth, but whatever.