by Alana Siegel
We were sitting in the cafeteria at the beginning of the lunch period. Kids filled in the tables around us. Their chatter emitted a low hum throughout the room, just loud enough to conceal our own voices.
“I asked him, and he said no,” I told her. I was annoyed because I didn’t think he was telling me the truth.
“Did he freak out at any other point during the night?” Helen peppered me with questions.
“No, he was cool as a cucumber, per usual,” I said and rolled my eyes. “Not that he had any opportunity to freak out. Lynn filled in most of the empty space. She was lively and smart and opinionated. Plus, beautiful,” I added.
Helen sighed and asked, “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing. Derek really likes her. I don’t want my curiosity to mess that up for him.”
“Who does Derek like?” Chelsea asked, throwing her books down and dropping into the seat next to me. Jaime eased into the seat across from her.
“Derek really likes his new girlfriend, Lynn,” I explained, hesitant to share the conversation with the whole group. I like to keep certain details between Helen and me, but the other girls would find out about Lynn sooner or later.
Chelsea let out a low whistle as she unwrapped her lunch. “Suspicious about your brother’s girlfriend? You are in trouble,” she said.
“Why do you say that?” I asked, and the knots tightened in my stomach.
Chelsea dramatically raised her eyebrows before saying, “You won’t be able to drag Derek away from her. Guys get hooked. He won’t see that she’s bad news.”
“I never said she was bad news,” I said, beginning to get strident.
“Suspicious of her, bad news, same thing. I’m just glad I have a sister instead of a brother,” she said, dismissively, like the discussion was closed.
“How can you compare the two? Your sister is barely fourteen and idolizes everything you do,” I argued.
“Fine; how about Jaime’s sister? She would never let a guy walk all over her,” Chelsea insisted. Always amped for a heated discussion, she couldn’t be stopped once on a roll.
Helen took the bait and said, “The only relationship Jaime’s sister has ever had was with her textbooks.” Her lips were ironed in a straight line. “No offense,” she said to Jaime as an aside. Jaime shrugged her shoulders and kept her eyes on her food, trying to avoid being pulled into the dispute.
“Maybe you are blinded by love, but I’ve seen your brother, Brad, whipped by a few girls on the cheerleading team. Even little Sean had his heart broken last month,” Chelsea dished without skipping a beat. Helen’s face started turning pink, and her lips curved down at the ends.
I wracked my brain to think of a way to make Helen smile. I knew Chelsea didn’t mean to upset her, but she definitely knew how to push her buttons.
Luckily, Jaime came to our rescue. She cleared her throat and said, “I’ve got Gifted business to discuss.” Just like that, she caught our attention, and we changed focus.
“I’m pretty certain that a relative passes down their Gifted jewelry when they think their time might be coming to an end,” Jaime explained to us in a hushed whisper. “But I think our relatives used messengers to deliver their jewelry to us.”
Chelsea and Helen leaned inward and listened intently. Jaime took some stray hairs that had wandered from her bun, and pushed them back behind her ear. Her Gifted bracelet tumbled down her wrist towards her elbow.
“You think there are Gifted messengers who deliver Gifts?” Helen asked. She stabbed her spork into the lettuce on her tray absentmindedly, without bringing it to her mouth. Her eyebrows furrowed as she thought hard about what Jaime had suggested.
“Who are the messengers? Meta agents?” Chelsea chimed in, saying the word ‘Meta’ softly. We usually kept our in-depth analysis for our meetings of the Gifted Program, but Jaime’s search took on a life of its own. It consumed her thoughts, and she constantly wanted to discuss it. She obsessed over it like a new crush.
I looked around at the faces of my friends. Our little table felt full. We still had troubles, but the weight that used to be painstakingly carried individually was now distributed between the four of us. We looked out for each other and protected each other.
Jaime bit her bottom lip in concentration. Her eyebrows mirrored Helen’s, pulled close together on her forehead. “No, I think the Meta enforces rules, but they don’t deliver jewelry to the Gifted,” she said. I thought about Mr. Dimon, but he was too busy to play messenger. Think about the small amount of time he had for us; we only became his problem if we got out of line.
“So who is the messenger?” I asked. I still found Jaime’s research on things that happened in the past useless, but even I was admittedly curious about this one. Jaime shrugged her shoulders.
We sat in thoughtful silence for a moment until across the cafeteria we heard Max shout, “Adams! Watch it!” The sound of Max’s voice pulled us away from Jaime’s analysis. Chelsea looked panic-stricken. Even sitting in her chair, her body braced for attack mode.
Her argument that only guys fall head over heels in love went right out the window. She embodied contradiction. For all the lip service she gave to fairness in relationships, she was loyal through and through, even to Max. If she sensed trouble in Max’s voice, she was by his side.
We scanned the room and saw Max standing in front of his minions from the smokers’ corner, his short temper reaching its breaking point. His fiery stare could melt a glacier. I knew this from experience, based on the numerous times I had been on the receiving end of those steely green eyes. I watched in earnest as his anger grew.
Max and I were both a part of the Gifted program, but since our romantic relationship ended, any commonality ended there. We both continuously seemed to do a little dance taking us to both sides of the line between friends and enemies. While I watched him try to keep his rage in check, I thought about our heated and bumpy history. He ran his hand through his hair, and I felt a fluttery feeling. Honestly, we cared for each other, and most days we found a happy medium.
Cliff Adams stood with his back to Max with a group of football players surrounding him. He stopped mid-story at the sound of his name and turned around to face Max. Bewilderment etched across his face. Without uttering a word, the entire football team stood up behind Cliff, and a hush came over the room.
“Max, do we have to go through this again? What’s your problem?” Cliff asked firmly. He rarely caused a scene, but Max had pushed his buttons one too many times. With his team behind him, you could hear the confidence in his voice.
Cliff stood a few inches taller but that didn’t stop Max from stepping closer. With stubborn courage he glared up at Cliff. “My problem? You pushed me,” Max accused and jabbed him in the chest with his right pointer finger. It was the same finger that wore his Gifted ring. The sight of it made my heart beat pick up. Max’s crowd inched forward, taunting Cliff.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Max. I didn’t touch you,” Cliff said, the anger increasing in his tone.
“Are you calling me a liar?” Max yelled. The air became slick with Max’s Gift. Within seconds, he emanated his red Gifted glow. I was impressed and frightened by how swiftly he was able to turn on his Gift. The room got darker. Max’s Gift was more intense and more powerful when triggered by emotion.
Jaime jumped to her feet, ready to spring into action, but it was futile. The dozen or so testosterone- and adrenaline-fueled guys would easily overpower her. She stood in front of our table in a lavender ball of coiled energy, clenching and stretching her hands at a speed that shouldn’t be humanly possible. A flash of vanilla passed by, and I knew Chelsea was already on her way to Max’s side.
To the rest of the students, Max’s storm would look like shadows passing through the cafeteria windows and covering the room with darkness. No one would register the howling wind that ripped open the windows or the rain that poured down in sheets was actually caused by Max.
&nbs
p; The kids would see Max’s face angry, full of rage instead of a harmful, red glow. They wouldn’t recognize the buzz of Max’s Gift. Instead they would feel the air thick with humidity. His increased skill from practicing made him more dangerous than ever.
Our whole table stood now, paralyzed by fear. We watched the guys glare at each other, and hoped someone would back down. I was preparing myself to run when Justin slipped in between Max and Cliff. Just like that, my Gift shot through my body, and I wore my rose scent like a weapon. I changed my direction and turned towards the fight, ready to move in and protect him.
Helen stopped me. She whispered, “Liv, you don’t need to go over there. Justin has this under control. I can see it in his clenched face and fists.” I looked again. The air around him turned an icy blue. His left hand hung down at his side, holding tight to his Gifted army knife. Helen was right; Justin wouldn’t let anything happen to Cliff.
“You don’t want to do this, Max. Cliff did nothing to you,” Justin growled in a deep voice. His gritted his teeth and his nostrils flared. Max’s and Justin’s Gifted auras fused together until they were surrounded by a dark purple glow.
“This isn’t your fight, Benz,” Max shouted, his face an inch from Justin’s. Justin grabbed Max’s arm. I watched Max’s eye brows come together in question. His red aura faltered, and he looked down at Justin’s hand.
Jumping into the spotlight was never something Justin chose, and he always avoided using his Gift publicly. However, he stepped in to defend his best friend.
“Ahh, that burns. Cut it out,” Max hissed. Justin kept his eyes focused.
“Back down, and I’ll stop,” Justin said, calmly. They eyed each other, and the room felt like it was on fire. My sweaty palms grasped the table as we waited for someone to back down. Max growled one more time and turned away. I sighed in relief. You could feel the tension subside from our table.
Cliff patted Justin on the back, said, “Thanks, man,” and led his team in the opposite direction. Except, Justin didn’t look relieved; he looked irritated. I wanted to run over and check on him, but it would only draw more attention. It would be better to watch him from afar.
He began sniffing the air and searching around the area, and I realized maybe his irritation hadn’t be caused by the extra attention. Whatever had, it must have smelled distasteful. He scrunched his nose in disgust. When he caught my eye, he instantly stopped; relaxed his face, and proceeded out the cafeteria door. I wondered what that was about and made a mental note to ask him later.
* * * *
Chapter Eight: Early Dismissal
“Great Aunt Evelyn!” Jaime whispered to me. I couldn’t mistake the excitement in her eyes. She was eagerly listing off her long lost relatives as we sat at our lab station during Mr. Stackhouse's science class later that afternoon.
I humored Jaime and pretended to listen to her ramble about family who lived all over the world, but I had trouble concentrating. In my head, I was counting down the minutes until the school day ended. I eagerly anticipated those perfectly private forty-five minutes after school when Justin and I escaped to a world made for just the two of us.
I was also struggling to pay attention to Mr. Stackhouse’s lecture. He didn’t know how to speak to kids my age for the life of him. However, I must admit, a large part of the trouble came from my preoccupation with Justin sitting at the desk diagonal from my lab station. His seat placed his flawless profile in perfect view.
“Today’s lesson will be focused on scaling factors that can be used to make representations of astronomical distances,” Mr. Stackhouse began. He turned to the board and scribbled down an equation that looked like Sanskrit as far as I could tell. The values were small and slanted to the right as if he only intended himself to read it.
When he turned around to face us, his eyes widened with surprise, like he forgot there were twenty-five students in the room. He gulped and pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose.
“The Andromeda galaxy is about two point two million light-years away from our galaxy, the Milky Way. Light travels at three hundred million meters per second, and yet light takes years to travel to us from the stars,” he lectured and paced the small space in front of our lab stations.
It didn’t matter what Mr. Stackhouse told us, I only absorbed facts pertaining to Justin: the rhythm with which he tapped his foot, the way he held his pen while doodling in the margins of his notebook, or how frequently he blinked his eyes.
While I watched him I wondered about the thoughts in his head. He kept his hands busy, which I was sure was helping him focus and keep his Gift in check after turning it on high, like the way he did to deflect Max. I knew how he felt. I often needed a cool-down period after practice in the mall with Helen.
I wished to be closer so I could touch his skin and feel his Gift hum to life and travel through my blood stream. However, I knew he didn’t share my desire at that moment. It would be hard to keep a low profile and blend in with our classmates if we were engulfed in a blue haze, smelling like roses. I wasn’t sure if I should worry about fitting in, but Justin would rather not be noticed at all. The only thing I knew for sure was that I liked it best being wrapped in his arms.
I twisted the ring he had given me around my finger as I watched him tinker with the materials on his desk. This particular piece of jewelry contained no gift. Unlike the constant shine of my Gifted necklace, the silvery band of Justin’s ring often reflected smudges and fingerprints from which Gifted metals were immune. Still, something about it seemed Gifted.
I liked that the surface contained small imperfections because Justin had melted the metal himself. He used his Gift to manipulate the physical components until it formed a circle. I could spend all day twisting the metal around my finger, but my favorite part was the gemstone filled with a liquid crystal that frequently changed colors, and right now it was a colored with a blue and yellow swirl.
I picked up my pen and began tapping it on my paper. The minutes dragged, and I didn’t want to sit in class any longer. I glanced at Jaime. She was desperately trying to understand Mr. Stackhouse’s formula, but she caught the movement of my hand as I cradled the charm of my necklace.
Her eyebrows stretched to the top of her forehead in question, and I quickly averted my eyes. I knew she wouldn't approve of what I planned to do. I ignored her when she shook her head in an attempt to stop me.
Channeling my Gift came easily these days. As I focused my attention on Mr. Stackhouse, it vibrated through my body quickly. I felt full of power and confidence, like I could do anything I wanted. I was intoxicating and luscious. It was exhilarating.
My hand shot into the air. “Yes, Olivia?” Mr. Stackhouse asked. Before he finished saying my name, his eyes glazed over. He softened like putty in my hands.
“I was wondering if you could let class out early. We can get a head start on our homework,” I said. It was more of a statement than a question since I knew he would do what I want. A crooked smile grew across his face.
Jaime kicked me under the table. Again, I ignored her reminder to tone down my Gift. Mr. Stackhouse nodded his head and without saying another word, our class was dismissed. I jumped out of my seat with such excitement that other students turned to look at me. In that moment, I didn’t care about their curious glances. I had one thing on my mind -- Justin.
I kept him in my peripheral vision as I collected my books, but he quickly left the classroom when Max made his way over to our lab station. Fighting the urge to stamp my foot, I tried not to show my exasperation and impatience with Max's untimely appearance.
He leaned in and asked in a hushed voice, “Hey Jaime, are we still meeting for the Gifted program at your house tonight?” He tried to look away, feigning disinterest. Max pretended not to care, but after his sister ran away last fall, he hadn’t missed a single meeting.
“Do you really have to ask? Of course,” Jaime replied, closing her notebook. We used Jaime’s parents’ basement as a
meeting place. Her family never bothered us down there.
“Can we talk about the scene you caused in the cafeteria today.” It was a statement, not a question, and she looked up at him reproachfully. Max rolled his eyes in response.
“Max, your Gift is dangerous. When you’re angry, you need to control it. There were innocent people who could have been hurt. Plus, you never know who is watching,” she scolded.
“Seriously, Max, not your most brilliant move,” I chimed in.
“Like you’re any better, Liv?” Jaime accused. “We shouldn’t be using our Gifts because it is convenient.” I suddenly found my pen very interesting.
“Cliff started it! He knocked into me. What, I’m not allowed to defend myself?” Max countered. His voice grew louder, and people began to look over. Jaime sighed, tilted her head, and gave him her best ‘you-should-know-better’ look. It had the desired impact. Max looked down at his feet.
“It would have been an unfair match, and you know it. Cliff is not an enemy,” Jaime said and walked past Max.
I hoped that was my cue to walk away, too. Unfortunately, Max lingered around my desk like he had more to say. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and kept his hands face down on our desk. It felt odd seeing him ill at ease when he was usually so confident.
Even though I was concerned about Max, I was itching to see Justin. I grabbed my books, ready to follow Jaime out of the room. Max grabbed my arm to stop me.
“Max, what is it?” I asked.
“I don’t think it was Cliff who pushed me,” he stated. I looked down at my books and tried not to meet his eyes. “You don’t seem surprised. You don’t think it was Cliff, either,” he said, putting his hand under my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his. I looked into his intense green eyes, trying to determine if I could trust him. Max stared back, knowing I would eventually tell him.
I shook my head and said, “I saw Justin sniffing the air after he broke up the fight. Did you smell anything suspicious?” Max’s eyes widened and then he looked past me, deep in thought.