The Invincibles (Book 1): Trapped: A girl. A monster. A hero.

by Brittany Oldroyd

  He’s frowning and I’m panicking. Because I don’t understand don’t know what I did wrong don’t know what happened.

  I’m a terrible kisser.

  No. This is not our first kiss.

  What’s the problem? Why is he frowning? Is something wrong? I don’t know, it doesn’t make sense, I wish I understood.

  “What?” I ask, lips falling into confusion, heart sinking into fear.

  His composure snaps with a mischievous smile. “You’re too far away, Little Juniper. Come here.”

  Bursts of relief.

  I smile and he’s pushing me against the wall and our hands are pressed together like intertwined hearts. I’m his captive and he’s holding me here and I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care. There is power here and he calls to me like the music does. I don’t have the power to tell him no. I would never want to.

  Because right now, he is my heart and I am his and this is beautiful and dangerous and nothing will ever steal away this moment from me.

  Six

  Alec is sitting on the edge of his seat, clinging to it like the edge of a cliff.

  I smile.

  Alec: nerd, geek, teacher’s pet.

  Especially here, especially in a biology class. He knows everything about animals and genetics and the human body. It’s his obsession.

  Shaking my head, rolling my eyes, I take a seat directly behind him.

  “Hey, Nerd.”

  He turns, eyes cold and hard and angry with me. Accusatory. They whisper demands of how dare you and why me.

  “Where have you been?” he whispers, as if my absence is a secret he reluctantly protects.

  Amusement on my lips and in my eyes. “Where would I be?”

  Alec shakes his head, because he knows exactly where I was, because he can’t believe I would ditch to dance.

  “I’m going to be amazed if you graduate this year,” he says. “You don’t care enough.”

  “And you care too much,” I laugh. “How shocked will you be if I graduate?”

  “So shocked I will have a heart attack and die.”

  I pout. “Don’t do that. Who will I antagonize if you’re dead?”

  Alec sighs, tired exasperated irritated. “I really don’t know why we’re friends.”

  I’m grinning now. “Me neither.”

  Class is starting now and Alec faces the front of the room, ready to impress Mr. Zamora again with his knowledge, ready to attempt to learn something he hasn’t already read about, ready to remind everyone just how much of a nerd he really is.

  My notebook stays hidden in my bag and Mr. Zamora is droning on about genetics and I’m not hearing anything but the sound of my breath. I don’t care about chromosomes or DNA or heredity.

  I’m dancer, not a scientist, not a nerd, not an Alec.

  I slip my phone out, laying it down carefully on my desk. One hour of boredom I refuse to suffer through.

  A text awaits me, a single name depicted on my phone’s screen. Dalton.

  Bored yet?

  I’m smiling, touching the keys lightly. I don’t pretend to be listening. Mr. Zamora will never notice if I’m not paying attention, never notice if my attention is on my phone.

  Dying, you?

  A minute of impatience and he’s texted me back.

  You could say that.

  I smile. Text back.

  I really don’t know why I’m here. Remind me again why I didn’t just drop out?

  Seconds and he answers.

  Several reasons. You need to graduate to get into that dance school. And there’s no way I’m letting you run off without me. And there was something about your mother skinning you alive and dancing on your grave.

  I grimace.

  Right.

  Time is changeable when I’m texting Dalton. It moves quicker than it should, faster than the seconds can move. I blink and the bell is ringing and everyone is picking up their things.

  Mr. Zamora looks frazzled.

  He always does. No biology lesson in his class has ever been finished on time. Not today, not yesterday, certainly not tomorrow.

  “Before you leave, he says, standing by the door to prevent escape, “Pick up one of the permission slips for the Glass Tech field trip tomorrow.”

  A grimace of mixed emotions touches my mouth.

  Excitement. Reluctance. Uncertainty.

  It’s a way to get out of school without ditching but it’s visiting my mother’s workplace and I don’t know how I feel about any of it yet.

  Alec and I walk out together, the permission slips we pick up the keys to our freedom. Alec is already spouting facts.

  “This is unusual, you know,” he’s saying. “Richard Glass has never allowed anyone who doesn’t work for him inside Glass Tech before.”

  I want to snap at him.

  I know. Of course I know. I have never stepped inside Glass Tech and my mother is Glass’s personal secretary. If I can’t get in, one can. Until Glass changed the rules and now everyone is getting in and I still get no special treatment for being the daughter of his receptionist.

  I open my mouth, a smart comment rising from my throat to my tongue to my lips.

  My sarcasm is frozen by a bully.

  He’s just passing, just walking to his next class, but he still pauses long enough to reach out and shove Alec back into a locker.

  Fury is a fire within me. Because Alec gets pushed around for being smart, because I hate bullies, because I don’t understand what could possibly give someone the right to be a jerk for being less talented.

  He’s already walking away and I’m angry and I know I’m too upset about it and I don’t know how to do anything but hate him.

  I grab his arm and he’s turning back and I have to let go, step back, so I don’t break his arm. “Hey, watch where you’re going.”

  “Who are you?” he sneers. “His girlfriend?”

  Disgust is like bile in my mouth. He’s like my brother, is what I want to snap at him. The thought of dating him is vomit. There is nothing wrong with Alec but I will never date the boy that is my brother. There will never be an Alec and Kate. Romantically, we are impossible.

  “No,” I say, “His best friend.”

  I don’t know what I’m doing or when I decided to do it but now I’m swinging a fist at his nose and there’s a very satisfying

  crunch.

  I’m grinning. “Pay more attention. You never know who the nerd is friends with.”

  He’s glaring at me and I wink. Confidence is a storm and it’s raining harder than ever before. He can’t hit me. It would mean more trouble than I’ll get in. He won’t hit me. Holding his nose, he’s opening his mouth, to redeem himself, to say something to catch his pride—

  “What’s going on?”

  Broken Nose Boy clears his throat to get the teacher’s attention. “This girl just punched me for no reason,” he says, face of an innocent bystander at the scene of a crime, face of a victim.

  The teacher is frowning at me and I know he’s trying to understand why I would hit Broken Nose Boy.

  My explanation is ready. This innocent is a liar and a jerk and, oh, did he ask for it. But I know it will do me no good to point blame where there is no evidence. I resorted to physical violence, I threw the first punch, I have no proof that anyone touched Alec.

  “What’s your name?” the teacher is asking me.

  “Kate McCallister,” I grumble.

  The teacher nods to a room at the end of the hall, a room I know better than most of my classes. “Principal’s office. Now.”

  And now he’s turning and Broken Nose Boy is sneering at me again and I’m envisioning strangling them both. Satisfaction.

  Broken Nose Boy leans close to me while the teacher’s back is turned and he’s close. “Psycho,” he whispers and my hands are fists and he’s already disappearing into swarms of students.

  Injustice.

  Because the teacher missed what just happened and Alec isn’t d
oing anything and I’m so angry.

  “Forget it,” I mutter to myself.

  Alec jumps, pleading for sensibility.

  But I’m already shaking my head. “Not happening.”

  And now I am running, thoughts a train wreck of worried best friends and stern teachers and name-calling bullies.

  I’m done.

  Seven

  Anger is a balloon with too much air in it, filling with more emotion than it could possibly hold. More and more and more air gets blown in without ever being decompressed but it needs escape, release, freedom. Or it will explode, taking everything in its wake.

  A scenario I’m trying to avoid.

  I’m in trouble when I show any anger, let alone a full-forced tantrum. No one, not even my mother, has seen me at my worst. I’m not sure that I have. But I am angry now and I have to let it out somehow, before it’s too much and I explode into apathy.

  Dancing is my only solution.

  Pointed toes slice through the air and I’m leaning falling sinking back into an arched back. The music stirs inside of me, silencing my anger with every second that passes. I whip back into an upright position, spine rolling forward until my body is tall, straight.

  I spin across the floor, turns lashing me across the room like a tornado. I release all my hate, all my anger, all my frustration, giving it all away to the music that so willingly accepts it.

  It’s gone now.

  I’m leaping across the floor and my memories are bitter and my heart is like ice but the music has sucked away my fury.

  I stop, disgustingly sticky with sweat. It runs down my skin like rain in a thunderstorm. I turn off the music, transforming the room into silence. I walk across the room on bare feet, slippers in one hand.

  It’s only lunch time but I don’t change out of my sweats. I will not return, not after Broke Nose Boy.

  I put on my heels, grab my bag, head for the door.

  The air is colder than before and I’m shivering as I put on my coat. The city is gray and the world out here is a very cold place. It might snow.

  I walk down the street, cool-headed, not quite logical, but almost sensible. I think about Broken Nose Boy and for the tenth hundredth millionth time, I wonder why I’m the only one who ever gets in trouble. Everyone else is an angel and I’m a demon.

  I don’t believe in angels.

  There are no good guys, no saints, no heroes.

  I stop. I’m alone.

  Truly alone.

  No one is watching following anywhere to be seen. He was standing across the street a minute ago. He was watching me leave the studio.

  I’m glancing looking searching for him with surprised eyes and a stunned heart. I’ve never been alone before. I feel naked without someone standing nearby, exposed without someone around, standing in an open battlefield with nowhere to hide, nothing to shield me from the war.

  The feeling doesn’t last.

  There are fingers around my throat and my voice is drowning and I’m forced back into the nearest alley. I’m screaming and no sound is coming out and what is happening?

  Fight.

  The moment he grabbed me, the moment I felt his hand around my throat, my hands became curled fists. I swing one of those fists now, shoving knuckles into the figure’s gut.

  He grunts, stepping stumbling falling back. Caught off guard. But I won’t wait for him to catch his breath. There is no kindness no politeness no chivalry here.

  I swing my leg up, kicking his head back. He makes a frustrated sound and suddenly he’s caught hold of my ankle and my foot is vertical with the rest of my body and my toes are reaching for the clouds.

  I’m screaming.

  Because I’m frustrated and I’m in pain and I’m scared.

  His foot is wrapping around the foot on the ground, the one holding me steady, and I’m falling. I’m groaning. I had fantasies of this man being my protector.

  Idiotic. There are no guardian angels. This man would sooner kill me than save me.

  He grabs my wrist, dragging me to my feet, yanking my arm out of place. A new emotion, filling me to the brim, consuming me faster than even music could.

  Unrestrained terror.

  I’ve never felt this, never known fear before. Cowardice is not in my nature but right now I don’t know how to feel anything else.

  What will he do with me? Kill me. Knock me senseless. Kidnap me. I don’t know I don’t know why don’t I know?

  A shudder down my spine, poison dripping down my vertebrae. I can’t go I won’t go I refuse to go with him. I bring my knee up hard, hitting him as hard as I can, as fast as I can. There’s a

  snap.

  He lets go of me, huddled over in pain, holding his ribcage. And I’m running.

  I don’t stop, I can’t stop, I’m scared to stop. I can see my house but I’m still running. How do I stop? How do I stop running when the world is falling apart and everything I understood is broken and Kate McCallister is feeling fear?

  No. I will not fear. I will not lose to this. I am not afraid. I do not know what fear is.

  I stop. I’m home, I’m safe, I’m okay. I lock the door and drag myself forward and sit down. I can’t believe that happened. He’s not supposed to be dangerous. He never has been. Never, never, never.

  But he is.

  I pull out my phone to distract myself, checking for new messages. Two. The first from Alec.

  What is the deal? What were you thinking?

  Delete. Don’t answer. Ignore.

  I don’t want to argue, fight, deal with him. I have no regrets. He should be glad, he should be thankful. I did it for him. Doesn’t he know that? Doesn’t he care? I was helping him. Shouldn’t that be good enough for him?

  The next text, the only other one, pulls me out of my anger, out of my terrified world, out of everything.

  Babe, what happened to you? Are you OK?

  No. No, no, no, no, no. I’m freaking out and I broke someone’s nose and I almost got kidnapped, beat, murdered, on the streets.

  I can’t say it. I will not admit to fear.

  It doesn’t exist, it doesn’t exist, it doesn’t exist.

  I tell Dalton what happened at school with Broken Nose Boy and Alec. I tell him about the teacher. I tell him about ditching again.

  I don’t tell him about being attacked.

  His answer is quick, instantaneous.

  Tonight? Lincoln Park?

  My answer is just as fast, twice as emphatic.

  YES.

  I need this and I crave it and I don’t know what I’d do without it.

  I lay back on the couch, tired exhausted delirious. Seconds are gone and my eyelids are drooping and my body is lulling me into a deep sleep.

  Eight

  My heart is a war drum.

  I awake to the sound of a door clicking unlocked. I start, sit up, stare at the door. But there is no danger. Only my mother.

  She walks into the room, pausing, assessing, wondering why I’m half-asleep, wondering why I look like a frightened rabbit.

  “Kate?”

  Her voice is the softest I’ve ever heard. She can’t yell, can’t scream, can’t be heard from across a room. When I was little, I wondered if she had damaged her voice, cursing herself to whisper the rest of her life. But she simply has a quiet voice.

  “Yeah?” I say back, wondering, curious, hopeful.

  She tilts her head. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.” Cold and hard and not sure what I’m feeling now. “I’m going to bed.”

  She reaches for me and her hand is close, too close, not close enough. I flinch. Because my own mother just touched me. Because she never does that. Because I got dragged into an alley today. And today is too much one day one month one year.

  “Hold on,” she says. “We need to talk.”

  I sink into my seat and she pulls up a chair, her arms folding around themselves. “What happened today?”

  “What do you mean?”


  She sighs. I am a terrible liar. And she knows about school today. There is no hiding anything from her.

  “Kate, Alec told me what happened at school today.”

  Traitor.

  I’m on my feet and my head is beating and my heart is spinning because nothing makes sense.

  “What?”

  “Sit down, Kate.”

  A voice sharp like a knife. Soft and dangerous, like the silent assassin slitting a throat.

  Quiet is dangerous.

  I sit down, cross my arms, sink into my seat. I blink. Waiting.

  “He was worried about you,” she says.

  Liar. Back-stabbing jerk. Coward.

  She’s touching my cheek and I’m jerking from her hand. Hurt touches her eyes and she bites her lip. “What happened, Kate?”

  I wear a mask of apathy. “Some guy shoved Alec into the lockers, I broke his nose, a teacher tried to send me to the principal’s office, I refused to go. End of story.”

  There’s a cold and defiant edge to my voice. Do I sound like a rebel? What does defiance sound like? Like a cold knife or a loud gun?

  I look at my mother, at her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose, at her closed eyes, at her frustrated lips. “Kate. You can’t run away from your problems like this. You’ve got to take responsibility sometimes. You broke school rules. You needed to see the principal. You can’t run every time you get into trouble.”

  The key to ending a lecture: don’t acknowledge that you’re being lectured.

  “Can I go to bed now?”

  Her face is stern. “Just so we’re clear, you’re grounded for the remainder of the school year. No friends, no boyfriend.” She pauses, tense grimace on her lips. “No dancing.”

  On my feet.

  No dancing.

  No boyfriend, fine. No friends, sure. But how can she ask me not to dance? Doesn’t she understand? Doesn’t she remember? Doesn’t she realize the agony of holding music inside a dancer?

  “Please, Mom, anything you want. Just let me keep dancing.”

  She’s shaking her head the moment I open my mouth. “No dance. Grounding you wouldn’t mean a thing unless there were serious consequences.”