Glaston (The Gifted Book 1) Read online

  Glaston

  C.C. Lynch

  Copyright © 2015 C.C. Lynch

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1517126843

  ISBN-13: 978-1517126841

  To the people who taught me that the extraordinary does not exist solely in fiction.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book began as a dream and evolved into a full manuscript in a matter of months. Thank you to my mother, Lorelei, who dealt with my constant nagging and updating while I wrote the book. She put in countless hours adding suggestions and comments to the writing, for which I will forever be grateful.

  Thank you to my loving husband for his patience and support throughout the entire process.

  CJD -

  We both kept our promise.

  1

  He was perfect. Everything about him was flawless from his straight hairline separating chestnut tendrils and a broad smooth forehead down to his gently pointed chin at the corner of an exceptionally chiseled jaw line.

  “Are you okay?” Brown strands fell into serious but kind eyes that bore into me.

  Though I willed my body to move, I was frozen and captivated in his features. I searched for words, anything to say to him, but I lay there motionless staring into the eyes of this familiar stranger.

  I woke up startled and sweating, the equal mix of fear and trust I had felt in the dream was still palpable. His face was seared into my memory, a result from seeing him in my dreams each week for a decade. Despite my trepidation, I wanted to fight consciousness and hold onto the intense and irrational adulation for him that would dwindle as my cognizance increased.

  I walked begrudgingly down the sea foam rugged stairs to find my mother enthralled by her tablet. I wanted to confide in her the deepest part of the dream that I kept to myself, to tell her how strong and real my emotions were whenever I saw the man. Whenever I divulged any information about my dreams it was met with her pretending to be interested by providing appropriately emotional “oh?” and “wow!” statements when she felt necessary. She could not be bothered to give me her full attention; she just wanted to return to whatever she was doing before I began speaking.

  Sighing, I closed my feelings into an internal box and plucked some ripe strawberries from the refrigerator. Each morning was the same, I would eat some assortment of berries and my mother would ask if that was all I was going to eat only to hear me grunt a “yes” before running out the door to go to school. On rare occasions she would yell out “I love you” but it was typically an aggravated and expectant shout as if I had greatly offended her by not saying it first.

  In an effort to counter any passive aggressive statements of affection I shouted “bye mommy, I love you,” before darting outside.

  “Hey girl,” my best friend Steph wrapped her arm around mine when she found me in the school parking lot. “Can you believe we are back in school already?” She tilted her head on my shoulder, her perfumed curls bounced off my arm. Steph’s static perfume was comforting; it seemed that all of our best memories were wrapped in that scent.

  “I feel like summer was barely two weeks,” I grumbled. “I just want to be back on the beach.”

  Truthfully, I loved school and the idea of summer break being over was more pleasing than anything. I hated days that were free and unstructured and summer break was two months of the fruition of my fear. Steph, on the other hand, could spend her entire life lying on the beach. She could easily be one of those trophy wives that starred in a reality television show with her perfect hair, makeup, and rich husband.

  She scoffed at the lie that I had murmured in my effort to be more normal. “What, so you can lie there for half an hour then leave to go and get some ice cream?”

  “Whatever,” I laughed and shook my head. “I love the sound of the ocean but that sticky feeling makes me want to jump in the shower A.S.A.P.” I shook my body as if trying to rid myself of the imaginary salt.

  “Maybe you could try relaxing for once in your life,” she smirked, skipping ahead towards the door with perfectly curled ringlets bouncing off her shoulders.

  I envied how she could curl her hair with no effort and paint on a perfect face. Without makeup we could be sisters. Our face shape and expressions were the same; it was our eyes and personality that were different. My eyes were blue with green swirls as if my irises were made of marble and hers were a solid deep brown.

  Those brown eyes seemed to command trust from everyone, any person that met her practically fell to her heels, including me. I adored both her and the fact that everyone around her loved her. While Steph seemed to be able to lasso every human with her charm, I kept people at a distance only making room for Steph and our friend Nicholas. Growing up with telepathy makes it hard to trust anyone. It was not that I disagreed with what people thought, or even tried to read them for that matter, I was just afraid that if I let someone in they would know I was different.

  I followed Steph up the stairs as we greeted peers we hadn’t seen in months. In the middle of catching up with Steph’s newest infatuation an announcement came on the intercom directing everyone to go to their homeroom.

  “Wait,” I began to panic, “we have a homeroom?” After three grueling years we were finally seniors. We had been assigned our share of gossip, homework, and teenage columniation, but never a homeroom.

  With a seductive grin she nodded a goodbye to the guy then turned to give me her full attention. “Something new they’re trying I guess,” her tone was beguilingly blasé. “Didn’t you get the letter in the mail telling you where to go?”

  “No,” my chest started to rise and fall quickly, “my mother never said anything.” Of my few fears in the world, being late was high on the list.

  “Calm down Abrielle, I’m pretty sure Nicholas is in your homeroom with you. Your last names are like a letter away from being the same.”

  My muscles relaxed as relief washed over them. Nicholas was walking into the school at that moment. I leaned over the balcony railing willing him to locate me and almost on cue his eyes found mine. A smile spread across his face before he hopped up the stairs, two steps at a time.

  “Please tell me you know where our homeroom is,” I pleaded, grabbing his hands.

  Calloused palms squeezed mine gently in reassurance as he nodded. I mouthed a silent “thank you.” Nicholas snorted, adjusting his backpack, “the ice queen didn’t give you your mail?”

  “Oh she is not that bad,” I looked towards the people flooding into the school to avoid eye contact. I could never lie while looking a person in the eye. I would make a terrible lawyer, doctor, or anything sort of professional that could make an impressive amount of money.

  “Right,” he snickered grabbing my backpack, “this way my dear.”

  “Um, why isn’t anyone carrying my stuff?” Steph planted her feet and crossed her arms.

  “You never bring a backpack,” I pointed to her empty shoulders.

  “Yeah, but my purse weighs a ton,” feigning difficulty she shrugged it off and handed it to me.

  I lifted it as if I was doing bicep curls. “Did you bring hand weights to school?” Her purse was heavy like she had shoved all of her school books into the designer handbag.

  “A curling iron,” she rolled her eyes as if I should have x-ray vision. “First day of school, duh.” She scrunched her nose then sauntered after Nicholas.

  “Silly me,” I shook my head, laughing.

  My homeroom was deafening with excitement. Everyone shared their summer stories with one another in competitive volumes. Nicholas had his shoes up on the chair in front of him saving my seat. I had only taken a minute to put my notebooks into my locker and Nicholas already had an admirer trying to take my s
eat. Long blonde beach waves hung in front of his face as Lisa flirted and chewed her gum loudly. My handsome best friend had his very own fan club and she was a customary admirer. Though Lisa was beautiful, she was a bit too dim for Nicholas’s taste.

  I watched his hand intently. If he wanted me to save him from the situation he would tap his finger on the desk three times. We had been friends since we were nine and somewhere in those eight years we came up with the three tap code.

  I sat down facing the front of the class waiting for the final bell to ring. “Hey Abrielle,” Nicholas tapped my desk from around my shoulder, “how was your summer?”

  The three taps. Mischief curled my lips and I turned slowly and traced his fingers delicately with mine, “you tell me, I was with you the whole time.” I leaned in towards him and plopped my head on my hand blocking Lisa from his view. I batted my eyes and sighed deeply. “How was your summer?” I winked suggestively. Lisa exhaled annoyed and walked off to find her next victim. We fought to suppress the laughter threatening to abrupt from the outcome of our scheme and continued on with catching up with one another.

  Nicholas, Steph, and I were so close that no one knew if either Steph or I were dating Nicholas, which made these scenarios immensely entertaining. We had faked relationships and break ups on numerous occasions. I loved Nicholas and treasured our friendship, but I always blurred the lines between friends and more. Faking relationships with him had burned me in the past. He never blurred the lines though, Steph and I were his friends and that would never change in his mind.

  A man in his fifties adorning a tweed jacket holding a tin travel mug in one hand and a briefcase in the other made his way into the room. “I’m Mr. Murphy. Good morning, pleasantries, summer fun, yada yada. Unless you have a class with me I won’t see most of you again until the last day of school when we meet in this room next. I’ll do a roll call and go over safety procedures then please head to your first class.” The new teacher did as he promised and Nicholas braided my hair while he spoke.

  The homeroom erupted once Mr. Murphy finished speaking but I waited for Nicholas to finish the braid he had started before leaving to find my class. I rounded the corner and bumped hard into Samantha Basil, a girl with the same gift that I had. There were few people I ever met with telepathy but whenever I was around them I could hear a strange buzzing sound similar to the noise a light bulb makes when it is about to blow out. Samantha and I could tell we had the same ability the first time we laid eyes on one another freshman year of high school. Our friendship only extended to friendly acquaintances but we had a silent respect for one another.

  When she first moved to the town her gifts were on display like a street performer. The first day of school she had brought in tarot cards and started doing readings for people. Though she hid her telepathy in her tarot card façade, most everyone got a kick out of her talents and our peers would ask her to perform on a daily basis. If Samantha and I were in a class together she would look over to me for a nod of approval to make sure she was saying the truth. I could never tell why she looked to me since it seemed that her skills were far superior to mine.

  Unlike Samantha I never told anyone that I had telepathy. I figured that the moment I mentioned to anyone that I could read another person’s thoughts or feel what they were feeling a plethora of medications would soon follow. Being an empath was difficult enough without throwing telepathy in the mix. In fact, I had tried to squash my gifts because I was too empathetic. Being around other people would alter my emotions so much so that oftentimes I could physically feel the pain of others. My mother would scoff at me because I was too sensitive of a child and when I told her why I was crying she threw me into every therapist’s office she could. I made it through eight psychiatrists before I learned to put a wall up and keep everyone else’s thoughts and feelings out of my head.

  When I got to my first class of the day I took out a notebook and saw a piece of paper fall out of my bag. It was a note written by Samantha that read “switch out of calc.” My chest tightened and I looked at my schedule. Third period was A.P. Calculus. I knew that if Samantha was urging me to drop a class it was serious. Mrs. Walters went over the Latin syllabus and once she finished I asked to go to the guidance councilor.

  “You want a study period instead of math?” my guidance councilor asked tilting her head to the side. Kerry Flannigan was a flaky redhead with good intentions oozing from every pore.

  “Yes. I should have enough credits to warrant me a study period.”

  “Ha!” Kerry slapped her hands together triumphantly. “Do you have a job?”

  “Uh, yes. I work the filing at city hall and I do a few hours at the pharmacy.” I spoke cautiously not understanding where she was going with her sudden epiphany.

  She turned to her computer and underlined a section of my transcript with her finger. “You have enough credits to graduate right now. We have a work program that would allow you to leave school early to go to your job.” She winked suggestively, as if I would possibly go somewhere else after school. “State law mandated that you have an English and math class for both semesters, but tutoring freshmen for their standardized testing counts as a math requirement. We would have to get you a study for third period because we technically have to feed every pupil lunch but you’ll be out by eleven.” She laughed and tilted her head to the side again.

  “Oh no, Miss Flannigan, I just want to switch out of calculus. I’ll gladly tutor students though, that sounds like fun.”

  “Oh we just have a very different definition of fun, don’t we Brianna?” She chortled and began typing.

  “Abrielle,” I corrected her, “my name is Abrielle.” She flipped her hand in the air as a response, not caring that she had gotten my name wrong.

  “So I will sign you up for tutoring and a study period.” She clicked and bounced around in her seat as if there was a song playing in her head. Inhaling deeply, I reminded myself that she was just a happy person and had good intentions. Kerry printed out my new schedule and handed it to me, satisfied with her work. I looked over the paper to find that she hadn’t changed my calculus class.

  It took three more print-outs for her to finally arrange my schedule to something that was acceptable. Before leaving I turned to her and quietly asked if it was possible for my college packets and responses to be mailed to the school instead of my house. I did not want any college replies to get lost like many of my parcels that passed through my mother’s hands had.

  She straightened her face and gave me a solemn expression. “You need to put a permanent address on all of your applications but each of your schools will have an early admissions meeting and I will receive the answer that day.” I nodded a silent thank you to which she responded with an exuberant, “Have a great day Brianna!” I smiled and waved as I shut her door.

  The rest of the day was underwhelming. By the time I got to my second to last class it seemed that the summer excitement had already come to a halt. I had a study period for the last two classes which translated to 120 minutes of social interaction. I crossed my fingers as I walked into the room hoping that Steph or Nicholas would be in there with me.

  A retractable wall had been folded to allow the high number of students to fit in the class. I took a seat in the back of the room and watched as my peers shuffled in just as the bell rang followed by yet another new teacher.

  “Hello everyone,” an older lady with a perfectly straight salt and pepper bobbed haircut spoke as if she was commanding a dog to sit down, “this is study period. If the noise level becomes too high we will separate the rooms and all pupils will study with their head on their desk for the rest of the year.”

  “That makes no sense,” I muttered irritated by the woman’s superior attitude. How could someone study with their head down on a desk? We were high school seniors, not toddlers.

  “A problem?” she arched an eyebrow my way.

  I twisted my tongue over in my mouth calculating my response. “The
re shouldn’t be,” I smiled and shook my head.

  “Good,” she tapped her fingers together.

  The seats were filled with acquaintances, not a best friend in sight. Declining any social interaction I began creating study sheets for my Latin class. In the middle of my notes an abrupt voice came from my side. “Why were you not in class, Abrielle?”

  I jumped at the slightly familiar voice and looked up to see Mr. Murphy. “I’m sorry, what do you mean?” I mentally kicked myself for the way I spoke. People always looked at me funny because the two most common words out of my mouth were always spoken in succession: I’m sorry. I was trying to delete those two words from my vocabulary, but not with any success.

  “Advanced placement calculus, you were on my roster. Was there a reason that you skipped my class?”

  “Oh, no, I changed my schedule.” I sunk down under his gaze and handed him my new schedule. I felt someone staring at me from my right and turned quickly to see Samantha’s eyes glued to me. I wanted to put my wall down and listen to what she was trying to tell me but I decided against it and planned to ask her once Mr. Murphy walked away.

  “So many study periods will not look good on a college application.” His lips twisted in disappointment.

  “I have a 4.2 grade point average and hundreds of volunteer hours. I am certain that if the college I want to go to overlooks my community activities because of a couple study periods then it probably is not the place I want associated with my higher degree.”

  “That’s a very egotistical point of view, Ms. Abbott.” He sneered at me with condemnation.

  A light air brushed by as I felt someone stand beside me, “altruistic is Abrielle’s middle name, I don’t know how ‘egotistical’ could ever be associated with her.” Steph flipped a perfectly curled lock over her shoulder and crossed her arms over her chest. She glared at Mr. Murphy until he finally decided to walk away at which moment I jumped up and hugged Steph tightly.