Gravity (6 page)

"Red sent me to find
you."

Red?—
It sounds
familiar.

"He said you
met him in an antique shop in your dream."

The
shopkeeper?
How
does
she know that?
Is
she the girl
Red said to trust? But I can't remember what she looks like. My
body's reaction to her has settled. I smile for the small victory.
What are the chances of her throwing herself at me and rebooting
the whole situation again? I'll take the chance and hear her out
since she mentioned Red.

I
come out from behind the dumpster and
the girl seems to keep a cautious distance between us, something
I've never seen before with people I've accidently collided with. I
take a good look at her; her face is still obscured by the ball cap
and her baggy clothing reveals nothing. She's small. I could've
really hurt her. She's nervously fiddling with her fingers trying
to sum up something to say.

"What do you
want?" I help her out.

"I need you and you
need me."

Which
need
did she mean?

"I know about your burden and I can
help."

"What burden?"
I
test.

"Th
e one that sexually
lures people."

Hearing her say
it like that mak
es my cheeks
burn. She couldn't have known this with our
collision
.

"What do you
want?" I
clutch my backpack
strap.

"Red sent me. I can
help you, but you have to come with me."

How is it that
Red is real? He
i
s a dream. How
d
oes
t
his Red person know me? How
did she know about my
'burden'
?

"Gabriel, we
can help each other. If you help me, Red will help you. He knows
what you've been going through. Please come with me."

It sounds good
not to go home, but I don't know her. I can’t trust a total
stranger, but in the end it doesn't matter, I will never get close
to anyone. I have nothing to lose; I've already lost everything
else. "Okay.”

"I'm Violet."
The
girl smiles under the
shadow of her ball cap.

It's difficult
to
get a
good look at her when every step I
take, she steps back.
Good.

"Gabriel, you
have to stay
this
distance
away from me. It's
safer for the both of us."

If
I touch people, they go crazy. Maybe
when I bumped into her, it scared her into being overly cautious.
Twelve feet seems like overkill.

"Why?" I test
again.

She hesitates
at first, "Because we both have abilities, so the pull is
stronger." I assume the pull she's referring to is the magnetic
feeling when
we
bumped into each
other.

"What do you
have that makes it happen like that?"

She
ignores
me again. "There is
one more thing...." she begins, "well, maybe two more things. We
have to
meet
two others like us."

"Wait, there
are others like me?"

"Not like you
exactly. Just people with abilities."

Abilities? More like a condition.

"I
know this is asking a lot
but. I w
on't hurt you. Will
you come with me?"

"Yeah.
I don't want to go home
anyway."

Alex

I open my test booklet. The first question is
barely read when the voices of the minds around me sound off one by
one with the answer.

Answer is… B. Majority rules
.

I pencil in the oval with the letter
B
and listens for a tally on question two.

I can remember most answers if I tried, but
it’s easier to listen then to think. I can hear thoughts all day.
It doesn't make sense to study when I‘ll hear the answers anyway.
Cheating doesn't seem so bad when everything is based on
memorization. How much of this shit will I care about when I'm
running my own music label?

Telepathy is useful this way. It helps me say
the right thing when I'm called on in class to answer questions.
Teachers love me because I'm always
'paying attention'
. But
I have no choice. Voices flood into my head where I can barely hear
myself think. The volume can be too much sometimes, but once in a
while the voices soften just enough so I can actual focus on at
least one person. Sometimes it's the wrong person. Garrett
Kellerman, for one, has the hots for our homeroom teacher, Mr.
Woodrow. How a guy sees another guy's ass, as far as attraction
goes, is not what I want to hear first thing in the morning.

Most of the time I want to turn it off—if I
knew how, I fucking would. Playing sports is no fun when I know
every God damn move of my opponents. That's no fun. My lacrosse
coach loves me for my
'uncanny sense'
. It does have its
perks; my team loves the victory parties and I love the attention.
Reading minds is like serving life on a silver platter. But using
my ability this way isn't how I want to win championships, earn
grades, and keep friends. It reminds me every day, how I haven't
earned anything on my own. I feel bad about that. Sometimes I don't
feel like the MVP; I feel like a total loser—a cheater. I don't do
it 'cause I like it. I do it out of habit. Habits die hard—mine
doesn't die at all.

I complete my test without reading the
questions. Once the answers are heard, it’s hard to stop. I aim to
please and the straight A's are addictive.

'A' for addictive.

I hand the booklet to the teacher, who smiles
approvingly—he doesn't expect any less from Alexander Aisling.

At my desk, I wait for the bell with the high
achievers that finished early. Another reminder that maybe I'm not
like those kids, I don't study. Looking around the classroom,
Madison catches my eye—one of the
smart ones
, but also a
pretty girl. That's a hot combo. She smiles at me with her nice
full lips I'd love to chew on. I give her a wink. She averts her
eyes like she doesn’t care, but her flustered cheeks and her mind
tell me I've caught another one. I love doing that to girls and
best of all I love listening to them.

Did Alex Aisling just wink at me? Oh my God!
Is he still looking...

Madison briefly looks my way. I smile and
mouth
'Hi'.

He is! He’s looking at me!

I have about a minute before the bell
rings.

Bet he'll be at Jake's party.

I'm always at Jake's parties. You’re nobody
if you don’t show your face even if your face is denied entry. Jake
is one of my best friends and what kind of a friend would I be if I
couldn’t make it to one of the hottest nights before prom.

The bell rings and I wait outside of the
class for Madison.

"Hey, Madison!"

She looks behind her as if there’s another
Madison. Her surprised sky-blue eyes nervously avert away.

"Hey."
I can't believe he's talking to me
right now.

"Are you going to Jake's party tonight?" I
invade her personal space; reach for the heart charm dangling from
her bracelet. She flinches and her face turns red, but I finally
got her to really look at me.

"Uh, y-yeah are you going?" she hugs her
books to her chest.
Oh my God, his eyes are amber.

"Yeah, what kind of a friend would I be if I
didn’t?”

“Oh, right.”
He’s Jake’s best friend. I'm
so stupid!

“I was hoping maybe we could meet up there,"
I lower my voice and look at her lips briefly, "and get to know
each other better."

Madison's mouth parts and her arms squeeze
her books tighter. "Yes, definitely. Yes!"
Am I going to get to
run my fingers through that blonde hair?

"Alright. I'll see you there." I allow my
eyes linger in hers for a moment to savor the glory of another easy
lay. I display my notoriously sexy smile and walk away listening to
Madison's mind explode as her friends nag her for details.

At my locker, I can hear Jake and Pete
already making fun of my inflated ego. It’s easy for me because my
telepathy puts me at the top of the fuck-food-chain, but to my
friends, I'm just the pretty boy.

"Poor girl doesn't know she is just a notch
in Alex the Great's belt. You’d think they’d learn by now." Pete
slams his back into the locker next to mine. "You’re like the new
ecstasy. If you were a pill I'd sell your ass to Jane Griffin."

I cringe. "Jane has a beard."

"And Madison?"

"—Doesn't."

Pete snickers.

"What? I like her." I glance back at Madison
with her gossipy friends. One of them squeals when I look.

"No you don't. You like her sweet ass and her
enormous—" Pete hands motion to his chest like he's handling two
melons.

"Eyes." I finish. “She’s got nice eyes.”

"If what you mean by her ‘nice eyes’, you
actually saying her ‘tight ass’ then yes—she’s got a nice tight
ass.”

"As longs as you’re not in my dad’s den
again. I got shit for that last time." Jake nods at a group of
girls giggling past. "I had to clean that up you know."

I smile, recalling the last party Jake had. I
left his dad's desk in shambles. Heather Walker’s ass slid straight
across the desk. My hands shoved everything from the desktop to the
floor, trying to grab something for leverage.

Jake's thoughts interrupt the sex with
Heather, wondering when I'd pay him for the alcohol. I reach into
his pocket and change my mind. I have to remember to pay him later.
I have to be careful about reading their minds and responding to
them so quickly because they don't know I'm a telepath. The trouble
is I’ll probably forget. It isn't that I don't care. It’s that my
head is overloaded with voices and remembering something just adds
to the load.

The bell rings and we leach for the packed
cafeteria. At the center, an empty table reserved for me and my
buds. No one will take our seats; or sit in a seat you haven't sat
at in the last three years in Rembrandt high school. It’s assigned
by clique—the natural order of high school culture. Like a band
taking stage all eyes rest on us; beautiful faces and friendly
conversations keep us at the top of everyone's friend lists. My
table is the one everyone wishes they could sit at. It’s a joy to
be loved and I love the attention. 'A' for attention.

Lunch is loud today; too many voices usually
sends me to the bathroom or outside for some peace. I can't pass up
lunchtime even if it hurts. My reputation is too important. Tonight
is Jake's party and showing my face at lunchtime marks tonight
the
night. I'll have to make do with the migraine.

I plop in the seat next to Pete’s girlfriend
Cheryl Warren. The sixties tune ‘You don’t own me’ instantly plays
on repeat in my head every time I see her lethally sexy face. She’s
a hot addition to the center table. Her cool seductive gray eyes
see right through me. Her long strands of her hair fall to her back
like a sheet of black silk. Her slender legs cross like the hot
guidance counselor who’s rumored to not wear any underwear. I know
Cher wears underwear—the black lacey kind.

“Hey, Cher.”

“Hey Blondie. Heard you tried out for the
summer play. The Tin Man? That hot bod shouldn’t be covered in some
fake cardboard costume.”

I try to ignore her comment, but this is just
a punishment for sleeping with my best friend’s girl. “No tin for
Tin man. They’re modernizing it. I’m not sure I’m getting the part
anyway.”

“Oh, you got the part. I’m sure of it.”
Cher’s foot rubs against my leg. “You always get the part.”

I move my leg away from hers as Pete sits on
Cher’s other side, his arms claim her waist.

“Hey Babe,” Pete kisses her long and hard for
the whole lunch room to watch. She’s more like arm candy than a
girlfriend to him. Cher knows it and doesn’t care. Her teasing eyes
shift my way, making it difficult to forget all the times Cher and
I were 'bored'.

“I’ll see you tonight.” Jake takes a few
handshakes and fist bumps. “All of you.” He invites the entire
wrist-slitters table. "551 Harrison Street, Seven o'clock."

Jake finally takes his seat after his party
advertising tour around the lunchroom. “You okay, man?”

“I just have a headache.” I stare at Cher’s
hand rubbing Pete’s inner thigh. She’s good with her hands.

Cher’s lips pull away from Pete. “They won’t
come. Not all of them and half of them won’t make it inside anyway.
Why do you bother inviting them?”

“You said so yourself. Half of them won’t
come.” Jake smirks.

“As for the other half, Hunter’s crew will
drop kick them at the door,” Pete laughs. “He’s like our crowd
control.”

“Exactly.” Jake pops open a soda. “But at
least the others could say they were there. It’s not like I didn’t
invite them.”

Cher pulls away from Pete completely. “Don't
pretend you're doing them a favor by inviting them. The football
morons you invited discriminate. It’s like you do it on
purpose.”

“What? I invite everyone. It’s not my problem
if they can’t get in. What do you care? It’s not like you’re
friends with those emo-losers anyway.”

“But you raise your beer and hi-five when
they're beat up on your front lawn like a pay-per-view event.”

"It kinda is. That’s what makes it so
entertaining.” Pete chimes in. “What’s a party without someone
taking a beating? There's nothing like the football team doing what
meatheads do best.”