Kaleidoscope (Faylinn Series)

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No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law.

The characters and event portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Published by Mindy Hayes

Cover image by Abbey Benson Photography

Cover design by Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations

To my sister, Heidi Lynn

W
hen I first started writing I was hugely naïve of what it would take to bring a story in my head to the public. I have an overwhelming amount of gratitude for everyone who helped bring Kaleidoscope to where it is.

Amy Van Wagenen and Karen Garcia, my second pair of eyes in the editing process, thank you for your countless hours and expertise that was put forth to make this book so much more than it was. I really appreciate you.

An enormous thanks to my girls: Kristen Grooms, Brandi Watts, Whitni Hess, Pam Townsend and my mother-in-law, who finished the book in its roughest form and all said, “I need the second one!” Thank you so much for your enthusiasm. It helps give me the desire to keep writing every day.

My critique partner, Brittany Smith, I can see this is only the beginning of a long rewarding friendship. Thank you for your eagerness to give honest feedback and guidance. I can’t wait to see where our writing takes us!

Abbey Benson Photography and Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations deserve a world of thanks for helping to create the flawless image that is the cover. It’s everything I had hoped it would be and more.

Jessica McLean, you are a rock star. Thank you for listening to my babbling and sometimes incoherent thoughts, but most importantly for your patience to put up with hair dye after hair dye to make a perfect Calliope.

To Lindsey, Kim and Jenny, who never once complained when I’d corner them and start brainstorming out-loud. Your willingness to offer advice and opinions means more to me than you know.

Kirk Ouimet. You helped make this possible. Thank you for your vote of confidence and giving me the opportunity to try and prove you right.

My best friends, Alix Ouimet and Sarah Beth Jolley, who have supported and encouraged my writing from day one—nearly five years ago—even though I know my amateur writing abilities in the beginning could not have been easy to read, you read through the horrific unpublishable novels and believed in me before I actually believed in myself. I love you more than my luggage.

I can’t leave out my family who give unending support and love to last for the rest of my existence. I am who I am because of you. Thank you.

And there is no forgetting the husband. Ryan, without your constant, “Are ya done yet?” I may not have finally finished what I started. Thank you for never giving me a dull moment. I sure love you.

D
ecisions should be black and white. Either it’s wrong or it’s right. But there’s too much grey area for that. Things that tug at your mind, causing you to question your actions and motives. Where do your loyalties lie? Where are they supposed to lie? Whose lives are supposed to be spared? Who deserves to die? But most importantly, whose right is it to make those decisions?

While watching the scene play out in front of me, the light gradually dimming as sunset approached, I was suddenly aware of the decision I needed to make. She smiled so happily as the swing flew higher in the tree, the wind blowing in her long blonde curls. He stood behind her, his face splashed with that same happiness, those same gleaming green eyes. He encouraged her to hold on tight with fatherly care.

I approached quietly, camouflaged by the trees, weighing my options. My mind knew what it wanted to do, but the consequences would fall on me tenfold. Would it be worth it? Could I even get away with it?

Her laughter trailed through the air, filling the outdoors, resonating in my ears, solidifying the choice I needed to make. The consequences suddenly didn’t matter. I knew where my loyalties lay. It would be worth it. The grey area separated and all that was left was stark white and solid black.

That was the moment my dagger tore through flesh, cementing my decision.

T
he thumping in my chest woke me too early, pulsing so strongly it pounded in my ears. It branched out, streaming down my arms and legs, beating steadily through every vein and artery in my body.

Who needs an alarm clock when yours is internal?
But it wasn’t just some internal alarm clock. It was a sensation I knew couldn’t be normal; shouldn’t be normal. Yet it was a part of me. Something I expected every day. It was followed by this strange impulse to get out of my house and be outside. Once I felt the breeze lick through my hair and my lungs filled with the fresh scent of nature, the pulsing would subside, but I still wouldn’t be sure what I was supposed to do. The cool blaze in my veins would diminish and I would be at peace.

Momentarily.

I dragged myself out of bed and looked at my alarm clock on the nightstand. Six o’clock. I didn’t have to be up for school for another thirty minutes, but it was pointless to go back to sleep. Not that the pulsing would let me anyway.

Growing up I hadn’t realized the pulsing wasn’t normal until one day when I mentioned it to Cameron. We were eleven years old at the time and had been playing cards at my kitchen table when the subtle pulsing started in my veins. I looked over at him and told him I needed to go outside for a minute.

He gave me a strange look as I excused myself. When I came back inside he asked, “What was that about?”

“The pulsing was getting annoying. I needed some air.” I shrugged.

His eyebrows scrunched together and he told me I was crazy. After that I never mentioned it to anyone. My parents had never questioned it before so I assumed it was normal.

I know differently now.

It seemed to only get stronger as I grew older. What started out as a subtle itch now felt like another vital organ—only stronger because it made its presence known in the center of my chest every minute of every hour of every day.

I hopped in the shower, letting the cool water wash away the urge and clear the fog in my brain. It didn’t work, but it was worth a shot. When I got back to my room I aimed for the next best thing—the window that overlooked our backyard into a deep forest of Walhalla.

Once I shoved it open and took a deep breath, the thumping began to withdraw, beginning with my fingers and toes, then slowly traveling to the source in my chest. It took a few moments, but finally the pulsing was satisfied.

For the time being.

• • •

White light shimmered around his face and a chorus of angelic voices burst out in a sweet melody when he turned in his chair to face me.

Technically, that didn’t happen, but it might as well have. That’s how my mind saw it.

It was that day in my third period science class that I knew I found true love.

A week into our sixth grade year Cameron asked me to be his partner for a science project and I knew there was no turning back. We were going to live happily ever after. Most don’t believe you even know what love is at the ripe old age of eleven or that you can even find your true love at that age, but they’re wrong. I was living, breathing proof of you could.

Almost seven years later, we stood by our neighboring lockers on the first day of our senior year and I watched him tuck a piece of Isla’s golden hair behind her ear and stare lovingly into her annoyingly sparkly blue eyes. His smile spread widely on his face as she whispered something in his ear. Obviously it was something hilarious because he started to laugh that heartwarming, stomach tingling, contagious laugh—a laugh that whether the joke was funny or not, you laughed because it felt good to laugh with him. You wanted to hear him laugh more.

Isla was different from the others. She was real. No fake tans or pounds of make-up. She didn’t gossip or flaunt her perfect cheer body. She didn’t make you want to poke out your eyes with her abbreviation of every other word.
You know my BFF, Tiff, totally needs a BF for real.

Cameron had gone through many, many. . .many girls, but none of them were like Isla. It didn’t take much to see the difference. I saw it in the way he smiled. I’d been friends with him long enough to know I’d never seen that smile before. And it scared me. I had been waiting patiently for that smile. I knew it was in there somewhere being reserved for that special someone and had waited years for it to be directed at me.

“Callie.” Cameron waved his hand in front of my face.

Oh, great. How long had he been doing that?

“Cal,” he said a little bit louder, looking at me like I was an idiot.

I could still see little Cameron in his face. It was all in the eyes. They never changed, still the penetrating sapphire I fell into that first day. Though his baby fat cheeks had thinned out into a chiseled jaw and his light blonde hair was a little darker and a little shaggier, he was still the Cameron I fell for on day one.

“What?” I responded irritably, pretending I had heard him say my name over and over again and was agitated to be interrupted from whatever I was doing. Of course I had been staring. I cringed inwardly and gave myself a mental scolding for zoning out.

“Isla and I are heading to class. We’ll see you at lunch.”

“Yeah. Whatever. Cool.” I attempted to feign indifference.

He nodded, his hair flickering across his forehead and tossed a wave before wrapping his arm snugly around Isla, escorting her down the hall. She giggled, her head leaning into him as he nuzzled his face into her neck, whispering sweet nothings. Well, they were probably sweet nothings.

My heart sank a little.

Isla looked over her shoulder and smiled genuinely at me, delicately waving. “See you later, Calliope.”

I despised the fact that I couldn’t even hate her. She was too gracious. Nothing like Myra or Dana or Blair or any other skank Cam had been with—girls that made themselves easy to hate.

“Bye, Isla,” I said as politely as I could manage.

I couldn’t even bring myself to be semi-snarky with her. She didn’t deserve it. It unnerved me. She was hard to hate even if she was with the boy I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with. It made me want to gag. I had to believe that I would get my turn. I convinced myself there was still time.

My classes dragged on, as one would expect on a first day, teachers droning over the syllabus and about what was expected throughout the year. I wasn’t really worried about not getting into college. I’d get into some college close by. Some place I could keep an eye on Cam.

I felt protective of him. Not as a form of jealousy—though I knew it was a tiny part—but because aside from his dad, I was the only constant in his life. And I planned to stay that way. He needed me just as much as I needed him, even if he didn’t see it the way I did; even if I were more of a best friend/sister in his eyes than someone he could spend the rest of his life with.

• • •

My eyes were initially blinded when I walked outside for lunch. I blinked away the brightness, waiting for my eyes to adjust. I breathed in the sunlight, the warmth soaking into my body, nourishing my skin with its touch.

“Hey, Callie,” Lia greeted, falling into step beside me.

“Lia,” I said. “Hey.”

“We own this school this year. Doesn’t it feel great? We are no longer the underclassmen. We’re finally on top. This is our year. Our
last
year.”

“Yeah. Feels good, huh?” I said with half of the amount of excitement she oozed with.

Lia sighed happily. “
So
good.” She linked her arm through mine. “How’s your first day so far?”

“Overwhelming. But I only have one more period and then I’m done for the day.”

“Jealous! I should have taken extra classes with you last year.”

“As if you could have added that to your pile of AP classes and extra college credit classes.” She shrugged. “I’m really glad I did though. It’ll help this year fly by.”

I caught sight of Cameron and Isla sitting under a shady oak tree, playfully shoving each other and laughing. I wanted to throw up. That should be me—but less nauseating.

“I can’t believe I dated him,” Lia muttered.

It was my fault that they met in the first place. Lia was new our freshman year and I figured I should be polite and introduce her to some people to make her feel welcome. Cam, of course, jumped right on that bandwagon. Her long dark red hair and big beautiful hazel eyes had him at “hello.” Half of the school fawned over her and what I loved most about Lia was that the attention didn’t faze her. She focused on getting into Harvard or Princeton or one of those Ivy League schools that I could only dream of. Then she was bound for medical school to become some world-renowned surgeon that cured cancer or AIDS or some terminal illness.