Threads That Bind (Havoc Chronicles Series Book 1) (10 page)

Amy knew something was up the moment she saw me go into the locker room.

“I know that goofy grin,” she said. “Spill it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. My strange obsession with Rhys wasn’t something I could easily explain.

Amy gave me an exasperated look. “You know I’ll find out eventually, so why don’t you save us both the trouble and just tell me?”

I rolled my eyes. It can be a real pain having a hyper-perceptive best friend with no qualms about the tactics she uses if she thinks she’s acting in your best interest. 

“If you want to know the truth, today has been one of the worst days I can remember.” While not the complete truth, it was still an absolutely true statement. I had to stick to the facts or Amy would see right through me.

Amy looked skeptical. “I’m sorry, but that was not a worst-day-ever grin. That was a Josh-makes-my-heart-go-pitter-patter grin. What happened?”

I started to fill her in on what happened during the day – excluding Rhys’ smile - but Mrs. Herst was already herding us into the gym, and I didn’t have time to get really explain.

The volleyball unit had ended and now we were starting basketball. Mrs. Herst had gone over the rules and basic skill drills the day before. Today we were going to actually play.

The gym was big enough to run two full-court games, so she divided us into four teams. Amy and I were on different teams. I was grateful that Ginger wasn’t on my team, either. Well, I was grateful, until my team was matched up to play against hers.

Ginger was one of those ultra-athletic girls. She was a cheerleader and played volleyball, basketball, and soccer. She also was extremely competitive – didn’t I know that from firsthand experience – and wasn’t above playing rough to win.

Given all the nasty things she had done to me today, I suspected that things were going to get ugly. My first instinct was to fake being sick to get out of playing, but watching Ginger stare me down changed my mind. I’m not a confrontational person, however, every once in a while something happens that makes me dig in my heels and hold my ground.

Ginger had humiliated me by making me look bad in my strongest area – academics. It was time to return the favor.

Starting now.

I took the inbounds pass and dribbled the ball up the court. Ginger immediately picked me up and guarded me. She swiped at the ball trying to steal it away, but I held on. I found an open teammate under the basket and passed it in for an easy layup.

On the way back up the court Ginger bumped me hard, knocking me several feet. She took advantage of my moment off balance and ran down the court where Marcy found her for an easy basket.

The game got rougher from there. Ginger pushed, hit, and even scratched me at every opportunity. Mrs. Herst was splitting her time monitoring the two games, and Ginger made sure to be on her best behavior while under surveillance.

But despite Ginger’s dirty play, I held my own. For several minutes we battled to a draw, neither of us gaining an advantage, until Ginger pushed me from behind as I jumped for a rebound, sending me flying out of bounds.

The sound of her laughter while I picked myself off the floor was too much. I felt that pent up energy inside, waiting to explode.

I took a deep breath. If I didn’t calm down, I was going to burst into... well, whatever it was that I turned into.

Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply and searched for a calming image. I tried to picture Josh, but when I closed my eyes, it was the vivid blue eyes of Rhys that I saw, layers of emotion buried inside them.

What was I doing?

I opened my eyes to get the image of Rhys out of my mind. I shouldn’t be seeing him. I should see Josh. I loved Josh.

While my attempted relaxation didn’t go the way I intended, it did prevent me from starting to glow.

I jumped back into the game, sped up the court, and stole the ball from Ginger from behind. I couldn’t move as quickly as I had the night my powers first manifested, but this in-between stage that heightened my senses gave me some other physical advantages as well.

Before anyone realized what I had done, I ran the ball toward my basket and laid it in for an easy two points. 

The next time Ginger got the ball, I swiped at it in mid-dribble, stealing it out of her hands. This time I didn’t run to the basket, but I slowed down and let Ginger guard me. I gradually backed up until I was almost at half court. Ginger was breathing heavily now. She wasn’t used to having to work this hard to guard someone. At the half court line, I stared Ginger in the eyes and then - without taking my eyes off her - I shot the ball. I held the follow-through as I stared down Ginger.

The ball sailed in a graceful arc and swished through the net. Play stopped for a minute as everyone took in what I had done. Then in an explosion of sound, my teammates cheered and hugged me. Ginger shook her head and took the inbounds pass.

 For the next fifteen minutes I put on a display of basketball skills that not even an NBA pro could have duplicated. I stole the passes, made half court shots, and blocked the ball with ease. The only thing I didn’t do was dunk, mostly because I thought that might be pushing the line and generate questions I couldn’t answer.

On the final possession, Ginger had the ball in front of the basket and kept backing into me, trying to push me out of the way. My increased strength was too much for her, and the harder she tried, the more frustrated she got.

“Come on Ginger,” I said, egging her on. “I thought you were supposed to be good at this. Is that all you’ve got?”

In what I was pretty sure was a first, Ginger actually
growled
at me. “No, that’s not all I’ve got,” she said. “I’ve got Josh. He told me that he really dumped you.” And with that she bumped me as hard as she could to create some space, and then shot the ball while falling backwards.

I leaped into the air, Ginger’s words still ringing in my ears, and swatted the ball as hard as I could, blocking her shot.

The ball smashed into the side of Ginger’s head and knocked her to the floor. She slid several feet and lay there, unmoving.

A piercing whistle split the air. Mrs. Herst ran over to check on Ginger.

“Someone go get the nurse,” she said. 

What had I done? Horrible thoughts ran through my head: Concussion - Broken neck – Paralyzed – Dead.

I stood alone while everyone crowded around Ginger’s inert form. After a few minutes she opened her eyes and tried to sit up, but Mrs. Herst made her stay on her back.

“How did this happen?” Mrs. Herst asked.

Marcy Williams spoke up. “I saw what happened, Mrs. Herst. Madison hit Ginger in the head with an elbow on purpose. I think she has some jealousy issues.” She smiled at Mrs. Herst, and then glared at me.

“All right everyone, hit the locker room,” said Mrs. Herst. “Ginger will be fine, but I still want the nurse to check her out.” She turned toward me and put her hands on her hips. “Madison, I want to speak with you for a moment.”

“What Marcy said isn’t true, Mrs. Herst,” I said, after everyone had left for the locker room. “I blocked her shot, and the ball accidentally hit her in the head. That’s all.” Of course, the fact that I had increased speed, strength, and reflexes made the “accident” part a bit harder to defend.

The truth was, I had wanted to hurt her. For that one instant after she mentioned Josh, I had wanted to make her suffer for what she had done. For the shaving cream, the stolen homework, the Vaseline on my seat, and most of all, for taking away Josh.

Only I hadn’t wanted it to be like this. I didn’t mean to physically hurt her, I had just wanted to humiliate her the way she had humiliated me – by beating her at what she takes pride in.

The school nurse arrived, knelt down next to Ginger, and began asking questions.

Mrs. Herst grabbed my arm and pulled me out of Ginger’s earshot. “Madison, I saw you and Ginger going at each other all during class.”

It took quite a bit of self-control on my part not to drop my mouth open in shock. “Then why didn’t you stop it?” I asked.

“To be perfectly honest,” Mrs. Herst said, “you seemed to be holding your own just fine. Ginger is a very talented athlete. Frankly, I thought it was good for her to face a bit of a challenge on the court.”

“But-”

“But that didn’t give you the right to hurt her, Madison.”

“I told you, I didn’t hit her with my elbow-”

“I’ve seen how you’ve changed Madison. I’ve watched you lose weight and I’ve see your natural athletic talent shine through. I also saw how you played today, Madison, and I know that whatever happened to Ginger was not an accident.”

My mind raced, looking for a way to justify or defend myself, but I didn’t try very hard. She was right. It wasn’t an accident.

“So, with that in mind, I am going to give you detention for committing a flagrant foul.”

I hung my head, wishing that I hadn’t pulled my hair back in a ponytail so I could hide behind it. I looked over at Ginger, who was being helped to her feet by the school nurse.

“Fine,” I said and headed back into the locker room.

Amy immediately pelted me with a dozen questions, but since half the girls in the locker room were watching us, I told her I didn’t want to talk about it right now. She looked offended, but didn’t press the issue.

When Ginger came in, all the attention switched to her. Sympathetic girls surrounded her to ask if she was all right. The way she was being treated, you would think she had been wounded while pulling small children out of a burning orphanage in the middle of an earthquake.

No, I wasn’t proud of what I’d done, but seeing everyone fawn over Ginger was more than I could handle. I quickly yanked on my clothes and picked up my detention slip from Mrs. Herst. It was my first one, and I really didn’t know what the process was.

Luckily, Amy had a bit of a rebellious streak and while not exactly intimate with the detention process, was at least fairly well-acquainted. She explained where I should go, and in exchange I told her everything that happened – the shaving cream (she already knew about that), the missing homework, and the Vaseline.

When I finished, Amy was properly outraged for me. “She did all that stuff to you and now everyone is treating her like a martyr? That’s like feeling bad for a serial killer because he got rope burn tying his victim up.”

“Wow, serial killer comparisons? Don’t hold back, Amy. Tell me how you really feel.”

“Oh, don’t get me started on the inferiority complex that will plague her through her troubled teenage years and ultimately prevent her from developing any lasting connections with another human being, dooming her to a life of solitude and twenty three cats.”

That was my Amy.

I went to my locker and took out my books. If I had to sit through detention, at least I could get some homework done.

I gave my detention slip to Mrs. Abrams in Room 114, who had detention duty today. She raised her eyebrows when she saw me come in, but didn’t say anything. I was too embarrassed to even talk, so I sat down in the corner closest to the door, ready to make a quick getaway after I’d done my time.

Detention turned out to be rather anti-climatic. I thought it would be filled with dangerous looking people who carved their initials on the desk while the teacher either fell asleep or read a magazine, completely ignoring us. That’s what I get for letting my parents show me old John Hughes movies.

Our detention only had two other people in it and none of us spoke the entire time. Once I realized that neither Judd Nelson nor Eric Stoltz was going to show up, I focused on my homework, and by the time detention was over, I had finished my History reading.