SHARD: Book One of The Shard Trilogy (A YA Sci-fi Teens with Powers Series)

by A. M. Pierre

  Predictably, there were a few annoyances, like one jerk who didn’t seem to grasp the concept of “other people are driving on the track, too,” but that couldn’t keep it from being pure adrenaline-laced fun. Even ‘Elizabeth’ almost cracked a smile as we walked back toward my car.

  “So,” I said, “it looks like you enjoyed that.”

  “Yes, the test results were quite satisfactory.”

  “For the love of . . . I meant, did you enjoy driving the go-karts?”

  She thought about it for a second. “I believe I did.”

  “Wow, don’t get too enthusiastic there, you might break—”

  “Well, look at what we have here.” I recognized the voice, and I realized the annoying jerk from the racetrack had been the annoying jerk from my chemistry class. He had been wearing a helmet on the course, granted, but I definitely should have recognized his brutish physique and small head-to-body ratio: Ryan Taylor, whose massive body and rampaging insecurity made him the perfect bully. I usually managed to stay under his radar, but everyone seemed to get on it at one point or another. I snuck a peek around his hulking frame. Oh, goodie. He’s brought a few of his bully buddies, too. “I’m sorry, guys, is there a problem?”

  Ryan cracked his knuckles. “My problem is you messed up my lap, dork. I was set to break my personal record, and you ruined it.”

  Seriously? Dude wants to start a fight . . . over lap times? Wow. “Sorry ’bout that, I thought we were all just having fun. Let me pay for a make-up lap for you, and we’ll call it even.” I was already reaching for my wallet when I remembered its current lack of funds. Aw, crud. I hoped my face didn’t look as red as it felt. “Uh, my friend here will pay for a lap for you, and we’ll call it even.”

  ‘Elizabeth’ reached into her purse. Ryan busted up laughing, and his goon squad followed suit. “You have to get your girl to pay for you? You gotta be kidding me!” He whipped out his cell phone. “Hold on a sec, I gotta get a video of this.”

  ‘Elizabeth’ froze in mid-motion. I immediately tensed, though I had no idea why. She pursed her lips. “Why does this amuse you? Money is needed. I have it. Now take it and be on your way.”

  So they took the money quietly and went back to the go-karts and . . . yeah, right. They laughed even harder. ‘Elizabeth’ turned her back to them and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m sorry, Christopher Smith, but I fear they will not leave without some sort of physical altercation.”

  I was sorry, too, because I knew she was right. Great choice I’ve got here: either I stand up to five guys and get slaughtered or flee with my pride in tatters but with my face intact. Whatever, pride’s overrated. But if I run and ‘Elizabeth’ stays, what’ll they do to her? I squared my shoulders and stepped forward—

  —and ‘Elizabeth’ stepped in front of me.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I hissed.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Ryan echoed. “You think you can stop us beating up your loser boyfriend there?”

  “‘Think’?” Her lips curled up in a predatory grin. “I know I can.”

  They actually stopped laughing for a second. Give them another second, though . . . there you go. Ryan had to wipe the tears from his eyes and catch his breath before he could respond. “But . . . you’re a girl.”

  “I applaud your astounding powers of observation.”

  She’s gotta be kidding. “Come on,” I said, “let’s get out of here. I couldn’t take all these guys at once, and I’m twice your size.”

  “Closer to 1.3 times my size, I should think, but that’s not the deciding factor.” She dropped into a martial arts-style pose. “Now are you all going to stand there cackling like the small-minded hyenas you are, or are you going to give me a few short moments of exercise?”

  It was over before I registered it had begun. ‘Elizabeth’ wiped her hands briskly on her pants and stretched her arms over her head. “I’ll admit, that was slightly invigorating.”

  I looked at each of the downed bullies in turn. They were all moaning and holding their injuries, which I took to be a good sign they weren’t dead. “We should get out of here before they’re back on their feet,” I said, “or before anyone notices a pile of beat-up teenagers.” And before I have to explain to the cops it was all because my slight female companion felt the need to protect me.

  * * *

  We had almost driven back to the school before either of us spoke. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw ‘Elizabeth’ shift in her seat. “Why did you feel the need to leave, Christopher Smith?”

  “I didn’t want you to get in trouble.”

  “Why would I get in trouble? They approached us. They threw the first punch. I defended myself. And then they fell. Simple.”

  Yeah. Simple. “I didn’t want you to have to deal with the police.”

  “I don’t understand. If I committed a crime according to your laws, the authorities would still consider us culpable whether we remained at the scene or not, wouldn’t they? Besides, wouldn’t leaving the scene increase the possible punishment?”

  I sighed. How to phrase this without insulting someone who could clearly beat me up in her sleep? “If we’re not there, those guys would have to go to the police and admit you beat them up if they wanted to press charges. They’re not going to do that.”

  “Why?”

  Really? I decided to just come out with it. “Because you’re a girl. And even though they had you outnumbered and collectively outweighed you by a ton, you tossed them around like they were nothing. They’re not going to admit that. It would be, well, embarrassing.”

  She didn’t seem angry. More like analytical. “Gender should have no part in it. It was not superior strength that let me defeat them. It was training, experience, and skill, as well as judiciously using their own momentum and weight against them. If they had had the benefit of the same experiences I have had, the outcome would have been far different. They should feel no shame in their loss.”

  “Somehow I don’t think they’re going to see it that way,” I muttered. I looked up . . . and did a double take. “We’re . . . at my house. But I was taking you to the school. Why did I—?”

  “Because I asked you to.”

  “No, you didn’t. Not once did you say—”

  She waved my words away. “Irrelevant. I am more concerned with your obvious dissatisfaction with the way the altercation played out.”

  I didn’t think I was obvious, but . . . “Okay, yeah, it upset me a little.”

  She pivoted in her seat to stare at me. “Explain.”

  Honestly, that was the last thing I wanted to do, but the words came out anyway. “You fought my fight for me, and better than I could. It just . . . it just felt wrong.”

  She frowned slightly. “But it wasn’t logical for you to fight. I have more experience with multiple combatants. I have more experience with combat, period. Besides which, I was ordered to keep you from bodily harm, not to mention the complications that might have resulted had you been injured.”

  “Ordered? By who? And what complications—”

  “It’s not important. What is important is that I kept you safe.”

  I gripped the steering wheel a little harder. “I’d rather you didn’t in the future.”

  “Even if, as in this case, the likelihood of you sustaining grievous bodily harm was unacceptably high?”

  I gulped. “Yep, even then. You can say it’s my ego talking or that it’s archaic and old-fashioned and whatever . . . I know all that. But it doesn’t change the fact that it feels wrong not to stand up to protect someone smaller or weaker than I am. And, yeah, I know you obviously have the skills to hand me my butt five times over, but it still feels wrong. Like I’ve failed you, somehow. Like I need to be stronger so I won’t fail you again.”

  She thought for a second. “So you’
re saying the simple fact that you’re physically larger than average means you have to be strong enough to protect everyone around you from everything the world can throw at them—even if it means you get beaten to a bloody pulp in the process?”

  I almost laughed, the half-chuckle coming out as a small puff of air. “It sounds pretty stupid when you say it like that.”

  She reached over, hesitating midway, and laid her hand on my arm. I tried to ignore the jolt that went through me at her touch. “No, I don’t think it’s stupid. Impossible, unfeasible, and ridiculously naïve? Yes. But being willing to put yourself in harm’s way to defend others is selfless, noble, and kind, which aren’t bad things at all.” She smiled, the first genuine smile I’d seen from her. “It isn’t logical, though.”

  “I never said it was logical, but it’s how I feel.”

  Her eyes widened a touch. “Well, that’s something new.”

  I didn’t follow. “What, for guys?”

  “No, for you.” She hopped out of the car before I could ask what on Earth that meant. “I’ll be going now, Christopher Smith.”

  I got out and trailed after her. “Wait, do you live near here?” I looked at her sideways. “You really are a crazy stalker, aren’t you?”

  She rummaged through her purse instead of answering me. She must have found what she was looking for but kept her hand in her bag as she looked up at me. The waning sun lit up her hair like a halo and added purple and red shimmers to her eyes. There was a debate going on behind those eyes, one I wasn’t party to. Then they tightened, almost imperceptibly. She had made her decision, whatever it might be. “You have to promise.”

  “Promise . . . what?”

  “Promise you won’t tell anyone about me. You’ll want to, I know, but you have to promise. For both our sakes.”

  “But why—”

  “Please.” For the first time since I’d met her, I saw more in her eyes than twin rainbows. “Please, Christopher. Promise me.”

  “I . . . I promise.”

  She visibly relaxed and pulled her hand—empty—from her purse.

  “Just out of curiosity, what would have happened if I had said ‘no’? Would you have zapped me with some sort of high-tech memory eraser?” I grinned.

  She grinned back. “No. Not this time.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and all I could do was gape as the ribbons of color in her eyes spun like pinwheels and she vanished without a trace.

  Acknowledgements

  I owe thanks to so many people.

  To my beta-readers, who helped me mold this book every step of the way.

  To Christy, for making sure the emotional moments hit with all the weight I intended.

  To Melina, for being an amazingly fast and amazingly thorough beta-listener (is that a term? If not, it should be).

  To my parents, for having my back every step of the way.

  To my dad, an additional “thank you” for answering literally hundreds of “Which of these nearly identical phrasings sounds better to you?” questions.

  To my Pappaw, for believing I would get here. I really wish you were here to see it.

  To all of you, you have my deepest and heartfelt thanks.

  I love you.

  Author

  A.M. Pierre lives in a perfectly adequate domicile in the United States with her family and two spoiled rotten and ridiculously photogenic cats.

  When she’s not writing, she enjoys drawing, learning new languages, traveling, enjoying her unnaturally large collection of books and Blu-rays, and dreaming of the day when she doesn’t have to write awkwardly about herself in the third person.

  She can be found online at www.ampierre.com.