Connected: Book 1 Connected Series

by Kat Stiles

  My mother glanced up from her puzzle, but then sighed and went right back to it.

  Lauren didn’t look so hot herself. She inherited my mother’s hair color, though she wore it even shorter—the style was a cross between a pixie and the result of sticking your finger in a wall socket that I liked to call, “The Angry Pixie.” Today, it looked flat and lifeless, boyish even. She wore a scowl, which I’d come to believe was her natural expression. I remembered seeing her happy twice. The first time I was learning how to ride my bike and took a bad fall. The second was when she first fell in love, the only time she ever felt that particular emotion.

  Her scowl upturned into a sarcastic grin. “Yeah, well, high school sucked for me, too. Guess you’ll have to deal,” she said. Her ice-blue eyes seemed to sparkle more the bitchier she acted. They were the kind of eyes that would be gorgeous, if they hadn’t belonged to the second most evil being on the planet.

  “Doesn’t help, but thanks for playing,” I said.

  Sometimes I couldn’t believe we were even related, let alone sisters. We were close once. Was that even real or a dream? It was so long ago I couldn’t remember for sure.

  “Gotta work tonight. Later.” Lauren grabbed her purse and left.

  Talking to Lauren made me wonder why I wasn’t already at the park. It was the one place I could always go to get away from people. Ducks never once laughed at me. I glanced at my mother, oblivious on the couch with her puzzle. Or rolled their eyes at me, for that matter.

  “I’m going to the park,” I announced on my way out.

  “Okay. Dinner’s at six,” my mother yelled after me.

  I stopped by the corner store on the way to buy some bread. At the park, I grabbed my usual bench near the pond and waited for the ducks. They moved in at once, quacking and waddling up to me in a hurry. I loved that they’d figured out how to catch the bread before it hit the ground, snapping it right out of the air. After they finished chewing, they shook their tails, which I always thought was the duck equivalent of a smile. I exhaled, feeling the tension from the day start to melt.

  The recollection of my day began, and I was getting into the gruesome details when the new boy appeared in the distance, running on a trail through the park. I gulped, knowing the path passed right in front of me.

  He ran without a shirt on, and for the first time in my life I was grateful for the blistering Texas sunshine. Really grateful. His chest and arms were bigger than I imagined at lunch, more muscular. It was clear from his tan he spent a lot of time outdoors, and, from the perfect smile on his face, I guessed it was spent running.

  When he approached, he glanced in my direction. Though I doubted he could recognize me, I still turned away. What happened in English was embarrassing enough. I didn’t want him to think of me as “Crazy Duck Girl,” too.

  After he passed, I watched him, running off in the distance. I remembered that small smile of his when our eyes met in class. But after Angel got through with me…I had no chance with him. “It was a nice thought while it lasted,” I muttered under my breath, and then sighed. “Angel is such an über bitch.”

  I heard what sounded like a laugh. I was bad at judging distances, but I figured he had to be at least fifty yards away. There’s no way he could’ve heard me. Was there?

  * * * *

  Back home, my mother was at the table with dinner. We had leftovers again―the sporadic schedule of her job left little time during the week to cook.

  “Don’t forget your doctor appointment tomorrow,” she said.

  “I know.” I wasn’t looking forward to a new shrink, despite the fact that I hated the old shrink. The new one was still someone else to feel totally uncomfortable with.

  “Don’t sound so excited,” she said.

  I tried not to whine, but I’m not sure I succeeded. “I don’t get why I have to go.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  She was referring to my nightmare, a replay of the worst moment of my childhood. Ten years had passed since the incident, but the recurring nightmares made it feel more like ten days. Any reasonable person would see these dreams as normal, considering what had happened, but my mother didn’t agree. She decided something was wrong with me. Something that could somehow be fixed with therapy.

  “It’s not going to help.” I hated talking to doctors, with the feigned sympathy, the arrogant presumptions, the stupid questions about how I’m feeling. The whole thing was a waste of time.

  “Emily, you need to try. You do want to get better, don’t you?”

  I bit my tongue, suppressing a sarcastic outburst. She continued to stare at me. I nodded in response.

  A silence followed that would have been uncomfortable, if I weren’t so used to it.

  She rubbed the bridge of her nose, as if the whole interaction were exhausting her. “Your appointment is for six o’clock. We leave at five-thirty.”

  “Okay.” I shoveled down my food, eager to leave. “I’m going to Roz’s.”

  She didn’t look up from her meal. “Home by ten.”

  Business as usual.

  Chapter Two

  At school the next day, I headed straight for the office to switch my schedule so that I’d have at least one class with Roz.

  “How can I help you?” the secretary said.

  As I got closer to the counter, the scent of her perfume became stronger and stronger. I didn’t know perfumes—she could’ve been wearing the most expensive stuff out there and I wouldn’t have known the difference. I just knew I didn’t like this one. Its potent odor stopped me short of reaching the counter.

  “I wonder if I could make a change to my schedule?” I asked from where I stood.

  She frowned, and the foundation she used to hide her imperfections only highlighted the deep creases in her forehead. “Did you get permission?”

  “I want to switch my study hall and gym class. It shouldn’t make a difference.”

  “You were supposed to get any changes in yesterday,” she said, tilting her head back to deliberately look down on me, through her retro cat eye glasses.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t have a chance.” I wondered what her problem was. You don’t look that busy, I thought.

  She sighed deeply, no doubt to illustrate how inconvenienced she felt. “What’s your name?”

  “Emily Milford.”

  Her fingers typed furiously on the keyboard of her computer, each keystroke making a hard clacking noise. My gaze wandered while I waited. It was then I noticed I was not alone in the office.

  The new boy from English class sat in one of the chairs along the windowed wall behind me. He was covering his nose and mouth with his hands, but he released them to smile when we made eye contact. I immediately faced front again, totally embarrassed.

  Why is he smiling at me? Is he being nice? God, he’s so cute. My breathing became erratic, and in my mind I cursed the secretary for taking so long.

  “Fill out this paperwork and have both your study hall and gym teachers sign it.” She handed the form to me, her freshly manicured fingernails positioned like they were on display. Then she turned to the new boy. “Thomas?”

  “Must you bathe in it?” he muttered quietly as he rose.

  “Excuse me?” she said, glaring at him.

  He appeared to be trying to hold his breath. His response came out more like a gasp than anything else. “Nothing, ma’am. Clearing my throat, is all.”

  “The principal is expecting you.” Her glare turned into an unsettling smirk, like she delighted in his misfortune. She motioned the way to the office, and he disappeared behind the door.

  What business did he have with the principal? Could he be in trouble already? Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t realize the secretary’s critical stare was upon me again.

  “Is there anything else I can help you with?” She tapped her beautiful fingernails on the counter.

  “No. Thanks,” I said and left.

  * * * *

  I got to English class
early. The room was empty, and I figured I’d make use of the time by reading ahead. I leaned to the side of my desk to dig into my backpack. As I sat back upright, the new boy walked past me. My face flushed. I hoped the nervous smile I flashed somehow made me appear less ridiculous. Why must I be such an idiot?

  My eyes were drawn to a folded piece of paper on my desk that wasn’t there a second ago. I almost blurted out that he dropped something, but when I glanced back at him, he was already seated, wearing a huge grin. I opened the note cautiously, like I feared it might self-destruct in my hands. In barely legible printed letters, the message read:

  What was a nice thought while it lasted?

  My heart sank. It was what I mumbled to myself yesterday at the park. He did hear me. But how? I managed to flush worse, the heat actually radiating from my skin. I tried to take some deep breaths but couldn’t quite manage. I wanted to acknowledge him, but I was too anxious for even a hand gesture. And what would I say to him? It wasn’t like I could answer his question.

  Come on, Em, pull yourself together, I thought. It took a solid minute, but I eventually calmed down enough to get some air into my lungs. When I was fairly certain my cheeks were a mild pink instead of beet red, I turned back towards him. He was still staring at me, and still he grinned. By that time, the classroom had filled, including the hell spawn who sat behind me.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve got the hots for the delinquent from Manchez?” Angel said, loud enough for the whole room to hear. “OMG!”

  I faced back front, right when the annoying giggling began. Something else for her to torture me with. Like my hands weren’t enough.

  * * * *

  I got to lunch late and was surprised to find Roz alone at our table. Usually, if I left her alone for more than a couple of minutes, I’d find her getting accosted by at least one boy trying to ask her out. They seldom did it when I was around—I acted as a natural repellant. It was probably one of her favorite perks of our friendship.

  “You seem happier today,” she said.

  “I got my schedule switched. We’ll at least have gym together.”

  She smiled. “Cool. See? It’s getting better already.”

  “How can it get any worse?”

  “That’s the spirit. Oh, how did it go with the nurse yesterday?” Roz asked.

  “She said I was fine.”

  “Did she actually examine you?” The question came out almost like an accusation. Roz pushed all of her hair back behind her shoulders, a move which usually meant she was about to start an argument.

  “Yeah, I guess,” I said. “She did some weird thing with her hands. I don’t know, maybe she’s into New Age stuff.”

  “Uh huh. Do I have to get Dad to bring you to the doctor?”

  She reminded me of my appointment. “Ugh, I already have one.”

  “Huh?” Her brow relaxed. She knew all about my nightmare and therapy sessions. “Shrinks don’t count.”

  “I swear I’m fine,” I assured her. “Go ask the nurse. Her name is Judy.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “Maybe I will,” I mimicked.

  She stuck her tongue out at me, but I turned my attention to the new boy entering the cafeteria. I watched him walk to his table.

  “His name is Tommy,” Roz said. “I met him the other day.”

  “Who?”

  “The new boy you’re ogling,” she replied nonchalantly.

  “I’m not ogling him,” I said. “I saw him at the park yesterday, after school.”

  “You did? Well, did you talk to him?”

  I stifled a laugh. “Uh, no. He was running on a trail.”

  “Yesterday? It must’ve been a hundred and two.”

  “It was. He didn’t have a shirt on.”

  “Oh, really?” she asked, her voice taking on a suggestive tone.

  I tried to muster a shocked expression, but she grinned knowingly at me. “You’re not fooling anyone, Em.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah,” I sighed. “It was nice.”

  I glanced over at the new boy and noticed he was alone. Did he smile?

  “So you want me to introduce you?” She raised an arm to motion to him, and I swatted it down.

  “No, are you nuts? He probably thinks I’m a freak.”

  “Don’t be stupid. Why would he look over here if he thinks you’re a freak?”

  “To see you, of course. It’s why all of them look,” I said, wondering if she had already recruited him to be one of her minions. A hint of a smile was all it took for them to be instantly hooked.

  “We made eye contact before, right when he sat down. He didn’t smile or wave,” she said. “It’s not me he’s checking out.”

  My brow furrowed at the possibility. Yeah, like a boy would be interested in me instead of her. I wondered if she was lying outright to screw with me. But then I remembered English class and how his eyes locked onto me. I cautiously looked in his direction, and our eyes met. He smiled.

  I smiled back. Guess Roz was right.

  * * * *

  On the way to my new gym class, I happened to notice Tommy walking ahead of me. He entered the boys’ locker room and I stopped, feeling my stomach drop. Why didn’t she tell me?

  Once I made it inside the girls’ locker room, I cornered Roz. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me he’s in this gym class!”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked in a casual tone, one that clearly undermined my panicked state. She took off her skirt and replaced it with a pair of trendy yoga pants.

  “Tommy,” I whispered.

  “I told you I met him the other day,” she said, continuing to dress. “It was in this class. What’s the big deal anyway?”

  “You know how I am at gym. I’ll be lucky to make it through the week intact.”

  “Come on, you get to see him half-naked every day now,” she said, as she finished lacing up her gym sneakers. “You’ll thank me later.”

  I changed slowly into my old sweatpants and t-shirt, dreading what lay ahead. I bit my nails without realizing it, and it was only when I tasted blood in my mouth that I stopped. Exiting the locker room, I groaned at the sight of kick balls lined in a row. Dodgeball never ended well for me.

  Tommy walked out of the boys’ locker room. Though he was dressed in more clothes than at the park, I still caught a glimpse of his defined biceps poking out from his shirt while he adjusted his hair away from his face. Gotta hand it to Roz, I can’t argue with the view.

  “Did you get those hands dry yet?” Angel blurted out when she passed me. A couple of her idiot followers giggled on cue.

  Great. She’s in this class? I chalked it up to the universe maintaining its balance.

  Roz narrowed her eyes at them, and the giggling stopped abruptly. I followed her to a small group of other non-athletic students milling around like a bunch of zombies.

  The game started, and within five seconds a ball gently bounced off my thigh, tagging me out. Roz winked at me from the other side before she grabbed another ball and lobbed it hard at the boy next to me. I smiled back, grateful to be spared the humiliation of actually trying to play.

  While I waited off to the side, I found where Tommy played and saw he fared better. He seemed surprised to see me. It distracted him, and a student on the other team took the opportunity to throw a ball at his head. His surprise changed to confusion, and then recognition, like he’d figured out something, at the exact moment the ball hit him.

  I felt guilty my staring distracted him. It took another game before I mustered up the courage to look his way. From the sidelines he stared at me, a curious smile on his face.

  * * * *

  My mother dropped me off at the doctor’s office after supper. She couldn’t be bothered to come to the appointment with me. And why should she? I was the one with all the problems.

  The receptionist greeted me with a fake smile. She signed me in and pointed the way to a room she mysteriously called, “the tre
atment room.” The description conjured some pretty gruesome images in my mind, and I half-expected to see some kind of torture device chair with straps or chains hanging from the ceiling. But in truth, there wasn’t much to it: a white leather couch sat across from a white leather chair with an end table next to it. The sole decoration consisted of a small waterfall sculpture built into one of the walls.

  I sat down on the couch and waited. And waited. And then waited some more. I noticed a perfectly centered iPod on the end table and was tempted to check out the tunes on it. Of course I chickened out, afraid to get caught. The time on my cell phone read ten minutes past my appointment.

  The doctor finally entered from an adjacent room through a door I hadn’t noticed, it blended in so perfectly with the wall.

  There was nothing unusual about his appearance. Typical of any thirty-something doctor: glasses, short brown hair, and a salt-and-pepper colored beard. His gaze dissected me, and I got a feeling the therapy had already started.

  “Emily?” He walked over to me, clearly intending to shake my hand.

  My hands heated up, and the sweat began to pour once more. It wasn’t like I was nervous, I mean, he was yet another head shrink. But it didn’t matter, the sweat continued.

  The doctor was smooth. If my sweaty palms bothered him, he didn’t let on. Instead, he smiled as we shook hands. “I’m Dr. Keith Hayes.”

  “Hi.”

  He sat on the chair opposite me and scribbled in his notebook. I was sure it had something to do with nervousness. Like this dude is so great and powerful, his very presence makes me anxious to the point of severe perspiration.

  “How are you feeling today, Emily?”

  God I hate this question. It’s so loaded, and there’s no possible way to answer it right. “I’m fine,” I voiced, my eyes fixed on the floor.

  It wasn’t long before I felt him staring at me. I reluctantly met his gaze.

  “I understand I’m not the first psychiatrist you’ve seen,” he said.