Dom stepped back from the circle.
Shane let out a laugh like I'd just stepped out of line. "Damned if we knew," he blasted. "Keeps it to himself. Only Ms. Kelly knows."
Poorva smiled at Dom. "Yeah, but he knows how to determine when it's necessary to use it. He doesn't let us down. Ever."
I nodded and slowly turned to Shane. I didn't dare ask him what his skill was. I'd already screwed up by asking Dom, and now I decided it was time to exercise a little more secret-academy-etiquette.
Shane grinned and stood taller. "No secrets here," he said, puffing out his chest. "Clairsentience. Look it up." He wiggled his eyebrows.
I repeated the word in my mind a dozen times to be sure I'd remember it. My evening was sure to be filled with searches involving 'clear-sentence-something' and chakras.
Although, I was certain my research on Poorva's gift would be short-sighted. It was clear she had something else she wasn't ready to share. At first, I thought maybe she was uncomfortable with it, like Dom, but then I couldn't help wonder if it was because she was on the other team. Keeping her strongest gift a secret might strengthen their side.
I snuck a quick glimpse at her. She didn't seem to have any ulterior motive. The vibe she sent was authentic, so I decided just see what would happen from here.
My phone buzzed to life, and the four of us jumped and shot our attention into the woods. With nervous giggles, we turned to the true source of the interruption. Blake's name glowed on my screen.
"Blake's FaceTiming," I said, hitting the green circle.
His face appeared, and I answered while scanning all of our faces for him to see.
"Hey, Blake. We're all still here. What's up?" I said.
"Hey guys," he replied with a curt tone. "Um, don't panic or anything, but..."
His image froze, and the sound went dead. The four of us huddled closer and stared at the phone. A moment later, it came back to action.
Blake was still speaking as if not realizing he'd paused. "...So, basically, I think you should get the fuck out of there. Like, now!"
His alarmed tone shot urgency through us all, and before I could even respond, we were moving to the cars.
"Wait, Blake. We couldn't hear what you said before..." I panted into my phone while jumping into Poorva's car.
With my gaze over my shoulder, terrified something would be seething out of the woods to take us away, I caught Dom's eye.
"Text me," he called, and two seconds later, his tires shot gravel into the air as he barreled away.
Shane was in gear just as quickly and slowed as he pulled up along our car. "Go," he shouted, moving his RAV over to make room for us to pass.
Poorva fumbled with the keys and the gears and basically anything else that could waste valuable time.
"What the fuck?" Shane shouted through his open window. He glanced behind us toward the woods. "Go!"
Poorva knocked it into drive and gunned it. Our heart rates had hit near hysteria by the time we pulled out of the lot. Shane drove up right behind us practically hitting our bumper.
As I turned in my seat for one last look behind, I noticed a strange fog coming from the trees, almost like heavy gray smoke. It swirled from the wind off our cars, creating an opening into the trail, like an eerie invitation.
Chapter 9
The group chat blew up for the rest of the night.
Blake tried to explain his cryptic FaceTime message to us by saying he had heard convoluted thoughts within our group that weren't ours. He said it seemed like someone else was there with us.
At first, I didn't know what to think of his quick texts—they left so much to interpretation. How would he know that someone else was present in our thoughts? It made no sense. But then Poorva sent me a private text with only one word.
Telepath.
So, Blake's skill was telepathy. It was no big surprise. He'd used it on me when we first met in advisory. Somehow he knew what I had been thinking in the group and was able to tell me what I needed to know, without saying a word.
Now that his ability was confirmed, all I could think about was him reading my private thoughts, like the ones I never wanted anyone to hear.
I typed back to Poorva.
Nooooo that's so embarrassingggggg
She replied.
IKR u get used to it
I jumped back into the group chat, trying to ignore this new layer of exposure. And, honestly, I didn't know if I'd ever be able to look Blake in the eye again. It was crazy to think that he knew all of our thoughts and insecurities. Our dreams and our fantasies. I just had to learn to block it out like the rest of the group did.
I focused back on my questions and the adrenaline rush we'd all experienced. By the time we'd exhausted replaying all the events from the woods, including my story of the fog and Blake’s warning of a mystery visitor, it was midnight.
We reluctantly left the chat to go to sleep, and I couldn't help but wonder if Courtney had been reading all of it or if she truly didn't access social media at all. I was sure she would have been intrigued to have heard everything that had happened.
My mind raced for the next two hours while I stared at my ceiling. The thrill of our little adventure awakened a part of me that had been dormant for a very long time. My curiosity piqued to full height, and I couldn't settle my thoughts from running in every possible direction.
Blake's telepathy, the fog from the woods, discovering my own abilities, and Courtney's silence. Everything twisted through my head, creating a tangled web of confusion that left me with a migraine.
My eyes popped open to the morning sun, and I hadn't even realized I'd fallen asleep. Judging by my groggy brain, I knew I was firing on maybe three hours. I dragged myself through my morning routine and fell out the door.
Seeing everyone again was my priority, but keeping our group a secret was the obstacle.
I'd have to get through the next several days leading up to X-block, pretending like I hardly knew them.
It would be torture.
Each school day blurred into the next as I navigated the vicious social hierarchy of high school and the desire to spend time with my secret team. They told me in our text chat that we had to be careful to not appear too close with one another, bringing unwanted attention to our project. Our group had a reputation of being odd and suspicious, which brought negative curiosity and scrutiny to it.
They told me it had happened before when there was suspicion that the group had strange motives. Some thought the purpose of the group was to experiment on psychedelic drugs like DMT, others thought it was worshipping the devil, but whatever the accusations were, they only placed more scrutiny on Ms. Kelly.
And she was the best thing the school had.
Ms. Kelly knew how to connect with student in a real way. But it didn't go unnoticed by me how the principal looked at her with judgment and how the secretary followed suit. Their critical glares sent clear messages to me of disapproval. They didn't like her for some reason. She just didn't fit the cookie-cutter-educator-robot role, and it brought frowns upon her.
So, our job was to protect her.
It was the unwritten, unspoken code of the UMAs.
Ms. Kelly didn't realize this was our primary focus, but we all knew it had to be. Everyone's worst fear included either our group being disbanded, and each of us sent to a different X-block advisory, or Ms. Kelly being sandbagged by her haters and fired. We had to remember never to underestimate the power of the haters. Their agendas were clear and concise and involved stopping anyone who appeared to have more success than themselves. They were miserable trolls motivated by their own negativity and thrived on seeing the failure of others.
We were an easy target.
Whenever we were together, our group was close-knit, trusting, and powerful. It was apparent we held some form of power that made others notice us—making them jealous. That was what made us a target.
So, laying low in school made good sense, but it totall
y sucked.
And it didn't end there.
We had to be cautious not to be seen together out of school, as well. We'd always have the excuse that we were working on our community service project, but that would only be useful once or twice. Everyone knew all the X-block projects were a joke and didn't require that much out-of-school effort.
All but ours.
And so, as the days rolled past, I counted the hours to the next X-block.
Finally.
One more day until advisory.
The wait between our secret society meetings was brutal. They were all I could think about, and this next one, in particular, was critical. I had so many questions and was dying to figure out how to tap further into my own abilities. But mostly, I needed to know more about our project and how we were going to survive it.
Heading to my first-period class, I passed the main office and nearly bumped into Ms. Kelly. I'd rarely seen her outside of the guidance office and was surprised.
"Oh, hi," I said.
"Good morning, Brynn." Ms. Kelly smiled. "How are your classes going?"
Okay, we were going to play it cool. Right.
"They're great, thanks," I replied. "Tons of homework, but that's to be expected, I suppose."
"I bet." She stepped closer and dropped her volume. "Stay alert today. Something doesn't feel right."
Then she moved to another group of students, greeting them with her welcoming smile.
I remained frozen in my spot for a second, and then without looking at her again, I continued to my class.
It was a warning of some kind, and I had no clue what to do with it.
As I entered my English class, I shot straight to Dom. He caught the unsettled look in my eye and moved to the window with me.
"What's up?" he said, glancing over his shoulder.
I followed his gaze to be sure no one was paying attention to us.
Everyone was paying attention to us.
"Shit. I'll tell you later," I whispered. "But I was told to be careful today. Something's up."
"What the fuck does that mean?" he pressed.
"I have no idea." I glanced at the students in the room, all watching us. "I'll text you."
And I bombed for my desk.
Before I could drop by backpack by my chair, Laney stepped in my way. Her crony, Liv, hovered by her side with her permanent bitch-face in full operation.
"Nice purple hair," Liv mocked, looking me up and down.
"Nice inferential analysis on Great Expectations," I retorted, feeling a twang of guilt for calling her out on her complete buffoonery in class yesterday. But she asked for it.
I heard a chuckle rumble behind me from Dom.
Liv blinked as if catching a bullet—a bullet that made no sense to her.
Laney tipped her head. "Don't tread where you don't belong, Douglas," she said, narrowing her eyes on me.
I shook my head, dismissing her comment, and sat down. Ignoring these girls was my only defense at the moment.
As Mr. Benson entered the room, Laney and Liv went back to their seats, but not without sending dagger glares my way the entire time.
I held my phone under my desk and typed to Dom.
What the hell is Laney's problem
Heat radiated from my face as I stewed in anger. Now that she was gone, I thought of a thousand better comebacks, as always. What the hell did she mean anyway? Don't tread where you don't belong. Was that her way of telling me to get away from Dom?
I watched Dom's shoulders round in as he typed under his desk.
She's threatened by u
He typed again.
Its actually fun to watch
My face reddened again with fumes as I typed.
Um no. Not funny. Kind of a pain in the ass
Mr. Benson called attendance as I watched Dom typing back.
Shes intimidated
Send.
Ur comfortable in ur own skin and she hates that
Send.
She knows theres something different about u
send
Oh and ur pretty
Send.
That makes u a triple threat
Send.
I stared at his string of texts and froze.
"Brynn. Brynn Douglas," Mr. Benson's voice punched me in the face.
"Oh, here," I stated, more loudly than I'd intended.
My face burned as I felt Dom's eyes on me. I lifted my gaze and met his. He waited for a reaction, and I smiled quickly, then dropped my eyes to my desk.
My thumbs hovered over my phone, stumbling on what to type back.
Finally, they moved over the letters.
Well I wish she’d back off
Send.
And thanks
Send.
I stumbled through the rest of my day on cloud nine.
It was stupid.
How one boy saying I was pretty could have such an effect on me was ridiculous. I hated myself for reacting like the-giddy-chick-who-the-hot-guy-just-paid-attention-to, especially when much more important things were going on.
A guilty smile crossed my face.
Even though I knew I was being an idiot, I couldn't help it.
I kept an eye out for Dom after the last bell, but when I didn't see him, I assumed he had football practice or something else to do. It was probably just as well. I didn't need any more opportunities to make a fool of myself, and with this level of blushing distraction, I was in a high danger zone for dumbass behaviors.
I needed Poorva's steady hand to keep me stabilized, but she was gone too. With study hall last block, she flexed her National Honor Society privilege and signed out early.
I resigned myself to the fact that I'd be walking home alone and was strangely fine with that. As much as I liked a ride when it presented itself, it felt right to walk today. Funny thing was, though, instead of barreling out of the school to escape the prison, I lingered longer than necessary in the bathroom.
Waiting for the student lot to empty out was a priority. The last thing I needed was to have Laney and her friends bomb past me in her mom's Beemer, kicking up dust all over my face. Just no.
After ten minutes of scrolling through Instagram, I stood from my seat on the commode in the girl’s room and shook life back into my tingling legs. Poking my head out, I glanced through the empty halls and then made my way for the front doors.
Glancing through the main office windows as I passed by, I caught a glimpse of Ms. Kelly flipping through some files. She noticed me passing and nodded with a hopeful smile and a knowing look in her eye. It was as if she knew my plans for the afternoon before I even did.
I brushed off the strange feeling and pushed through the double doors. Squinting from the assault of bright sunlight, I thumped down the steps while hoisting my pack on my shoulder. The metal gates at the entrance to the school remained open, and I stepped through them, setting out toward home.
Without warning, a familiar sickening twist of anxiety entered my gut as I wondered if Mom would be home. It was sad that I had to worry about such a thing, but that was only natural for me. She'd been particularly grumpy these past few days, and I hoped maybe something had shifted to improve her mood. I'd gone through the unstable emotional rollercoaster of her being nice, rude, aggressive, passed out, or whatever. It sucked. I'd much prefer a more 'normal mom' that wanted to hear about my day, have a healthy snack ready, or was busy working at a successful job. Any of those would be better, in my opinion.
But then I figured, maybe I wouldn't be who I was today if it weren't for her twisted ways. I had to practically raise myself, and that must have created a thicker skin for me. Maybe I'd cope better in life as a result. My hippie guidance counselor from my past school called it grit. At first, it sounded like an insult or something I didn't want, but now I understood the reference better. Maybe perseverance wasn't such a bad thing. And perhaps it would come in handy now.
Walking along the main road, I glanced at a row
of shops and businesses as I got closer to my house. I hadn't had much time to explore the places around me and wondered if maybe there was a cool second-hand store where I could go thrifting. Then my attention was pulled to a large white church that I hadn't noticed before. It was a typical historic building to see in a town like this, and so I'd never paid it much attention.
Until now.
Because I could swear, I was staring at Shane's car parked in the lot along the side of the church. All by itself.
The blue RAV had the same faded Lakefield High decal on the back window.
I knew it had to be his.
My mind jumped to every possible explanation of what Shane would be doing in a church, and I let out an audible huff with each option. None of them making sense.
It was the middle of the day when no services were scheduled, judging by the empty lot, and he'd never mentioned a strong affinity for the church. Quite the opposite, actually. He'd mentioned at one point that he didn't practice his religion at all.
Before I had another moment to process more ideas of why he might be there, I was crossing the street, heading straight for the sprawling marble steps of the church.
I was determined to know if he was inside. And if he was, I wanted to know what the hell he was doing in there.
As I reached the top of the steps, my eyes moved up the height of the arched black doors, and I pulled on the handle of one of them. The door opened, sending an echo into the vast space within. Stepping into the foyer, I cringed from the booming sound the door made as it closed behind me.
Then, only silence.
A sense of guilt washed over me—the one you get when you know you should go to church but don't. And then the feeling of entering a sacred space when feeling less than holy, it was unsettling to say the least. I tried to shake it off but knew in my heart I shouldn't be in there, not without cleansing my soul first anyway.
I stepped into the enormous space and gazed up at the ornate vaulted ceilings in awe of the grandiose construction, and then I studied the humble simplicity of the front altar. A huge exhale fell out of me as I realized it was a safe space. It felt okay for me to enter.
First Project Page 7
