by Marilyn Kaye
"Hello?"
"Can I speak to Emily, please?"
"Emily's at school! Who is this?"
"Uh, wrong number." She tossed the phone to its owner and ran back to Amanda-Tracey.
"She's not at home, and I should have guessed that. She has to be nearby for me to be getting a message from her."
"You think she's somewhere in this building?"
The images of Emily and Serena were coming faster and faster, and they were dark. "Yeah. Let's start in the basement."
The bell rang to signal the beginning of the next class. The two girls were heading for the stairs when
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a hall monitor appeared from around the corner and blocked their way.
"Where are your hall passes?"
Jenna had no patience for this nonsense. "Get out of our way."
The boy grabbed her arm with his right hand and Amanda's arm with his left. "Okay, you're both going to the office."
Jenna struggled to free herself, but he was a big kid and was strong. She turned to Amanda. "Do something!"
Amanda got the message. In less than a second, the hall monitor was holding nothing in his left hand. "What the heck--?"
Jenna had hoped the shock of Amanda's disappearance would cause him to loosen his grip on her arm, too, but he only tightened it. She barely felt it, though, because now her head was actually hurting. Emily was trying very hard to reach her, and she knew something had to be terribly wrong.
But Jenna didn't have Martin's strength, or Charles's ability to move things, or Tracey's gift for becoming invisible. She wasn't Sarah--she couldn't
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force the guy to release her. All she had was the feeling that Emily needed help.
She'd have to count on Amanda to help her. Or Tracey Or whoever was inside that invisible body.
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Chapter Sixteen
AMANDA HAD NEVER BEEN in that part of the lower level of the school. As far as she knew, it was nothing but storage
rooms and plumbing and stuff like that. And she vaguely recalled signs directing a media club to meet down there, but only nerds belonged to clubs like that, so she wasn't sure.
One thing was clear--it was dark. And invisibility didn't seem to give her any special viewing powers. She edged alongside a wall, trying to feel her way.
Luckily, she had no problem with her hearing. From down the hall, she picked up a faint whisper. As she moved closer, the voice became recognizable.
"You must do this, Emily. Keep your eyes on the red dot and listen to me. Think deeper ... deeper."
It was the student teacher. And even though Amanda had never had a session with Serena, she
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could guess that she was hypnotizing Emily. But why down here?
"The numbers are there, Emily. You can see them. Tell me the numbers."
What she said didn't make any sense, but something about the tone made Amanda shiver.
"Listen to me, Emily. Can you hear me? Answer me, Emily."
And then she heard Emily's voice, flat and expressionless. "I can hear you."
"Tell me the numbers!" There was more urgency in Serena's voice now. And it led Amanda right to the door.
They were in there--she knew that. What she didn't know was how she was going to get in there with them. In all her invisible experiences so far, doors had been open. Maybe she had the ability to pass through walls.
She pressed herself against the door. Her body didn't go through it, but it turned out that the door wasn't even completely closed. The next thing she knew, she had fallen on the floor of the room.
"Who's there?" Serena asked sharply.
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Still on the floor, Amanda looked up. It was a storage room, with stacks of chairs. Her eyes had become accustomed to the dark by now, and she saw Emily sitting in one of them. Amanda knew she was still invisible, because Serena wasn't looking down at her but at the open door.
Serena moved to the door to shut it, and her foot touched Amanda's head in the process. "Darn!" Serena muttered, and she kicked the obstruction out of her way.
In her last conscious thought, Amanda learned something else about her condition. When you're invisible, you still hurt.
"Amanda?"
The voice seemed to be coming from very far away. Amanda strained to hear it. At least her head had stopped hurting.
"Amanda!"
The voice was sharp now. Amanda forced her eyes open. She was looking at Mr. Jones, her history teacher.
"Amanda, I asked you a question. What were the three main causes of the American Civil War?"
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She'd read that chapter--she knew she had--but her brain wouldn't cooperate.
"Taxation without representation?"
Mr. Jones looked at her in exasperation. "That was the Revolutionary War, Amanda. Someone else? Britney?"
Amanda didn't hear Britney's response. She was gradually absorbing her circumstances.
Tracey had Ms. Galvin for history. Mr. Jones ... He was her history teacher. Amanda's history teacher. And that was what he'd just called her. Amanda.
She looked at her right hand. There it was--the tiny sapphire birthstone ring that her parents had given her on her last birthday. And her Swatch watch was on her wrist. And the nails on her fingers weren't chewed down--they were rosy pink and manicured. She stared at them for what seemed like a long time.
"Amanda?" Mr. Jones was speaking to her again.
"Yes?" she asked faintly, looking up at him.
Now he looked more concerned than annoyed. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Yes ..." She was remembering. Emily sitting on a chair. Serena. Something about numbers. "No! I don't
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feel very well. I'd better go see the school nurse."
Mr. Jones tore a hall pass off the pad on his desk, and Amanda snatched it from him on her race out of the classroom. Behind her, she could hear the class buzzing. They probably thought she was about to throw up. For once, Amanda didn't care what anyone thought about her.
She ran up the stairs, flapping the slip of paper at a passing hall monitor. Then she tore down the hall and burst into the gifted classroom.
Madame was alone in the room, pacing. When she heard Amanda come in, she whirled around with an expectant look on her face. When she saw Amanda, she seemed disappointed. "Yes? Can I help you?"
"Emily's in trouble! You have to come with me!"
The teacher gasped. "Who are you?"
The words tumbled out. "I used to be Tracey. Tracey Devon. Emily's down in the basement with Serena, and--"
Madame didn't let her finish. She grabbed Amanda's arm. "Take me to her!"
Rapidly, Amanda led her down the two flights
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of stairs. When they reached the basement, Serena's voice could be heard.
"The numbers, Emily! The numbers! I'm in control of your mind--you have to respond. What are the numbers?"
Then they could hear Emily's voice, not as loud, but distinct. "Four ... eighteen ..."
"Yes, yes, keep going. I need all seven numbers."
"Twenty-four ..."
By now, Madame had moved on ahead of Amanda, and she was the first to enter the storage room. Amanda was right behind her.
"Ms. Hancock! What are you doing?"
"Get out of here!" the student teacher yelled. "I'm working with a student!"
"Forty-six ..." Emily murmured.
Madame strode forward and knocked the spinning disk out of Serena's hand. "Wake up, Emily. Wake up!"
"Stop it! Stop it!" Serena shrieked. "This is important! Keep going, Emily! Just three more numbers!"
But now Madame had her hands on Emily's
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shoulders and was shaking her. Emily opened her eyes and smiled vaguely.
"Hello, Madame."
"Emily, what's happening?"
"I'm predicting the winning lottery numbers. For next week."
M
adame looked fiercely at Serena and stepped toward her. Serena glared right back. "Don't bother trying to report me. No one will believe you."
Amanda tried to block the doorway as Serena started walking out, but the student teacher pushed her aside. And Amanda didn't resist all that much. She didn't particularly want to know what might happen if she banged her head again.
It was when she stepped backward that she almost tripped on something. No, somebody. Madame saw her, too.
"Tracey! Are you all right? What's going on?"
The thin, fair-haired girl struggled to her feet. "I--I'm not sure." She looked at Amanda, and her brow puckered. Then, a small smile appeared on her face.
"I know you ..."
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Amanda glared at her. "No, you don't." She turned to Madame, who was now propping up a dazed Emily with one arm while reaching for Tracey with the other. "I guess everything's okay here now, right?"
Without waiting for a response, she left the room, went back up to the main floor, and headed directly into a girls' restroom. It had been a long time since she'd fixed her hair and repaired her makeup.
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Chapter Seventeen
LUNCH PERIOD WAS ALMOST over. From her prime seat at the best table, Amanda watched as students raced to the conveyor belt to dump their trays. She herself had no tray. Someone had not been watching her eating habits over the past week and had gained two pounds. Her mother had kindly prepared her a lunch of two hard-boiled eggs, carrot sticks, and an apple.
Britney spoke. "Ohmigod! Look at Terri Boyd."
Amanda looked. "What about her?"
"Her skirt's practically transparent. You can see her panties."
Amanda squinted. "Oh yeah, right."
Katie identified the next victim. "See Cara Winters? She's been telling everyone she got that sweater from a J. Crew catalog. But I saw the label when she took it off in gym, and it came
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from Target."
Amanda looked. "Actually, you'd be surprised," she remarked. "They've got some pretty decent-looking clothes at Target."
Katie, Britney, Nina, Sophie, and Emma gaped at her in horror. "When were you in Target?" Sophie asked.
Amanda grimaced. She'd been making stupid goofs like this for a couple of days. She had to remember who she was.
"Um, my mother was buying dish towels there. And we happened to walk past some clothes."
They appeared to be satisfied with that explanation, though Amanda could still see skepticism in Britney's expression. The old Amanda Beeson might have been forced to walk past the clothing department at Target, but she wouldn't have looked as she passed.
She didn't want to think that she'd changed at all over the past week, and she certainly didn't want her friends to notice anything different about her. But it wasn't always easy. Like right now, as Tracey Devon carried her tray past their table. Amanda's eyes met
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Tracey's. They didn't speak, but there was definitely a silent communication.
"Why are you looking at her?" Katie demanded to know.
Amanda couldn't resist. "I was just wondering ... do you think she looks different?" she ventured.
"Yeah, I noticed that, too," Nina remarked. "She's dressing a lot better. And I like her hair."
"But she's still a nerd," Britney reminded her. "Once a nerd, always a nerd. And I'm absolutely positive her clothes came from Target."
"Oh yes, absolutely," Nina agreed.
They were right about that. Amanda remembered choosing the printed top to wear with that skirt. She was actually rather proud of her work.
"Why are we even talking about her?" Katie asked. "She's nobody."
"That's not true," Amanda said. "She's somebody." Aware of how her friends were looking at her, she amended that. "Just not somebody we want to know."
She hadn't spoken to Tracey since that meeting in the basement storage room. She had to admit--she
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was curious. Where had Tracey been when Amanda had taken over her body? Had she been aware of what was going on? Was her relationship with her parents still improving? And what about the Devon Seven? Amanda particularly wanted to know about Randie. Maybe someday, when no one was around to see, she could corner Tracey and get the answers to some of her questions. And find out what Tracey remembered. And threaten her, or bribe her, or do whatever it took to make sure she never, ever told anyone what had happened.
Not that Amanda was really worried. Who would believe it? Only one person other than herself knew the whole story---Jenna Kelley. And she knew Jenna would never tell. Because Jenna knew that Amanda had information that could send Jenna into foster care.
Or maybe she wouldn't tell because Jenna was actually a good person who wouldn't want to hurt Amanda ... Amanda gritted her teeth. She hated when little thoughts like that popped inside her head. They were so not Amanda-style thoughts.
Britney was looking at her oddly. "You okay?"
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"Fine," Amanda said briskly. Knowing what she now knew about how Britney talked about her behind her back, Amanda was especially careful not to give her any clues about how she'd changed.
And there was another stupid not-Amanda thought. I haven't changed. I'm me again. "I want to go to the restroom and check my hair before the bell rings," she announced.
Britney and Katie got up with their trays. "We'll meet you there," Katie announced.
Amanda thought the restroom was empty when she walked in, but then she heard a toilet flush, and Jenna Kelley came out of a stall.
She looked at Amanda, and Amanda looked at her. Amanda couldn't stop herself. "Are you still staying at Tracey's?"
"What's it to you?" Jenna snapped.
"Just wondering if that party's still going on at your place."
Jenna glowered at her. "Don't you dare feel sorry for me."
"Don't worry," Amanda said feelingly. "I won't." Britney and Katie came in.
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"How are things in vampire land, Jenna?" Britney asked, and Katie giggled. Jenna walked out. "Weirdo freak," Britney murmured. "Amanda, can I borrow your lip-gloss?"
Amanda had English for her next class. She'd just walked in when the teacher beckoned her up to his desk.
"I just received a message," he told her. "You're wanted in administration."
"Why?" Amanda asked, but the teacher didn't know. He handed her a hall pass, and she left. When she entered the reception area, the secretary told her to go directly into Mr. Jackson's office.
The principal wasn't alone.
"Hello, Amanda," Madame said.
Amanda froze.
The principal spoke. "You're being transferred out of Mr. Jones's class. Go with Madame."
"But--"
"Come along, Amanda," Madame said smoothly, and she placed a gentle hand on Amanda's arm. Feeling like she'd just stepped back into a nightmare,
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Amanda went along with her.
"It's not what you think," she told the teacher frantically. "You're making a mistake."
Madame smiled. "It'll be all right, Amanda. You'll see."
They walked along in silence. "Did you tell Mr. Jackson about Serena?" she asked Madame.
Madame looked at her intently. "It wouldn't make any difference, Amanda. She's disappeared."
"Well, at least she won't be bothering Emily anymore," Amanda said.
Madame smiled again, but this time there was sadness behind the smile. "Hopefully not. But there will always be another Serena."
"There's going to be another student teacher?"
Madame rolled her eyes. "No, I meant there will always be people who want something from my students. You'll have to be ready for that, Amanda. There's always going to be another threat. But I'm here to help you deal with them."
As far as Amanda was concerned, the real threat
lay just beyond the door of room 209.
***
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They were al
l there in the gifted classroom--the eight strange students. Charles was still slumped sullenly in his wheelchair. The amnesia boy, Carter, wore the same blank expression. Little Martin was there, and Sarah, and Ken, and so was Emily, still looking dreamy and vague. Tracey watched Amanda with interest, and Jenna had a little grin on her face. Knowing Jenna, Amanda figured it was a "nyah, nyah" smirk.
"Have a seat, Amanda," Madame said, pointing to the empty desk in front of Jenna and next to Ken. "Class, we have a new student. Amanda Beeson."
Ken looked at her in surprise. "What are you doing here? Are you one of us?"
No! Amanda wanted to scream. I'm Amanda Beeson, the coolest girl at Meadowbrook, the Queen of Mean, the girl who has it all!
But there was no point in protesting. The cold, hard truth was evident, and she responded to Ken with a short nod.
She was Amanda Beeson. Another weirdo freak.
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Nine secret gifts in one class-- what could possibly go wrong?
Find out in an excerpt from Book 2 in the GIFTED series:
GIFTED
BETTER LATE THAN NEVER
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Chapter One
JENNA KELLEY STOOD AT her bedroom I window and gazed outside without really I seeing anything. Not that there was much to see---just another dull brick building, exactly like her own. Sometimes, if people left their curtains open, Jenna could see people moving around in their apartments, but they rarely did anything worth watching.
Without being able to see it, she knew there was another identical structure just beyond the one opposite. Together, the three buildings made up Brookside Towers, the low-income housing development where she'd moved with her mother two years before, when she was 11. It was a pretty dreary place, but it was home, and she wasn't thrilled with the prospect of leaving it. The
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gray sky and steady rain outside did nothing to improve her mood.
She turned away from the window and went to her chest of drawers. Taking up a stubby black pencil, she added another layer to the already thick line that circled her eyes and stepped back to admire the effect. Kohl-rimmed eyes, short spiked hair, black T-shirt, black jeans ... No tattoos or piercings yet, but she had a stick-on fake diamond on her right nostril, and it looked real. She hoped the way she looked would startle--maybe even shock-- whomever she might be meeting.
