‘8,9,10,11,12,13…’
I glanced up at the white jacket, expecting to see him counting, but his lips were closed and unmoving. At the same time I was aware that his name was David Evans and he was a medical student assisting Doctor Friech in his experimental drug study. The girl in front of him, me in fact, was the only successful treatment thus far. Squinting up at him, I realized I knew much more about David Evans; I knew his mother’s name, his bank account number, his thesis on the study of neurotransmitters, and everything he ate for breakfast.
I started breathing heavily, panting in fear, my hands shaking wildly again, just like they had with my father. What was going on? Why did I know these things? What was wrong with me?
‘What now? She shouldn’t be experiencing any physical symptoms. Geez, what’s with her eyes?’
“My eyes? What’s wrong with my eyes?” I cried, my voice sounding panicky and breathless.
Evans looked startled and bent over me, still clutching my wrist between his fingers.
“What? I didn’t say anything about your eyes,” he said calmly, though his expression betrayed his concern.
‘God, what have they done to my little girl? Have I made a mistake? What can I…’
“TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF!” I screamed, bolting into an upright position, my heart beating frantically, painfully, tears flooding my face. And suddenly my mind was quiet. As though by simply telling it to turn off, my brain had shut down whatever part was sucking up everyone else’s thoughts. Because that’s what was happening, I had no doubt. Even in my disoriented state I knew the thoughts I was hearing were not my own and that somehow I had acquired an immeasurable amount of information from my father and David Evans in just a few seconds, all from their touch.
When my father and the doctor ran to my bedside to see what had happened, the doctor placed his bare hand on my arm and it happened all over again. And again when the nurse came in. And the specialist that Doctor Freich called in. And my grandparents the next day when they came to visit.
Every time someone touched me I was immediately flooded with all their memories, knowledge, and thoughts. With a single touch their minds were opened to me and my own simply drew everything in and filed it away for future use.
By the end of the week I was exhausted, both physically and mentally, but I knew what had happened to me.
I had been in a terrible car accident with my mother. We had been driving home from a piano lesson when a drunk driver swerved into our car and knocked us off the road; Mom lost control and we crashed into a transformer. She died on impact. I sustained multiple injuries and was electrocuted. By the time I was brought to the hospital, I was already in a coma and after six months, my remaining brain activity had decreased to the point that the doctors were suggesting my dad pull the plug.
Desperate to hang on to some part of his family, Dad had sought out every specialist in the country, ending up transferring me to a hospital in Boston where Dr. Freich was working on an experimental treatment involving neuro-enhancers and ‘brain-computer interface’ technology. The treatment involved boosting my neurological development with drugs and using his special computer to try and regenerate brain cells.
Well, it worked.
It evidently worked really well, because I knew all of this without being told. I knew everything about the treatment, the technology, and the research behind the experiment because Dr. Freich put his hand on my arm when he examined me for the first time. Not only did I know everything about my recovery, I learned his life history, everything he’d ever picked up at school, even his cheats for winning at Tetris. And this happened with every other person who touched me. I learned everything they had ever known, finding that simple physical contact allowed me to download their entire minds.
It didn’t end there.
It wasn’t long before I figured out that once I had ‘downloaded’ someone, so to speak, we maintained an open connection and I could take a peek into their heads any time I liked, hear their thoughts, see what they saw.
It was frankly terrifying. I was sure I was losing my mind, that I had left a coma for some schizophrenic alternate reality. My father was sick with worry since every time someone touched me I started screaming uncontrollably and complained about the voices in my head. It was another month before I crawled out of my bruised psyche and began to control my new abilities.
I managed to convince my father what had happened to me fairly easily. It was weird; his first reaction was just relief that I hadn’t suffered some kind of psychotic break, not that I was now a mind-reading freak. Still, it was his idea to hide what had happened from the doctors. It was too late to prevent Dr. Freich or his assistant Evans from knowing something was different about me, but they couldn’t possibly understand the full extent of my uniqueness.
Dad was scared they would want to keep me around to study and do tests on for the rest of my life and none of that sounded appealing. Dr. Freich was already beginning to ask suspicious questions and the equipment I was still hooked up to was giving off abnormal readings. So, with Dad’s help, I slowly began to develop parameters for my ability.
I found I could call up any piece of information I wanted at any time, like opening a file on a computer hard drive. Before long I managed to turn off my connection to others’ minds. Like that first time I was bombarded by my father’s and David Evans’s thoughts, I found that with concentration, simply willing the voices to turn off was enough to free me from the link; not unlike closing a window on an Internet browser.
After another few weeks, I was healthy enough that Dr. Freich could no longer claim I needed to remain in the hospital. We left immediately, and my father and I moved back home to our apartment in Manhattan.
Things got worse for me.
Knowing every secret, every thought, every hidden desire of the people I had spent my entire life around became an unbearable burden. Dr. Freich called almost every day, wanting me to come back in for tests. He tried to make arrangements to come see me in New York. Before long, it became obvious we would have to cut all ties to friends and family and start over if we were going to keep my secret safe. So we said our goodbyes and I learned to wear gloves and avoid touching people at all costs. I did select a few specific individuals to download, such as karate instructors, college professors, computer specialists, and as many physicians as I could get my hands on. So, by the age of sixteen I was a repository of more knowledge than any human has probably ever possessed; and I had plenty of room left.
* * * *
A whistle blew shrilly and I jumped, amazed I had just lost over an hour reflecting on everything that had happened to me in the past four years. Struggling to climb out of my mind and get back to the high school gym where I sat, I shook my head and rubbed my eyes with gloved hands. Coach Dawson dismissed the students to the locker rooms to clean up and I stood, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. He gestured for me to come to him, and I staggered over, ignoring the curious looks I was receiving from my new classmates. The coach asked me if I thought I was up to playing the next day; I shrugged and said I could. I paused and then sighed, knowing it was better to address the problem right now.
“Uh, Coach? I’ll be happy to participate in gym but I have a few wardrobe issues I need to discuss with you.” I got ready for the familiar argument about my determination to wear as much fabric as possible; I had to do this dance way too often for my taste.
“Wardrobe issues? Don’t tell me. You have a pink spandex outfit you want to wear.” I couldn’t help but smile at Coach Dawson’s skepticism. He probably did get requests like that sometimes.
“No sir,” I replied with a smirk. “I have a skin condition that covers my arms, hands, and legs. I can get you a doctor’s note if you need, but what I wanted to ask was if I could wear long sleeves, long pants, and gloves?”
He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment and then nodded. “No problem. I don’t need a note.” Smiling kindly, he continued, “Yo
u know, my wife has a really bad burn scar on her leg from when she was a kid. She never likes to wear shorts because of it, but I’ve told her a million times that her scar is a part of her, and so it’s beautiful. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
I looked up at him, speechless. I had never had a gym teacher do anything but argue with me over my request, try to come up with reasons for me to dress like the rest of the students, find ways to embarrass me. Coach Dawson’s incredibly intuitive and sensitive response threw me for a loop.
“T-thank you. I…” I shook my head in bewilderment. “Thank you.” I nodded at him and made to turn away, amazed to find that moisture was suddenly stinging my eyes. I had known the ugliest parts of people’s minds for so long it was sometimes hard to remember that real kindness still existed.
“You’re welcome. See you tomorrow.” He turned and headed back to his office and I remained rooted to the spot, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes to block the tears.
It was in this position that I first met Carey Drake.
“Are you ok?” A deep, worried voice penetrated my thoughts and I dropped my hands and looked up, catching my breath in surprise and admiration.
Standing in front of me with a solicitous expression was a living, breathing Adonis in jeans; the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. He was tall and slim with broad shoulders and a tapered waist; the arm he was extending toward me was solid and muscular without being overly intimidating. I bit my lip as I surveyed his chiseled face, straight out of a Michelangelo dream with its strong jaw and straight nose, deep-set sapphire eyes outlined by sleek, dark brows. His chin-length, layered hair was jet black and so soft looking my fingers ached to run through it; a reaction I am not accustomed to having since touch is my biggest taboo.
I must have been staring at him like a slack-jawed idiot because his expression became even more concerned and he placed his hand on my arm. Jerked out of my stupor, I dropped my arm and cleared my throat, trying to form a coherent sentence.
“Uh, yeah. Thanks. Just a bit of a headache,” I lied. He smiled at me and all the air blew out of my lungs like I’d been socked in the stomach. Since when did male models start attending West Virginia high schools?
“I’m Carey. You’re new, right? I saw you sitting on the bleachers.” His voice was quiet but powerful, like a cello playing a Chopin nocturne.
“Yeah…yeah, I just moved here this week. I’m Liz.” I was so proud of myself for sounding normal that I didn’t try to hold back the smile that creased my face. His answering grin made me dizzy.
“What’s your next class, Liz?” he asked, shifting the backpack on his shoulder and tilting his head inquiringly at me. I fumbled in my bag for my schedule and scanned it for details.
“Uh…I have a half period of trig with Mrs. Acker and then lunch.” I looked back up at him and he grinned.
“Hey, that’s my schedule too. Can I walk you there?”
I swallowed nervously but managed a nonchalant nod. He gestured for me to join him and I did, ignoring for the moment how unwise it was for me to associate with someone I had such a strong attraction to so quickly. It was bound to end badly, mainly for me; but I smothered my practical side and let myself enjoy the moment.
We were at the gym door when Preston’s voice rang out across the room, calling for me to wait in an annoyed tone. I paused and turned as he came jogging up to me looking vexed.
“Carey. You’ve met Liz,” he said unnecessarily. “I’m her mentor; I’m supposed to get her to her classes today.” He glared at Carey, who looked amused by Preston’s insistence. He shrugged and glanced at me, eyes full of mischief.
“Well, Liz and I have the same class next, so I’ll get her there. I’d hate for you to have to go out of your way.”
Preston’s expression darkened and he looked at me. “Fine. Liz, I’ll get you at the end of your next period and take you to lunch.” His tone was firm and a little possessive, jarring with my initial impression of his white-bread harmlessness.
I was used to this; at every new school I attended I became somewhat of an obsession for the local boys. There’s a scarcity of girls that high school boys haven’t known their whole lives, I suppose, and I’m not exactly bad to look at either. It always makes for a few awkward days before I hide myself away somewhere and the novelty wears off.
“Oh, don’t worry about it, Preston. She can sit at my table.” Carey’s voice remained amused and light, but there was an undertone of force that surprised me. It was obvious there was some kind of history between these guys and I was just the excuse for their latest competition.
I wished I had been assigned a girl instead.
“Uh, can we just get a move on? I don’t want to be late.” They both looked at me like they’d forgotten I was standing there and I sighed in exasperation. “Never mind. I can find it myself.”
I started off, just planning to ask the first person I ran across to point me in the right direction, but was less than surprised when both boys came up on either side of me and turned to the left. Conversation was strained as we walked the short distance to class and I felt myself withdrawing to the place inside myself that excluded everyone around me, where I read the countless books stored in my mind, solved crossword puzzles that someone else worked on some Sunday long ago, played the music that lives in my mind like an MP3 player.
By the time we made it to the classroom, I was completely absent, answering Preston and Carey in my usual monosyllabic way, forgetting that brief moment when I felt like a normal teenage girl presented with a ridiculously cute guy. Preston left us at the door when I assured him I was capable of introducing myself to the teacher, and he promised once again to meet me for lunch. I nearly told him not to bother, just wanting to escape to some corner of the school where I could be alone, but his eager expression once again defeated me. I would have been a complete jerk to wipe that look off his face with another rejection, so I just nodded and made a beeline for the teacher’s desk. Carey followed and stood next to me while I waited for Mrs. Acker to make an appearance.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Preston and I…well, we tend to get a bit competitive at times.”
“Yeah, I noticed. Look, I’m really not interested in getting involved with your little turf war, so maybe I should fly solo from now on.” I didn’t look at him as I spoke, determined to distance myself from this charming, phenomenally good-looking guy. The last thing I needed was to get drawn into some love triangle on my first day. I needed to become invisible again.
Carey appeared taken aback, but was saved from a response by the entrance of Mrs. Acker. He gave me an unreadable look and then made his way to a desk at the back of the classroom. I breathed a little easier and introduced myself to the rotund, cheerful math teacher who looked like the jolly housekeeper from every gothic novel ever written. After a moment’s discussion on how I should get caught up, she directed me to an empty desk on the end of the front row. I settled myself in for another boring forty-five minutes. After all, I had advanced calculus and math theory swimming around in my head already. I tuned out five minutes into the lecture.
Before I knew it, Mrs. Acker was assigning homework and it was time for lunch. I had barely gotten my notebook stashed in my bag and was working out a plan to escape my two would-be mentors when a timid voice next to me provided my out from Carey and Preston’s battle for the new girl.
“Um, hi. I’m V.J. You were in my history class this morning, but you left so fast I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself.” I looked at the girl next to me with interest. She was short and slim, around 5’5” with curly shoulder-length brown hair and features saved from plainness by a pert nose and intelligent expression.
“I’m Liz,” I returned.
“It’s nice to meet you!” I smiled a little as I caught her slight accent, just a little twang that rounded out her words and made them sound soft. “Um, do you need someone to show you to lunch?”
“Y
eah, thanks.” I smiled at her and she beamed, clearly happy to be helping me out.
“Ok. Follow me. Oh, do you need to go to your locker or anything?”
“No, I’ll just go after lunch.” She nodded seriously, as though when I visited my locker explained something deep and profound about me.
“Cool. So, where are you from?” She asked brightly as we walked out the door and headed down the hall.
“Vermont.”
“Oh, wow! I’ve never been that far north. Is it pretty there?” Her eyes were shining with interest and once again a small smile escaped my lips.
“Yeah, it is. Everything is really green.” That was positively loquacious for me, especially considering I’d never been to Vermont.
“Have you gotten to see much of Pound yet?”
“Um, not really.”
We rounded a corner and were suddenly in front of the cavernous and dingy room that functioned as cafeteria. Like the rest of the school, it was old, circa 1970’s, and painted in institutional colors, bland and a little depressing. The room was stuffed full of circular tables with 8-10 chairs at each, probably room enough for around 300 students at one time. Since there were only two lunches available, I guessed that about 600 or so students must attend Shank High; the smallest school I’d been to yet. Usually Dad and I tried for larger towns or cities, feeling safer and more anonymous in a crowd, but lately he’d been having trouble finding work, and the construction company in Pound had been offering good pay and a steady string of jobs. I was a little nervous being in such a small town. It would be so much easier to get noticed here.
“Ok, well we’ve got a salad line, a pizza and pasta line, and then the chef’s choice line. I think today we’re having fish sticks.” She crinkled her nose in disgust at the menu choices. I began to think I should start packing my lunches.
At First Touch Page 2
