The MORE Trilogy

by T. M. Franklin

  “How do you think you did on the test?” her lab partner, David, asked in a low voice as Ava slipped into a desk in the back. Unlike Ava, David actually understood physics, and it was only because of him that she was passing the class. Unfortunately, your lab partner couldn’t take your tests for you.

  Ava shrugged with a frown, and David winced. “That good, huh?”

  “I guess we’ll see,” she replied as the professor called the class to order.

  Ava tried her best to concentrate during the rest of class, scribbling notes amidst constant worry about how she did on her exam. Once the professor finally handed them back, Ava kept hers facedown on her desk for a long moment, dreading the inevitable.

  “Oh, come on,” David said, reaching for the test and pulling on the stapled corner. “It can’t be that bad.”

  Ava slapped her palm down over the exam, but David just raised an eyebrow, quirking his lips in amusement, until she huffed in irritation and finally let him pick it up. He glanced at it briefly, and Ava couldn’t miss the slight wince.

  “What?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

  David gave her a wary look and handed it over.

  Ava stared down at her physics exam in depressed resignation. At the top, above various red slashes, circles, and angry scrawls along the edge glared a bright red sixty-eight. Sixty-eight percent. Which couldn’t even be stretched to the lower regions of a C no matter how hard you squinted. It was definitely a D. And absolutely not what she needed when she was already in danger of failing physics.

  Ava sighed, folding the paper in half and stuffing it in her backpack. David patted her shoulder pityingly.

  “Want to go get some ice cream?” he asked.

  “Ice cream? Really?” she said sarcastically, but she couldn’t help smiling. Maybe ice cream wasn’t such a bad idea.

  “Miss Michaels?” her professor called as the rest of the class rose to leave. “May I speak to you for a moment, please?” He shuffled through some papers while she made her way to the front of the room, casting David an apologetic look over her shoulder. He just mouthed “rain check” as he walked out the door.

  Professor Andrews looked up at her over his glasses, his bald head reflecting the lights from the fluorescents.

  “I assume you’re aware that you’re not doing so well in my class.”

  Ava snorted, despite herself. “Yes, I’m glaringly aware of that.”

  His lips twitched slightly. “I understand that in order to keep your scholarship, you must maintain a three-point grade point average. According to the Dean of Students, if you can’t manage to pull at least a C in this class, you will not be able to do that.”

  Ava dropped her backpack on the floor, leaning forward on his desk. “I’m trying. Really. I study all the time. I just can’t seem to get it.”

  Professor Andrews nodded. “It’s not an easy subject.” He leaned back in his chair. “Is it required for your major?”

  “No, I just need a science credit for my basics.”

  “Have you considered transferring into Biology . . . maybe Anatomy?”

  “I’ve asked. There’s nothing open right now. I’d drop it, but that would put me under fifteen credits, and I’d lose my scholarship anyway.” She smiled nervously. “It looks like you’re stuck with me.”

  The professor frowned, tapping a pen against his lips, then sat up and fumbled in his messenger bag to pull out a leather-bound address book. Ava wondered that anyone still used an address book anymore.

  “In that case, I think your best bet is a tutor,” he said, flipping through the pages.

  “A tutor?” She shifted nervously. “I don’t know if I can afford a tutor.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think you can afford not to have one. But in this case, money won’t be an issue.”

  He scanned the book, his finger selecting an entry as he scribbled on a post-it note. “This is one my graduate students. He’s required to tutor at least a few students as part of his duties, so it will be of no cost to you.” He handed her the yellow slip of paper. “All I ask is your commitment to work hard and not waste his time.”

  Ava glanced at the paper. Caleb Foster, it said, followed by a phone number and e-mail address.

  “Thank you, Professor Andrews, really. I promise I won’t let you down.” She folded the paper and tucked it in her pocket.

  He nodded. “I’ll let him know to expect your call. If you do well on the midterm, you should be able to pull a high C, maybe even get a low B.”

  “That would be amazing.”

  “Caleb is good,” he said, piling his files into his messenger bag. “He has a way of explaining complex concepts in an easy-to-understand way. I think you’ll like him.”

  How bad could it be? Ava smiled. “I’m sure I will,” she said.

  Chapter 2

  Ava wasted no time e-mailing Caleb to ask for help. She knew this was an opportunity that was too good to pass up—and one she really couldn’t afford to let slip away. Without her scholarship, college would no longer be an option. Her parents struggled to make ends meet as it was, sending whatever they could to help her out, and her job at the diner barely filled in the cracks. She could take on a second job, perhaps, but that would mean cutting back on credits, taking a class here and there as she found the time. It would kill her dad, who she knew would take on extra work himself to keep her in school full-time—and with his declining health, that would not be a good idea.

  It was also a matter of pride, she had to admit. College was something she wanted—no needed—to do on her own. She would be the first member of her family to get a degree, and she felt the pressure of that goal, that dream—not only her own, but that of her parents. She wanted to give this to them, to make them proud.

  Fortunately, Ava was doing well in her other classes. English was a given. She’d always loved to read and write, and expressing her views in an essay or class presentation was like second nature to her. World history was also a passion, her quick mind and nearly photographic memory making it simple to recall important dates and events. But the complex equations and mind-blowing theories of Physics 101 left her spinning. Just when she thought she’d almost grasped a concept, it would drift away, dangling out of her reach and taunting her.

  God, she hated it. All she could hope for was that her new tutor would be able to pound enough knowledge into her non-scientific brain to enable her to pass the class with a decent grade. After that, she’d head off into the land of liberal arts, poetry, and eighteenth century English literature, and never look back.

  Caleb replied quickly, saying Professor Andrews had filled him in on her situation and he was prepared to begin right away. They arranged to meet in the library that evening, and Ava felt a spring in her step at the hope that she might actually be able to salvage her grade.

  The rest of the day passed quickly in a blur of classes and her afternoon shift at the diner. She nabbed a sandwich from the kitchen and wolfed it down as she hurried to the library, making her way to the third floor to meet Caleb.

  A dark-haired man sat at a table in the center of the room, leaning back in his chair with his legs extended, crossed at the ankles. Since he was the only one in the study area, Ava assumed he was the guy she was looking for. His eyes were closed behind a pair of black-framed glasses, his head tilted back and hands tucked in the pockets of his hoodie. A pair of bright green wires snaked out of the hood, and Ava realized he was listening to music. And possibly asleep. His mouth drifted open on a slight snore.

  Okay, definitely asleep.

  Unable to resist the opportunity to indulge her curiosity, Ava stepped quietly across the carpet so as not to disturb him. Professor Andrews had said he was a genius—and not a figure of speech kind of genius, but one with an actual I.Q. so high he’d give Einstein a run for his money.

  Like Arthur. She felt a glimmer of hope that maybe she might find a kindred spirit in Caleb Foster.

  She took a moment to s
tudy him, creating a mental checklist cataloging what she saw. Tall. Skinny. Needs a haircut. Too lazy to shave. Kind of cute in a bookish, nerdy way. Still, he didn’t look extraordinarily intelligent—not that she knew what that should look like, anyway.

  “You’re late,” he said, not opening his eyes.

  Ava jumped in surprise, her cheeks coloring hotly. She looked at her watch. “Just one minute,” she said, forcing a bit of sass into her voice to cover the embarrassment at being caught sizing him up. “Besides, isn’t time an illusion, anyway? An . . .” She searched her memory for the word. “. . . Urgent concept.”

  He cracked an eye open, lips lifting in a smirk. “I thought you didn’t like physics.”

  “It’s not that I don’t like it. I just don’t get it,” she replied, exasperated.

  He sat up, his gaze narrowing on her for a moment before he held out a hand. “Caleb Foster,” he said.

  She took the offered hand tentatively, his grip firm, skin smooth and warm. “Ava Michaels.”

  “Well, Ava, have a seat,” he said, pulling a book out of his bag as he shoved his glasses up absently. “Let’s get to work. By the way, it’s emergent.”

  “What?” she said, sitting down and ruffling through her backpack for her notes. “What’s emergent?’

  “Time,” he said with a grin. “It’s an emergent concept. It has to do with the theory that the passage of time is essentially an illusion—that the past and future don’t really exist and that the present is a fleeting moment, confined to an infinitesimal narrow point on the time line.”

  “Oh,” Ava said dumbly. Then, after a moment, she smiled. “If that’s true, then I wasn’t really late at all . . . since it’s all an illusion anyway.”

  Caleb laughed, blue eyes crinkling behind his glasses. “You know what? I think you’re going to do just fine,” he said.

  “So, is he hot?” Lucy asked bluntly, shoveling a mound of spaghetti into her mouth. The girl had the body of a supermodel, but ate like a linebacker. “Tell me everything,” she mumbled through her food.

  “God, Luce, take a breath,” Ava said, shaking her head as Lucy munched on her garlic bread. “Where do you put it all, anyway?”

  She shrugged. “I have a fast metabolism. And I like food. Sue me.” She twirled some more pasta on her fork. “You’re avoiding the question. What’s up with the sexy new tutor?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

  Ava rolled her eyes. “First of all, his name is Caleb. And he’s not sexy,” she said firmly, taking a small bite of her own dinner. “He’s . . . cute, I guess, in that skinny, nerdy, brainiac kind of way.”

  “Cute, huh? Well, you can work with that,” she said with a shrug.

  “For heaven’s sake, Luce, it’s not about that. He’s helping me get a decent grade in physics so I can keep my scholarship. That’s all.”

  “Mmm-hmmm.”

  “Seriously!”

  “Okay,” she said, wiping her mouth and holding her hands up defensively. “It’s tutoring. I get it. I just don’t see why you can’t have a little fun along the way. You work too much.”

  “College isn’t all parties and cute boys, Luce.”

  She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “Sacrilege!”

  Thankfully, Lucy let the subject drop as she started on her apple pie, quickly followed by her chocolate cake. Ava nibbled a chocolate chip cookie and conversation dwindled into the more comfortable realm of classes and mutual friends. The sun had dipped below the horizon while they’d been in the dining hall, and they shivered in their coats when they walked out into the evening chill.

  “Feels like snow,” Lucy observed, fisting her hands inside her gloves and leaving the fingers flopping empty. “Tell me again why I didn’t go to the University of Hawaii?”

  Ava laughed. “Maybe we can transfer.”

  They hurried along the icy sidewalk, huddling close to share body heat.

  “Oh!” Lucy said suddenly. “Did I tell you about the hot exchange student in my anthro class?”

  “The French one? Pierre?”

  “Philippe,” she corrected. “I nabbed him to work on our midterm project. Très splendide.” She kissed her gloved fingers dramatically. Lucy chattered on about Philippe’s accent, his tousled blonde hair, and his dimples. “Droolworthy, Av—I swear, they make my mouth water.”

  Ava smiled and let her talk, her eyes wandering, and then her mind. Every time she found herself out on campus after dark, she couldn’t help but think about her strange and frightening recurring dream. She was on edge, alert to every odd noise or quick movement, and she wondered if she might be the slightest bit paranoid.

  Okay, she really didn’t wonder. She knew.

  Lucy was describing the round fullness of Philippe’s backside when the hairs stood up on the back of Ava’s neck. She stiffened, suddenly certain that someone was watching her.

  “. . . and he calls me Mademoiselle Looseey,” Lucy gushed. “I ask him to translate random phrases just to hear him speak French . . .”

  Ava forced a chuckle, glancing back over her shoulder nervously. Other than a few students rushing here and there, trying to beat the cold on their way wherever they were going, she saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Who knew ‘Where is the library?’ could be so freaking hot?”

  A flash of movement drew Ava’s gaze to a squat, brick building to her left—the administration building, abandoned as it was after business hours. She drew in a breath, searching—seeking—something.

  There.

  There, in the shadows, leaning against the wall, stood a woman. Dressed in black from head to toe, her trench coat fluttered around her knees in the slight breeze, mimicking the movement of her long, razor-straight hair. Ava couldn’t make out her face in the dim light, but it was definitely turned in her direction, and she was convinced if she could see the woman’s eyes, they would be focused intently on her.

  “Ava?” Lucy shook her arm slightly, drawing her attention. “What is it?”

  “Um . . .” Ava turned back to the administration building, but the woman was gone. She searched the shadows, her gaze flickering along the brick walls, the high bushes separating it from the pathway beyond.

  Nothing. She’d vanished.

  “I . . . I thought I saw something,” she said to Lucy, turning back and forcing a reassuring smile. “I guess I was wrong.”

  It was probably all part of her overly active imagination, a reaction to the strange dreams she’d been having. Why would a mysterious woman in black be watching her anyway?

  “So,” Ava said, linking her arm with Lucy’s, “does Philippe have a brother?”

  She took too many risks.

  Caleb frowned as he watched the girl walk through the darkness, arm-in-arm with her blonde friend.

  Ava Michaels. The girl was a complication that just kept getting more complicated.

  He felt the eyes on him from every side—the Council waiting to see if he could deal with the situation. Other Protectors ready to take it out of his hands. The Guardians itching to jump in at a moment’s notice. But Caleb still didn’t believe all of that was necessary. He could handle it on his own, he was certain. He’d already managed to infiltrate her life, keeping an eye on her and planting the idea with Professor Andrews to recommend him as a tutor.

  Caleb smiled a little. The girl was smarter than he thought. Although she had difficulty with the subject, it wasn’t due to a lack of intelligence on her part. He’d seen it before; a mental block when it came to a certain aspect of math or science, usually in an individual with a more creative personality. But once that block was chipped away, it almost always came tumbling down—and like a key in a lock, the understanding clicked into place and it suddenly all made sense. He felt confident that he could help Ava unlock the mysteries of physics.

  Of course, that was not his primary goal.

  Caleb stepped out of the shadows, keeping pace with the girls as they huddled together. He wished she’d sto
p venturing out after dark—for his own sanity, if nothing else. He didn’t believe the Protectors or the Council would act without telling him first, but, in his opinion, she was asking for trouble.

  There were Rogues out there, after all, and they ignored the Council as well as Race Law.

  A shiver of awareness ran down Caleb’s spine, alerting him to the presence of another nearby. He saw Ava react as well, looking hard into the shadows of the administration building.

  It wasn’t good, her reaction. It lent credence to the Council’s suspicions.

  Caleb’s eyes narrowed at the dark figure in the shadows. He spoke, so low most people wouldn’t be able to hear him, but he knew she would.

  “Katherine,” he said.

  He heard her irritated huff a moment before she appeared at his side, the two of them melting into the shadow of the trees.

  “Caleb. Fancy meeting you here.”

  “What are you doing, Katherine?” he asked gruffly, ignoring her playful tone.

  She shrugged. “Just out enjoying the evening air. It’s so refreshing, you know.”

  “Did the Council send you?”

  Katherine ignored the question, as he knew she would. Instead, she lifted a hand and ran a long, red fingernail slowly down his chest.

  “Why so cranky, Caleb?” she asked with a pout, looking up at him from under her lashes. “You used to be a lot more fun.”

  He grabbed her wrist, pushing it gently but firmly down to her side. “Ancient history.”

  She shrugged, twisting out of his grip. “Your assignment seemed a little nervous tonight. Almost like she knew I was there. In fact, I could swear she looked right at me. Strange, isn’t it?”

  Caleb’s jaw clenched. “It doesn’t mean anything. Perhaps you were being sloppy. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Katherine narrowed her eyes, all teasing abandoned. “You better watch yourself, Caleb. The Council won’t put up with your antics for long.”

  “I can handle this.”