Gravity

by Amanda Miga

  Gravity

  A Sanctuary Novel

  Book Two

  Amanda Miga

  Copyright 2014 Amanda Miga

  Smashwords Edition

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  Acknowledgements

  I was especially excited to hear from Jess, my sister after she read Gravity because like Pull, she "doesn't read this kind of stuff," so her opinion was gold to me. She doesn't hold back and if she doesn't like something she'll tell me, which is just as exciting as seeing Blink-182 in concert (my favorite band). So when she handed me her proofed copy it was like the Holy Grail of copies. She told me what parts sucked. I went back to my writing desk and rejoiced. Opinions like hers are what I need. Took me months to repair one chapter she was disappointed in. Thanks for the extra work, Sis!

  Thanks to Nisa Linger for your hawk-eyes. You've spotted more misspelled words than my spell checker, making me feel like I'm in middle school again and she's correcting my story about three boys with powers. She found things that even I said, "why did I write that?" or "what did I mean by that?" It was the first time I realized that I write much differently than I talk so sometimes I didn't make sense to her, so I may not make sense to other readers. Thank you for that important lesson!

  Mom loves everything I do even if its crap, but I don't expect any less from my mom. She's knew my characters since my first attempts in writing the Sanctuary books. She's read the unreadable originals of book one to five. She can relate to my characters well. I think her favorite is Red but she also like Dash. This is the kind of stuff I love talking about with her. It gives the momentum to keep going, It makes these characters real. Thanks again for re-reading this story for only God knows how many times.

  My happy husband, Miga, for taking me to concerts; for holding me tight when the pit opens up; for dancing with me at the sweet sixteen parties I dragged him too; for being my prom date; for being my best friend; for holding me when I fall apart; for being the one I fell in love with. You're the best part of my teen years. You're the romantic root in these novels.

  To my family, friends and bookstore buddies, thank you for your support when book one was released.

  I give thanks to music; to which had helped me bring this story to life. Years in the making, the following artists and bands had the most impact on book Two: 7Lions, 30 Seconds to Mars, Adam Lambert, Allstar Weekend, Angels and Airwaves, Armin van Buuren, Ashland High (Jealous Lover), Atlas Genius, Attack! Attack!, Awolnation, Big Time Rush, Blink-182, Blood On the Dance Floor, Bobby Darin (Beyond the Sea), Box Car Racer, Boys Like Girls, Breathe Carolina, Breathe Electric, Chris Brown, CHVRCHES, Chunk! No Captain Chunk, The Clash, Cobra Starship, Colbie Caillat, Conor Maynard, David Guetta, Demi Lovato, Devil Wears Prada (Louder Than Thunder), Ellie Goulding, Fall Out Boy, For What It's Worth (Long Island band), Foster the People, Funeral For a Friend (History), Haim, Hellogoodbye, Hit the Lights, Hot Chelle Rae, Imagine Dragons, Lesley Gore (You Don't Own Me), Linsey Stirling, M83, Maroon 5, Metro Station, Mika, Mike Beyer (solo recordings), Mindless Behavior, Mozart (Piano Sonata No. 11; Alla Turca ; Allegretto), The Naked and Famous, Never Shout Never (Time Travel), New Found Glory, NONONO (Pumpin' Blood), One Direction, OneRepublic, Owl City, Panic! At the Disco, Parachute, Parade of Lights, Passion Pit, Patrick Stump, Phoenix, POP ETC. (Yoyo), The Postal Service, The Ready Set, The Rolling Stones, Rudimental (Feel the Love), Ryan Tedder, SafetySuit, Shiny Toy Guns, Sleeping With Sirens, Smallpools (Dreaming), Solomon Burke, Thomas Bergersen, Timeflies, Tokio Hotel, Two Steps From Hell, Walk the Moon, Washed Out (Before), We Came As Romans, Wildlife Control (Different), Young London, Youngblood Hawke, The 1975 (The City).

  Chapter One

  Gabriel

  I maneuver quickly, keeping to the school walls before I'm cornered like a rat trying to escape. The memorization of the school’s alcoves, the bell timing, and avoiding the halls that carry the most traffic are more than a way for an introvert to avoid people—they're survival tactics. I perfected a system to protect my personal space from being violated. Bumping into another person is a mistake my mind can’t afford, no matter what my body craves from such a clash. They will obsess over me if they’re too close for too long. They will lust after me if their shoulder grazes mine. It doesn’t matter if they’re a boy or a girl—the monster inside me has no preference.

  I take every precaution to keep from being noticed. Yet, the notorious black Ramones hoodie I wear is just about all that people recognize. It helps to cover my black hair and obscure my face. There isn't a day where I'm not wearing it. Blending into the background as a dark, blurry nobody in high school is not what a typical teenager wants to be remembered as.

  I'm not typical.

  I have no choice but to bear the labels given to me and try to stay invisible or I'll ruin someone's life.

  I sit in the last row in homeroom just as I always do in every class. I'm the first to enter. Wait for attendance.

  "Gabriel Black."

  "Here." My eyes stay down. My limbs stay close to my body.

  It's the same every day. My routine is the only control I have.

  I'm the last to leave when the bell rings. The hallway is a battleground of fleshy mines. Like a soldier, I must try to make it to the safety of the recess beside the water fountain before my body collides with another. Sometimes a quick overlapping of my personal space and another student is realized, but the classmates that feel my aura by accident, won’t see me. I swiftly disappear before an impression is made.

  I take the long route to study hall, making a quick stop at the boy’s bathroom where the last stall’s removable ceiling tiles keep some of my textbooks and supplies. My locker is unfortunately located in one of the main arteries of the school. Stashes like this are a preventative measure—no one's usually around.

  The boy washing his hands doesn’t look my way and leaves quickly. No guy wants to be in the bathroom alone with the Ramones guy. Prejudice is my unfortunate friend.

  I'm the last to arrive in study hall. With my hands in my pockets and my hood up, I don’t look at anyone and sit in the back of class. There’s no one to worry about behind me. I have to concern myself with how close someone is to my vicinity. My acute awareness of my surroundings is as natural as breathing.

  A slightly warming sensation heats my right arm, warning me the kid next to me is a little too close. I slowly use my feet to inconspicuously move the desk a few more inches back until the warmth leaves my skin.

  The second bell rings and my hood falls back before Mr. Hopkins mentions it. I can never shake the anxious feeling of being unveiled like a museum exhibit, but I keep my head low to avoid eye contact.

  My textbook and homework are out. First period study hall is the only time to do it. If I don’t do it now, then it will never get done. I reach into my backpack for a pen and take one from my supply of unopened pen boxes. I'm overly prepared because getting caught without a pen or textbook means I'll have to borrow from someone else, or worse—I’d have to share. Going over one textbook between two students is like breathing one another’s breath before a kiss. It overwhelms the senses where the lesson doesn’t matter. For the other student, the interest in me spikes. I don’t need that kind of attention. Being inches away from another is like teasing a starved vampire with a bleeding virgin. Touching will only lead to sinful actions. Like after class is over, an obscure area of the school would be oc
cupied with perversions, I, myself, couldn’t foresee performing, but the monster inside hungers for it when it's prodded. Bodily cravings do not seize until quenched.

  Once I didn't have a pen—fingers grazed—never again.

  “Hey, Ramones!”

  My eyes lift off the paper and look up to the girl sitting in front of me. Her blue eyes stare and she’s actually smiling.

  Mr. Hopkins is grading papers and doesn’t pay any mind. I look back down.

  “I never noticed before, you have pretty green eyes," she says.

  My pulse is racing. I want to make eye contact. I want to talk to her. I want to know what else she likes.

  "You have a pen I can borrow?”

  Without looking at her I reach into my backpack and pull out a pen and hand it to her, but I let the pen drop to the floor before her fingers invade the thin space between us. I don’t have to look at her to know what it looks like. I'm not trying to be an asshole. I have no choice but to play the part.

  Sorry. The simple word would Band-Aid the situation, but that means I’ll have to talk to her. I can't start a conversation that will draw attention. Making friends is impossible, so why would I even try.

  She grabs the pen off the floor. “Um...thanks.” It sounds like her pretty smile is gone, but I don’t lift my eyes to confirm it.

  Another glare prods me, taking my attention from the work that will pass the time in this God forsaken school. I look up to see one of the infamous bullying goons that make a name for himself by ritualizing the beating of chosen targets for a week. I've been under the radar for years, but now a drop of a pen has ensured an impending beat-down.

  My mouth dries as Eric Anderson inauspicious smile curls. His followers turn in their seats to witness the stunned face of their next victim. I don’t give them the pleasure and leaves my stoic mask unchanged.

  The clock on the wall confirms the elongated torture of the apprehensive atmosphere. Homework will have to wait. Planning to leave this school will prove to be most challenging. I've witnessed Anderson and his crew parading the halls with their victim, carrying them off to God-knows-where to do God-knows-what. The idea of a group of boys setting me off makes me perspire. Being the center of attention, even for this moment, is causing my heart to race.

  I habitually place my hood on. I'll keep it on as long as Mr. Hopkins doesn’t notice.

  The bell finally rings and the plan is in place. The room empties.

  Anderson’s minions rise from their desks slowly waiting for Eric’s signal.

  I shoulder my backpack. The others move into position as I rise from my desk.

  “Mr. Hopkins?” I hate being a pussy, but asking for a teachers help is the only option here. The band of assholes has me cornered.

  “What is it Mr. Black?” I make my way past the sneering teeth and fuming eyes.

  I make eye contact with Mr. Hopkins. The man just stares, as the gang gets closer.

  “You have two minutes Mr. Black. I suggest you speak before you’re late for your next class. I’m not signing a late slip.”

  I hear them approaching from behind. If they leave the room and wait for me, I’ll be caught outside.

  "Well?" Mr. Hopkins brows lift.

  I dart out the classroom and into the crowded halls. The clamor of desks and chairs behind me pumps fear into my veins. Grazing shoulders and knocking over students, sets my craving on high.

  My hood peels back. Eric and the others are laughing. Everyone in the hall is looking at me.

  “Where are you going, Ramones?”

  “Do you ever wear anything else?”

  “Yo! Get that kid!”

  The halls are thinning; a sign that the second bell is about to ring.

  I turn the corner and hide in a janitor's closet, where I once fornicated.

  The bell rings and screeching sneakers stop at the door. I hold the handle. One of the bullies rattles the doorknob, sending their energy trickling up my arm like an electrical current.

  “Emo boy! I know you’re in there.” One of them kicks the door. “Come out and take it like the faggot you are.”

  The handle rattles and my grip tightens. I can’t let them in for their sake. They don't know what will happen to them if they touch me.

  One of the teachers voices calls out their names. The shadows under the door leave except one.

  “I’ll get you asshole. I’ll make you eat every single one of those psycho pills if I see your face again. You hear me?”

  Eric’s shadow leaves and another person approaches with clacking heels.

  “Mr. Anderson, get back here!”

  The female knocks.

  “Hello? Who’s in there?” I let go of the knob before I feel her energy. The door opens.

  The light is blinding and a female figure stands before me.

  I scurry away from the door, my back knocks into the shelves behind me, sending bathroom paper tumbling on my head. The teacher stares. My hands shake and my eyes water. How many people saw? I place my hood on.

  “It’s okay. You can come out now, Mr. Black.”

  Chapter Two

  Gabriel

  Sitting outside the principal’s office is like being an exotic animal at the zoo. For those who travel the main halls of the school, the glass window showcases troublemakers and their victims. The window tapping is excessive. My hood defends me against the glares, but it's also a dead giveaway that ‘Ramones is in trouble.’

  Eric Anderson is dragged in by the female teacher that witnessed the incident. I keep my head down and watch her red shoes escort Eric to an adjacent chair. His long legs indicate he’s slouching and no doubt glaring me. I peek up and see him grinning. He’s been in this office more often than anyone at this school. He waves humorously at the glass window and everyone that passes gives him thumbs up or an approving smile.

  “Mr. Black. Mr. Anderson.” The principal strokes his gray beard and lets us into his office. “Have a seat.”

  I keep my head low and scoots the chair away from Eric.

  “Would one of you care to explain the running, cussing in the halls—causing a ruckus between periods is not permitted. Mr. Black?”

  I don't utter a sound. There’s nothing the principal can do for me. Anderson will only keep doing it. There’s no point in even trying. “Mr. Black, I’m talking to you.”

  I stare at the dust ball under the desk. The fan in the room is moving it ever so slowly toward principal’s foot.

  “I can’t help you if you don’t speak up, Gabriel. What’s so funny, Mr. Anderson?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t know it had a name.”

  “This is twice this month, Eric, you’ve caused a stir.”

  “He’s got drugs Mr. P, look in his bag. I bet he didn’t register them with the nurse.”

  “Eric!”

  “Look!” Eric’s fingers point like daggers and I can feel the heat of the fingertip at my side.

  “Gabriel? Do you have anything to say about Eric's accusation?”

  The dust ball rolls over Mr. P’s shiny black shoe and disappears out of view.

  “Mr. Black, may I see the contents of your bag?”

  I place my backpack on the desk without hesitation. Or course there’s nothing, but school supplies; no drugs, no meds.

  “Mr. Anderson, please wait outside.”

  I can’t find anything to focus on. The dingy green carpet is devoid of interest.

  “Gabriel, I’ll have to check your locker. Do you understand son?”

  I nod. There’s nothing in my locker.

  “If you don’t talk to me I can’t help you. I know Eric is up to no good, but I need to make sure of it. What happened?”

  I can't speak. I just can't. There's nothing I can do.

  “Fine. I’ll have to give you both detentions on Saturday. Do you understand?”

  I nod. Detention isn’t so bad considering where I live. At least there are vending machines and a clean bathroom.

  Mr. P si
ghs. “You may go to your next class now, Mr. Black.”

  I leave the office. Eric is outside the door, slouching in a chair.

  I wait patiently for the receptionist to sign my late slip.

  “You’re a faggot aren’t you? I bet that’s why you don’t play in gym. You like watching guys.”

  I don't blame him for thinking that. Ever since I was little, kids often felt violated by me. Playing with others caused serious questions to arise that I was touching or making other children feel uncomfortable, provoking fights and name calling. I didn’t understand why other children ran away from me, why my mother didn’t want to hold me anymore and my stepfather wanted to hold me too much. I know now. Eric can see it. There’s something wrong with me. I accept it.

  The receptionist signs me out and I walk pass Eric.

  I shut the door behind me, but Eric’s last words slip through.

  “Why don’t you just die already?”

  I've thought about it. It would be better for everyone if I was dead. It's not like I make a difference on this planet. I barely exist now.

  The empty halls give some relief—no one is around to witness my release. I enjoy the distinct sound my sneakers make on the waxed floor. The free space will soon be invaded when the next bell rings. For now I’ll take my precious time to enjoy the lovely silence the school brings between classes.

  I exit the school. I'll skip the next few periods before lunch. There's no way I'll enter in the middle of class. I make my way to my usual spot on school grounds. The outside provides the space I need rather than sitting in the crowded cafeteria. The school has a low concrete wall surrounding it where student’s hangout on during lunchtime. I choose to hide behind it rather than sit on top like I usually do. I'm not taking any chances if Eric or his friends spot me.

  I used to sit alone, but recently I sit with my only friend, Joshua Masterson. Josh is considered new to the school. I had only known him for two months, which is a miracle in my book. I've never had a friend this long since elementary school. After a while, people stay away. Their assumptions about me are based on fear when they’ve gotten too close. Their colorful gossip created the reputation I have now. It’s not their fault I'm strange. I lure accidently. They want to run away, because it's disturbing the way I make them feel. Ever since I can remember, I've always had this effect on people. With Josh, I have nothing to worry about because he keeps a safe distance.