Gravity

by Amanda Miga

  "Gabriel, don't be afraid, it's only you." Red's voice is weak.

  I clench the box in my hands, looking for an exit, but there's nowhere to go. The black stuff reaches behind the shop keeper's counter, creeping up the walls. It's going to swallow me up. The antique shop goes dark. I tremble as the substance grabs hold of my ankles and creeps up my legs. Unable to move, I shout for Red. My arms stretch out in the direction behind the counter where he had stood. The warm sticky substance covers my body until I feel it swallow my head and force its way into my mouth.

  I wake up sweating and my heart beats out of my chest. I've never felt so relieved to be in my room. I can't shake the feeling someone is watching me. I search the room, but the inspection turns up empty. An instinctual feeling that something actually happened to me nags me at the back of my mind. A tingling sensation runs up my arm and down my spine like that strange ball of light in my strange dream.

  Chapter Five

  Gabriel

  Going to school is a bad idea, but I need to see Josh. I need to explain. I need to reconnect our friendship somehow. I know it's impossible to salvage but I want to at least try. I'd run into Josh sooner or later. The whole day was a bust; Josh didn't show for his classes.

  After school, I figure we'd meet at the bookstore. I'm haunted by the idea of not being friends with him. I'd be alone, talk to no one and never visit the Masterson home again. I was friends with him the longest and it breaks my heart to think we can never be friends again. How will I confront him?—Sorry I made you want to have sex with me. It sounds so stupid.

  I stand in front of the bookstore like an idiot. I lean against the wall, debating on going inside because I can't go home. I decide to go in considering the odds of seeing him; dealing with Josh is better than dealing with my psychotic mom and perverted stepfather.

  I drop my book bag on the floor thinking about how we could start over if we're to meet here tonight. The empty adjacent space where my best friend used to sit makes my chest hurt. I check the time. He should be here by now I scan the area for a sign of him.

  Movement catches my eye behind bookcase. A small person wearing a baseball cap and an oversized hoodie is watching me. I suspect it's someone from school. From the small frame, round jaw and pouty lips, the spy is a girl. She’s pretending to read while her eyes glance at me every few seconds.

  How awkward. I hope I didn't accidently graze her. I don't need another stalker. If ignore her, she'll eventually go away. But after two hours she doesn't. Every once in a while I'd peek up from my comic book and there she is, pretending not to spy. She’s terrible at it. I stay until the store closes. Thankfully, the girl keeps her distance. It’s dark when I leave the store and of course the girl follows me. I was extra careful today at school; it was clear of any close calls and touching, so why is this girl following me? Even if I did graze her, her curiosity would've withered away by the day's end. It’s just a girl. She’s smaller than me, so if she’s trouble, I can out run her. Knowing these streets better than anyone, I'll lose her.

  I turn down an alley swiftly and darts to the end and hide behind a dumpster.

  The stalker pauses at the alley opening, but decides to walk pass. I wait before leaving my hiding spot, exiting the other end of the alley. She isn't around; she must be still prowling on the main street.

  Turning the corner quickly, I smack in to someone. My body vibrates like the hum of a drum. The sensation doesn't settle but builds far too quickly for me to get a handle on my equilibrium.# I'm pulled forward by an unseen force. This is far different and far more powerful than the usual sensitivity. It peels away just as quickly as it came. I advance to the stranger in pursuit of gratification, but to my surprise the person steps back. I've never been resisted before. People always obey the body's requests for pleasure.

  "Stop!"

  It's the stalker. She backs away, breathing heavily from the contact. Her heart must be beating as fast as mine. I want gratification. I want her. She must have an appetite. She notices my hand grasping my belt and her distressed eyes look to my face. A soft peep from her mouth alerts me that's she's frightened. I've only seen that face on my brother when that monster went after him. Am I just like my stepfather? Am I about to hurt her? I'm overwhelmed with shame. I can't believe what I was about to do. I hide behind the dumpster to fight my body needs to finish. I listen for the girl, but it's quiet. Did she leave? I'm afraid of facing her. I don't want to find out even if my body is begging me to. I don't trust myself. My hands tighten around my backpack straps to push back the desire to please myself. It's the second time I've held back.

  I look down the alley. I can run... or I can find that girl and we could do it right here in the alley. She'd want to. I recall her expression. She didn't seem to want it. I would be hurting her for sure if I seek her out. I grip the backpack straps. I look down the alley. I have to run. I have to shake this off.

  Before my body changes my mind I get up and run. The tension releases and I feel lighter because of it. Footsteps follow behind me. I can't believe it. It's her.

  "Gabriel!" the girl shouts.

  She has to be from school. How else would she know my name?

  I quickly turn down an alley and hide behind another dumpster to catch my breath. She's surprisingly fast.

  "Gabriel, please I am not going to hurt you." She shouts down the alley.

  I want to laugh. Of course she isn't going to hurt me. I'd be the one hurting her.

  "Red sent me to find you."

  Red?—It sounds familiar.

  "He said you met him in an antique shop in your dream."

  The shopkeeper? How does she know that? Is she the girl Red said to trust? But I can't remember what she looks like. My body's reaction to her has settled. I smile for the small victory. What are the chances of her throwing herself at me and rebooting the whole situation again? I'll take the chance and hear her out since she mentioned Red.

  I come out from behind the dumpster and the girl seems to keep a cautious distance between us, something I've never seen before with people I've accidently collided with. I take a good look at her; her face is still obscured by the ball cap and her baggy clothing reveals nothing. She's small. I could've really hurt her. She's nervously fiddling with her fingers trying to sum up something to say.

  "What do you want?" I help her out.

  "I need you and you need me."

  Which need did she mean?

  "I know about your burden and I can help."

  "What burden?" I test.

  "The one that sexually lures people."

  Hearing her say it like that makes my cheeks burn. She couldn't have known this with our collision.

  "What do you want?" I clutch my backpack strap.

  "Red sent me. I can help you, but you have to come with me."

  How is it that Red is real? He is a dream. How does this Red person know me? How did she know about my 'burden'?

  "Gabriel, we can help each other. If you help me, Red will help you. He knows what you've been going through. Please come with me."

  It sounds good not to go home, but I don't know her. I can’t trust a total stranger, but in the end it doesn't matter, I will never get close to anyone. I have nothing to lose; I've already lost everything else. "Okay.”

  "I'm Violet." The girl smiles under the shadow of her ball cap.

  It's difficult to get a good look at her when every step I take, she steps back. Good.

  "Gabriel, you have to stay this distance away from me. It's safer for the both of us."

  If I touch people, they go crazy. Maybe when I bumped into her, it scared her into being overly cautious. Twelve feet seems like overkill.

  "Why?" I test again.

  She hesitates at first, "Because we both have abilities, so the pull is stronger." I assume the pull she's referring to is the magnetic feeling when we bumped into each other.

  "What do you have that makes it happen like that?"

  She ignores me again.
"There is one more thing...." she begins, "well, maybe two more things. We have to meet two others like us."

  "Wait, there are others like me?"

  "Not like you exactly. Just people with abilities."

  Abilities? More like a condition.

  "I know this is asking a lot but. I won't hurt you. Will you come with me?"

  "Yeah. I don't want to go home anyway."

  Chapter Six

  Alex

  I open my test booklet. The first question is barely read when the voices of the minds around me sound off one by one with the answer.

  Answer is… B. Majority rules.

  I pencil in the oval with the letter B and listens for a tally on question two.

  I can remember most answers if I tried, but it’s easier to listen then to think. I can hear thoughts all day. It doesn't make sense to study when I‘ll hear the answers anyway. Cheating doesn't seem so bad when everything is based on memorization. How much of this shit will I care about when I'm running my own music label?

  Telepathy is useful this way. It helps me say the right thing when I'm called on in class to answer questions. Teachers love me because I'm always 'paying attention'. But I have no choice. Voices flood into my head where I can barely hear myself think. The volume can be too much sometimes, but once in a while the voices soften just enough so I can actual focus on at least one person. Sometimes it's the wrong person. Garrett Kellerman, for one, has the hots for our homeroom teacher, Mr. Woodrow. How a guy sees another guy's ass, as far as attraction goes, is not what I want to hear first thing in the morning.

  Most of the time I want to turn it off—if I knew how, I fucking would. Playing sports is no fun when I know every God damn move of my opponents. That's no fun. My lacrosse coach loves me for my 'uncanny sense'. It does have its perks; my team loves the victory parties and I love the attention. Reading minds is like serving life on a silver platter. But using my ability this way isn't how I want to win championships, earn grades, and keep friends. It reminds me every day, how I haven't earned anything on my own. I feel bad about that. Sometimes I don't feel like the MVP; I feel like a total loser—a cheater. I don't do it 'cause I like it. I do it out of habit. Habits die hard—mine doesn't die at all.

  I complete my test without reading the questions. Once the answers are heard, it’s hard to stop. I aim to please and the straight A's are addictive.

  'A' for addictive.

  I hand the booklet to the teacher, who smiles approvingly—he doesn't expect any less from Alexander Aisling.

  At my desk, I wait for the bell with the high achievers that finished early. Another reminder that maybe I'm not like those kids, I don't study. Looking around the classroom, Madison catches my eye—one of the smart ones, but also a pretty girl. That's a hot combo. She smiles at me with her nice full lips I'd love to chew on. I give her a wink. She averts her eyes like she doesn’t care, but her flustered cheeks and her mind tell me I've caught another one. I love doing that to girls and best of all I love listening to them.

  Did Alex Aisling just wink at me? Oh my God! Is he still looking...

  Madison briefly looks my way. I smile and mouth 'Hi'.

  He is! He’s looking at me!

  I have about a minute before the bell rings.

  Bet he'll be at Jake's party.

  I'm always at Jake's parties. You’re nobody if you don’t show your face even if your face is denied entry. Jake is one of my best friends and what kind of a friend would I be if I couldn’t make it to one of the hottest nights before prom.

  The bell rings and I wait outside of the class for Madison.

  "Hey, Madison!"

  She looks behind her as if there’s another Madison. Her surprised sky-blue eyes nervously avert away.

  "Hey." I can't believe he's talking to me right now.

  "Are you going to Jake's party tonight?" I invade her personal space; reach for the heart charm dangling from her bracelet. She flinches and her face turns red, but I finally got her to really look at me.

  "Uh, y-yeah are you going?" she hugs her books to her chest. Oh my God, his eyes are amber.

  "Yeah, what kind of a friend would I be if I didn’t?”

  “Oh, right.” He’s Jake’s best friend. I'm so stupid!

  “I was hoping maybe we could meet up there," I lower my voice and look at her lips briefly, "and get to know each other better."

  Madison's mouth parts and her arms squeeze her books tighter. "Yes, definitely. Yes!" Am I going to get to run my fingers through that blonde hair?

  "Alright. I'll see you there." I allow my eyes linger in hers for a moment to savor the glory of another easy lay. I display my notoriously sexy smile and walk away listening to Madison's mind explode as her friends nag her for details.

  At my locker, I can hear Jake and Pete already making fun of my inflated ego. It’s easy for me because my telepathy puts me at the top of the fuck-food-chain, but to my friends, I'm just the pretty boy.

  "Poor girl doesn't know she is just a notch in Alex the Great's belt. You’d think they’d learn by now." Pete slams his back into the locker next to mine. "You’re like the new ecstasy. If you were a pill I'd sell your ass to Jane Griffin."

  I cringe. "Jane has a beard."

  "And Madison?"

  "—Doesn't."

  Pete snickers.

  "What? I like her." I glance back at Madison with her gossipy friends. One of them squeals when I look.

  "No you don't. You like her sweet ass and her enormous—" Pete hands motion to his chest like he's handling two melons.

  "Eyes." I finish. “She’s got nice eyes.”

  "If what you mean by her ‘nice eyes’, you actually saying her ‘tight ass’ then yes—she’s got a nice tight ass.”

  "As longs as you’re not in my dad’s den again. I got shit for that last time." Jake nods at a group of girls giggling past. "I had to clean that up you know."

  I smile, recalling the last party Jake had. I left his dad's desk in shambles. Heather Walker’s ass slid straight across the desk. My hands shoved everything from the desktop to the floor, trying to grab something for leverage.

  Jake's thoughts interrupt the sex with Heather, wondering when I'd pay him for the alcohol. I reach into his pocket and change my mind. I have to remember to pay him later. I have to be careful about reading their minds and responding to them so quickly because they don't know I'm a telepath. The trouble is I’ll probably forget. It isn't that I don't care. It’s that my head is overloaded with voices and remembering something just adds to the load.

  The bell rings and we leach for the packed cafeteria. At the center, an empty table reserved for me and my buds. No one will take our seats; or sit in a seat you haven't sat at in the last three years in Rembrandt high school. It’s assigned by clique—the natural order of high school culture. Like a band taking stage all eyes rest on us; beautiful faces and friendly conversations keep us at the top of everyone's friend lists. My table is the one everyone wishes they could sit at. It’s a joy to be loved and I love the attention. 'A' for attention.

  Lunch is loud today; too many voices usually sends me to the bathroom or outside for some peace. I can't pass up lunchtime even if it hurts. My reputation is too important. Tonight is Jake's party and showing my face at lunchtime marks tonight the night. I'll have to make do with the migraine.

  I plop in the seat next to Pete’s girlfriend Cheryl Warren. The sixties tune ‘You don’t own me’ instantly plays on repeat in my head every time I see her lethally sexy face. She’s a hot addition to the center table. Her cool seductive gray eyes see right through me. Her long strands of her hair fall to her back like a sheet of black silk. Her slender legs cross like the hot guidance counselor who’s rumored to not wear any underwear. I know Cher wears underwear—the black lacey kind.

  “Hey, Cher.”

  “Hey Blondie. Heard you tried out for the summer play. The Tin Man? That hot bod shouldn’t be covered in some fake cardboard costume.”


  I try to ignore her comment, but this is just a punishment for sleeping with my best friend’s girl. “No tin for Tin man. They’re modernizing it. I’m not sure I’m getting the part anyway.”

  “Oh, you got the part. I’m sure of it.” Cher’s foot rubs against my leg. “You always get the part.”

  I move my leg away from hers as Pete sits on Cher’s other side, his arms claim her waist.

  “Hey Babe,” Pete kisses her long and hard for the whole lunch room to watch. She’s more like arm candy than a girlfriend to him. Cher knows it and doesn’t care. Her teasing eyes shift my way, making it difficult to forget all the times Cher and I were 'bored'.

  “I’ll see you tonight.” Jake takes a few handshakes and fist bumps. “All of you.” He invites the entire wrist-slitters table. "551 Harrison Street, Seven o'clock."

  Jake finally takes his seat after his party advertising tour around the lunchroom. “You okay, man?”

  “I just have a headache.” I stare at Cher’s hand rubbing Pete’s inner thigh. She’s good with her hands.

  Cher’s lips pull away from Pete. “They won’t come. Not all of them and half of them won’t make it inside anyway. Why do you bother inviting them?”

  “You said so yourself. Half of them won’t come.” Jake smirks.

  “As for the other half, Hunter’s crew will drop kick them at the door,” Pete laughs. “He’s like our crowd control.”

  “Exactly.” Jake pops open a soda. “But at least the others could say they were there. It’s not like I didn’t invite them.”

  Cher pulls away from Pete completely. “Don't pretend you're doing them a favor by inviting them. The football morons you invited discriminate. It’s like you do it on purpose.”

  “What? I invite everyone. It’s not my problem if they can’t get in. What do you care? It’s not like you’re friends with those emo-losers anyway.”

  “But you raise your beer and hi-five when they're beat up on your front lawn like a pay-per-view event.”