Connected: Book 1 Connected Series Read online

  Connected

  by

  Kat Stiles

  katstiles.com

  Wellington, Texas

  Connected Copyright © 2015 by Kathleen Stiles

  Cover illustration by Taria Reed © 2015

  For information on the cover art, please contact Taria Reed.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. If you are reading this book and did not buy it or win it in a contest by the author or authorized distributor, you are reading an illegal copy. This hurts the author and publisher. Please delete and purchase a legal copy from Kat Stiles.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Editor: Leslie Karen Lutz

  Printed in The United States of America

  Dedication

  For my mother,

  who taught me about the most important thing in this life

  LOVE

  Miss you, Mom

  Chapter One

  Somehow I thought I would know when my life was in mortal danger. I’m not talking spidey sense or anything, just some kind of clue something bad is about to happen. I guess I got the idea from the movies. Real life, I found, is very different.

  Here’s the thing: my hometown of Cannondale is as far from interesting as it comes. The picture of central Texas suburbia, it’s a quiet little city, where nothing happens, apart from an occasional trampling at the outlet mall when the Coach store has a clearance sale. The kind of place that feels safe to walk around at night, especially in the cookie cutter middle-class subdivision that was my neighborhood. My walk went undisturbed until I heard the sound of a thump, thump, thump, followed by a long buzz… It took me a second to figure out the noise was rap music, trying to escape out a car window. Another joyride, I thought.

  Then the tires screeched. I whipped my head around out of instinct, but all I could see were two headlights headed straight for me. Frozen to the spot, my eyes snapped shut. As if that would in some way stop it. And in the three seconds before the car rammed into me, my only thought was whether or not it would hit me hard enough to get me out of school tomorrow.

  A sick crunching noise sounded when my feet left the ground, and I caught some air before falling back down with a thud. The strange thing was the absence of any pain. What did register was the pounding of my heart, more from surprise than the impact of the car. As I lay on the ground, motionless, I heard a car door slam, followed by footsteps.

  “I think you killed her. Dude, you are so screwed…”

  I couldn’t get my eyes to open. God, am I really hurt?

  “She’s fine, she’s not even bleeding,” a different voice said, right when the other guy heaved. The smell of beer mixed with half-digested food filled my nose.

  A barely discernible whisper repeated over and over, “Oh God, what am I going to do?”

  “Who is she?”

  The voices grew closer.

  With all my might, I tried to lift my arm. Nothing. Why can’t I feel anything? My heart began to race.

  “I don’t know her.” A shaking hand pushed the hair away from my face, but still my eyes refused to open.

  “I thought you knew all the girls at school.”

  “Wasn’t she a freshman last year? Amy…Em…uh, Emily.”

  “Good. Now you know who you killed.”

  “Don’t be stupid. She can’t be dead.” The voice was louder now—one of them had come closer. “Look, her chest, I saw it. She’s breathing.”

  “Are you delusional? She’s not moving.”

  It was then the pain set in. My thighs burned, a fire consuming my legs. I tried to scream, but my lips wouldn’t budge. Am I paralyzed?

  “Wait a minute… Something’s wrong.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. You killed a pedestrian.”

  “No, I mean with me. I…I can’t feel―”

  “You’re right, she is breathing.” One of them shook my shoulders. “Hello? You okay?”

  And then it got really weird.

  A wave of heat flashed through me like a current, awakening every little nerve ending. My body convulsed while it passed through, but it didn’t hurt—it was sorta like the prickly feeling of a foot falling asleep, before the tingling turns to pain. Then a glimmer of the richest purple I’d ever seen appeared, spiraling beneath my closed eyelids.

  “If she’s breathing, she’s fine. Someone’ll find her.”

  “We can’t leave her… What if she’s paralyzed? Or brain dead?” Footsteps paced back and forth in front of me.

  The tingling concentrated in my legs, amplifying the warmth. What’s happening to me? Am I…dying?

  “Uh…uh, 911. Let’s call 911.”

  “And tell them what? You know we’re both screwed if the cops catch us. I’m not going to juvie for you. I’m outta here.”

  What do I do now? I still couldn’t move or speak. My legs grew hotter while at the same time the pain started to subside. Is this what it feels like to die? No, it can’t be… I’m not ready. A lump formed in my throat as I waited for that ominous white light all those near-death survivors talk about. But it never came.

  A car door opened, just as a dog barked in the distance. Then the engine fired to life: a throaty, guttural outburst. The dog barked even louder, as if to answer it.

  “Someone’s coming. Dude, get in!”

  The heat surged through my body a final time, and my temperature returned to normal. At first, only a couple of fingers moved, and then my control returned back all at once. My eyes slowly flickered open.

  “I’m sorry,” whispered the boy who I assumed was the driver. It was all so hazy, his face was nothing but two black holes against a white mask.

  Even after rubbing my eyes, everything still appeared blurry. Was that a red car? Definitely something sporty from the sound of the engine.

  They peeled out, leaving behind the smell of burnt rubber and a horrible screeching sound ringing in my ears again. My eyes finally adjusted, and I saw an older woman approaching. Her beagle trotted up and licked my hand.

  “Sweetie, are you all right? Did you fall down?”

  “I’m fine,” I answered without thinking. But when I made it to my feet and brushed myself off, I discovered it wasn’t a lie.

  The pain was completely gone.

  * * * *

  I ran home in record time and burst through the front door.

  “Mom, you won’t believe what happened to me.”

  No response. I found a note on the dining room table: “Girls, had to go in. Gonna be late.” The scribbling was so messy that it was difficult to make out the last two words. From what I could tell it read, “Love you.”

  Yet another support call. Some critical database was down, no doubt.

  I grabbed my cell and called my best friend Roz. Her voicemail answered, an onslaught of Beyoncé bellowing at full blast. I hung up, not having the patience to wait for the song to end. Four times I told her to change that stupid outgoing message, but she completely ignored me.

  Instead, I texted her: “Call me when you get this. Major news.”

  A car actually hit me. How did I walk away? I’ve always been a quick healer, I thought, but this is ridiculous. I heard sometimes it takes a while to feel the pain from an accident. That’s it, I’m in shock. Checking for tenderness, I squeezed my thighs, and then my calves. Nothing.

  Maybe I’ll feel it tomorrow. I
smiled. Perfect timing to miss the first day of the new school year. The cell phone dimmed from inactivity, and a feeling of exhaustion spread over me, as if I were shutting down, too. Within seconds of hitting the bed, I passed out.

  * * * *

  The next morning I awoke with no bruises, no soreness, nothing. So much for “being in shock.” So what did happen to me? Was it some crazy dream, or did I really get hit by a car and walk away from it like nothing happened?

  My brain turned on, and I groaned. Without an actual injury, there was no excuse to miss school.

  I fumbled through my morning routine with the grace of a rhinoceros, eager to get to Roz’s before the bus came. My house was empty when I left, typical for a Monday. It didn’t bother me. In fact, the more I considered what happened, the less I wanted to tell my mother about it. She already thought me a little crazy. This would result in more “sessions,” or even worse. But Roz would understand.

  The sweltering Texas sun greeted me outside. I had to pace myself to not get drenched in sweat, even just walking across the street.

  I approached Roz’s house and eyed the ceramic gnomes on her lawn. After watching too many scary movies, it was hard not to have an overactive imagination, along with an inherent distrust of seemingly benevolent (and sometimes inanimate) things, like lawn gnomes. I’d joked to Roz about the little statues before, and I was sure she started moving them around a little, to mess with me. But today they were the same as yesterday, standing next to the shrubberies with their rosy little cheeks and permanent smiles. I passed them and said, “I’m on to you guys.”

  Roz had barely opened the door before I blurted out, “Oh my God, the weirdest thing happened to me last night.”

  “Good morning to you, too.” A playful yet sarcastic smile appeared on her flawless face. She adjusted a cascade of black curls behind her shoulder. “So what’s the major news?”

  Inside, her father sat at the dining room table. He glanced up from his newspaper and smiled at me. It had been a while since his short afro was totally black, but all those grey hairs made his expression seem even warmer.

  “Morning, Dad,” I said. He was always “Dad,” since we were little—he practically raised me.

  “Hey, Em,” Dad responded. “Have you eaten?”

  “No, I haven’t, but I―”

  “You’re not going to seriously tell me you’re skipping breakfast on the first day of school?” He nudged his reading glasses down his nose, and I could tell by his wrinkled forehead there was no chance of me escaping without at least eating a bowl of cereal.

  “Okay, okay,” I muttered in concession, and headed for the pantry. Their kitchen/dining area was one enormous room, custom built to Dad’s detailed drawings. While I rummaged through the cereal choices, I began, “I was out walking around the neighborhood last night, when a car peeled down the street from out of nowhere and hit me.”

  “Sure it did,” Roz said with a giggle from the dining room table. She winked at Dad. “What movie was that from, Em… Zombie Car Revenge?”

  I crunched down a bite of some generic rendition of Frosted Flakes on my way to the table. After swallowing, I responded, “No, it really happened, I swear.”

  Dad cocked an eyebrow, but Roz chuckled.

  I sat down across from them, tucking my right foot under my left thigh. Eyeing them both, I said, “Thanks so much for your concern.”

  “You are kidding, right?” Roz asked. “I mean, you don’t look like you were run over.”

  She caught me mid-bite. “I know,” I mumbled, then finished chewing. “It was weird. I felt fine like five minutes later.”

  Dad looked me over. I could tell he was trying to figure out if it was some kind of prank. After a short while he reached out and gently turned my head, inspecting me. “Em, if you were hit by a car, you should get yourself checked out. Even if you feel okay now, there could be something wrong down the line.”

  “But there’s not a scratch on me,” I said. “It’s crazy, right?”

  He circled behind me, and then scratched his head. “Well, I don’t see anything out of whack, but―”

  “The car actually hit you?” Roz’s eyes widened. “Who was it?”

  “I didn’t get a good look at them. Two boys. They go to our school, I think.”

  “You have to file a police report,” Dad said and frowned. “Lock away those animals.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, like the police are gonna believe me.”

  Dad massaged his temples, and as he leaned his head forward, I could see a small bald spot forming on the back of his head. I would’ve given him a hard time about it if he weren’t so serious.

  “Okay,” Dad said. “But promise me you’ll at least see the nurse today at school.”

  “What good will that do?” I protested. “She’s going to look me over, tell me I’m fine, and order me back to class.”

  “He’s right, Em,” Roz said. “You should make sure.”

  “If you don’t, I’ll take you to the doctor after work myself,” Dad threatened. His eyes narrowed a little, and his jaw locked into place. The last time I saw that look was a month back, when I had a couple of overdue library books. Not heeding his warning then ended up with me volunteering at the library for a whole week of my summer vacation.

  I sighed in defeat. “Fine, I’ll go to the nurse.” At least it would get me out of class.

  * * * *

  Taking the bus blows, I thought as Roz and I walked to the bus stop down the block. I was so close—one more summer and I would’ve gotten my permit—but those evil politicians upped the driving age. Now it would be another year of riding the bus.

  Thinking about the bus and school in general brought back an old familiar sense of dread. I pictured everything that could possibly go wrong: a flashback of everything that did go wrong freshman year, along with the worst scenes from all those coming-of-age flicks.

  Deep breaths, I told myself. I’ll get through this.

  “Are you nervous?” I asked Roz.

  “Not really,” she said, smoothing out her retro flowing skirt with an ease that seemed otherworldly. “Gotta be better than freshman year, right?”

  I half-smiled. Of course she wasn’t nervous. She didn’t even have to try to be beautiful. Her skin was a rich honey brown, a shade or two lighter than Dad’s mahogany complexion. She inherited her hair from her mother—bouncy, silky curls extended past her shoulders, jet black in color, but with a midnight blue sheen when the sun hit it right. If I looked like you, I thought, I wouldn’t be nervous, either.

  I wasn’t quite so blessed in the looks department. My skin was pale (but not pale enough to be considered beautiful) and uneven. My long dirty blonde hair couldn’t decide if it wanted to be curly or straight, so it settled on frizzy most of the time. Yeah, my breasts were larger than average, but they were more of a curse than a blessing. I’d lost count of the number of times boys would stare at them and then shake their heads. I actually heard one say, “What a waste.” My discovery of the sports bra, coupled with oversized shirts, eliminated that problem. The one cool thing about me was the color of my eyes, changing from green to blue to gray on different days. Roz called them my “chameleon” eyes. But even they were dull, the colors merely faded shades of the full-blown originals.

  “Afraid it’s going to be as bad as last year,” I said, brushing a few unruly strands of hair behind my ear. “Maybe worse.”

  “You’ll be fine, Em,” she said with an exasperated sigh.

  The bus pulled up and its doors folded open. I took in a deep breath while I climbed the steps to enter. At the top, I exhaled abruptly, seeing the same faces I did last year.

  “Hey, it’s sweaty Emmy.”

  The outburst got the attention of about everyone on the bus. Followed by the obligatory laughter, of course. I focused on the walkway, trying hard to ignore them. At the first empty row I nearly fell into the seat, tripping on the edge of the rubber runner lining the aisle. The laughter r
esurged before the bus became unusually silent. Without looking, I knew Roz had made it to the top of the stairs. She sat down next to me.

  “No, I think you’ll be fine,” I said. “I’m a whole other story.”

  The whispers began, a sort of hushed accompaniment to her entrance.

  “They’re practically drooling,” I informed her.

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s all in your head.”

  A rather plain boy in the row in front of us peered behind to sneak a peek at Roz, and then immediately faced front again. Come on, I thought, you don’t really think you have a shot, do you? I smiled when he turned back around and addressed Roz.

  He asked about her summer and engaged in meaningless, awkward chit-chat, speaking with a strange urgency, as if he worried she would end the conversation any minute. Finally he came to the point. “Oh hey, I was wondering, would you, uh…like to catch a movie with me this weekend?” His knuckles turned white in his death grip of the seat back, awaiting her response.

  Her polite smile transformed to an expression that bordered on motherly concern, and I knew exactly what she would say next. I mouthed the words while she spoke them, “Sorry, I’ve got plans.”

  Part of me wanted to laugh. I did that once and she yelled at me. The other part of me felt bad for him. Roz was habitually nice to everyone, which was kind of cruel. It gave them false hope.

  “Maybe some other time,” he said, trying to sound upbeat, but his scolded puppy dog eyes betrayed him.

  “Got to be a new record,” I muttered, but Roz seemed somewhere else.

  “I had another dream last night,” she said quietly.

  “Dreams” was what we called them, for lack of a better term. We weren’t sure what they were, but we both knew they were more than simple dreams.