1

If I had to choose my own death, it wouldn’t have anything to do with radioactive ninjas, killer hamsters, or a zombie apocalypse. I never would have thought a vengeful immortal would have taken an interest in killing me either, yet here I was, dying at the hands of someone I didn’t even know, in lieu of the man I loved. And the funny thing was… I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

I was inside a kaleidoscope. And not just any kaleidoscope; it was filled with a vast array of colors and hues… and it called my name. Repeatedly. Why wouldn’t it shut up?

The stifling heat woke me up before my alarm clock had a chance. I turned over, praying for an extra hour of sleep, and swung my legs off my bed upon seeing the clock; my wish hadn’t been granted. I called my best friend on my way to the kitchen.

“Stella,” I said into my cell phone.

“What the hell, Adele? Do you know what time it is?” she hissed at me.

I smiled. “6:32. Now wake up, I don‘t want to miss psychology again.”

“We won‘t, I promise. It‘s too hot to stay in bed anyway, and I wanna get my Tuesday started right.”

I hung up. Sure, I could’ve given her the extra thirty minutes of sleep, but Stella wasn’t the “time management” type. In other words, she had to try on every shirt, dress, and pair of pants in her cavern of a closet before she settled on something to wear. But I couldn’t judge; I had my own problem. One that gave me a first-hand look into other people’s heads.

I ate my cereal, making sure to wash the bowl, and climbed the spiral staircase back up to my room. The lilac walls I’d painted as an innocent twelve-year-old were now filled with pictures and paintings of my favorite landscapes. I found my love of art when I was thirteen, shortly after discovering my “gift”, as my mother called it.

I got my first taste of empathy when my father, who had received an outstanding speeding ticket, came home with an aura of crimson around him. I could literally feel the waves of aggravation roll off of him. It scared the hell out of me, to say the least. My mother’s Native-American heritage caused her to embrace it a lot faster than I did. “The Paiute people are special,” she’d told me when I’d explained my problem. “We have magic in our blood, magic that gives some of us extraordinary power.”

I watched her glow bright green with delight. She took me to her childhood home, on the reservation, to visit my great-aunt Honovi, who was the medicine woman out on the rez. It was Honovi who confirmed my abilities. Her disbelief upon seeing me generated a beautiful halo of magenta around her wide body. She told me that I could sense not only emotions, but lies. She added that with enough practice, I would be able to impose any emotion I wanted on anyone. The entire tribe was impressed. It was rare for a full-blooded Paiute child to be blessed with this kind of power; I was only half. It was a lot for a thirteen-year-old girl to bear. My father, who never believed in the superstitions my mother grew up around, took a while to believe my problem.

I lingered a little while longer; it was nice to think back to simpler times, when I hadn’t been cursed with the ability to sense the emotions of every person I came in contact with. But I had to accept what I was: an empath. Don’t get me wrong, it was handy every once in a while, but being constantly assaulted by other people’s feelings got really old, really fast. Especially in high school. With my disability, I found that pregnancy scares, love triangles, and all-around scandals were present among the staff as much as the students.

I fished around in my closet for a while, and came out with something presentable to wear in the overpowering heat. I threw it on, grabbed my bag and car keys, and made my way outside. The Southern Nevada sun greeted me with a surge of warmth. It wasn’t abnormal to be this hot in late October. After all, this was the desert.

I hopped into my champagne-colored Altima, and pulled up in front of the apartment Stella shared with her older sister fifteen minutes later. I honked a few times, and saw that familiar face observe my car from the upstairs window. It disappeared five seconds later. I waited for another fifteen minutes (which seemed like forever, there was nothing on the radio) before my best friend made her appearance. As she stepped into my car, my jaw dropped.

“Nice outfit, Stella.” Her ensemble put my jean shorts and white v-neck to shame.

“What, this? Oh, it‘s just something I threw together. It‘s nothing, Adele.” Her hot pink short-shorts, lime green sequined camisole, and matching flip-flops were nothing - for her. Stella’s weekend outfits were always more flamboyant than what she wore to school. Not that she didn’t have the body for it.

Stella‘s thin, willowy figure could make a trash bag look good. Add her straight golden hair, electric blue eyes, and model legs, and you’ve got yourself one life-size Sex Appeal Barbie. To be honest, her appearance was part of the reason we were such good friends. Stella didn’t worry over her looks like lots of other girls our age; her certainty made her a more content person, and it was always nice to have a fresh wave of happiness every once in a while.

On the drive to school, I got distracted by Stella’s changing emotions. She went from calm, to unsure, to bored, and back again. I secretly wished I was a telepath instead of an empath… it sure would be easier to find out what was bothering her.

We parked in the student lot, and made our way into Chatham High’s science building. It’s not like I hadn’t expected it, but the onslaught of emotions that hit me when I walked in the school struck with as much force as a cinderblock. The change in emotion settled, and Stella and I met up with our friend Connor, who hugged us both, a sly smile on his lips.

“What‘s with you?” Stella asked.

“I can‘t be happy?” he said, and upon seeing Stella’s face, added, “Guess not. But if you must know, I just got invited to the Halloween party of a lifetime.”

“Ooh, sounds fun,” I said, interested. “Are you going?”

He smiled, and replied, “Of course I am. And you two are, too.”

“Yes!” Stella said, at the said time I muttered, “Why?” Stella whirled on me, her body emanating a lemon colored air of disbelief.

Connor, ignoring Stella’s shock, replied, “Why not, Adele?”

I knew why not. Parties might’ve been my thing, if it wasn’t for my problem. Sure, I could block out every feeling in the place for a couple of hours, but it would leave me exhausted for at least two days. Dammit. Connor’s aura was turning blue, and I could feel his disappointment. I didn’t want to force a false happiness on him, so I did the next best thing.

“Okay, okay… I‘ll go.”

“Yaay!” said Stella. “I knew you‘d come through, Adele. But we got to get to class, the bell‘s gonna ring in a couple of minutes.”

We climbed the stairs, and made it into Psychology class earlier than expected. I walked to the far right side of the room, near the back. Students were seated two to a table, but there was an odd number of us in the class. I let Stella and Connor share a table in the middle of the class, while was seated in the back, with a table to myself. Mrs. Laskus, our lovable Psych teacher, began lecturing on various mental disorders to choose from for an upcoming project.

Then a few things happened at once.

The phone rang, Stella threw a ball of paper across the room, no doubt homework she hadn’t done, and the most attractive guy I’d ever seen entered the room. It was like time slowed down; he looked around, searching for something, someone, and fixed his violet eyes on me. I smiled. What else what I supposed to do?

I watched him inhale deeply, and he smiled back at me. Then I noticed - he didn’t have an aura. No feelings, no emotion, no… nothing. Why the hell couldn’t I sense something? This didn’t make sense.
Maybe I’d just test him; after all, I’d never come across someone who was resistant to my sixth sense. I concentrated, and created a huge invisible cloud of sadness. If he was immune to this - no, he wouldn’t be. I had complete confidence in my power. After a couple seconds, everyone in the room had a blue tinged air about them. I noticed a couple of girls started crying. Even Mrs. Laskus had a look of complete misery on her face.

I felt bad, making my entire class feel like crap. I noticed the guy in the doorway had a smirk on his face. Did he know what I was doing? I hated him for it, even if he didn’t know about my ability. But god, was he gorgeous! He stood at about six feet, maybe a couple inches taller. His angular face looked as if it was carved from polished marble. I longed to know more about this guy, to find out why I was literally senseless around him. Okay, I wanted to do a little more than ask a couple of questions. But my hormones would have to wait, because Mrs. Laskus was directing him to the only empty seat in the room.

The one next to me.

He strode across the classroom, never breaking his gaze on me. I kept my eyes locked on him too, like I could help it.

He sat down, and turned towards me. “Nolan,” he said in a voice so silky I’d wrap myself in it.


“Adele,” I replied, shaking his extended hand. I decided to project an emotion one more time just to make sure…

“I‘d really appreciate it you‘d stop that,” he said, smiling at the notes he’d taken.

“What are you talking about?” I decided to act ignorant.

“Oh, come on,” he said, running a hand through his messy black hair. His violet eyes evaluated me, which sent a little shiver down my spine. Apparently Nolan noticed, because his next words were, “What? I can‘t like what I see?”

I disregarded his question; I didn’t need to be caught up in an awkward situation. Instead I asked, “What are you?”

He smiled again, but turned back to his notebook. “Wouldn‘t you love to find out?”

2

“Just a small town girl, livin’ in a lonely woorld,” Stella sang, one hand on the steering wheel. Our hair whipped in the dry desert air as she drove. I watched a few tumbleweeds roll by. I was still thinking about that new guy, the way he studied me with those deep purple eyes. Like he knew something he shouldn’t. Stella detected my reverie and turned the radio down.

“Adele,” she said urgently. Her tone was serious, but she radiated an air of interest.

“Stella,” I replied cheerily. The heat was nearly unbearable, but my friend’s mood was rubbing off on me.

“Why was that cute new guy in psych staring at you so much today? He looked at you like… like you were a piece of jewelry he was appraising.”

“You noticed that too?” I asked, relieved.

“The hell I did,” Stella sighed. “Every girl in that room had their eyes on him. You should have seen Ivy. I swear, she started drooling as soon as he walked in.”

That wasn’t a big surprise. Ivy Michaels, Chatham High’s cheer captain, had a bad reputation when it came to the opposite sex. In other words, “Poison” Ivy Michaels had the tendency to leave the guys she’d been with itching. And in need of a trip to the clinic.

“But she wasn‘t the only one with that look,” Stella said after a pause.

“There was someone else?” I asked, a little too eagerly. Why did I care? I barely knew the guy.

I watched the side of Stella‘s mouth turn up.

“You,” she said, cutting off the driver next to us. “I haven‘t seen you look at someone like that since… ever. I mean, aside from me.”
I laughed. “He‘s okay, if that‘s what you‘re into,” I replied, trying to sound uninterested. Stella didn’t buy it; I could sense her doubt.

“Right,” she said, “because a guy like that only has limited appeal.” She turned those electric blue eyes on me, waiting for an answer.

“Keep your eyes on the road, Stella,” was all I said.

“I‘ll pull this car over,” she said, smirking. “No need to beat around the bush.”

“It‘s my car.” I retorted.

At that, Stella went into full Nascar mode; she made such an incredible move, we were parked in a gas station in three seconds flat.

“Adele, you know you shouldn‘t hide your feelings… one of these days you‘re gonna blow,” Stella said, still smiling. But I could feel her seriousness.

Those words hit me harder than I expected. Hiding my feelings. That was the problem. Stella didn’t know it, but it was everyone else’s feelings that I hid. So I decided to make up for it by being completely honest. Starting now.

“Then ask me anything.”
“You like what‘s-his-face?” Stella was already back on the road.

“Nolan‘s his name. And I barely know him. But I think he likes me.”

“Oh, really? He‘s dropping hints that fast?”

“He slipped a phone number in my bag.”

Nascar mode again. Stella didn’t change her facial expression, but I felt the jade-colored aura of excitement roll off of her in waves. We sped down the streets, running yellow lights, and parked outside Stella’s apartment five minutes later.

“Oh. My. God. We gotta prank call him.” Stella said, a full grin on her lips.

“What? Why?” I asked, confused at her suggestion.

“Because you‘re supposed to know how a guy reacts under pressure before you pursue a relationship with him.”

Dammit. She had a point. So I threw all apprehension to the wind. How hard could it be, anyway?

“Okay. Let‘s do it. But we got to get out of this car and into some air conditioning,” I said.

“Done.”

We made the journey up the stairs and into the apartment Stella shared with her sister.

My first thought: perfectly immaculate. That was always my first thought when I visited Stella. The pictures on the tan walls were perfectly hung, there wasn’t a spot on the eggshell carpet, and the interior decoration was perfect. Claire, Stella’s older sister, was at work, but the effort she put into the little apartment was obvious. We made our way into Stella’s room, greeting Claire’s dog in the process.

“Hey, Cheesecake!” I said. The Yorkshire Terrier’s pink bow sat neatly on his head.

“I keep telling that girl to get him a blue bow, poor thing,” Stella said, a sad look on her face. “Well, there‘s no cooperating with her… might as well just get our job done.”

I took the folded piece of paper out of my bag and reached for my phone.

“Wait… you do know how to block a number, right?” I asked, holding my phone close to me.

“What, you plan on calling him for real later on tonight?” Stella asked.

“Does it matter?” I replied.

“Of course it does,” Stella said. “But yes, I can block a number.”

I gave her the paper and my phone, and threw myself upon her bed. Stella’s lime-green walls and hot pink bedding and rug perfectly accented her personality; loud, outspoken, and impulsive. She’d always told me it was her zodiac sign that had affected her personality.

“I‘m a fire sign,” she’d told me when I asked her where she got her qualities from; aside from her sister, no one else in Stella’s family was so - well, crazy. “Claire and I were both born in early April.”

“Oh,” was all I could say. We were freshman in high school; our friendship was brand-new.

We were now seniors, but the relationship Stella and I shared hadn’t lost any of it’s luster; my crazy best friend made sure of that.

I was snapped out of my reverie by Cheesecake; he’d pulled my flip-flop off and was now licking my toes. I tried not to giggle, but I couldn’t help it.

Stella poked my ribs with her index finger and mouthed, It’s ringing.

Obviously

, I mouthed back. The phone was on speaker.

A couple rings later, a man answered.

“Hello,” he said. After that one word, Stella went on a rampage.

“Nolan? Nolan?!? Do you remember me, Janice??? I know you do! That fling last summer was the worst decision of my life! You didn’t even call me back! How dare you, and now I’m pregnant! I need you to come down to Chatham General tomorrow afternoon and give a DNA sample, you know this is your kid! I’m not taking care of another one alone!!! Never mind how I got your number, you lousy piece of-”

“Ma’am! You must have the wrong number, this is Mario‘s Pizza,” the man got out in a slight Spanish accent.

Our jaws dropped. “Oops,” Stella squeaked. And she hung up. We looked at each other. “He gave me the wrong number,” I finally got out. A long silence passed. Then we burst out laughing. There was humor in our blunder, but I found myself a little disappointed; deep down, I wanted Nolan’s interest.

“That bastard,” Stella said, wiping her eyes. “Maybe he‘s better off with Ivy after all. He deserves an infection for that one.”

* * *

When Connor and I walked into psychology arm-in-arm the next day, the only person who had their eyes trained on me was the last person I wanted to see. Nolan was looking past the cheerleader that had parked herself on his desk to smile at me. When he got an eyeful of Connor, who was the starting wide receiver for Chatham’s varsity football team, his grin fell a little.

Well, that was weird. I pulled myself out of Connor’s muscular arm, said goodbye to Stella, and walked over to the back of the class. The cheerleader who’d plopped herself down on the desk turned to see who’d torn Nolan’s attention away from her.
“Adele, is it?” Ivy said, sneering at me.
I tried to withhold my irritation. Ivy knew damn well what my name was; I’d been the butt of her jokes our entire sophomore year.

“Yes, Adele. And you are… no, don‘t tell me. Vine? Grass? Weed?”

“Ivy,” she said, a hint of acid in her voice. “I‘ll get back to you later, Nolan.” We watched her walk away, switching her hips in that “wish you had this” kind of way.

I sat down in my seat as the bell rang, and turned completely away from my psych partner. He tapped my shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Nolan said in that silky voice of his. His breath was cool on my neck.

“I‘m fine.”

“No you‘re not.”

“Okay,” I replied. “You got me. I‘m only a little irritated because you gave me the number to a pizza place.”

Nolan leaned back in his chair and stretched, allowing his black t-shirt to ride up. I willed myself not to glance at his sculpted abdomen. Finally, he spoke. “So, you called.”

“I needed to know what the homework was.”

“Of course you did.” Even though I couldn’t sense it, I knew he didn’t believe me. I decided not to speak again, unless it was absolutely necessary.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Nolan asked, indicating Connor with his finger. So much for not speaking.

“No!” I said quickly. Then I thought about it; Connor was an attractive guy. Let’s just say all that football practice had done him good. He stood at 6‘1”, a far stretch from my 5’7” and Stella’s 5‘3”. His windswept chestnut hair and hazel eyes could leave any girl‘s knees weak. “I mean, no, he‘s not. Why? You want me to put in a good word?”

“Ha. No, thank you. I was just wondering if I had any competition.” My heart rate sped up.

I just stared at him. I could hear Mrs. Laskus going on about common mental disorders in the front of the class. I just took my notes, and didn’t speak again until class was almost over.

“What makes you think that I‘d be interested?” I asked, sure of myself.

“Because you thought you were calling me last night.” he replied, smiling. His violet eyes glittered in the well-lit room. I was at a loss.

“Screw you,” I said, for lack of anything else better to say.

“I‘ll tell you what. Meet me at six at the Gold Rush tonight, and we can set a date for that.”

Just as I was about to decline, I saw Ivy glaring at us out of the corner of my eye. Nolan had his back to her, but she was close enough to hear our conversation. So, I made my decision.

“I guess I can squeeze you into my busy schedule,” I said, genuinely smiling at him for the first time. “But we‘re not setting a date for anything.”

* * *

Connor and Stella gave me hell when I told them about my date.

“So… lemme get this straight. Sexy-mysterious new guy asked you out to the Gold Rush? While Ivy eavesdropped on you?” Stella asked.

“Pretty much,” I answered.

Connor leaned on a stove. “I don‘t know about that guy, Adele,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “One day, he gives you a fake phone number, and the next, he‘s taking you out to a club.”

We were chatting in our kitchenette in culinary class, waiting for our raspberry tart to finish baking.

“I‘d be willing to forgive him for that,” Stella interjected. “But you‘re gonna have to get him back.”

“How?” I was stumped.

“I don‘t know, get creative Adele,” she replied. I sighed. Vengeance just wasn’t my thing.

A shrill “ding!” marked the end of our conversation.

“I got it,” I said, eager to do something in the kitchen; Connor had prepared the entire dish.

“Aah, my masterpiece,” Stella said as I set the tart on the counter. She kissed the tips of her fingers.

“Sure, Stella,” I said, stepping away. Connor was the true prodigy in the kitchen; Stella and I could barely scramble eggs.

“Watch out everybody, super chef approaches!” Stella said as Connor came to admire his work.
“Not bad, ladies.” He said. His deep hazel eyes settled on me. “My compliments to the chef.”

My heart fluttered, then I caught myself. Connor was my friend. My best friend. Aside from Stella, no one else on earth was closer to me. And he didn’t feel that way about me, did he? I pushed the thought out of my mind.

I had a date with the most striking guy on campus. Tonight. Sure, he was an overconfident flirtatious bastard, but I wanted to find out why I couldn’t sense any of his emotions. That was the only reason I’d agreed to the outing. Right?

Of course it was. But then I turned to Connor again. He was across the room now, serving his tart. I sensed his smugness; every girl in the room was in line to get a piece of his dish. I felt his fatigue, and remembered his complaints about football practice today.

Then Connor glanced at me, and gave me that smile I’d become so accustomed to. But today, there was something different about it. Something more. Underneath Connor’s normal emotions, I noticed a faint lavender air about him that only presented itself when he smiled at me.
Desire.

3

“So, we‘ll be leaving Friday morning, and we‘ll be back home Sunday night, you got that?” my mother asked me as I rummaged through my closet. It was already four ‘o’ clock, and the drive to the Gold Rush was thirty minutes by itself.

“Uh huh, I got it,” I replied, but my mother’s chocolate eyes narrowed.

“Then tell me what I just said, Adele.”

“You said, ‘your father and I are going out to Los Angeles to visit grandma Ann for the weekend, do you want to come?’ And I said ‘No,’ and you said-”

“That if you have any problems, call us,” my mother finished.

“Yep.”

“Okay then, I have to get back to grading these papers,” she said. She took one last glance at the black-and-white photographs that covered my lilac walls, and walked out of my room. I smiled. My mother, a first grade teacher, had the tendency to mistake me for one of her six-year-old students every once in a while.

I turned back to my closet. I felt a little like Stella; there wasn’t anything I wanted to wear tonight. I was starting to get frustrated.

“Why am I so nervous?” I asked myself. Nolan was only a person; granted, a really hot person, but still he wasn’t worth getting all worked up.

It took me another forty minutes to shower and get dressed. I settled on a casual off-the-shoulder dress and three-inch heels. The silver dress fell to just above my knees, and it looked good against my olive skin. I decided not to wear any makeup; I didn’t have time for it anyway.

My wavy jet black hair fell to the small of my back. There wasn’t anything I could think of to make it look elegant in a short amount of time, so I tousled my locks and called it a day.

“Bye, Mom,” I called on my way to the front door. “Give dad a hug for me.”

“Will do,” I heard from inside the kitchen.

My father, a prominent defense attorney, often worked late nights; thankfully, his addiction to working wasn’t something I’d inherited.

The drive to the jazz club took longer than expected. I hadn’t expected to get caught in traffic, so I reached the Gold Rush at about ten minutes past six. When I saw the rest of the clientele, my choice in attire reassured me. Most of the teenage girls wore outfits similar to mine, while the guys wore slacks and dress shoes.

As I walked toward the front entrance, I felt a pair of firm hands caress my own from behind. I twisted, startled.

“Calm down, Adele!” Nolan said, a wide grin on his lips. “You act as if you‘ve never been touched.”

I laughed. Another innuendo I chose to ignore.

He looked good. I’d never describe Nolan as a formal dresser, but his pressed dress shirt and maroon tie made me think otherwise. The only article of clothing that seemed familiar were his dark-washed jeans.

“Well? Shall we?” he asked, one hand indicating the door. His other hand stayed in mine. “And may I add, you look especially stunning tonight. ”

“Thanks, you too,” I responded warmly.

We were seated to a booth in the corner of the club and ordered our drinks before we spoke.

“So…” I started. I didn’t do the whole ‘dating’ thing very often.

“I want to know more about you Adele,” Nolan said, his palms down on top of the table. “You really… interest me.”

“How so?”

“I couldn‘t quite put my finger on it if I tried,” my date answered. “There’s just always been something different about you,” he flashed that smile again, obviously hoping for an answer. He wasn’t getting one.

“You know, I thought the same thing about you, Nolan. You asked me if I‘d love to find out, and I think I do.”

I saw him stiffen, but there wasn’t a change in his facial expression. I took a sip of my strawberry lemonade, keeping my eyes on him the entire time.

“Well, I guess this is a soft spot for the both of us,” I finished. “Why don‘t you tell me your favorite color instead?”


By seven thirty, I’d learned all I could about Nolan, and he’d done a good job of weeding information out of me, too. I’d gathered that he didn’t have a middle name or a favorite color, but when I’d pressed him on the color issue, he’d blurted out “chocolate!” in honor of my eyes.

Nolan had a roommate, too; someone who’d known him his entire life, and stuck with him through thick and thin. He drove a mustang convertible that he called Red, even though it was black. I also learned that Nolan was a semi-dedicated vegan; he had an infatuation with frozen yogurt.

“Italian tart, it‘s my favorite,” he’d told me when I’d inquired about his favorite flavor. “And yours?”

“Well, I‘d have to say… strawberry.”

“Seriously?” Nolan asked me playfully. “Out of an entire world of flavors, you pick strawberry? Adele, you really need to widen your horizons.” He grinned at me, and I giggled like a schoolgirl.

Okay, so I hadn’t planned on being so comfortable around him.

Nolan was just so charismatic, you’d have to be crazy to not take a liking to him. I found myself so deep in the conversation, I didn’t even notice when the waiter (who was very handsome, by the way) came to our table to refill our drinks. The waiter, who’s nametag read Orlando, winked at me. I smiled back, out of courtesy. This silent exchange earned Orlando a look that could kill, courtesy of my date. He scurried away, giving off a tangerine-colored air of frustration. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Jealous?” I asked, a smile forming.

“Yes,” Nolan answered bluntly. “Who wouldn‘t be?”

Of course, he continued to flatter me.
We stayed at our booth for another half-hour, enjoying the live jazz band, and each other’s company. Then Nolan stood, holding his hand out to me. I stared up at him, puzzled.

“C‘mon, Adele,” he urged. “Let‘s dance.”

I stood, but didn’t take Nolan’s hand. “Um…”

“Just one dance.” He reached out, taking my hand in his. He traced a circle in my palm with his thumb, smiling mischievously.
I gave up. “Okay,” I agreed, allowing Nolan to guide
me to the dance floor. “But you owe me one.”

“I‘d be happy to oblige you with whatever

you want from me.” he said seductively.

Oh god.

Nolan licked his lips, and I thought my knees would buckle. But I stood my ground, and didn’t address his friskiness. I didn’t have to be an empath to guess at his mood.

I sighed. “Let‘s get this over with.” Despite the irritation in my voice, I was a little eager to be this close to Nolan.

I’d stalled as much as I could to avoid dancing, and I paid for it dearly. As Nolan wrapped his arm around my waist, the band began to play the slowest song I’d heard all night.

The lights turned down, and many more couples made their way to the dance floor. The mood it set bewildered me. So did the feeling I got when I gazed into those violet eyes.
The ambiance was established, I was as close to Nolan as I’d ever been, and the yearning to be even closer wasn’t going anywhere. There was only one thing left to do: give in to it.

I wrapped my arms around Nolan’s neck, thankful for the boost the heels gave me.

“Do you regret coming tonight?” my date asked me, both of his arms now encircling my abdomen.

I paused for a moment, already knowing my response. When Nolan’s expression became uneasy, I answered.

“I don‘t think so.”

“You don‘t think so?” We stared at each other a moment longer, the saxophone playing a sultry solo. When Nolan leaned in to kiss me, I met him halfway.

As soon as his lips met mine, I knew I’d never let go first. One of my hands tightened in his pitch black hair, while the other stayed on the nape of his neck. I felt a thin, raised scar on it. I promised myself to ask him about it later.

Meanwhile, Nolan’s hands explored my back with enthusiasm I hadn‘t expected. He was everywhere at once, without being rough or impolite. I loved it, and I realized I could never get enough.

When he pulled away, I pouted without meaning to. “We are in a public place, Adele,” my date teased, grinning. “But rest assured, there‘s more where that came from.”

I’ve created a monster,

I thought to myself.

We danced for another few songs, and needless to say, I was on cloud nine.

“You know you have school tomorrow,” Nolan murmured in my ear. I shivered.

“And you do too,” I said innocently. My head rested against his shoulder.

“Actually, doll, I thought I‘d take a sick day tomorrow.”

“So you‘re ditching? On a Thursday?” I tried to suppress my pleasure at being called ‘doll’.

“Yes. And you‘re not. So you have to get home. If you leave now, you‘d be back in Chatham before nine ‘o’ clock.”

He had a point, but I really wanted to argue with it. I never wanted this night to end.

“Okay, let‘s go,” I agreed.

Nolan and I walked out to the well-illuminated parking lot. As we reached my car, he extended his hand. I took it without a word, and intertwined my fingers with his.

“Until Friday, Adele,” were his parting words. He kissed my knuckles and waited for me to pull out onto the street before walking away.

* * *

“So… where‘s the party?” I asked, crunching on a granola bar. They were my ‘drug of choice’, as my mother often told me. It was true, I did have an addiction.

“Trent‘s place,” Connor replied matter-of-factly, as if I wouldn’t want to know my whereabouts on Saturday night.

We were at Connor’s house, settled on his sofa. Melora, Connor’s four-year-sister, bounded through the living room like a wildcat. I watched her tumble to the floor countless times, stand up, and begin her dash again. I loved Melora like my own sister; I’d watched her grow from the day she was born.

“Mel, calm down,” Connor chastised. He didn’t enjoy babysitting his sister very much, especially when she acted like this. I didn’t mind at all; being an only child made you appreciate younger souls a little more.

“Why?” asked Melora, a puzzled look developing on her face.

“Because you might hurt yourself,” Connor answered, almost immediately. It was obvious he’d been through this before.

“Why?” the four-year-old sat down now, her plump rosy cheek resting in her hand.

“Because you don‘t listen to reason,” said her brother, an irritated smile decorating his face.

“Why?” Melora’s feet rested on the loveseat opposite us, her head hanging upside-down.

“Because Mom stood next to the microwave too much when you were in her tummy,” Connor said, still smiling.

I broke out in giggles, and choked on a raisin. Connor patted my back with one muscular arm, and it felt like he was trying to beat out of me.

After recovering, I attempted to speak. “That was rude,” I got out.

“What are you talking about? You almost died on my living room floor, but I‘m rude for saving your life,” Connor joked.

“Not that,” I said, my granola bar now sitting on the coffee table, safely away from me. “What you said about Mel.”

“Oh, that? She wouldn‘t remember it if I told her she was adopted. That kid has some serious energy, and a tiny attention span to match.” My best friend was right; his little sister was now in pursuit of their mother’s cat.

“I guess so… my family must look really boring in comparison to yours and Stella’s,” I added, amused. “But back to this party. We have to dress up?”

“Yep,” Connor replied, giving me a great smile. “I already talked to Stella, she said her sister‘s gonna fix you two up.”

Oh no. Claire had given Stella a Halloween makeover last year. She’d come to school as a self-proclaimed “flower child”, but that little number made Stella’s casual outfits look like they’d be worn in a convent.

Connor noticed my unease; he was content one moment, and entertained the next.

“You know, you don‘t have to go through with everything she wants you to wear. There‘ll be more than enough half-naked girls to hit on,” Connor consoled me.

I laughed again, and fell into his arms. Connor could cheer me up without even trying. It had been that way for ten years now, from the time I pushed him down the slide in the third grade, breaking his arm. I signed his cast the following day.

For the next decade, Connor and I bonded through just about everything: his parent’s divorce, his mother’s remarrying, and the discovery of my empathy. I decided to tell him about it when we started high school, but he decided against it.

“I don‘t need to know all your little lady-problems, Adele,” Connor told me. We were settled in the same room today. “Besides, everybody has that one secret. You don’t have to pour everything out. You don‘t have to be any different.”

What he didn’t understand was that I did have to be different. But I didn’t want to be.

By far, my favorite memory with Connor was playing Monopoly. It was our favorite pastime, and no one else we knew had the patience to actually finish a game. We played every other weekend for years, until his football duties didn’t allow it anymore. I didn’t mind; I knew there were better things to do than argue over colored paper.

Connor gave Melora a bowl of grapes that calmed her down long enough to watch a movie. Mel and I decided on Aladdin, overthrowing Connor’s request for Peter Pan.

We all curled up on the couch, and enjoyed each other’s company. Then Connor asked a question that I would’ve rather left unanswered.

“So, how was your date last night?”

4

I stayed silent for a moment, but Connor’s curiosity influenced me greatly. I decided to tell him the truth; what else could I say?

“I kissed him,” I said bluntly. I knew Connor, and he wouldn’t want me to beat around the bush.

I saw his jaw set out of the corner of my eye. He kept his hazel eyes on the television, and I waited for him to speak. He didn’t.

“No tongue,” I said apologetically. I tried to block out his feelings, but they came crashing down on me. I grimaced, anticipating a wave of fury.

But instead of the jealousy or anger that I’d expected, I found myself drowning in frustration. Connor’s frustration.

At himself.

I brushed the chestnut hair out of my best friend’s face, and he smiled at me. Now I was really confused. But so grateful; he’d understood my choice to be honest quicker than I could sneeze.

I threw myself at the football player like we were eight-year-olds again. I hugged him so tightly, his back cracked. Then he hugged me back, and I thought I might crack.

“Ow,” I managed to get out, but there was no use.

“Group hug!” Melora sprang to her feet, and wrapped her arms around my leg.

I cursed at Connor through my teeth, making sure Mel wouldn’t hear, and he slowly loosened his grip around me.

I glanced at my cell phone, unsure of the time.

“Six-thirty?!” I yelled. “I gotta go!”

“Time flies when you‘re group hugging,” Connor smiled, eating Melora’s grapes.

“Time flies when you‘re getting crushed,” I retorted playfully. “Bye, you two.”

I got into my car and raced home. I’d spent four hours at Connor’s house, without even touching my enormous load of homework.

My parents were both at home today, no doubt packing for their Californian adventure. A small part of me wanted to tag along. California wasn’t landlocked like Nevada, so I’d be able to visit the Pacific Ocean there. I’d never been to a beach before; the Mojave desert wasn’t home to very many.

As a child, I imagined immersing my toes into the cool waters, and spying on the multi-colored fish that called the ocean home. I dreamed of crafting sandcastles that glittered with seashells, and braving huge cerulean swells of saltwater. But dreams had to wait for now; they’d never gotten me anywhere, at any rate.

I climbed the stairs to my room, and tossed my bag on the floor. Folded neatly on my bed was a stack of t-shirts and a couple of skirts. I sighed. I was three months shy of legal adulthood, and my mother still tried to do my laundry.

I laid back on the four-poster bed, and Nolan came to my mind. I longed to find out why I couldn’t sense his emotions, why I couldn’t distinguish when he was lying. Kissing him had been a mistake. Not that I regretted it, but there was something about him that just wasn’t right…

And then it hit me. I knew exactly who to call. I dialed the familiar number into my cell phone, and hoped she would be able to put my mind to rest.

The phone rang twice, and my great-aunt answered, “Yes, Adele?”

“Honovi?” I asked. “How did you know it was me?”

“The Paiute people have their ways of determining identities,” the medicine woman told me cryptically. “One of them is Caller ID.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “How are you? And the rest of the tribe?”

“Alas, tragedy has stricken us,” she replied. “A young woman by the name of Naira has passed on to the next life. She was about your age.”

“Today? How?”

“Poison,” she spat. “An foreign poison. I’d never recognized it before. But this is not the reason you have requested to speak with me. What is it that you need?”

“You’re right. I just wanted to know… is it possible to come across someone that’s immune to my abilities?” I decided not to let her know I already had.

“You are able to determine the emotions and lies of every human being you come in contact with.” she said bluntly.

“Not to be rude, but are you sure?” This realization worried me more than anything.

“Do you question my knowledge?” The question wasn’t rude, only curious.

I backtracked. “Not at all, Aunt Honovi. So every human being?”

“Yes, child. Every human being. If you ever come across a living creature that is neither animal nor plant life, but is not able to be influenced through empathy, you get away. Your life may depend on it.”

“Okay. Thank you, Honovi,” I stammered after a slight pause. I hung up the phone, and sat on my bed.

If what Honovi said was true, Nolan was hiding a lot more than I’d anticipated. And the thought of it scared the hell out of me.

* * *

Friday wasn‘t very exciting. I waved my parents off before leaving for school and dealt with the bombardment of emotions that I’d become accustomed to. My psychology partner was missing in action again, which surprised me. Nolan told me he’d be at school. I hadn’t seen him since Wednesday, and my revelation the night before left me with quite a few unanswered questions.

I stayed the night at Stella’s house; she’d told me about her sister’s plan to revamp our faces. Needless to say, I wasn’t excited. But the overload of chick flicks, soda, and happy vibes left me in a daze of acceptance.

Claire, Stella’s older sister, woke me up bright and early Saturday morning.

“Come on, night owl! Up, up, up, it’s Halloween! ” She yelled, throwing back the blankets and tickling my feet.

There was nothing else in the world I wanted more than an extra five minutes of sleep. But when it came to Claire, sleeping was a luxury that ended at 8:30 AM.

“How are you so hyper?” I groaned, my eyes still closed. “It‘s Saturday!”

“Coffee, Adele!” Claire answered happily. “Lots and lots of black coffee!”

I finally gave up. I took a quick shower ate a bowl of oatmeal. Changing into a tee shirt and yoga pants, I became a blank canvas for Claire to transform.

We washed, conditioned, rinsed, and repeated. I wondered if this was Cheesecake’s regular treatment. After all, he was covered in hair. Poor dog.

Almost on cue, the Yorkshire terrier in question appeared. He sported a lime green tutu and matching booties. Stella walked into the living room behind him. The sleepiness in her eyes made me envious.

“Hey, why does she get to sleep in?” I asked Claire, who was smearing a cream-colored moisturizer onto my face.

She sighed. “To be honest,” Claire said, smiling, “She needs less work than you do. Now close your eyes.”

I did as I was told. By noon, Claire announced my makeover was almost complete. My straightened black locks cascaded well past my back, and I allowed Claire to cut a few inches off of it. She looked pretty happy with her work, but wouldn’t let me even touch a mirror.

“For dramatic effect,” Claire told me.

Her excitement affected me so much, I was a little eager to see the results. The suspense gave me a reason not to think about Nolan.

Stella was as beautiful as ever; she’d gotten the special treatment, too.

“Now, on to the nail salon!” She said, her arms spread.

Stella obviously knew the drill. We piled into Claire’s coupe, and made the 5-mile voyage to the salon.

I knew exactly what I wanted. A nice French tip, nothing too flashy. But Claire had other plans.

“She‘ll take burgundy, medium acrylic, please,” She said to the woman at the counter, indicating me. “Give her black, medium acrylic too.” She pointed at Stella.

I wondered what Claire had in store for us. I had no idea what our costumes would be, but I hoped I’d like mine.

We went back to the apartment with fresh manicures and pedicures, and took a few hours of downtime. I sure needed it.

At five, we started again. When Claire presented me with the corset, I thought I’d faint.

“What? We gotta give those babies some extra oomph!” She nodded at my chest.

“What the hell are you making me into? A prostitute?” I asked, bewildered.

“Is that what you want? Because I could always-”

“No!”

To be honest, I was a curvy girl. My small waist and long hair had been around for as long as I could remember, but my teenage years brought along another nice gift - a bosom that grown women would pay thousands of dollars to mimic. Claire’s voice brought me back to the present.

“Take it off,” she said, rummaging through her closet.

“What?”

“All of it, silly.” She tossed me the corset. “And put this on.”

This time I accepted the garment, eager to cover up again.

“Stella!” Claire yelled, her head sticking out of the door. “We gotta tie this thing up.”

Thirty minutes later, the corset was just loose enough to allow me to breathe, and Claire was done with my makeup.

“Okay, it’s time for the big reveal!” She pushed me over to the full-body mirror, and allowed me to ‘revel in my beauty’.

And revel I did. The girl that stood before me couldn’t be Adele Haskings, teenage empath. She was lovely, with her high cheekbones and flawless skin. The girl’s full lips had a small pout to them, even though she grinned like an idiot. Her eyebrows were perfectly arched, and her smoky almond eyes stared back at me in wonder. The girl’s body was very defined; she was shaped a little like an old-fashioned coca-cola bottle. My eyes watered a little, and Stella cursed, noticing the tear.

“No! Don‘t mess up the makeup, Adele!” She said, tissue in hand. She dabbed at my eye, and left the eye shadow immaculate.

Claire brought a black and burgundy gown into the room, and I glanced at my toes and fingernails. Yep, the perfect color.

It was thrown over my head, and they tied the dress in the back the same way as the corset.

Then it dawned on me: I’d been transformed into a princess.

“Do you feel like you‘re from the Renaissance?” Claire asked me, and I felt her sense of accomplishment.
“Yes, Claire, you did great.”

She fixed my hair up into an elegant chignon, and moved on to tousle Stella’s. She was in a short black skirt that hugged her hips, and a black and yellow striped shirt. The neckline plunged in a way that I’d never be able to pull off. Her black wings and puffy antennae finished the look.

“Bumblebee?” I asked, smiling. I was actually a little excited for this party.

“Yeah,” Stella replied, putting in her hoop earrings. Her eagerness was so intense, she radiated a golden air that only made her more beautiful. “I wanted to give you the stage tonight.”

“Uh-huh. That‘s why you‘re dressed in a shirt that shows your belly button. From the top.” I’d exaggerated, but she looked down anyway.

“No, it doesn’t! And look at where your dress stops!” Stella retorted, turning to search her dresser for a necklace.

It was my turn to look down. I’d been so amazed with my appearance above the waist, I hadn’t noticed how short the dress was. Sure enough, I looked like a whore. A very expensive, medieval whore.

“Okay, so we‘re evenly matched.” I said, realizing my comment was a little hypocritical.

“Yeah. But anyway, Connor‘s coming to pick us up.”

“Okay. Why?”

“Adele, do you know where Trent Miller lives?” Stella turned, a smile forming.

“Oh. Nah, I have no idea. I don‘t stalk Connor‘s little football friends.”

“That‘s why. And he‘s our designated driver, too.”

“You plan on getting drunk?” I said sarcastically.

“I plan on having fun. I can have fun sober, sure, but who can pass up free beer?”

* * *

Connor arrived at around eight. Stella and I both burst into giggles when we saw his outfit. His eyes bulged at mine.

“Wow,” he said, openmouthed.

“Wow,” I repeated.

Connor sported beige khakis, a white collared uniform shirt, and the cherry on top, bright purple suspenders. His dirty converse and square-shaped glasses added to the look.

“I like your pocket protector,” I said, easing the tension that emitted from Connor’s muscular body. “And the tape on the bridge of your glasses adds a nice touch.”

Stella ruined the mood. “You‘re a jock nerd, Connor!” She said, holding her side. “You‘re a jerd!”

“Or a nock,” Connor agreed, “But that doesn‘t sound as cool.”

As soon as Stella recovered from her episode, we went downstairs. The ride to the party was only about twenty minutes from Stella’s house.

“Ahh, no parking,” Connor said when we pulled up in his Jeep.

“Park on the lawn,” I suggested.

There were plenty of cars already there. We pulled up next to a black mustang convertible. It seemed familiar, for some reason.

We walked in, and the feelings that blasted me were almost all the same. Lust, excitement, jealousy. I staggered, not expecting the onslaught of emotion.

“You okay?” Connor yelled into my ear. I could barely hear him above the music.

“Yeah… yeah, I‘m fine.” I balanced myself in Stella’s three-inch heels, and sat down on a coffee table. “Go on, have fun.”

I waved off Stella and Connor, and tried to sift through the emotions that pelted my brain.

As I adjusted to the change, I felt two people completely without emotions. My mind immediately filled with thoughts of Nolan, the sensation of his lips on mine…
I turned, expecting my psychology partner to appear
before me. But it was someone else.

I evaluated him as he strode towards me. He was good-looking. Really, really, good-looking.

And I thought Nolan was cute.

“Mademoiselle,” he said, extending his hand to me. “Please, allow me to introduce myself.”

I took his hand. To my surprise, he pulled me up with one smooth movement of his arm. I immediately looked down. Thanks to the heels, I stood at a lofty 5’10”. The suave guy that held my hand seemed about five inches shorter.

“Lucas,” he pronounced in a French accent that sounded like music. Beautiful music.

“Adele,” I replied, flattered.

Golden hair and glittering emerald eyes occupied my field of vision. Not that I wanted to look away.

I’d never seen him around at school, I was sure of that. Who did he know here? I took a moment to look around. All I saw were drunken costumed teenagers, dancing and playing beer pong.

Then I remembered there was a second person here that I couldn’t sense.

“Hey doll,” Nolan whispered into my ear, leaning his head over my shoulder.

I dropped the Frenchman‘s hand. “Nolan,” I said breathlessly. “Where were you yesterday?”

“Out,” he answered instantly. “And about. I see you‘ve met my friend.”

“Lucas?” I asked. “This is your friend? But he‘s French!”

“I told you she was beautiful,” Nolan said to the blonde, ignoring me.

“Beautiful is an understatement,” he replied, sounding perfectly American. My jaw dropped.

“Screw this,” was all I said.

I walked away, leaving Nolan and Lucas to compliment each other. I noticed a tray of Jell-O shots on the kitchen counter, and grabbed one for lack of anything else better to do.

I’d never been drunk before. Not even a little. But there was a first time for everything, right?

What the hell? I thought to myself, and I swallowed the shot like a pro.

Almost immediately, the emotions I’d fought so hard to block seemed to slip away a little. The auras became fainter, and I felt myself grin.

“Stella!” I called to my friend, who was already wasted.

She stood up quickly for a drunk girl who’d just been grinding on a complete stranger.

“Yeah?”

“What did you drink?”

“A few shirts of gin, and a sterberry margaria,” she slurred.

“Get me that.”

“Will do, captain,” she gave me a salute, and stalked off.

Two margaritas and a long island iced tea later, I was dancing on everyone within a three foot radius. I could barely feel any emotions, and I felt great.

I felt human.

Then I bumped into a police officer. No, not a police officer. Ivy Michaels dressed like one.

“Ugh,” she said in that nasally voice.

“What the hell‘s your problem?” I asked, gaining courage from the alcohol.

“You‘re my problem,” she yelled at me. “And you need to get out of here. Who invited you anyway? Loser.”

She pushed me, and I pushed her back. The partygoers around us noticed the tension, and backed away.

Ivy and I were both drunk. There really wasn’t a reason for her to fight me, but there was three years of torment that I hadn’t paid her back for.

Ivy punched me in the jaw, and again in the lip. I felt the skin break, tasted the blood in my mouth. That pissed me off, and I could feel myself sober up a little.

That did it. I let my barriers down, allowed Ivy’s anger and the crowd’s excitement to course through me. It was exhilarating, and scary at the same time. I brought up my right arm, and punched her in the face with all my might.

I felt her nose break under my knuckles.

“OH!” The crowd yelled in unison.

There was blood all over the hardwood floor, and I scrambled to find another drink. The emotions were so intense and excruciating, I felt as if my head would explode.

I drank with vigor, and sighed as the pressure lessened. I had to get home. And never touch alcohol again.

“Come on,” Nolan’s voice said behind me.

He grabbed my hand, and pulled me through the house to the front door. There was so much commotion, no one even noticed two more people. All I wanted to do was get out of there.

“Where’re we going?” I asked once I was safely buckled into the mustang.

Nolan started the car. “I‘m taking you home. You need to get cleaned up.”

I looked down. There was blood around my lip, and all over my chin. No protesting there.

The car ride was silent; we pulled up into my driveway fifteen minutes later.

“Why are you getting out?” I inquired my chauffeur.

“If you go in there alone, you‘ll fall right asleep,” he answered simply. “And if you fall asleep without cleaning your lip, it‘ll get infected.”

“Whatever,” I muttered. “Hey, how‘d you know where I live?”

He ignored me.

We entered the empty house, and I directed Nolan to the bathroom.

“Rubbing alcohol‘s in there,” I pointed.

I leaned up against a wall, and remembered Honovi’s warning.

You get away. Your life may depend on it.

“Crazy,” I said to myself.

Right at that moment, my knight in blue jeans appeared. He didn’t ask me to move, only tilted up my chin with his free hand. As he dabbed at my wound, I spoke.

“Have fun?”

“Half-nude drunken teenage girls, alcohol galore, and a healthy game of beer pong? Of course.”

“Not all of the girls were half-naked,” I replied.

He took two steps away, and evaluated me again. Smiling, he retorted, “Right. Not all of them.”

I pulled him back towards me, suddenly excited to be closer. He stopped me.

“You‘re drunk.”

“I know.”

“And we‘re not in public anymore,” Nolan added.

“What does that mean?” I asked, confused.

“It means I can have my way with you now.”

I smiled at the thought of it. But he’d already walked away from me, and his hand was on the doorknob. I had to get him to stay. I had to figure out why I couldn’t feel his aura.
And then I realized, I’d been so intent on finding out why Nolan was different, I’d forgotten to be honest with him myself. I’d forgotten to be honest with anyone.

“I‘m an empath.” I said, softly at first.

He froze. “What did you say?”

“I‘m an empath.” This time, much louder.

I leaned farther back as he stalked towards me, and pressed his hands on the wall on either side of my head.

“You didn‘t have to tell me that,” he muttered, staring at the floor.

“I wanted you to know,” I replied softly.

He raised his head, and before I knew it he was kissing me.

It was tender at first, but then I parted my lips, inviting Nolan in. He obliged. I raised my leg, wrapping it around his waist. He supported it, grabbing my thigh with his free hand.

Nolan’s mouth nibbled on my neck, kissed behind my earlobe. I could only hold him tighter. My hair fell out of its style, and Nolan ran his fingers through it. For a moment, I was thankful I couldn’t feel his emotions. My own desire threatened to consume me. I weaved my hands underneath his shirt, and felt a massive amount of raised scars.

“What the hell?” I yelled, and nearly ripped the thin white tee off of his back.

I heard him curse in Spanish. A moment passed.

Then he slowly peeled the shirt off himself, and turned around to display his back.

I gasped. There were scars everywhere. Probably a hundred, maybe more. Thin raised scars spider webbed across his back, creating a gruesome design.

Nolan didn’t give me much time to observe. He was already walking away. Again.

“Nolan, wait!” I yelled. He hadn’t reached the door yet. “Why can‘t I feel your emotions? What are you?”

He stopped in his tracks, obviously searching for an answer.

“A murderer,” was all I got before the door shut behind him.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 22.01.2011

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