Color-Gifted (Color-Gifted, #1)

Chapter Five

AUTHOR'S NOTE UPDATED: I am currently working on other projects, one of which I am currently submitting to agents. I have finished this book, book one of an intended trilogy, BUT there are two important things to consider:

a) I have no immediate plans to complete this trilogy.

b) I wrote this a long time ago, and it is definitely, DEFINITELY not my best work.

But if, despite all that, you would like to read all of Color-Gifted--and that makes me very happy! : )--then read on : )

If you'd like to keep up-to-date with news of my journey to publication, you can always subscribe to my blog (you can find it on my profile) or follow me on Twitter, or just fan me here! And I'll be sure to let you know when I have news. In any case, thank you all for reading. Any comments and constructive criticism are very much appreciated. Hope you enjoy.

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CHAPTER FIVE

            The smell of soup fills the air. All around me, tall white walls. There's a rip in one corner that Mommy hasn't seen, from all the times I push to see how far the walls will bend. If I try hard enough, I can squeeze through and test my legs some more.    

First one hand, and then the other, through the tear. I look around; no one sees me. I squeeze my head through, then my tiny shoulders. I’ll make it!

            An erratic knocking wakes me from my sleep. I rub my eyes, trying to shake off the dream as I get up. It was incredibly vivid; I can still smell the soup.

            I stumble to the door, shielding my eyes from the invading sun.

“Are you still asleep?” a chipper voice demands. “Get dressed; we've got class in forty minutes!” I recognize that voice by now. Myra.

            I let my hand. Evan is standing right behind her, a half-eaten apple in one hand and a dazzling smile on his face. He looks even better in the sunlight than he did in the semi-dark when we met.

            Oh, shit.

            I rush to the bathroom without a word. The dream has disoriented me completely, and I didn’t think to check a mirror before opening the door. I have a serious case of bed hair, and the left side of my face is creased from the sheets. On top of that, I’m wearing nothing but a long t-shirt that barely covers my underwear. Jesus.

            I quickly brush my teeth and throw some water on my face. “Um, Myra, can you hand me my jeans from the chair and a shirt from the closet?” I call.

            After a moment, she pops her head into the bathroom and smirks. “You decent?”

            “You are so dead,” I hiss, grabbing my clothes and shutting the door in her face. I can hear her laughing on the other side.

            When I’m finished, I open the door. Evan is still standing on the porch; only his head crosses the invisible barrier from my porch to my room. It’s such an oddly respectful act, so out of place in the world around us—my breath hitches in surprise. I smile slightly, trying to play it cool, and am about to open my mouth to invite him in—when Myra steps between us. “Forget anything?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. I look down at her hands. She’s holding up my bra.

            So much for playing it cool. I say nothing, but my burning cheeks speak for themselves as I grab the dangling bra and spin around to the bathroom.