The Extraordinaries

Chapter Three: Emilie

Ten Years Earlier

I can't stop thinking about Kayla. I do everything to distract myself, but now that I'm no longer required to hold down a job, now that they're sure I've gone crazy, there's not a lot to do with myself. I think of phoning Mum, but I know she wouldn't have anything kind to say to me, if there was anything at all. When she found out about me, she didn't know what to do. She never expected that one of her fine Dawson children could turn out like this, on the outskirts of society.

I thought at first of explaining it to her, but I knew she wouldn't be able to understand what being me is like. To Mum, I'm her life's one mistake, the only thing she ever screwed up on.

I count in my head the other people I could call. I don't have any friends. Growing up, it was just me and Kayla. She had other friends, and some boys she fucked occasionally, but I was never interested in any of that. All the fake smiles, scripted lines. It wasn't for me. With Kayla I could just be myself.

There are my siblings, too, but they're just like Mum, wanting to berate me for this, as if it's my fault this has happened to me. As if it's my fault I can't handle life like everyone else. Sabina had to take me to the office where I got my official Invalid certificate, after Mum downright refused it, and she wouldn't even look at me. She didn't want to become the girl with the sister.

Well, that's what she is.

So I don't call anyone. I wander aimlessly around the flat, but there's nothing to do. I don't want to read, not about the people who aren't like me and can't understand me. Television's the same thing. I think of my old hobbies from back in the day: art and piano and tennis. But I don't have the materials for any of them. I don't think I even have pencils I could sketch out a picture with.

I'm just a ghost, an aimless soul floating across the ground, the emptiness growing inside of me until it comes bursting out. Suddenly, I can't do it anymore. I can't sit here. No matter where I turn, I see her, Kayla: throwing her head back laughing, or smiling at me, or putting a hand on her hip, hair falling in waves down her back.

My stomach aches.

Even though I have nowhere to go, I grab my keys from the rack, shutting my eyes tight to block her out. It doesn't work. She's still there, making circles around my brain. I can't imagine what Mum and the others would say about this, the idea of Kayla, a girl I haven't seen since school, still sulking within the perimeters of my mind, running her fingers down my skull.

Why are you thinking about her? they would ask. Do you think you need a friend? Are you lonely, Emilie? Maybe you should just get out more. And then they would smile politely and clap their hands and say of course, there's nothing wrong with me at all, I just need to go make some new friends.

It hurts, I might say. It's not just a wish. Missing Kayla hurts. And then they could scowl at me and tell me I'm not making any sense and then they'd be bored of me and walk away, knowing that I could never actually be fixed the way they want.

Outside, it's beginning to drizzle. All I'm wearing is a ratty grey T-shirt and some of my sister Svea's old leggings that she couldn't wear anymore once she started having children. They're nice-looking, and I like to look at myself in the mirror with them on, sometimes wondering what Kayla might think of me now, but they're not much against the cold weather. I wrap my arms around myself, shivering as I scurry to my car.

The car was a gift from my dad before he died. He was the only one in my family who ever wanted to understand me. Whenever I grew unruly over something as a child, I would come to him, tears streaming down my face, and he'd take me into his lap, whispering comforts, his forehead scrunched up as he tried desperately to understand what was wrong with me. He never lectured me. He always wanted me to feel better.

I sit down in the car, starting it up. There's a blank feeling in me suddenly, a stillness. I used to enjoy this feeling. It's what you're supposed to feel, I think. It's what normal people feel, rather than all these crashing waves that fill me with all of this sensations I don't understand. I described it to Sabina once and she was proud of me, or at least she acted it. Now, though, I don't like it. I'm not like this. I'm not blank like them. I can't pretend I'm like that.

"Kayla," I whisper. I imagine her sitting beside me, scrolling through the radio stations. She was always in charge of the music. She was the one who understood it, who knew what made a song really good or really bad. To me it all sort of sounded the same.

As I pull out onto the road, I think of my favorite night with Kayla. We drove way out to this field off Hayersbrook, in her pickup truck. We sat in the back, a blanket spread beneath us, watching the stars fill the sky. I think I cried; it was so beautiful. She probably thought I was crazy, but she was polite enough to ignore it. I think even then I knew I was going to lose her. It was like I was recounting each moment, trying to store it in my mind. The buzz that filled my body. The feeling of her fingers, tapping excitedly along my arm. The sound of her singing, light and soft, full of feeling that wasn't there. She was a good actress. And the light in her eyes, the shine in her hair, the scent of her breath. They wouldn't have seemed important to anyone else, but to me those tiny little pieces were absolutely everything.

And I was terrified to ever let them go.

The rain is pouring now, running all down the windows. I don't like it. It makes me feel really separate, like it's a wall between me and the rest of the world. And it's only another encouragement to cry. It's impossible to hold the tears in anyways: they pour out, running down my face. It's disgusting. I duck my head slightly to avoid the sight of myself in the mirror, looking like a freak.

Imagine what Kayla would think of you now. She wouldn't even want to talk to you, not when you're all messed up like this.

"Kayla," I croak again. I love to say her name. She hated it, thought it was a stereotype. She always said mine was cool, because it's a Swedish name, and no one else spelled it that way, Emilie. But I love the two syllables that make up her name. To me, that name means starry nights and pretty melodies and endless roads.

There's an endless road ahead of me now, but it's nothing but sadness. There's not a single other car. I can barely believe it. It's like I'm destined to be alone, to never have anyone around for me. I choke out another little sob, nausea filling my stomach, the taste of acid in my mouth.

I turn on the radio so the silence can't close all the way around me. The song isn't one I know, not that I listen to music much these days, but it's a nice melody. It gives me some of those feelings, the one I'm not supposed to have. The ones that make me the girl with the Invalid certificate. They're this little vibrations, crawling all up and down my arms, bouncing around my ribcage like excited little kids. I've always thought of that as the feeling of not being alone, which doesn't constitute crazy, but no one else seems to agree.

Send me a sign, I think, before I can stop myself. That was a game I used to play when I was little. I taught it to my brothers before they were older enough to know it was just Emilie being dumb. We would cry out, Send me a sign! and then wait. Any change in the environment could be a possible sign, and it was up to us to determine what it meant. They were bored of it by the time they started school, but I still find myself playing it. It fascinated me, the idea that the world could change because of one tiny little thing, a spark in the air.

A sign. What could be a sign now? The rain clearing up? No, that wouldn't be big enough. It would have to be something big. A flash of lightning. My car, swerving off the road, cutting straight through one of the hickories along the road. Sudden darkness, the feeling of nothingness. Kayla, walking alongside the road, calling my name.

But none of those things happen. The song finishes, and a new one starts, and the vibrations go away. The blankness is back.

"Hooray, Emilie," I whisper. "You're like everyone else again."

Somehow, that's not enough to stop me from crying.

Thanks for reading! There will be three main stories in this book: Annie and Elise's, Emilie's, and Keaton's. So far, whose do you find the most interesting? What do you hope will happen next? As always, please consider giving this chapter a vote or comment or adding it to your reading list so it can gain more readers.