THE GRAVITY SERIES
BOOK 1
~ GRAVITY ~
Copyright ©2012 Abigail Boyd
https://abigailboyd.blogspot.com
https://www.boydbooks.com
DISCLAIMER:
COPYRIGHT:
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the author, except for use in review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
PROLOGUE
I REMEMBER MOST of my fourteenth year in fragments, but one night stands out as clearly as the first star after dusk.
I'd been so full of questions that day I couldn't help but burst. Perched on my bed, feeling helpless, I watched as my best friend Jenna primped in front of my full-length mirror.
"What do you mean you're going out?" I asked.
"The words have one meaning, Ariel," Jenna said impatiently. "Not difficult to understand." She wouldn't make eye contact with me, too obsessed with getting the details of her face perfect.
School had ended two weeks ago, so we were officially no longer freshmen. But our friendship had eroded during the school year, in ways I would never have predicted.
Jenna and I had been best friends ever since we fought over a plastic pony ranch in kindergarten. In the last few months she had started to drift away from me, as though the invisible tie that held us together had been cut.
The day started warm, holding steady in the low eighties. Good weather for going out, yet Jenna hadn't wanted to do anything until nightfall. Once the sun went to sleep, the temperature plummeted. After a flurry of texting random people, she told me she'd made plans, but wouldn't elaborate.
Jenna still wore the day's short-shorts, her tanned legs bare below the scanty acid wash denim. A purple tank top draped from her slender shoulders.
"It's after ten," I protested. My pleading sounded pitifully like a whine.
"I'll be fine. I'm only running out, not spending the night lying on the grass," Jenna snapped, gritting her teeth. Her back was to me and I watched her flipped reflection roll its eyes.
"I'm just worried about you," I said meekly, kneading my hands in my lap. My voice sounded high and childish. I'd never fretted about looking immature in front of her before. She'd witnessed many of my awkward coming-of-age moments, but now embarrassing myself was all I could think about.
She whirled her curly hair into a ponytail, then let it fall, scrutinizing her image. She had already applied her dress-to-impress makeup: a double-layer of mascara and black eyeshadow.
"I thought we were going to hang out," I said. I felt like a kid losing a battle for a new toy. "We've been planning this since the last week of school. Going to Rollerama, remember? I've hardly seen you..."
"You know I don't make plans."
"But..."
"We always hang out," she said, fidgeting with her clothes. "I think it's about time for a break from each other, don't you? Absence makes us irritate each other less."
"Do you have a new boyfriend?" It was the first thing I thought of.
"What if I do?" she asked cryptically.
"Lately you've been going through boys like water." Mostly the allergic to authority types that her parents would never approve of.
Jenna snorted in response, gathering her makeup and wallet and stuffing them in her pockets.
"What's happening to you? I feel like I don't even know you anymore," I said, not able to stop myself. Tears threatened to spill from my watering eyes, and I opened them wider to stop the flood.
She glared at me, her blue eyes icy with contempt. I'd never seen her look at me with so much disdain. My brain flickered quickly through the list of horrible things I could have done.
"I don't have time for this," she growled, stomping out of my room and down the hallway.
I followed her out, as if on a loyalty leash. My room was located in our house's basement, one of several rooms that split off from the hallway, leading to an open common area. She made a beeline for the outside doors. Feelings of helplessness tumbled through me like flecks in a snow globe.
I stubbed my toe and bit down on my lip as pain radiated through my foot. Jenna's hand already rested on one of the door handles. She'd be gone in a second. Her impending exit felt so final. Even though she'd told me she'd only be gone for a few hours, it felt like we were saying goodbye.
"Remember your sweatshirt, it's getting cold." My voice cracked like a prepubescent boy's. Jenna always complained about being chilly, always crept close to bonfires to warm her frigid knees.
Her responding sigh was drawn out and exaggerated. I was the dampener on her good time. Grabbing the sweatshirt, she whipped her arms through the oversized sleeves, flopping the hood above her hair.
"Anything else you need, mom?" When I didn't reply, her impatient fist wrenched the door open. A tear escaped and rolled down my cheek. I wiped it away quickly with the back of my hand. Sharp pressure filled my chest, all the hurt that her rejection inflicted.
"Stop acting like a baby," she commanded sharply, bracing herself against the door frame. A tiny black heart was painted on each fingernail, the short pointy nails like talons at the ends of her curved fingers. "I'll be back before midnight. You'll never even miss me."
Jenna swung into the night without hesitation, not bothering to shut the door, propelling warm air in behind her.
She made sure I heard her final words. "I won't miss you."
I waited for her all night in my room, finally drifting in and out of sleep. She never came back.
CHAPTER 1
FIFTEEN CANDLES SET the top of the cake on fire. Another year disappeared.
"Make a wish, Ariel," my mother, Claire, whispered beside me. I sucked in all the breath my lungs could hold and blew the candles out. I wished for my year back.
Claire clapped politely, joined by my father, Hugh, and my Aunt Corinne. My family was holding a small birthday party for me at home, in the house I'd grown up in. Just us, since no one from school had responded to the phone invitations Claire had scrambled to make at the last minute.
Ugly brown-and-yellow polka dot hats sat atop everyone's heads. The party theme was birthday clearance sale. The hats and matching napkins were the extent of the decorating.
Claire stepped in to cut the cake, piled high with thick, purple-tinted frosting. Her engraved silver cake server glinted as she scooped tiny slivers onto her good china plates.
My mother was all business at work and home, where she saw herself as the person missing in the pictures of a glossy design magazine. She was the invisible hand that fluffs embroidered pillowcases and sets the perfect table.
I'm her plain, too-ordinary daughter, who sometimes smudges makeup beneath my hazel eyes and doesn't realize it for hours. Once I walked around school all day with gum on the seat of my pants. No one told me until I got home.
"Honey, there are four people here," Hugh said gently. "Who exactly are we saving cake for?"
Her smile pressing into a red line, Claire added an extra sliver to each plate.
"Take a seat," she told us, but nobody did.
Instead, we huddled around the dining room table, picking at our cake. I bit down on the white plastic fork, tasting food dye and sugar. The strap of my party hat dug insistently into my chin.
Hugh was avoiding eye contact with Claire and her sister, as the twins fought the urge to argue. Claire and Corinne exchanged pleasantries, but I could feel
the undercurrent of sibling malice beneath their banal words.
Ever since I could talk, my parents insisted I refer to them by their first names. They thought it was better to be friendly individuals, instead of controlling a dictatorship. Too bad that went completely opposite of how overprotective they were. It was as though they couldn't make up their minds as to how they wanted to parent, so they just ripped a page out of every parenting book ever written.
It's not like I was a bad kid. At worst, a weird one. Truthfully, all my life I've been a bit strange, with an interest in the macabre. When I was seven, I made a shoebox diorama about the Donner Party, complete with tiny clay body parts and half a bottle of red food coloring. The teacher safety-pinned a note to my backpack, asking Claire if we had any trouble at home. It's pasted in one of her scrapbooks.
My family members engaged in small talk, the weather and local politics. Trying to pretend no one was missing and we were whole. Why the formality of a birthday party seemed necessary to my mother, I didn't know. But I would have done anything to make her happy and therefore get her off my back, even if it was just for a few hours.
"I need to be getting home soon," Aunt Corinne said, shifting from foot to foot.
"You don't have to keep reminding us," Claire said under her breath.
"I just wanted to let you know." Corinne glared unabashedly at Claire, who glared right back.
"Yes, and that was the fifth time." To me, Claire said, "I'm sure you're ready for gifts."
"Yeah, that's the best part," I said, faking enthusiasm.
We shifted as a unit to the modest, cheerfully wrapped pile on the sterile kitchen counter. I was impatient, just wanting the whole ordeal over. Celebrating was the last thing on my mind.
I'd woken up that morning without the birthday jitters that normally accompanied the red circle on the calender. Instead, the atmosphere felt off. Normal things I saw every day looked different, as though I was seeing through contact lenses with a too-strong prescription. Just by a fraction, but that fraction was enough.
Putting it down to being older, I tried to ignore the feeling. I seemed to be the only one who noticed anything amiss.
"Start with mine," Claire instructed, pushing an oblong box into my hand. I tore off the shimmery lilac gift wrap and lifted the lid. Inside lay an old-fashioned rectangular pendant on a silver chain. I held the green stone up to catch the choppy, bright light from the ceiling fan.
"This isn't a real emerald, is it?" I asked. Facets had been cut into the stone, giving it depth like the bottom of a deep pool.
"No, just costume," Claire explained. "That necklace belonged to Grandma Eleanor. I've been keeping it in my jewelry box until I felt the time was right."
"Thanks, it's really beautiful." I laid it carefully back on its strip of cotton. Too formal for school, but lovely nonetheless. Giving me an heirloom like that was a huge deal to her, a sign that she thought I was maturing. I caught a glimpse of Corinne, whose squinting eyes and tight lips made her appear jealous.
"Just promise me you'll keep it safe," Claire insisted. I could practically hear the little voice in her head wondering if giving me the necklace was a bad idea.
"I won't let anything happen to it. Promise."
"I know you miss grandma as much as I do." Claire pushed a stray, black strand of hair out of my eyes. I'd barely seen my grandma in the last year of her life. It meant a lot to me to have something that belonged to her.
"We all miss Mom," Corinne interjected, as if it were a best daughter contest. Even though their mom was no longer alive to receive handmade cards or runaway threats scribbled in crayon.
We raced through the rest of the gifts as if to beat a timer. Before I knew it, Corinne was throwing on her mustard yellow scarf and matching boots, and kissing me goodbye on the cheek. We exchanged a sterile hug.
"Happy birthday. Enjoy them while you can," she advised.
My parents walked her out to her minivan. I heard her brakes squeak as she lurched out of the driveway.
Claire returned and started cleaning up the leftover dishes. The remnants of the gathering appeared discarded and sad now that the guests had deserted. Only Hugh had managed to eat his cake. I watched him out the back door, rolling the lawnmower back into the shed.
Stacking the dirty plates on her arms like a waitress, Claire breezed into the kitchen and deposited them in the soap-filled sink. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes distant, like she was watching a play inside her head.
"Do you want any help?" A heavy melancholy had settled over me, the kind I used to feel as a kid the day after Christmas. After all the buildup had abruptly ended, and all that was left was crumpled wrapping paper and gifts that soon grew boring or broke.
"Of course not. It's your birthday. You just sit back and relax." She opened the dishwasher and started filling the top rack.
"I think I'm going to take a nap, actually. I had a hard time getting to sleep last night."
"Okay. I'll try to keep it down."
In the living room, I pulled the curtains shut and laid down on the couch. More tired than I'd initially realized, I curled up on the puffy gray cushions. Heaviness settled over me and my racing thoughts slowed down as I drifted off.
###
I awoke with a jolt. A thunderous boom cracked through my head, splitting my eardrums. I sat up, hitting the coffee table with my shin as my legs swung out.
The sound came from outside. With my brain still half-asleep, I turned and yanked the curtains aside. A figure stood alone across the street. Fear seized my senses, flushing out any logical thought. I didn't know why I was so afraid, but I couldn't help it. There was no obvious threat, but something was very wrong.
I rubbed my eyes, trying to focus, still fighting off sleepiness. My vision wasn't blurry; the figure itself was hazy, not quite solid at the edges.
I opened the front door, stepping onto the porch. The air snapped at my skin, surging with electrical charge, like before a thunderstorm. I glanced across the road.
The clothes were my first indication. Jenna still wore the same yellow hoodie, jean shorts, and purple flip-flops as the last night I'd seen her in June. The night she walked out and never came back.
I stopped on the grass, not realizing I had continued off of the relative safety of the porch. Jenna stood mere yards away, still as stone. For a moment, I felt nothing. Not the relief I had expected. No shock. Neither of us moved, nor said a word. We just stared, her features flat like a mask.
And then she began to run.
My instincts screamed to stay put. That nagging feeling that something was wrong with what I was witnessing. But without considering the consequences, I started running too.
The street was deserted and time held still in a peculiar twilight. Purple clouds raced across the sky, their cold bellies fat with out-of-season snow. I couldn't find the sun. I must have slept longer than I thought.
Every breath rattled through my chest, catching between my ribs. My frantic footsteps hit the pavement, beating a tattoo that filled my ears like drums.
"Wait!" I tried to shout, but it came out in a gasp.
She didn't hear me, or didn't care. Up ahead, the road dead-ended but that didn't stop her. She flew in between the giant trunks of the shaggy hickory trees that bordered the woods. Like a flitting butterfly, she was getting away. And I had no way to catch her, no net.
So I followed her into the woods.
Unseen dangers threatened me in the dark. Sharp sticks scratched my bare arms below my t-shirt sleeves. A branch whipped across my cheek, leaving a welt. I could feel the blood drawing to the surface: a hot, wet spot. It was as if the trees were trying to hold me back.
Jenna stood out as a bright smear, flickering through the leaves and branches ahead. She had been the star on the school track team, their fastest runner. I had nowhere near that kind of stamina, especially after a summer wasted in front of the TV, feasting on a diet of processed
crap.
I knew if I lost sight of her, she'd be gone forever. That thought kept me going, as every breath burned, and my legs threatened to give out.
A clearing appeared ahead, past an archway of clinging, bowed branches. She ducked swiftly through them and went out of sight. Panic swelled in me—I'd lost her. Defeat threatened to swallow me alive, a fish in the mouth of a whale.
But as I came out through the archway, I glimpsed her again. She stood before a huge, wrought iron fence. A dirt road wound in between us, black as if wet with rain.
The unnatural purple had spread through the sky, and the wind blew my long hair, rushing into my face. Trees formed a leafy wall on my side of the road. I ran my hand over the leaves; no sign of the space we'd come through remained.
Jenna pulled open the towering gate and raced onto the property beyond. The gate slammed shut with a deafening clunk. I ran across the street, barely checking for cars since I knew we were alone. At that moment, Jenna and I were the the only two people left in the world.
I collided with the gate, the impact raising welts on my chest. Wrapping my fingers around the solid bars, I tried yanking the gate open. It seemed to be locked: rattling, but not budging. A copper symbol was welded into the center of the ornate iron design. It resembled a bundle of sticks tied together.
Frustration rushed into my throat, threatening to roar out. I stepped back and surveyed the fence, but there was no break in the endless duplication of iron bars. No way in.
"Jenna, why are you doing this?" I yelled. But the question was swallowed by the rushing wind. It picked up even more speed, whirling the dried leaves and dust in the road into miniature tornadoes.
Only then did I notice the decrepit, vast building that Jenna was quickly making her way up to. It was the Dexter Orphanage, an abandoned monument on the west side of town. She leaped up the stairs to the entrance.
I leaned my face into the bars, reaching my arm out so far it hurt. She might as well have been miles away. She peered over her shoulder and we locked eyes across the distance. Her curly hair hung lank around her sagging shoulders, as though ready to fall out at the roots.
The wooden door at the top of the stairs creaked open, and Jenna disappeared inside.
Before I could react, before I could process that she was gone, thick smoke began to billow out of the top windows of the orphanage. My feelings of abandonment turned to horror.