Gifted Connections 01 Read online

  “Can I skip my shower?” she asked hopefully.

  I laughed trying to shake off my deep thoughts. “No, I let you skip yesterday. Hurry along and I will get your clothes ready after I get dressed.”

  She grabbed her hooded towel before I could even finish my statement, running out the door.

  It was a rare treat for her to eat out. I rarely had enough money to. I felt guilty for barely seeing her this past week. I was torn between wanting to spend time with her and needing to work as much as I could to get us out of here.

  I know Heidi may get mad at me later, but I decided I would give her a small amount of money. She didn’t know how much I made, and Tom was supporting her right now. Ella deserved a treat this morning, and I was in desperate need of a large cup of coffee, and maybe a greasy bacon, egg, and cheese bagel.

  “Why are you already up and what could have possibly happened already,” his tired, disgruntled voice mumbled.

  “Nobody invited you to this party, Boy Wonder,” I said a bit snidely. “Sounds like someone’s grumpy in the morning.”

  “I don’t know why I continue to allow myself to be verbally abused,” he muttered.

  “I don’t know why either, Grump Grump. Maybe you should never come back. I don’t need you.” I sighed, too tired to argue with him. I found it disturbing at times how I regarded him. There were times I was relieved to hear his voice, and I loved the fact that I could tell him anything, well, almost anything. Then there were times like this when I was just plain frustrated to talk to an imaginary figment of my mind.

  I didn’t know if he truly existed. I didn’t know if I was truly crazy. Maybe if I took those drugs they forced down my throat at the mental facility his voice would disappear, and I would know I was insane. On the other hand, I felt like I needed him. He helped me in so many ways.

  “You don’t mean that, honey,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I’m so grumpy. I’m tired and I have a game today and two tests.”

  “I’m sorry too, Mr. All American. I’ve been stressed out lately,” I said sheepishly. I know he means well.

  He snorted in amusement. “Want to talk?”

  “Go to sleep,” I said with a smile. “We can talk later.”

  “Okay, dear,” he yawned. “Have you been practicing?”

  “You know I haven’t.” I reminded him.

  I pulled up my barrier as Ella came barreling back in the room. “Let’s go!”

  “Get dressed first,” I laughed, feeling lighter, knowing he had calmed me once more.

  We were walking out the door less than fifteen minutes later. I was dressed in my normal cargo pants, a t-shirt, and a baggy sweatshirt. I took better care of Ella’s appearance; elementary kids could be so cruel. She was dressed in a cute pair of blue leggings, a yellow dress with blue flowers, a white cardigan, and brown knee-high boots. I even parted her long blond hair and gave her two French braids with matching yellow and blue ribbons on the end.

  I had packed peanut butter sandwiches and apple slices for our lunch. I even slipped fifty cents into Ella’s lunch box so she could buy chocolate milk at school. I tried to buy food that would keep in our room. On occasion, I even went into fast food joints and purchased the cheapest thing on the menu. Then I would raid their napkin and straw station, taking every condiment I could get my hands on: mayo, jelly, salt, pepper, hot sauce; anything I thought useful to store for a later date.

  My mood lifted as she chattered away happily beside me, skipping the whole way to the restaurant. After we picked up a large coffee and a breakfast sandwich for me, and an orange juice and French toast sticks for Ella, we walked to her school.

  “I have dance today,” she reminded me around a mouth full of food. “Do you have work today?”

  I smiled down at her. “Finish what’s in your mouth first, El,” I reminded her gently. “No work. So, I’ll be here when you get out of dance.”

  I was happy that the school offered afterschool programs. I handed them thirty dollars and for twelve weeks my sister got to be involved in an extra-curricular activity. I missed the days when my dad was around. We constantly moved, never staying in one place until he met Heidi. He always had me involved in something; piano lessons, soccer, swim, gymnastics, dance, softball. He believed a busy child didn’t have the energy to misbehave. I was a good child, but prone to mischief, so it had worked.

  “Yay!” she cried, breaking into her happy dance.

  I laughed as we walked up to the sidewalk leading to her school. “Be good in school today. When I pick you up we can do a little shopping. How does that sound?”

  “Can we get fruit snacks?” She looked up hopefully.

  “Yes,” I replied with a smile.

  Thanks to a bachelor party that came in on Friday I was up two hundred dollars more than my average. I had already dropped the one hundred and twenty-five dollars off at the trailer park office for the upcoming week, so I was ahead. I left fifty dollars on the table for Heidi, deceiving her into believing I had a bad weekend. I set aside one hundred dollars for groceries for the week. Thirty dollars was set aside for the next afterschool activity for Ella, and forty dollars was in an envelope in her backpack for the next two weeks of her before-school-care. I decided that Ella and I would use one hundred dollars at the thrift store for more winter clothing. She had outgrown most of her clothing from last year, and winter would be upon us soon. That left three hundred and seventy-four dollars for me to store for Operation Leave Heidi.

  “Double yay,” she replied excitedly as I wiped her face of any remaining syrup and grabbed her trash.

  She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and ran towards her school, her braids bouncing along.

  I shook my head affectionately and turned to walk the rest of the way to school. I hadn’t ridden the school bus for quite a while. The bus route we took was less than ideal for me, let alone for Ella. After Ella came home from school and told me that the boy down the street explained to her in graphic detail what sex was and invited her to his house to get high and fool around, I made the decision to never allow her to ride the bus again. She was five, and the other boy was eleven. Luckily, she had no true comprehension of her words, but it alarmed me never the less. It was a mile walk to her school and an additional mile to mine, but I didn’t mind it. I contemplated purchasing bikes for us so it would be faster. Winter time sucked.

  When I got to school, I knew I had moments before the bell rung. I hurried my pace to get my books for my first three classes. I lived a lonely existence that I both hated and was indifferent towards. There were people I talked to, but I would never call them friends. They never invited me to sleepovers or to the mall, but it was of my own doing. I snubbed people on a daily basis. I preferred them thinking I was stuck up or painfully introverted, opposed to the truth. When people got close, they noticed my bleak existence and/or they hoped I was an easy lay.

  I slid into the back left-hand corner of my homeroom class and immediately pulled out my AP English Literature book. It was my next class, and I knew my teacher would have a quiz on the reading material we went over last week as we did every Monday. I had already read it several times, and I was confident that I would be able to ace this test, but it also worked as a natural deterrent for anyone wanting to strike up a conversation.

  I noticed everyone spent their thirty minutes in this class to catch up on the events of their weekend or plan for this upcoming week. A few people used their time to quickly complete any unfinished homework.

  “Blake Thomas,” Mr. Harris, my homeroom teacher, peered at me over his horn-rimmed glasses.

  Yes, my first and last name were “boy” names.

  I looked up at him quizzically. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Diesel requires your presence.” He walked over and handed me a slip of paper.

  I nodded in confusion, slipped my book into my messenger bag, and started to walk out of the classroom. Mr. Diesel was my counselor. I met him once at a meet and greet the beginning of m
y freshman year. I wonder what he could possibly want. I tensed up with all the possibilities.

  I noticed almost everyone was watching me go through various stages of confusion, and Bridgette Mason leaned over to her friends and started whispering.

  “She probably got caught banging the boys under the bleachers again,” she whispered loud enough for several people to hear her.

  A few snickered, some ignored her, and Mr. Harris just gave her a pointed look, but he didn’t bother to correct her. Her daddy was rich and donated the multimillion-dollar gymnasium complete with an Olympic sized pool, indoor track, and full-sized basketball court that rivaled any colleges facilities. She was untouchable, and she knew it.

  She was another thorn in my side. She’s hated me ever since my sophomore year. The year I “developed.” I was a late bloomer. The summer before my sophomore year my breasts were developed, and my butt was filled out. Back then I didn’t take great pains to cover my figure, and a lot of the guys started noticing me. One of them being Collin. A senior, captain of the football team, and a very cute guy. Also, Bridgette’s on-again, off-again boyfriend.

  He was one of the guys that I felt had been genuine in his attraction, but Bridgette had ruined any chance of that by spreading rumors about me. I had been put on the radar even though I tried desperately to fly under it. Suddenly I was being harassed by her friends and anyone else that believed her lies. I had guys I never talked to propositioning me. I had people constantly talking about me. Alienating me. I had to ask them to leave me alone constantly. Collin knew Bridgette was jealous and started the rumors. He tried to stop them, but the damage had been done.

  I reached the counseling center and knocked on Mr. Diesel’s door. “Come in,” he called.

  I opened the door warily and stepped into the office. “You wanted to see me?”

  He looked up at me with a smile. He was an older, attractive black man with a warm smile and kind eyes. “Yes, yes, Blake. Sit. Relax.” I sat down as I heard the bell for my first-class ring. He waited for it to stop before pulling out a folder from his desk. He opened it up, and I could see my name printed on the top of the first set of papers. “We’ve been looking through our seniors’ transcripts for this year, and noticed you are one of the top five contenders for valedictorian and salutatorian. We just have a few concerns and want to touch base with you.”

  I nodded, not knowing a proper response to this news. I knew I was bright and caught on quickly. I purposely chose AP classes to challenge me and prove to those who doubted me that I was perfectly capable of rising above my environment. “Okay…” I finally said when I realized he was searching my expression. I’m sure he was expecting excited emotions or something more than my deadpan look. I had no desire to speak in front of an auditorium full of people at the end of the school year. I was stuck at an impasse. Did I start slacking off so I didn’t become the salutatorian or valedictorian? Would that be counterproductive for what I had been working so hard on? Instead of rising to the challenge and ensuring all my naysayers were aware of my achievements I would be bowing out, and proving to them I was cracking under pressure.

  “Well, I just wanted to inform you of your standings and express our concerns on a few topics of interest. Have you applied to any colleges yet? Have you applied for any scholarships? Scholarship committees generally want to see more community and extracurricular involvement. Have you considered getting more involved?” he asked kindly.

  I shrugged, looking down at my clasped hands. I wanted to let him know my situation without sharing too much. I had to deter him from prying further. “I take care of my sister, and I work. I don’t know if I have the time to get more involved, and honestly, I’m not sure I’ll feel comfortable delivering any speeches at the end of the year.” I shrugged.

  His eyebrows rose in surprise. “And college? Scholarships?”

  I tried to avoid his gaze and look anywhere but him. “I haven’t applied to any. I’m not sure I’m going to college yet.”

  He was clearly shocked now. “If it’s money there are several options and opportunities out there. Maybe I can speak to your parents, and we can set up a plan.”

  I stood up, uncomfortable with this whole conversation now. “My parents are dead. I live with my stepmom and… she works a lot. She won’t be able to make any meetings.”

  He stood up with me, troubled. “I am extremely flexible with my schedule.”

  “No thank you,” I said firmly.

  Crap! In my efforts to prove to myself that I could rise above my circumstances I forgot about the radar I tried to fly below.

  “Is there something you would like to talk about? Trouble at home?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Everything’s fine,” I muttered. “Can I go back to class now? I have a quiz to complete. Thank you for letting me know,” I added as an afterthought.

  He scribbled out a hall pass reluctantly and handed it to me. “My doors are open any time if you find the need to talk.”

  “Thanks,” I said quietly as I left his office.

  I inwardly cursed myself as I made my way to English. I was so close to graduating and leaving this life behind. I didn’t need anyone prying into my life at this point and time.

  Chapter 3

  I dreaded my last class of the day. I didn’t want to see Mr. Jace. I had an emotionally draining day. I was still exhausted from my lack of sleep. The idea of possibly seeing Tom this afternoon filled me with dread. I was on edge from my conversation with Mr. Diesel, and Bridgette and her Bubble Gum Squad (like bubble gum when you blew them up they were filled with warm air) had been bothering me all day long. I was looking forward to picking up Ella, going shopping, throwing together a healthy meal for us, and possibly going to bed early tonight.

  I was dragging my feet as I took my seat next to the baby grand piano. It dominated the whole stage. This class wasn’t held in a conventional classroom; it was held in the old gymnasium and had various musical instruments scattered throughout the room.

  Most of the students brought their own instruments in, but I didn’t have any. Heidi had sold my guitar and my dad’s piano that I had learned to play on.

  I was the only one in this class that favored the piano. Over eighty percent of the class was female and they weren’t even musically inclined. They had triangles, flutes, cymbals and other instruments that they messed around with; not really wanting to learn anything. They just hovered around Mr. Jace and asked him annoyingly obvious questions for most of the class.

  Somedays he would teach us musical history, and other days he treated it like a free period, and we played our instruments. Some students surrounded Mr. Jace, some sat in groups and gossiped, and the rest of the class used the time to work on homework and study. I had study period the class before this so my homework was complete, and I had studied calculus and physics for an upcoming test this Friday.

  Today was a free day, and I was looking forward to tickling my fingers on the ivory keys. When it came to music, it was my escape. All my inhibitions would slip away, and I would get lost in the music. It was in those moments I felt closest to my dad. It tore me to pieces to know his features were fading in my memories. The one and only picture I had of him was my only reminder of him physically. His voice, his love of music, the gentle way he had taught me, was a strong reminder of him when I played. Somedays I just plucked at the keys not wanting to play. Other days, like today, I know I needed the music to carry me away. To soothe my troubled thoughts.

  I was currently working on an original composition. Our first practical test was next week, and I wanted to be ready for it. I knew this class was somewhat of a joke. I knew I could work hard on this composition, but the level of difficulty wasn’t considered. Airhead Bridgette could get an A for accompanying a soundtrack with her tambourine just as easy as I could by spending weeks on a song I wrote from my heart and soul. Sometimes I felt it was highly unfair, but in the end, I knew this class gave me the opportunity for an ou
tlet I had nowhere else.

  “Okay class,” Mr. Jace called to us for our attention. “As you know your practical test is next week, so I would like you to continue working on your project, and I will come around the room if you need any help.”

  His eyes settled briefly on me, but I quickly turned away. I didn’t want to talk to him. I needed to be left alone.

  Most of the students picked up their instruments and started playing around with them. I knew only four of us really had any true talent. The other three people in my class that were proficient generally gravitated towards each other since they were in a band together; they took the time to practice the cover music they normally performed at the coffee shop downtown on Friday nights. They were often nice to me and tried to become friends with me on numerous occasions, but I was intentionally vague and explained that I was busy every time they asked me to play the keyboard for them.

  I took my hoodie off and set it on top of my messenger bag and pulled off one of my hair ties from around my wrist to tie back my unruly black curls. I was getting down to business today. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and let my fingers take control of the keys. The background noise faded to nothingness. The only sound that filled my ears was my music that poured from my heart and out into the keys. I knew my piece was a bit dark, hopeless, and filled with longing. To an unpracticed ear, I sounded like an angry emo kid, and to anyone who had a sincere appreciation of music they knew it was original, and it was my inner voice screaming. Later, after I released everything from within, I would fill in the notes on my sheet music. Some of the songs in my heart had a melody. Sometimes, in the privacy of my room, I would add the words that the music was trying to convey. This composition had no words.

  Several moments later I finally released a deep breath and opened my eyes. The room was deadly quiet. I looked up, startled. Did I get so lost in the music that I lost track of time? Did the bell ring without me hearing it?

  Nope, not my luck. Everyone stopped what they were doing and gazed up at me with various looks of wonder, surprise, and disgust (these glares coming from the Bubble Gum Squad; they hated not being the center of attention).