Interference: Book One Read online

  Was Ren marking his territory? It sure felt that way. I mean, I barely knew the guy. My body froze at his words—my mind unable to think of a response. Having someone at my back, to defend me, was something I’d never had before. But I knew it most likely stemmed from the fact he was interested in me.

  Drake’s eyes narrowed at Ren, and something that felt like rage brewed under the surface.

  How did I know what he was feeling?

  He looked down at Ren’s arm around my shoulders, then his eyes met mine. “Noted.”

  Drake spun and left the dining hall in a mood similar to Cassie’s.

  Ren dropped his arm from around my shoulders. “Ignore them, Mercy. Everyone else does,” Ren whispered. “Well, except for Cyrus. Poor guy is in love with Cassie.”

  I couldn’t respond. My hands shook and breathing became difficult, but I managed to get back to my room before running into anyone else. Cassie was only one person—everyone else had been kind. I appreciated the connections I’d made with Neela and Ren, although Ren was somewhat too friendly. He really was handsome, but I'd never reacted to anyone like I did Drake. My body gravitated to him like a magnet. I might have been interested if I hadn’t been so embarrassed.

  Fremont honestly didn’t seem so bad. For the first time, I had a conversation over dinner without being yelled at or chastised. I had a chance at friendship. How could three days at a mental facility offer more comfort than seventeen years at home?

  When I finally fell asleep, the nightmares began. That night, the glow of angry fire blinded me. Bright red and orange flames licked the ground at my feet. Instead of burning, the blaze created a golden protective circle. All of a sudden, someone blew it out like a candle. A dense fog, filled with aggression and spite seeped toward me, then split as beasts ascended over a hill ahead. Hundreds of strange creatures that looked like evil boars surged toward me.

  I heard the psychotic cackle of a woman and the sweet, familiar whisper of a girl, “Mercy, run.”

  My heart pounded, and my clothes clung to my skin as I leapt from bed. Gasping for air, I replayed the nightmare in my mind, determined to remember every detail. The warning from the sweet voice of a girl stood out among everything else. Who was that? It felt so real, and something inside me knew that voice. My nightmares usually consisted of the same—dark forests, drowning, unfamiliar reflections. It was strange that I’d never dreamt of fire before. Not until that night.

  The clock on the wall ticked, mocking me—only five o’clock in the morning. There wasn’t a chance I could go back to sleep—adrenaline still coursed through my veins from the dream. Stretching to relieve the coiled tension in my back, I did what I always do after a nightmare. I pushed my body physically. If I didn’t stay active, frustration would take over, threatening to spill out on those around me.

  Not to mention, I would be overweight. Even at my age, my curves rivaled most women, and if I didn’t exercise, I would gain quickly. I would never be the petite girl that graced the covers of magazines, but I fought to stay healthy and in shape.

  Near the end of my push-ups, a scraping sound pulled my attention toward the door. White paper slid underneath with large bold print at the top that read, “Schedule.”

  Schedule? Okay, Fitz. Now you’ve gone too far. I scrolled down the page, looking for anything that didn’t make me want to curl into a ball. After breakfast, we were supposed to convene for studies in the activity lounge. Then, straight to physical education on the indoor tennis court. A tennis court? That I would enjoy. Lunch, therapy, activities, free time, etc. It was all mapped out. You can do this, Mercy. Breathe.

  Hopefully a hot shower would calm me down. On the way to the bathroom, I tried to determine which was worse, the dream or the schedule. The nightmare continued to replay in my mind as I undressed—my fingers reaching over my back, brushing against the tattoo on my left shoulder. I could almost feel the heat rising from my skin. The ink I’d never wanted—the tattoo I’d never shown to anyone.

  I recalled the fear on my thirteenth birthday, when I woke up with the tattoo seeping through slowly—like a towel soaking up spilled liquid. I panicked, afraid something was wrong with me, but not enough to confide in my mother. Every day, the black ink grew darker until the perfect image of a flame formed on my skin. I’d never been able to figure out what it meant, and last night was the first time I’d ever dreamt of fire.

  I kept the flame hidden, always choosing tops that covered my shoulders so people wouldn’t notice. At times, I wished I knew what it meant, but mostly I tried to ignore it. Pretend it didn’t exist. I knew I couldn’t do that forever.

  Since I awoke early that morning, I had time to blow-dry my long dark hair and choose an appropriate outfit. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care what anyone thought. I may have felt that way the day before, but something quickly changed. I opened the small closet and pulled out my black short sleeve romper. Cute, but casual.

  It said, “I’m not trying to impress you, but I work hard to be able to wear something like this.”

  Perfect.

  As I left the bathroom, a quiet knock came from the door. Elise stood with a worried expression on her face. “We didn’t want to startle you, Mercy, but your roommate has arrived. We need to lay her down.”

  Lay her down? She didn’t walk?

  “Oh, sure. Come on in.”

  I stepped back and held the door open while Dr. Lee carried a tiny blonde girl in his arms. I couldn’t see her face, but I didn’t have to. She wasn’t in the best condition.

  “Can I do something to help?”

  “I think we can handle this, Mercy. You go ahead and meet the others for breakfast,” Elise whispered.

  I nodded and turned toward the door to give them privacy. The delicate, frail girl might be more at ease without me gawking anyway. Before walking out, I glanced over my shoulder at the small huddled form on the twin bed. Something dark surrounded her, and I could not only sense it but feel it on my skin. Chills ran over me like a wave as I shook them off and shut the door.

  The quietness of the dining hall surprised me. Cyrus sat at his isolated location in the corner, probably hoping to catch a glimpse of Cassie. Fitz read the paper while sipping on what looked to be hot coffee. A couple of kids I hadn’t met sat at a table close to the window where Neela waved me over.

  “Hey, Mercy. How’d you sleep?”

  “Like always.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “That bad, huh?”

  My eyes widened in surprise. Her intuition surprised me. I didn’t have to divulge details for her to understand, and the change was pleasant.

  “You look amazing. Imagine if you had a good night’s rest.” She smirked, and I couldn’t keep the smile off my face at her attempt to lighten the mood. Neela’s warm presence comforted my anxiety.

  “So, we have a tennis court?” I asked.

  “Yes. We also have a weight room and a running track on the roof. I love it when tennis is on the schedule.”

  I nodded, pleased to hear she enjoyed it. “I’m pretty excited myself.”

  “Oh, I hate tennis.” She wrinkled her nose.

  Was she trying to confuse me? Didn’t she just say she loved it? She paused mid-chew at my change of expression.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I thought you said you loved it.”

  “Oh, no. I love it when it’s on the schedule. I don’t actually love tennis. I like to watch Kellan’s fine butt running all over that court, kicking everyone’s tale. Girl, that man is sweet to watch.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t believe I’ve met Kellan.”

  “You’d remember. Kellan will be mine one day, he just doesn’t know it yet.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone turning you down, Neela.”

  She grinned, then shook her head. “We flirt, but I haven’t made a move. It can be a touchy thing in Fremont, relationships I mean.”

  “Drake and Cassie seem to make it work.” I peeked up
at her, hoping she didn’t pick up on my curiosity.

  “Yes and no. Cassie says they are, but Drake has never acknowledged it. I think sometimes he goes along with it to keep her calm. Drake doesn’t do well with intense emotions. He would rather appease her, so he doesn’t have to deal with her outbursts.”

  “Interesting.” He didn’t come across like the type to go along with something he didn’t want.

  “You should room with her. She talks about him nonstop, but I rarely see him stop by. The girl gets on my last nerve.”

  “Hmm.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  She stared over her juice as if her thoughts were drifting somewhere else. An older lady set a plate down in front of me, filled with oatmeal, fruit, and bacon as I studied Neela.

  I waved my spoon in the air toward her. “What? You look like you have something on your mind.”

  She shrugged, and sipped her juice. “Drake seemed pretty focused on you last night. It isn’t like him.”

  “I didn’t notice,” I lied, shoving bacon into my mouth.

  “You didn’t notice? I highly doubt that.” She narrowed her eyes across the table.

  I looked around to make sure no one else was listening. “I’ve known you less than twenty-four hours, and you are by far the most perceptive person I’ve ever met.”

  She smiled, enjoying the compliment. “Ren has it bad for you. There is some serious competition brewing, for sure.”

  “I’m not interested in a complicated relationship right now. I want to get through these next three months and get on with my life.”

  “What happens in three months?”

  “I turn eighteen, and I’m free to check myself out.”

  Neela didn’t respond, just tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips as though she doubted my words. She opened her mouth and closed it again, then picked up her juice to finish it. Neela protected her mind like a vault.

  The loud click of heels on wood had us both turning in our seats. Of course, who else would wear stilettos at seven in the morning—Cassie.

  I sighed. “I think I’ve lost my appetite. See you later.” I did not need another run-in with her.

  “Bye, Mercy.” Neela called out.

  The dishes clanged together as I piled them at the station, then walked toward the door as quickly as possible to avoid any early morning drama.

  “Leaving so soon?” Her voice crawled under my skin.

  I brushed by her without a word, crashing into Drake.

  He wrapped his arm around my lower back to steady me. Every nerve in my body electrified at his touch. His eyes searched mine with curiosity as if puzzled. We were unable to back away—unable to speak. No one else existed at that moment. Drake’s jaw clenched as if keeping himself from moving closer. I could see the struggle in his eyes.

  How long had we been standing there? Did anyone notice?

  “Drake!” A shrill voice rang out.

  His head jerked up at the high-pitched squeal.

  “I’ve been calling you over and over. Missy is leaving, aren’t you, Missy?” Cassie yelled.

  I swallowed, confused by the desire for a guy I didn’t even know. “Um, yes. I’m just . . . I’m just leaving,” I whispered.

  I took a step back, and his hand fell away, leaving my back cold. Drake’s gaze heated as he looked me over from head to toe. I forced myself to step around him and make my escape before I said something awkward. I pulled the schedule from my pocket, cursing myself along the way.

  Smooth, Mercy. Real smooth.

  . . .

  Bookshelves lined an entire wall of the activity lounge with tables pushed up against the windows. Laptops were available, along with a tutor to help with our studies. The room had been separated by several couches and recliners, and the opposite side of the space was covered a large shag rug with two gaming chairs. A popcorn machine, air hockey table, and big-screen television demanded most of the attention. Not as horrible as I first imagined.

  I sat down to work on the history and literature homework my teacher prepared. A few more students came in to study, but it never felt crowded or loud. Everyone’s schedule must have been staggered to help the noise level at any given time. I tried to focus on the western civilization passage in front of me, but thoughts of Drake flooded my mind like a tsunami.

  What happened back there? He seemed equally perplexed over our connection. Should I confront him? I feared that he’d deny it, making me look as though I had lost my mind. Let’s face it, I didn’t need any help in that department. I’d spent most of my life avoiding situations just like that.

  Studying felt pointless—I slammed my book closed and went in search of the tennis court. I needed something to take my mind off him.

  Wandering around the hall, I found someone that pointed me in the right direction. The floor below Fremont housed the athletic equipment. I jogged down the stairs and walked into a state-of-the-art indoor tennis court, locker room, pool, and weight room. Impressive. They might have given me a tour if I had come out of my room when I arrived.

  Private showers, locker rooms, and towels were readily available. I pushed through the doors of the women’s locker room and met two more residents coming out. One held the door open for me and smiled. My expression was probably a mixture of disbelief and mistrust as they grinned brightly. The idea that someone could be so polite wasn’t one I’d grown accustomed to. I forced myself to stop acting like a suspicious maniac and nodded.

  I found my name at the end of the back row of lockers. A set of shorts, a t-shirt and shoes sat inside. They made sure I had everything I needed. The shorts were a little small, so they fit snug on my backside, but the top fit perfectly. They were comfortable, so I’d be able to move without feeling too restricted.

  I walked out to the court where a tall, athletic-looking guy warmed up alone. Dark brown skin, strong shoulders, and a sexy smile—Neela told me about him.

  “Ah, ha. My first victim of the day. Please step forward,” he said.

  “Me?” I looked around, somewhat confused.

  An older gentleman stepped toward me with his hand out in invitation. “I’m Coach Rogers. You must be Mercy. Your coach at Davis High School had very nice things to say about you.”

  I shook his hand, appreciating the firm grip and eye contact. Coach Rogers immediately came across as genuine.

  “Thank you. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

  “Well, Kellan needs some competition. Most kids favor the weight room or the track. I’m too old to play anymore.”

  “Yeah he is,” Kellan shouted.

  Coach Rogers rolled his eyes. “Please do your worst.”

  “Let’s do it,” I said.

  “Come on, Sassy. I got this. Best out of three sets?” Kellan smiled and bounced with anticipation.

  I smirked. “If you’re ready to be taken down a few notches, I’m game.”

  Our match started like any other—feeling each other out—watching for habits that would give us the upper hand. He had a precise swing, packed full of power. Kellan won the first set . . . barely. I continued to learn his game, find the patterns, then easily won the next.

  More and more people shuffled in during the match. Ren sat on the floor with his arms resting on his knees, obvious enjoyment on his face. Neela’s eyes appeared downcast—almost tormented, struggling between cheering me on and rooting for her crush.

  “Is this going to be over soon? Some of us have important things to do.” Cassie studied her perfect manicure, as if the boredom of the match was too much for her to bear.

  Drake stood against the far wall with his arms crossed over his chest, watching me. I didn’t want to consider how awful I looked right then. The red flush of my face, the wet shirt stuck to my sweaty back, hair falling from my ponytail.

  Beautiful, I thought.

  All at once, Kellan hit the ball too far to my right, and it should have whizzed past me. I dove for it, but it was too far away. The ball never t
ouched my racket. No thwack echoed in the air from the contact, but the ball sailed back toward Kellan, almost on demand.

  My mind froze, attempting to make sense of what happened. How did I do that? Whispering in the corner of the room broke through my confused state as Fitz and Drake spoke quietly away from the others. I could have sworn I heard my name from Drake’s lips, but how is that possible from across the court? The ball flew past me, as Kellan laughed from the other side of the court.

  Distractions were costing me points. Frustration built, and my heart rate picked up. Clouds covered the bright sunlight through the windows, and thunder rolled in the distance. Neela jerked her head toward Ren, and he shrugged his shoulders, mouthing what looked like ‘not me’ toward Neela. Brushing off everything around me, I attempted to focus.

  On my next swing, I hit the ball as hard as possible, and it grazed Kellan’s cheek. He avoided getting hit head on, but couldn’t stop the ball.

  “That girl’s strong.” I heard from the sideline.

  “I guess so. Her arms are bigger than Cyrus’s,” another mumbled.

  Chuckling followed. I immediately cringed at their words as petite Cassie walked up beside Drake—she looked to be a size two.

  “Girl, don’t hurt his pretty face. You know how I feel about it,” Neela called out.

  I grinned at her comment. “I’ll do my best.”

  It amazed me how evenly matched we were. Kellan’s speed surpassed anyone I had ever played. Match point—Kellan whacked the ball from his corner of the court, and I saw my move. I swung back, giving it all I had, and it sailed to the opposite corner from him. The match was over. He stood shocked, panting hard and sweating. Our audience paused, and some took a step back as though a threat approached. I walked over to Kellan’s side of the court and stuck my hand out to show respect.

  “Great game, Kellan. You’re the best I’ve played against.”

  He stared down at my hand, then looked up at Coach Rogers. Coach nodded, and Kellan stepped forward. His hand came up and hit mine, then he turned and threw his racket against the wall as hard as he could. The speed and force behind the throw bent the frame of the racket on impact. I had never seen anything like it. He jogged out of the room without looking back.