Untouched: Chapter One

Okay... so, here is a sneak peak at my newest endeavor! I am so excited about this present tense YA novel!! 

It has 2 books ahead of it, so it may be 5 years before it's out there... but here's chapter one... just to tease you all.

Hope you like it! :)

Chapter 1

                The whispers are hard to ignore. Especially when I can hear a Thankful mixed in with their mutters. I’m not new to Glenrock—I grew up here. Seventeen years, same town, same people, but none of them know me, not really. I might as well have been a stranger, a newbie from some faraway place. At least then they wouldn’t know my name.

            Another, Thankful, floats into the air, and I’m pretty sure no one is expressing their gratitude on this early September morning.

            Clutching to the book bag my mother had me buy for this day, I walk through the foreign hallways, wishing I were home, at my desk, my mother my instructor in all things scholastic, spiritual and worldly. 

The lockers that run along the wall are a navy blue. I find locker 212 and drop my bag to the ground. Twisting the knob to the correct numbers: twenty-one, thirteen, eleven, I pull at the lever, but the locker refuses to open. Trying again, the blood rushes to my face, I can feel it burning to a pinkish red. Just open. Open! It doesn’t.

            “Can I help?”

            Looking over my shoulder, there’s a girl there. Her rectangular glasses are thick and black, but clear enough and wide enough I can still see her dark eyes behind them. Smiling, she blinks, and her eye lashes almost hit the edge of her eyebrows. Turning, I face her. “Uh, sure. I think it’s stuck.”

            “I’m Chelsea,” she says, taking the slip of paper with my combination from my hand. She twists the knob, not careful like I did, but fast, like this is her locker and she’s opened it a hundred times. Lifting the latch, the door opens. “You have to pass the second number—go around the horn again.”

            “Thanks,” I say, taking back the paper from her outstretched hand. “I’m Thankful.”

            “Yeah, the homeschooled girl, right?”

            I bite my lip. This is how I’ll be known for the rest of the year, until college. It wasn’t as if no one else in Glenrock had been homeschooled, but they’d all gone to public school at some point. My point was the last possible point—senior year. And I wouldn’t be here still—if it weren’t for Mom. “Yeah,” I say.

            “My mom never could have homeschooled me,” Chelsea says. “No way is she smart enough. I mean, she maybe could have handled English. But I’m in Calculus—Mom would have given up way back in Pre-Algebra.”

            I took Calculus last year, but I don’t say as much. I don’t say anything, because I don’t know how to respond to Chelsea’s accusation that her mother isn’t very smart—or smart enough. How does one respond to that? To agree seems insulting, to disagree—

            “Who do you have here, Chels?” Another girl I’ve never seen before asks. She’s with an old friend of mine though. Friends are few in my life. It’s not as if I have classes with—well, anyone. But Errica, I used to play with when we were kids. She lived on my block until her dad got a promotion and they moved to the upscale part of town.

            “Yeah, yeah,” Errica says, her blond hair has perfectly placed high-lights of red and dark brown. She’s taller than the last time I saw her, I guess a decade will do that. Her grown-up teeth have all come in and they’re straight—braces straight. “Who’s the new blood?” She bounces over behind the other girl and squeezes her way in. I can see her recollection when she sees me. But she still asks the question. I don’t know if I should say hello—call her bluff or just play along. As she said, I’m the new blood, so I stay silent.

            “Hi girls.” Chelsea smiles at them and points to me. “This is Thankful. Thankful, the girls.”

            Errica links arms with Chelsea, and I flash back to being seven years old again, when I wanted to play with her Fashion Place Barbie and she wouldn’t let me.

            “I’m Sonia,” says the other girl. Her hair is strikingly red, like a strawberry or the fingernail polish I painted Mom’s toes last night. And unlike Errica’s hair, I’m sure it’s her real color. “This is Errica.”

            “Hey,” Errica says, not meeting my eyes.

            I say hello and pull out my schedule. “Where’s Hunt’s class?”

            “Let me see your list,” Chelsea says, taking the paper from my hand again. I get the feeling that she’s the leader of this little posse. At least she seems a little bossy. Still, I like her. She’s honest and so far friendly. “What the—you only have five classes listed.” Errica and Sonia crowd around her to look at my list.

            “We have seven period’s a day,” Errica says, looking at me like I’m too stupid to realize that.

            “I know,” I say, my voice mimicking her why are you here tone. “I have one religious release period that I go home for. And I have enough credits, I don’t need a full seven class periods to graduate.” I wish I didn’t need any credits. If I weren’t so close, I wouldn’t be here at all. It’s not where I should be, not with Mom—

            “Impressive,” Chelsea says, and Errica snaps her mouth closed.

I’m not sure what brought on the hostility. When Errica and I parted at seven years old things were fine. In fact, in all honesty I’d missed her. I missed having any friend at all. I didn’t realize it—not until now. But as I watch Errica’s linked arm with Chelsea’s, I feel a pang of jealousy—like I did all those years ago for that Fashion Place Barbie.

“I’ve got Hunt for English too,” Chelsea says, pulling her arm from Errica’s. “I’ll show you.”

Hanging my jacket in the locker, I close it up. Chelsea says goodbye to her friends and we walk down the hall together, passing more ogling eyes and Thankful Tenys whispers. Chelsea hears them too. She rolls her eyes and makes a gagging motion with her hand and mouth.

“This school. Psha, this whole town. They’ll get over it.” She points to a classroom at our right. “I did not grow up here,” she says, defending herself. “Anything new, any change and this town goes loco. You know?”

I kind of shrug. I like Glenrock. I always have. The winters are cold and the wind is harsh, but I’ve always thought the people were… nice. Still, I can’t exactly deny what Chelsea says about change—I’ve never heard so many lips say my name. “How do they know who I am anyway?” I knew a few of them, Errica and a couple more. I recognized a few more faces, but most of them I didn’t.

“I heard about you when we moved here a few years ago. They called you all kinds of things—the shut in. The girl locked away by her evil step-mother. The girl too afraid to come to real school. And then there were others—I’m guessing the less dramatic, more truthful tales—the homeschooled girl who doesn’t come out of her house.”

Turning for the classroom, I laugh, finding the whole thing funny, of course I left my house. “Evil step-mother? Yeah, and I have mice friends and a couple of step sisters too.”

Chelsea laughs with me. It’s all so ridiculous and I’m glad she realizes that. “Is that so?” she says, feigning shock. “And I hear your mother is so deathly ill, you can finally escape her evil clutches and for the first time in years step outside.” Chelsea laughs again, but I can’t join her. Her words pinch my heart until I’m certain it must be bleeding on the inside. My mother is an angel. There isn’t an evil bone in her body. But she is sick—so sick she couldn’t teach me anymore. Sick enough that our lessons have turned into me cleaning up her vomit and giving her sponge baths. So sick I spend my days taking care of her and my nights trying my best to sleep in the crook of Grandpa’s old recliner—right next to where she lays on the couch. I wake at every sound she makes.

Chelsea doesn’t notice that I’m not laughing. She keeps smiling, keeps chuckling and then turns to wave to a boy in a letterman jacket, just outside the class we’ve entered. Turning back toward me, she swings her body around, bumping into another boy walking toward the exit. His head down, he never saw her coming, but with the hit, his face uprights, red and angry.

Jolting back, Chelsea holds up her hands. “Chill, Liam,” she says before he can speak.

Liam runs a hand through his dark hair and blows out a puff of air, a rumble escaping his throat as he does so. His hands clench into fists, and he storms out of the classroom, turning sideways through the door, so not to bump into a girl just coming in.

Taking a seat in a desk next to Chelsea, I look at her, my eyes without a doubt wide. “What was that?” I ask.

“Psha! That is Liam Gregor. He’s got more stories attached to his name than you—only unlike you, I’m pretty sure all of his are true.” Chelsea slaps the desk with her hands. “Arrhh,” she growls, shaking her hands like she might have kooties or something.

I can’t imagine what Liam’s stories might tell and I don’t get the chance to ask with Mr. Hunt standing in front of the class. He clears his throat and waits for attention. He’s large and bald—and looks nothing like what I think a high school English teacher should resemble. He should be coaching wrestling, not teaching literature. My knees beneath the table begin to shake.

Mr. Hunt is halfway through the class list—he hasn’t gotten to me yet, when I feel like I might vomit. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to do this. Forget friends—who needs them?

Springing to my feet, I shout, “I’m going to the restroom.”

Mr. Hunt goes quiet for a second, but not long. He commands attention and power like a wrestling coach too. “Sit,” he says, and continues down the list.

But I don’t listen. I can’t breathe in that room. Too many bodies. Too many whispers. I run, afraid that he’ll chase after me. Out in the hallway, I search for a bathroom and see one just a few classrooms away. Looking back, I don’t see anyone following me, still I race toward the bathroom.

The bathroom doesn’t have a door, just an open entrance that turns a corner to provide privacy. The opening is blocked though. The dark figure has their back to me. It must be a he, he’s too tall and broad to be a girl—at least any girl I’ve met. I check the sign next to the entrance again. Women.

“Hey,” I say, trying to be brave, but it’s difficult as I was just a coward who ran from my English teacher. “You can’t go in there.”

“I know that.” He spits the words and turns in a careful-like motion to face me. Liam.

I’m afraid, but with no one around to save me, I try not to show it. I stand tall—my full five feet, seven inches. “Then could you move?” I try to imitate the way Errica spoke to me when she told me there were seven class periods—authoritative.

The same growling sound he made when Chelsea spoke to him comes through. His eye brows are furrowed low and dark and his mouth is in what must be a permanent scowl. But he moves over. I scurry through to the safety of the bathroom, but I’m not alone.

I can hear the sobbing before I see anything. There are two stalls, and one is closed and locked—the sobs come from it. “Are…are you okay?” I ask. There’s no answer. I bite my lip and look at my reflection in the mirror. I look like any other senior girl at Glenrock High—but I’m not, and everyone knows it. Bending down, I turn on the sink, filling my cupped hands with water. I splash it onto my face. The sobbing continues and I ask, “Do you need anything?”

The stall door is thrown open, slamming into the wall behind it. “I could use a little privacy!” The small girl yells. She storms past me, bumping into Chelsea at the entrance. “Argh!” She screams. “Move!”

“Wow, people today,” Chelsea says. Looking at me she asks, “What’s wrong with her?”

I shrug. “I asked. You saw my answer.”

“Yeah, well, hormones. You know.” She walks over, standing next to me, and looks at herself in the mirror. Lifting her glasses she wipes under her eye, removing the tiniest bit of strayed mascara. “So, what’s your deal?”

“Oh, ah…” I’d planned a whole breakdown once I reached the bathroom, but with the girl already broken down and now Chelsea here… “I just needed to go to the bathroom.”

Chelsea turns to look at me. “Yeah, right, let’s go with that story.”

I blow out a sigh. “Okay, I got a little overwhelmed is all. So many people and that teacher—he’s… he’s huge.” I could hear myself proving everyone’s wrong theories right, and I hated it. Maybe I was the girl too afraid to go to school. I’d never thought of it that way. It wasn’t something Mom and I ever discussed before—it was never an option I was given and I was okay with that.

“I get it,” Chelsea says, back to admiring herself. “First year. You’re like the untouched. A kindergartener.”

“Kindergarten?” That was going a little far. I open my mouth to yell at her, but Chelsea starts to laugh and I realize she’s joking. “That wasn’t funny,” I say, but I’m already settling down.

“Sure it was. You’ll learn quick. Don’t stress. It’s not that terrible—all of the time, anyway,” Chelsea says. “Besides, I’ve got your back. I’ll clue you in right now. I’m funny—everyone knows it. Sonia is sweet. Errica is moody—and more often than not, pretty witchy.” She points to the door. “And Holly, well you saw, she’s hormonal.”

“So, you know everyone by their one-word-description?” I ask, thinking hormonal could cover every single teenage girl in the building.

“Yep.” Chelsea pops her lips. Leaning her back against the sink, she points at me. Bouncing her eyebrows, she says, “You’re untouched.”

I raise mine in return and look back in the mirror. My dark blond hair is pulled away from my face, running down my back in a braid by my mother. Chelsea doesn’t know how right she is. No friends—yeah, I certainly have never had a boyfriend—or much experience in anything. “Awesome,” I say. “Just what I need, more nicknames.”

“Hey,” she says, shoving my shoulder. “I am kidding. Besides everyone knows you shouldn’t call Holly hormonal—at least not to her face, she’ll punch you—and that isn’t a joke.”

“Well, at least she had her friend waiting for her. Maybe she can talk to him.”

Chelsea’s face scrunches. “Who?”

“Liam,” I say. “He was blocking my path into the bathroom before. He must have been waiting for her.”

Chelsea’s eyes are wide and she shakes her head. “Liam does not have friends here. No wonder Holly was crying. If Liam was around—she’s probably cursed.” She grabs my hand, no more joking in her voice. “Come on, Thankful, Mr. Hunt is waiting.”

***

I walk into Government five minutes late. It’s my last class of the day. After English, things went on the semi-decent side, until now—five whole minutes late. I’d gone to another class with Chelsea, then Sonia and then Sonia’s boyfriend led me to P.E. Brice didn’t see the need to find me an escort like Chelsea and Sonia had. If I weren’t clear across the building in the gym, I might have been fine searching on my own.

Miss Jackson nods me into the class, telling me without words to find a seat. But there’s only one desk left and it’s in the back—right next to Liam Gregor. I sigh, not really needing the glares on top of the whispers. Liam doesn’t glare at me though. He doesn’t even look at me. Sure, he scoots his desk-chair combo along the carpet until he’s a good three feet away from me, but he doesn’t glare. Shouldn’t I be the one scooting away from him? He’s the scary one after all.

Miss Jackson hands us information sheets and leaves us to fill them out. I don’t know where she’s gone, but the whispers and chatters begin the minute she’s out the door. The only people in the room not talking are me and Liam. I hear a whisper in front of us—again my name Thankful Tenys.

“It’s Ten-is,” I say emphasizing the pronunciation of my name.

The class goes quiet and the girl in front of me turns in her desk, looking back at me with deer in the headlight eyes—caught.

Her startled stare only fuels my courage. “Ten-is, you know, like the sport? If you’re going to talk about me, you might as well get something right.” Turning my head away from her, I’m looking right at Liam. He still doesn’t look at me, but a small grin plays at his lips, softening his face and all of its features. And I am stunned.

Liam Gregor is exquisite.  At least when he isn’t glaring.