Riven: Young Adult Fantasy Novel (My Myth Trilogy Book 1)

  Riven

  Riven

  Even the best dreams can tear you apart…

  Jane Alvey Harris

  Copyright © 2016 Jane Alvey Harris

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1944244166

  ISBN 13: 9781944244163

  For Jacob, Aidan, and Claire, my Purpose.

  XoXoXo,

  Mom

  P.S. I swear I’ll whack you in the next book if you don’t keep your rooms clean.

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Epilogue

  One

  Nasty sweat slicks my skin like I’m human flypaper. Everything sticks to me except the stupid makeshift bandage around my bicep, the one thing that can’t fall off. One glimpse at my arm and the grown-ups would ban me from the pool, call the World Health Organization, and lock me up in a nuthouse, because I have zero explanation for whatever the hell it was that happened to me during the night.

  Just my rotten luck to wake up to this disaster and not find a single Band-Aid in the entire house. I’ve wrapped the wounds as best I can with gauze and the last bit of medical adhesive scrounged from an ancient first-aid kit I found in the glove box of the Civic. Teeth clenched against the pain I press down hard on the tape, willing the glue to hold.

  The concrete scorches my bare feet but I’ll stand here until they catch fire if I have to. I’ve told Claire the rules half a dozen times and she’s still racing around the pool like a rabid squirrel on crack. As she streaks past in a blur of red hair and freckles I snag the back of her swimsuit, pulling her around and crouching so we’re face to face.

  “Hey! What the heck? Emma, let go!”

  “Claire. Stop. Running. It’s dangerous.”

  “All right, all right, I will. Let go!” she squirms.

  “No. I’m serious.” The punch-drunk screams of a dozen ten year-olds combined with my throbbing arm, sizzling feet, and legitimate fear that my little sister will slip and crack her head open sends my stress hormones rocketing to the relentless sun.

  “I don’t care if you’re the only one walking. We’ll leave next time you run. Got it?” The words come out harsher than I mean for them to.

  Claire’s shoulders sag. “I’m sorry Emma. Yes. I promise. Can I go now? Please?”

  I loosen my grip, untwisting the strap of her tankini. She walks the rest of the way to her friends in line at the bottom of the yellow waterslide, glancing back twice like I might grow fangs and pounce.

  Sometimes I hate my over-active imagination, but it’s way too easy to envision an accident. If Claire got hurt it would kill me. Every time one of her friends flies around a corner of the pool my abs clench in panic. But what can I do? Their parents don’t even seem to notice and there are three lifeguards on duty. As long as Claire is safe I’ll just have to calm down until the birthday party’s over.

  Muddled white on the ground catches the corner of my eye.

  Oh no no NO. The worthless bandage swells with dirty pool water in a puddle at my feet, dried blood rehydrating in loud crimson. Snatching it up, I ditch it in the trash. Arm clutched tight to my side I retreat to our lounge chairs under the awning.

  Even though it’s a zillion degrees in the shade, I pull my long-sleeved cover-up over my head. Rough fabric scrapes like steel wool across my raw pulpy bicep. I lie down and roll over, forehead pressed against the top vinyl slat of the chair.

  For a minute I stare down through the opening at a line of ants crawling up from a seam in the concrete, marching off on some unknown adventure. But my nose and lips are squished up against the next slat down. I can’t breathe.

  You’d better pray no one saw your arm.

  I turn my head to the side to prevent suffocation and scan for Claire. Good. She’s walking.

  Groan…. beads of perspiration meld the cover-up’s thin material to my back and shoulders while my lacerated arm thumps along with my pulse’s almost-audible heavy-deep gong. July’s viscous inferno presses me down against the chair like a fist until I swear I’m slowly oozing through the vinyl slats.

  Desperate, I summon an image of a chill pond in a secret glade surrounded by sheer mossy rock walls. Icy water laps against fern-covered banks, mist from a tumbling waterfall whispers against my cheek. A soft tapping breeze grazes my ankles, lulling the heartbeat away from my skin and back to my chest where it belongs. Mmmmm. More light tapping…

  Wait. Breezes don’t tap.

  Whimper. A cicada! A disgusting, swollen, red-eyed monster bug landed on my ankle.

  Frantic, I jerk back, my foot connecting with something big.

  “Ow! What was that for?”

  I flail onto my back and scramble to sit up. One of the lifeguards is backing away from me, cupping both hands over his nose.

  “I’m so sorry!” Mortification. “I thought you were a bug! Are you okay?”

  “Nice reflexes,” comes his muffled voice.

  “Is it bleeding?” I’m frozen to the chair. “You can use my towel!” This can’t be happening.

  He pulls his hands away. No blood, but his nose has already grown too big for his face. He pokes it gingerly. “I don’t think it’s broken. Sorry I tapped you, it’s just you were so still I thought you might be asleep and your ankles are getting fried.”

  “Oh.” I look down to discover my calves are fresh-slap red. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. I’ve still got a few minutes left on break. Mind if I sit?”

  He wants to sit? By me?

  I look around. I’m the only one under the awning, but every chair is littered with belongings: beach bags, towels, sunscreen, flip-flops. He goes off in search of an empty chair before I can answer.

  Like I could say no after kicking him in the face.

  Rising swells of embarrassment crash over me while I watch him pick up a chair and carry it back over his head. Who is this guy? He looks about my age, maybe a little older. Except, do teenage guys have muscles that…ripple? There’s only one high school in town. True, there are more than 2,500 students, but there’s no way I could’ve missed seeing him there—he’s way too hot.

  My head swims with questions I’ll never have the guts to ask: is he new? Home from college for the summer? I’m already composing a text to my bff Sophie:

  ‘Le Gasp! Hot guy alert. Need back up. ALL UNITS RESPOND!!’

  But Soph stopped sending texts weeks ago. I can’t really blame her. I haven’t responded to a single message from an
y of my friends since school ended. Soph pleaded at first, and then threatened. She drove by the house and left notes on the front porch. Finally she sent:

  ‘Fine I give up. I guess that’s the way things end #abandoned.’

  After that I blocked all their numbers so I wouldn’t have to know they’d stopped texting.

  “I’m Gabe.” He sets the chair down inches from mine, pulling me back to the humiliating present. “I moved here from Colorado a few months ago.”

  Oh. He’s a mind reader.

  “That sucks,” I blurt oh-so politely. “Summer in Dallas is misery.”

  He’s SO handsome, Emma. Shake his hand!

  I extend my hand. “I’m Emily.”

  “I know who you are.” Gabe grins, taking my hand.

  “You…what?”

  “I pay attention.”

  My mouth goes dry. Did he see?

  “That little redhead over there with all the freckles? She’s your sister. And you have two younger brothers. You go to CHS, right?”

  I nod and watch my composure rush out to sea on the tide between us. “I’ll be a junior this year.”

  “Junior, huh? So you must be what, sixteen?”

  I don’t even hesitate. “Nice deductive reasoning.”

  It’s not really a fib because you didn’t say yes, right Emma? asks the little girl’s voice in my head. She always calls me Emma, just like Claire. Just like Mom.

  Technically it’s a lie of omission, counters the stern woman’s voice. I know you’re ashamed about repeating the eleventh grade but you shouldn’t tell lies, Emily.

  I wish both the voices would leave me alone. I’m nervous enough without them butting in all the time.

  “What about you?” I dare. “Will you be at CHS this fall?”

  “Nah. I’m done with school.”

  “Oh, that’s cool. Where are you going to college?”

  He searches my face long enough for me to realize I’ve made a mistake.

  This is why you don’t talk to boys.

  “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do next. Besides, what makes you think I haven’t already gotten my degree?”

  “I guess I assumed if you had a degree you wouldn’t be a pool boy.” How I’m managing to pull witty banter out of my shy-nervous butt is quite the mystery. I want to sink into the crack with the ants under my lounge chair and implode.

  “Ha! Good point. Nicely made. Except I’m a lifeguard, not a pool boy.” He looks deep into my eyes for a few endless seconds like he wants to say something else.

  Worms wriggle themselves to knots in my stomach

  “Listen,” he says. “It might be none of my business, but there’s a first-aid kit at the guard station.”

  My hands go ice cold. He saw.

  That’s it. We’re done here, Emily. It’s time to leave.

  My cell phone rings. “Hey, what’s up, Jacob?” I step out from under the awning. Searching the pool area I spot Claire, then look back over my shoulder. Gabe follows my every move with knowing eyes. I shiver despite the heat.

  “Bring me food,” my brother says.

  I focus all my attention on him. “How are you hungry? It’s only five o’clock!” At fifteen, Jacob is a six-foot tall food-inhaling machine. “Can’t you find a snack?”

  “There isn’t anything, I looked.”

  He’s probably right. I hate grocery shopping. I’ve been putting it off for days. But now it’s the perfect excuse to get away from Gabe. “If you come get Claire I’ll go to the store.”

  “Can’t you just pick up burgers?”

  “We’ve had fast food the last three days in a row, Jacob. Come get Claire.”

  “I’m wearing pajamas.”

  “Of course you are. Get over here.” Please hurry.

  Half-cured cement stiffens my knees as I walk back to the awning. “Claire!” I call, waving my good arm. “You’ve got five minutes, okay?” Claire waves back, grabs a friend’s hand, and fast-walks to the diving board. I avoid Gabe’s eyes while gathering our stuff into the over-sized beach bag.

  “Emily, wait. Where are you going? Is everything alright?”

  “It was nice meeting you.” I’m as casual as I can be with my voice shaking. “I’m really sorry about your nose.”

  “But what about your arm?”

  “I’ve got to get dinner for my family.”

  “Will you be back tomorrow?”

  “I dunno.” No. “Maybe.” Never. “See you around!”

  Both my brothers are rounding the street corner when I get to the exit. The sight of them hushes my buzzing nerves. They’re only eleven months apart, but so different. True to his word Jacob wears plaid pajama pants and a ratty t-shirt. Aidan’s dressed in the same shorts he wore yesterday. And the day before that. At least he changed his fedora.

  “You know people can see you guys, right?” I call when they’re within earshot. “You look like sad hobos.”

  “I look chiseled and manly.” Aidan puffs up his scrawny fourteen-year-old chest. “Besides, you’re one to talk. You look like a mutant zebra. What happened to your face?”

  I rub at the indents on my forehead. I’d forgotten about those. “They’re from the lounge chair…”

  “Forget your face,” Jacob interrupts. “What’s wrong with your arm? There’s blood all over your sleeve.”

  Ugh. I didn’t realize it had started bleeding again. I move it behind my back. “Nothing.”

  Before I can stop him Jacob grabs my arm and pushes the sleeve up to my shoulder.

  “Ouch, Jacob, stop!” Oh, God that hurt. Tears spring to my eyes.

  Aidan grimaces. “Sick. What happened?”

  A mess of congealed blood cakes the pale skin of my entire upper arm. “Nothing. I woke up with a rash. It itches. I guess I’ve been scratching too much. It’s probably just hives.”

  “Are you whack?” Jacob demands, eyeing me like I’ve lost my mind. “No way do hives bleed like that. It looks infected. You need to go to the doctor. Like, now.”

  I snatch my hand away. “I’m fine,” I snap.

  Gabe’s stare bores into the back of my head. Everyone is looking at me.

  “At least show Aunt Nancy.” Concern constricts Aidan’s voice. “She dropped off cookies. You’re supposed to call her.”

  Aidan get’s anxious about stuff, just like me. I have to fix this.

  “Listen, Dork, I’m all right, I promise. It’s not your job to worry about me. I’m in charge, remember?”

  “Fat lot of good you’ll do if you die from a flesh eating bacteria.” Jacob pulls his second-hand flip phone out of his pajamas’ pocket and snaps a picture of my bloody sleeve. “I’ll just send this to Mom.”

  “Don’t you dare!” I lunge for the phone. “Fine. FINE! I’ll call Nancy when I get home from the store, I promise. Happy?”

  “Yes. But still starving, so hurry.” He steps around me and cups his hands to his mouth. “Claire! We’re leaving. Now.”

  “Do you have to be so loud?” I steal a quick glance back. Gabe hasn’t budged.

  Aidan notices too. “Hey Emily, that lifeguard over there is staring at you. I bet he has a first-aid kit you could use.”

  “He’s cute,” Claire runs up, eager as usual to join the conversation. “Emma was talking to him before you got here,” she informs the boys. “I think they’re in lo-ove.”

  “You think everyone’s in love.” Jacob grabs Claire’s flip-flops from me, tossing them at her feet. “Come on.” To me he commands, “You should buy Band Aids. And snacks.”

  Ducking my head, I escape to the car before anyone stares me down or says anything else about first-aid or boys or love.

  Two

  Hurrying across the parking lot I’ve got the paper grocery sack on my hip while digging for keys in
the mesh tote, wincing every time it brushes up against my arm.

  The encounter with Gabe at the pool looms at me making my breath come fast and my fingers even more slippery with sweat. I want to call Sophie so bad but I can’t. She’ll never forgive me now. It’s for the best. Seniors don’t hang out with repeat-junior losers.

  I just want to get home to Claire and the boys. They’re my only solace these days. We can chill and watch reruns of South Park during dinner. Parker and Stone make the whole world better. Well, maybe not better. Definitely funnier. Mom would probably freak out if she knew Claire watches South Park, but Aunt Nancy says we need to laugh more.

  I’m almost to the car when I spot Gabe leaning against a crossover a couple of rows away from the Civic. Oh no—I gave him a black eye.

  His head is bent over his phone. He hasn’t seen me.

  Let’s keep it that way, young lady.

  The woman’s voice is consistently critical, but she’s also usually right. I would give anything to avoid Gabe right now. Head down, I pick up my pace.

  At the car I set the groceries on the hood to sift through the beach-bag with both hands. There’s an SUV blocking me from Gabe’s view now. At last my fingers close around the keys, thank God.

  As I click open the trunk the groceries start to slide off the hood. Lurching forward I save the food. And roll my ankle.

  “OwOwOW. SHIT.”

  Emily! LANGUAGE.

  Groceries clutched in my bad arm I hop in tight circles, cursing through my teeth. This whole day is an epic fail.

  A lone grapefruit topples from the sack to the ground.

  Can’t you do anything right?

  Tears wet my eyes. I wipe them on my sleeve, about to kick the stupid grapefruit under the car when Gabe appears.

  “I’ve got it,” he says.

  Humiliation shrivels my insides but I hold his gaze as he rescues the grapefruit. He brushes bits of asphalt from the pale yellow skin before handing it to me.

  “Thanks.”

  “No worries. You have your hands full. And you twisted your ankle, didn’t you?” Without waiting for a reply he scoops the groceries from my arms.