Gifted

Chapter Fourteen

|Saturday|

Liza

The backyard glows with early-morning sunshine, the tall trees and shrubs still glistening with dew, their summery fragrances heavy in the air.

I bend my knees slightly and then straighten up quick, pushing off on my toes, not quite jumping, and then I’m soaring up into the air, propelled by some invisible force.

I find myself grinning.

I know it makes me a total freak in the eyes of everyone else, but I can’t help loving this: We all dream of the childhood fantasy of flying, and I actually get to do it. How many others can do what I do? Not many, I think.

I twist my body to the left, angling my arms over my head to help my aerial balance and direction, and fly over the houses and streets below, the wind rushing through my hair, cold and refreshing. Down below, a few people wave at me, and I wave back.

I point my feet down, as if I’m pushing against the air below me, and rise higher into the sky, and shoot up into the soft thin cloud cover so I have some privacy to myself.

After several minutes of midair somersaulting, looping, and general silly-funness, I dip back down below the clouds and find myself hovering over the head of the nature trail running a few miles behind the town. I touch down lightly on the balls of my feet and look around. It’s mainly deserted: There’s a cute old couple meandering along the woodchipped pathway, the woman holding her husband’s arm as she gently guides him along beside her.

“Hey, you!”

I turn to see John McGreere striding toward me, and I stop, planting my hands on my hips in a challenge.

He stops, too, a few feet away.

“What do you want?”

The question seems to puzzle him. “What do I want?” he asks. “I wanted to invite you to the Homecoming Dance, that’s what.”

I actually laugh.

“Sorry, honey. I’ve already got a girlfriend. And anyway, that’s a month and some away, surely you’ll find someone by then,” I tell him gently.

His eyes flash, a momentary hate crossing his face, but then his features smooth as though nothing was ever there. He lets out a slow, even breath, eyes on mine.

“Right, you and...whatshername.”

“Katie,” I say automatically. “Katie Rosenberg.”

“Right,” he says again, glancing around, seeming nervous now. Poor guy.

The elderly couple is gone now, having taken a path leading back into town. We’re three miles out as it is—hope they’re ready for a long walk back.

“Why’re you out here so early? It’s barely seven, you know,” I say cheerfully to break the awkward silence.

He shrugs, eyes still flitting around every few seconds. “Oh. You know. Just fancied a jog.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Fancied?”

He grins. “Harvard’s still holding out on me, damn them.”

Something makes a loud crashing sound in the forest edging the trail on the left side. I glance into the dense trees, but see nothing. Probably a deer or something.

John grits his teeth, his eyes flashing again. He curses under his breath.

“Something wrong?” I ask softly.

He meets my eyes and then glances away without answering.

“Nah, nothing’s wrong,” he says.