Fly: A PORTAL Chronicles Novel (The PORTAL Chronicles) (6 page)

“What are you doing?” Everett laughed, following me into the bathroom. “You know you’re not supposed to bathe in your clothes, right?”

I laughed with him. “I couldn’t help myself. I had to try it out.”

“It’s as big as an outdoor Jacuzzi,” he mused, sitting on the edge.

“I know! Isn’t it great,” I said, sinking down further into the empty tub. A look of mischief crossed his face and he turned the water on and ran from the room, leaving me scrambling to get out. It was but a second later that I heard his impressed whistle. “Have you seen your closet? It’s huge!”

Making sure I wasn’t wet, I followed his voice through my bedroom to find him sprawled on his back in a large walk-in closet.

“What are you doing?” I laughed.

“I couldn’t help myself. I had to try it out,” he mocked. “Being that your closet is the size of my dorm — and I have to share it with a roommate — I think I might crash here.”

I laughed, nudging him with my shoe. Grabbing my leg, he pulled me down beside him. “What did you do that for?”

“Try it,” he said, smiling.

Lying beside him, I realized my clothes had neatly been hung on wooden hangers, only filling a fourth of the massive closet. I had to admit: the closet was about the size I’d expected my entire dorm to be. I stood, fingering the dark cherry cabinets and silver fixtures.

“You’re lucky you don’t have a roommate,” Everett said, getting up.

But, didn’t I? Of course I’d have to share the huge dorm with someone else. “Dr. Smitherson?” I called, peeking out from the closet.

“Yes, Sophie,” he answered, following my voice into the bedroom. “Is something not to your liking?”

“Oh, no. Everything’s amazing,” I beamed. “I was wondering where my roommate is.” I found it pointless to even ask if I had a one.

“This is a single suite. You don’t have a roommate,” he replied. Reading my shocked expression, he quickly added, “Though if you’d like one, it could quickly be arranged.”

“Dibs!” Everett yelled from the closet.

“Oh, no! I’ll be quite alright on my own, thanks,” I answered, shooting Everett a look.

“Now that I think about it, you sort of have a roommate,” Dr. Smitherson said, turning from the room. My ears perked up and I followed him into the living room, bracing myself for disappointment. “That door over there,” he said, pointing. “It opens to a room just like this one. If you and the other resident agree that you’d like extra company, you’re more than welcome to share your living spaces.”

“So no one else is assigned to live in room seven?” I clarified.

“No, it’s yours alone.”

Shell-shocked, I collapsed onto the couch and the scent of lilac filled the air. Grabbing a pillow, I took a big whiff to find the couch had been sprayed with a delectable linen spray. I hugged the soft pillow to my chest, trying my hardest not to cry. “It’s too much,” I mumbled.

“I’m honestly confused,” Dr. Smitherson said. “Would you like a smaller room?”

“Oh, no!” I corrected, crossing the room to him. “This room is absolutely perfect.” I wrapped my arms around him without a second thought. I didn’t know if it was appropriate, but overwhelmed with emotion, I honestly didn’t care. “Thank you so much. I love it. Every bit of it. It’s beautiful,” I gushed.

He shook with laughter and patted my back. “You’re most welcome, Sophie. I’m so glad you like it.”

“Where’s my hug?” Everett asked, emerging from my bedroom.

I laughed realizing how silly I must look.

“Well, I’m sure you’re exhausted after your travels. We’ll leave you to your own devices,” Dr. Smitherson said.

Walking to the front door, I found it strange that I didn’t have to leave. I got to stay here, to live in these perfectly beautiful rooms.

“I wasn’t kidding about the hug,” Everett said, extending his arms.

Feelings my cheeks warm, I quickly hugged him before he could see me blush. “Thanks for taking care of me tonight, Everett.”

“Anytime,” he said before following Dr. Smitherson to the door. “Let me know when you want to go visit Maddy again, and I’m there. Or when you want to do dinner, in general.”

“Will do,” I nodded, wondering if it was his way of asking me out.

“Oh, which reminds me. Want to join me for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Sure,” I nodded, flattered he’d asked.

“Cool. I’ll see you then,” he replied, opening the door.

“A few things before I leave,” said Dr. Smitherson. “The cafeteria is on the first floor of this building. Food is included in the tuition, so help yourself. Breakfast is served at eight a.m. sharp every morning. As for your schedule, tomorrow, Saturday, is a free day for students to settle in, orientation is on Sunday, and the fall semester commences on Monday. Any questions?”

“Umm… don’t think so,” I sputtered, my head floating.

“Then sweet dreams, my dear. It’s a pleasure to have you at Brightman,” he said with a slight bow.

“And thank you—” I quickly looked behind me to see if my dream room was, in fact, still there. “—for everything.”

“Anything for Evyatar’s daughter. Good night.”

I closed the door and backed up to it, taking in the living room and kitchen. This was all really and truly mine? It hadn’t quite sunk in yet, and I couldn’t shake the suspicion that it was part of some unusually cruel joke and would all be taken away in the morning as a newbie hazing ritual.

I ran into my bedroom and leapt onto the bed, sinking into the plush pillows. My eyes ached for sleep. After locating my face wash and toothbrush in a bathroom cupboard, I was soon ready for bed. Slipping between silky sheets, I breathed in their lilac scent, shivering from the cold glossiness against my legs. Turning off the lights, I lay in the dark, thinking over my day and the days to come.

If Dad were with me, per our tradition, we’d explore together, discovering hidden bookstores, local parks, the perfect coffee shop, the nearest Chinese joint, and the like. My heart sunk. It had always been my favorite part of moving.

Memories ambushed me now, as if they’d been lying in wait all day for this very moment. Taking off the brave face, I let go, allowing myself to feel and fall apart. A pang dully ached through my chest as I thought of home and remembered Dad. The look of his sad eyes again flashed across my mind’s eye. I hated saying goodbye to him earlier in the day. The day had been so long that it seemed like ages since I’d seen him last.

I wondered where he was at that very moment. In Alaska already planning for a day of unpacking? I shook my head, knowing he’d live out of his suitcase for a good month before finally deciding to unpack boxes and move in. But I had to put such things out of my mind. Dad was right. He could care for himself and it was time to focus on myself — on getting a good education and having a little fun along the way, despite it feeling unnatural, selfish and wrong.

Hot tears spilled over my cheeks, and I suddenly felt very alone. Frail. Incompetent. Quarantined in the dark with nothing but my tortured thoughts, I allowed the memories to flood back. I already missed him. My daddy. My best friend. But those days were gone. Living comfortably under his protection and watchful eye was no more. The thought was a scary one. Would I be able to live on my own and take care of myself? Who would I turn to if something bad happened? Who would take care of me?

As if in answer to my questions, more memories inundated me now: Having to remind Dad to take his pills; leading him to bed after finding him asleep in his favorite recliner, an open book dropped on the floor nearby with its pages splayed in the air; cooking dinner for Dad; doing the laundry for Dad; washing the dishes for Dad; and cleaning the house for Dad.

I’d taken care of Dad more than he’d taken care of me! Of course, I still needed his love and support, but I was strong, too — strong enough to manage a household, to weather adverse circumstances, and to care for a father and myself.

Peace washed over me as I accepted the truth: yes, obstacles would come my way during my time at Brightman, but I would be fine, maybe even forming a makeshift family of my own like Gloria had said.

A tell-tale flutter went through me as I dared to even ask. Would Everett be a part of my new extended family? I’d certainly like it if he was. I moaned into a pillow. What was I doing? I’d only been at Brightman a day and already had a crush — and on the most confusing boy I’d ever met, no less.

Happy one minute and brooding the next, Everett boggled me to no end, though then made up for it by his genuine concern for me and the way his transfixing green-pooled eyes communicated feelings I’d never experienced with a boy before. He was gorgeous, but it was more than just physical attraction. I liked his sense of humor, the way he lit up when he smiled at me, and how I got the sense that he completely understood me.

But don’t get ahead of yourself, Sophie. This is just the beginning.

I pondered the thought as sleep slowly took me, and I dreamed… of whom I would be and what I would become.

Chapter 8

Changes

I quietly closed the garage door and tiptoed through the kitchen. The wooden floor creaked loudly.

“Everett? Is that you?”

I cringed. I had hoped Mom was asleep by now. I was tired and not in the mood to talk. “Yeah, it’s me,” I called back, making my way to the large sitting room where she always waited. She looked small and pretty sitting on the couch in her fluffy bathrobe with a blanket draped over her — looking more like a delicate little girl than a petite woman in her forties.

“Rett!” She lit up. “How was your night?”

Sitting beside her, I noticed she’d been crying again. “Fine, I guess.”

She frowned, picking up on my dark mood. “Sooner or later you’re going to have to pep up.”

I pulled the blanket off her folded legs. “You’re one to talk,” I said, grabbing the framed photo I suspected she was hiding there. It was of me and my twin brother Benson, our arms thrown each other’s shoulders, laughing. A long lost happy moment caught in time.

“You know me too well,” she said, her chin quivering.

I suddenly felt ashamed of my harshness. “Ditto,” I said, carefully draping the blanket back over her. It broke my heart to see her like this. She had been through so much.

Her tired green eyes met mine and she leaned forward, stroking my cheek. “My baby.” A single tear fell down her cheek. “Will I ever get my old Rett back?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Mom, I’m too tired for this,” I evaded, ever the escape artist. I’d do anything not to feel — absolutely anything. Besides, my truth would decimate any remnants of her: when Benson disappeared, so did her “old Rett.” I would never be the same again. And how could I after witnessing my twin brother’s brutal beating and kidnapping?

She dropped her hands and fingered the blanket’s fringe. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

It was as if she’d drawn the question out of my mind, the same one that had plagued me for the past three months. Was I ready for this — not only for the mission at hand, but for life in general? Was I ready to return to school? To act normal, as if nothing happened and everything was fine? To face the world alone without my partner in crime?

I often drowned in this depressing meditation. Day in and day out, I struggled to breathe as my heavy thoughts closed in around me. Smothering me. Choking me. Killing me.

“You’ve got to stop doing this to yourself!” Mom came to my aid. “You’ve got to break free from whatever goes through that deep well of a mind.”

“Do what?” I played dumb, feeding into our exhaustive charade, the dodge and weave of Mom trying to get me to open up, but never really succeeding.

“I know you heard me, Rett, and I know where your head’s at when you get that look.”

I turned so she couldn’t see my face. Was I that transparent? That predictable? How was I rated one of the best agents in the agency being that I was so easily read? Perhaps it was confirmation that I had no business accepting missions alone, without Benson’s help.

I could feel the anger building within me. I grimaced, knowing what was coming. Evading it drained me of any strength I’d mustered today. It was only a matter of time before my defenses were down, before I would feel.

Then Mom spoke and the walls came tumbling down. “It’s okay to talk about it… to talk about
him.
”

The familiar pain crept from my stomach to my chest, curdling like toxic smoke. It lingered there for a while, smoldering, aching, stealing my breath away, ever so slowly building into a searing fire and burning me from the inside out. I hated feeling like this, feeling grief. It was no way to live, yet there was no recovering from it. No way out. Would this torture ever end?

Mom continued, her words stoking the fire. “Being angry and thinking about him all the time is part of the grieving process. But there comes a time when you have to move on.”

I turned on her enraged. “There’s nothing to grieve, Mom!” I exploded. “Don’t you see? He’s not dead!”

“Rett!” Her eyes warned me not to go any further.

Closing my eyes, I rocked back and forth like a crazy person, overcome by pain. I wanted to scream but instead bit my lower lip so hard I tasted blood. “I know you and Dad want to move on. I do too,” I slowly said.

“Exactly. It’s time for us all to move on.”

This was killing me, but I couldn’t lie anymore. “No, Mom. What I’m saying is different. I can’t give up on him that easily. I can’t just ‘move on’ and act like nothing bad ever happened. He’s out there somewhere — alive.”

Her queer expression reminded me why I’d never attempted to explain my side of things, why I’d refused to talk about it for the past six months. Her eyes were angry fire and her mouth contorted into an awkward, crooked line. I braced myself.

“What do you think? That I
want
to give up on him? That I want to believe my son is
dead?
” she seethed.

“No, Mom. I don’t,” I quickly retreated.

I knew this would happen. I didn’t want to fight. I didn’t want to make Mom cry. She didn’t understand.

“I can’t stand it either — to live without Benson. To see you crying all the time. To see Dad revert into a recluse. To live with this deep ache inside. To feel dead, as if a crucial part of me is missing.”