Parallel Visions
Authors: Cheryl Rainfield
Parallel Visions: A Teen Psychic Novel
Book One
By award-winning author of SCARS and HUNTED
Cheryl
Rainfield
Published by Rain and Sun Press
Copyright 2012 by Cheryl Rainfield .
PARALLEL VISIONS: A TEEN PSYCHIC NOVEL (Book 1) ISBN: 978-0-9878460-1-3
Published by Rain and Sun Press.
The legal version: All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher and the author, except in the case of brief excerpts in reviews.
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ll enjoy. Thank you!
Edited by Evelyn Fazio.
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Standard Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are use d.
For Jean, who is like a mom to me—loving me and believing in me—and who loves fantasy and magic as much as I do.
And for everyone who finds hope and joy in a good story .
Parallel Visions: A Teen Psychic Novel
Also Available by Cheryl Rainfield
My chest hurts like my ribs are scraping my flesh with every breath, and I can already hear the wheeze. The heavy May air is hot and humid, carrying pollen and air pollution—something most people don ’
t even notice. I can feel it clogging my chest like oatmeal, tightening my throat.
I take a quick puff from my inhaler, praying I won ’
t have an attack—and another vision. I had my first vision when I was three, when I almost died from an asthma attack. Now they come every time I struggle to breathe—little fragments of what could happen, or what already has. It ’
s like being deprived of air woke up something in my brain, something that everyone has but doesn ’
t listen to. Or that ’
s what I tell myself so I feel less like a freak.
I stuff my inhaler in my backpack and try to breathe slower as I walk toward the bleachers, hoping Mr. Taylor won ’
t notice. I ’
m so tired of being the sick kid. I ’
m out so often, some kids think I ’
m new when I do show up. With more than three thousand students, it ’
s easy to become invisible. If Jenna were still in school, she might have let me hang out with her. But she eloped last year.
I walk faster, shaking out my hands, the grass springy under my feet. Jenna shocked everyone when she took off to get married. I think some of the teachers half expect me to do the same thing, just because we ’
re sisters. But Jenna was always looking for someone to take care of her, and she held on tight when she found him.
Out on the track, a boy trips over his own feet and goes sprawling across the asphalt. Gil stops to help, the muscles in his arm flexing as he pulls up the other boy.
I can
’
t stop watching him. Gil is sweet and good to look at, with warm brown eyes, a generous smile, and a strong body. His white T-shirt and shorts highlight his bronze skin. But what I like most is how kind he is. I ’
ve seen him walk a scared little kid across the street, and offer to help a student on crutches. And he ’
s never teased me about my asthma. There ’
s still the odd Neanderthal who has to say something, but not Gil.
I dump my backpack onto the bleachers, run my fingers through my hair, and start toward the track. Kids are already running the circuit, doing laps, making it look easy and effortless. I long to be one of them—to be able to run without having to stop.
Mr. Taylor strides over.
“
You thinking of joining in today, Kate?
”
I breathe in shallowly and smile.
“
Yeah, Mr. Taylor. I ’
m good.
”
He nods. Gil is coming around the track for another lap. I push forward and join him, matching my pace to his, the track firm beneath my feet.
“
Hey.
”
“
Hey.
”
Gil grins at me, sweat glistening on his skin.
“
Isn ’
t it great out here?
”
“
What?
”
I say, trying to keep my breathing easy. My chest tightens.
“
You know—warm sun, bright blue sky, white clouds. Perfecto. Sure beats being stuck in a smelly gym.
”
For most people it does. But at least indoors I ’
m safe, as long as the air conditioning is on and no one smokes, sprays aerosols, or uses heavy chemicals. It ’
s hard for me to see the outdoors as beautiful when it so often messes with my breathing.
But he
’
s right.
“
Yeah, ”
I say.
“
It ’
s nice.
”
“
I wish we had class out here every day.
”
I can hear my wheeze now. Gil must be able to hear it, too. I think even the kid in front of us hears it; he turns to look. I try to suppress the sound, but that just makes me cough.
