Ungifted

by Kelly Oram

Also by Kelly Oram

Being Jamie Baker

More Than Jamie Baker

Serial Hottie

V is for Virgin

The Avery Shaw Experiment

Chameleon (Supernaturals #1)

Published by Bluefields Creative

Copyright © 2013 by Kelly Oram

Edited by Jennifer Henkes
(www.literallyjen.com)

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

ISBN 978-0-9914579-0-8

For Joshua

“And that’s why Alan St. Claire
is the man to vote for in this election.” Luke Williams looked down from the podium, scanning the audience until his eyes found mine. He smirked as he added, “It’s just too bad his daughter is such a
disgrace
to the family name.”

The principal shooed Luke off the stage with a disapproving look, but the whole auditorium still erupted into laughter.

“I knew I should have skipped school today,” I whispered to Cynthia, my best friend.

The presidential election was coming up soon, and here in Washington, D.C., high schools like to get a little caught up in the race. Atherton Prep Academy was the worst of them all, and today was the school debate. Because of my dad, I’d been given the honor of kicking off the mock election with the first vote and asked to give my own personal insight into this year’s candidates.

Unfortunately, Luke was right about me. I don’t exactly take after my father. I’m not so good with being the center of attention, and I’m even worse with having the attention of my classmates—mainly because they all despise me.

“Could be worse,” Cynthia whispered back. “The crowd could be chanting your nickname right now.”

“Give them time,” I said grimly. “I’m not on stage yet.”

“So, win the election and start dating a rock star. That’ll shut ’em up. Kyle Hamilton will be coming to D.C. on tour soon, and I hear he has a thing for sweet, young virgins.”

“Could you imagine?” I laughed at the thought of me dating a rock star and smiled at my best friend.

Cynthia was officially the only person in the world who genuinely cared about me. She stood by my side no matter how much I was tormented, even though she was popular, athletic, and beautiful. She always stuck up for me and never let the crap I had to deal with get me down. She refused to let me sulk, and I loved her for that.

I squeezed her hand. “If Dad wins, I’m so taking you for a ride on Air Force One.”

“And now,” Principal Epps announced, shooting an overly enthusiastic smile in my direction, “it will be our rare privilege to get an insider’s perspective into this election before we cast our votes. Let’s give a respectful round of applause for Grace St. Claire.”

The crowd erupted into wild cheers, making Principal Epps beam with pride. I guess he missed the sarcasm and mockery in the whistles and catcalls.

Cynthia nudged me. “I already scanned the rafters for pig blood, so just don’t trip on the stairs and you’ll be fine,” she teased as I stood up.

I took Cynthia’s advice literally and carefully made my way onto the stage since I’m not exactly good with stairs, either. I made it all the way to the podium in the center of the stage before I heard Cynthia scream my name and someone else shout “Look out!”

I was tackled and knocked aside just in time to not be squashed to death by a giant stage light that had chosen that particular moment to come crashing down from the ceiling. When I opened my eyes to see who my rescuer was, I wasn’t the least bit surprised to see a pair of fierce blue eyes.

Of course it was Ethan Dunn. Who else in the entire school could I have been more humiliated in front of? In the six years I’ve been attending Atherton Prep Academy, Ethan has come to my rescue more times than Lancelot probably saved Guinevere. Whenever I fall, he’s there to help me up. If someone’s taking my stuff or calling me my wonderful nickname, he’s telling them to stop.

Once he even offered to be my partner in health class. It was that project where we had to take the eggs home as if they were our babies. No one wanted to be my fake husband because they all assumed I’d kill our child. As it turned out, I did kill our baby. Four times. I set a new school record.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice still shaking from fear.

“Just stay down for a minute,” Ethan whispered. His intensity confused me. He looked really angry for some reason. Murderous, even. “I mean it, Grace. Don’t move!”

Ethan jumped up off me and started scanning the crowd as if he expected to find an attacker in the audience. It was just my luck, too, really. Newton seemed to have written his laws with me in mind, because everything bad that can happen always does when I’m involved.

Ignoring Ethan’s warning, I picked myself up and turned to face my hysterical principal. When I saw the mess on the stage and realized that the hole in the floor had almost been me, I had to admit that Ethan had literally just saved my life. That light really would have killed me. I instinctively took a step back from the sight, and, in true Gracie St. Claire fashion, stepped right off the front of the stage, crashing backward into the orchestra pit below me.

This time when I opened my eyes, lying on my back amidst the empty chairs and music stands, I looked up into the amused face of my best friend. “Do you ever find it ironic that your name is Grace?” she asked.

“Shut up!” I scolded, but I was laughing, too. “Not all of us can be as naturally coordinated as you.”

“True, but most people can at least walk without tripping over their own feet. Or, you know, backing off a stage.”

I rolled my eyes and cocked my head to the side, listening. Sure enough, the whole student body was now, in fact, chanting my oh-so-wonderful nickname as if they were at a sporting event and I were the home team.
“Dis-grace! Dis-grace! Dis-grace!”

“I told you they just needed time.”

Cynthia laughed and helped me to my feet.

I couldn’t stop the groan that escaped me. I’d fallen so hard this time that every part of my body hurt. I gasped when I put weight on my right foot. “Oh, man.”

“How bad?”

“Bad. I don’t think I can walk.”

Cynthia pulled my arm over her shoulders. “Look at the bright side,” she said as she helped me hobble into a chair. “This uptight school doesn’t allow cell phones, so you won’t be the next YouTube sensation.”

Thank heaven for small miracles.

“Grace, you okay?” Ethan had finally caught up to me.

I sighed. “I’m fine.”

Pathetic. That’s what Ethan thought of me.

“Your ankle is already black and blue,” Ethan argued.

“She can’t walk on it,” Cynthia said. “It might be broken this time.”

I glared at Cynthia. Stupid traitor. She knows I hate it every time Ethan plays the white knight to my damsel in distress, but she’s got this crazy, romantic notion that he does it because he’s secretly in love with me. I’m pretty sure it’s more a case of pity.

“All right,” he said, grinning at me. “Let’s take a look.”

Ethan took my foot into his lap and gently pulled off my shoe. It hurt so badly I almost cried out. “Yup, definitely broken,” he said, examining the amount of swelling already present.

“Everyone okay down there?” Principal Epps shouted down from the stage. He looked as if he were two breaths away from a major panic attack. Considering his building just tried to off one of his most high profile students, I couldn’t blame him.

“Her ankle’s broken,” Ethan replied, causing all the blood to drain from Principal Epps’s face. “Don’t worry; I’ll get her to the nurse.” Without warning he scooped me into his arms, taking care to jostle my foot as little as possible.

“Yes, yes, thank you, Mr. Dunn. I’ll catch up as soon as I can.”

Mr. Epps apologized to me and then turned back to the faculty, spouting orders to “get students back to their classrooms” and for someone to “figure out what happened with the fallen stage light.”

“You sure you’re okay, Gracie?” Cynthia asked, her eyes sparkling with delight because of the way I was cradled in Ethan’s arms.

“She’ll be fine, Cynthia,” Ethan answered for me. “I’ll take care of her.”

Cynthia’s eyes got so big that I blushed. “I’ll text you later!” I called to Cynthia over Ethan’s shoulder as he carted me off to the nurse’s office.

. . . . .

It was a long walk from the auditorium to the nurse’s office. Atherton is this way exclusive prep school in Washington, D.C., for what they call “high profile” kids. The rich and famous, basically—kids who need a little privacy or a little extra security. I’m not sure who Ethan’s parents are to have gotten him sentenced to this hellhole, but my dad transferred me here from public school when he became the senator of Virginia.

It’s supposed to be this amazing, glamorous, ritzy school, and it is—state-of-the-art everything—but if you ask me, it’s more like a crazy combination of the scariest Catholic school you can imagine and prison. I’m not kidding; the crusty old nuns and the secret service-looking bodyguards work together to make it the least fun place in existence.