Defining Gravity (Defining Gravity Series Book 1) Read online

  Defining Gravity

  Genevieve Mckay

  StonePony Studios

  Copyright©2017 Genevieve Mckay.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  More Books and Resources

  1

  “More punch, Astrid?”

  Thomas Ling’s impeccably chiseled face loomed close, near enough that I could smell the delicious, spicy cologne clinging to his skin.

  The sky behind him had turned a vibrant shade of pink, the sun dipping low toward the horizon in a dreamy, leisurely way that left me feeling as if I’d stepped through a looking glass and into someone else’s spectacular life. A surge of excitement shot through my chest; electricity rippling up my arms as if every nerve ending was awake.

  “Sure,” I said as casually as I could, as if boys handed me drinks all the time. I wiped my damp palms on my dress and arranged myself awkwardly on the grass with my knees to one side, surreptitiously brushing at the bits of grass embedded in my calves.

  His fingers were warm against mine as he handed me my glass half full of red liquid; Mr. Ling’s signature punch. It was a tangy mixture of blood orange and spices his father concocted for every gathering the Ling’s held. And believe me; despite being the most socially inept person on the planet, I’d been forced to attend a lot of Ling parties.

  “Wow, what’s in this?” I said, wincing as I took a sip. My last two drinks hadn’t tasted this strong. The punch burned with a cloying sweetness that coated my tongue and made my nose tingle.

  Thomas laughed quietly, tossing his head back so a thick lock of black hair fell across his forehead. I wanted to reach out and touch it, smooth it back into place. “Sorry about that, this batch might be a little stronger than the last one. Quinton just added a little more fun, that’s all.”

  “Oh,” I said, awareness dawning. This was more than Mr. Ling’s signature punch. Had the other drinks been spiked, too? My father would kill me if he found out I’d even so much as tasted alcohol, even by accident.

  Thomas winked and laughed again. “You’re one of us now, Astrid. Welcome to the dark side, but don’t tell my parents, right?”

  “Right,” I said slowly, setting the glass down on the grass beside me. I wondered how I’d know if I was already drunk. “Of course.”

  I looked up into his shining eyes and felt my anxiety melt away. I’d loved Thomas since childhood with an irrational, burning passion that couldn’t be extinguished despite the obvious fact he barely knew I existed. I went to Sacred Heart Academy with him and his sister Susan, but that was where our similarities ended.

  Thomas was older than me; he’d graduated last week and was off to University in the fall. He was practically a god at Sacred Heart, and I was the kid who ate lunch alone in the library every single day, and whose father sent her to a so-called “health spa” every year instead of summer camp. The only reason Thomas knew my name was that his father worked for WorldCor, my dad’s exploratory mining and development company, so I’d been a mandatory invite to every party the Ling kids had ever thrown.

  Tonight, though, things seemed to finally be falling into place. I had optimistically worn one of the dresses my step-mother Marion always tried to foist on me and my unruly black curls were actually behaving for once. The full-piece bathing suit I’d worn underneath, just in case I felt brave enough to swim, squashed all my curves into just the right shape for my dress to cling to.

  “I’m glad you came, Astrid,” Thomas said, his eyes never leaving mine. “You look beautiful.”

  My intelligent reply died an instant, happy death. I smiled idiotically, a warm glow radiating out from my belly until I was practically on fire. Thomas Ling just said you were beautiful! I grabbed my glass and took a nervous gulp just to have something to do with my hands. The liquid flowed smooth down my throat like warm honey.

  “Well, enjoy the party,” Thomas said after a long, embarrassing pause where I just stared dreamily at his perfect lips. With a wink, he sauntered off to mingle with the other guests.

  “Oh, there you are.” Miranda flopped down on the grass beside me, looking frazzled and uncomfortable, red hair falling loose from its braid. Crowds weren’t really her thing and she’d only come because I’d begged. “I was looking all over for you.”

  “Here I am,” I said happily. “Isn’t this the best party?” I slipped my sweaty sandals off and pushed my toes in the lush, cool grass.

  Miranda raised her eyebrows and shrugged. “I suppose if you like this sort of thing. Was that Susan’s brother talking to you?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It was Thom-as Ling.” Even his name was beautiful, each drawn-out syllable full of promise. I hugged my knees to my chest in delight, thinking of his fingers brushing mine when he’d handed me the cup.

  Miranda peered into my face and frowned. “Are you okay, Astrid? You look kind of funny. You know he was just being polite, right? There’s no way he actually like likes you.”

  The bubble of happiness surrounding me didn’t burst; it deflated slowly like a leaky balloon, leaving me shivering despite the warm air.

  I tugged the hem of my dress down to cover my too-thick thighs and struggled to find some good thoughts. The counsellors at Windy Shores, the high priced fat-camp my father sent me to once or twice a year, were always going on about emphasizing the good and ignoring the bad. But that was much easier to do in the safety of my own room when there weren’t other people around.

  Miranda stared at me, her green eyes wide with concern. “Don’t be upset, Astrid. I didn’t mean to be rude. You look great, really, but you have to admit you’re no cheerleader. Thomas is way, way out of your league.”

  “Of course, I know that,” I said quickly. I bared my teeth in a painful smile to show her I was fine. “I’m just not his type.”

  “Good. Because you know I love you no matter what you look like. You’re really smart and you have such a great personality. You just need to be realistic.”

  I willed myself not to be offended. Miranda and I had been friends for years, ever since she’d come to Sacred Heart on scholarship and we’d started on the archery team together. We’d gone to the BC Winter Games last year and had both medaled; I took Gold and she had the Silver. We each had our future Olympic careers mapped out. Miranda had a reputation for being blunt and bull-headed; not many of the other kids on our team liked her. But I knew she had a soft heart underneath.

  “Come on,” Miranda said, throwing an arm over my
shoulders, “let’s go for a walk and clear your head of all things Ling.”

  “Sure, I guess.” I clambered to my feet, stumbling a little as I tottered upright. All those glasses of punch, whether they’d been spiked or not, now sat heavy in my gut; my stomach gurgled ominously and I took a deep breath to calm it. I set my half-finished glass next to my purse and discarded sandals and followed Miranda barefoot over the thick carpet of grass toward the lake.

  The Ling’s weekend house was a huge modern mansion, bristling with metal and glass, overlooking a secluded edge of Horne Lake. The first thing they’d done when they’d bought the property was to take out the scrubby pines and dense underbrush and replace it with a flawless carpet of green that went right down to the edge of the water. There, they’d left a few gnarled old cedar trees and it was from one of these that a group of boys were taking turns swinging far out over the lake suspended from a long rope.

  One of them grasped the thick line in both hands and, without hesitating, leapt into the air, cutting through the sky like an arrow, head thrown back and toes nearly skimming the water. His arms strained against the rope; shirtless, suntanned body riding a steady arc that seemed to go on forever. He reached the end of his sweep and hung there suspended, silhouetted against the sunset like a beautiful painting, before flying rapidly toward the shore and dismounting perfectly with a light spring to the ground.

  I sighed, suddenly full of an inexplicable longing to be anyone rather than myself. That boy looked so comfortable in his own skin, like he didn’t have a care in the world and was exactly where he belonged. I wanted that feeling more than anything, for my fat, clumsy body to rise free, effortlessly from the earth.

  “I wish that was me up there,” I spoke out loud without thinking.

  “What, with Robert?” Miranda said scathingly. “Isn’t he that weird Mexican kid who used to eat his pencils?”

  “No,” I said, embarrassed. “Not with him. I mean, to be so free and sort of, well, beautiful, like that.”

  Miranda shot me a strange look. “Robert’s not beautiful,” she snorted. “You don’t really want to swing on that dirty rope. Everyone would be watching you and you’d probably fall off. You’re not exactly coordinated.”

  I turned slowly to stare at Miranda as if I were seeing her for the first time. Unfamiliar anger blossomed in my chest. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the memory of the few moments of giddy happiness I’d felt earlier, but suddenly it was like someone else took over my body. Before I could change my mind, I turned away from her and marched toward the lake.

  “Astrid, what are you doing?”

  I barely heard Miranda’s warning voice, my bare feet practically moved of their own accord across the cool grass. I almost couldn’t believe this was me, walking boldly up to a group of shirtless boys; strangers most of them. Something wild and reckless had taken hold of me.

  “Could I try, please?”

  The boys looked up one by one, eyes skimming expertly over my extra curves, assessing and dismissing in a split second. The boy who’d just finished swinging, Robert, raised a questioning eyebrow and tossed his hair out of his eyes. Then Quinton Anderson, one of Thomas’s teammates from the Sacred Heart lacrosse team, quirked his winning smile at me.

  “Sure thing, short stuff, if you think you can handle it. You brought your bathing suit?”

  “Yes,” I said, fumbling at my dress strap and glad Miranda and I had worn our suits underneath our clothes just in case anyone miraculously invited us to swim.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Miranda said firmly, reaching my side and glaring at the circle of boys. “You’re not thinking straight, Astrid. I’m calling my mom and we’re going home right now. We have archery practice first thing in the morning and the tournament on Sunday.”

  An uneasy twinge shot through my belly. The sun was fading fast and I did have to be at the range early. What was I doing here with all these strange boys who were probably laughing behind my back?

  “Chill out, Granny,” Quinton said to Miranda with an unpleasant smirk. “If Fat Camp wants to swing then she gets to swing.”

  I froze, the hated nickname hung suspended in the air between us, sharp and ugly. Nobody ever called me that to my face. Ever. It was always half-hidden, a name buried in whispered laughter following me down the hall.

  “Dude.” Someone coughed. “Not cool.”

  “Right. Sorry, uh, Astrid, right? That just slipped out. You know we’re kidding anyway. You still want to swing?”

  I want to melt into the ground, I want to be pretty, I want to not be an awkward cow. I just nodded and said, “Yes, I want to swing.”

  Miranda shook her head. “I don’t believe this.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine. One swing and then we go. But you keep your clothes on.”

  Someone pushed the thick rope between my fingers. I looked down to where the sharp twisted fibres bit into my skin, not sure what to do next. Quinton stepped up beside me, leaning in so close I could feel his breath on my cheek.

  “Okay, let’s show you how to do this.”

  Suddenly, I was excited again; thinking only about flying.

  “It’s easy. Put your foot in the loop and hold on tight with both hands. You have three swings out over the lake before you have to jump off or you’ll land in the water. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said breathlessly, a flicker of fear twisting in my belly. My foot fit perfectly into the loop, the sharp fibres, worn smooth with use, were soft against my bare skin.

  “Then, go. And watch out for the tree.”

  Quinton gave the soft spot between my shoulder blades a shove and I sailed out over the lake, wind whipping through my hair and my heart thudding a million miles a minute.

  Fear was replaced with exhilaration. It wasn’t anything like flying in an airplane; instead, I was a bird, lifted high above the world so nothing could touch me. The feeling was almost as good as shooting; that perfect, still moment when I anchored my bow string tight against my cheekbone and time slowed down until there was nothing else in the world but me, my breathing, and the target.

  The rope reached the end of its arc and gravity took over, pulling me backwards with electrifying speed until I hung suspended over the group on the shore, their upturned faces indistinct in the growing dusk. I closed my eyes, leaning way back to abandon myself to the rush of speed taking over again.

  On the second swing, I opened my eyes. I didn’t want my turn to end, but Quinton had said I had exactly three swings before I had to stop. I wouldn’t make a fool of myself by landing in a heap at his feet or anything. I turned to face the shore and just then, the rope made a soft popping noise and sort of stretched between my fingers as if the woven fibres were unraveling from the inside. My heart gave a lurch of fear, but I tightened my grip and focused on the shore. I was almost there.

  “Look out!” Someone yelled from the bank.

  I glanced up to see one strand of the yellow rope above my head spinning in the air, unwinding faster and faster toward my hands. I twisted in an effort to hold on and that’s when the tree came up to meet me. There was no way to avoid it. I hunched sideways and crashed into the rough bark shoulder-first, the impact jarring my whole body and making me cry out. I still didn’t let go of the rope, so I was far out over the water when the fraying strands finally broke and I plummeted into the lake.

  I hit the water like a cannon ball and plunged straight to the shallow bottom where I lay half-buried in muck. I held my breath and stared up at the shimmering surface of the shallow lake, stained pink by the sunset, wondering if anyone would notice if I just stayed down there forever.

  The water churned and rough hands grabbed at my arms, fingers digging deep into my skin. There was a wrenching, popping feeling in my shoulder and I cried out, inhaling buckets of murky water.

  I kicked wildly, but the hands didn’t let go. They dragged me out of the water and dumped me, choking and crying and clutching my shoulder, onto the soggy bank.

/>   “Are you okay?” voices asked all around me. “Should we call the ambulance?”

  I could hear Thomas calmly ordering everyone to stand back and give me room.

  Quinton’s face hovered next to me. “Do you need me to give you mouth to mouth, Astrid?”

  There was laughter in his voice. I was supposed to say something witty, but instead I heaved and puked up a stomach full of punch and dirty lake water right on his bare feet.

  “Awesome!” Someone laughed. “I got that on video. Nice one, Astrid.”

  I rolled over on the grass, closing my eyes and trying to stay as still as possible. Everything hurt: my whole right side where I hit the tree, my burning lungs and throat, my hands from where the rope had burned them. I felt like I’d been run over by a bus.

  “Look at her,” someone whispered loudly. “Fat Camp snapped the rope right in half.”

  “Shh,” a girl’s voice cautioned, “that’s not nice.”

  I stopped breathing in my effort to disappear. How ridiculous did I look lying there in a muddy heap with my hair plastered across my face and my sodden dress hiked up around my thighs? I could practically hear the pictures of my miserable-self flying, right then, from phone to phone, from party to party, school to school until the whole world saw me exposed and there’d be nowhere to hide.

  “Astrid?” Thomas whispered. I cracked open an eye to see his beautiful face looming over me. There was genuine concern in his eyes but something else too; maybe anger. He draped a blanket carefully over my shoulders, his fingers lightly brushing across my skin. “Don’t move. We’ve called the ambulance. You’re going to be fine.”