ExtraNormal

EXTRA
NORMAL

Book One of a YA Paranormal Romance

by Suze Reese

Where the ties that bind can be deadly.

Dedicated to my family—especially my ever-wonderful husband—and friends who encouraged me when I thought I couldn’t, particularly my spectacular book group ladies.

ISBN: (eBook) 9780985133511

Copyright 2012 Suze Reese

www.suzereese.com

Publisher: Valarian Press

www.valarianpress.com

Cover Design: Eve Ventrue

www.eve-ventrue.weebly.com

Editor: Kimi Farley

License Notes: This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away. Any such use is stealing and invites bad karma. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it please purchase a copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work.

This is a work of fiction and is based entirely on the author’s imagination. The author acknowledges the trademarked status of various products referenced in this work of fiction and has made every effort to respect those trademarks.

CHAPTER ONE

It took getting wedged between two males in the choir room door to fully appreciate the million or so rules I’d had to agree to in order to attend Los Robles High. At least half of those were different ways of saying the same thing: NO MALES.

No talking to males. No flirting with males. No touching males. No looking at males. Well, I guess looking was allowed. But no staring at males. Definitely no staring.

Keddil, my trainer, had warned me about primitive human male pheromones. Repeatedly. I’d thought he was just exaggerating to make sure I kept my distance. Which I would
definitely
be doing from now on.

 I gasped, which filled my mouth with the most offensive odor I’d ever encountered. My eyes started to water. I wriggled forward until my shoulders were released and I could lunge out of the way.

I paused so the haze in my head could clear, but I was still too close. Several females were gathering on the far side of the room. I hurried there and took long strides up the risers to a chair at the top. I plopped myself into the hard seat with a resigned sigh. The day was becoming increasingly problematic. And considering how poorly it had started, I would have thought that was impossible.

A female sat beside me and smiled, displaying a jumble of metal and pink bands on her teeth. I smiled back, but didn’t want to stare, so I turned my attention to the odd parade of bodies entering the room: hair colors and skin tone by the dozens. Spots on one: I think they are called freckles. Wounds on another…
blemishes
. No,
pimples
.

 Maybe
zits
.

It was the most beautiful display of diversity I’d ever seen. Even with their flaws, every single human had something distinctive, something that made them who they were. I would have killed for that.

Pink Teeth asked my name and I started to answer. But at the same time a male entered wearing shoes I recognized. And a flutter of nerves erupted in my stomach. The shoes stopped in the entryway. Nothing spectacular about them—just two strips of fabric attached to a slab of rubber—
sandals
? But I was absolutely certain they were the same pair that had triggered a near-panic attack this morning when I stepped out of the school office.

My anxiety had been mounting all morning. First I’d had to walk along strange and unfamiliar roads to this new school all by myself. When I got here I discovered that the campus was not only crawling with humans—very smelly humans—but it was unbelievably humongous.

It took forever just to find the office—all while navigating what felt like hundreds of crowded and sprawling walkways, trying to keep my head down, and not getting within five feet of any humans.

Then when I finally did find the office, I had to converse with an actual human adult.

My pulse was racing. My palms sweating. I told the female in the office my name, absolutely certain she was going to call me out as a fraud. But she just handed me a schedule I didn’t understand, along with a series of instructions for lockers, photographs, yearbooks and lunches. All of it completely foreign and bizarre.

My head was reeling when I stepped out of that office into the bright sunlight—and spied those sandals pointing in my direction. Students were rushing past and around the male wearing them—hurrying to their new classes. Bumping into him. But he held fast to his spot on the walkway, facing me. I hadn’t dared look up at his face, but was certain that if I had he would have been staring.

I stood frozen—worried that the scratchy outfit the agency chose for me was wrong. Or my hair was styled incorrectly. Maybe my eyes were an unnatural shade of brown. And that’s when I’d almost bolted for the sidewalk, to the strange housing structure I was supposed to call home. Abandoning the assignment completely.

The boy moved on, though, before I’d done anything rash.

And now here he was again, holding steady to his place in the doorway, with students pushing and rushing around him. My pulse was racing once again. My head spinning. My stomach churning. A full-blown-for-real-this-time anxiety attack was a definite possibility. Since I was penned in the center of a row of chairs, I would have to act like a crazed animal to get out.

This would not be pretty. I think they would call it freaking out. Which I believe is the exact opposite of blending in.

With my gaze fixed on those sandals, I rubbed my thighs with my sweaty hands, took several deep calming breaths, and dared myself to look up at his face.

And decided it was a definite shame I hadn’t looked up this morning.

A face like this one should be stared at long…and hard…and often.

 CHAPTER TWO

The male was looking directly at me. Just as I’d imagined. But when I met his gaze I felt more curiosity and wonder than anything else.

I quickly looked away and shifted in my seat so that I was hidden from his view. My mouth hung open. I turned my head ever-so-slightly towards Pink Teeth to ask about the male, or just acknowledge his presence. That’s when I realized I still hadn’t answered her question. But I was literally speechless.

I shifted in my seat so that I was still blocked from the male’s view but could keep him in my line of sight. Not that I was staring of course. Just glancing in his direction frequently.

Long and lean with ropes of muscle on his arms, he moved effortlessly—not with the awkward gait of the others. His shimmering black hair hung straight, well past his ears—a look that shouldn’t have been considered attractive. Certainly nothing that should take your breath away.

I glanced again at Pink Teeth, hoping to learn the male’s name, but an abrupt musical chord pulled my attention to the front of the room. The rotund teacher—my schedule listed him as Mr. Chavez—had slammed his fingers onto the keyboard of a gigantic musical instrument, a
piano
. His booming voice bounced around the room, trailing the echo of the chord.

I pretended to listen, but my gaze involuntarily drifted back to the second row where the male had turned to the person next to him. His white-toothed smile lit up the room. His azure-blue eyes danced. When he turned his attention back to Mr. Chavez, I was almost surprised to discover that I was still seated rather than melted onto the floor.

Yesterday was the first time I’d seen an eye any color other than brown. This minute was the first I’d seen eyes a shade that rivaled the legendary Seas of Hireeno for their brilliance.

Mr. Chavez played another chord. “La-la-la-la-la,” he sang, cuing the choir to sing along. Up a step. “La-la-la-la-la.”

I half-heartedly participated, engrossed with watching the male’s laryngeal prominence move up and down on his throat. Except the bump was called something odd, an
Adam’s apple?

He sat like real a musician: back straight, feet flat, chin relaxed, as if he cared about the music. Silken black strands of hair floated around his head in almost imperceptible movements. As if each one was an ethereal dancer sensing the rhythm.

I blinked and gave my head a slight shake. Raised in a scientific and logic-based household, I was not inclined to imagine fantastical things like ethereal dancers. But there it was. I just had.

“I want to work with the guys for a minute,” Mr. Chavez said, turning his attention to the center section of the room.

I fingered the textile bracelet on my wrist. My best friend Geery and I had exchanged them before I left. At the time we’d both acted like it was kind of a joke—a tacky piece of Earth jewelry to commemorate my adventure. But right now the thin thread felt like a lifeline to home.

With Mr. Chavez distracted, I closed my eyes and pictured Geery. Like I always did when I saw something interesting. Or when I thought of her. Or felt especially alone.

Which lately meant pretty much every second of every day.

An electromagnetic communication stream shot out from my head with its usual energy, but quickly floundered and dropped. Just like it had with every other attempt in the last forever.

I glanced self-consciously to my right and my left, even though I knew perfectly well this was a stream that could not be seen. Pink Teeth appeared to have given up on conversing with me. I closed my eyes and tried again.

I missed Geery so much I could hardly bear it. Our last conversation had been just before I went through the worm hole: a swirling circle of light I’d traveled through three days earlier while strapped into the seat of a magna-transport. It should have been exhilarating. The very thought of a teenager going on this mission was astounding. That I was that teenager was incomprehensible.

But I’d been terrified. Simply terrified.

At that moment, the stream came to life as if it were excited by the image I’d just had of the worm hole. I jumped slightly, then sat up straight and concentrated on keeping my face natural while mentally pushing the stream onward—the way I’d been doing for days. But this time with the new destination of the worm hole in mind instead of Geery’s face.

Eventually, the stream came to a halt. I was fairly certain it had literally reached the worm hole. I mentally pushed harder, trying to keep my breathing steady, while encouraging it through the center of the magnificent swirling lights. After a time, I sensed the stream release from a force pushing against it. But instead of moving forward as I’d hoped, it floundered once again. I scrambled, my eyes squeezed tight, focusing my energy on it, afraid that it would drop back down and I’d be right back where I’d started.

Since imagining the worm hole seemed to have worked, I formed a picture of the planet Nreim. And sure enough the stream continued on its way. I gave it some time to travel, then pictured Geery. By now it was almost impossible to keep my enthusiasm from showing. I glanced to the side, to make sure Pink Teeth wasn’t watching. I could sense her curiosity, but she wasn’t downright staring, so I pushed ahead.

I knew the image of Geery that I was formulating would have to be pretty accurate for the stream to lock onto its target from this distance. At this time of day, Geery was probably lying on her bed doing her homework, her nutmeg hair spread out in a circle around her head. The rest of the image was more difficult. The only thing I knew for certain about the current condition of her room was that the bed was the only piece of furniture in it, and that the walls would appear their true solid white without the benefit of being there with my UNID to view Geery’s choices of the day for colors, memory displays, and background music. Most bedrooms were fairly predictable. But with Geery, anything was possible. I chose the most likely combination—

Geery’s voice suddenly came into my head.

I exhaled with relief. I streamed breathlessly.

Her voice was casual as ever. Like we’d just picked up on a conversation from earlier in the day.

I admitted.

I breathed, trying to keep my tone from revealing how true that really was. I hated feeling so vulnerable. is
good to hear your voice.>

Geery asked. amazing
?>

I smiled, remembering the class I’d just come from—which had been completely anti-climactic, considering the infamy of the teacher. I streamed.