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  BLOOM

  by A.P. Kensey

  This book and parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual persons, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Cover by TJ Wright

  neechmonkey.carbonmade.com

  BLOOM Copyright © 2012 by A.P. Kensey

  DEDICATION

  For every person who can tell the difference

  between reality and imagination

  and still prefers the latter.

  1

  Haven Kincaid won a spelling bee when she was seven, a math tournament when she was twelve, and nothing else until the day she turned sixteen. Her parents thought their daughter would be happy to learn she had “won” the right to stay out until ten o’clock on a school night. It was a sign of trust, they said, since they were both so knowledgeable about what teenagers did and they were certain their little Haven never got into anything that would make them blush in front of a crowd.

  Now, a few months shy of eighteen, Haven spent most of her days wishing she had an apartment of her own so she could make the rules. Ever since her dad got his new job a year ago and moved the whole family from Flagstaff to Scottsdale, Arizona, she felt like she didn’t belong at home, at school, or anywhere else.

  Haven left behind a handful of friends that she had known ever since grade school—girls she was planning on graduating with and rooming with at college. Moving across the state was bad enough, but to do it right before her last year in high school was the absolute worst.

  Her family’s new home in Scottsdale was nice enough. It had two stories, which Haven always wanted, and was on a quiet street not too far from the downtown area. There was a small movie theater next to a smelly bowling alley not too far away, and she heard rumors that someone was building a miniature golf course.

  Whoopee.

  Haven was at least thankful that she no longer had to share a room with her little brother, Noah, and that the new yard was a lot bigger than the old one—but she was still more than two hours away from her friends in Flagstaff. Those two hours could just as easily have been two weeks since Haven didn’t have a car and there was no way her friends were going to drive all the way down to Scottsdale just to hang out at a smelly bowling alley.

  If she had more than one close friend at her new school, she probably would have been happy. But Kayla Robertson, her closest, could only stay out until eight-thirty. Haven wouldn’t have her own car until her eighteenth birthday (when she was expecting to inherit her mom’s old junker once her dad “surprised” her mom with a new luxury model on their twentieth wedding anniversary), so her curfew may as well have been eight-thirty, too. Haven suspected her parents knew all of those things already and that extending her curfew to ten o’clock had been more of an attempt to distract her than anything else.

  Things hadn’t exactly been rosy around the Kincaid house for the past week. Haven was disrupting her classes at school out of boredom—nothing serious, but she had been sent to the principal’s office several times for making rude comments in the middle of lessons—and she was caught drawing a lopsided heart on the gymnasium wall with a permanent marker. She was trying to write a name inside of the heart before Coach Lawford saw what she was doing and took away the marker, but she only managed to spell out J-A-S.

  Up until then, Principal Rivera had only given her warnings for disrupting class, but said Haven was on a “slippery slope” and called her parents after the incident in the gym. They scheduled a meeting for later in the week—a face-to-face meeting—that Haven would be forced to attend.

  School had just always been so easy. Haven couldn’t remember the last time she needed to study for a test. Her mother had tried to force her into college-level Advanced Placement courses before the start of her senior year, but it was just another act of rebellion to opt for classes she could ace in her sleep. Even with the lighter caseload, she still received perfect marks in every subject (including history, which she hated) and was only behind Mary Corbin in unweighted grade-point-average out of all the students in her senior class. Kayla would get upset about how smart Haven was until she needed help with homework, then it was all smiles and compliments until the work was finished.

  Just to show everyone she didn’t care about school or rules or anything else, Haven spent all of her time moping around the house and being generally dismissive to those who tried to be nice. She wasn’t sure if it was working and became even more angry when she realized it wasn’t cheering herself up at all.

  The one person she couldn’t be mean to was Noah, her little brother—he was only four years old, after all. What did a little kid know about anything, especially how people acted once they started turning into adults? She would try to teach him the truth one day soon—that life was nothing more than one big lump of unfair goop—just so he wasn’t blindsided by idiocy later in life.

  Haven’s room was small but had two windows since it was in a corner of the house. She and Noah had the two bedrooms on the second floor of their two-story home, and her parents had the largest bedroom—downstairs next to the den. The stairs were well-carpeted—enough so that when she was very careful, Haven could sneak up and down in the middle of the night without making a sound. She did that often to raid the fridge for ice cream whenever she couldn’t fall asleep. Opening the silverware drawer was another story. It squeaked loudly unless it was opened at a snail’s pace.

  On one of those sleepless nights, Haven stopped by the door to Noah’s room and watched him sleep. He was still young enough to need a night-light and the soft glow cast long shadows over the toys scattered across his cluttered floor. He hugged his favorite blue blanket close to his chest while he slept.

  Haven stood there watching her brother’s small chest rise up and down with his breathing. She wondered if he was going to have to suffer through all of the same things she was suffering through—confusion about the future, especially. All of the adults at school continuously stressed how important it was for her to know what she wanted to do for the rest of her life before she graduated high school—that she should have known even earlier if possible. How else would she decide what college she wanted to attend or the field of study she wanted to pursue? Haven knew she didn’t want to live in Arizona forever, but she also had no clue where she might want go.

  It made her head hurt to think of all those things at once. Haven closed her eyes when she felt pressure building behind her forehead and thought of a green meadow bathed in warm sunlight. It was an imaginary place she would envision whenever she felt a migraine fast approaching.

  The meadow was surrounded by a ring of tall trees. Small lights floated around the branches; they moved in different directions and at varying speeds as if each one had a mind of its own. Haven was never able to figure out what the lights were, so after a while she stopped trying. They made her smile, which, in the meadow, was the only thing that mattered.

  She imagined herself lying down in the soft grass and looking up at the blue sky, her reddish brown hair fanned out on the ground above her head. The clouds were light pink and formed funny shapes as they drifted high above. One of them shifted into the shape of a bird and floated gently down to the meadow. Haven smiled and the cloud dropped lower until it hovered right above her. She reached up and ran her hand through the pink fluff. It moved between her fingers and trailed after them when she pulled her hand back.

  In the field, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  When
she opened them again, she was standing in front of the door to Noah’s room. He still slept soundly in his bed. She had only asked once why her parents chose to have another child so long after having her, but they simply said it felt like the right thing to do at the time.

  Haven sighed and walked quietly down the stairs, her feet padding into the carpet with each step. She crept into the kitchen and stepped softly to the silverware drawer, her bare feet making slight sticking noises as they peeled off the hard linoleum floor.

  She grabbed the metal handle on the drawer and started to pull it out as quietly as she could. When the drawer was halfway open, a small bubble of blue light formed just below the first knuckle of her index finger—it looked as if she was wearing one of her mother’s gaudy costume rings. Haven watched as the glowing bubble moved slowly down to her fingernail. She let go of the drawer handle right before the small sphere of light exploded like a tiny firework and SLAMMED the silverware drawer back into place. The metal utensils inside jumped and clattered loudly in the plastic drawer organizer.

  Haven covered her mouth with both hands and looked quickly over at her parents’ room. She held her breath so she could hear if they were getting out of bed. After a few moments of absolute silence, she relaxed and the muscles in her shoulders loosened.

  It was the second time blue light had grown from her hand. The first time there was no explosion, just a flickering of flame—as if she were holding an invisible lighter in her open palm—that quickly faded away into nothingness. It happened over a month ago, also very late at night. She wanted to talk to her friend Kayla about it, since Haven was sure her own parents would think she was lying. She even thought she might have imagined the whole thing. Haven tried to tell herself she had merely been drifting into a dream that seemed more real than reality.

  The fact that it may have been static electricity only occurred to her after a lesson in science class. She tried without success to find evidence that it was possible for visible light to be discharged from the body. The most she could find were pictures of tiny static lightning bolts arcing between fingers and doorknobs—an effect easily achieved by scooting around on carpet in wool socks.

  With the way things had been going at school, Haven decided to keep her mouth shut and see what happened. The last thing she wanted was more attention. She only had a few months of high school left, then she would get a car and be free for the first time in her life.

  Haven pulled out the silverware drawer again and quickly grabbed a spoon. She pushed the drawer back in with her hip and got a bowl out of the cupboard, then filled it to the brim with strawberry ice cream.

  “Couldn’t sleep?”

  She jumped at her father’s voice and turned around quickly.

  “Dad!”

  “Hi,” he said, smiling. He wore his white robe and what remained of his greying hair stuck out in every direction.

  “Hi.” She put the tub of ice cream back in the freezer and closed the door. “No, couldn’t sleep. Was I being too loud?”

  “Nah, I couldn’t sleep, either. I heard a noise and figured you were on one of your late-night ice cream runs.”

  “You know about that, huh?”

  “Your mother used to do the same thing right after—”

  “Dad, gross!”

  “What? I was going to say ‘right after she finished working the late shift at the hospital’.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So, why the midnight snack? Something happen at school?”

  He walked toward the kitchen and pulled out one of the tall stools below the bar. The counter that ran along the back of the kitchen turned out from the wall and separated it from the dining room. Haven’s mother liked to keep that surface clear so someone could sit on a stool and use it like a bar.

  Haven’s father sat on his stool and smiled at her.

  “Dad, it’s late.”

  “So? You’re not going to sleep any time soon. Not with all that sugar, anyway. Come on, sit down. I’m a good listener.”

  She sighed and reluctantly pulled out the stool next to him, then placed her bowl on the counter and sat down. She ran her spoon around the inside edge of the bowl, scooping up the softer ice cream on the sides.

  “Is it boy trouble?” he asked.

  She made a sour face. “I am not talking to you about that.”

  He nodded. “I guess that’s your mother’s department, anyway.” He pretended to wipe sweat from his forehead in relief. Haven smiled and took a bite of ice cream. “To tell you the truth, kiddo,” he continued, “you have us a little confused. This is the first time we’ve ever heard anything other than high praise from your school. I know you’re still upset because of the move and I hated to take you away from your friends, but my new job is going to give this family a lot of freedom.”

  “It’s just a little healthy rebellion, Dad. That’s all. Didn’t you and Mom ever start trouble for no good reason?”

  “Of course not!” he said, feigning insult. “We were model students in every way. Why? What did you hear about us?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “You’re so corny.”

  “That wasn’t corn. And for the record, I’m a very cool dude.”

  “Riiiight. You just said ‘cool dude’.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m still learning.” He looked at her. “So, everything’s really okay? No drugs, no dropping out, nothing like that?”

  “Everything’s fine, Dad. I promise. I don’t even know why I was acting up. It’s not really me.”

  “Maybe you were testing your limits,” he said.

  “Maybe…I guess.”

  “Which is perfectly normal,” he said. “You need to know how much you can handle. But you also need to do it respectfully. You’re an extremely bright girl, Haven. You surprise me every day, but we can’t handle getting phone calls from the principal like that. Especially your mother. She’s a little scared.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  He ruffled her hair until she pulled away, smiling.

  “So,” he said. “Tell me about the boy you like so much that you wrote his name on the gym wall.”

  “Ew, Dad!”

  She hopped off her stool and hurried upstairs with her bowl of ice cream. Noah was still sleeping quietly as she tiptoed past his room. Haven closed her door as gently as she could and turned off the light before climbing into bed. She enjoyed the last few bites of strawberry ice cream while looking out of her window at the countless stars scattered across the night sky.

  2

  Colton Ross awoke late—the glowing red numbers on the cheap alarm clock next to his mattress read eleven o’clock. He lay there smiling, knowing that he felt better in that moment than he would feel for the rest of the week. He pulled aside his thin sheet and stood on the cold wooden floor.

  The uncurtained window next to his mattress showed him a view of the busy street below his apartment building. Businessmen and women walked briskly down the sidewalks, bumping into each other and generally ignoring the world around them.

  Colton rescued a dirty skillet from the bottom of a pile of filthy dishes and, after a thorough scrub, cooked three scrambled eggs for breakfast. He then took a quick shower and pulled on the cleanest t-shirt and pair of jeans he could find. Normally Colton rode his bike to the homeless shelter for lunch on his days off, but he decided to walk instead.

  He liked New York City because it was big enough to get lost in yet personal enough when he needed it to be. His new job at the shipping depot kept him busy for fifty hours a week or more and his spare time was steadily shrinking as the weeks passed, so he tried to make the most out of his occasional day off.

  After graduating high school six months ago, he had kicked around his hometown of Pittsburgh for a while before his friend Reece convinced him to move up to New York. After he settled in to the spare room in Reece’s apartment, Colton ditched his pickup truck for a bicycle and had barely thought about Pennsylvania since.

  Whe
n he emerged from the front door of his apartment building, the street was even busier than it had been just thirty minutes earlier. No matter what day of the week it was, Colton always seemed to have to travel against the flow of foot-traffic. Pittsburgh had been moderately better, but Colton had lived in the suburbs instead of downtown.

  His favorite produce stand in The Bronx was near the corners of Westchester and Castle Hill. The owner was busy topping off a heaping carton of bananas when Colton approached the stand.

  “Morning, Mr. Laretti.”

  “Mr. Ross! Good to see you, as always. Yet it is few and far between, yes? You must have the day off.” Antonio Laretti had bushy black eyebrows and a receding hairline. Standing on his toes, he was probably only five feet tall. He squinted up at Colton through thick reading glasses.

  “My first in two weeks.” Colton picked up two apples and inspected them for bruises.

  “Ah, yes, they work you too hard. I am also working too hard. But! People are needing their fruits and vegetables, yes? Where else they gonna get them if not from old Antonio!”

  “Thanks a lot, Mr. Laretti.” Colton handed him a dollar and took the two apples.

  “Of course, of course. Come back soon, I’ll have better apples.”

  Colton smiled. “I’m sure these are just fine. Take it easy.”

  Mr. Laretti mumbled a farewell in Italian as Colton walked away.

  He stuck one of the apples in his pocket and turned the corner onto Westchester Avenue. Colton held the other apple firmly in his palm. He took a quick look around to make sure no one was watching him and held the apple at his side. Colton imagined the fruit withering in his grip, sinking into itself as it gave up its life. He smiled as the firm red skin turned soft against his palm and sank down closer to the core. The apple shrank to a sliver of its former size and cooled as if it had been instantly refrigerated. Colton checked once again to make sure no one was looking at him before he held up the shriveled piece of fruit.