Imagine, p.1

Imagine, page 1

 

Imagine
 


1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

Larger Font   Reset Font Size   Smaller Font   Night Mode Off   Night Mode

Imagine


  Imagine

  Christiane Shoenhair and Liam McEvilly

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  IMAGINE

  2013 Shoenhair & McEvilly

  ISBN-13: 978-1490313191

  ISBN-10: 1490313192

  Edited by Liam McEvilly

  Front Cover Artwork by Simon Hood

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied for reviews.

  Published by: Shoenhair & McEvilly

  First Printing: July 2013

  “Imagine a book so amazing you are pulled into another world. This book has it all, a heroine finding her way details that draw you in, action, adventure and love. I was blown away, Imagine brought tears to my eyes, I loved it!” ~ Mary Whitten, Author of The Emily Sullivan Series, Dare to Bleed, Love Nip, and Third Bites a Charm.

  “Trisha McKay's worlds are brought to life through compelling story telling. As a woman, those uncomfortable and embarrassing and exciting moments that teenaged girls go through with love and friendship spark feelings of nostalgia.” ~ Shannon MacLeod, writer at Miramichi Leader, a Brunswick News newspaper in Miramichi, New Brunswick.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A special thanks to all of my friends who supported me from the very beginning. Thank you Miss. E, Tina, Anne, Sheri and Kristina for all of the feedback and helping me find my way with the story.

  I also wanted to say thank you Aelisa for suggesting your husband Liam as a writing partner.

  Liam thank you for going on this endeavor with me and turning this story into the great adventure that it has turned into, I would have never been able to do this alone.

  Mary thank you for all of your advice and support to both Liam and me.

  Thank you Mom for all of your support and always being there, you are definitely the strongest woman that I know. Finally thank you Nick for being the wonderful husband and father that you are. Christiane

  I want to thank my lovely wife, Aelisa, for putting up with my going missing for hours on end. Chris for the great storyline and seemingly endless patience. To Shannon for her red pen and Simon for his incredible artwork and constant changes for his picky customer.

  But the biggest thank you goes out to you; our readers, for buying our first book and enabling us to do something we love. Hopefully, you love it too. Liam

  Please let us know what you think of our first novel and join in the discussion with other readers at http://www.facebook.com/imagineanovel

  You can also see our reviews of books we are reading at

  http://imagineanovel.wordpress.com

  Where one shall only awaken death - the other shall raise life.

  Im-ag-ine [ih-maj-in]

  Verb (used with object)

  1. to form a mental image of (something not actually present to the senses).

  2. to think, believe, or fancy: He imagined the house was haunted.

  3. to assume; suppose: I imagine they'll be here soon.

  4. to conjecture; guess: I cannot imagine what you mean.

  5. Archaic - to plan, scheme, or plot.

  Verb (used without object)

  6. to form mental images of things not present to the senses; use the imagination.

  7. to suppose; think; conjecture

  PROLOGUE

  Horror is the only way that I can describe how I felt the first time it happened. I was sitting at the kitchen table in our house in Tallahassee, Florida, eating delicious homemade chocolate chip pancakes with warm, buttery maple syrup. My Mom was nagging about my room not being clean and my bed not being made. She was droning on and on while she stood, with her back to me, at the stove making more pancakes for the two of us. I remember feeling annoyed and just wanting for her to stop. I daydreamed that the old wooden broom, the one that leant up against the kitchen trash can, came up behind her and whacked her in the back of the head, making her stop. While I was imagining this, to my great surprise, it actually happened!

  The broom lifted into the air and gracefully floated across the kitchen. It swung back and hit my mother in the back of the head, just as I had imagined. Both my Mom and I let out high pitched squeals simultaneously; she turned around and looked at me, her beautiful blue eyes as big as dinner plates. They are the color of a cloudless sky. My eyes are green with strange flecks of gold in them, nothing like hers. They are by far my favorite feature about myself. Like most girls my age, I’m not happy with the rest of my body at all. Especially my long, unruly auburn curls.

  I will always remember the expression on my Mom’s face; it was one of confusion, and then complete and utter horror. In a shaky voice my Mom had asked me “T-T-Trish, what on earth

  just happened?”

  I simply looked at her, and for the first time in a long time, told her the truth. “I have no idea Mom, maybe something was in my pancakes because I know I did not just Imagine the broom hitting you in the head and then it actually happened!”

  She slowly walked over towards me, broom in hand, and sat down directly across from me at the kitchen table. She laid the broom down on the table between us, looked down at it then took my hand in hers. “Trish, I was really hoping that this day would never come!”

  I

  Imagine a new start

  That event in the kitchen happened just over a month ago now, although it seems like a lifetime, as so much has happened since then. I shake myself out of the beginning of a daydream that would do me more harm than good and lift my head, to look across the classroom at my best friend, Chelsey. She is, as always, completely engrossed in Mr. Monous’s lesson on the American Civil War. At least that’s what I believe today’s subject to be, as I have been paying very little attention.

  “Trish McKay, please can you tell me one person’s name that participated in the civil war?” Mr. Monous asks me. I guess he’s caught on that I am definitely not paying attention to his boring lecture, I stare back at him, our U.S. History teacher. He signals with a circular motion of his right hand that he needs my answer quicker. So I give him the first name that pops into my head as I had watched the show ‘North and South’ last night, ”Errrrm … Patrick Swayze?”

  The entire class erupts in laughter, one of the girls had just taken a sip of water, and she laughs so hard that it is now coming back out through her nose.

  “Very funny Miss McKay, but the TV series North and South is definitely not of what I was thinking of, my question was on the actual Civil War not a TV show!” Our white haired teacher replies sarcastically, without missing a beat.

  “Mr. Monous, I believe that one person who played a particularly big part in the Civil War was Robert E. Lee.” says Chelsey as she throws her right hand into the air, coming to my rescue, as always. I have a slight suspicion that she may have a little crush on our history teacher. He’s not bad looking I suppose, in his thirties but has this striking, wiry, white hair and pale blue eyes. He has caramel colored skin. He is tall too, over six feet and quite muscular. All of this combining to make him look very unique.

  I think that I might like Mr. Monous, if not for the fact that he is partially responsible for my being here. Somehow, he and Mom know each other, she called in a favor and the rest is history. It also seems like he has made it his personal mission to be my shadow since I arrived here at Dalton Academy, I see him everywhere.

  “Thank you Miss Moore, I am very glad that someone has been paying attention!” he tells her, with a look o
f pride on his face. Chelsey glances my way, winks at me then sweeps her long wavy blonde hair over her shoulder and darts a flirtatious look to her immediate left at Eddie, who has been her longtime crush. I envy her at this moment, I envy how carefree she seems and how she can flirt effortlessly with boys. I envy her beautiful blonde hair, it lies perfectly down her back, unlike mine, which is a permanent hot-mess and never wants to do what I have planned for it.

  The bell rings, signaling the end of our foray into the world of American History. Mr. Monous just about has time to yell “Saved by the bell, Miss McKay, we will continue this next week young lady!” as we all grab our things and leave his room.

  Let me tell you a little about my school, Dalton Academy in Northern California. My Mom shipped me off the day after the famous ‘event’, that dreadful day that changed my life forever. The day that I found out why my small family has always lived such a secluded life. Neither of us really had a lot of friends.

  Unlike myself though, there is nothing out of the norm about Dalton Academy. In fact it is one of the nicest boarding schools in the whole country. It is renowned for its beautiful grounds, which are actually more like a Royal Garden than a high school campus.

  When I’m outside in the school gardens, with the white rose bushes, weeping willows, citrus trees and plush lawns that look like they are made to take a nap on, I feel like I have found my happy place, I’m without a worry in the world. It is such a serene place, I love being out there. Which is strange because I am not a carefree person usually, in fact my Mom has always described me as completely the opposite, often telling me that I am far too serious all of the time.

  There are four dormitories nestled amongst the trees and lawns at Dalton academy, each is broken down by grade. Each floor is then divided by gender, with its own teacher who supervises the students living there, making sure that none of us are doing anything we shouldn’t.

  “Trish! What were you thinking?” asks Chelsey as we walk down the hallway after History class, making our way back to our dorm after a long, boring day of classes. To my immense pleasure it’s Friday too, which means the weekend has finally arrived.

  “You know I hate his class, he’s such a tool, always asking me stupid questions.” I reply.

  “You are such a negative Nancy. If you only gave Mr. Monous just half a chance, you might actually end up enjoying his class. He is such a wonderful teacher.” she protests.

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore, let’s talk about this weekend instead. I can’t wait for tonight I hear that everyone is heading over to Dave's? Eddie invited us because you two are in L.O.V.E” I tease her, while throwing her one of my rare smiles.

  “You know Eddie is not my boyfriend, I definitely wouldn’t mind though, he’s such a hottie! I love that curly blond surfer hair of his, those broad shoulders and his cute dimples that he likes to flash so often,” she says dreamily.

  “You should make your move tonight; I’ve seen how you both look at each other. He’s definitely into you!” I state bluntly.

  “Oh you’re so full of it Trish, he doesn’t look at me. How about you and Keagan?” Chelsey bats her eyelashes at me and makes a kissy face, changing the subject expertly.

  I think about the tall, dark and handsome Keagan for a minute. He has such a great smile, when he actually shares it. But he isn’t much of a talker; we’re like two peas in a pod. I know I sure don’t make conversation easily, unless I’m around Chelsey, she always seems to put me in a much better mood with her bubbly personality. Chelsey is one of those rare people that you just can’t help but like, she is extremely earnest and a true friend, something that is really hard to find nowadays. One thing I’ve found in my short seventeen years on this planet is that people are very self-servant and enjoy living in the moment, not looking for meaningful friendships but instead settling for many acquaintances.

  I remember my first day here at Dalton Academy like it was yesterday, I really was pissed at the world. My Mom had just sent me here with no explanation as to why I was suddenly going to a boarding school. I had been on my way back from registering at the library. I was wearing skinny black jeans and a black hoodie, hood pulled over my head to hide the earphones in my ears, blasting Muse’s Origin of Symmetry album at the highest volume possible on my iPod. I was staring at the floor as I walked, definitely not paying any attention to where I was going. Just lost in my thoughts, when the next thing I knew I had walked head-on into something rock-solid, resulting with me landing flat on my butt. I looked up into the most striking eyes that I had ever seen, they belonged to an equally handsome man with shaggy dark hair and a body that would make any girl drool.

  It was also my very first time meeting Chelsey; she scooped up my books and gave me a hand up while I was completely mesmerized by my first look at Keagan. He seemed to just completely ignore me and went about his business as if nothing had happened. Chelsey seemed to overlook the whole embarrassing situation; she just hooked her arm through mine and decided that I would be her new best friend.

  She went on to tell me all about herself as we walked together. She told me about how she grew up in North Carolina, a middle child in a family of five children. Her two older brothers were both in college at Duke University, where she hoped to join them.

  Her never ending chatter and my silence immediately formed the perfect partnership, forming a bond beyond friendship, almost like sisterhood. Something that I never dreamed I would find in a friend.

  “You know I don’t like Keagan in that way and I’m not sure that he’s into girls anyway, I’ve never actually seen him with a girlfriend.” I say while avoiding eye contact.

  Chelsey lets out a very girly giggle. “That’s because he’s got his eye on you, but you’re just not the most approachable girl in the world. I still remember that poor guy you melted into a puddle when he asked you to the fall dance last week, what was his name again?”

  I glare at her “His name was Pete and you know that he was just playing a prank on me.

  “I don’t know why you think so little of yourself Trish, you are absolutely stunning.” she says, very matter of factly.

  “Let’s not talk about this anymore Chelsey.” I say, changing the subject, “I just want to get home and change out of these prison robes.”

  Academy uniforms are the most dreadful thing that I have ever seen on any girl. Our uniforms should only be worn by sixty year old women, not teenage girls. Some bitter old spinster must have designed them; I know no sane person could have thought that these would suit a normal teenage girl.

  Dalton uniforms are purple and orange, two colors that shouldn’t go together. The girls’ clothes don’t fit me at all, my pants literally coming up to my belly button. Don’t get me started on the shirts, they are just as hideous as the pants, they remind me of tents, no shape whatsoever to them. I finish classes every day and the first thing I do is change into my trusty jeans and comfy t-shirt.

  By this time we have reached our dorm. It is about a five minute walk from the education buildings. They are located at the dead center of the school campus. Three large rectangular buildings meet to form the shape of a triangle, a large outdoor swimming pool in the middle with bleachers on two sides to sit and watch swim meets. I don’t know who designed the buildings this way, but I’ve always thought it was a very strange layout.

  “I’ll see you in about an hour, we’ll get some dinner at Dave’s and meet up with the guys!” she says while making her way to the left side door of our dorm. It leads to the first floor which is where her room is. Mine is on the right, but on the third floor.

  “O.K. Later gator!” I reply.

  Chelsey just manages to squeeze in “In a while, crocodile!” as the door swings shut behind her.

  I enter the building from the front, pushing through the swinging door that lead to the staircase to my current home, which I’m really looking forward to seeing again. I may even be able to squeeze in a little nap, since I have a full hour
to spare. I certainly need one after that dull History lesson!

  “Well, well, well! Look what the garbage man left behind this afternoon. If it’s not little Miss Ice Princess?” I hear the nickname I’d been given because of my quietness as I enter the common area where most students hang out when they’re not in class or out on campus.

  It is completely understandable, most college dorms would be jealous of the pool table and high tech entertainment center we have, the plush couches and the contemporary feel that the room has to it. I turn around, already knowing who I am going to encounter. I look at Porsche and give her a sarcastic smirk before making my way up the stairs to my oasis.

  I hear laughter as I climb the first step. Someone says in a giggle “She definitely just put you in your place, Porsche! Ha-ha.”

  One of the boys that were hanging out at the pool table tells his friend that he’s got his money on me if it ever comes to a showdown between the two of us. I don’t even spare them a second look as I continue to my room. I make it to the third floor and there it is my beloved hideaway, room number 312.

  I open the door and take a look around; it’s not too big, just big enough for my queen size bed, complete with my dark red comforter and at least eight pillows and cushions. A desk is home to my laptop and a bulletin board with pictures of the places that I’ve been and a small walk in closet, which is only filled about half-way complete my hideaway.

  The only thing that could make this room any better would be if it had its own bathroom. I have to share with everyone else on my floor. But you have to take the rough with the smooth in life. I sit my books, pens and notebook down on my desk and rip off my horrible uniform, dropping it to the floor. I replace it with some sweatpants and a faded old Ramones t-shirt that was once my Mom’s before I check my cell phone. There’s a text message …

 
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19
Turn Navi Off
Turn Navi On
Scroll Up
Scroll

Other author's books: