Part One
Chapter One
Unbeknownst to Kara Bailey, it would take exactly two minutes and fifteen seconds for her to die.
Oblivious, she walked down the street, her eyes lowered and her pace even, the contents of her school satchel long forgotten. She was trying to make sense of what had happened earlier in biology class. Several thoughts crowded for attention at once.
We’re just friends.
Lab partners, that’s all.
Ashleigh is going to freak when she finds out.
A name repeated over and over, matching the rhythm of her footsteps.
Ben.
Shephard.
Ben.
Shephard.
One foot in front of the other.
Ben.
Shephard.
Ben.
Shephard.
Her brain teemed with questions. Why did he ask me? Why now? What about his stupid rule? Kara wasn’t sure how she was going to answer his proposition. A thrill of excitement zapped from the top of her head all the way to her toes. He was the hottest guy in her year.
But what about Ashleigh?
Her best friend would not be impressed.
Ben.
Shephard.
Ben.
Shephard.
The air smelt of damp autumn leaves. Stepping off the footpath Kara moved to cross the street. She didn’t see the car coming, failed to notice the shining front bumper as it sped towards her. She didn’t hear the screech of tyres or register the look of horror on the driver’s face when he realised he was going to hit her.
Ben.
Shephard.
Ben.
Shephard.
Over and over again in her mind.
It was the last thing Kara thought before slipping into total blackness.
Chapter Two
Ben Shephard pushed thirty kilograms of weight over his head and exhaled. He liked to feel the stretch of the muscle as he strained, higher and higher. The sensation was uncomfortable and addictive at the same time.
He knew he should take it easy.
The torn ligaments in his knee had only just healed. He remembered the stabbing pain and shuddered involuntarily, dropping the weight back down quicker than he would have liked. He looked around the gym, worried that someone had noticed his momentary loss of control.
His right hand shook, the fingers twitching in tiny spasms. He balled it into a fist, closing his eyes. His body was getting cold; beads of drying sweat pricked his skin, the feeling almost unpleasant. It was the come down from the amphetamines. He could feel the last of the drug leaking through his pores. It left a stickiness, made his sweat smell sweet. As he stood there in the weights room, his eyes closed, it was easy to pretend that everything was OK.
He only had two tabs left. He would have to call Conor and ask for more. The first sports trial for St David’s University was only a week away. He needed to make sure that his old injury stayed well and truly in the past. Nothing was going to stand in the way of this scholarship, nothing and no one, least of all Ashleigh Jameson.
Earlier, just as the lunch bell rang, she’d cornered him by his locker.
‘Hi,’ she said innocently. Ben had known Ashleigh for a long time, had even fooled around with her during GCSE year but then his dad died and things changed.
‘Hey, Ash. What’s up?’ Her lithe body was blocking access to his locker. He had no choice but to talk to her.
‘I heard the head of PE is about to select candidates for sports trials.’
Ben frowned. Since when did Ashleigh start taking an interest in sport?
‘Ya.’ He waited, unsure where the conversation was going.
‘The events committee has decided a theme for the dance. We should go.’ Ashleigh leaned against the grey lockers, her lips parted ever so slightly. Ben could see the pink tip of her tongue between perfect white teeth. She smelt of strawberries.
‘Like, as friends?’ He shifted from one foot to the other, her direct gaze unsettling him.
‘Mmm.’ She didn’t actually formulate a response, her brown eyes large and unblinking.
He shook his head. Ashleigh Jameson was nothing but trouble.
‘I think I have stuff on that night.’ He moved her gently out of the way, focused on the combination of the lock. He had biology after lunch. He needed his course book.
When she spoke, her voice was syrupy, her breath hot near his ear. He knew, even without looking at her, that her cheeks were flushed, the glow of anger spreading across her skin.
‘I heard somewhere,’ her words breathy, ‘that the head scout for St David’s hates queers.’ She laughed. ‘If he suspects for a moment that any of his future stars are that way inclined, he wouldn’t think twice about cutting them from his list.’
Ben stiffened, his back muscles tight, his heart thumping. He began to sweat.
Ashleigh sighed, as if bored. ‘My father socialises with him at the club. You know, afternoon rounds of golf, luncheons. It would be terrible if rumours began to circulate.’
She stepped back, the tickle of her breath on his neck evaporating. Ben clicked the last digit of the combination and swung open his locker, reaching for his books.
He didn’t bother to turn round.
‘See you later, Ben.’ Her voice was light, sweet, like bubbled chocolate.
In the weights room, Ben returned the weights, reflecting on their conversation.
He had one rule, one cardinal rule: no dating. And Ashleigh had spent the last year trying to get him to break this rule. But he needed to stay focused on his priority, on his training. The scholarship was so close, almost within his grasp. There were three more games, three more, and then the scholarship was his.
Assuming Ashleigh didn’t follow through on her veiled threat. What harm could it do? One date with her? Put to bed any rumours, get her off his case. The idea of having to capitulate to Ashleigh’s blackmail left a bad taste in his mouth.
Ashleigh was gorgeous, the fall of her long, blonde hair, the smell of her perfume, the peak of her breasts inside her school blouse. She had a body to die for. It was a pity she was a total head case.
He wiped his neck and forehead with a towel, walking to the changing room. Ashleigh thought she could manipulate him. She assumed that she’d left Ben with no choice. But she was wrong. There was always a choice.
On the other side of town Kara bounced off the bonnet of the car before cracking her head against the ground.
As Kara’s blood seeped from her nose to the dark tarmac, Hannah Quinn hurried along the school corridor. She was late. Her parents would be expecting her home promptly from after-school study. Her fingers fumbled with the strap of her satchel. She could barely close the bag around all the books she was carrying.
With her free hand she pinched the bridge of her nose, keeping her gaze downcast. She was getting a headache.
Please don’t let it be a migraine. The thought made her hurry – half stumble, half jog – towards the main exit.
What if someone saw her? Fearful, she slowed down. She had to seem indifferent, had to make people believe she was mundane, less than mundane: forgettable.
The stigma of having epilepsy was bad enough. But it was the attention of Ashleigh Jameson, and for all the wrong reasons, that made her life hell.
Only one more year to go, then she’d be eighteen and legally independent of her parents. No more school, no more medication, no more Dr Morris. The Institute for Cerebral Abnormalities – Hannah would never have to set foot inside its revolving doors again. But, until then, she had to melt into the background, remain unnoticed.