Trying to Get Some Shut Eye

 

Chapter 2

 

When I wake up I’m a mess. My wavy chestnut hair is tangled, falling down my back into an impossible sight. There is no way I’m combing through that.

In seventh grade, when nicknames were cool, my friends all called me “S-Wave” because my hair is naturally waved in an “s” shape. Of course, after seventh grade nicknames were no longer cool, and I became Skye again.

Skye Dawson. Skye Nicole Dawson. Skye the Talent Trainer. S-Wave.

Yeah, nicknames are so not cool anymore.

I pick up a brush and try to comb through my tangled hair and then give up, hopping over to my shower and cranking the heat. Once steam is fogging up my mirrors, I pop into the shower and have the longest shower known to mankind.

I planned on getting in the shower and then out, but okay, it’s early in the morning and steaming hot water tends to relax tense back muscles. So as the water unknots my back, I close my eyes and try my hardest not to fall asleep. The last thing I need is to drown in a shower.

When I get out of the shower I towel-dry my hair and sit down in front of my vanity. I pick up my beeping cell phone and tap the screen, as if to wake it up. One new message.

I open the new message and read: Do not forget about your new assignment, Chase Davenport, you’ll be meeting him today.

I pause before shutting down my cell phone and throwing it in my large purse, so as to ignore it. How could I forget about being a Talent Trainer? It’s basically my life, my job. I get paid good money for helping Talents, and it sucks up more time than anything else I do.

And okay, now you’re probably wondering what a Talent Trainer even does. And, to be fair, I don’t even know what other Trainers do. All I know is that Talents show up at my training center, asking me for help, and I help them. I figure out what kind of Talent they are (because apparently when you can levitate, it’s not obvious that you’re a Flyer), and then I help them learn to control their Talent. Often, I end up also teaching them who to tell (nobody), when to use it (in dire situations), and how to live with their Talent (carefully).

It’s always been so easy for me. It comes naturally to Trainers, they tell me. So why do I have the feeling my new assignment isn’t going to be so easy?

 

 

When the bell rings for lunch at school I wander away from the school, trying to find a quiet place to eat. I come across a bench, its back facing the school, its front facing the forest that surrounds our campus. I sit down and then decide I’d rather lie down, and then proceed to stretch out on the wooden bench. I throw an arm up to cover my eyes, blocking out the sun, and then try to sleep. I know this seems weird, to sleep on a bench, and okay, it’s a little weird (and homeless) but hey, I got four hours of sleep last night. Cut me some slack.

Anyway, I’m trying to get some shut eye when I hear a chuckle. A low, throaty sound that instantly sends little flutters to my stomach.

I try not to groan in frustration. You see, I tend to be attracted to the widest range of people. It began my freshman year (maybe its just high school) when a broody boy walked into class and sat down diagonal from me. I don’t know what it was about him (he wasn’t an obvious handsome), but the same little flutter of whatever was sent straight to my stomach. I’d watch him draw pictures in class (of course he was an artist), and I’d silently hide my attraction to him by taking laborious notes on biological things.

The year after that it was a football player (and not the cliché type, either), who was beefy and loud, but had a very sweet personality. The year after that, my junior year, it was a drunken, bad-boy who was constantly making me laugh.

Every year, the same little flutter that I’d just had. And now, it looked like my hormones had taken a liking to whoever was standing next to the bench. With my eyes still closed, I listen to another chuckle. The same deep, throaty sound, but this time it sends little flutters and little jumps to my stomach. Ah, jumps. That’s new. Maybe this crush will be different.

Because I realize he may think I’m a freak, I slowly get into a sitting position and open my eyes. All I can say is, at least he’s different than the others. Way different. Where the other crushes were not particularly attractive, this guy is. And to say he is attractive would be an understatement. To say he is hot would be an understatement. 

I avert my eyes from his face so as not to stare and then feel myself getting angry. Why did he wake me up? So I could ogle him? I’ m sure—no I’m positive—every sane girl ogles him. So it’s not like he needs the ego boost.

“Can I help you?” I ask him coldly. Unfortunately, the coldness is disguised by the gooeyness of my voice. I become angrier. What is wrong with me?

The guy standing in front of me ignores my tone—whether it’s mushy or rude, I’ll never know—and lifts an eyebrow. By lifting his eyebrow he has managed to draw my eyes, and attention, to his brilliantly blue eyes lined in black lashes. I gulp.

“I’m looking for someone.” He says in his deep, very masculine voice. “Her name is Skye Dawson, I believe.”

I pause, and force my eyes away from his face. My mother always did tell me it was impolite to stare.

“Why are you looking for her?” I ask him, realizing that my voice sounds plain and boring next to his sexy one.

“I was told that she needs my help.” He says. Unfortunately, whenever words leave his mouth my eyes are drawn right back to his face, or rather, his lips. I realize that I’m staring at his mouth and again pry my eyes away from him.

Why would I possibly need his help? Not that I’d mind it, but really.

“Well, what if she’s perfectly capable and can handle things herself?” I ask, defensively.

The guy smiles almost unnaturally appealingly.

“What if I’m also perfectly capable of handling things?” He asks, and his mocking tone tells me that my cover is blown. I huff.

“Fine, fine, you caught me.” I say, throwing my hands up and rolling my eyes. “I’m Skye Dawson. Why are you looking for me?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. The guy reaches up to scratch his hard jaw and my eyes zero in on his arm muscle. Oh, for crap’s sake.

Does the universe hate me? It must. I can think of no other reason that karma would have it that my very weakness (bulging biceps) is standing right in front of me. See, usually, if a guy has big arms I’m drawn in, whether or not the rest of him is decent looking. It never really mattered. But this guy, the guy standing in front of me, is perfect looking. I mean, seriously. Why?

I take a moment to stare at him, taking in the image. High cheekbones, strong jaw, perfect mouth. A glance down. Broad chest, biceps straining against a t-shirt, strong back muscle. I feel the guy’s eyes on me and I quickly glance away. At 5’7, he’s quite a bit taller than me, 6’2 at least. And intimidating.

As if reacting to the sudden realization that I’m alone with a stranger near a large forest, I take a step away. Not that I’m ever really in danger. No, if I were going to be attacked, I’d simply persuade the attacker to not go through with it. And just like that, I’d be safe again. So the step backward is really just a way for me to distance myself from the impeccably gorgeous creature in front of me.

As if sensing this, the guy smirks and takes a step closer. I sigh.

“Again, what can I do for you?” I ask warily. Usually I’m smooth with guys. They’re usually fawning over me, stealing sideward glances and walking me to classes. I’m usually the one making people nervous and fluttery. And now, I’m the one in that position. What is with me?

The guy smiles knowingly. “It’s more a what can I do for you type of thing.” He explains. I roll my eyes again.

“Whatever.” I say. “What’s your name?”

The blue of his eyes flicker. I frown.

“Chase Davenport.” He says, and I almost go into cardiac arrest. What?! “And it’s nice to meet you Skye.” He smiles that heart-stopping smile. I take a few steps back.

“What the hell?” I ask him. “You’re my assignment! Why would I need your help? It’s the other way around, actually. You’re supposed to be asking me for help.”

For some reason I’m getting really freaked out? I mean, this guy is oozing danger. And he’s my assignment, and I really, really don’t want him to be.

Plus, he could pass for over 20, so can’t he go to some other Trainer? One that isn’t a hormonal teenager with a thing for bad-a*s looking guys with big biceps?

Oh, man. I am so screwed.

 

Reviews

[Just A Girl]

"Skye Dawson. Skye Nicole Dawson. Skye the Talent Trainer. S-Wave."
I thought her last name was Daniels or something?? Perhaps I'm mistaken? Obviously you've changed it later in the story.


I looove her hormonal thoughts on meeting this new boy :) You write so well!

[Anya]

I've been reading all the way through and I must say I'm hooked! You have come up with an incredible plot. The way you describe things is stunning. Your style of writing is fantastic. I can't wait for more chapters! I will definitely be keeping an eye out for them. Honestly I think it is one of the best pieces I have read on the writers cafe!

[Rusty]

I like the way you describe things, that's something I'm still working on. What a new and clever idea, I like it. Do you have more chapters?