Secret Lucidity Read online

  Secret Lucidity

  Copyright © 2016 E.K. Blair

  Cover Design: Hang Le, By Hang Le

  Editor: Ashley Williams, Adept Edits

  Interior Design: Stacey Blake, Champagne Formats

  ISBN: 978-0-9989997-0-8

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,) without the prior written permission in writing.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Secret Lucidity

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  Project Semicolon

  Preview of Crave, Part One

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  From the author

  Acknowledgements

  Other Titles by E.K. Blair

  For the ones who’ve ever wished upon a wish.

  3:12pm

  ONLY THREE MORE MINUTES LEFT of my junior year. Three more minutes to go until summer begins.

  “I can’t wait to officially be a senior,” Linze says, twirling a lock of her golden hair from the desk next to mine.

  “I know. It’s gonna be great.”

  “I need to find a boyfriend before the end of summer though. There’s no way I’m starting senior year as a singleton.”

  “A relationship is not what you want, and you know it.”

  She rolls her eyes and laughs in agreement. “Let me rephrase that, I need to find a boy to kiss on who’s loyal to me and only me.”

  We both laugh.

  Most people find her spitfire personality over the top, but not me. Linze and I have been best friends since middle school when her family moved here from Los Angeles. She was born with sunshine in her blood, while I was born with red dirt in mine. Oklahoma, America’s heartland where nothing exciting ever happens, has been my home since birth. The day Linze arrived was the day this state notched up on the coolness meter.

  “Sit down, boys,” Mrs. Lancaster groans from behind her plastic-rimmed glasses, which sit crooked on her face. Our teacher, whose expiration date has come and gone, still shows up loathing each day more than the one before.

  “High school guys are so annoying,” Linze says about the kids at the back of the class who are making a ruckus.

  I tune out the obnoxious testosterone behind me and turn back to my friend. “What time do you want me to head over tonight?”

  “Whenever. Sooner rather than later though.”

  “Okay. Well, I’m going to hit the water for a little while and get some laps in.”

  “You never quit, do you?”

  Smiling, I grab my backpack from the back of my desk as the second hand nears the end of its final rotation to freedom.

  An eruption of cheers and exasperated “Thank Gods” bounce off the painted cinder block walls when the final bell of the year rings. Chairs and desks screech against the tile floors as students flee the classrooms.

  Linze and I weave through the crowded halls, and I’m whisked off my feet in an instant.

  “Seniors, baby!” Kroy boasts loudly, sparking excitement within me.

  With my arms wrapped around his neck, I smile at his boyish charm before kissing him as the student body swarms around us in total chaos.

  “This is why I need a boyfriend,” Linze shouts over the crowd. “You two are disgustingly perfect.”

  Kroy plants me down on my feet. “What’s got your panties in a wad, Linz?”

  “Don’t get her started,” I tease. “Long story short, the girl needs to get laid.”

  Linze shoots me a snarky eye. “Oh my God! For a virgin, you sure talk like a slut.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll surely find a boy to kiss on tonight.”

  “Party at your place, right?” Kroy asks her as he walks with me tucked under his arm.

  “Yep! I gotta run though. Call me when you’re on your way, okay?”

  Before I can respond, Kroy cups my face in his hands and backs me up against the lockers, mumbling between kisses, “Maybe we can fix that virginity problem tonight.”

  Nudging his ribs, I playfully try to push him away, but his large frame doesn’t budge until he glances to his left.

  “Coach Hale,” he acknowledges in an even tone, taking a step away from me. “How are you doing, sir?”

  “Do I need to reiterate the school’s policy on PDA?”

  “No, sir. Just a celebratory peck was all that was going on.”

  “Dad,” I groan under my breath. “Why are you always giving him a hard time?”

  “Because you’re my little girl. It’s my job to harass your boyfriend.”

  “The shotgun wasn’t enough harassment?” Kroy questions, to which my father responds, “Not even close, boy,” before clapping his hand on the back of Kroy’s shoulder and letting loose an endearing chuckle.

  Kroy grew up down the street from me. He used to pick on me when we were younger, but that didn’t stop us from playing. Our families have always been close, and it came as no surprise to my mother when he eventually asked me out on a date our sophomore year. My dad, on the other hand, had a bit of a hard time with the idea and made sure to be cleaning his shotgun when Kroy came over to pick me up for our first date. I know that behind my father’s intimidations, he holds a great deal of respect for Kroy, so I don’t worry.

  “What’s this party I’ve been hearing about?”

  “Just a party,” I tell my dad, throwing an innocent smile behind my words.

  When your dad is a history teacher at your high school as well as the head swim coach for the team you swim on, nothing is secret. He hears it all, which is why I make sure to fly under the radar and keep my reputation intact. Not that I have anything to hide. I’m just your typical seventeen-year-old. I’m an A student, have lots of friends, and I keep out of trouble for the most part. Like I said, nothing major really happens in this town.

  “Is there going to be alcohol at this party?”

  “Kroy,
help me out here.”

  “Your boyfriend can’t save you from my interrogations, sweetheart.”

  “Then tell me what will, because my junior year just ended, and you’re kinda putting a damper on my mood.”

  “Coach Hale!” echoes from down the hall from a couple guys on the swim team who are pumping their fists in celebration as they clear out of the school.

  “I don’t seem to be dampening their mood,” he defends with a boastful smile.

  “You’re not their dad.”

  “Don’t worry, sir. She’ll be with me, and I promise nothing will get out of hand,” Kroy interjects.

  “She’s my princess—”

  “O-M-G. You are so embarrassing!” I exclaim, tossing my head back in loving annoyance as I start to back step away. “I’ll call you later, Kroy.”

  “Where are you off to?”

  “The pool,” I tell him before looking to my dad. “Come get me when you’re ready to go.”

  “The new coach was here earlier, but I think he might have already left and locked up.” As he says this, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the keys. “Here.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Keys aren’t needed when I find the doors unlocked. I look up to the small office that overlooks the pool and spot a guy who must be the new assistant coach.

  He sees me and steps out to the top of the stairs. “Can I help you with something?”

  “I’m going to get in a quick swim.”

  “I’ll be locking up in a bit.”

  “Coach Hale is my dad,” I tell him. “I rode with him today. Figured I’d get in some laps while I wait for him to finish up in his classroom.”

  He leans his elbows on the railing. “So, you’re Cam?”

  I nod.

  I can’t help but to stare. He’s years younger than my dad and has perfectly styled, thick brown hair. His T-shirt and gym shorts wrap nicely around his tanned, athletic-cut body.

  “Holler if you need anything. I’m just finishing up some paperwork before I head out.”

  He walks back into the office as I make my way into the girl’s locker room.

  While I change into my drag suit, the murmurings of a few girls catch my attention. Apparently, the new coach has fulfilled the embodiment of their schoolgirl fantasy come true. There’s no denying his good looks and physique, but the guy’s gotta be in his thirties.

  My dad has had the same assistant for the past six years, but Coach Barlow’s wife just had a baby, and they decided to move to St. Louis to be closer to her family. I really liked Coach Barlow. He and my dad led us to more wins than I can count, including my holding the school’s record for the fifty-yard sprint.

  Swimming has always been my thing, and something my dad and I have always been able to share. He spent his high school years in the water and went on to swim for the University of Oklahoma on partial scholarship.

  I’m a daddy’s girl through and through. We’ve always held a special bond, which is different from the relationship I have with my mom. I guess every child has that something special with one of their parents. Not that my mother and I don’t get along. We absolutely do. But with my father, there’s this indefinable connection.

  I just don’t look at him; I look up to him.

  I’m a sprinter just like he was. I not only hold the school’s record time for my division, but also the state’s as well.

  Call it an obsession.

  Everyone else does.

  But I don’t care

  Team sports have never appealed to me. It’s knowing that I am the one who holds all the power to win or lose without having to rely on anyone else to carry any of the weight. No one can let me down but me, and when victory comes my way, which it often does, I know it’s mine and only mine. In the water, I’m at battle with myself. Even though girls swim on either side of me, eager to take what I strive to claim as my own, I’m alone. Nothing exists in the water but my will to beat my last best.

  Time outside the water no longer exists when I dive in. I glide above the black stripe beneath me that guides me through my laps. The burn in my shoulders spirals through my muscles and down my arms, warming me into euphoria. This is my high—my drug of choice.

  No one can take this rush away from me.

  I ride it out until the fire in my lungs becomes too much for me to tolerate, and I break through the water’s barrier to find Coach Andrews on deck above me.

  “Good times for an afternoon swim.”

  He offers me his hand and helps me out of the pool. Taking the towel I left on the deck, I dry off.

  He watches me closely as he takes a seat on a block. “I thought your father was exaggerating the truth when he was bragging about you. Clearly, I was wrong.”

  I wrap the towel around myself. “You’re Coach Andrews?”

  “I am,” he remarks with a nod. “After everything your father has told me about you this past week, I feel like we could be old family friends.”

  “Oh, God,” I moan with the onslaught of mortification. Lord only knows what my dad told this man.

  “Don’t worry. He didn’t say anything that would embarrass you too much.” He chuckles under his breath, and the smile creases the skin at the corners of his eyes, making something inside me flutter.

  “That doesn’t sound convincing.”

  “He’s proud. And he should be with a daughter who can pull a fifty-yard free in twenty-three point two one.”

  “I heard Tulsa got an out-of-state transfer a couple weeks ago,” I say as I take my swim cap off. “Held a record in Arizona at twenty-three point two three.”

  He rests his elbows on his knees as he leans forward. “You worried?”

  “Dad hasn’t mentioned her to me, so yeah, I’m a little worried. I mean, next year is the year.”

  “He probably didn’t mention it because he sees no reason to. You’re the state record holder. Keep doing what you’re doing, and you’ll be fine.” I look at him wearily, and his smile widens. “You worry too much. It’s the last day of school, and here you are in the pool, stressing about next year’s competition when you should be out doing whatever it is you kids do.”

  “And what about you?” I accuse in jest. “Shouldn’t you be out doing whatever it is you teachers do?”

  “You’re right.” He hops down from the block. “Go hit the lockers so I can lock up behind you.”

  “No need to wait. I have my dad’s keys.”

  He takes a step toward me and rests his hand on my shoulder, igniting my skin in some unknown electricity. “Do me a favor, will you? Have fun this summer. Swim, but make sure to have some fun.”

  I give him a nod and watch him like a punch-drunk teenager with a maddening crush as he walks out the double doors.

  Once dressed, I run up the stairs to the office to call my dad’s classroom from the school’s phone. I dial his room number and see that Coach Andrews left his portfolio on the desk.

  “Coach Hale.”

  “Hey, Dad. How much longer till you’re ready to go?”

  “Five minutes.”

  “Okay, I’m on my way now.”

  Grabbing the notebook, I sling my backpack over my shoulder before heading out and locking up.

  “How was your swim?” my dad asks as I walk into his classroom.

  “Good.” I hold up the portfolio. “Coach Andrews left this in the office.”

  “You met him?”

  “Yeah. He’s nice.”

  “Is he already gone?”

  I nod.

  As we head out, Dad calls his cell, gets his address, and tells him we’ll stop by his house to drop off the notebook.

  We pull out of the parking lot, which is nearly empty at this point, and I turn in my seat. “Hey, Dad?”

  “Hmm,” he acknowledges, turning the car out to the main road.

  “I was wondering if you would consider extending my curfew tonight.”

  “Nothing good happens past eleven o’clock.”
<
br />   I roll my eyes. “Nothing good happens ever, Dad.”

  “Then why do you want to stay out?”

  “Because it’s my last summer before senior year. Because I want to hang out with my friends. Because I deserve it. Because I make straight As. Because I never get into trouble. Because you can trust me.” I give him an exaggerated smile when we come to a stop at a red light before adding, “And because I’d never do anything to disappoint you.”

  “You know how much I love you, right?”

  “So, is that a yes?”

  He hesitates and then looks at me with just a hint of a smile.

  “You make a compelling argument, sweetheart.”

  “I learned from the best.”

  The light changes to green, and I keep my eyes fixed on my dad. His handsome face is marked by years of laughter. When I see a truck coming toward us, the lines etched around his eyes splinter into fractals that reflect a kaleidoscope of lights and colors. Tires squeal loudly, piercing my ears like needles. An explosion of glass detonates around us with a crashing so loud I feel the reverberations inside the depths of my chest.

  I can’t breathe.

  Everything moves in slow motion as metal shears its way off the car, screeching against the pavement as we are pummeled across the intersection. Fire spits its flames through my scalp when my head collides with glass, and I’m thrown through the passenger-side window. My dad blurs as distance grows, and the space between us is severed by a spray of glittering shards that sprinkle all around me like shooting stars through the blackened sky, lighting it only for a moment before they burn into nothingness.

  And then everything goes black.

  “LOOK DOWN TO THE FLOOR so I can apply a touch of mascara.” My mother brings the wand to my eye. “Blink for me.” She then moves to my other eye and does the same. “Perfect,” she murmurs as she finishes, twisting the top back on.

  “Wow,” I exclaim when I see my reflection in the mirror. “Can I have lipstick too?”

  “Any color but red.”

  “Why?”

  I pucker up when she pulls out a tube of lipstick from her makeup bag and twists it to reveal a soft shade of pink. “Because only a certain breed of women smear red on their lips. A lady worthy of respect opts for elegance and subtlety. And you, my dear, are a lady.” She swipes the color over my lips and smiles. “Now, rub your lips together.”