Given New Worlds snippet
(Just a taste of the first few pages)
IT wasn’t a fairytale childhood by any means.
It was a whirlwind of busyness
and learning how to be perfect.
Through it all, Abby knew the one perfect thing.
God.
But she didn’t speak of Him.
Her parents wouldn’t understand a god of perfection - a god of sovereignty and solace - and protection. They only the understood the god of high priced security and fortified walls around the estate. They only knew those things they could control, or at least have a perception of control therein.
So, no. Abby didn’t say a word.
She would pray to her plastic Jesus - the one that hung from the rosary Nanny Marie had given her. Nanny Marie, who had been sent away on Abby’s seventh birthday, when there had been another scary note found. Abby remembered the note. It said the same thing as all the other notes. It said REVENGE.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
BEING a teenager in the spotlight is hard. The mental tug of war with parents and security personnel pulling you out of the light, while paparazzi and curious onlookers are dragging you back into it.
Abby judiciously walked the tightrope of anonymity as she changed from child to young woman. Always dressed in fashionable, yet inconspicuous clothing. Always careful to wear sunglasses and a hat when in public, because if they can’t see your eyes, they can’t see your feelings. Only talking to girls that had been pre-approved by a team of social advisors. Never talking to boys, unless briefed prior to the discussion, and only then, being given the appropriate comments and responses. Always revealing her true thoughts to God alone, because if you only used words inside your head, Theycouldn’t find out.
It wasn’t clear exactly who Theywere. But the overwhelming sense of fear instilled in Abby from birth communicated that Theywere something to be avoided at all costs. Theyseemed to change from day to day. Theywere the media. Theywere an opposing senatorial candidate. Theywere the person that sent those awful notes that said REVENGE - the notes that drove her parent’s fear and their overprotection.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
ABBY entered college with vigilant formality. She was provided the sense of leaving the nest with a shedding of tears from her mother, a practical speech from her father, a new car, and a few decorative items to adorn the condominium she would be sharing with a quiet yet imposing young woman whose father was the U.S. Ambassador from India.
Veena Singh was trudging through the medical classes along with Abby, but her interests leaned towards sports medicine while Abby refrained from pinning herself down to one specific practice. It was safer to wait and see what her parent’s advisors would choose for her at the end of pre-med.
Wedgewood College was neat, compact, and secure. Waving Florida palm trees lined the entrance, and stately oaks along the promenade classified it as an elite private university. The small campus afforded Abby the ability to recognize faces as she walked from class to class, and within the first week, she’d been able to differentiate security personnel from students and teachers. They conspicuously stood out like sore thumbs. Even at the nearby private hospital where Abby was now doing her clinical work, the ever-present security was within view. A normal person wouldn’t be able to tell they were only there to be eyes, and someday maybe weapons, but Abby knew exactly who they were. She had spent her whole life surrounded by men and women highly trained to notice everything that could come between her and her perfect world.
That was, until the day in the library.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
OCCASIONALLY, when Veena was blasting early alternative bands through the condo and the walls began to close in, Abby would go to the large campus library that was overstocked with unread books. The building featured few students; as most of the Wedgewood population had resources at their fingertips on cell phones and laptops, there was no need to go to a warehouse of old, dusty texts.
Several groups of students were gathered at tables, pouring over cell biology and neuroscience while Abby held a pristine copy of A Walk to Rememberby Nicholas Sparks. Apparently, nobody on campus read fiction either.
Curled into a ball on one of the overstuffed chairs, Abby read until her eyes began to itch. She remembered Nanny Lemon informing her eleven-year-old self that she should look away from her book at least once per minute to keep her vision from deteriorating. At this point, it had been fifty-two minutes, but Abby wasn’t counting.
As she directed her vision away from the text, and across the library, towards the clock hanging over the librarian’s counter, Abby saw a male. Not just a male, but an alarmingly handsome male. It wasn’t the fact that he belonged on the Men of Crew picture in the campus magazine. It wasn’t the fact that he had a ruffled head of thick, dark hair that looked like it had been run through with a set of manly fingers. It wasn’t the fact that his eyes had been pressed into her own as she’d looked up. It was the fact that when he realized she was looking at him, his cheeks turned a ruddy maroon and he tipped his head into his hand, focusing once again on the laptop and pile of medical books sitting in front of him.
There was something different about his blush. Something defining. Of course, everyone knew who she was. Most guys smiled like idiots when they looked at her - either pretending to be her best friend or acting like they were too cool to talk to her.
But with this man? It was different.
Abby glanced up at the entrance to the library. Her daytime watchdog was there. His security name was Rocket, but he probably had a classy name like Harold or Thomas on his driver’s license.
Rocket’s eyes flicked back and forth between Abby and the gentleman in question.
It appeared as though Mr. Men of Crew was going to be a No-Go Zone. Too bad. The cautious glance the handsome guy at the table occasionally sent her way had piqued her interest and she wanted to know more. Instead, Abby closed her book, placed it into the rolling cart labeled ‘Place Used Books Here’, and walked towards the exit. She couldn’t help but watch him out of the corner of her eye as she passed. His hand was threaded into his hair and he was attempting to appear focused on the materials in front of him, but Abby could see his brown eyes catch her own in a silent dance.
Through this gaze, Abby asked so many questions. Who are you? Why are you different? Do you know who I am? Do you care? Do you wish the same thing I do?
Do you wish you lived in a normal world?
Abby shook her head and exited the library, not allowing herself to dwell on the absurdity of the last question. As often as she posed that same inquiry, she just as often pushed it out of her mind. It wasn’t worth it to wonder. It wasn’t worth it to dream.
It was a whirlwind of busyness
and learning how to be perfect.
Through it all, Abby knew the one perfect thing.
God.
But she didn’t speak of Him.
Her parents wouldn’t understand a god of perfection - a god of sovereignty and solace - and protection. They only the understood the god of high priced security and fortified walls around the estate. They only knew those things they could control, or at least have a perception of control therein.
So, no. Abby didn’t say a word.
She would pray to her plastic Jesus - the one that hung from the rosary Nanny Marie had given her. Nanny Marie, who had been sent away on Abby’s seventh birthday, when there had been another scary note found. Abby remembered the note. It said the same thing as all the other notes. It said REVENGE.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
BEING a teenager in the spotlight is hard. The mental tug of war with parents and security personnel pulling you out of the light, while paparazzi and curious onlookers are dragging you back into it.
Abby judiciously walked the tightrope of anonymity as she changed from child to young woman. Always dressed in fashionable, yet inconspicuous clothing. Always careful to wear sunglasses and a hat when in public, because if they can’t see your eyes, they can’t see your feelings. Only talking to girls that had been pre-approved by a team of social advisors. Never talking to boys, unless briefed prior to the discussion, and only then, being given the appropriate comments and responses. Always revealing her true thoughts to God alone, because if you only used words inside your head, Theycouldn’t find out.
It wasn’t clear exactly who Theywere. But the overwhelming sense of fear instilled in Abby from birth communicated that Theywere something to be avoided at all costs. Theyseemed to change from day to day. Theywere the media. Theywere an opposing senatorial candidate. Theywere the person that sent those awful notes that said REVENGE - the notes that drove her parent’s fear and their overprotection.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
ABBY entered college with vigilant formality. She was provided the sense of leaving the nest with a shedding of tears from her mother, a practical speech from her father, a new car, and a few decorative items to adorn the condominium she would be sharing with a quiet yet imposing young woman whose father was the U.S. Ambassador from India.
Veena Singh was trudging through the medical classes along with Abby, but her interests leaned towards sports medicine while Abby refrained from pinning herself down to one specific practice. It was safer to wait and see what her parent’s advisors would choose for her at the end of pre-med.
Wedgewood College was neat, compact, and secure. Waving Florida palm trees lined the entrance, and stately oaks along the promenade classified it as an elite private university. The small campus afforded Abby the ability to recognize faces as she walked from class to class, and within the first week, she’d been able to differentiate security personnel from students and teachers. They conspicuously stood out like sore thumbs. Even at the nearby private hospital where Abby was now doing her clinical work, the ever-present security was within view. A normal person wouldn’t be able to tell they were only there to be eyes, and someday maybe weapons, but Abby knew exactly who they were. She had spent her whole life surrounded by men and women highly trained to notice everything that could come between her and her perfect world.
That was, until the day in the library.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
OCCASIONALLY, when Veena was blasting early alternative bands through the condo and the walls began to close in, Abby would go to the large campus library that was overstocked with unread books. The building featured few students; as most of the Wedgewood population had resources at their fingertips on cell phones and laptops, there was no need to go to a warehouse of old, dusty texts.
Several groups of students were gathered at tables, pouring over cell biology and neuroscience while Abby held a pristine copy of A Walk to Rememberby Nicholas Sparks. Apparently, nobody on campus read fiction either.
Curled into a ball on one of the overstuffed chairs, Abby read until her eyes began to itch. She remembered Nanny Lemon informing her eleven-year-old self that she should look away from her book at least once per minute to keep her vision from deteriorating. At this point, it had been fifty-two minutes, but Abby wasn’t counting.
As she directed her vision away from the text, and across the library, towards the clock hanging over the librarian’s counter, Abby saw a male. Not just a male, but an alarmingly handsome male. It wasn’t the fact that he belonged on the Men of Crew picture in the campus magazine. It wasn’t the fact that he had a ruffled head of thick, dark hair that looked like it had been run through with a set of manly fingers. It wasn’t the fact that his eyes had been pressed into her own as she’d looked up. It was the fact that when he realized she was looking at him, his cheeks turned a ruddy maroon and he tipped his head into his hand, focusing once again on the laptop and pile of medical books sitting in front of him.
There was something different about his blush. Something defining. Of course, everyone knew who she was. Most guys smiled like idiots when they looked at her - either pretending to be her best friend or acting like they were too cool to talk to her.
But with this man? It was different.
Abby glanced up at the entrance to the library. Her daytime watchdog was there. His security name was Rocket, but he probably had a classy name like Harold or Thomas on his driver’s license.
Rocket’s eyes flicked back and forth between Abby and the gentleman in question.
It appeared as though Mr. Men of Crew was going to be a No-Go Zone. Too bad. The cautious glance the handsome guy at the table occasionally sent her way had piqued her interest and she wanted to know more. Instead, Abby closed her book, placed it into the rolling cart labeled ‘Place Used Books Here’, and walked towards the exit. She couldn’t help but watch him out of the corner of her eye as she passed. His hand was threaded into his hair and he was attempting to appear focused on the materials in front of him, but Abby could see his brown eyes catch her own in a silent dance.
Through this gaze, Abby asked so many questions. Who are you? Why are you different? Do you know who I am? Do you care? Do you wish the same thing I do?
Do you wish you lived in a normal world?
Abby shook her head and exited the library, not allowing herself to dwell on the absurdity of the last question. As often as she posed that same inquiry, she just as often pushed it out of her mind. It wasn’t worth it to wonder. It wasn’t worth it to dream.