The Crystal Bridge (The Lost Shards Book 1) Read Free Page A

And—”
Aren lost her place with her locker combination for the third time. Frustration with the lock, her friend, and her inability to resist Steph’s memories all bubbled up inside her. “Tracy, that’s enough. I don’t really care about Kaden or his hazel eyes. Slow down a little, won’t you?” She spun the lock again, letting the notched numbers slide beneath her fingertips. “You only met him this morning.”
It’s such a waste of energy for both of us. She’ll be babbling about another guy in a day or two.
“You’ll see. He’s in our fifth period History class. I peeked at his schedule when he wasn’t looking.”
“Oh, I’m so excited ,” Aren rolled her eyes.
Tracy’s lips tightened, turning the skin white around them. “You could at least try to be excited, maybe be a friend for once, instead of pretending you’re better than everyone!”
Aren looked at Tracy’s puckered lips. Oh crap. She only does that when she’s really angry. Aren glanced up at Tracy’s wide, hurt filled eyes . Mistake. The raging emotions of her friend made it impossible for Aren to keep her guard up. She fell deeper into Tracy than she had with Steph. For a moment Aren ceased to exist. She was Tracy through and through, looking out of Tracy’s eyes at Aren, confused at how she could stay friends with someone who shares so little of herself and can be so mean at times. Then a memory surfaced.
Tracy rode a bike, Tracy’s dad holding the seat to stabilize her as she pedaled. Aren managed to find herself again, even though she was still lost in Tracy’s memories. Tracy’s laughter rolled out of her throat as if it were her own as the wind whipped past her face and the chain purred through the gears.
The memory faded, but another rose before Aren could find her way out.
Tracy knelt on the floor in her kitchen, peeking through the door to the living room. Tracy’s mom sat on the couch, crying as two men sat stiffly across from her in crisp uniforms. Tears streamed down Tracy’s face. She didn’t know what was wrong, but she was unable to hold them back. Aren could only watch, unable to comfort her friend.
The memory transitioned in a blur to Tracy huddled in the corner. Her stepbrother swung the sock, stretched out from the weight at the end. Aren looked up at him through Tracy’s tear blurred eyes, unable to stop him. The sock smacked against Tracy’s back hard, knocking the air out her as the thick piece of soap inside did its damage. It fell again and again, as Tracy cried out and whimpered for it to stop. Tracy would have bruises for months, but she would never tell, even when it happened again, often.
Aren watched through Tracy’s eyes as her talkative friend cracked the popsicle against the edge of the table and handed her stepbrother the other half. Tracy always forgives too easily. Anger boiled up in Aren, not part of the memory, but her own rage at the injustice she witnessed in Tracy’s mind.
That anger cleared her head and brought her fully back to herself, swimming out of Tracy’s head and back where she belonged. She’d seen those memories before, but her outrage never lessened.
Aren swallowed back the anger. It’s anger for her, not at her. Don’t take it out on Tracy . “I don’t think I’m better—”
“You do too!” Tracy interrupted. “Just because you don’t like anyone, doesn’t mean you can make fun of me when I do.” She gave Aren one last dirty look, lips pinched tight, and stormed away.
Aren watched her friend’s back as it disappeared into the mass of students walking the hall. Better than everyone? Aren wanted to deny it, but she often felt that way.
She sighed and turned back to the lock. It failed to open a fourth time. Of course. My locker hates me. I give up. She abandoned the locker and walked to class without her textbook, weaving her way through a group of boys who smelled of sweat and too much cologne. She kept her head down, not wanting to meet their eyes. Don’t want