Fly: A PORTAL Chronicles Novel (The PORTAL Chronicles) by Melissa Aden Page A

boy before. He was gorgeous, but it was more than just physical attraction. I liked his sense of humor, the way he lit up when he smiled at me, and how I got the sense that he completely understood me.
    But don’t get ahead of yourself, Sophie. This is just the beginning.
    I pondered the thought as sleep slowly took me, and I dreamed… of whom I would be and what I would become.

Chapter 8
    Changes
    I quietly closed the garage door and tiptoed through the kitchen. The wooden floor creaked loudly.
    “Everett? Is that you?”
    I cringed. I had hoped Mom was asleep by now. I was tired and not in the mood to talk. “Yeah, it’s me,” I called back, making my way to the large sitting room where she always waited. She looked small and pretty sitting on the couch in her fluffy bathrobe with a blanket draped over her — looking more like a delicate little girl than a petite woman in her forties.
    “Rett!” She lit up. “How was your night?”
    Sitting beside her, I noticed she’d been crying again. “Fine, I guess.”
    She frowned, picking up on my dark mood. “Sooner or later you’re going to have to pep up.”
    I pulled the blanket off her folded legs. “You’re one to talk,” I said, grabbing the framed photo I suspected she was hiding there. It was of me and my twin brother Benson, our arms thrown each other’s shoulders, laughing. A long lost happy moment caught in time.
    “You know me too well,” she said, her chin quivering.
    I suddenly felt ashamed of my harshness. “Ditto,” I said, carefully draping the blanket back over her. It broke my heart to see her like this. She had been through so much.
    Her tired green eyes met mine and she leaned forward, stroking my cheek. “My baby.” A single tear fell down her cheek. “Will I ever get my old Rett back?” she asked, her voice trembling.
    “Mom, I’m too tired for this,” I evaded, ever the escape artist. I’d do anything not to feel — absolutely anything. Besides, my truth would decimate any remnants of her: when Benson disappeared, so did her “old Rett.” I would never be the same again. And how could I after witnessing my twin brother’s brutal beating and kidnapping?
    She dropped her hands and fingered the blanket’s fringe. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
    It was as if she’d drawn the question out of my mind, the same one that had plagued me for the past three months. Was I ready for this — not only for the mission at hand, but for life in general? Was I ready to return to school? To act normal, as if nothing happened and everything was fine? To face the world alone without my partner in crime?
    I often drowned in this depressing meditation. Day in and day out, I struggled to breathe as my heavy thoughts closed in around me. Smothering me. Choking me. Killing me.
    “You’ve got to stop doing this to yourself!” Mom came to my aid. “You’ve got to break free from whatever goes through that deep well of a mind.”
    “Do what?” I played dumb, feeding into our exhaustive charade, the dodge and weave of Mom trying to get me to open up, but never really succeeding.
    “I know you heard me, Rett, and I know where your head’s at when you get that look.”
    I turned so she couldn’t see my face. Was I that transparent? That predictable? How was I rated one of the best agents in the agency being that I was so easily read? Perhaps it was confirmation that I had no business accepting missions alone, without Benson’s help.
    I could feel the anger building within me. I grimaced, knowing what was coming. Evading it drained me of any strength I’d mustered today. It was only a matter of time before my defenses were down, before I would feel.
    Then Mom spoke and the walls came tumbling down. “It’s okay to talk about it… to talk about him. ”
    The familiar pain crept from my stomach to my chest, curdling like toxic smoke. It lingered there for a while, smoldering, aching, stealing my breath away, ever so slowly