Chapter 2
Nathan
“You’re an eight, son. Blessed with a powerful Gift. You’re only fifteen; you need to train it while you’re young, and train it hard.”
Nathan sighs, shrinking into his chair and hating himself for it. Hating himself for not standing up to him. For not walking away.
“The Claremonts hired a specialist company for tonight. Gifted athletes use them. It’ll be good for you.”
“But Dad… I trained last night. I train every night. I’m tired. I might not be able to handle it, I’m not at my best.”
He’s grasping at straws, he knows he is. Past experience tells him that none of his excuses will work.
Dad pushes a sandwich across the breakfast bar, an appraising look on his face. “You can do it. You know you can. I know you can. So?”
Nathan picks up the sandwich and takes a bite. Cheese and coleslaw, a favourite from the very first time Mum made it for him. He chews slowly, enjoying the textures of sharp cheddar and tangy coleslaw between his teeth.
“Fine,” he mumbles through his mouthful. “Thanks for the sandwich.”
“Don’t talk while you’re eating.” Dad turns away, plucking an apple from the fruit bowl and popping it onto Nathan’s plate. “And you’re welcome.”
An hour later they’re standing outside the Claremonts’ house, waiting for the double doors to swing open.
“Dad.”
A pair of bushy eyebrows raise in response.
“Just don’t shove me at Mirabelle, alright? I’m never gonna like her.”
“Fine.”
Within five minutes, they’re invited in, offered a drink, and shown through to the Claremonts’ very large home gym. Three women in matching tracksuits mill around with the parents, matching their enthusiasm with professional patter.
Nathan sidles off to join the group huddled in the corner. Mirabelle rolls her eyes as he comes closer, grabbing Jenny’s arm and tugging her away from the others.
“Alright. Mirabelle still hates you then.” Yuki nods at the retreating girls, looking like he’s happy to see them go and faintly disappointed at the same time.
“Yeah. Good thing I don’t care. Excited about tonight?” Nathan packs as much sarcasm into his voice as he can.
An apathetic murmur ripples around the group.
“It’s a lot.”
“Even Nathan’s dad doesn’t bring in the professionals.”
“S’gonna be hard, bet you.”
Nathan smiles a humourless smile and slurps his tea.
They all stare at their phones until the parents have finished interrogating the tracksuited women and the training session is about to begin. Drinks are refilled, hoodies stripped off, parents and progeny separated into different corners.
There are three stations set up around the room. One has the usual wooden crates with different shapes cut out of their lids, a selection of kettlebells placed on the floor in front of them. Nothing usual. The other two, though…
For a moment Nathan regrets hanging around with the others instead of examining the gear.
One station is stocked with cricket balls with spikes stuck to them.
They look like they’ll sting. The other has one of those wavy wire things, the kind you have to navigate with a metal wand.
The kind that usually makes a buzzing noise if the loop touches the track.
On this one, the wand is attached to a pair of long wires.
His guts twist with nerves.
One of the Tracksuits clears her throat, smiling as six sets of eyes snap to her. “Welcome, welcome. You’ve probably noticed that the equipment has a little more bite than usual. We find that a little skin in the game helps inspire faster progress.”
A chill spider walks down Nathan’s spine. He glances at Yuki, standing just a few paces away. He looks as shocked as Nathan feels.
“The crates are the same as you’re used to. You’re all strong kids, so you’ll be moving at least three kettlebells at once. The twist is that you’ll choose one to hold over one of your feet, and you’ll have a total weight target to aim for.”
Nathan’s eyebrows shoot upwards. He glances around the rest of the students, noting that Mirabelle’s lips are set in a determined line, like she’s heard this speech before.
“The spiked balls will be thrown at you, to help build your reflexes. It’s imperative you remain calm. All of our clients find that calmness minimises the chances of getting hit.”
The back of Nathan’s skull prickles. He turns, finding his dad looking over at him. He looks almost uncertain, like he might grab Nathan and take him home any minute. He’s usually the first to suggest Nathan buckle down and train hard, but of all the assembled parents, he seems the most unnerved.
“Finally, the buzz wire has a little extra kick to it. If the loop makes contact with the frame, you’ll get a small electric shock.”
“This is fucking insane,” Nathan mutters. Yuki nods subtly, his fists balled up by his sides.
“Any questions? Obviously any injuries will be minor, nothing that’ll prevent you from finishing tonight’s training. Don’t worry, kids, we train Olympians, professional sports players, all manner of Gifted people looking to level up. Very low risk. Okay! Line up, two groups of three.”
Mirabelle steps forward, determination radiating from every pore. The rest of them shuffle around, trying to avoid the first group.
Somehow Nathan ends up beside Mirabelle. He doesn’t even bother registering the third unlucky participant as he’s ushered over to the wire device.
Another Tracksuit unceremoniously sticks a vaguely medical-looking patch onto his arm, clicking the two long wires into place. “Alright, go.”
Nathan has never concentrated so hard in his life. The loop is small, only a few millimetres of space between the edges and the electrified wire threaded through it. His Gift might be strong, but precision of movement doesn’t come naturally to him.
Sweat beads on his brow as the wand moves painstakingly slowly along the metal frame.
A few minutes later a sharp yelp from the left breaks his focus. The wand drops, contacting the wire with a gentle ping.
Nathan’s upper arm erupts with a sharp flare of pain, muscles spasming involuntarily. “Fuck!”
“Oh dear. Easily distracted, aren’t we? Lift the probe, try again. You can do it. You’re an eight, you could be very powerful if you just focus.”
He glares at her. She smiles back.
“If you leave it there, you’ll get another shock in about fifteen seconds. Come on. Sooner it reaches the end, the sooner you’re done.”
Nathan mutters every swear word he knows under his breath as he concentrates on lifting the loop away from the wire. He tries to block out the rest of the room, narrowing his focus down to just the gleaming metal loop, the vicious electrified frame.
A flare of triumph ripples through him when he finally reaches the end.
“Well done, Nathan, we all knew you could do it. Grab some water, take a breath, you’ll be at the crate station next.”
He huddles into the corner of the room, pulling on his hoodie and trying to shrink himself down into its folds. He’s about to text Will when a glass of water is thrust at him.
“You alright?” Dad looms over him, thick eyebrows knitted together in a frown.
Nathan takes the glass and drains it, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Yeah. The shock was worse than the shock, if you know what I mean.”
“Do you want to leave?”
He experiences a different kind of shock altogether. “What?”
“If you want to go, we can go.”
Nathan frowns, looking up at his usually stoic father, wondering if he’s feeling a tiny shred of empathy for once in his life and resenting the fact it took a literal electric shock to coax it out of him.
He wrinkles his nose into a sneer. “What would the Claremonts think if we left, Dad? What would they say about us when we were gone?”
Dad’s frown deepens, his gaze flicking back to the parental corner, where Mr Claremont watches the second group with appraising eyes. He isn’t even looking at his daughter, leaning against the wall on the other side of the gym, staring at her phone like it’s just another Wednesday night.
“Thought so.” Nathan hands the glass back and strides forward to wait his turn.
The crates are even harder than the buzz wire.
Crating kettlebells isn’t exactly a new experience. Crating fifty kilos of kettlebell while holding one in the air above his foot and wearing a stupidly warm hoodie because he forgot to take it off, though…that’s a new experience.
Sweat is dampening the fabric when he’s finally allowed to move the one hovering above his foot away. Of course it has to go into a crate too, which is surprisingly hard after the others.
Nathan escapes to the bathroom, locking the door behind him and video calling Will.
His best friend is lounging on his bed, a book splayed open on his chest. “Alright? Thought you were at some Gifted event.”
“I’m at Mirabelle’s house. It’s fucking insane, Will, they got this company in, they’re hardcore. I got an electric shock doing one of the tasks.”
“Seriously?” Will sits up, the book tumbling away. “You okay?”
“Yeah, it wasn’t that bad. Dad asked if I wanted to leave.”
“That’s even weirder than getting shocked.”
“I know. Maybe it’s more extreme than he thought it’d be.”
“You should go. Sounds like a really fucked up event.”
“Nah. I don’t think he really wants to. And Mirabelle will remind me I was too weak to carry on for, oh, the rest of my life.”
“You’re not weak, Nathan. Mirabelle’s a bitch.”
“I know. What’re you up to?”
“Reading, obviously.”
“You did karate earlier?”
“Yeah. It was good. Sensei said I’ll get a brown belt before my birthday.”
“Nice, mate. Black belt after brown, right?”
“Yeah.”
A soft knock cuts through the brief moment of peace. “Nathan?”
He rolls his eyes, mouthing “got to go” at Will.
“One sec.” He flushes the toilet and runs the tap for effect.
Dad’s leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom when he emerges.
Nathan scowls and pushes past him. “I was only gone two minutes.”
“Wait.” A hand clamps around his upper arm, over the electrode pad still stuck to his skin. The pressure eases a little when he flinches. “You okay?”
“I’m perfect. Only a little electricity and the threat of a broken foot.”
Dad frowns, exactly as Nathan predicted. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, son.”
“And violence is never the answer, right? She used to say that, too.”
“Nathan.” Dad pauses, then sighs. “Your mum wouldn’t have liked this.”
“No shit.”
“Language!” They glare at each other in the hallway’s golden light. “If you want to go, we’ll go. I’ll tell them you’ve got a stomach bug.”
“I doubt anyone will believe that. Only an hour left, right? How bad can it be?” Nathan shrugs his father’s hand off and strides back towards the home gym.
As it turns out, pretty bad.
The spiky cricket balls don’t half sting when they catch you. And the Tracksuits don’t take kindly to Nathan jumping out of the way when he grows too tired to deflect them with his Gift.
The kettlebells feel even heavier the second time around.
The third time Nathan slips, a five-kilo weight plummeting with painful inevitability towards his foot, crisis averted at the last minute by a blunt yank upwards.
Mrs Claremont makes a big show of never mind at the dent in the ceiling as her daughter smirks in the background.
After a final and painful round with the spiky balls, Nathan’s free.
The first thing he does when they get in the car is send Will a series of messages mostly made up of swear words.
“If the Claremonts host another event like that, we won’t go.”
Nathan glances over, vindictive relief blooming in his chest. He chooses not to reply, turning his attention back to the glowing lifeline in his hands.
“I mean it. I’m…I’m sorry, son.”
Nathan transcribes the words to Will, adding his own disbelieving commentary.
“I don’t want you hurt. I just want you ready for the future. The best version of yourself you can be.”
The future. One version of the future, one. Not the one Nathan would necessarily choose for himself if he had a choice.
“You’re fourteen. In four years you’ll be going to university, and then you’ll join me, keep our legacy alive.”
Nathan rolls his eyes in the darkness. “It’s a business, Dad. Not a legacy.”
“It’s both. A business, our family’s legacy. It’ll be yours one day.”
Nathan knows better than to disagree.
“You’ll need to be strong for the fieldwork.
Can’t run the business without experience of the work itself.
Fieldwork for a year or so, maybe two. Then you’ll join me at head office.
” Dad’s voice has gone a little soft, the way it does when he’s off in his own world, dreaming of a future Nathan doesn’t want.
“I’ll show you the ropes. You’ll be great, I know you will. ”
Nathan tunes him out. The streetlights flash past as they make their way home, Dad prattling away. As if he could convince him. As if he can sell his son a dream that’s his and his alone.
Nathan’s phone vibrates. He replies quickly, throwing in the odd vague noise to make the old man think he’s listening.
At least there’s one person who bothers to ask what Nathan wants for himself.