Gifted Connections 3

“Okay, done,” Jemmy said brightly.

Gavin reached into his wallet and pulled out his credit card. “Here, Jemmy. Thanks.”

Jemmy stood up, barely containing her rage and tears. “I said I will get it. Work on your computer program with her, and I’ll get you your stuff.”

She picked up her tray and stomped off.

I looked over at Jaxson and projected my thoughts to him. We need to talk to her.

We? Do you have a mouse in your pocket? he responded but then sighed. Kidding, kidding. How about after we go shopping tomorrow. She’s always happier when she has some retail therapy.

Okay, tomorrow, I agreed.

“I’ll talk to her,” Drake whispered in my ear. He was always so observant. It didn’t surprise me that he saw the furtive glances Jaxson and I had been exchanging.

I gave him a grateful smile. “I should probably let Gavin know.”

Chapter 2

After lunch, we had training. Each day they tried to focus on a different task. We had to go to the shooting range, do strength and core training, and learn hand-to-hand combat techniques. They taught survival, evasion, resistance, and escape (SERE) training tactics, too. Right now, I couldn’t see the bigger picture. We were gifted. I felt like we were learning a lot, and I was probably in the best shape of my life, but I felt like their training wasn’t effective to our gifted missions.

I felt like over half of the people training there looked down on us. Remy, Jace, Terrance, and Troy had taken to training easily, but the rest of us struggled in an area or two. They resented the fact that they had done this for years and struggled to even get hired by Paul’s company, and then we came along.

Rachel, Jaxson, Jemmy, and I were in high school. Some of the men on the team had children in our classes. They didn’t think we had the life experience or maturity to fight with them. Paul asked us to refrain from using our gifts until we were accepted by many of the people. I’m sure they were accustomed to some neat parlor tricks from their friends and family. They had yet to see us in action.

I was at the point where I believed we couldn’t earn their respect until they saw us in action. I knew I wasn’t alone in my beliefs either. A select handful of Paul’s C.O.s (they were the equivalent of a commanding officer) knew our capabilities. They had watched our tapes. They were the only ones that seemed to respect us.

Today was another sparring day. I enjoyed these days. They typically paired me with Jemmy, Sierra, Dawn, or Rachel, and even though I was small, I was fast and flexible. Rachel was quick as well, but she didn’t have the power or flexibility I had. Thanks to Troy, I had gotten private lessons from him before we landed here. I had relied on his expertise. He had studied several martial art forms for over eighteen years.

“Okay folks,” Henderson, one of our instructors, said jovially as he came onto the mats where we were stretching, clapping his hands. He was a good instructor, it was his side kick Bradford (everyone went by their last names here) I didn’t care for. He was a lower man in the pecking order, and he had major little-man syndrome going on. “Sparring day. Who’s our first victim?” Laughter rang out. “I mean, contenders today?”

The training room was large. It reminded me of my old high school gymnasium on steroids. There were multiple stairs leading to an upper level where a state of the art indoor track was located. The gym had basketball hoops retracted up to the ceilings. There were bleachers on the right and left-hand side of the room. The front of the gym had weight and lifting equipment. The rear, where we entered had speed bags, heavy bags, and sparring equipment.

The training groups were separated for ease of training. They tried to not have too many of us in the one area at any given time, despite the size of the area we were now occupying. Our training group consisted of approximately forty of us. It was clear, that even in here we were the outsiders. We were on one side of the training mats, while the majority of the others were on the other side. “Ricci, Ricci,” a few people started chanting.

I looked over at Troy and noticed that he had his game face on. He had this focused look on his face, and the normal humor that lingered in his eyes and mouth was gone. He had been doing this for years. The sparring ring was his second home.

Henderson chuckled. “Okay back by popular demand, Ricci and…” He scanned the crowd. “Butler.”

Butler muttered under his breath. His friends laughed at his remark. Troy had already gained his respect with the group. Many of the people liked him here. Most of them even asked him for pointers. The few that didn’t, resented him for what he represented—the new guy in town, showing them up. Butler was the former, not the latter.

Butler stood up. Physically they were built nearly the same. The match should have bee

n even. Troy wrapped his hands and removed his shirt. I could hear some of the girls shout out catcalls. I refrained from glaring at them.

Look all you want ladies, he’s mine, I thought spitefully.

Some people laughed while some of the guys made it a point to remove their shirts as well. They didn’t want to be shown up by Troy. They purposely flexed and posed for the girls.

Most of the girls were 21 to 24 years old. They were single and didn’t have any family responsibilities. The males outnumbered the females ten to one. There was only a handful of them that were married, and even less had husbands and children here. In this line of work, it was hard to juggle this type of career and a family.

The girls generally gravitated towards each other. For women that graduated four to six years ago, they still acted like a high school clique. Jemmy, Dawn, Sierra, Rachel, and I were clearly not allowed in the clique. There were only a few females that hadn’t shunned us or treated us like children.

I took a seat in between Remy and Noah, ready for the show. I took my hair tie off my wrist to tie it back. Remy patted the seat in front of his opened legs and I scooted over into it. He ran his fingers through my hair, and I resisted the urge to groan. It didn’t last long enough before he was braiding my hair.

His six-year-old sister had died when he was fourteen. We had both been caretakers to our younger siblings. He confided in me that she had went through a princess stage and wanted her hair braided, so Molly (his cousin and Jace’s ex) had taught him how to braid. I understood now why he had fixated on my hair early on in our relationship. It was a way of calming him. After he had confessed to me about his past, he started braiding my hair as well.

Ella and Nadia had my giant wrapped around their fingers now, too. There was nothing sexier than a big, burly man braiding a seven-year-old girl’s hair. Ella would no longer let me braid her hair, and since they were two peas in a pod, Nadia wouldn’t let me braid it any longer either. I still did the intricate things to their hair, but braiding was Remy’s job now.