Rising by Stephanie Judice Page A

had cracked and fallen away from his shoulders.   I finally hopped out of the Jeep, leaning
against the side.
    “So, you know when people are happy or
angry.   You just feel it?”
    “Yes.”
    “You know what I’m feeling when I’m
around you?” I asked. Very nervously, I might add.
    “Yes,” he said.
    That tilted smile came to his lips, and
that crazy butterfly in my stomach was flapping like its wings just caught on
fire.   I blushed even though I tried to
act casual.
    “What do auras look like?” he asked.
    “Well, they’re like transparent colors
of all shades.   They sometimes hover only
over the head.   Sometimes, they flow down
further over a person.   I’m not sure
why.”
    “What color is my aura?” he asked.
    I grinned.   This was something I’d been wanting to tell
him since I met him.
    “That’s the funny thing about you,
Gabe.   You don’t have one color.   You have every color.   Maybe it’s because you have so many feelings
of others bouncing off of you.   Yeah, now
that I think about it, that explains it,” I said.  
    “Well, I think I finally know why you
numb my other sense,” he said, edging toward me.
    “Numb you?” I asked, feeling my heart
pick up speed erratically.
    “Yeah, when we first met, the reason I
didn’t seem to like you is because I couldn’t figure out why my other sense got
all fuzzy around you.   It must have
something to do with your ability to see these auras, the energy or something.   It messes with my ability somehow.”
    “That’s crazy,” I whispered, realizing
he was leaning ever closer to me.
    I’ve had little experience with
kissing.   Sadly, very little.   There was Shane Bradford in eighth grade
behind the gym.   Yes, a cliché, I know,
but it really was my first experience.   All I remember is that Shane was a sloppy kisser.   He was all over the place with his mouth to
the point that I started giggling and quickly ended our blooming middle school
romance.   There was David Weber at my
freshman homecoming dance in New Orleans.   David was sweet.   Our first and
last kiss, while we swayed to Jewel’s 90’s hit “Pieces of You” on the dance
floor, was nice.   Just nice.   Then, there was Jordan Blanchard, a friend of
Trey Hawkes on the BCHS football team who took me to a party in the back of a
cane field my first year here.   I’d just
moved here and didn’t know any better at the time.   I don’t remember his kissing abilities,
because I spent too much time fending off his roaming hands.  
    Now, Gabe, whose hands were perfectly
still on my hips, were sending me an insanely intense vibe.   He moved slowly, tenderly.   A shot of heat flowed through me as his lips
gently met mine.   My heart beat
frantically when he pulled me to him, continuing his slow, soft kiss. After
what felt like the longest, most pleasant minute of my life, he pulled away and
looked down at me.   I realized to my
embarrassment that I was a little breathless.   His dark eyes never moved from mine.   Piercing, motionless, they held me still.   He was so close, I could feel his heart
beating against me.
    “What color am I now?” he whispered.
    I watched his aura flicker and flame
like a maddened blaze.
    “You look like you’re on fire.”
    “Funny,” he whispered, smiling, “I feel
like I’m on fire.”
    His hands were still on my hips as he pulled
me closer.   Our second embrace was
stronger, deeper, longer.   I wound my
hand into the back of his hair, marveling at how soft it was.   He slipped a hand behind my neck.   Through my closed eyelids, I could see his
aura glowing brightly.   A current of
electricity coursed through both of us, and I wondered if this was normal, or
if our powers amplified our attraction. Whatever force drew us to each other;
it bonded us permanently with that deep, lingering kiss.   The sun disappeared beneath the horizon, but
we hadn’t noticed.   We were lost in each
other.   I felt dizzy when