To Be Gifted

Trent and I used to be close friends. But that changed when we came to this school.

Unlike most high schools, we started at thirteen years old. At first, our friendship had been solid, with a foundation I was sure nothing could shake because we’d known each other since I was nine years old and he, ten. He attended the school first, being a year older than me, and I had missed him while he was away.

I didn’t realised then that he had been invited to join as a member of the Gifted. All I had known was that he was different somehow; his green eyes seemed more alive when he talked about his life at the school and he’d seem so much happier; like he finally found a place for himself.

When I turned thirteen, my parents sent me to the school. It was then that I realised how odd it was that Trent was Gifted because his family definitely belonged to the upper crust of society, even more so than mine did. Both his parents weren’t from old-money families but had made their riches in past twenty years, conquering America and parts of Europe. Being a Vincent-Blair was a big deal.

It didn’t fit in with the idea of the Gifted being scholarship kids. I figured that maybe he was so intelligent that they couldn't ignore it and gave him Gifted anyway.

And because he was Gifted, I hardly saw him. So I had to make new friends, which had never been easy for me. I was incredibly shy, taking a long time to warm up to people. But eventually, I found Rose St. Claire and we became friends. I was very aware that she was no Trent. She didn’t understand me as well and though I found that I fitted into the school, I still missed him.

Trent made time for me, of course, doing the best he could. But I knew it wasn’t easy to juggle his work load and me. I also knew that the Gifted didn’t build friendships with us. Trent probably had to deal with some talk about it. While Trent never cared about what others said, I did and so, I was contented enough with the little time he spared for me.

This arrangement had gone on for a year. And then, suddenly, everything changed.



I realised that I’ve been talking too much about my life, too much about Rose and the boy she’d met at a party, Tyler I think, but it was only because I was relieved that Trent had finally made time for me. It was now July and I hadn’t seen him since January, which made me kind of worried. Now that I would looking at him, really looking at him, I could see that he hadn’t been paying attention to me.

He was wearing his charming smile, the one that he always used to convince others that they were interesting when they were boring him. You wouldn’t have known it if you didn’t study him like I did. Most adults had been pleased to see him listening intently because they couldn’t see through his smile. We had actually laughed at how Trent could be so charming during insipid conversations, fooling self-important adults.

It didn’t seem so funny now. He had never looked so bored with me.

“What’s wrong?” asked Trent, finally noticing the silence.

“No, nothing.” I forced a smile. Latching onto a topic I was sure he would be interested in, I asked, “So how’re your classes?”

“They’re fine.” He smiled at me, this time it was a genuine one. I felt knots in my stomach loosening and then he went, “There isn’t much to report actually.”

The knots tightened. The way Trent felt about the school was such a marked difference; almost dismissive. He wouldn’t have been like this a year ago. He had changed. When did this happen?

“Okay, something’s wrong. I can see it.” Trent lifted my chin. “What’s wrong, Haley?"

“What aren’t you telling me?” Trent’s eyes rose, surprised at the accusation barely hidden in my tone. Trying not to flinch, I continued, “Something’s different but I can’t figure out why or when it happened. Is it because of your parents…”

I stopped, knowing that I crossed the line. I knew this even before his expression had turned blank, his eyes two green slits of fury.

I shouldn't have brought up his parents. They had passed away in January, in an airplane crash, and I last seen him at the funeral. He had withdrawn into himself, looking so cold and imposing that I hadn’t known what to say.

Trent didn't have that problem. Before I could say something to apologise, he was already speaking.

"You may come from an old-money family but it doesn’t gave you permission to stick your nose into my business when you’re clearly not welcomed. Though come to think of it, your family wouldn't be able to stay so rich anymore if you don't grow up. You’re too awkward and uncomfortable in important situations. How are you going to cut business deals? The van Bridget companies may very well be ruined by you.”

I stared at him in shock, wondering if this was what he had been thinking of all this time. Could he still be considered my best friend if this was what he thought about me?

Trent was looking at me, looking as stunned as I felt by his outburst. His neck was slowly turning red, from embarrassment or anger I could not tell. “Fuck. Haley, look I didn’t mean any of that—”

“But you did.” My eyes were stinging with tears I was trying to hold back. “You did mean it. You knew all my insecurities and you just threw them back at me. All I’d wanted to know was if something was wrong. Because you’ve clearly changed. And I want to know why. Why are you being like this? Why don't you can’t tell me anything anymore?”

He didn’t say anything, only gazed back at me with some kind of pleading expression that I couldn’t understand. I waited for a few minutes, certain that he would try to say something to salvage the situation but he never said a word.

I was hurt by his silence and so I stomped off, sure that he wouldn’t leave things like this. Trent didn’t leave things unfinished; he had always made what he meant very clear. But I was wrong.

He never said a word to me ever again.



As the days passed, more details about Emily’s death emerged.

Emily had been definitely been murdered because of the way the dagger had been driven in, she hadn’t been drugged beforehand and she knew her murderer because there wasn’t any sign of a forced entry. She had opened the door for him or her.

Most frightening of all was how the school hadn’t been able to find any trace of the person who did this. There was absolutely no DNA evidence—no hairs, no fingerprints. Without DNA, security couldn’t find if this person was a well-known criminal.

Most people thought it was because intelligent and careful he or she was. He had gone to much trouble to make Emily’s death look like a murder, he made it clear that it was Vengeance he was after through the engraving his dagger, and had taken great pains to hide all evidence.

The Headmaster tried his best to make us feel reassured by unrolling new security measures and proving a grief counselor to help us deal with Emily’s death. He also promised that despite the lack of DNA evidence, security were reviewing tapes of that day and find the murderer as quickly as possible.

But some parents still wanted their children back by their sides. Even my parents had asked if I wanted to go home but I didn’t think that it would help. There wouldn't be anybody else at home anyway. So I rejected the offer and some of my friends, like Rose, had done the same. They were quite sure that there wouldn’t be another murder again, not with the beefed up security but I wasn’t as certain as they were.

I still felt that there was something slightly strange about Emily’s death. And unlike the security people, I was more concerned about why Emily had been murdered.

As for Julie Lawrence, she had been pulled out of school because she was so shaken. There were also some kids who’d left not because of their parents but because they couldn’t sleep anymore, especially those who lived in Green like Emily. They didn’t feel safe.

We were attending the funeral service for Emily today. The Headmaster had just finished making his speech about Emily before I had become lost in my thoughts. Now it was George McKinley, Emily’s father who was speaking. The other members of Emily’s father were seated in the front row, with Emily’s close friends.

As usual, the Elite were separated from the Gifted. The Elite were seated at the left and the Gifted the right. But all of us were wearing black, the colour of mourning.

“…it is tragic how my little girl will never grow up to be the woman we had all been anticipating, a woman who would only have brought more good into this world.” He stopped and glanced up at us, specifically at the Headmaster as well as the Gifted, whose heads were bent. From my seat at the back, I couldn’t tell if the Gifted were really paying attention. “I had sent Emily here based on the recommendations of my closet friends. I had believed that sending her to this school would have only helped her blossom into a lady. Unfortunately, I was wrong.”

I winced at this stinging comment.

The Headmaster started rising in response and I could tell that he was taut with nerves, maybe even anger.

George McKinley stood up straighter, his voice becoming more strident. He looked hysterical, not at all like a successful and cool-headed businessman. “As such, the McKinleys will put our money to better use. We will no longer be donating any more money to this school, a school where children are not safe. Instead, we will be using our funds to build a hospital wing in memory of Emily. I urge you children to go home where you will safe and encourage your parents to use their money for worthier causes."

All hell broke loose.