Author's Notes and Disclaimer:
Yep, it's been a while. A long while, but I am still writing TP stories. I'm just not cranking them out as quickly as I used to. This is yet another installment in my Tomorrow People serial (New Series) Tapestry. It's part of a smaller serial of stories called 'The Coming Storm' which deals with Adam's history as I see it.
This story is the third in that serial, and it is necessary to have read the other two 'A Gathering of Clouds' and 'As Long as We Have Each Other' to fully understand what is going on in this particular story.
For those who like this story, more of my writing can be found here: http://www.mindspring.com/~chelesedai/fanfic.html
Unfortunately, this story has not yet been archived at the site, because the site will be moving very soon. The story will be posted at the new site, following the move.
As always, remember, Tapestry is an open playground. I'd welcome stories about the other TP and input is always sought!
Now for the legalese:
Disclaimer: The character of Adam Newman does not belong to me. He is the property of Roger Damon Price, Nickelodeon, Thames and ITV television. I am merely borrowing him for fun, and not for profit. Sheila, Wendy, Paul, Danielle, Lauren and Brett are my own creations and not based on any persons, real or imagined, living or dead.
Enjoy, and please, please, please, please send feedback!
Michele Mason Bumbarger
October, 1989
"He's different."
"She means that he's strange. Well, he used to be normal, but then his sister sliced herself in the bathtub --- "
"--- And he found her ---"
"With all that money his family has, you'd have to expect it."
Adam took a deep breath, steadying himself against a tree. He knew that people talked behind his back. He still received odd and pitying stares when he walked through the hallways at school. Even Martin Newman's money couldn't erase the stigmata of Tara's suicide. He was branded and there was no changing it. But the part that hurt so much, the part of it that caused the deep, ripping ache in his stomach was that these were people he considered to be his friends.
Adam had grown up with most of them. Sheila and Wendy, the twins with bright red hair and laughing green eyes, had sat beside him at lunch through primary school --- at least until the day that girls became "gross." He and Paul played soccer together. The only one he didn't know was Danielle---Danielle whose smile made him melt --- and now, she would hear the story and the rumors.
He'd been foolish to think that it could be otherwise. Another blow to his less than perfect life.
"I heard that she killed herself because her father was --- "
He chose that moment to step out from the shadow of the trees. This camping trip had already gone horribly awry -- he might as well finish the weekend off.
Adam felt their eyes on him. He felt their embarrassment and humiliation. The calm of his voice surprised him. "I'll just get my things and be going. I don't feel much like camping anymore."
Sheila averted her eyes, long painted nails toying with the crucifix around her neck. She would not utter a word unless her twin did, and Wendy had suddenly found a great deal of fascination in her sandals. Nolan pushed a few branches around in the fire, keeping his face carefully guarded. Only Paul and Danielle looked at him, but he refused to look at them. He didn't have any desire to see the pity in her eyes.
Paul jumped up, brushing his hands on his jeans. "Adam we were just talking -- "
"I know, about me. Adam Newman, the freak." Adam didn't pause as he crossed the camp to gather up his sleeping bag and backpack.
"Nobody said that."
Adam slung the pack over his shoulder. "No one had to."
He gathered the remainder of his gear in an uncomfortable silence. At least he knew who his real friends were.
"Well, you have been weird since Tara died." The whisper was so soft that Adam was certain that he hadn't been meant to hear it.
He couldn't take anymore. He whirled back to his group of so-called friends, determined to have the last word. His gaze narrowed in on Sheila who continued to stare into the fire as though she had not uttered a word.
"And how much do you think you would like it if you found Wendy dead in a bathtub?"
He was halfway down the trail, ignoring the shouts behind him when he ran into Brett.
"Hey, Adam, where are you off to?" The other boy's words were slurred a bit, and Adam could smell the beer on his breath.
He couldn't decide which was worse --- the smell of beer or liquor.
"Home." The one word answer suited him just fine.
"Why?" Lauren clung to Brett's side, her hair in disarray, her too tight sweater dishelved and askew. It didn't require much imagination for Adam to figure out what his friend had been up to and he shook his head in disgust.
Brett had all the self-control of --- well, of Adam's mother. The image of the woman clutching a martini and stumbling room to dinner sprang to his mind and he banished it immediately.
"Ask your friends," Adam elbowed past them with a snarl.
He had just finished loading his gear on his bike when she caught up with him.
"Adam, wait." The familiar and delicate American accent stopped his leg in mid air as he prepared to swing it over the motorcycle. "Or at least take me with you."
"You want to go with me?" Adam turned, his voice nearly cracking at the sight of her. His height, with long, dark curls that spilled over her shoulders and doe eyes deep enough to drown in. The dark skinned American beauty had stolen his heart the moment he had caught a glimpse of her in the hallways.
Danielle dragged her gear to the bike. "Adam, I'm only here because you invited me."
He glanced back toward the wood. "After what they said?"
"I heard all that stuff my first week here. I just never expected to hear it from your friends." Her emphasis on the last two words told him precisely how she felt about that sentiment. "I take friendship a lot more seriously than that. They should be supporting you, not saying those things."
She paused, leaning over the bike, the moonlight reflecting off her black hair. "We move so much. I'm real careful about making friends."
Adam helped her secure her gear, keeping his eyes carefully averted. "Then why me?"
She was an angel --- she was smart, and she was incredibly beautiful. He was --- well, he was Martin Newman's son with the drunk mother and the dead sister.
"Because, you're a nice guy. And I really like you." She said the last shyly, slipping her hand into his. "I really want us to be friends."
Something in her eyes told him that she spoke with sincerity from the depths of her soul.
Friends. It had a pleasant sound to it.
A friend who didn't judge him; a friend who didn't tip toe around him. A friend who accepted him as he was.
It was precisely what he needed.
"Friends," Adam whispered shyly, enjoying the feel of her hand in his.
For the first time since Tara's death there was a light at the end of the tunnel.
And it was called friendship.
--- End ---