Glitches (Book 1)

Chapter 4: Justin

I stared solemnly out the window as the bus bumped along the road home. My entire body still throbbed from all the tricks Claire had performed at my expense. She had used me in her shows before, but never anything that could be compared to this. The audience's roaring laughter still echoed in my ears and I clenched my jaw at the memory of my embarrassment. 

Claire sat in the row across from me, a gray hoodie pulled over her showy black dress. She drummed her fingertips on her thigh, humming softly to herself as she turned her head to meet my gaze. "That has got to be one of the best shows I've ever done," she smirked.

"Was the part when you made me swing like a pendulum while hanging upside down really necessary?" I groaned, rubbing my head. "And when you bumped my voice up three octaves? I really didn't appreciate that!"

"Be thankful that wasn't permanent," Claire said in a strangely mom-like voice. "And just be quiet for a while, please."

As usual, I miraculously stopped talking. This time, she didn't even bother to wave her arms around to accompany her words. She simply spoke, and I acted. Clamping my mouth shut to avoid giving her the satisfaction of a dumbfounded expression, I looked up, scrutinizing her face. That was where the answers must've been. The answers to how she got her supposed powers, and how she made them look so...real, and so believable.

There was nothing exceptional about her curly brown hair, light freckles, and hazel eyes. Nothing strange at all. In fact, she was so unbelievably average that if she hadn't been my sister and a celebrity, I never would've been able to pick her out of a crowd. She was neither ugly nor exceptionally beautiful, neither skinny nor overweight, neither stern nor bubbly. So what trait did she possess that gave her the ability to control the actions of those around her?

I tried to tell myself that she couldn't, that there was something about her that hadn't occurred to me yet. It had to be something obvious that would turn my face red when I finally figured it out – if I ever did.

Then, there was that other side of me. The little boy side, the side that still wholeheartedly believed in wizards and demons and superpowers. The side that wanted to believe that Claire was magic. I was always quite ashamed of that tiny fraction of me, to be honest. I always just wanted it to go away, to stay in my innocent past where it belonged, but every time I thought I had gotten rid of it, it would creep up on me at the most awkward moments. Like at the very intense, potentially revealing moments of Claire's shows, when unscientific thought was the last thing I needed.

"Kids! We're home!" Mom yelled from the front of the bus. Its tires let out a whoosh of air as it slid to a stop in front of the intricate metalwork of our gate. The iron monstrosity towered over even the hefty tour bus, but its size was nothing in comparison to that of the residence that lay sprawled across several acres behind it.

A neatly trimmed hedge circumscribed the modern, flat-roofed mansion. The path that led up to the building was made entirely of glossy slabs of marble, trimmed on either side with miniature fences that couldn't have been more than three inches tall. Two gushing little fountains filled the space on both sides of the path that wasn't occupied by trees and flowerbeds. The arrangement was packed with decoration, yet somehow managed not to appear cluttered.

You know you've been away for far too long when you start to admire the aesthetic appeal of your own home.

Claire and I eagerly climbed out of the bus as the gate swung open, then ran up the steps to our house. My sister fumbled with a large, brass key before finally managing to fit it into the antique lock that adorned our front door. Try as I did, I could never quite understand her obsession with fancy, old things. Although, I shouldn't have been complaining, because I could think of famous people with quirks that were much weirder than that.

As soon as we were sure that our parents were right behind us, we entered the spacious downstairs living room without waiting for them to catch up with us. Almost simultaneously, we ran up the first flight of stairs, then the second, before collapsing in our respective rooms. Despite our many differences and disputes, it was surprising how similar our basic tendencies could be. The tour had been long and tiring, and we were both ready for some quality phone time.

"Claire!" came Michael's booming voice from downstairs less than five minutes after the two of us had gotten up to the third floor.

I groaned as my thumb slipped off of the screen of my iPhone, grumbling to myself about the horrible timing of his distracting words. That was another thing about being a member of the King family. Claire almost never rested, and consequently, neither did the rest of us.

"There's a guy in Texas who's offering a good ten thousand dollars if you go down to his town and make it rain. He says it's getting way too hot and dry."

"When?" I heard my sister's sleepy voice.

"The jet'll be ready tomorrow."

"I just got back from a tour," she whined. "Give me a break!"

"Claire Marie King! Are you going to pass up ten thousand dollars so you can take a nap?"

"Fine," she grumbled.

"Have fun down in Texas!" I yelled.

"Shut up!" she replied and sure enough, I instantly obeyed her command. Stupid powers.