by Alex Hayes
“Idris?” Mom’s voice says. “I saw your light on. Are you okay?”
“Don’t feel too good,” I murmur.
“You don’t look well either.” Mom drops a palm on my forehead. “You’re not hot, but your skin looks worse. Those aren’t pimples, honey. They look scaly.”
She rattles off a bunch of questions, the kind a pediatrician asks, then heads downstairs to make some herbal tea, and I close my eyes.
“Here you are, sweetheart.” Mom sets a steaming mug on the bedside table.
Dad appears behind her and turns on the overhead light. “Let me see what’s going on with you, sport.”
My head starts to seriously pound as I squint up at him.
“Chicken pox?” he wonders.
“Had it,” I mumble.
“Eczema?”
I groan. “I don’t even know what that is.”
Dad’s lips twist as he thinks, then he looks at Mom. “You’d better take him to the doctor in the morning. Make sure they do a full complement of tests. If the local MD can’t diagnose it, I know someone in the city who I bet can.”
Mom nods and turns off the main light. I moan out a dull thanks.
When the parents have gone, I sit up and sip my tea. Jim comes into focus across the room. He’s still looking at me.
What is up with that? I’d shake my head but it hurts too much. My legs slither over the side of the bed, and I stagger to the bathroom.
My breath seizes in my throat when my eyes meet the mirror. Mom said my skin wasn’t right. Jesus. No kidding. My flesh tone is a flat-tire gray and my cheeks are dotted with greenish scales.
My god, I look half dead. What did that crazy old bat do to me?
No, no. It couldn’t have been her. Unless she was carrying some weird-ass disease. My eyes stray to the backward image of my bedroom in the mirror. Jim has moved. And he’s still watching me.
Shit.
Sleep. All I need is sleep.
I stagger back to bed and pull the blankets over my head.
8
Cadi
Two days after Christmas, Dean’s back working the five a.m. shift, so I sleep in until eight.
Once breakfast is done, I wrap up in my canvas winter coat, a hand-me-down from Mama, and pull on my new hat, scarf and gloves from Shri. No one’s around when I step outside. Papa must have sent Dean home early because he’d usually be loading hay bales for the goats.
I clomp through the night’s delivery of snow to the old barn, three ping pong balls rolling between my fingers in the square front pocket of my coat.
A wide shaft of sunlight cuts across hay bales and the barn floor from the east window. I follow the sound of mewing and find Roly-Poly licking her smallest kitten, whom I recently dubbed Smoke. The others are playing tag in the straw.
Settling on a half bale, I pull out the ping pong balls and toss them toward the kittens. It’s not difficult to manipulate all three balls at once with my mind, as long as I see them as a collective. I keep them hovering just above the scattered straw, within reach of the curious kittens.
“I think I’ll call you Snowball,” I say to the white one with a penchant for rolling into his siblings like he’s a bowling ball and they’re pins.
A ping pong ball gets batted out into left field. I loosen my hold on the other two and they drop to the ground, then retrieve the third and set them all bobbing around again.
Roly-Poly stops licking her runt and swats at a ball. She misses and leaps across the straw in hot pursuit. I struggle to keep the balls moving while laughing at her antics.
The ping pong ball she’s chasing darts ahead and collides with a boot.
Oh, crap!
I look up.
Dean’s wide eyes look down at me. “Were you doing that?”
I blink. “What? Laughing?”
A frown twists his features. “No. Moving those ping pong balls around.”
How long could he have been watching? Probably a while. Damage control.
I collect them as swift as a gambler gathers a rigged deck and stuff them in my pocket. “They’re magic balls. For cats. Got some gyroscopy thing inside them.”
He says nothing, just stares at me until my cheeks flush.
I cross my arms. “What?”
“That’s bull, Cadi, and you know it.”
I shrug. “So what are you suggesting? I’m psychic or something?”
“Or something,” he answers. “Let me see one of those magic balls.”
“Sorry. They’re still in the experimental stages. Can’t risk the competition getting their hands on them before they’ve been patented.”
“Competition? What’re you talking about?”
I shy away as he reaches for my pocket. “Yeah. If they get hold of one of these prototypes, they could beat us to market?”
“Who’s us?”
God, this hole’s getting deep.
“Me and my partner.” I say it like my partner might be something more than business. Maybe I can distract him.
“You’ve got a partner, huh?” He sounds doubtful.
I nod. “We go way back.”
He takes a step toward me, and the kittens run for cover. “What’s his name?”
I lift my chest, trying to look taller and less intimidated. “How’d you know my partner’s a he?”
He lunges for my pocket. I shove him backward, harder than I mean to. He snags my elbows and drags me after him as he topples into the straw.
Next thing, he’s on top of me, still trying to get his hands on one of those ping pong balls.
Heat bursts through my chest in a crackle of energy from the embedded crystal like it’s screaming a warning.
Don’t freak out, Cadi, I tell myself, because that could be detrimental to Dean’s health.
My voice comes out like an icy wind off an arctic snowcap. “Get off me right now, Dean Whittier, or I will scream so loud this barn will fall down and crush us both to death.”
Dean freezes, like he’s just realized we’re not five-year-olds fighting for a toy pony. He’s off me in a second. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Grope me?” I let my fear of discovery morph into fury as I scramble to my feet.
His face flushes. “That’s not…” His hands bunch, then he draws in a breath. “So, what’s your partner’s name?”
Will he not give up? “Dre.” The name comes out in less than a heartbeat.
His eyes press into mine as if they could pin me to the wall. “Sure sounds like a guy.”
I won’t be intimidated. “Also a girl’s name. Look it up.”
He scoffs and brushes his palms down his wool coat, knocking off pieces of straw. “Fine.”
He turns away just as Papa appears at the barn door. “Dean, Cadi, I’m going to need your help.” There’s an urgency in his voice and a tightness in his shoulders.
After a swift glance at me, Dean says, “What’s up, Mr. Jacobsen?”
Papa flips off his ball cap and runs a calloused hand through his thinning hair. “Water main break on the range. There’s flooding in the upper field. I’ve closed the supply valve, but I want to get up there and fix the break before the temperature drops and turns the place into an ice rink. We’re going to need the tractor and Will’s out sick today. I need all the help I can get.”
We follow Papa out the barn at a quick pace as I struggle to bring my heart rate back to normal and focus on the problem at hand.
Shri’s already loading tools onto the trailer. Dean and Papa lift wood planks and replacement water pipes on board, while I head over to help Shri.
When everything’s loaded and secure, Papa starts the tractor. Dean steps onto its tailgate without looking my way, while Shri and I hop onto the end of the trailer.
It’s a bumpy ride down the snow-packed dirt road that connects the fields. The sun’s barely warm on our shoulders as we cling to the trailer frame to keep from being bounced off onto the ground.
“Be
tter than a rodeo ride,” Shri comments, but based on her pallor, she’s not having fun.
I steal a glance at Dean. His back is to us as he grips the tractor cab with both hands.
Shri follows my look, eyebrow raised. “Is there something going on between you two?”
“Nah, not really.”
She doesn’t seem convinced.
I struggle not to look in Dean’s direction. He’s a jerk for hassling me, whatever he saw. A kiss under the mistletoe does not constitute anything close to the right of interrogation. Fortunately, he’s no more likely to believe I was using telekinesis than the rest of the planet, but that doesn’t mean he won’t make my life miserable because I wouldn’t confide in him.
The tractor turns off the road onto a path up the hillside. The vehicle bounces over a deep rut, almost popping Shri and me off the trailer like a couple of loose hubcaps.
Shri blanches.
I pat her arm. “You wanna walk the rest of the way?”
She shakes her head. “I’ll end up on my ass or up to my waist in a snow bank.”
The engine tone changes as Papa switches gears. The wheels slip a little as the road grows steeper.
“Mind you,” she adds, “if the tractor gets stuck we’ll be walking back, anyway.”
On cue, the tractor wheels slip again, sending a shudder down the length of the trailer.
Uh-oh.
One of the tractor’s giant rear wheels spins, sending a fountain of snow into the air that sprays across our backs. We squeal.
Papa shouts an apology. “We’ve lost traction on the left side. Dean, grab one of those planks, let’s see if we can wedge the wheel underneath. Girls, jump off. We’re going to unhitch the trailer.”
We step into icy mush and back off to the side while Papa and Dean position a wood plank at the front edge of the rear wheel.
While we watch, I imagine pushing the tractor up into the air with my mind and floating it all the way to the upper field. Then I wonder how much a tractor weighs. Tons.
I sigh. And how would everyone react if I did something like that? Dean would blow a gasket for sure.
Papa puts the tractor in gear and hits the gas. The rear wheels turn, moving the tractor forward, then the plank twists in the snow and comes flying out the back of the vehicle like a missile.
Shri lets out a high-pitched laugh. “Whoa. Glad we weren’t anywhere near that.”
Papa’s back on the ground, frowning at the growing rut under the wheel. “We’ll have to pull ourselves out,” he calls.
Could I push the tractor out? My fingers tingle with the desire to try, then my eyes catch Dean’s. He frowns and looks away.
Add fuel to that fire? I’d have to be crazy.
Dean heads to the front of the vehicle with Papa who releases the tow cable.
Shri shoves her hands deep into her pockets. “What are they going to hitch it to?”
There are a handful of trees in the vicinity. Otherwise, the area is as desolate as the Arctic tundra. Papa and Dean head for the nearest one, a gnarled oak off to the right. They wrap the cable a couple of times around the tree and secure it with the hook.
Papa returns and puts the vehicle in gear. The tractor creeps forward until the left wheel is floating over the hole it dug.
The cable slides sideways and sticks on one edge of the winch, then suddenly comes free. The tractor bucks forward, balances on three wheels, the fourth floating, then the vehicle lurches sideways and topples over.
Shri and I shriek as Papa disappears from sight.
My feet skid across the icy track around the front of the vehicle.“Papa! Papa!”
Papa’s trapped, his legs pinned under the tractor.
I slide through the cab frame and squeeze in beside him. “Papa? Papa? Talk to me!” But his eyes are closed.
Shri reaches my side. “Cadi, let me help.”
I stare at her. “God, Shri. I don’t know what to do?”
Dean rounds the end of the tractor and slides to a slippery halt.
“We need to keep his face out of the snow.” Shri maneuvers into position above Papa’s head. “He’ll develop hypothermia if he’s stuck here for long.”
“Then we need to get him free.” I wiggle from the cab and turn to Dean. “You’ve got to pull him out.”
Dean takes in the scene, hands raking over his head. “I can’t, Cadi. Jesus, he’s trapped. We’ll need a crane to get him out.”
I pull Dean around to face me. “I’m going to lift the tractor. As soon as it’s high enough, pull him free.”
Dean looks at me like I’ve lost it. Maybe I have. I’ve never lifted anything heavier than a ping pong ball, but I’m convinced I can.
“Did you hear me?” I scream in his face.
His eyes harden but he nods.
I stagger away, far enough that I can see the whole vehicle. And I push.
The tractor shudders as a ball of energy forms deep in the core of my body, and the vehicle rises a foot, then another.
Shri loops her arms under Papa’s, while Dean goes in deeper, under the floating tractor, to free Papa’s legs from the bent steering column. He grips Papa’s worn leather belt, and together, he and Shri haul the old man clear.
Once they’re safely away, I risk moving the vehicle further. I push with all my strength, arms outstretched and fingers spread so wide my palms ache.
The tractor rises another foot, floats ten yards and lands with a thud and a clatter in an upright position.
Then everything goes black.
9
Idris
“Hey, Idris? Look who’s here.” Mom’s voice breaks through the layers of sleep and blankets. Her hand rubs my shoulder.
I pull the blankets down just enough to see her and Marek, who’s standing in the doorway, chin pulled back like he’s afraid he might get whatever I’ve got. My brain feels like angel food cake, all fluffy and full of nothing but air. “What time is it?”
“Midday,” Marek supplies.
Mom fusses. “Sweetheart, you didn’t finish your tea.”
“It’s fine cold,” I whisper.
She touches my cheek. “Oh, Idris. You look so tired.”
“And seriously green,” my best friend adds from where he’s ensconced against the doorjamb.
“Thanks, dude,” I mutter.
“You been binge drinking?”
Binge drinking what? Herbal tea? I’ve drunk a few beers in my time with disastrous effect, and Marek knows it. A few swigs and I can’t stop laughing. A few more and I pass out.
“Gotta be the Squirt you keep pushing on me.” Even my voice sounds broken. Nothing like its usual well-tuned-engine purr.
Marek nods, a sympathetic smile playing at the edge of his mouth. “Get yourself better, tiger. Soon. Before we run out of vacation.”
I manage a thumbs up as he pulls away from the door.
“I’ll see Marek out and be right back,” Mom says. “I made you an appointment with Doctor Devin.”
Better known — to Marek and me — as Devin the Dude, after the rapper.
Mom reappears at the door and rifles through my dresser for a change of clothes. She loads herself down with the necessities. “Let’s get you in the shower.”
“I can manage on my own, Mom.” She hasn’t seen me naked since I was eight, and I’m not planning for that to change.
“Well, I’ll just set your clothes in the bathroom and you can take it from there.”
Relief washes over me because I’m pretty sure I won’t win if she tries to wrestle me for the towel.
I wobble like a woozy toddler across the bedroom floor and survive a shower without slipping, knocking myself senseless and breaking a ten-year prohibition on Mom seeing my naked butt.
The world has stabilized when I emerge from the bathroom, dressed, if somewhat disheveled.
Jim is still staring, unblinking.
I shake my head, then make a grab for the wall to save myself. “What is up with you, Ji
m?”
Mom appears and guides me downstairs and out to the car.
Two hours and a bloodletting later, Doctor D loosens the stethoscope from his ears. “Well, his blood pressure, heart rate and breathing are all fine. Temperature is 99.2. A tad high but within normal range. As to the scabbing on his face, I haven’t seen anything quite like it. Could be an allergy, but we won’t know anything until the lab results come back.”
And that’s it? Not even a guess? Great.
10
Cadi
“Cadi? Cadi? Are you okay?”
Blinking heavy eyelids, I lift a hand to my forehead and try to rub away my tiredness.
I’m in the living room, lying on the couch. How’d I get here? The memory of the tractor toppling over comes rushing at me like a high speed train.
“Papa?” The word comes out panicked.
Hands grip my shoulders. Shri squats beside me, her dark eyes reflecting concern. “They’ve taken him to the hospital.”
“What happened?”
She sits back on her heels. “You passed out.”
I struggle upright and the room spins, making me clutch the armrest. “Not to me. What happened after I passed out?”
“Dean called 911 and then Mrs. Jacobsen. As Mr. Jacobsen was breathing okay, we didn’t try to move him once he was free of the tractor. Dean carried you to the house, while I waited for the paramedics. They stabilized Mr. Jacobsen and took him to the hospital. Mrs. Jacobsen went with them. She’s going to call Dean as soon as she has an update.”
My worry eases at the news. I drop my feet to the floor and contemplate standing.
Shri sits on the couch beside me. “Jesus, Cadi. How did you move the tractor like that?”
The question lingers in the air.
I look her in the eyes. “Can you keep a secret? Tell no one? As in capital N, capital O, one?”
Shri sits back and crosses her arms. “Uh. Yeah.”
Weird thing is, I trust Shri. Haven’t known her that long, but she’s as clear as a cloudless day. And totally not like Dean who’s on and off like a light switch, all bright and forthcoming one second, then dark and confusing the next.
