Exit Plans for Teenage Freaks

by Nathan Burgoine

  “It’s just something that’s been on my mind.”

  She looked at me for a moment, and I resisted the urge to squirm. “Cole, you do know that you don’t have to be an interpreter, right?”

  What? I blinked. This again? Where was this coming from? “But I like it.” And I was good at it. And it was important. And it had been my plan for…like…ever.

  She came back up the stairs and leaned against the wall. “I know that. Your father does, too. I just want to be clear about it, though. If you wanted to study something else, you know we’d be okay with that, right?” She met my gaze. “Both of us would be. You can take time to decide things, like your friend Malik.”

  “I know,” I said. Except I didn’t. I hated the thought. Like, why were they both so down on me doing what Dad does? I didn’t get it. “Do you think I’m doing the wrong thing?” I asked. “Linguistics, I mean?”

  She shook her head. “Not even a little. I just don’t want you to focus too much on one thing. You’re good at that.” She said it with a little smile, though, so it didn’t feel entirely like a jab. “I don’t doubt you can do almost anything someone can learn. I just want you to consider your options. We’d be okay with anything else you’d like to do.”

  My chest felt tight, and my throat had this little pain in the back, like I couldn’t swallow right. This was way, way too close to a “we’re proud of you” moment, and those always made me feel like bawling. It was time to eject.

  “Well, the good news is I want to be an interpreter,” I said. “So no one has to be okay with anything else.”

  She nodded and smiled, but she had one of those mom-looks that told me we were totally going to end up talking about this again, and likely sooner rather than later.

  “Do you want me to go turn on the coffeemaker?” I said. “I can set it up before I go.”

  She nodded. “That would be wonderful. You heading out?” I could tell she wanted to ask me for every detail about that, but she held herself back. My parents were getting way better at that.

  “I have some things I need to get and some stuff I need to do.” I tried not to flinch. Could I possibly be more vague? Maybe if I put on an “ask me no questions” T-shirt or threw a smoke bomb at my feet.

  But all Mom said was, “Okay. You okay on your own?” I could practically hear her forcing herself not to push or ask more questions.

  “I’m good.”

  “Do you need a ride?”

  “Actually,” I said, looking my mother right in the eyes and fighting off a hysterical laugh, “I really don’t.”

  * * *

  I paused to brush my teeth and do something with my hair that didn’t say “crash-landed through a window” and then went downstairs. I almost forgot to set the coffee machine going, which would have ended badly for my child-of-the-year chances, and I tossed a banana and some granola bars into my bag. My phone, which had spent the night beside the front door, was only a third charged, so I shoved the charger into my bag along with everything else.

  The smell of coffee was starting to spread through the house. I nodded to myself. If I was going to try this, I needed to get started. Pretty soon at least one of my parents would come downstairs.

  I regarded my front door. I’d been on the outside of the house with my back to the open door when I’d been grabbed. How had they known where I’d be? Had they been following me? I tried to remember if anyone else had been on the street last night, but I had no idea. I wasn’t paying attention at the time.

  Ignoring this didn’t work. I’d thought maybe they were tracking me somehow when I teleported, but now I knew they could teleport too. New plan.

  Uh.

  Any second now, I’d come up with a new plan.

  My stomach rumbled. Okay, so maybe I should have some breakfast first.

  Wait.

  I looked back into the kitchen and saw the unused pizza money from last night on the counter. I got it, then came back to the front door.

  Okay. New plan? If they could pop in whenever they wanted, I needed to figure out how to be just as good.

  Remembering the craziness of this morning’s teleport back to Malik’s house, I hesitated, reaching out for the door until just my fingertips brushed the door handle. As soon as they touched, it was there. The tugs, waiting to take me somewhere, but also, beyond that I felt…something.

  I frowned and touched the handle a bit more. The more my skin touched the cool metal, the stronger the feeling.

  The tug began as normal, like I was standing shoulder-deep in water, but it only pulled me from the center of my chest. Instead of it being a single pull, it was more like the pull was going every which way at once. When I took a moment to consider that, it shifted, and one tug grew stronger than all the others. It was all very faint, and it didn’t even make me think I should lean to counterbalance, but it was there.

  I had an instinct I was getting better at this, but I wasn’t sure at all what this was.

  I bit my lip and stopped when I felt the scab from where I’d fallen. The locker and the museum seemed like forever ago, rather than two weeks ago Monday.

  At the thought, the tug shifted twice, and this time the tugs were strong enough I did lean back. Each lurch had felt familiar, too.

  I let go of the door and took a step back.

  The museum. The locker.

  That’s what I’d felt. The door starting to connect me to them. I’d barely had to think about it at all. Something had seriously changed. I wondered if it had anything to do with my jaunt with Malik or nearly getting brain-fried by Beardy McBeardface.

  I put my hand back on the door handle and tried again.

  The museum.

  Lurch to the left, and then a constant pull. I could just let go and be on my way.

  My locker.

  A dropping sensation. I carefully let go of the door handle again.

  My stomach growled again, louder. I grinned, grabbed the door handle, and remembered a trip into Ottawa I’d had with my dad last summer. We’d gone to this all-night diner on Elgin Street for breakfast, and it had great waffles. They’d swum in syrup.

  I’d been kidnapped and had to jump out a window to escape.

  Cole Tozer, Badass deserved waffles.

  I opened the door, took a step, and was gone.

  * * *

  With a giant stack of waffles in syrup, even the biggest of life’s problems could be put into perspective. I had my bullet journal open, and I’d carried more than a few things forward onto this newest list, but that was okay. I was pretty much out of study time, but my applications were already out there, and my grades were good. Even if I somehow bombed my exams—like, nuclear level bombed—I’d be okay. I’d done the math, and there was no way I was walking out of my exams with a zero, so…

  I paused, realizing I had teleported to a diner more than an hour away from my house, and I was eating waffles and telling myself it was okay not to ace my exams because I had bigger stuff to worry about, namely the teleporting freaks in suits who wanted to melt my brain.

  Last Week Cole would not recognize Today Cole. And I was pretty sure Today Cole might be losing his mind a little bit.

  On my list, I’d just written “Freaks.” It was a little word with a big meaning, and other than the little square box beside it—all ready to be colored in once I dealt with it, which was optimistic to say the least—it didn’t look like much. Study for calculus, ask Alec about his date, find out if Candice is willing to host a Rainbow Club party, and deal with kidnappers. No problem. Check, check, check. Calm and collected? My middle names.

  The door opened, and I jerked my head up to look, nearly knocking my milk over.

  Okay, maybe I wasn’t so calm after all. I shivered even though I wasn’t cold, but a woman in a long black skirt with a short crop of dyed blue hair came in, not Beardy or Freckle-Face or Mr. Stiff. I went back to my waffles and tried to shake off the bone-deep shudder.

  Maybe it was just because a do
or was opening nearby, but I’d had that tug-and-snap feeling. I’d been almost sure I’d look over and see the three men standing there, ready for Brain Melt Part Two: Brain Meltier.

  Then the blue-haired woman slid into the booth right across from me.

  Oh, crap.

  I stared. She stared right back. She was kind of intimidating. She was looking down at me, I was pretty sure, which meant she was taller than me. Granted, that wasn’t hard, but I got the impression she could look down at people no matter how tall they were. She wasn’t a fan of the sun, if the paleness of her skin was any indication. She had two eyebrow rings and a little silver stud in her nose. She was pretty, but more than a bit scary. Her eye makeup gave her this sharp look. Older than me, definitely, but I wasn’t sure by how much. She could have been in her twenties, maybe? The blue hair was the most obvious thing, but she also had tattoos all over her right arm. Doors, keys, and keyholes spun up her arm and vanished into the sleeve of her T-shirt. Her T-shirt was blue, with a silhouette of a witch on a broom with a cat and the words “Witch Delivery Service.” She’d cut the neckline out and made it into a V-neck.

  “Can I get you something?” The waiter had arrived, and I hadn’t even noticed.

  Her smile transformed her whole face. “Coffee?” she said. She had an accent I didn’t recognize.

  The waiter left.

  “You’re buying me coffee,” she said.

  “Okay,” I said. Between the tattoos of the doors and the accent, I was pretty sure I was face-to-face with another freak. “Uh. Who are you?”

  She stared at me some more. It made me want to wipe my face.

  “How old are you, anyway?” she asked. “Fourteen?”

  Okay, older or not, freak or not, that shit was not okay. “I’m seventeen.” I tilted my head. “Why? You’re what? Forty?”

  She grinned. “Sorry.”

  I stabbed a piece of waffle. I was full, but it was still a waffle.

  The waiter came back with her coffee and she poured way, way too much sugar into it. I watched as whole seconds went by with the stuff pouring from the canister.

  “Okay,” she said. “Here’s the thing. You’re new and you’re good. But you’re also loud. You’re gonna attract some unwanted attention, I’ll bet, and you need to know about it.”

  I glanced back at the door. I hadn’t been crazy. I’d felt her arrive.

  She gave me a little nod and sipped her coffee.

  “You’re not with those guys in suits?” I said.

  She put her coffee down. “You’ve already seen them?”

  “They snatched me from my house,” I said, and then we both cringed because I said it way too loud. We looked around, but none of the other early-morning visitors seemed to care I was discussing my abduction. No one cared I’d been kidnapped.

  See? I couldn’t wait to move to Ottawa. A freak could be anonymous here.

  She leaned forward. “And you got away?” A little line formed between her eyebrows. My mother got that line. That line meant she didn’t believe me.

  “They tried to melt my brain, but it didn’t work. I used a window before round two.”

  “You jumped out a window?” Her eyes were wide, and she looked impressed.

  It bothered me how good that made me feel.

  “Not out, so much as…y’know…through.” I waved a hand. “I used the window instead of a door. To…travel. Got back to my bedroom.” Eventually. She didn’t need to know about the misfire or my unintended passenger.

  Her mouth was open, and she was staring at me.

  Now I felt less good.

  “What’s wrong?” I said.

  “You’re seventeen?” she said.

  “Y’know,” I said, “you guys all seem really fixated on the whole age thing. Beardy McBeardface was all ‘I’m gonna lock your brain until you’re older, kid.’ I have a driver’s license. I’m allowed to drive massive chunks of metal on roads at high speeds. I’m even going to be allowed to vote soon, so maybe I’m old enough to…” I dropped my voice, which had been rising again. “Teleport.”

  She took another swig of her coffee syrup. She was fighting off another grin, but I could tell it was close because she got dimples.

  “Lexa,” she said, putting the cup down.

  I blinked. “What?”

  “My name,” she said. “It’s Lexa.”

  Lexa with the blue hair held out her hand. I shook it.

  “I’m Cole,” I said.

  “Nice to meet you, Cole. I need to go open my gallery, but I’ll find you again.” She glanced around. “Is this a place you come to often?”

  I shook my head. “No. I just wanted to practice, and I was hungry.”

  That little line was back between her eyebrows.

  “If you ask me how old I am again, I’m totally not going to pay for your coffee,” I said.

  “I bet you’re giving them fits,” she said. “Okay. Quick and dirty tips. Don’t hang out near a door you’ve used to travel. You are so loud. It’s easy to feel you. That’ll throw them off at least. And when you do use a door, use another one right away. Like skipping a stone. Four or five times and even their best will have a hard time figuring out where you ended up. Especially if the doors are near each other. It gets confusing.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Bureaucrats,” she said, with a sour smile. “People who think muses like us should follow their rules. They think they know what’s best, so our input isn’t always welcome.”

  “Muses?” I said.

  She downed the last of her coffee. “We inspire people, and we can show up anywhere.” She winked. “What would you call it?”

  “I’ve been going with ‘freak,’” I said. Inspire people?

  Lexa laughed. “All the best muses are freaks.” She got up. “I’ll find you again,” she said. “Maybe later this afternoon.” She checked her watch. “In, say, six hours.”

  That was a weird way to put it. I looked at my phone and did the math. “Okay.”

  “We can meet back here,” she said. “Just try to keep it down in the meanwhile.”

  “I don’t know how to do that.” Panic rose in my chest. “They grabbed me from my own house.”

  She scowled. “I’ll see what I can do. Just stay clear of doorways. You’re loud, like I said. But if you’re near a door that you’ve used, try to picture it in here.” She tapped her temple. “And lock it.”

  I shook my head. I had no idea what she was talking about.

  “Just try it,” she said. “I really do need to go. I have an artist…Anyway. I’m sorry. Just keep dodging them. I’ll find you later.” And she was off. I watched her go and kept my eyes on her as she opened the door to the diner. I wanted to see it. It wasn’t really anything, though I felt a distant tug-and-snap, almost like an echo in my chest. Lexa walked through the door like anyone would. But she never showed up on the other side of the glass. No one in the diner so much as raised an eyebrow. No one on the street passing by so much as missed a step.

  She was just gone.

  Just keep dodging them. As advice went, it was not exactly Charles Xavier–level stuff. Where was James McAvoy when you needed him?

  “Anything else?” The waiter was back.

  “No, I’m good. Thanks,” I said.

  “She’s pretty,” the waiter said, nodding at the door.

  “She’s a muse,” I said.

  He laughed like I said something funny, then left to go get me my bill.

  Twenty-Three

  From the diner on Elgin Street in Ottawa, I teleported to the corner store. It occurred to me at the last second I’d need to consider if places were open or not. Otherwise I could end up on the wrong side of a locked and alarmed door. From there, I poofed my way to the public bathrooms down by the locks.

  Every teleport brought back that feeling of a corridor full of corridors, and I was starting to get it. They were options. I could feel all the different places I could go, and for the first
time it was really sinking in that I could go anywhere.

  It was kind of awesome. It was also overwhelming, so I decided to play it safe and cut it short.

  Pausing just a second in the bathrooms to catch my breath, I turned right back around again and aimed for home.

  And misfired.

  Wrong home. Again. I stood in the yard of the house we used to live in when I was a kid. What it was about this place that seemed to override my attempts to go home to my own house? Was it just history? This was my first home, so this was somehow more home? That didn’t seem right. At least this time I’d ended up on the outside rather than the inside.

  I glanced around, but no one was watching. I bit my lip and tried the front door.

  It was locked.

  Which meant I couldn’t use it to get anywhere else. I considered my options and decided the closest door would likely be down by the locks, back at the public restroom I’d used to poof here. It would be faster than walking all the way home.

  I was just about to start walking when I felt it. It started as a shiver, and I turned and glanced back at the front door of the house I used to live in as the shiver grew. It was the tug, and there would be a snap.

  I put my hand against the door. My sense of the everywhere of doors and connections popped up right away, and I also had this feeling of something coming fast right at me. It was like a firework spinning its way toward me, about to deliver a loud bang right to my face. Remembering what Lexa had said at the diner, I imagined the door locked up tight and sort of pushed at the door with my head, as though I could slam it shut with will alone.

  It worked just in time. I rocked back with a mental thud, my brain registering the inbound teleporter bouncing off the door. No other way to describe it. Whoever had been about to end up right beside me ricocheted somewhere else instead. I didn’t see any outward sign of it. No dramatic shaking of the door or anything. It was all just a change of pressure in my head.

  My ears even popped.

  I was pretty sure I was right. I kind of swayed and had to take a second to breathe. Locking doors was a bit of a whammy to the noggin, apparently. Still, I couldn’t help but smile. I wondered what it felt like to try to go somewhere and get deflected. On the off chance it was Freckle-Face or Beardy, I hoped it was at least a little painful.