by A. M. Rose
“Correct. It’s your turn to select, Bill.”
Dylan presses pause. “No way. How could you possibly know that?”
I shrug and tuck my shaking hands under my legs. “I wish I could tell you. Does this mean you’re convinced? And we can stop doing this now?” Please. Let’s stop now.
“One more question.” Dylan fast forwards through the first round and into the second.
“I’ll take World Literature for one thousand,” Karen says.
“Logically, it’s the middle book of Dante’s Divine Comedy,” Alex says.
Dylan pauses the show.
The answer is waiting for me like all the others, except this time I’m not sure I want to say it. Dylan’s staring at me, eyes wide. Expecting something. For me to succeed? To fail? But either way, do I really win? “Purgatorio.” My voice is soft and wobbles a little.
Dylan presses play again.
“Karen,” Alex says.
“What is Purgatory?” Her total goes up $1,000.
“Ha, you got it wrong.” Dylan jumps out of his chair and punches the air. Maybe that’s what he wanted. For me to fail and prove I’m not some weird kind of mutant.
I press my lips together, sit with my arms folded across my chest, and let him think whatever he wants for a second before Alex says, “Correct. We also would’ve accepted Purgatorio.”
Mutant or not. I raise my eyebrows. It’s not often he’s wrong, and I shouldn’t delight in his mouth hanging open, but this is too good to let go. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” My voice is full of snass. But really, he deserves it.
“Okay, fine. I’m convinced but I’m not finished yet. We should see if you can do something you’ve never been able to do before.”
I let out a deep breath and slouch back on the couch. Surfing—I almost mention it. Except it wasn’t something I’d never been able to do before. It was something I’d never had the guts to try. Not a huge distinction, but still.
He has a wicked smile on his face, and it means trouble. But competing with Dylan stirs something up inside me I can’t turn away from. Especially when I have a chance of winning for once.
I lean forward. This time I’m not afraid. It’s slightly scary that I know all these things, but it’s also strangely invigorating. And then there’s the fact that I get to show off for once, which in itself feels pretty spectacular, too. “Fine, but before we do anything else I have a question for you.”
“Really. What?”
“Why are mustaches not called mouth brows?” I put my finger over my upper lip.
“What a must-erious question,” he responds with a finger over his own lip.
We both laugh out loud. And for the first time since he’s gotten here, everything feels completely normal. But I can’t hold on to the feeling, because I know deep down that it’s all about to change.
Chapter Twelve
Dylan refuses to tell me where we’re going. So we drive in silence except for the music. He sings along, which usually helps calm my nerves, but today I can’t keep my leg from bouncing. Fifteen minutes later, we pull down a tree-lined road into a park, the one I used to come to a lot as a kid. It has a small playground in the front, but mostly it’s open fields used by kids playing organized sports on the weekends. I was one of those kids once. Before Mom and Dad realized soccer, softball, or anything with a ball or powderpuff cheerleading wasn’t my thing.
At this time of day it’s deserted. I give Dylan the what-are-we-doing-here look. But he doesn’t say a word, just gets out of the car with an annoying grin on his face. I let out a huff and follow.
He opens the back of his Jeep and pulls equipment out: a huge duffle bag and two sticks. “Ready for a little lacrosse?”
I nod. Yeah. “No.” Sure, I’ve seen him play at least a thousand times, and he’s tried to teach me before, but that was a disaster. Lacrosse sticks aren’t cheap. So whatever he’s thinking can’t possibly end well.
He ignores me and heads out onto the field. “Come on,” he yells when he notices I’m still by the car, arms crossed over my chest.
I grunt and stomp my feet all the way over. “I’m not buying you another stick.” I had to wash at least a dozen cars to make enough money last time we tried this.
“Deal.” He picks up his stick.
I stand silently and watch him cradle the ball in the pocket. He tosses it up in the air and catches it a few times. Each time the ball flies a little higher. He adjusts for the wind and chucks it into the sky. It hangs in the air a few seconds and lands gracefully in his net.
In a flash it’s like I’ve rewatched every single one of his games, replaying each of the moves in my head. I grab a stick from the ground, shifting it from side to side until it settles in my hand. Without saying anything, he passes me the ball. Instinctively, I catch it.
The look on his face says he’s impressed. Brows raised, mouth slightly open. “All right, now pass it back.”
But instead of standing still, he takes off running down the field.
I shift the stick back and forth. Well, we might as well see if this works. It takes a second, but I catch up and pass him the ball. He catches it and sends me back a ground ball. I scoop it up and pass it back. The cool breeze whips by, sending that freshly cut grass smell swirling around us, transporting me back to those old sports days. Except back then I spent more time facedown in the lawn, not running along it.
We continue back and forth all the way down the field and back. A few times he sends it a little short and I have to dive for it, or he gives it a little more umph and I have to chase it. So it’s only fair when I do it in return. I give the ball a little more power, and Dylan has to jump for it. His T-shirt rides up his stomach, showing off his rock-hard abs and a golden strip of hair under his belly button. My heart skips a beat.
He comes to a stop, breathing heavily, but I’m not. I’m fine. Like I didn’t run at all. He cocks a brow at me. “Okay, but let’s see if you can get one past me.” He tosses the ball and takes off toward the middle of the field.
“You’re kidding me, right?” I say, but he’s too far away to hear. Haven’t I proven myself enough? Drills were easy, but I’ve seen him play. He’s relentless.
I pull my hair tighter. Here goes nothing. I take a deep breath, cradle the ball, and run toward him. My heart thumps steadily in my chest, like what I’m about to attempt is no big deal. And maybe it’s not a big deal. It’s a huge deal.
He’s ready, hands gripped around his stick, knees bent, and comes at me, stepping in my path. I anticipate his move. Before he gets a chance to make contact, I spin around and pass him on the opposite side. Without looking back, I dig my feet into the ground and push off, running hard. I’m all the way down the field before I turn around. He’s a few steps behind me, but I don’t waste any time before I start shaking my knees and swinging my arms around in my I-win-you-lose dance. My heart was right; that was nothing.
“Not the dying chicken routine.” Dylan laughs.
“Hysterical.” I keep my knees knocking together for another few beats before I stop. I probably do look like a dying chicken. It’s not like I was born with rhythm.
Dylan studies me for a minute. He rubs the back of his neck, with a slight frown. That’s when it hits me. I played lacrosse. And I didn’t just play, I got past Dylan. On my first try. It shouldn’t be possible. Guys from the Northridge team have been trying for four years and have never gotten past him. There’s nothing steady about the way my heart is pounding now. I must be some sort of mutant. An unnatural being. My eyes focus on my feet and my chest tightens.
“Nice move. I’m gonna have to remember that one.” He gives me his crooked grin, but it’s tight, not carefree like it should be. “I think we can safely say you’ve got that one down.” He pushes his hair back, eyes never leaving me. Sweat trickles down my back, and it’s not because I played lacrosse. “So you know things you’ve never known before, and you can do things physically you’ve never done before
. And from the looks of it, you heal faster than anyone I’ve ever seen.”
“What do you mean?”
He hesitates then reaches up, his hand hovering over the right side of my face, and then he quickly pulls away. “I can’t even find any bruise or mark or anything from earlier. I saw how hard Maddox hit you. Even after it happened you barely had a mark.” His voice is full of something, but I wouldn’t say concern. More like wonder, like he’s curious how it’s possible. He isn’t the only one who wants to know. “Drea, I saw his hand after school today when we worked things out. It was messed up bad—I mean really bad. All bruised and swollen. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it before, but he hit you in the same place you cut your face when you fell at the ropes course, remember? I don’t know. But could this all somehow be related?”
I run my hand down my face. Maybe he’s right. It’s not like I’ve looked in the mirror lately, but it only hurt for a few seconds after it happened and then it really didn’t bother me at all. Actually, I’d forgotten about it with everything else going on. It doesn’t even hurt when I touch it now. The skin is smooth. That zit I thought I was getting isn’t even a little bump anymore.
He paces and frowns, neither of which is good. “Have you told anyone else about this?”
“Of course not.” I’m not sure what I expected him to ask, but that wasn’t it. Part of me thought he was going to have me to do back-flips or take another hit, this time with a lacrosse stick or something. Maybe that would’ve been better. His furrowed brows and the way he rubs the back of his neck is making me nervous. More than nervous, it’s giving me a rash.
He nods. “Good. You should keep it that way. I have a feeling, if this gets out, it could be bad. People fear the unexplained. And I’m sure some people would be scared.”
I wrap my arms around my body and scratch my elbows. “Really?”
“You know all the tests you went through at the hospital for just a car accident. What happens when someone finds out your brain absorbs more than a dry sponge? Not to mention, your new physical abilities. I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who’d love to be able to do what you’ve just proven you can do.”
I never thought about it before. He’s probably right, but something inside tells me it’s more than that. Maybe he’s not just scared of other people finding out. Maybe he’s scared of me. “Do you really think—”
“I do. So for now, let’s not tell anyone else. Okay?” His voice is firm, like he’s decided it’s what best. And it probably is.
I study him for a second, then nod. What would happen if I reached for him? If I tried to touch him, would he back away?
He grabs both lacrosse sticks in one hand and stands in front of me, his lips pressed into a fine line. My stomach rolls around, and a trickle of sweat runs down my back. Why does he have to look at me like that? Slowly the corners of his mouth turn up and he swings his arm around my shoulders. But something’s still not right. I let out a shaky breath.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing. Just…nothing.”
We start walking back toward the parking lot. “You know, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep this one to myself.” He smirks. “Unless you make me more cupcakes. I’m thinking coconut cream this time.”
“Very funny.” I elbow him in the ribs and he lets out a rough breath.
“Watch it there, Haus.” He rubs his side. “You might need to register that weapon.” He smiles, but there’s pain in his eyes.
“Sorry.” I try to laugh a little, but it doesn’t change the fact that my best friend might think there’s something wrong with me. And what’s worse is he might be right about that.
…
I shiver against the metal table. A hologram of the inside of a body floats above me. A picture of tissue and muscles and where the brain is, lit up with all different colors.
My gaze shifts to my feet. And my heart lodges in my throat. The Green-eyed man stands no less than a foot away. Staring. But he doesn’t come to my side. He nods and walks away. I want to let out a breath of relief, but nothing feels good right now. My body isn’t weighed down, like the last time I woke in this strange place, a place where the technology far exceeds anything I could ever imagine, so I sit up and get to my feet. They’re bare, but the floor doesn’t sting my feet with cold. It’s warm, hot even. I’m wearing a black jumpsuit that hugs tight around my ankles and every other inch of me. It’s so light, it’s like a second skin. But all I want to do is rip it off and run. Get away.
“Stop. Look up,” the voice says, and my body responds.
Above the giant oval, a circle of blue lights disperses energy all around me. It’s bright and beautiful. I raise my hand to feel it on my skin.
“Don’t touch,” the voice says, like it knows what I was about to do.
So I stop and turn. My pulse races.
I’m trapped. The force field completely surrounds me.
“Use your ring,” the voice whispers.
I glance down at my hand, at the ring Dad bought me, rip it off my finger and slash at the force field. The ring cuts through it, leaving an opening. Without hesitation I run through, sliding the ring back on.
My feet are soundless as they hit the ground and push back off down the dark hallway. The only noise is my heart pounding in my ears. Blackness engulfs me, but my eyes quickly adjust. I don’t know where I am, but my body leads the way. Footsteps thump on the concrete floors behind me, but I don’t stop to look.
I turn a corner. There’s nothing. Just a door. I don’t know what’s behind it or where it’ll take me, and right now I don’t care. I run straight toward it and brace myself as I slam my shoulder into it. The door crumples like paper from the force of my hit, and sunlight washes over me. It warms my face and soul. The air is cleaner than any air I’ve breathed. My lungs eagerly welcome each breath as I run, gaining speed with each step.
Everything around me looks nothing like I’ve seen before. It’s plush with rolling green hills and towering trees. And although there are buildings, there aren’t any roads or cars. This isn’t right. It’s like Earth but different, so I’m not on a strange planet, but yet I don’t know where I am. I push the thoughts away and run into a cluster of evergreens, then keep going. A tear runs down my cheek, like a memory of this place has pushed it out, and a smile spreads across my face.
“Alexandrea,” someone whispers.
That voice. I’ve heard it before. But where? I slow my pace, yearning for him to speak again.
“Alexandrea, I need you to focus.”
I stop running and squeeze my eyes closed.
“Alexandrea, I need you to—”
Shouting erupts. I whip around. My arm snags against a branch. Its thorns rip through the jumpsuit and scratch my arm, right above my wrist. I grip it tightly. Blood seeps through my fingers as a group of men dressed in black rush toward me.
My head jerks up and my eyes shoot open. I’m in my bed, my heart ricocheting against my ribs, threatening to burst out. The clock next to me says 2:30 a.m.
I push out a breath and pull my blankets back up, gripping them tight in my fists. The soft fabric is cool against my cheek, and slowly my muscles relax. I roll onto my side and stare at my wallpaper, the same geometric pattern staring back at me that’s always been there. As much as I’m relieved it was just a dream, tonight it was more real than ever. My arm. It stings. I stumble for my phone, trying to use its dim light to see. My mouth drops open. A faint red line runs across it exactly where I cut it in the dream, but as I watch, it slowly fades away.
Chapter Thirteen
In the morning I convince Mom to let me take the day off. This week has already been too much, even though it was only two days at school, and we have a three-day weekend already so missing today would mean four for me. I’m surprised she doesn’t fight me on it, force me to go. Instead, she says to take it easy and there’s soup in the freezer I can thaw for lunch. She even leaves a pile of vitamins on
the counter, with an extra Vitamin D. Mom isn’t Dad; her ways are different, I have to remind myself.
But taking it easy is the last thing on my mind. I carefully walk into Mom’s room.
Today’s the day I find some answers.
I stand in the doorway and I can’t breathe. Everything about the room feels different. The photo that used to hang above their bed, a picture from their wedding day, is gone. In its place is some random abstract that doesn’t even make sense. It’s all whites and blues and sharp angles. Cold colors, no life. Dad would’ve hated it.
The walls are still a muddy beige, and the dark oak furniture is still there, but the room has lost its soul. The room even feels colder.
I clench my teeth and force myself inside. A shiver crawls up my spine. Now might be my only chance to look around in here, so I push the uneasy feeling back.
Under the bed is empty. Just like the left side of the dresser. My hand shakes as I open the door to the closet.
Inside is more of the same. Empty spaces where Dad’s things used to be. The stale smell of air that hasn’t been moved in a long while. I crumple to the floor next to neatly stacked shoeboxes. There are no clues tucked inside, just shoes. All black. Simple. Boring.
Except one box isn’t like the others. It’s gold and a little sturdier looking. I’m not sure why I didn’t open it first. But that’s not true—I’m scared to look inside. Which sounds stupid. They’re probably an old pair, one she couldn’t bear to get rid of. Like the yellow rubber boots I have buried in the back of my closet. But the simple black Mary Janes inside don’t look like they’ve ever been worn. Unlike those boots with holes in the toes. The paper crinkles as I unwrap them, and the scent of leather follows. A small card flutters to the ground. I knew the moment you walked into my life it would never be the same. Love, Roy. It isn’t much, but my jaw tightens and the back of my eyes prick. At least there’s something left of him. At least it’s something that shows Mom cares.
My phone buzzes, and I jump, dumping the box on the ground. It’s Dylan, making sure I’m okay and asking if he could bring me some lunch. I’m good, I text back and set the phone down. I’m really not, but I don’t have time for distractions. And who knows when Mom will be back.
