by G. P. Ching
“It’s okay,” Korwin says. “This is hard. Remember when I broke the glass at CGEF? And just now, how I threw it forward?”
I do remember—he’d tossed his hand toward the log. The way he moved wasn’t just mental. It was physical. In the book I’d read, it said air was a poor conductor of electricity. I needed to communicate with the wood, which meant leaping over the uncooperative air.
Instead of a ball, I picture a yo-yo in my hand because a yo-yo comes back. I center myself, concentrating on the wood. Stepping forward quickly, I swing my hand, directing all my momentum on the invisible yo-yo. The elastic stretches and catches on the wood. But it doesn’t come back to me as I planned. More and more moves out. Ahh. I let it go. I don’t even attempt to tie it off. It unravels from my body into the wood faster than fishing line, out and out and out.
BOOM! The explosion sends splinters to every corner of the room. The force blows me back into the padded wall. Before I can process what’s happened, I’m flat on my back, staring at the fluorescent lights in the ceiling.
Korwin is the first to reach me. He crawls to me from the place he was thrown and shakes my shoulder. “Did you break anything?” he asks, laughing. He seems to know I didn’t.
Out of nowhere, a hand shoots between us and grips Korwin’s shoulder, yanking him back. Jeremiah’s deeply worried face comes into view. “Lydia? Lydia, speak to me.”
Maxwell is the next on the scene. He beams down at me with a smile that goes all the way to his eyes. “Are you injured?” he asks, but I can tell he’s sure I’m not. His tone is how a parent might talk to a child who’s fallen down and is about to cry. His tone is both reassuring and slightly condescending.
I move my arms and legs experimentally and then sit up, adjusting my neck. When everything works, I fold my feet underneath me and stand. “I’m a little sore but I’m okay.”
Jeremiah lets out a deep sigh of relief.
“I know it looks bad, Jeremiah, but she can take it,” Korwin says.
“You don’t know that.” Jeremiah pokes a finger toward his face. “Your father said he doesn’t know if Lydia is the same as you. If you’re not the same, then you don’t know for sure that this won’t hurt her.”
“It’s okay, Jeremiah,” I say. “I’m okay. He’s right. Not even a bump on the head.”
“But you said you were sore.” Jeremiah rubs my shoulders.
I wrap his hands inside my own. “I am, but on the inside. Like when you run farther than you’re used to and your muscles hurt. On the outside, I’m fine.”
“I don’t like this.”
“I know.”
Maxwell clears his throat. “That’s enough for today. I don’t want to wear you out.”
“Yeah, maybe you should spend a few minutes in the healer,” Korwin chimes in, “just to aid your recovery.”
I shake my head and follow him out the door. “I think I just want to rest.”
“Of course, Lydia. We’ll try again tomorrow. I’m very pleased. Very pleased.” Maxwell jots more notes in his notebook, then turns toward Korwin. “Can you escort Jeremiah to the examination room in ten minutes?”
“Sure,” Korwin says. “I’ll show Lydia back to her room and then bring him down.”
Jeremiah frowns but gives a reluctant nod.
Maxwell wanders off, his nose buried in his notes.
I follow Korwin back to my room, shoulder to shoulder with Jeremiah, who walks abnormally close. Too close. I let it go because I know today has been hard on him.
“Your father seems happy about how I did,” I say to Korwin.
“Um, yeah. You’re really strong. In order to make the log explode, you had to heat it to over sixty thousand degrees Fahrenheit. That’s hotter than the surface of the sun.”
I laugh. “That can’t be right.”
“You brought the beads of sap to a boil so fast that it forced the wood molecules apart. All in under a second.” He stops in the doorway to my room.
Even with Jeremiah standing right next to me, the connection when Korwin’s hazel eyes meet mine is something palpable and powerful. I don’t want to feel it, not with Jeremiah right beside me. But it isn’t a decision. It just is. An internal shiver runs the length of my body.
“I don’t have your control,” I say, stepping slightly behind the doorjamb.
“It took me a month of daily practice to be able to master the skill. I’d say you did pretty well for day one.” He’s distracted, as absorbed in our connection as I am.
Jeremiah clears his throat, and I nod in such a way as to break eye contact. “Thank you, Korwin. I think I need to rest now.”
“Okay. Jeremiah, are you ready to go?” Korwin asks.
“No,” I say too fast. “I need to speak with him.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Plus, the examination room is just down the hall, and we have a few minutes. Can you come back for him?”
Korwin sighs. “Sure. I’ll, uh, see you later.” He doesn’t leave. He stands there, eyeing Jeremiah and me long enough for the moment to feel awkward.
I understand why he’s struggling. This thing between us tugs at my ribcage. I force myself to look away and walk inside the room, pulling Jeremiah in behind me.
Not until I close the door do I feel Korwin turn to leave.
“What was that about?” Jeremiah asks.
“It’s hard to explain,” I say, crawling into bed. “Whatever causes this electrokinesis also makes me…”
“Makes you what?”
“It’s like I’m … connected to him or something,” I say honestly. Tears gather in the corner of my eyes. I’m so overwhelmed. It feels like I’m being torn in two.
Jeremiah reaches forward and wipes a tear from the corner of my eye. “Don’t cry. Everything that’s happened is really confusing. This disease—”
“It’s not a disease, Jeremiah. It’s me. The electrokinesis is in my cells.” The words come out slurred. My limbs are half-ton concrete blocks. Without even bothering to take off my shoes, I bury my head in my pillow and close my eyes.
Jeremiah pulls the comforter over me and tucks me in. “Don’t worry, Lydia. You can tell me all about it when you wake up. Besides, I have a blood test to take. Maybe I’ll understand firsthand.”
I want to stay awake, to tell him the truth about how confused I am about these feelings I’m having for Korwin. I want everything out in the open. But I’m so tired.
His fingers lace into mine. “Just rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
18
I rouse in the way you do when you know you’ve overslept—with a start. My fingers are still laced into Jeremiah’s but he’s attached to my opposite hand. A bandage on his left arm tells me he’s kept his appointment with Maxwell. He’s asleep, his head and shoulders hunched next to me while the rest of him sits in a chair near the bed. Poor Jeremiah. I wonder how long he’s been in the awkward position. Carefully, I pull my hand from his.
It’s midnight. I’ve slept for almost eight hours. I’m wide awake and ravenously hungry. Climbing from the bed, I wrap my arm around Jeremiah’s shoulders and coax the covers back from under his head.
“Into bed, sleepy head,” I whisper into his ear.
He doesn’t fight me. Rolling out of the chair, he stretches out, his wavy blond halo finding the pillow. As I tuck the comforter around his body, I know for sure he’s returned to peaceful slumber. For a moment or two, I watch the rise and fall of his chest in the silence of the room.
All I can think is that he is the embodiment of everything good in the world, everything pure and right and loyal. I love him with an old love. A love that comes from knowing someone before you understand why boys and girls kiss or get married. What a fool I’ve been. I can’t explain this new attraction to Korwin, but surely I should ignore it. He won’t be coming home with me. Jeremiah will. Jeremiah is my true future.
Unexpectedly, a heavy weight settles over my chest at the thought. I need to walk. I need to think.
I
slip out the door and into the maze of hallways. The tile is cool under my bare feet. Jeremiah must have removed my shoes while I slept, but I’m still wearing the black shirt and jeans from yesterday. I’m glad he didn’t try to completely undress me.
Last night, I ended up in Korwin’s room. I turn in the opposite direction, not wanting a repeat of that confusing experience. I must be getting better at navigating the compound because I find the gardens without any trouble. Days ago, when I was here with Korwin, ultraviolet panels lit the room to imitate the sun. Now the gardens are dark, simulated stars scattered across the black ceiling. I can see enough though. Along the path near my feet, small square lights bathe the shrubbery and flower blossoms in a subtle glow. The heady smell of roses mixes with the tang of juniper trees. I can almost forget that I’m underground.
I find the labyrinth of hedges Korwin showed me and get lost in the twists and turns. My mind wanders, and a welcome numbness enfolds me. The patter of running water in the distance keeps me moving forward, and the brightly colored flowers, delicately opening in the darkness, enthrall me. The roses don’t care if anyone enjoys their beauty; they simply are beautiful. They are beautiful for themselves, because of what they are. No one made them that way, and they are not dependent on any outsider’s affirmation. How would it be to have such self-confidence?
Distracted, I find myself in the center of the garden, the marble fountain of the woman glowing on her pedestal. As I approach it slowly, I take it in again. Carved from white marble, she’s dressed in a Greek toga and lifting the lid off a curved jar. Water and light flow out and tumble into the pool at her feet. I’ve never seen anything like it. She glows like an angel.
“It’s Pandora.” Korwin’s voice makes me jump. I turn to see him standing in the shadows, next to the hedges. “Do you know the story of Pandora?”
“Oh, hi. I didn’t think anyone would be up,” I blurt, noticing he’s wearing nothing but a pair of gray cotton shorts. I divert my eyes to the fountain in an effort to avoid the smooth skin of his chest. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No, I couldn’t sleep. I like to come here when I can’t. The sound of the water is soothing.”
“Oh.” My cheeks burn and I hope he can’t see my blush in the poor light. “Um, Pandora, I know she’s Greek, but I don’t know her story. We don’t learn much about art or mythology in Amish school.”
Korwin steps into the light of the fountain. His olive skin gives off its own blue light as he draws nearer. “It’s back,” he says, holding out one glowing limb.
Extending my hands, I see they have the same blue aura as Korwin’s. “Do you think it happens during the day too and is just harder to see with the lights on?”
He raises an eyebrow inquisitively. “Strange, it seems to be getting stronger. Last night, I had to touch you. Now, I’m just close to you and glowing.”
I sigh. “Everything about this experience is strange.”
He folds his arms across his chest and turns his attention toward the fountain. “Yeah,” he says absently. Whatever he’s thinking about must be disturbing.
“So, you were saying, about Pandora?” I prompt, hoping to pull him out of his mood.
He blinks twice, as if he’s waking up, and turns a smile toward me. “The story of Pandora goes like this. Zeus, the head honcho in Greek mythology, ordered Hephaestus, the blacksmith of the gods, to make Pandora, the first human woman.” He points a hand at the statue. “To celebrate Pandora’s creation, the other gods gave her some gifts. Aphrodite gave her beauty, Athena, curiosity, and Hermes, the art of persuasion. Everyone loved her. But later, two human brothers angered Zeus when they stole fire from Mount Olympus. To punish the brothers, Zeus gave Pandora a jar full of every evil thing and told her never to open it. Then he sent her to the two brothers, knowing that her gift of beauty would make her irresistible. One of the brothers, Epimetheus, fell in love with her and took her as his wife, even though the other brother, Prometheus, warned him she came from Zeus. As expected, Pandora couldn’t resist her curiosity and opened the jar. Every type of evil escaped into the world. Of course, she tried to put the lid back on, but it was too late. The jar was empty.”
“So she’s a symbol of things we do that seem harmless but have big consequences.”
“Yep. You’ve got it.”
“Depressing. Why on earth would your father have a statue of this in his garden?”
“He thinks the Green Republic has opened Pandora’s box. Everything they’ve done started with good intentions. They wanted to save the earth from environmental destruction. They wanted to legislate sustainable living. But the power they had to gain to change people’s behaviors corrupted them. There aren’t enough checks and balances. And now, no one can put what happened back in the jar.”
“Oh. The statue is a reminder of the weaknesses of the current government.”
“Yes. But more than that, it’s a reminder of what we need to move forward. Part of the legend says that Zeus allowed one good thing in the jar, something that could counteract the evil.”
“What was it?”
He looks at me out the corner of his eye and smiles. “Hope.”
I stare at the constant flow of water from Pandora’s jar. The splashing in the pool at the statue’s feet is soothing. It’s easy to understand why Korwin comes here when he can’t sleep. “How does your father know what should be done? I mean, what if the cure is worse than the disease?”
He rubs his palms together. “Dad is a good person, Lydia. Sometimes he has to make hard decisions, like keeping you and Jeremiah here, but it’s only because he wants what’s best. He’s not out to advance himself, like the Green Republic. He’s got a conscience. He’s leading the Liberty Party to reestablish a real democracy, like there used to be. The majority will decide their own rules.”
“And he’s willing to make war and potentially kill people to do that.”
Korwin shakes his head. “He’ll try to do it without spilling blood.”
“There’s no such thing as a bloodless revolution,” I say. “Even I know that. My ancestors chose life behind a wall over bloodshed.”
“You’ve seen the evil that is the Green Republic. Even you must agree we need to do something.”
“In many ways, my community wanted the same things as the Liberty Party, freedom to continue to live as we always have. But we made a choice to separate ourselves from the evil of this world rather than make war. It’s what sets us apart.”
“But what if the wall wasn’t enough? What if the Greens found out you were alive behind the wall, coming and going as you pleased? How would your life change? Sometimes there are things worth fighting for.” The light from the fountain makes his hazel eyes twinkle.
I chew my lip. “If the Liberty Party succeeds and forms a democracy, that means the majority rules, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what happens to people like Jeremiah and me? The way we live, we’re definitely in the minority. Would they tear down the wall? Register us as citizens?”
“I don’t think anything would have to change for you. Not really. Why would it?”
“But you don’t know. Not for sure.”
Korwin steps closer, reaching for my hands. His touch sends tiny shock waves up my arms and down my body. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says, his hazel eyes drilling into me. I can tell he means it.
Snap. The elastic feeling from the test room starts at the top of my head, a tickle that shivers through my torso and rushes down my arms to my hands. My spark is coaxed out by his closeness, by his eyes. Electricity pours into Korwin like it poured into the wood, an uncontrolled flow that I struggle to tie off.
But stranger still, I feel his power flow into me. Clearly it’s his and not mine, because I can taste it. I can smell it, that post-thunderstorm scent he carries. The warm velvet current caresses up my arm from my fingers.
We glow bright enough to put the fountain to shame.
&n
bsp; I don’t register either one of us taking a step, but abruptly there is no space between us. Our hands flatten palm to palm beside our shoulders. Korwin, taller than me, bends his neck to press his forehead against mine. My neck cranes from the place I’m pressed into his chest.
“What is this between us?” I ask. “My brain is telling me to stop but my body won’t let me. It feels…it feels like—”
“Like we’re connected. Two parts of the same whole.” He slides one arm behind my back so we’re hip to hip, and raises our coupled hands to face level. Pulling his fingers away, blue lightning dances between our palms. It’s beautiful. Our own electrical storm.
“We’re a complete circuit,” he says. “I’m charging you and you’re charging me.”
“I hardly know you,” I whisper.
He laughs. “True. But every cell in your body knows me. I’m the only one on the planet made out of the same stuff as you.”
I close my eyes. Tingling volts pulse through my veins, course down my abdomen, through my heart, to my toes, up to my face. His heartbeat, audible with my ear pressed into his chest, pounds in time with mine. I give myself over to it, sighing in contentment. Our link magnifies every sound, every sensation.
“I want…” He releases my hand.
I open my eyes and tilt my head back to meet his gaze. “What? What do you want?” Tiny blue bolts of electricity grab on to my face as he moves to cradle my cheek. I shift my hand to the bare skin of his chest and feel him jerk beneath my fingertips. His eyes widen.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He sighs, thumb tracing my jaw. He lowers his full lips toward mine.
I should stop him. I should back away. But every cell in my body is at the mercy of his gravitational pull. I don’t understand the science behind it, but I am not strong enough to deny it.
