Powers Page 3

“Give me your hand. If it’s a trick, you have nothing to fear,” said Adrian.

  “Don’t patronize me!” It’s hard to say “patronize” when you are gritting your teeth, but I managed.

  “I’m not patronizing you.”

  It was his voice that made up my mind for me. He’d dropped it down, slow and even and hypnotic. He thought he could control me with that voice. No way.

  I let him take my hand. The cold blue flame in his eyes held me, seared me.

  “Do you feel it?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “It’s a warm tingle, isn’t it? In your hands, moving up your arms, like a current.”

  “No.” My hands tingled with warmth. It moved up my arms like a current.

  “Don’t lie to me, Gwen.”

  “Let me go.”

  “No.” Then he noticed my scar, a raised white ridge between my index and second finger. He ran his thumb lightly over the scar tissue.

  I flinched. I hated that scar. I’d earned it through sheer stupidity, trying to separate frozen burgers with a steak knife.

  “It’s never going to go away,” Adrian said in a condescending voice. “I still can’t believe you did that.”

  My heart thumped unevenly. “What do you mean?”

  “Used Crazy Glue to seal the cut.”

  I swallowed. “How did you know that?”

  “Who could forget?” Adrian said, shaking his head. “All that blood, and you insisting you didn’t need stitches.”

  I looked at Joanne. She looked at me. “Uh, Adrian?” she said. “You just got here. You couldn’t possibly know that.”

  Adrian dropped my hand. His voice wavered, as if he was unsure of what had happened. “But, I saw it, Jo. I felt it. The knife, so sharp, it didn’t hurt. Not at first. Not until the blood spurted out. Over my shirt, my white shirt.”

  He stopped, stared at me.

  “No, not my shirt. Your blouse. You never got the stain out, did you, Gwen?”

  “Wow.” Joanne jiggled in her chair with excitement. “Wow, this proves it!”

  I froze. “You told him, Joanne, right? You’re both in on the trick.”

  “Nobody told me, Gwen. It was as if the memory was in my own head. I can still feel it.…” Adrian’s voice trailed off as he rubbed the webbing between the first and second fingers of his own hand.

  My chair clattered to the floor as I pushed away. Heads turned toward me, but I didn’t care. I ran.

  Adrian

  She takes off, not bothering to get her coat. I follow her to the parking lot. The frigid air slices through me.

  “Gwen, wait,” I call.

  She backs up against an old maroon Volvo wagon. “Go away.”

  I feel a wave of fear, so strong I could reach out and gather it in my hands. And I realize it’s not my fear.

  It’s hers.

  “How are you doing it?” she demands.

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “I don’t believe it myself. It’s as if I’m reading your mind. Did you send me the thoughts? Is that it? Are you telepathic?” I’m babbling like an idiot.

  I’m not sending you thoughts. I can’t read your mind.

  “Are you sure? Have you ever tried?”

  “Tried what?”

  “Tried to read minds?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Sure you did. I heard you.”

  I didn’t say that.

  This time I watch her lips. They aren’t moving. My head buzzes. I’m hearing her thoughts. I’m so charged I could light up a city.

  “Think something else to me,” I say.

  “No. Leave me alone.” She fumbles to get her key into the door lock, but her hand is shaking too much.

  “Look, you’re too upset to drive.” I reach around to take the keys from her hand. Our bodies touch. I feel a surge of energy, strong and startling, move between us.

  She yelps, and jabs her elbow, catching me in the stomach.

  “Ow. What was that for?”

  “Don’t touch me. Don’t ever touch me again, or I’ll—”

  “What is wrong with you?”

  Her hands are on her hips. She’s not afraid now. She’s angry. I feel it like I felt the fear. And another emotion. Loathing.

  Loathing? For me?

  “You don’t even know me,” I say.

  “I know your kind.” Like Stone. “Stay away from us!”

  “Us?”

  “Me. And Joanne.”

  Jo? No way.

  “No one tells me what to do,” I say.

  “I just did,” she spits out.

  I’m this close to losing it. I watch her get into her car, slam the door, rev the engine. I still sense her energy, crackling in the air. The feeling fades as she drives away.

  Gwen

  My hands shook on the wheel as I drove. How dare he?

  Nobody tells me what to do.

  It was like a summer storm rolling in across the lake.

  The air shifts, turns cold. Thunder rolls. Lightning flashes. The water stirs.

  The storm envelops you in its fury. You run inside, seeking shelter. Rain slashes, battering the windows, trying to get in.

  For now, you are safe. But safety is an illusion. Between you and the storm, there is nothing but a thin sheet of glass.

  Adrian

  What just happened? When I touched her hand, I’d felt a power, an energy, like a house current, coursing just under her skin. It was like drinking in sunlight, intoxicating, addictive. One hit, and I’m hooked. I want more. I need more. Only one problem. She wants nothing to do with me.

  So, I’m going to need an ally. Jo. I ask someone where to find her locker and go there after school.

  I’m just in time. She’s putting on her jacket, getting ready to leave. She runs her hands under her hair, flipping it over the collar. I move into her personal space, tuck a wisp of hair behind her ear. She makes a quiet sound, like, “hmmm,” and leans toward me.

  Easy Adrian. Stay on target. I jam my hands resolutely into my pockets.

  “No thing after school today?” I tease.

  “Uh, well, we uh…” Her eyes are light brown, almost the color of beach sand. I feel warm for the first time in days.

  I let her off the hook. “Want a ride home?”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Jo says. “My mom drives me in, in the morning, but I get stuck taking the bus home and that’s a fifty-minute ride, even though it’s only half an hour by car, but that’s because we go down all those stupid roads to drop people off, eh?”

  She says the whole thing in one breath, I swear, pronouncing “mom” like “mum.” Coming from her, it’s cute. The snow squeaks under our boots as we walk to my car.

  “Nice car,” Jo says, running a hand over my red metallic paint job.

  “Thanks,” I say, opening her door. She slides in and smiles.

  Forget Gwen. Then I remember that rush of energy. Better still, why not have it both ways?

  My tires scrunch on the frozen snow as I pull out of the parking lot. “So, about that movie?” I suggest.

  “Can’t.”

  “Because you have a boyfriend?” That’s what Gwen said. Joanne already has a boyfriend—all slow and deliberate so that I’d get it.

  “No. Well, I did, but not anymore. Conrad. He’s in Psych class with us.”

  “Oh, yeah. Unibrow Man. The Incredible Bulk.”

  “Very funny. He’s a hockey player. But I broke up with him. So I’m free. Only Gwen doesn’t want me seeing you.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s afraid of you,” she says. “Deer.”

  What? Dear?

  “Deer, deer,” she says, pounding my arm. “Stop.”

  I fishtail to a stop. At the side of the road is a deer. Her ears twitch, and then she leaps across the road, her white tail raised like a flag. That was close. Imagine the damage a deer might do to my car.

 
“Why is Gwen afraid of me?” I ask, getting back in gear.

  “Her dreams.” Jo claps her hand over her mouth. “Uh, oh.”

  I’m driving along a rock cut with a sheer wall of pink granite on my right and a drop-off of thirty feet on my left. I pretend the road is taking all my attention, but I’m thinking, I knew it. Gwen has some kind of special power.

  “What dreams?” I ask, deliberately speaking in a casual tone.

  “I can’t tell you,” Jo says.

  “It’ll be our little secret. I won’t tell and you won’t tell.”

  Jo sighs. “She gets dreams about what’s going to happen.”

  “Like about the winning numbers for the lottery?”

  I expect her to laugh, but she doesn’t. She pulls on a piece of her hair, stares at it as if she wants to chew on the end, then lets it fall through her fingers. “She dreamed about you before you came. It’s like there’s some connection between you. She dreamed of fire, too, and coffins and a dead kid.”

  “The kid,” I say. “He died in a fire, late Sunday night. My dad prepared the body.”

  “Yeah, well, Gwen thinks there’s more to it than that. Thinks you’re dangerous.” She twists around to face me. “What happened today, Adrian? Did you really read Gwen’s mind? What did you say to her when you ran after her?”

  I stall for time. If I tell the truth, I’m screwed. Gwen will never talk to me, and, out of loyalty, Jo won’t either. So I do the only thing I can do.

  I lie.

  “I’ll let you in on a secret, Jo. The mind-reading thing? It’s an act.”

  “But how’d you know about the scar?” she asks.

  “Lucky guess.” I wish I could read Jo’s mind, but I can’t. “Gwen was pretty upset by it, though. She said I was hard as stone.”

  “Stone,” Jo says. “Grade eight. Stood her up for a date. He apologized a week later and asked her out, but she turned him down. I never understood that.”

  “And she still hates him?”

  “He’s symbolic, eh? Of all the times people put her down, called her names. She was the school loser.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Easy target.” Joanne shrugs. “A chunky monkey.”

  “Fat?”

  “No, just short for her weight.”

  I look over to see if she’s being funny on purpose. But her expression’s serious and I can’t tell.

  “She wore braces,” Joanne goes on, now chewing on a chunk of hair. “And glasses.”

  “Eighth grade was a long time ago, Jo,” I say. “She needs to get over it.”

  “Sometimes you can’t. People don’t let you. It’s a small school, Adrian. We’ve all known each other since JK.”

  “JK?”

  “Junior kindergarten. It’s like there’s only so many parts to play. You know, class clown, class slut, geek, bimbo, loser. You missed the turn.”

  “Huh?” At first I think she’s called me a loser for missing the turn. Then I realize she’s switched gears again. We drive along in silence as I negotiate the twists in the road. I’m thinking about what she said, about labels. Growing up the son of a funeral director wasn’t easy. Half the reason I took up weight lifting was to intimidate the guys who picked on me.

  We arrive. “Thanks for the ride,” Jo says.

  “Anytime,” I say. “Uh, Jo, I’m sorry I pulled that mindreading stunt on Gwen. I guess it wasn’t very funny.”

  “Yeah. Nobody laughed.” Her eyes aren’t so warm anymore.

  “I’ll make it up to her. I promise.” This time I actually mean it.

  But not for the reason Jo thinks.

  Gwen

  Had he read my mind? Impossible. But something weird had happened. When he touched me, the sudden jolt of energy caught me by surprise. It was like hot and cold and fire and ice all at once.

  And it left me hungry. Ravenously hungry. I thought about grabbing a salad at Slim Fixings.

  Forget that. I wanted food. I pulled through the Burger Barn drive-through and ordered a Monster Barn Burger with fried onions, bacon, and cheese, and a chocolate milkshake. I drove to Lakefront Park and parked the car facing the lake.

  The wrapping around my burger crinkled as I unfolded it. The smell of grease and meat filled the car. Melted cheese and fried onions dripped down as I devoured the burger. I licked the onions off the now transparent wrapper, wishing there were more.

  What’s come over me?

  It was as if the standoff with Adrian had awakened an enormous appetite in me. Or maybe I’d always been hungry but had denied it.

  I burped, sucked up the last of my milkshake, and took a minute to enjoy the view. Out on the lake, the sky took up half the world. Nearly indigo above, it faded to light blue at the horizon. It reminded me of my dream. A wolf, stalking deer across the lake. I looked to my right, and there they were. Five deer, coming out of the nearest bay.

  I clicked off several shots, capturing the deer’s blue-black shadows on the white snow. Then the wolf appeared. He slunk along, freezing whenever a deer looked back. Finally, one deer broke into a run, alarming the others. His cover blown, the wolf turned back to shore.

  I checked my shots. Perfect! I bet I could make the cover page.

  Maybe the dreams weren’t all bad.

  THURSDAY, JANUARY 9

  Adrian

  People are vulnerable because of their needs. It’s the flaw in their armor. Find the weakness, and one arrow can bring them down.

  Like Jo. She needs to be taken seriously. That’s why she joined the Debate Team and not the Cheerleading Squad. The armor-piercing arrow would be to call her an airhead. I’d nearly blown it by asking if she was a cheerleader. I wouldn’t make that mistake twice.

  Or Melissa. Throws herself at guys, sleeps around. All she wants is someone to see past her body, to love her for herself. That’s why the line, “He didn’t give you the love and attention you deserve,” worked so well on her.

  And Gwen. What’s her vulnerability? She hasn’t gotten over being a loser. A “chunky monkey,” as Jo put it. So what does she want? A guy who will worship her. Publicly. She wants every girl in the school to envy her.

  So I’ll give her what she wants. I’ll do anything to feel that rush of power again. At the beginning of my lunch hour, I run out to a florist on Main Street.

  “I need a single red rose,” I tell the man behind the counter.

  “Excellent choice.” He gives me the once-over in a way that makes me uncomfortable. “You’re in love.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Oh, dear me. Then you might be giving the wrong message. A single red rose is a declaration of love. A single yellow rose means friendship. A pink rose—”

  I cut him off. “How do you say you’re sorry?”

  “A lover’s spat? Well, then. Nothing says ‘forgive me’ like a purple hyacinth.”

  “Good. Give me one of those.”

  He disappears into the back of the store, returning shortly with an armload of dark green spiky things. I guess he sees the look on my face.

  “They’re actually quite lovely when they bloom,” he explains.

  “I’ll take your word for it.” I pay for the plant and leave.

  When I return to school, I find Gwen sitting alone, reading the local paper. On the front page is a photo of deer being stalked by a wolf.

  I set the pot of purple hyacinths on top of the photo. Gwen jerks back, startled, as if the green leaves were laced with poison. It was a rose in my dream. What’s this? The dream lied?

  Like Jo said. Precognitive dreams. Gwen’s some kind of psychic energy magnet.

  “I want to apologize,” I tell her.

  Her anger hits me like a spike driven into my brain. I hide my reaction. If she thinks I’m reading her mind, she’ll run.

  “I lied to you.” Pain buffets me. “Look, I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

  Her expression softens. The pain lessens and I can breathe again. “Mind if I sit? I feel as if I’m o
n display.” She glances over at the next table, where Melissa and her friends stare with their mouths open. She nods and I sit down.

  “It’s purple hyacinth, for forgiveness,” I say, pointing to the plant.

  He forgives me? For what? The nerve of him saying he—

  And pain comes again, blood-red and pulsing.

  “Gwen.” I struggle to speak. “Will you listen for a second?”

  “You’ve got one second.” She’s not smiling.

  “It was all an act,” I say.

  “An act? How’d you know about the scar?” she demands.

  “I’ve pried burgers apart like that myself. I have a little nick, right in that exact spot.”

  “The Crazy Glue. There’s no way you could have guessed that.”

  “There are no stitch marks on either side of your scar. The Crazy Glue was a lucky guess. I was as surprised as you that I got it right.”

  She wavers. “But in the parking lot—you were so convincing. I thought for sure you were reading my mind.”

  “Body language, little signals. I’ve been pretending to read minds for years. You get good at making guesses, following hunches.”

  Like me. He’s a Watcher like me? Reads body language. It’s possible.

  “Why? Why the act?”

  “Why not?” I shrug. “Girls usually fall for it. Besides, it’s easier than being myself.”

  Like me. Like Gwen-the-Photographer.

  There’s just enough truth in my statement that she believes me. Man, but I’m good!

  “Could we start over again?” I give her my best puppy-dog look and she melts. I can see, in her mind, that she likes the fact that Melissa is staring at us. It’s working!

  I lift an eyebrow, tilt my head, and smile. I’ve practiced that move in the mirror. It never fails.

  Another act? But he is cute.

  Good. She’s half mine already. Now, pay her a compliment.

  “You have beautiful eyes. Don’t hide them,” I reach out and remove her glasses. Touching her, I feel the world come into sharper focus. Sounds louder. Colors brighter. Emotions more intense.

  She hesitates, wondering if she can trust me. He’s flattering me. What does he want?

  And then it happens, blam, like a door opening in my mind. I’m suddenly hearing voices, like Gwen’s mental voice, only not as strong. They rush into my head, competing for my attention, turning into shreds of sentences, dislocated phrases, half-heard words: