One (22 page)

I look over at Elias again, and I see him tremble just before he stumbles and falls to the ground.

“Hey! Hey.” I run over and wedge my shoulder under his armpit. “What’s up?”

“Just the medication from my drip, I think. I’m still a little weak. Plus…” He winces. “…I think Nora and Lia gave me something.”

“What do you mean?”

He reaches over, grabs the Swiss army knife from the pocket inside my bag where I always keep it, and slices it across the palm of his hand. I gasp, but he heals within seconds.

“My skin feels like a suit of pain right now,” he says, shrugging and smiling a little. “I figured it was a pretty good guess.”

“Okay,” I say, my head spinning at the thought that Elias is no longer a One, wondering if it’s permanent and whether he can give it to me, too. But I won’t let myself obsess over that right now. “Okay. Let’s keep walking.”

We trudge along in the direction of old Route 136. After a few minutes, when Elias seems to regain some of his strength, he says, “They figured it out.”

“The Hub? I know.”

“They paired me with another One who goes weightless — a kid. A couple years older than Michael and Max, maybe. Dragged him in from New York or something. Old enough for his parents to be frustrated he hadn’t changed yet.”

“What happened?” Panic grips my heart. I wanted to be the only one who could do this to him. I need to be the only one.

“Strapped our arms together. Gave us some enhancing serum. We scooted around the arena.”

“Scooted?” My relief comes out in a weak giggle.

Elias presses the heel of his hand against his eye. “Um. Yeah. I didn’t get it. Still don’t get it. Kid cried the whole time. The serum… It burns. But we didn’t fly. Could never race with cars or anything. Not like you and me.”

I put my head on his shoulder, turn it to the side, and kiss wherever my lips land. His collarbone, I think. He doesn’t turn into me.

“No one’s like you and me,” I say.

I hug Elias as close to me as possible, my skinny arm like a thick rope around his waist, cutting into his sweatshirt, praying my slight frame can support him. I feel his torso’s shakiness — his entire body still trembles. When will this weakness resolve? It has to — soon.

“How much does your Dad know? About what they were doing with the girls?”

Elias stiffens. “I don’t know. But if I find out it’s anything other than ‘nothing,’ I’ll kill him.”

I’m so angry at my own parents, knowing what they hid from me. I can’t imagine what thoughts run through Elias’s head right now. He doesn’t have any answers, and he has no way of knowing when he’ll get some.

After sitting there, on the side of the freezing, pocked road for 10 minutes, then 20, Elias starts to fidget.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

“Are you okay?”

“I will be.”

He turns to the side, smells my hair. I hate it when he does that. But when he does, it stops him shaking so much, and that makes me smile. I would do anything to have strong Elias back. I would do anything to have strong Merrin back. Now I’m left hoping with everything I have that we can find a way to be strong together.

Finally, after many breaths in and out, Elias says, “It’s all our fault, you know. If we hadn’t kept the secrets…if we hadn’t hidden what we can do…”

“I know.” And suddenly, in his presence, the rage turns to a weight that I’m desperate to shake off. That my lightness can never fix. My fingers play at the back of his neck.

“What are we going to do?” He raises his eyebrows, and his mouth turns down at the corners.

For a split second, all I can think of is his mouth, and how we haven’t really kissed since we’ve seen each other again. But there’s only thing I want to do more than kiss him: Get the hell out of here.

“How do you feel?” I whisper.

“This was what I needed,” he responds. “You. You’re like a battery charger.”

This makes perfect sense to me. I never realized the power of the buzz until Elias left and I didn’t feel it anymore.

“Yeah. Yeah, me, too.” I look him straight in the eye. “Time to go?”

“Time to go.”

I crane my neck from the direction we came, toward the flat field covering the Hub, looking for signs of smoke or flame. Nothing. No shouts, not a smell. The Hub is as quiet and dignified as ever, even when its very center has just exploded. Only the occasional chirp of a songbird pierces the silence.

The whole world has changed, and not even the sparrows have noticed.

THIRTY

T
he cold has injected a shock of vibrancy into the broad, brush-stroked colors that paint the horizon. Indigo layered with gold highlighted by burning ochre, playing against the deep brooding gray-blue of snow clouds rolling in.

The spindly skeleton of a windmill traces a hard framework against the masterpiece, jolting me back to reality.

My heart jumps. We have to get far away. Find someone who can help us figure out what these formulas all do. The Social Justice Hub to the West? Warfare to the South? Neither seems good. Seeking help at one feels inevitable. I shudder.

Elias must think it’s because I’m cold because he rubs my arms, trying to warm them.

“That’s how they used to get electricity from the wind, before the turbines,” Elias says, his voice having taken on a soothing cadence. It’s comforting that I can’t hear the anger there even though I know it’s just beneath the surface. For now, I need that.

“I didn’t know,” I whisper, and a choke strangles my throat. Still, this is the one thing I need him to know — need him to be absolutely certain of, without a second thought. “I didn’t know, Elias, or I would have… We could have… I would have listened to you. I’m…” The tears come, slow, creeping down my cheek one at a time. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” he says simply.

“You should have told me,” I say, my voice a bit stronger.

I feel more solid in myself, my whole self, my One self, than I ever have in my whole life, even though I just apologized — something that used to feel like losing myself. For the first time, I know for sure that I will not float away. I am in control of this moment. I am in control of myself. I push my shoulders back.

“I know,” he says, looking down at me, straight into my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

I can’t say anything. Can’t make any words come out of my mouth. I’m sorry, and he’s sorry, but neither of us is. Not that the whole thing happened. Not really. This has cemented what we always thought. We don’t belong at the Hub, and we don’t belong at Nelson. The only place we really belong is with each other.

Our breaths are quiet, shallow and waiting. The white cloud of steam coming from my lips brushes Elias’s arm. We are standing too close to be comfortable not saying anything, not doing anything.

“I heard what you said to your Mom about me,” he murmurs. “At the Hub. When I was waking up.”

“How I wasn’t leaving without you?”

“Yeah. That, too.” A smirk spreads across his face, growing bigger with each breath he catches.

I half-turn and snake my arms around his waist, falling into him, burying my face in his chest. I savor the feel of my heart swelling with it. Love. His and mine.

“It…uh…it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Hmmm?” Elias hums into my hair, breathing deeply. He’s smelling it again, and for the first time, I don’t care. I’m amazed he can still find the shampoo’s perfume — whatever it is — with all the smokiness, dirt, woods and cold that must be laced through it now.

“Well. The only reason it worked with Michael and Max, and Nora and Lia — the transference, I mean — is because of how close they were. Are.”

“It’s not true transference for them.” He rubs the tops of my arms protectively. “They’re not Ones. They already have those Supers. They just get stronger when they’re together.”

“Right. Yes. We’re different. But the only reason we can actually transfer our powers to each other is because of how close we are. Because I — I mean, we — I mean I — feel this way. I’ve never trusted anyone like I trust you. Never felt this way about anyone, Elias.”

He draws back, still holding on to the tops of my arms, and beams. “Well, you might as well just say it now.”

“Yeah. Might as well.” I smile at him with my lips still closed and try to make my eyes tell him everything I’m thinking. He smiles back the same way and draws me to him again.

After our teeth have stopped chattering, he stops holding me so tightly, and the telltale vibration takes the place of the shiver. The warmth. The buzz. So intense now, I can barely stand it. Suddenly, faith surges through me so hard and fast that it almost knocks me off my feet. I let one of my arms drop, and we stand there, side-to-side, fingers interlaced, gazing into the crisp, gray-white Nebraska sky.

“Ready?” Elias asks.

I squeeze his hand, hard. I nod, and my heart jumps. With all the things I’ve had to say in the last couple of hours, somehow, this is the hardest.

“That’s not why I love you, you know. I don’t love you because you make me fly. You make me fly because I love you.”

“Wait a minute,” Elias teases. “I didn’t hear that last part.”

My heart pounds as hard as it did that first night we walked beside a cornfield together. “I said,” I murmur, my eyes still trained on the horizon. “I love you.”

“You talking to me or the sky?”

“Both.” A grin cracks across my face. I still don’t look at him. He laughs once, the sound of release. My heart calms a little.

Then he swallows hard, bends down, cups his hand around my jaw, and kisses me, moving his lips hungrily against mine. I draw back and kiss him once more, light as a whisper of wind.

I take a deep breath, then stand tall at his side again. He bends down and kisses the top of my head.

“I love you,” he says into my hair, then pushes a shuddering breath outward. I nod, close my eyes, surprised by how happy it makes me to hear him say it, no matter how long I’ve known it. Since Homecoming. Since the first time we flew, maybe.

Something warm and heavy and exhilarating floods my whole body. I look up at him. He nods, then we both look up at the sky again. I drop his hand.

I take off first. The buzz from those three words propels me forward faster than ever before.

It takes me two seconds to memorize the feeling of flying on my own, its power and strength, the wind biting at every surface of my body.

It takes Elias a good 10 seconds more to catch up with me. I am the lighter one, after all.

It takes me no time at all to decide that even though I can fly without Elias, I don’t think I’ll ever want him to leave my side.

We join hands again, grinning like we did after the first time we kissed. When I remember that, my smile grows even wider. For a moment, we both forget what we’re leaving behind, what we must face ahead, because at least, at the very least, we have each other.

A shooting pain bursts through my body, under my skin. I don’t mind, though, because I know what it means we can now do. We grip hands tighter. Then we go so fast that a great ripple of air shakes the ground beneath us, and the world is nothing but a blur of color and light. I close my eyes, savoring it.

I think we just went supersonic.

Elias and Merrin’s story continues in TWO, coming October, 2013...

Acknowledgements

Publishing a book is a labor of love for so many more people than just the author.

Jamie Grey, thank you for being the greatest editor, best friend, plan-hatcher, and constant support I could ever dream of. From publishing decision day to the release, you kept my chin up and my head in the game. I love you.

Thanks forever and ever to Trisha Leigh, my mentor and hand-holder. You and your books were the single greatest thing that made me believe that
One
could be a real, beautiful book. I love them and I love you.

Becca Weston, my incredible copyeditor, thank you so much for your eagle-eye, unparalleled patience, and willingness to work with me again despite my crazy. Jaclyn Hirsch, you were the most exacting proofreader I could have asked for – thanks for that, and for accepting payment in the form of Jeni’s ice cream.

Nathalia Suellen is the genius behind the cover of
One
and its sequel,
Two
. Nathalia, I can’t thank you enough for giving my debut a more beautiful face than I ever thought possible. You make dreams come true.

KP Simmon, my publicist – thank you so much for believing in
One
so fiercely, and for working tirelessly to get the word out. You, my friend, are a force of nature and a miracle worker.

Andrea Hannah and Megan Whitmer, you were my “Who cares how it’s published?” cheerleaders without fail. You two made my heart lighter when it was heavy. Thank you.

Thanks for reading the first page of
One
before I gave you permission, Chessie Zappia, and being its first fan. You don’t like that many books, so either you’re lying to me or this one is really good. I appreciate it, either way.

Alexa Hirsch, you are my number one fangirl and very first reader for everything I write. To have both those things in one person is quite a rarity. Thank you.

John Hansen, thank you for volunteering to be my assistant and throwing all your enthusiasm into this little project even before you knew whether you liked it. It was a brave thing, and I didn’t take it for granted.

Cat Scully, how did you know exactly the sort of book trailer
One
needed? It was brilliant and perfect, and I won’t forget your kindness and enthusiasm while creating it. Thank you.

To my first readers, Gina Ciocca, Maggie Hall, Jenny Kaczorowski, Marieke Nijkamp, Jessica Silva, A.K. Fontinos-Hoyer, Elizabeth Light, Amber Tuscan-Clites, and later readers Erica Chapman, Kat Ellis, Jani Grey, Abby Robertson, Cait Greer, Darci Cole, Sarah Blair, Angi Black, Naseoul Lee, Amanda Olivieri, Rachael Harrie, Deanna Romito, Emma Pass, and Valerie Cole, thank you for your incredible powers of critique, brainstorming, and encouragement. You all are rock stars.

Brittany Howard, you gave
One
a chance when no one else in publishing was willing to. I’ll never forget it. Thank you.

My street team is the best on the planet. All fifty-four of you came ready and willing to work, and work you did! From blog interviews to carting ARCs of
One
to local book shops to hijacking storefronts on Madison Avenue to tweeting and reviewing your butts off – you all were the groundswell that made
One
impossible to ignore. So, Rachel Simon, Stephanie Diaz, Michelle Smith, Olivia, Elyse G, Alex Brown, Nikki Diehm, Madison Louise, Rachel Solomon, Elizabeth Briggs, Tara Allen, Clare Davidson, Mark O’Brien, Jamie Krakover, Aimee Arnold, Morgan Hyde, Suzanne van Rooyen, Jolene Haley, Louise Gornall, Heidi Schulz, Leigh Caroline, Amber Mauldin, Samantha Sessoms, Raven, Ellie, Liz Lincoln, KK Hendin, Cassidy Monger, Sam Hager, Rachel O’Laughlin, Kaye M., J.C. Lillis, Caitlin O’Connell, Virginia Boecker, Tawney Bland, Helen Boswell, Jessica Ward, Paul Adams, Veronica Bartles, Louisse Ang, Catherine, Sarah Hudson, Carla Cullen, Becky Mahoney, Jessi Shakarian, Ashley Hufford, Hero London, Brianna Shrum, Lindsay Leggett, Sarah Wedgbrow, Dianne, Christine, Kelsey Macke, Chyna Ngie, Katalina Lee, Sarah Guillory, Joy Hensley, and Amy Zhang, thank you, thank you, thank you.

To my husband, David – Thank you for never treating my writing like a silly little hobby. From day one, you’ve supported me, and it’s just one reason I love you.

I love and appreciate you all so much more than the end pages of a book can express. So, one last time for good measure – thank you, thank you, thank you.