Overtaken (13 page)

I dug my heels in right there. Maybe I just needed a little more practice? Ski Club was miserable. I'd hated it. What was I thinking? I looked over at Dana, trying to keep the intense distrust off my face. Was she doing this to me?

“No,” I said, as firmly as I could. “Thanks for the invite, but I don't think I'll be back.”

Dana's face fell again. It was adorable and pouty, and I was beginning to see straight through it. I turned to head into fourth-period history class, but Jackson caught us right outside.

Leaning in to Jackson's shoulder like she needed the support to stand, Dana narced me out immediately. “Nica just told me she didn't have fun at Ski Club yesterday,” she said, her mink lashes on overdrive. “I tried to convince her to give it another shot, but she's awfully stubborn. I'm so disappointed.”

Dana gave me a little defeated wave and stumbled off like an ignored puppy. And Jackson looked like her overprotective owner. I didn't even want to deal with the guilt trip and tried to just ignore him and duck into class, but he blocked my way with his taller, broader frame. I took a few steps back, uncomfortable standing so close.

“What was that about?” His accusatory tone was both very clear and almost unprecedented.

“I don't know. Should I be apologizing that I agreed to go along on your stupid field trip and I didn't find my chi or inner peace or whatever everyone else apparently did?” I felt defensive and very much put on the spot.

“I knew it,” he declared, bristling. “I knew you'd just agree to go and show up determined to have a miserable time.”

“You do realize that sometimes people try things and don't actually like them?” I softened my tone, trying to diffuse the tension between us. “Maybe Dana shouldn't have presumed to know anything about me in the first place and, I don't know, maybe asked me before signing me up to go.”

Our voices were rising with each block and jab. I could feel the heat growing under my skin and eyes peering out our way from inside the classroom.

Jackson's fury wasn't having any trouble keeping pace. “Great, Nica. That's exactly what she needs. Another girl cutting her down with sarcastic, alienating bullshit.”

“Right. Because Dana, queen of the school, is so emotionally fragile and desperate for friends,” I snarled back. “And I just ruined her sweet and precious spirit by making her hear the word ‘no' for once.”

“Are you hearing yourself?” He just shook his head.

I knew I'd gone too far, but there was no way to take back what I'd said. I was angry with Dana, but the way Jackson looked at me was a million times worse. “Jackson . . .” I wanted to apologize, to backpedal, to admit my own envy and insecurities, but he'd heard enough already.

“I thought you, of all people, would be sympathetic to what she's going through. Dana's a great person. I've known her my whole life.” He let the implication hang: I've known you for only a few months. “Dana is thoughtful, honest, and kind. You might not know her very well yet, but she wants to know you. She wants everyone to be friends, and if you can't even get over yourself long enough to just try . . . I don't think we can be friends either.”

Jackson's ultimatum hung in the air as he ducked into class. He couldn't get away from me fast enough. Following him was the last thing I wanted to do, but the bell rang and forced my hand. I shuffled in, head down. I knew everyone was watching us, whispering. Oliver had abandoned me, apparently finding better friends in out-of-left-field Noah and Dana. And Jackson had dressed me down in front of everyone. Defending his perfect girlfriend's honor, no less. I wanted to go home.

I wasn't even certain that home would be far enough. I fantasized about heading to the airport and catching the next flight to LAX, then on to South America's biggest hub: São Paulo's Guarulhos International Airport. Then a smaller plane would carry me to Tierra del Fuego, the large island tip of Argentina. I'd have to spend a night or two, at least enough time to ride the Austral Fueguino, and then I'd board a ship in Ushuaia headed straight for Lydia. She'd be surprised to see me, sure, but I'd be in Antarctica—as far away from Barrington as I could get. How could she refuse me?

My due-south escape plan was interrupted by a now fourth group of names being called to the office. “Michelle Cabrini. Ted Bergevin. Nica Ashley.” I didn't need a second push, gathering my things and heading straight out of the classroom.

The more distance I put between Jackson and myself, the more my marathoning heartbeat could slow to a jog. But, I realized as I approached the office, I was just replacing one problem with another.

I slipped into the office, reporting to the man running the front desk. He told me to have a seat; Mr. Manning would be right with me. I did as requested, but realized as I picked up a magazine—I had no idea who Mr. Manning was.

I didn't have to wait long. A man in his thirties emerged from a back office, headed straight for me. He looked rather collegiate for an administrator, dressed in tailored flannel and dark denim. Only a well-manicured beard firmly separated him from the J.Crew-wearing student body.

“You must be Nica.” He offered a hand to shake. “I'm Mr. Manning. The new guidance counselor.”

He reminded me a lot my previous guidance counselor, Mrs. Henderson, who'd met with a suspiciously fatal car crash a few months earlier, when I'd first started looking for answers about my power and its connection to Bar Tech. Manning had a similar easiness and enthusiasm. But I had no interest in having any heart-to-hearts with him.

I tuned out a bit as he explained he was meeting one-on-one with all students to really get to know them as individuals. I hoped Manning's enthusiasm alone would carry me through the meeting, but he had to slow down and insist I actually contribute.

“I know it must be tough,” he said, sufficiently empathetic. “Trying to join a social structure that's been in place for most of these kids since before kindergarten. But I'm an inviter, Nica. Do you know what that means?”

On a literal level, yes. You are the one who invites. But, no, I have no idea what in the New Age hell you're talking about. Luckily, he answered for me.

“It means I invite you to view all this as a positive, productive challenge. I invite you to stand out. Don't feel like you have to blend in. Sometimes happiness can only come by embracing who you are and accepting where you stand. Fully. In front of everyone.”

I didn't like the sound of that. He leaned forward to impress one last piece of advice, which chilled me to the bone:

“Follow Dana Fox's lead. That girl's got a good head on her shoulders.”

•  •  •

The end of school couldn't come soon enough. I tore out of there as fast as I could. Head down, sunglasses on, hood up, earbuds in. It was the closest I got to disappearing without actually using my power. It was particularly cold that day, but even as the wind ate through several layers of down, I was just thrilled to be outside. Outside and alone.

Halfway through town, I passed Ebinger's and had a strong urge for chocolate. I desperately wanted to inhale their latest concoction, but not at the risk of running into Noah. Or Oliver. Peering in the window, I could see that the place was dead. An older couple occupied the only table in use, and Topher manned the counter, staring off again into a horizon of boredom. My stomach growled wantonly. I decided it was safe enough.

Topher didn't snap out of his way-off stare until I was directly in front of him, only half a dozen inches from nose to nose.

“Hi, Nica!” He booted to life. “Sorry. Sometimes when it gets really slow here, I just . . . go somewhere else.”

“I know the feeling all too well,” I replied, trying to swallow back all my sadness and fear.

“What can I get you?”

“I'll take one of whatever that smell is.”

Topher nodded knowingly. “Today's special. Mayan hot chocolate with mini churros.”

“Sold.”

Topher continued to make small talk as he poured my drink. “Normally Noah and I work the same shift, which really helps to pass the time, but he changed his schedule so he could go to Ski Club.”

“Again? Already?”

“I guess so. Might've just been some kids caravanning up.” Topher shrugged it off, but it was clearly a sore spot.

I carried my treats to a corner table, keeping my distance from the bakery's other patrons. I dunked one of the mini churros right into the spicy hot cocoa. Drowning my sorrows had never been so delicious.

When the bell over the door chimed, I winced with anticipation. Misery had a way of finding me today, and if it walked inside right now, I was ready to take my spoils and run. I was strangely relieved when I saw that it was Chase. He noticed me and nodded a hello but headed to the counter. I felt a little miffed, but there was no way I was about to be desperate for his attention the minute he eased up his full-court press.

As he ordered, I couldn't help but wonder if he would just take his snack to go or if I was about to have some company. Before long I was squirming in my seat with nerves. What was going on? Had I been protesting a complete lack of interest in Chase a little too hard? I wondered if maybe this was Dana's influence or if maybe she was a convenient scapegoat. I hadn't gotten any closer to proof as to whether she was wielding any care-of-Bar-Tech psychic powers.

Chase walked over but didn't take the seat across from me. “Want some company? I don't want to interrupt if you're enjoying some ‘me' time.”

Maybe my defenses were down, but I was impressed with his restraint. In fact, I was kind of into it. “Sure. Go ahead.”

When he sat down, I could see that he'd also ordered the special.

“Great minds.” I raised my cup, throwing him a bone.

“Nah. I just told him I'd have what you were having,” Chase admitted with a sly smile. “I've always wanted to say that. Besides, who could say no to adult Dunkaroos?”

I laughed. Not a conversational laugh or a put-on laugh or a “Hey, he's cute” laugh. Chase had just genuinely surprised me, and I could feel the stress of the day fading away.

He pushed his plate of churros into the middle of the table to share. “Don't worry; we can always get more.”

For once, Chase was right. For the next hour or so, we talked and laughed and polished off a few too many mini churros. When he offered me a ride home, I accepted, happy to spend a little more time with him. As I navigated him to my house, listening to one of my favorite albums, which I'd stumbled upon in his recent playlists, I found myself in complete awe. Who would've guessed that Chase Cochran would be the best part of my terrible day? When we pulled to curb, there was something in the air. I could feel the inevitable; we were going to kiss. And I wanted to. It was the perfect seal to a completely unexpected afternoon, and I savored the ease. No sweaty palms, no butterflies. It was something new, I told myself as I climbed out of the SUV.

And maybe something good.

I sat in a cold wicker chair on Oliver's quaint front porch, my foot vibrating like a nervous rabbit's hind leg. It was the only thing making a sound in the otherwise picture-perfect and totally quiet afternoon. Well, maybe not the only thing. From somewhere down the street, my ears caught the sounds of happy children pegging one another with snowballs. A fresh powder had fallen to Barrington's streets, and since the plows hadn't come through yet, the town had temporarily taken on the appearance of a perfect, sparkling snow globe.

I leaned forward in an attempt to apply pressure to my toes. I wanted silence. I wanted to appreciate the winter tableau for all its frigid serenity. After all, this was the carrot to Bar Tech's security stick, right? This display worthy of a Norman Rockwell painting is what every family in town was beaming at from their window as they congratulated themselves on choosing such a nice place to raise their kids and cruise into old age. I wanted to try to understand it, to let it bring a smile to my face, but all I could muster was a sigh. Was it really that easy to get people to accept the presence of a massive, invasive security force in their lives? Was peace and quiet so hard to find in the world? Was it really that revered? Even the families in Barrington with no connection to Bar Tech (especially those families) should know that they're living on the verge of
1984
in 2015.

Maybe the problem was that none of it seemed strange anymore. It was possible that adding a couple of patrol cars and stone-faced security men to the mix didn't even faze people anymore. What were they, other than the personification of the security and surveillance culture we read about on the Internet and see on TV? And what was that, other than a scandal that most people choose to ignore and live with? The problem wasn't that Barrington found itself out of step with the rest of the world. It was that the rest of the world was just catching up with Barrington.

Yet I still desperately wanted to feel the comfort that seemed to permeate the streets. It was no fun feeling like the last person on earth who had any sense or could see what was happening. Maybe the pulse could give me the power of ignorance next time, or at least a false sense of security.

I scanned the street for any sign of life, but with the exception of the occasional Bar Tech vehicle, it was quiet.

Dammit, Oliver. Where are you?

To be fair, he didn't know he was late. He had no way of knowing, because I hadn't told him I was going to be waiting on his porch when he came home. Things had been so weird lately that I didn't want him to try to avoid me, and the only way to force the issue was to drop in unannounced. I felt a little crazy, like a jealous wife waiting for her husband to come home from whatever dark bar or strange bed he'd spent the day in. Then again, “crazy” is a sliding scale, and the events of late were threating to slide right off the edge.

It seemed like every day this week brought with it some new complication, and while each new wrinkle was very exciting, every day brought me closer to “over it.” Feelings for Chase, shade from Dana, and cracks slowly splintering my friendship with Oliver? Nope. No thanks. I was so ready to be done. I'm not a paranoid person by nature, but between my mystery contact and the reality-distortion field that Dana seemed able to summon at will, I wondered just how deep the rabbit hole went. At the moment, it felt bottomless.

The sun was beginning to set and my foot started tapping again. To calm my nerves and reawaken my legs, which were starting to numb in the winter air, I got up and started to pace. Oliver's mother would probably be home soon. I wanted to be gone when she arrived. Between the fact that she and I had never spoken after the accident, along with the conversation I was planning to have with Oliver, I was afraid that the mood might be more than a little sour. Considering how heated things had gotten in the car right before the crash, I was looking forward to reintroducing myself under much friendlier circumstances.

I didn't recognize the car that eventually pulled up. It was a small green thing, an oversized TicTac—a starter compact for a new driver. Was it possible Oliver had suddenly gotten a car? Or did this belong to someone else? I squinted to make out who was in the driver's seat. The bright winter sun prevented any definite ID, but it looked enough like Noah that I grumbled. Friend jealousy, I guess. I never thought romance would come between the two of us.

I hung at the far edge of the porch as Oliver stepped out and waved to the driver. I was trying to keep myself just out of sight. I didn't want to pounce melodramatically, but if Oliver stepped out of the car, I didn't want him to spot me and decide to get back in. I wasn't going to give him a chance to avoid me. His feet crunched over the fresh snow and I started—for just a second—to relish the fact that I was about to let him know exactly how I felt. Up the three small steps and to the lock. He pulled out his key, slipped it into the tumbler—

—and I walked straight into his peripheral vision.

“Why would you tell Dana?”

“Nica!” His eyes bugged out and the keys chimed against one another as they fell to the floor.

“Why didn't you tell me about Noah? You know I wouldn't care.”

“Really?” He picked up the keys and then unlocked the door.

“Of course not, Oliver. You're my best friend. I love you for who you are, and I'd never question that.”

“You know who I am? I'm Richard Cochran's son,” Oliver declared, throwing me an unexpected curveball. “Where's the love for that?”

“That's different,” I replied, suddenly embarrassed and feeling defensive.

“Is it? To me it's a secret that shapes my life, and when I shared it with you, look what happened. You told me to forget it. That it was dangerous. Weird. Difficult.”

He stepped closer to me. I'd planned to come here and give him a piece of my mind, but I'd read the situation wrong. He was unleashing on me.

“I asked you for help,” he said, “and you left me hanging. Know why I told Dana everything? Because Dana wouldn't do that. She has my back and accepts all of me. She wouldn't assume that she could tell me what to do based on how she feels about something.”

Oliver landed blow after blow, and I just stood there and took it.

“She would never tell me to avoid knowing my dad because of who he is, either. You won't even help me get what I need to introduce myself to him.” Oliver let that hang in the air. I kept my face from showing it, but inside I was dying. I had no way of knowing how much of his loyalty to Dana was the result of her manipulation, how much of it was out of anger and spite toward me, and how much of it—possibly—was genuine. In the end, it didn't really matter. What mattered was that I was no longer his only confidant, and that put our secret in danger. Despite how much his words hurt, I had to dig for one more thing.

“Did you tell her who your dad is? Did you use his name?” I gritted my teeth as I waited for the answer. The last thing I needed was Oliver being opened like a cheap can and spilling his secrets all over Barrington because he'd been tricked into believing Dana had his best interests at mind. His eyes flared and he didn't answer. I could tell he was thinking it was none of my business, but I knew that deep down Oliver understood the stakes. There's no way he would've said anything. Right?

“No,” he responded. “Of course not.”

His answer echoed like a shot. I tried to relax. Even though Oliver had perfected lying to me, I had to hold on to the hope that he was telling the truth now. He stepped into his house.

“Is that it, Nica? We done?”

“I'm sorry.” I felt awful and didn't know what else to say.

It didn't matter. The door slammed in my face.

•  •  •

That night my dad could tell that I was in a foul mood, but I refused to open up and discuss my failure as Oliver's friend. He pressed me to confide in him. He was worried about Bar Tech's extended radio silence. I wanted to care at that moment, but my mind kept returning to my own shortcomings. How had I suddenly become the bad guy in all this?

I couldn't stand to see Oliver hurting, and it completely ruined me that I was the cause of this particular pain. He had hidden the deepest, truest parts of himself from me and revealed them to someone I didn't think it was possible to trust. There was no way I was going to let that stand.

•  •  •

By the time I arrived at school the next morning, my mind was made up. If Oliver needed to prove a genetic link between himself and Cochran, I wouldn't make him stoop to lifting Chase's jockstrap so he could gingerly try to comb stray hairs off of them. I could get exactly what he needed by employing my hidden talent without anyone being the wiser.

What good was having the power to disappear if I didn't use it to help my nearest friend?

I made sure to stand off to the side of the chaotic first-floor lockers, where no one could accidentally bump into me. I lurked among people like a ghost until I spotted a harried Chase loping down the hallway, barreling through the crowd. Dressed in a black turtleneck sweater, worn gray cords, and hiking boots, he'd come from swimming laps, part of his coma-recovery therapy, and was running late. As he quickly finished drying his thick mane of blond hair with the gym towel around his neck, I stepped so close to him I could smell the distinctive scent of chlorine and woodsy cologne emanating from his glistening skin. For a moment I forgot myself and just stood there drinking in his fresh smell. Until I remembered why I was there. I spotted a couple of flyaway strands and yanked them out by the roots. He'd never miss them.

Chase winced and obviously felt it pinch. But he quickly ran his fingers through his hair, combing out the tangles, then bolted off to class.

I waited a couple of moments until everyone scattered and the corridor was empty. Then I opened my locker, dropped Chase's hair in a ziplock Baggie, and sealed it shut so that Oliver could get it tested for DNA.

With my mission accomplished, I set off to the top floor to find my next target—Dana—when I caught a glimpse of someone out of the corner of my eye. I jumped, and immediately realized the figure wasn't exactly in the hallway with me. He was outside it. On the roof. My heart stopped. It was a student—sitting parallel to the third-floor-hall window. Not doing much of anything. He reminded me of a monk or yogi: at peace, letting the sunlight ripple across his face as he took calm, relaxed breaths.

Then the bell went off, and the kid turned toward the window.

It was Topher.

He couldn't see me, as I was still invisible. But what really threw me was the fact that he disappeared as he rose to his feet. I was shocked. I stumbled back from the window and almost tumbled down the stairs but grabbed the railing in time.

First Dana, now Topher. Maybe I was going crazy. It was either that, I thought as I sprinted down the hall, or there were other kids with powers waiting to be discovered. And what the hell could Topher do? Could he go invisible like me? Didn't seem like it, since he would've had to climb through a window to get back inside. That or somehow drop safely to the ground. It must be something else. Could he conceivably teleport? Just pop in and out of reality and move from one place to another? That seemed like a possibility. In my brave new world, teleportation was reasonable—just another Thursday morning at Barrington High.

It took me a few moments to pull myself together and refocus on what I needed to do next. I'd sort out the whole Topher-mystery thing later. In the meantime I had to get back on track.

Finding Dana was easy. I stopped by the cafeteria. She breezed through the doors first and headed straight for the salad bar. After arranging cucumbers, tomatoes, lettuce, and olives with precision, Dana cruised to a long table at the center of the lunchroom, where she perched like a royal as she waited for her sycophants to gather. I wanted to expose her—reveal her for being a manipulative, mind-controlling snake in the grass.

I recognized the first kid who sat down at her table, a drama geek named Scott Bozeman. He was wearing what looked to be a hand-me-down Pink Floyd T-shirt. His black horned-rimmed hipster glasses, chunky black boots, and green canvas jacket tied the ensemble together and screamed “outsider.” Not exactly the kind of kid I would've thought to be in Dana's entourage, but they seemed to be close. Laughs and jokes flew back and forth as a timid girl joined them, a true, buttoned-up nerdette. I'd seen her hanging around the quad with the mathletes, but it didn't matter where I'd seen her before. It mattered that I was seeing her now, in a social group that didn't seem to be hers.

Stoners, jocks, musicians, straight-A students, and borderline dropouts all brought their food over and took a seat. Waves and smiles surrounded Dana like all these kids had known her since preschool. I suppose it was possible that some of them had, but I'd never seen this particular social arrangement during lunch before. To a passive observer, it would appear that Dana was doing the impossible and bringing students together in ways that no one had ever been able to do before. Hell, that's how it appeared to me. The question was how? And why? Social lines never blurred like this at Barrington, and I doubted her new friends were all there for the conversation. Dana was up to something. I was sure of it.