Pivot Point (15 page)

I felt like Fat Jacks. Snuck off. Apparently the entire football team hangs out here. You should see this place. Packed. What’re you up to?

I’m locked in a car with Trevor,
I text back.

“Is that our rescue squad giving us an update?” Trevor asks.

Ooh, Sounds fun,
Laila responds.

“Oh. No. It’s my friend Laila. Rowan doesn’t have my cell number, and I really don’t want him to, so please don’t give it to him.”

Trevor’s eyes dart to mine. “Wow, it was that obvious, huh?”

“Yeah, and I’m not really interested. No offense.”

“It doesn’t offend me. It was a best-friend favor. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Will you just let him know?”

“Yeah, sure.” He shifts his shoulders again, and I wonder if he’s in pain.

“Isn’t there a way to move the seat back or something? You look so uncomfortable.” My Compound car immediately adjusts to my settings. Was it the same here? I hadn’t paid enough attention. Maybe I just made the stupidest suggestion, because the car obviously doesn’t have Trevor’s fingerprint in its database. How is he supposed to move the seats in someone else’s car?

“Yes, the lever is probably on the side. Can you reach it?”

“Lever?” So it was a stupid suggestion for a different reason—I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“On the side of the seat. By the door.”

“Oh, right.” I reach to the side of the seat, hoping to find something sticking out. I do, but I still don’t know what to do.

“Did you find it?”

“Maybe?”

The next thing I know, his hand is on mine. His fingertips, slightly calloused, travel over mine in search of the lever. “You probably just push it back.”

Our eyes meet under the seat. The car is entirely too stuffy and hot. I take my hand out from under his. “Maybe we shouldn’t move the seats. The principal will probably be able to tell.”

“True.”

The horn beeps, and I jump.

“We’re free,” Trevor says. “Let’s take a team picture with this and then put it back.” He starts to get up.

“Trevor?”

His face reappears under the seat. “Yeah?”

“Sorry about your shoulder.”

He smiles. “No need to be sorry. Really. Rowan makes it into a much bigger deal than it is.”

I nod, wondering if Trevor really had let it go. And more than that, I wonder if Rowan has a reason to be suspicious of Lincoln High.

PAR•A•pha•sia
:
n.
to lose the power to speak correctly It’s my first time standing at Duke’s front door, and I’m nervous. I haven’t met his parents yet. It feels like a big deal. I ring the bell and gnaw on my lip. A beautiful woman answers, and her smile is contagious, immediately putting me at ease. “You must be Addie,” she says, grasping both my hands for a quick moment and then dropping them. “Come in.”

“Thank you.” I readjust the backpack on my shoulder and step in. The entryway is huge and ends in a wide staircase, straight ahead of me. Actually, every aspect of the house is huge: tall doors, large paintings, thick banisters.

“Upstairs, first door on your right,” she says.

I begin to walk upstairs. Maybe this study date was a bad idea, but it’s the only kind of date my mom would allow with my grounding still in force. The first door on the right is shut, and I knock quietly.

“Come in,” Duke says, and the door slides open.

I step inside. He sits at a desk, his back to me, writing. “Give me one sec.”

His room is bright, the drapes on both windows wide open. From where his house sits, on the very edge of town, the unobstructed view of the mountains is impressive. As I stare out the window, I wonder if the Perceptives change the image throughout the day. Do they elongate the shadows in the afternoon? The thought of a manufactured reality sits heavily on my shoulders from this close up, and I’m suddenly happy I don’t have Duke’s impressive view every day. I’m happy for my daily view of the neighbor’s water-stained fence.

I turn my attention away from the windows. I expect Duke’s walls to be covered with football posters or shelves full of trophies, but they’re a clean beige, like his mom’s pants. A single painting of an ocean view hangs on the wall opposite his king-size bed. As a whole, the room screams hotel—generic enough to house anyone, and yet nobody ever feels like they belong there. It is clean though, which is nice.

He finishes whatever he’s working on and then stands and turns. “Hey, girlfriend.”

“Hi.” My heart flutters. I raise one hand, and when I lower it my backpack slips down my arm, causing me to take a jerky step forward.

He laughs. “Aren’t we past the awkward stage yet? Where is my mouthy Addie who acted like I was nothing special when we first met?”

Sometimes I wonder the same thing. “Are you someone special?”

“There she is.”

He takes several steps forward and scoops me into a hug. When he puts me down, I say, “So this is your room, huh?”

“Yep, this is it. Have a seat.” He points to his bed, and I take the chair he just abandoned instead.

“I thought there’d be more … stuff. Trophies or whatever.”

“Yeah, well, my mom doesn’t like holes in the walls. Plus, my dad has an entire room filled with my …
stuff.
It’s embarrassing.”

“He’s proud.”

“He just loves football. Has his whole life.”

“So is that why you started playing?”

“Yeah, I was told my dad handed me a football when I was born.”

“Is he Telekinetic too?”

He nods slowly and looks around as if noticing how bare his room is for the first time.

“Have you been to the ocean?” I ask, nodding my head toward the painting.

“Once. A long time ago. I liked it a lot.” He stares at the painting. “Are your walls plastered with posters of hot guys or something?”

“How did you know?”

“Really?”

“No. I actually have a lot of … um …” I pull on my fingers, realizing how uncool I am about to sound and how little he actually knows about me. “Painted words and book pages on my walls.”

“Book pages?”

“Yeah, some are from novels; some are from graphic novels.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Graphic novels? As in, comic books?”

“Yes. But it’s not because I think the characters are cute or anything.” Even though Laila sometimes stares at them with dreamy eyes. “It has more to do with the story lines … usually the parts where I felt the most tense or the saddest. I’ll pin that page on my wall, and every time I read it or look at it, I get that rush of feelings I got reading it.…”
Holy crap, this is not normal. Why am I telling him this?
“… Never mind.”

“No, wait, tell me. So you’re saying you like to remember certain feelings?”

“Sort of.” I pull up my knee on the chair with me. “It’s hard to explain. In my life, I’m surrounded by people who, no matter if they are trying to or not, can manipulate me. Like my mom. She says she doesn’t use Persuasion on me, but just the fact that I know she can makes me more likely to do what she asks, because I don’t want her to use her power on me. So even though she’s not using it, in a way she’s still manipulating me. I just let her skip a step. My dad too. Since I know I can’t lie to him, I don’t. Does any of this make sense?”

“Yes, of course, but I don’t understand how that relates to pages from books pinned to your wall.”

The desk chair swivels as I shift my leg back and forth once. “When I read, I feel emotion all on my own. Emotion no living person is making me feel. To me, it almost seems more real, because I know that those characters can’t influence me with any power. So I like to remind myself that I can feel without anyone manipulating me.… I know, it’s lame.”

“No, it’s not lame. But you sound like a Naturalist again. You sound like you want to live in a world where people don’t have powers.”

My eyes drift to the view of the mountains out his window. “No. I want to live in a world where people aren’t using their powers against me to fulfill their own agenda.”

“You don’t trust people, do you?”

“I’ve seen a lot of alternate futures. I guess it makes me more wary than most.” I turn toward his desk. “So what are you working on?”

“Are you trying to change the subject?”

“Yes.”

He laughs. “I’m working on college stuff.”

“Oh.” The thought stops me cold. Duke is going to college next year. I’m not. “Where are you going?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I have several options, and they’ve all offered full-ride football scholarships. It’s a hard choice.”

“Yes, I’m sure it is.”

“Well, it won’t be for you. You can just do a little Search, and all will be well.” I sense a hint of bitterness and am not sure what to say. He puts a hand to the back of his neck and rubs it. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired of thinking about it.” He flops on his bed face-first. “Do it for me,” he mumbles into the mattress.

I smile. “Okay.” I pick up several pamphlets from the corner of his desk and slowly flip through them. “Here. This one looks nice. There’s a picture of a tree on the front.”

He raises his head. “Is that how I should decide? Whichever college puts out the prettiest pamphlet?”

“Totally.”

“Well, that school is in California.”

I drop it onto the desk. “Never mind. That one is off the list. Too far away. I still don’t believe you’re leaving the Compound for college.”

“I know, it’s weird to think about.”

“Do you feel like it’s going to affect your ability progression?”

“Sometimes. But I’m committed to keep it up. I’ll practice. And I’m hoping Ray comes with me, so at least we can push each other.”

“That would be good.” I turn back to the stack of pamphlets. “Okay, so no to California. See, this is easy. One down …”

“Twenty-five more to go.”

“Twenty-five? Jeez, you are someone special, aren’t you? I wish you would’ve told me.”

He shifts onto his side and props himself up on an elbow. “Come to my game this Friday.”

“What?” I say, even though I heard him perfectly.

“I have a game this Friday.”

“Home or away?”

“Here.”

“So that means you’re playing one of the other Para teams?”

“Does it matter? I’m playing.”

“Of course I’ll come to your game, if my mom lets me. I can’t promise I won’t fall asleep, but I’ll come.”

He rolls off the bed, lowers his shoulder, and barrels toward me.

“You told me to be mouthy!” I scream, and run for cover.

NORM•vid
:
n.
captured footage with no special effects added to enhance quality “I think guys on Lincoln High’s football team use their abilities even when they’re playing Norm schools.” I hold the phone to my ear while I use my other hand to scrub the grout on the kitchen counter with the rough side of a sponge.

Laila laughs. “You think?”

“But that’s wrong.”

“Why? Are you telling me your dad doesn’t use his abilities in his new job?”

“That’s different.”

“How? He’s using his abilities to get ahead at work. He lives in the Norm world. You don’t think his ability gives him an edge on a coworker up for the same promotion? It happens all the time. Sports are no different. Our football players want college scholarships. They’re going to use their abilities to be the best they can and edge out Norm players.”

“It just seems wrong.” I rewet my sponge and move on to a new section.

“You’ve never had a problem with it before.”

“I guess I’ve never met anyone on the wrong end of an ability.”

“Addie, are you cleaning?”

I pause in my scrubbing efforts. “Yeah, why?”

“Because you’re out of breath. Stop getting so worked up unless my bedroom is the benefactor. Speaking of, it’s a mess since you’ve been gone.”

Is that what I’m doing? Getting worked up? I do feel agitated and annoyed that someone or, more likely, several someones are abusing their abilities like this.

“Who do you think was responsible for Trevor’s injury then?” Laila asks.

I throw the sponge in the sink and walk into the living room. “I don’t know. I guess a Mass Manipulator, for one. They’re the only ones I think who could tear muscle like that.” I pause suddenly as I remember something else Trevor said.

I must’ve gasped as well, because Laila says, “What?”

“A Mood Controller.”

“What? The ones who work the football games? I’m pretty sure they only influence the crowd.”

“No. Not someone on the staff. Someone on the football team.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because Trevor said right before the injury, he was off guard, relaxed. Someone soothed him on purpose, got his defenses down.”

“You think?”

“I don’t know. I’m just trying to make sense of it all. Are there any Mood Controllers on the football team?”

“I don’t know. I just assumed all the guys on the team were Telekinetics.”

“So did I, but they must not all be. How can we find out?”

“I guess I can ask.”

I’m touched that she’d do that for me when I know how much she hates asking people what their abilities are. There has to be a way we can find out without her having to ask every member of the football team his ability (although that might be the only perk for her). I think about it for a moment. “The school has to have a record of it. I mean, when we registered they recorded our claimed abilities. There’s got to be a master list or something.”

“School office, then?”

“Kalan,” we both say together. She works in the front office. She could probably get her hands on a list like that.

“I’m on it,” Laila says.

“I just feel terrible for Trevor.”

“He could’ve gotten that kind of injury whether someone was using an ability or not. Football is a contact sport, Addie.”

“Yeah, I know.” And for now I need to cling to the idea that it was all just an accident blown out of proportion by Rowan’s overactive imagination.

I’m now standing by the TV, holding my dad’s DVD. It must be calling to me. It’s the third time inside a week that I’ve picked it up just to stare at it.

“Hey, I gotta go. I’m on my way to the football game,” she says.