Pivot Point (17 page)

He smiles and waves. “You want to play the winner, Addie?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Now I have some motivation to beat you, Daniel,” Rowan says.

My head immediately whips over to Trevor. “I promise I told him,” he says quietly. “He’s just persistent. He thinks he can wear people down.”

“So is that why—”

“No,” he interrupts, “that’s not why I invited you tonight.”

“It better not be, or you would be on my list.”

“What list is that?”

“People-to-kill-when-I-gain-superpowers list.”

“How many people are on that list?” he asks.

“You’d be the first.”

He laughs. “Nice.” He gestures toward a table in the corner where food is laid out, and I follow him there. “What would your superpower be?” He grabs a handful of chips and eases into a chair.

Even though I’m the one who brought it up, the question catches me off guard. “I’d, uh …”

“Bore people to death with your knowledge of ancient literature?” he offers.

I pick up a chip and throw it at his face. “Shut up. No. I would definitely have Telekinesis.”

“You’d want to read people’s minds?”

“No, that’s Telepathy. I’d want to move things with my mind.”

“Yeah, I guess that would be pretty cool. I was referring to real superpowers though, like flying or superstrength.”

I’m sort of offended but can’t show it, or he’d wonder why. “You don’t think mind powers are extraordinary?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So if you could have a mind power, which one would you want?” I ask, curious.

“I’d want to be able to tell the future.”

I curl my lip. “It’s not that great.”

“Are you judging my fake superpower?”

“No, it was a good try, but it’s not the best one.” Not even close.

He throws a chip back at me, and it bounces off my cheek. “Well, it’s the one I want. Then I could warn you that Rowan is heading your way and will reach the table in approximately three seconds.”

I take a handful of chips and shove them into my mouth.

“Addie, I won. Your turn to get crushed,” Rowan says.

I turn and point at my mouth. “I’m eating. I’ll be right there,” I say through my mouthful, but I can tell he doesn’t understand me because his brows go down and he leans closer. I scoot back.

“Give her a sec, Rowan. She’s eating,” Trevor says.

“Okay, I’ll be waiting over there.”

The chips scratch my throat going down, and I cough. “Thanks.”

“If you don’t like Rowan so much, why did you come?”

“Because you’re my only friend.” I point at myself and say, “New girl here.”

“So when you find some new friends, you’re bailing on me?”

“Probably.” I have to shield my face as a handful of chips fly at me. “Hey, do me a big favor? Will you hang out with Rowan and me while we play pool? Just pretend you’re watching. The last thing I need is for him to try to teach me how to play or something.”

“Sure thing.”

The first half of the game goes smoothly, with Trevor acting as my buffer. It’s actually pretty fun. We laugh and joke around, and for the first time since moving here I feel like maybe I’m part of this group, not an outsider. Rowan is on pretty good behavior tonight too, not extra flirty. Just when I start to think I belong here, Stephanie walks into the room. She takes in the scene, then slowly walks to the food table. When she sits down, she says, “Trevor, can I talk to you?”

He looks to her, then back to me. “You’re good now, right?” he whispers, and starts to walk away.

“You are officially on the list. Just wait until my superpowers come.”

He turns and smiles that amazing smile. “First zombies, now superpowers. I think you actually might be trying to kill me off.” But he doesn’t stop and joins Stephanie at the table.

“He is still so whipped,” Rowan says. He takes a few steps toward me, and I grab my pool stick and put the table between us, pretending to study the ball positions.

“Do you like him?” Rowan asks.

The change in his tone surprises me. It went from player to nice guy with the single question. “Trevor?”

“Yeah.”

“No, we’re just friends.” I think I’m being truthful, but Rowan raises an eyebrow like he’s suddenly gained the ability to detect lies and he finds my answer false.

“Then what is it about me that you don’t like?” he asks.

“Honestly?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You come on too strong, very touchy. It’s uncomfortable. And you remind me of this not-very-nice guy from back home.”

“That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not. But just this conversation is making you less like him. This is what girls like, sincerity and honesty.”

“So you’re saying you like me now?” he says, his cocky smirk coming back onto his face. I sigh, but then he adds, “Just kidding.”

I laugh. “Good. Now whose turn is it?”

“It’s mine.”

He hits a blue ball into the corner pocket.

I pick up the square piece of chalk and twist it between my thumb and forefinger, my gaze drifting to Trevor and Stephanie. She has a sour expression on her face (surprise, surprise) and is talking with big hand gestures. Trevor is staring at the chip bowl, his normal relaxed posture replaced by a rigid back and tightened jaw. Are all relationships just a series of fights strung together?

I’ve never had a boyfriend and have kissed only one boy, not counting Searches. Joey Turner. I met him at the bookstore when I was fourteen and assumed we were made for each other, brought together by our common love of books. Turned out his mom had dragged him to the bookstore. Of course, I didn’t find out any of this until several days and several kissing sessions later.

“For what it’s worth,” Rowan says, standing by my shoulder and bringing me out of my memory, “he seems much happier since you’ve started coming around.”

“What? Who?”

He nods his head toward Trevor. Obviously I had been caught staring. “This last year has been hard on him. With his shoulder and everything. Then you show up and … I haven’t seen him smile and laugh so much in a long time.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

I smile. I’m glad Trevor enjoys himself around me, because I enjoy being around him too.

Rowan lines up his next hit, and I ask, “So all these injured players you’ve been telling Trevor about, did they all get injured while playing the same school—Lincoln High?”

“Yes. That’s why it’s so suspicious. Am I the only one who finds that suspicious?” he asks the ceiling.

“No. It’s definitely odd.” That confirms it for me—some football players at my old school are purposefully thinning the competition. But who? Is it the whole team or just a few rotten players? It’s one thing to use powers to do better at something, like Laila had said, but to me it’s completely different to get ahead by hurting someone else.

A few more people show up during our game. Rowan does end up crushing me, but at least he doesn’t try to give me a conciliatory hug.

“Do you know where the bathroom is?” I ask Rowan.

“Yes.” He points. “It’s down the hall, third door on the right.”

“Thanks.”

On my way back from the bathroom, the sound of someone humming the theme song to
Star Wars
comes out of a slightly open door on my right. I peek in and see Trevor’s little brother, Brody, sitting on his bed looking at a book. The door creaks a little when I bump against it, and Brody stops humming and looks up.

“Hi, again,” I say. “What are you reading?”

“Star Wars comics.” He holds up the book.

“Awesome. That’s Episode One, right? Have you gotten to the part where Anakin enters the race yet?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “I just passed that.”

“Can I look and see what else you have?” I point to a bookcase in the corner.

“Sure.”

The bookcase is a disorganized array of graphic novels. Some are stacked sideways, others with their bindings toward the back. The sideways ones are one thing, but bare pages to the front make my teeth hurt. I turn several around. There are a few books I’ve had my eye on so I take them out and study the covers. “Are these any good?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t read those. You should ask Trevor. They’re his.”

I pause halfway through flipping a page. “Oh, is this Trevor’s room?”

“Yeah, I come in here to read his comics.”

I look around and realize it’s nothing like an eight-year-old’s room. There’s a large bed with dark bedding against one wall, a desk topped with stacks of paper against another, and several pairs of big shoes spilling out of a messy closet—the boy needs some serious organizational intervention. I put back the books in my hands, resisting the strong urge to organize them. On the wall above his bed is a large eye painted in shades of black and red. The pupil has the scene of a city in it. “That’s cool.”

“It’s the cover of the comic book he’s drawing.” He points to the desk, and I walk over. Next to his desk a garbage can overflows with crumpled paper. Above it, pages are pinned up on the wall. They’re obviously pictures he’s drawn of the characters from his comic book.

“He’s really good,” I say, my finger running along the edge of one of the pages. I reach down and grab a paper out of his trash. It’s a redheaded girl in a cape, jumping between two buildings. I have no idea why he threw it away. If he thinks this is garbage, Trevor must be really hard on himself. “Do you think he’d let me read his comic?” I ask Brody.

He laughs. “He doesn’t let anyone read it.”

“Not even you?”

“He lets me see the pictures.”

“Addison?” Trevor says, from the doorway behind me.

I whirl around like I’ve just been caught snooping, holding his trash … which I have. “Sorry, I …” Pocketing the paper, I swallow down my embarrassment. Trevor scans his room, probably deciding how embarrassed
he
should be.

I point to his bookcase and quickly say, “You told me you didn’t like books.”

He smiles. “Those don’t really count.”

“Those totally count. I have
Ninja Wars
and
Elementals
myself.” I nod my head toward his desk. “And it looks like you succeed at drawing a lot more than you think you do.”

“Sometimes I get lucky.”

“You must not understand the definition of luck.”

He meets my eyes then, and I think he’s about to say something when Rowan’s loud voice yells down the hall, “Trevor!”

“Oh, I forgot. Rowan has some sort of presentation for all of us.” He gives me a yes-I-constantly-humor-Rowan look.

I don’t want to leave this room and rejoin the party. I could spend the rest of the night parked in front of Trevor’s bookcase (or his trash, for that matter), discussing the novels on his shelf. He must sense that too, or maybe it’s my longing gaze at the books, because he says, “You can come back later. My bookcase is all yours.”

I walk toward the door. “I’ve just decided those are my favorite five words in the world.”

He laughs, and as I pass him he grabs hold of the corner of the paper that’s sticking out of my pocket, freeing it.

I scrunch my nose. “You were just going to throw it away.”

“Exactly.” He wads it up and tosses it across the room. It lands on top of the others in the trash.

I’m more disappointed than I should be that I can’t keep his drawing. It would’ve looked good on my wall. I make it a goal to acquire at least one of his drawings. It shouldn’t be too hard, since the floor of his car is littered with them, but then I realize I want him to willingly give me one. Better yet, I want him to draw one for me. That is my new goal.

When we get back into the game room, Rowan says, “Okay, everybody. Come over by the couches. I have a surprise for Trevor.”

Trevor glances at me like I should know what is about to happen, but I’m clueless. Rowan stands in front of the group. “This next weekend is the first anniversary of Trevor’s injury. It also happens to be the weekend that Lincoln High dares to show their faces again in our stadium.”

Heat slowly creeps up my face.

“I was able to get my hands on a poster of this year’s Lincoln High football team.” He runs to the corner and comes back with a rolled-up poster. He unfurls it and lays it on the coffee table in front of us. My eyes travel over all the familiar people, stopping on the smiling face of Duke. “We all know how impossible it is to get information on any of these people. It’s like their school is some sort of national secret. But I say we each pick two members of the starting lineup and find out as much as we can about them when they’re here this Friday.”

“Mr. Buford would be proud,” Liam says with a laugh.

Rowan points at him. “Exactly. We know something weird is going on at that school. Trevor’s injury was not an isolated incident—there have been players at other schools. Trevor was on the road to college stardom, and they took him out. We can’t just sit back and let them get away with it.” He jams his finger onto the poster. It lands right on Duke’s face. I flinch.

Rowan will never find out anything. It’s why the Compound has a Containment Committee. Information never gets very far. But I find myself wishing he could discover who’s behind the injuries. I wonder if Laila has gotten the list of abilities from the front office and if it will shed any light on who’s to blame.

Trevor laughs, but it sounds forced. “All right, Rowan. That’s enough. How about if we just hang the poster and throw darts at it.” He stands.

“I’m dead serious. We have to do surveillance. Some of their students come and watch the game. We can place spies in their student section.”

Trevor grabs the poster, rolls it up, and whacks Rowan on the shoulder with it. “Sounds like a plan.”

preP•A•RA•tion
:
n.
precautionary measures taken to be ready for future events

Duke, Laila, and I sit in his car after the football game. I haven’t stopped shaking since Poison showed me his power, but I’m trying to keep it under control because I’ve never seen Duke angry before. The muscle in his jaw twitches several times as he clenches and unclenches it.

“So, what do you think Poison’s ability is then?” Laila asks. “I’ve never heard of anyone who can take over a nervous system.”