The Fire In My Eyes (49 page)

By the time the second movie was over, she had slid across the couch until her shoulder was pressed up against mine. She sighed as the credits rolled. “I've missed this sort of thing,” she said.

“Watching movies?” I asked.

“Watching movies with someone. We used to do this all the time when I was a kid. Me and my sisters. We'd all pile onto the couch and sit shoulder to shoulder, share snacks between us, make fun of the movie together. Sometimes we'd watch something scary and we'd all scream together.”

“How many sisters do you have?” I asked.

She laid her head on my shoulder. “Two older sisters. One little sister. I miss them.”

“What happened?” I felt her tense up. “You told me that you'd tell me the story about your family,” I reminded her.

“I know. You really want to drag it out of me right now?” she asked.

“No time like the present,” I said.

She lifted her head, then turned slightly until her back was pressed up against my shoulder. She took my arm and wrapped it around her waist. “I awakened to my powers when I was fourteen, almost fifteen. Young, isn't it? About to start my freshman year of high school. I woke up that morning and everything was different. It was like the world was tinted blue.”

“You awakened on your own? No one helped you?”

She shook her head, her ponytail gently slapping my cheek. “No. I didn't know that it wasn't supposed to be that way. It's supposed to be a controlled process. It wasn't for me. I got out of bed and my dresser shook. It was as if something in there was trying to get out. My clothes. Isn't that silly? The drawers opened and out floated a bra and panties, then my shorts and tank top. Not these shorts and tank top, mind you. I've grown a little since then.”

“I'll take your word for it.”

“Good.” She placed her hands over mine. “I screamed. I didn't know what was going on. I shared a room with my little sister. Woke her up. Saw my eyes. She screamed too. Neither of us knew what was wrong with me. My power snapped off, just like that, but it was too late. They already knew.”

“They?”

“The Bureau.” She shivered. “We lived in Maryland, close to Delaware, too close to Washington. Their people noticed. They watched me. The next two weeks were hell. Everywhere I went, there was a man with a suit and dark glasses on. I don't remember if it was the same man every day or not. It was like being stalked by someone only I could see. I couldn't tell anyone. My sisters didn't know. By my birthday, I was a wreck. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran away from my own birthday party.”

I winced. “That's terrible. What happened? Did you run into one of their agents?”

She shook her head again. I dodged the ponytail this time. “No. I got lucky. I ran into someone important. The leader of the Resistance. He knew me. He said, 'Sarah, we need to get you out of here.' I took his hand. Followed him.”

“You ran away from home?”

Once again, she shook her head, this time violently. “No, worse. I didn't find out until a year later what he had done. There was only one way to get the Bureau off my trail. He staged my death. Car accident on my birthday. Isn't that funny? What are the odds of that?” She pulled her legs up and let go of my hand in order to hug her knees. My arm was squeezed between her legs and her stomach. “It's not funny at all,” she whispered.

“Your family thinks you're dead?”

She nodded. “I've been on the run since I was fifteen, almost five years now. The Resistance had me moving all over. Transferring schools. Never there long enough to learn anything or make any friends. I think I spent six months somewhere, once. It's not an easy thing on a girl. I like traveling, but not like that. Not under that sort of pressure.”

“Are you angry about it?” I asked. “I think I would be. Doing that to you without even telling you, or letting you agree to it. Moving you all over the country. It's a stunted childhood. Sorry. No offense intended.”

“I'd be lying if I said I wasn't angry about it. Or that I feel shortchanged. But it had to be done. I understand that now. It's better than letting them continue to believe that I was just missing, or kidnapped, or anything like that.” She swiped a hand at her eyes. “Damn dust. There's my story. Poor little Sarah. No family, just duty. But I'm all right.”

“I don't believe that,” I said. She twisted around to look over her shoulder at me. Her eyes were half closed. “I don't believe that for a second. You miss them, you're lonely. It's not all right. That's not fair to you.”

She gave me a weak little smile. “Nice of you to care so much.”

“I'm adding something to the list of things I need to do before I die. Reuniting you with your family. I swear to you, Star, I'll do it. For you.”

Her eyes opened wide, then she turned away. I heard her sniffle. “You ass. Didn't I tell you to stop trying to make me feel better earlier this week? Let's watch the ball drop. Get off this topic. Ok?”

I reached for the remote. That had been just a spur of the moment promise, but I intended to keep it. “Sure.”

It was close to midnight already. When the ball started to drop, she twisted around toward me again. The countdown roared to life from the television, but all I could see was her face. She cupped my cheeks with her hands as the count reached ten. “It's only tradition,” she murmured, and kissed me just as the count reached zero. Just as she had in Washington, she kissed me as if nothing else existed. Time seemed to stop. She was all there was in the world.

When she let go, I could hear fireworks and cheering in the distance. It took me a moment to realize that they weren't for us, that they were celebrating a new year. A new start. She threw her leg across my lap and straddled me, then reached down and pulled her tank top off. Nothing underneath except soft curves, just as I had guessed. I opened my mouth to protest, but she placed her fingers over my lips. “I don't care,” she said, so softly as to be barely audible. “I don't care, Kevin. I don't care about anything other than you and me right now. I will not be lonely tonight.”

I kissed her fingers and bowed to the inevitable.