The Talents (2 page)

I TOOK
a slow breath. Cam tried to make eye contact with me, but I pinned my eyes on Mr. Judan and the perfect white wings of hair at his temples. He couldn't really know, I told myself. I mean, sometimes I don't even know what I've done until it's over, and even then it's not always clear.

“You saw the article!” Grandma's face practically split with the size of her smile. “Wasn't that just remarkable? I don't know what would have happened if Dancia hadn't been there. There were children in that room. That man could have done something terrible.”

“We were just lucky he tripped,” I said. “I didn't really do anything.”

“You threw yourself at a man with a gun who was threatening a room full of people. I'd say that was doing something,” Mr. Judan said.

“It really wasn't a big deal.” I turned away so they wouldn't see the blush I could feel crawling across my cheeks.

It happened about a month ago, and I can't say I regret going after the guy. After all, he could have hurt Grandma. She may be a hundred years old, and I may sometimes cringe when we're out in public because she lacks control of certain bodily functions, but she's
Grandma
. She's all I've got, and I wasn't going to let anyone hurt her.

Still, it was pretty horrible.

We were at the hospital, waiting for Grandma to get her cataracts checked—even though it's totally illegal, she lets me drive her home after they mess with her eyes. It's pretty cool, if I do say so myself. How many fourteen-year-olds get to drive? Anyway, we were in the waiting room, flipping through old
Highlights
magazines, when this guy came in. He started swearing about how the hospital killed his wife and how we were all going to pay. His words slurred together like one long painful thought. The only thing I could think was to make sure he didn't hit Grandma.

So I went after him. Next thing I knew, he was sprawled on his back, not moving. Grandma said I rushed toward him, and before I even touched him, he fell backward and hit his head. Last I heard he was in a coma. They said I must have startled him and he tripped. Of course, they didn't see the way he looked at me as he flew through the air—terrified, the whites of his eyes glowing against the red veins that snaked through them.

I think he mouthed “Stop,” or “Please.”

Maybe both.

I picture him every night now as I fall asleep, the stubble on his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. When he first started talking, his voice sounded thick and muffled, as if he might start crying.

“It's quite rare for a child your age to do something like that,” Mr. Judan said. “We understand from your teachers that it was not the first time you've gone out of your way to protect someone. That's a talent in itself, Dancia. A talent for courage.”

And I thought I had been doing such a good job blending in. Stupid, nosy teachers.

“What's that supposed to mean?” I asked. “It's not like teenagers don't ever help other people.”

“No, of course not,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “But when you are young, your self-protective instincts are very strong. Stronger than almost anything else. When a child is able to overcome those instincts and put her own safety in jeopardy to help someone else, it's truly exceptional.”

I didn't like his use of the word “child.” I was turning fif-teen in November, after all. And it wasn't like I wanted to risk my life. I never planned to do anything to that guy. But for some reason when I see someone in trouble, my body takes over and crazy things happen.

“Seriously, it's amazing what you did,” Cam said.

When I let myself look at him, a little pool of warmth formed in my stomach. He was staring right at me, and I couldn't contain the mindless little smile that sprung up in response.

“You were some kind of hero,” he added.

I basked for a moment in his appreciative gaze, and thought about what he and Mr. Judan had said. They didn't think I was a freak with magic powers. They thought I was a hero.

Being a hero was definitely better than being a freak. Unless they wanted me to keep doing heroic things. That was absolutely out of the question.

See, the problem is, I can't control my power. Or I should say, in certain situations, like where people are hurt or threatened, I can't seem to stop myself from using it. It's a reflex, like throwing your hands in front of your face when someone hurls a ball at you. Thoughts just appear in my brain. I get scared, or mad, or overwhelmed, and think of something, and somehow, magically, it happens. Like when I imagined the guy at the hospital falling and knocking his head on the corner of an end table, or when I imagined a lifeguard chair landing on this jerk at the water park who was teasing a chubby girl about her swimsuit.

It might sound cool, but it's actually terrifying. Because when I use my power, even when I don't mean for it to happen, people get hurt. Now, maybe those people did bad things and deserved what they got, but who am I to make that call? Maybe some people out there would be willing to take the responsibility for putting someone in a coma, but I'm sure not.

I decided a long time ago to try my best not to use it. The consequences are just too great, and the mistakes, well…I don't like to think about the mistakes. I've organized my life around this, and most of the time I'm successful. But then there are those times, like the hospital, where I can't avoid it. The reflex takes over.

“I'd probably flunk out after the first week,” I said, pushing aside thoughts of the hospital. “I'm only doing basic algebra, and I did terribly in chemistry. Don't all the Delcroix kids take AP classes? I don't see how I could keep up.”

“No one flunks out of Delcroix,” Cam said. “Once you're asked to attend, your grades don't matter.” He sent an apologetic look at Mr. Judan, who raised an eyebrow. “I mean, they matter to colleges, and you have to apply yourself, but they won't kick you out for your grades. Not everyone is good at regular schoolwork. Like Mr. Judan said, the other kids are artists, or dancers, or computer geeks. You'll see. You'll fit in somewhere.”

Yeah, right. They had no idea who they were dealing with. Dancia Lewis
blended
in, she didn't
fit
in. There's a big difference.

“We do have one rule at Delcroix,” Mr. Judan interrupted, “and we take it very seriously. We require all incoming students to sign the Delcroix Pledge. You must promise to use your talents only to advance the common good and to achieve the betterment of humanity. It's simple, but very important. Delcroix will give you incredible tools and will groom your talents in ways you could never learn on your own. But those skills bring power, and that power must not be abused.”

My mouth dropped open. A pledge? Are you kidding me?

“A kid was expelled for hacking into a government computer system,” Cam said, no trace of a smile on his face. “He tried to sell the information he found there. We had to kick him out. He spent some time in jail as well.”

The room was silent for a moment as everyone contemplated this story. My head was spinning. A part of me already desperately wanted to go to Delcroix, if only to be near Cam, while the other part wanted to run screaming from the room.

“What are you good at?” I asked Cam. When I focused on him, I couldn't think about anything else.

“I'm good at communicating,” he said. “I've never gotten the best grades, but I'm always class president. People seem to like me.” He leaned back against our mangy couch and managed not to sound conceited at all.

“You're the president of your class?” I had no trouble believing that. He looked like he should be president of something.

“I was last year. We'll have new elections this fall. You could run, you know. The freshman elections are wide open because everyone's still getting to know each other.”

I couldn't help it: I snorted again. “Me? Run for student government? I don't think so.”

“You can be anything you want at Delcroix.” As Cam leaned forward, his knee bumped against mine. I jumped about four feet into the air.

Very cool, Dancia, I thought. Do you want Cam to think you're a complete idiot?

Grandma cleared her throat. “I'm going to get some lemonade,” she said. “Would you care for a glass, Mr. Judan? Cameron?”

They both nodded and stood up when she did.

“That sounds lovely, Mrs. Lewis,” Mr. Judan reached down to open his briefcase and pulled out some papers. “We can work on the enrollment forms while Dancia and Cameron talk.”

“Wait!” I jumped up, shaking myself from my Cam-induced stupor. “I need to think about it a little.”

Grandma gave me her best
What, are you insane?
look. “Dancia, what is there to think about?”

The panicked words tumbled out of me. “I'm not sure if I want…I mean, I was really looking forward to going to Danville High and…my friends are all there and…what about the soccer team?”

Grandma crossed her arms over her chest. I think she knew everything I said was a lie—except for the part about not being sure what I wanted. That was definitely true. But it was all happening too fast. Danville High might not hold any promise of friends, interesting classes, or good times, but at least I knew what it would be like. I knew how to control it, how to blend in.

I knew none of those things about Delcroix.

Mr. Judan's mouth tightened and his eyes went cold. But then he smiled at me like that's what everyone says when they're offered a place in Delcroix's freshman class with a full scholarship. “I have a good idea: why don't you and Cameron have lunch tomorrow? You can think things over tonight and ask Cameron any questions that might come up.”

Grandma practically seared me with her stare, so I turned to Cam and reluctantly said, “All right. How about noon at Bev's?”

Cam nodded. “Sounds perfect.”

Mr. Judan gave an apologetic shrug. “After that we really will need you to make a decision. I hate to rush you, but we'll need to do some placement tests and evaluate you so we can design the best possible curriculum. Freshman orientation starts in a week, and we'll need to get some of this paperwork processed before then.”

I swallowed hard.

At that moment, all I could think of were those cartoons where Goofy gets stuck in front of a snowball rolling down a hill, and the snowball hits him, and he's smushed into the side of it, and you can see him spread-eagled on the snowball as it keeps rolling down the hill.

Because that's exactly what I felt like.

ABOUT A
half hour later, Mr. Judan flashed his ultrawhite teeth at Grandma and me one last time before he ushered Cam into a black Mercedes-Benz. They roared away the second the doors closed.

As soon as they disappeared from view, Grandma rounded on me and shook a gnarled, arthritic finger in my direction. “What are you thinking? You don't want to go to Delcroix? Do you have any idea how important that school is? What an honor it is to be chosen to attend? What possible reason could you have for not wanting to go? The money won't be a problem because they're going to pay for everything. And don't give me that story about missing your friends and looking forward to high school. Last week you were telling me that you wished summer would go on forever. And what's this nonsense about soccer? You said you'd never make the varsity team at Danville High.”

Nice move, Dancia. Tell Grandma everything, why don't you.

Problem was, Grandma was one hundred percent right. I loved soccer but didn't have the skills to make the varsity team. And I didn't have friends, or classes, or anything to look forward to. It's a sign of just how depressed I was about the whole thing that I had confided all this to Grandma.

But while Danville High sounded depressing, Delcroix sounded terrifying. How could I blend in there? Being invisible and staying unattached were the only ways I knew to avoid triggering my power. The more emotionally attached I got to someone, the more likely I was to use my power to protect them. I had stopped making friends in the sixth grade after my best friend, Aileen, got teased by a bully and I dropped a tree branch on his head.

He went to the hospital. Twenty stitches and a concussion.

While staying unattached kept me from acting on behalf of someone else, being invisible kept me from using my power to defend myself. I made sure I didn't fit into any of the school cliques so I wouldn't develop enemies. I wasn't too smart, too pretty, too nerdy, or too preppy. I was just Dancia Lewis, the girl who everyone recognized but no one knew.

The trick to this was the Dancia two-step, which I'd developed over the years and found to work in most social situations. Step one, act bored and impatient, like you're waiting for someone. This tends to keep people from approaching, but also makes you look reasonably cool. Step two, if they do approach, ask them questions about themselves. People love to answer questions like that. You can find an excuse to slip away later, and they'll have a pleasant memory of talking to you, but no idea who you are. Step two was dangerous because sometimes I would forget I wasn't supposed to be making friends, and end up in a real conversation. But I'd remember later, and the next time I saw the person, I'd start again with step one.

What if the two-step didn't work at Delcroix? What if I couldn't blend in there? Would I start dropping tree branches on everyone? How many people could I send to the hospital before someone started to wonder?

“You heard them talking about that pledge,” I said, trying to sound pitiful. At this point, sympathy was my only hope. “It's weird, right? I mean, how could you pledge never to do anything that wasn't good, or wasn't going to advance humanity, or whatever he said?” As I spoke, actual tears began welling up in my eyes, which was embarrassing because I never liked crying in front of Grandma.

Her face softened. “My dear girl,” she said, coming over to give me a hug, “what's this really about, anyway?”

Hugging Grandma is sort of like hugging a kid, because she's so much shorter than I am. Sometimes I wish she were a few feet taller so I could feel like she was taking care of me, instead of the other way around. But still, it was nice, and I started to cry even harder. She held me for a minute and then pulled me over to the couch. She grabbed some Kleenex from the coffee table—we've always got Kleenex around because of Grandma's eyes—and handed them to me. I blew my nose and started to feel a little more in control.

“You're a good girl, Dancia. You could make that pledge, even though I agree, it does seem a little silly. After all, if you were going to do something bad, you wouldn't stop at breaking a pledge, now would you?”

She smiled at me, and I laughed a little. Then she got serious again. “Is there something more going on? Something else I should know about?”

This was the question I dreaded. Whenever something happened with my power, I'd get really depressed, and even though I tried to hide it, Grandma always knew. She'd ask all these deep, probing questions, which only made me feel worse. Eventually she'd give up, but not before looking at me with her droopy, worried eyes and saying, “If there's ever anything you want to tell me about—anything at all—you know I'm here.”

I wished I could explain my situation to her, but Grandma has enough problems. She's got diabetes, high blood pressure, cataracts, and a bunch of other things I can't even pronounce. I know because I go to her doctor's appointments with her. She's got handfuls of pills to take every day. I couldn't add my problems to her list. It was already long enough. She shouldn't have been saddled with raising a kid at her age, and I knew she didn't get help from any of my other relatives. I guess they figured I had someone to take care of me, so why should they bother getting involved?

“I don't like being singled out,” I said. “They want to make a big deal about what happened in the hospital, and I hate that.”

She nodded. “I know that's how you are now, Danny, but you weren't always that way. When you were a little girl, you loved being in the spotlight.”

“I did?”

“You did. Dance recitals, school concerts, you name it. Your mother was like that too. She loved being onstage. I wish…” Grandma's eyes filled, and this time it looked like real tears. I get nervous whenever Grandma starts talking about my mom, because then she starts crying, which makes me want to cry, and it's all just too much.

My parents died in a car accident when I was four. They got run off the road by some guy who was probably drunk. We were living in Seattle at the time, but it happened here in Danville. I think Grandma feels guilty about it because we were visiting her. She says sorry to me sometimes, as if it were her fault my mom died.

I don't really remember my mom, but Grandma has lots of pictures of her in photo albums. She pulls them out every now and then, after I've gone to bed, and looks at them and cries. I've seen her do it when I get up to go to the bathroom. I pretend I don't notice. My mom was her only kid, so I guess she took it pretty hard when she died. She even changed my last name so it would be the same as my mom's maiden name. Grandma told me once that she's determined to keep my mom's memory alive. As if we could ever forget.

It's hard to believe I used to like being in the spotlight. I vaguely remember school concerts before I learned about my power. But once I realized all those strange things that happened around me weren't coincidences, life changed.

“Grandma, don't make me go to Delcroix.” I struggled to clear my throat.

She shook her head. “I would never force you, Danny. But I wish you'd consider attending. Your mother would have been so proud of you, being chosen this way. She always wanted the best for you.” Before she could catch it, a tear traced a line through her baby pink blush. “She dreamed about going there herself, you know.” Her mouth wobbled a little as she tried to smile.

“Really?” It hadn't even occurred to me that Delcroix had been around when my mom was a kid.

“She wanted to be a singer,” Grandma said. “She was a determined little thing, your mother. She practiced and practiced, sang every chance she had at school and at church, hoping someone would notice and offer her a place at Delcroix.”

“Was she good?” It seemed amazing, somehow, that I had never known this about my mother. I'd seen pictures of her singing, but I had no idea it had been a big deal to her. I figured it was like my playing soccer—fun, but not something you take seriously.

Grandma laughed a little sadly. “She was good enough for Danville. Not good enough for Delcroix. She finally sent them a letter asking if they would let her audition, and they sent her a polite ‘no, thank you.' She didn't sing much after high school.”

I paused, imagining the girl I'd seen in pictures. She had wide-set eyes, like mine, but she had straight hair and a big smile. She looked like someone you'd want for a friend. “And you think after that she would still want me to go to Delcroix?” I asked.

I really hoped she would say no.

Grandma didn't hesitate. “Oh yes, I'm sure of it. It would be like her own dream coming true. I know the teachers at your middle school weren't the best, and if I'd had some way to send you to private school before now, I would have. Danville High isn't any better than your junior high. I know you'll be bored there. You would be challenged at Delcroix. Imagine how it would feel to be surrounded by people who are so talented, so intelligent!”

Grandma, bless her heart, thought the reason I got straight B's was because I was bored. She was convinced I was some sort of genius who wasn't being challenged.

Okay, it's true that I probably could have gotten A's if I'd wanted to, but everyone picks on the smart kids, like they pick on the stupid kids. So I get B's. It was safer that way.

“Grandma, what if I do something wrong and they kick me out?” I searched desperately for some reason to explain why I was prepared to break her heart and the heart of my dead mother by not attending Delcroix. “It would be too horrible, don't you think?”

“So you think it would be better not to try?” She gave me one of those hard, square looks that make me feel like I'm five and have been caught stealing a pack of gum from the grocery store. “That's not the Dancia I know and love. The Dancia I know isn't a coward. She's a fighter. She's the bravest person I know.”

Great. Now she was using psychology on me. And it totally worked, because I immediately started feeling guilty about disappointing my mother, and my grandmother, and not even being willing to try.

“But, Grandma, I can't leave you alone. You need me.”

She frowned. “Dear girl, I know you do a lot of work around here, but that's exactly the problem. You spend too much time taking care of an old woman. A girl your age should be playing with her friends, or going to the mall, or whatever children do these days. You need more than life in this house, and you're never going to get it as long as you're stuck here with me.”

She looked upset, and I felt terrible because I never thought she'd blame herself for my being such a loner. I wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault, that it was my stupid power that wrecked everything, but I couldn't.

“It's up to you, Danny. I'm not going to force you to go.” As she studied my miserable expression, her face softened. “Why don't you go out to lunch with that boy tomorrow and see what he thinks. Maybe he can help.”

Cam. Oh my goodness, I had forgotten about Cam.

Lunch, tomorrow, with Cam.

A rush of fear and anticipation made me so dizzy, I had to sit down.

“Okay, Grandma,” I managed to spit out. “That's a good idea. I'll have lunch with Cam. And then I'll decide if I want to go to Delcroix.”

How I would survive there—
if
I decided to go—remained a mystery.