by Stacey Kade
Oh God, Jenna.
I rushed toward her, ignoring the voice in my head that warned me to stay away. And the second I moved, the entire cafeteria broke free from its hold of surprise, and jolted to life again.
The room exploded in hoots of laughter, catcalls, wolf whistles, and “Here, doggy, doggy” from all directions. Mr. Scaliari, one of the teachers on cafeteria duty, left his position against the far wall and jogged toward us.
I avoided the broken bottle and knelt down next to Jenna, shielding her from view as much as I could. “Are you all right?” I whispered. I didn’t see any blood, and I wasn’t sensing physical pain—more shock, horror, and abject humiliation. The entire area reeked of too-sweet juice, ranch dressing, and something far less pleasant.
Jenna looked up at me, her hands still up in the air and shaking. Her eyes were filled with tears. “I…I stepped in something.”
I glanced around and discovered a half-squashed bag of what appeared to be dog excrement under the edge of the salad bar. Probably from the park across the street and definitely the source of the bad smell.
“And when I tried to move back, they put… What is this?” She lowered her hands to pull at the collar around her neck. Before I could stop her, she ripped it off over her head, taking chunks of her hair with it in the links.
When she recognized it, her mouth worked wordlessly, and tears spilled down her cheeks. She looked as if she was going to be sick, and my stomach twisted in agony for her. “Oh, Jenna, I’m sorry. I should have been with you.”
But she didn’t seem to hear me, her gaze focused on something behind me.
I stood and turned. Rachel Jacobs was there, wearing another of her flimsy spaghetti-strap tank tops—in red, of course. Her arms were folded across her chest, gold bracelets poking out, emphasizing her tanned skin and her slim wrists.
Two of her cronies—Angela and Deni or Demi?—sophomores desperate for her approval, were on either side of her, grinning like idiots, empty plastic shopping bags in their hands. They may have done the actual dirty work, but even money said that Rachel had done the planning and the shopping.
The worst thing was, Rachel didn’t attempt to pretend. She didn’t hurry away or make some offhand comment to pretty up what she’d done.
She just stood there and smiled. But not at Jenna. At me. She raised her eyebrows, and I heard her, loud and clear. Yeah, what are you going to do about it?
My heart sank. She’ll find your weak spot. Zane’s words echoed back at me, and I looked around, spotting him easily. He was standing at the back of the room, a tray in his hands.
Mouth tight, he looked unsurprised and weary at the events unfolding in front of him. His gaze met mine. I told you. His thought came through as distinctly as if he’d shouted it in my ear, his emotion and intensity lifting it above the mental chaos of the cafeteria.
Rachel was torturing Jenna to get back at me. Fresh rage swept over me, and a high-pitched buzz filled my head. The overhead lights began to sway and flicker. A low rattling came from the hall, followed by several sharp metallic bangs. Lockers flying open.
The barrier in my brain had dropped again.
My stomach twisted. Oh, no. No, no, no. Not now. Not with all these people around, and with the GTX tech right out in the hall.
Panic turned my fingertips cold, and the lights shook harder. We were maybe seconds from more lightbulbs exploding, or worse. The energy that had once bent to my will, moving objects as I desired, now ran wild, uncontrolled. Without focus, it would simply arc outward to nearby targets.
I could feel the energy tingling up and down my arms, seeking direction that I could not give. No! Stay calm, breathe through it, the voice of logic from somewhere deep within me commanded. Get control.
Great idea, except I had no clue how. I visualized a white stone wall and then a metal door. Then a metal door inside a stone wall and…nothing. I couldn’t stop it. It was like trying to hold back an ocean of waves, one right after another.
The few people not distracted by Jenna’s plight began to look up and point at the lights.
I turned to face Rachel—always know your enemy’s movements—but she was no longer paying attention to me. She was staring at Zane.
…he looking at her? Shouldn’t be looking at her. Little freak!
I froze. Her thoughts were loud and intrusive, breaking into the buzz of power that filled my head.
What, because she’s some weirdo stray he feels sorry for? The more Rachel’s thoughts intruded, the more distracted I became. She was the only thing I could hear—so damned loud!—overwhelming even the thrum of my power gone wild.
And what was she talking about?
With that thought, the barrier in my mind suddenly slammed into place, knocking me back a step. The rattling from the hall stopped, and the lights slowed their swaying and began to provide steady illumination again.
My ears rang with the chatter of the cafeteria, marking the return of my regular hearing.
Whoa. What was that? What had just happened? I rubbed my hands over my arms, brushing away the last prickles of fading energy. The barrier had dropped, all that power about to go wild…and then it stopped. I’d heard Rachel through all the noise, and when I’d focused on her thoughts…
“Mayborne, Tucker, Jacobs, Carson, and Lehigh. To the office,” Mr. Scaliari spoke behind me, startling me. I’d almost forgotten his presence. “Now.” He sounded irritated.
With a loud huff, Rachel spun off toward the doors, her two henchwomen trailing.
I turned slowly to follow, feeling wobbly and out of sorts. All of that uncontrolled energy and force that would have blown something up had instead retreated within me. Mr. Scaliari was supporting Jenna with one hand under her arm. She looked pale, though her cheeks were splotchy and red.
She was frowning at me. “Are you okay?” she asked.
No. But I nodded.
“Tucker, let’s go. Move!” Scaliari pointed at the doors with his free hand.
I drifted through the doorway and down the hall, seeing everything through a haze—the GTX tech on his ladder, the brightly colored Bonfire Week posters, several lockers hanging open, groups of B-lunchers heading toward the cafeteria—as my brain whipped up and discarded possible explanations and scenarios.
Had I gotten my control back in one fell swoop? The wall broken by one moment of extreme pressure? That had been one of my father’s theories, once upon a time, and it sure as hell would be good timing if that’s what had happened.
But no, when I forced myself to focus on one of the open locker doors, I couldn’t make it budge.
Jenna’s voice was a low murmur behind me as she talked with Mr. Scaliari.
I bit my lip. Something had happened. Something was different. That was the first time the barrier had dropped and gone up again without stuff blowing up or flying around the room.
It wasn’t controlled. I’d simply gotten distracted, and when I’d focused on Rachel’s thoughts, the mental block had snapped back into place.
But that was more control than I’d had before. I’d spent years practicing, trying to regain the use of my ability. But maybe that was like trying to cook in the kitchen when I was still locked out of the house.
Perhaps all those years of practice hadn’t worked because the barrier had to be gone—even temporarily—for there to be any hope of making the ability mine again. It sort of made sense: how could I direct something I couldn’t even access?
A chill slipped over my skin. Was it as simple as that? The theory seemed sound. But to know for sure, I needed to test it. Get the wall down and then try to duplicate the results. Unfortunately, I knew of only one way to reliably make that happen.
Rachel. Proximity to her would likely spawn at least one more opportunity, maybe more.
I gave a mental groan. That was not a good idea. So dangerous.
Then I looked up at one of the newly installed cameras—GTX emblazoned in red on the side—staring down at me fro
m high on the wall. Was doing nothing, and waiting for a retrieval team to catch up to my father and me, a safer option?
“Stop dragging your feet, Tucker. Keep moving,” Scaliari called.
I gritted my teeth and picked up the pace. There was another problem. Since my life up to this point had generally revolved around avoiding Rachel as much as possible, it wasn’t as if I could suddenly start inviting myself to her lunch table. Not with any chance of success, anyway.
That left me only with one option if I was I going to go through with this insanity.
I was going to have to take Zane Bradshaw up on his offer.
A zing of anticipation shot through me. Because no matter what my practical reasons were for agreeing to Zane’s proposition, participating came with one giant bonus. A chance to beat Rachel at her own game, an opportunity to score a victory for myself, for Jenna, for all the people Rachel walked on like it was her right to trod on a person-paved path.
I wanted that. Badly.
“Tucker!” Mr. Scaliari shouted over his shoulder. At some point, he and Jenna had passed me. “Hurry up.”
But first I had to go to the principal.
I’d never been in the principal’s office before. It struck me as surprisingly mundane for all the fear and dread everyone accorded it. Four walls and a desk with a computer, a phone, and some family photos. But Mr. Kohler himself, a large man with an enormous shiny head, may have played some role in that fear and respect.
“No one else can verify your story,” he said to Jenna, leaning back in his worn leather desk chair, which creaked under his weight.
“The entire cafeteria saw what happened!” Jenna protested, her face tear-stained. She smelled of spilled juice and the dog “present” Rachel and her followers had put underfoot.
“That’s not what I’m hearing,” he said. “And it’s your word against Rachel’s.”
It turned out Rachel had had a purpose in speeding out of the cafeteria. She’d arrived at the office first and had the principal wrapped around her finger—and her side of the story—before we arrived.
And evidently, no one else was willing to speak for us. It was like that gangland documentary I’d seen. No one will talk, for fear of being included in the next round of punishment/killing.
“But if Jenna’s story is true, then Rachel is the aggressor,” I pointed out. “Why should Rachel’s word be given equal weight? It’s not as if you expect her to admit doing wrong, is it?”
Principal Kohler frowned at me. “Who are you again?”
I swallowed hard. “Ariane Tucker.”
He nodded slowly, but I could hear him rifling through his mental files of students and not coming up with anything. Which was how it was supposed to be, after all. But once again it would have been nice to have had a reputation as a solid student, non-troublemaker, and credible witness in this scenario, instead of a blank spot in his memory. “Well, Miss Tucker, Rachel is a good girl.”
…I think. She runs with a wild crowd, but they’re kids. The things I did when I was that age…
I cocked my head to one side, listening to him ramble internally. Good grief. He isn’t even sure what he believes about her.
“And her family has done a lot for this school,” he continued.
Now, that was the truth. He didn’t want to lose the favor the school had with GTX and Arthur Jacobs.
It always came back to him. That bastard would rule in hell or bribe his way into it.
“Can you play back the recordings from the new cameras?” I asked, trying not to seem as if I was holding my breath waiting for the answer. If the cameras were on, I was toast.
“The new system isn’t up and running yet,” Mr. Kohler said. “They’re still in the installation process.”
And even if they hadn’t been, there was no way he’d use the GTX-donated system to bust Rachel. I didn’t need to hear his thoughts to know that. Still, it worked to my advantage in this case. I let out a breath.
“Look, girls, most of the time, these things end up being a misunderstanding. A joke that went too far, as Rachel said.” Mr. Kohler steepled his hands on his desk, attempting to project wisdom and confidence. “It will all blow over in a few days.”
At least, he was hoping it would. He was worried. He didn’t want the Maybornes to force the issue. That would make things awkward. There was all this emphasis on preventing bullying these days.…
…We’re raising a generation of wimps.
Lovely.
“I’m going to talk to Rachel again and make it very clear that all jokes are off, okay?”
Jenna looked weary. “Fine.” She dabbed at her face with a tissue.
“Wait here while I get passes for you.” Principal Kohler levered his bulk out from behind his desk and headed to the outer office.
“Will your mother fight for you?” I whispered to Jenna. “He’ll take that seriously.”
“Are you kidding?” she said. “My mom was literally Miss Popularity. That was her yearbook title and everything. She won’t understand.”
I frowned. That, at least, explained Jenna’s obsession with Rachel and breaking into the “elite” crowd. I’d been in the car with Dr. Mayborne once or twice before, to and from various shopping excursions with Jenna. She gave a constant stream of gentle-sounding suggestions—“Wearing your hair back would give you a slimmer look, Jenna.” “A longer skirt would be more flattering to your shape.” “You know, I’ve heard that bronze is the new silver, which could really help add some color to your face.”—that would have worn down someone far tougher than Jenna just by the sheer volume.
Jenna tipped her head up toward the ceiling, blinking back fresh tears. “God. If I could only figure out what I did wrong.”
I stared at her. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You don’t understand.” Jenna shook her head, blond curls that had probably taken an hour to create sticking to her overheated face. “Rachel wouldn’t be nice to me only to turn on me.”
I would have gaped at her naïveté, but this was Jenna. “She would do exactly that,” I said, more harshly than I should have. “That was her intent in the first place.”
Which was, I guess, the wrong thing to say.
Her face crumpled. “Seriously? You’re supposed to be my friend and you say that? Like it’s impossible that she could have been genuinely nice to me?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Ariane!”
“Not because there’s anything wrong with you,” I said quickly. I wasn’t explaining this well. I fumbled for the words to explain something that, to Jenna, would be completely foreign. “That’s how Rachel is. She only sees people in terms of what she can get from them.”
It made sense to me, as much as I didn’t care for it. It was how Dr. Jacobs viewed the world; though in his case, it was less about mean-spirited entertainment and more about no-holds-barred scientific advancement.
I glanced toward the outer office to make sure Principal Kohler couldn’t overhear. From the sounds of it, he’d gotten caught up in lecturing somebody about not using the bike racks for skateboard “stunts.” “But listen, it’s okay. I have a plan,” I said to Jenna, with another involuntary shiver of glee.
Jenna frowned at me. “What kind of plan?” She paled. “Is this about getting back at Rachel?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could say anything, she cut me off, her hand up. “Look, I wish I was more like you, Ariane. That I didn’t care about being alone and not having a life.”
Stung, I straightened up. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about being alone or lonely. I just had to be careful in how I went about resolving the issue. I didn’t have a choice in that.
“But I want a life, and I’m not going to get what I want by pissing off Rachel.” She hesitated, then stood and slung her juice-stained bag over her shoulder. “Maybe we should take some time.…”
I realized with a harsh start that by “we,” she meant me. That I should
give her time, a chance to mend the imaginary fences she thought she’d broken in her “friendship” with Rachel without the added burden of me, another outcast. After all, in Jenna’s mind, everything had been going great with Rachel until school started and the two of us, Jenna and I, were together again.
I swallowed hard against the unexpected lump in my throat. “Sure.” I forced the word out.
“It’s not forever, just until all of this gets straightened out,” she said, backing toward the door.
Which would never happen because Rachel wouldn’t change and Jenna would never see things the way they truly were. But I nodded, and Jenna smiled with relief. Then she turned and walked to the outer office. A second later, I heard her asking for a late pass to class.
I couldn’t move. My fingers were wrapped so tightly around the metal armrests of the chair, I was worried they might break. I should have been grateful. Jenna, as my weak spot, would cause only more trouble for me with Rachel.
But I wasn’t grateful. My chest ached with the hurt. Rachel had managed to win again, taking the only person I counted as a friend. And the worst part? It wouldn’t change things. Rachel would still abuse Jenna, gaining her trust and then turning against her. And if she sensed Jenna’s abandonment of me as a sign of my vulnerability, she’d probably take the opportunity to come after me again.
No. Just no. Rage welled up inside of me, and the picture frames on Kohler’s desk began to jitter and dance.
Calm down. Breathe. I clamped down on the anger and forced myself to release my death grip on the chair arms, letting my breath out slowly. But then the lightbulb in Kohler’s desk lamp gave with a quiet pop, followed by the delicate tinkling of broken glass, and something inside me eased, the built-up power released.
Shit. With a quick glance toward the door—I could hear the slightly whiny voice of the skateboard dude protesting loudly—I stood up and swept most of the glass off the desk into the trash, then straightened the pictures that had vibrated out of place.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than doing nothing.
Which was pretty much the description of my plan. And I was going forward with it, Jenna or no Jenna.