Beardy’s voice was creepy as fuck.
Go to hell.
I spoke without words, but I knew he could hear me.
With a loud crash, one of the planes fell from the ceiling into the raging fires that had spread beneath them. Coughing, I crouched lower. There was no way out. I was surrounded by fire, and people were screaming, though I couldn’t see them. People were dying. It was horrifying.
You won’t remember this. You will bury it as a traumatic memory, and you won’t have to see me again. Not until you’re ready. Stop fighting me, Cole.
It wasn’t real. None of this was real. I coughed and coughed. I couldn’t breathe. I was going to die in the freaking aviation museum and…
Everything started to go a little blurry around the edges.
That’s right. Beardy’s voice was so soft and gentle, and so damn friendly.
I remembered his eyes, though.
Hey, asshole, I said, again without words. If there was an equivalent to shouting in whatever it was we were doing, I was aiming for the higher range of decibels. You’re a freak. This. Isn’t. Real! I grabbed on to the little tug I could feel whenever he “spoke” and pulled it as hard as I could.
I heard Beardy cry out in surprise, and then I turned to see the front glass entranceway of the museum explode as a huge wave of water blasted through the doors. It blew past me, and for just a moment when it hit me, I could have sworn I heard Beardy swear.
Then I was gone.
* * *
Someone—no, someones—were holding me underwater, and I was running out of air. I could see the sunlight hitting the water and the dark shadows their forms cast as they held me down. I twisted and fought, bubbles moving past my mouth as I screamed.
I could hear the people holding me, above the surface of the water, saying, “Just forget it, just forget it!”
Water was filling my mouth. I was going to die.
I pushed hard against the ground beneath me—a lake, maybe, or a pond. It gave way a little, but I threw everything I had into it, and their grips slipped.
I struggled back to the surface and gasped for air.
And woke up.
I almost fell out of the cot-like bed in the awful little room. I was panting, gasping for breath as though I really had been underwater, and it took me more than a few seconds to get my breathing back under control.
Okay, whatever Beardy McBeardface just tried to do to me was not something I was willing to try again. I felt wobbly and weak, and I was pretty sure next time they would bring someone more capable at whatever brain-melty thing they were trying to do to me.
I liked my brain. It might be a nerdy, geeky, hyper-organized brain, but it was my freaking brain. I’d keep it unmelted, thanks.
I was rattled, but as far as I could tell, I remembered everything. I didn’t feel like I had any gaping holes. Museum. Locker. Many embarrassing moments in public. Check. Pretty sure I had my whole collection of Cole Tozer’s Greatest Hits. I wasn’t sure how I’d managed that particular feat, but I’d take it. I wasn’t up for round two, and I had a terrible feeling once they realized I was awake, it would begin.
So. New plan. Get the hell out of this fucking room.
Well, okay, that was the old plan, too, but now it had a star beside it. A brain-melty star.
I still had all the same damn tools I had before. A cot I couldn’t move, one sheet, no pillow. A sink. A toilet. Really, it was pretty basic as jail cells went, only without bars and just the one small window and…
It was dark out.
Oh my God, I’d been out all afternoon. Had Date Night ended? My parents would flip out if I wasn’t there when they got home. I patted my pockets, but I still didn’t have a phone. Or my bag and my jacket.
Okay, night-time put one new thing in my arsenal.
Desperation.
I eyed the window again. I heard my grandmother’s voice, talking about my father when he was my age, when his hearing had started failing. She’d been a champion for him, fighting tooth and nail for everything they needed. She’d also told him in no uncertain terms that life didn’t hand him anything he couldn’t handle. My father rolled his eyes whenever she started in on the story, even though I could tell he loved her for it. But that’s not the part I was thinking of. I was remembering the end, when my grandmother would wax poetic about how my father turned something that made his life challenging into a career helping others.
“Whenever a door closes, somewhere a window opens.”
I looked up at the tiny window. A grown man would never fit through that window.
Luckily, I happened to come in size small.
“If this works, you never get to complain about being short ever again,” I said as I pulled the sheet off the bed. I’d never broken a window before. I hoped it was more or less like in the movies. But when I managed to pull myself up to look out the window, I had a new problem.
Wherever I was, I was up high. Like, at least three stories. Maybe as much as five.
“Fuck.” Okay. Okay. New plan…New plan… “Got anything else, Grandma?”
I stared at the damn window. I didn’t have enough sheets. What good was a window instead of a door if I couldn’t use it to get to the damn ground.
Wait.
Window instead of a door.
Could I do that?
What had Beardy McBeardface said? We can do more than open doorways, Cole.
I eyed the locked door. They could be here at any second. It wasn’t like I had a whole lot of options. But the moment I broke the glass, I’d be in trouble. They’d hear it. And that meant maybe a minute or two. If it didn’t work?
I bit my lip.
Well, worst case scenario, I could dangle outside a window, or maybe fall to my death, or…
“Not helping.”
I wrapped the sheet around my fist. I was about to punch out a window and try teleporting to my bedroom.
Cole Tozer, Badass.
If life was a movie, Cole Tozer, Badass would have punched the glass out with one solid hit and flung himself through after pushing a few tiny pieces of leftover glass to the side.
In reality? It took me way more time than I’ll ever admit, and my first punch did nothing but hurt my hand. Glass is tougher than it looks in the movies. I ended up putting my shoe on my hand and, after a few very pathetic attempts, I lost my temper and really whaled on the damn window, and it finally cracked.
After it cracked, it went a little faster. I was terrified the damn door would open behind me at any second, so I worked as fast as I could. Once it really broke, it sort of exploded into lots of tiny little pieces, and it didn’t take much to wipe the frame clear of bits.
I put my shoe back on and took a few deep breaths. I was going to have to leap through the window. I wasn’t going to have time to really stop, what with gravity and being very high off the ground and whose idea was this anyway?
Then I heard footsteps outside the door to my little cell, and that was it.
My bedroom. I focused as hard as I could. My bedroom window, specifically. It looked over my bed. The place where I slept. The place where I got to be me and no one judged. A safe place. The place where I had my first kiss with Brady, though really I didn’t feel like replaying my kissing Brady much these days.
The door was opening.
I held on to the image as hard as I could, hauled myself up on the edge of the sill, and tipped out the window. I felt a tug, and I yanked it hard.
Poof.
Twenty
I hit the floor hard, hands first, feeling the carpet burn my palms and wrists. It hurt, but I was no longer trapped in a tiny room by those suited freaks, so I was calling it a win, and—
Wait. Carpet? This wasn’t my room. If I wasn’t in my bedroom, where did I end up? More importantly, was I alone?
“What the hell?”
I knew that voice. A light clicked on. I looked up from the floor, and there, in his bed, which of course was in his bedroom,
was Malik King.
Eyes wide and staring at me like I was about to attack him or something, Malik said, “Cole?”
“Hi,” I said. Still lying on my stomach on his floor where I’d landed, I shifted myself up on my elbows. “Sorry.”
He frowned, looking at me, and then at his window, and then back at me. “How did you—?”
“Malik?” A man’s voice called through his bedroom door. “Are you okay?”
Malik’s eyes widened, and he pointed to the side of the bed farthest from the bedroom door. I crab-crawled out of sight and dropped to the floor just as the door opened.
“Yeah, Dad, I’m okay.”
“Did you drop something?”
“Nearly fell out of bed. Bad dream,” Malik said. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Malik was way better at making stuff up on the fly than I was. I should take notes.
“Okay,” his father said. He had a nice voice. “You need anything?”
“No, I’m good.” Malik paused. “Thanks.”
A moment later, the door closed.
I exhaled and rolled onto my back.
Malik’s head appeared over the edge of his bed. “What the fuck, Cole? What are you doing here?” He was whispering, but I could tell he wasn’t happy. Which, okay, fair. Weird gay guy shows up in your bedroom after you come out to him? Not cool.
“Uh,” I said. Mr. Eloquence.
He frowned. “How did you even get up here?”
It took me a second to realize what he meant. His bedroom was on the second floor of the house. I’d just dived in through his window. The King family didn’t even have a convenient front yard tree to blame. I opened my mouth with no idea what I was going to say, when the reality of what had just happened struck me. Those people, those freaks, they’d been after me. They’d tried to do something to me. I’d just escaped being kidnapped—or worse.
I burst into tears.
So much for Cole Tozer, Badass.
We’re not talking stoic movie hero tears, either. We’re talking giant, body-shaking sobs that sounded more like burping hiccoughs and resulted in little bubbles of snot popping on my nose. I was in Malik King’s bedroom after dark, and I was blubbering like I’d lost my mind.
“Whoa,” Malik said, and then to my complete humiliation, he slid out of his bed and was hugging me on the floor. I shoved my face into the crook of my arm, trying to hold back, but my entire body was shaking.
“Hey, hey, Cole…” Malik said. “Are you okay? Do I need to call someone? What happened?” All the while, he ran one hand over my back in a small circle, pulling me against him with his other arm. It felt warm and safe, and I slowly got myself under control.
Also, Malik wasn’t wearing a shirt, and Malik without a shirt was definitely a sight to behold. And here I was getting tears and spit and probably smearing snot all over him.
Fantastic.
“Sorry,” I said again. My voice was rough. “I’m having a really bad night. Like, the worst.”
Malik let go and reached up behind him to his bedside table. He handed me a box of tissues. I used a couple to wipe my face.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I got snatched,” I said. It just came out.
It felt so good to tell the truth. All my excuses: not worrying my parents, not wanting to look like I’d lost my mind, afraid people wouldn’t believe me? They felt like the smallest things ever as soon as I told Malik. Why had I ever kept all this to myself?
“What?” His voice rose, and we both flinched. We waited a couple of seconds, but no one came to the door.
“I got grabbed. They took me somewhere, and—”
“Wait,” he said. “Who? Who took you?”
“I don’t really know. There are a few of them. I’ve seen them around a few times now, and they said they’ve been watching me. I thought one was a substitute teacher, and I think maybe one of them was at Meeples one time, but…” I shook my head as Malik’s eyes widened. I sounded like I was insane. “I got away.”
“And climbed up my house and through my window?”
“No,” I said. I bit my lip. “No, that’s not how I got here.”
Malik frowned. I could practically see him deciding I was a lunatic. All those small doubts were back, and now they were huge doubts again. Man. A guy could get whiplash.
“You’d never believe me,” I said.
“Try me.”
I took a deep breath and used one last tissue to wipe the last of my meltdown off my face. How did I even start? The people who’d taken me were obviously like me: teleporters. Freckle-Face had grabbed me and yanked me through a door with him, and we’d ended up in that creepy-ass cell.
“There’s something happening to me,” I said. “And actually, it goes back to the locker thing.”
I looked at Malik, and he nodded once. His dark eyes didn’t leave mine. It was really distracting to have him looking at me like that, so I stared at the floor.
“It’s going to sound crazy,” I said. “I can’t think of a way to say it that isn’t.”
“Just say it,” he said.
Please be cool. Please be cool. “I teleported.”
Malik blinked. “What?”
“I can teleport. It keeps happening. I start to go through one door, and I end up coming out of a different door.”
He scowled. “Cole,” he started, voice low and annoyed.
“I dove though a window where the guy had taken me and came out through your window. I was aiming for my own bedroom. I guess I missed.”
“You missed.” Malik crossed his arms.
“It’s actually tougher than you think it is,” I said, annoyed myself now. “I’ve only been at this for two weeks, and I can’t always make it happen when I want to.”
“Cole, it’s the middle of the night, and I know I said I like you, but—”
“Oh God, no!” I said, holding up my hands. “I swear this isn’t some stalker thing.” Which, as soon as I said it, I realized was totally a thing a stalker would say. “This guy, I think he teleports too, he grabbed me and…” I trailed off. Malik was pushing himself back against his bed. In the small space on the floor between the wall and his bed, he had managed to get as far away from me as possible.
“You know what?” I said. “It doesn’t matter. I need to go home. If I don’t end up home before my parents, they’ll totally flip. What time is it?”
I’d said all that in a rush. When Malik didn’t answer, I looked around and saw he had an alarm clock beside his bed. It was nearly eleven. How late was their play? Were they doing anything after? My folks might already be home.
“I need to go. I need to…” I needed to figure out what the hell I was going to do about the teleporting freaks who were after me was what I needed to do. They weren’t just tracking me. They were actively capable of popping in the same way I did. But I couldn’t figure that out here. I got up.
“Cole,” Malik said, rising. “You can’t go downstairs. My parents. My dad is up.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’ll use your door.”
“What?” His voice rose, and I could hear the unspoken “are you mental?” in his rough whisper.
“Seriously,” I said, holding up both hands. “I’ll be gone in a second. I’ll teleport back to my place. I’m better with doors than windows.” That wasn’t exactly something I could say with complete certainty, but what the hell. So far it was true. I went to his bedroom door.
“Cole,” Malik whispered again, sharp and annoyed. He obviously wasn’t buying this whole “I can teleport” thing, but I was exhausted, I’d just been kidnapped, and frankly? I was totally past caring. Besides, he’d see soon enough. He couldn’t deny it if I just vanished right in front of him.
I opened his door. “Seriously,” I said. “It’s fine.”
I stepped through his bedroom door. I found the tug, thought of my bedroom…
Malik grabbed at my shoulder.
Poof.
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Or, I guess, poofs.
Whoops.
Twenty-One
Malik’s jaw dropped. The open-mouth, no-words thing could have been really cute except his eyes were also wide open and he looked about ready to freak out. He was still holding on to my shoulder, which had shifted from a “wait, stop!” thing to a sort of a death grip now.
“Are you okay?” I said.
He stared at me. He hadn’t blinked yet. That was probably bad, right? People needed to blink. And also breathe.
“Malik?” I said. “Can you please take a breath?”
“Where…?” He choked out the word, and then he sucked in a deep lungful of air.
“This is my bedroom,” I said. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring you with me. I’m still getting the hang of this whole thing.”
He started to shake his head, and he gripped my shoulder tighter. It was a bit painful, to be honest. Malik was strong.
“What the fuck, Cole?” His voice got louder with every word. He was practically yelling.
“Shh,” I said, raising both my hands, palms out, in what I hoped was a good “calm down” gesture. I waited, but I didn’t hear any noise. After a couple of seconds of nothing, I exhaled. I’d beaten my folks home. “Okay, they’re not home yet. That’s good.” I winced. “Malik, you’re kind of breaking my shoulder.”
He finally let go. He also blinked, and it seemed to set off a whole series of blinking, like he was making up for all the blinks he’d missed. He looked wobbly.
“Maybe sit down,” I said, but he was already tipping. I managed to half catch him, and we landed on my bed.
“I feel awful,” he said.
“I was like that my first couple of times, too,” I said. My heart was hammering in my chest. This was so bad. I mean, escaping those creepy suit people was one thing—and hey, let’s just unpack that for a moment, because there were creepy suit people after me—but I’d just teleported Malik from his bedroom to mine. If that wasn’t awkward enough, he looked like he was going to pass out. Unconscious Malik in my bed?
I so did not have a plan for this.
Malik shook his head again, harder. “What just happened?”
Exit Plans for Teenage Freaks Page 15