It was a weird idea to think of giving the color red a heart to make it alive. Maybe the description worked better with some of the other Talents. Did the red travel with my blood and circulate through my heart? Or did it reside somewhere else?
“Each of those classifications is broken down into separate subcategories,” Leslie went on. “Lifian has four subcategories: Intrapersonal, Extra-Hominum, Sapient, and Animantic.”
Each new word she said flashed up onto the screen.
“Sapient is the easiest to define and the most difficult to detect. It is when someone’s intelligence and/or skill levels reach Aolian proportions. Basically, they are super smart in a field of study like math, physics, engineering, computer programming or other areas.”
Was there a Sarcastic Sapient? Because I could totally do that.
“Intrapersonal Talents can only influence themselves,” Leslie said. “Let’s take invisibility because it is easy for us to understand. If someone is strictly Intrapersonal, they can turn only themselves invisible. Extra-Hominum can affect those around them but not themselves. This would mean a person could turn someone else invisible. But often Talents don’t fit into exact subcategories. Two people might have the same talent, but it will manifest in different ways. The next category is Animantic. Animantics are Talents who can alter the behavior in animals.”
“What? There are Talents who can control animals?” I said. “That’s totally cool.”
Leslie nodded. “Yes, so sticking with our theme of invisibility, this would mean a Talent could turn an animal invisible. But that’s not usually a thing. Most of the time, an Aolian can either communicate with and/or control animals.”
“The next classification is simpler. It deals with the Talents who can manipulate nonliving objects or materials. Elementals work with earth-element processes that are above ground, such as weather or music or chemistry. Terraformers work with anything below ground, including metals or earthquakes. Page twenty-four lists all the known Talents.”
I read down through the list. No wonder so many of earth’s ancient cultures believed in magic and gods. There was some crazy stuff on this page, not just Aolians who could control animals, but some who control water or plants or could heal or cook. Cooking was a Talent?
“The list consists of over seventy Talents that can be divided further into one hundred thirty-six. Research shows that a tiny percent of humans have the ability to become Aolians. That’s still seven hundred thousand possible people. We estimate only about half of those people with the potential to become Aolian actually do.”
“Three hundred fifty thousand Aolians?” a boy named Jason said from across the room. “That seems like a lot to me.”
“Yes, that number does seem huge, doesn’t it?” Leslie said. “But then you have to remember they are spread among seven billion people around the world. We never really know if our numbers are even close to right, because some Aolians hide their Talents. If each country had an equal population, it would mean each country in the world would only have roughly eighteen hundred Talents. That doesn’t seem like as many, does it? Statistically, the ratio of Aolians to humans is consistent across the populations. Are there any questions?”
“What are these symbols off to the side?” Jason asked.
“Each Classification and Talent has its own symbol, mostly from ancient cultures,” Leslie said. “We will see more about this at the Dechrua ceremony tomorrow.”
“My Talent isn’t on this list,” I said.
“We’ll have to update our book, won’t we?” Leslie smiled at me, but there was something tight about the expression. “Your Talent is so rare, we weren’t sure it existed. With how fragmented history tends to be, there may even be Talents that we don’t even know existed that will never be again.”
Yup, I was a freak among freaks.
I would’ve rather had information, something I could read over and know what I was capable of, than to have a Talent no one else’d had in a hundred years.
Leslie glanced at the clock. “A few more things about the classifications before its time to go. The more sub-classifications a Talent includes, the more valuable and rare they become. So in sticking with Invisibility, some Talents can only turn themselves invisible. Others can turn objects invisible. Some can turn someone else invisible. Being able to do one of these is amazing, but being able to do two or three is truly phenomenal. Aolians almost never cross the boundary between Lifian and Corticum: the living and the nonliving. The two are too different. I’m sure you guys have questions, but the best thing to do is take the textbook and read it. Aya, we’ll just have to wait and see what happens with your Talent.”
“What is your Talent?” a girl with the nametag Claire asked.
“I’m a Colorist,” I said.
The others stared blankly back at me, and Claire finally said, “Oh.”
I’m sure it sounded like a kid playing with crayons. I only wished it were.
“After you’ve read through the materials if you have any questions, come talk to me. We’ll meet back here again next Monday at nine.”
Shrieks of laughter greeted me as I descended the stairs the next morning to go to the mall. Three girls waited for me.
“Hi, you must be Ayami,” one of the girls said, breaking away from the group.
“Yes,” I said. “I usually go by Aya.”
“Aya. That’s an unusual name. I’m Kendra. Welcome to the Academy for Freaks.”
Kendra was a little shorter and quite a bit curvier than me, with smooth mahogany skin, a bright smile, and her hair spiraling in every direction. Her tight, black jeans, white T-shirt, and red heels screamed a level a fashion to which I’d never be able to aspire.
“Thanks?” I said.
“I just call it like it is,” Kendra said with a smile. “This is Cate and Daria.”
Both the other girls smiled, although I wasn’t sure if they were actually friendly. Cate’s expression looked like she’d eaten some kind of hairy insect.
“You’re beautiful,” Kendra said. “I like your hair.”
I choked in surprise. Was she serious? “Thanks?” I said again.
“I make it a point to never think a compliment without saying it out loud,” Kendra said offhandedly.
Who is this girl?
“Let’s go,” Daria said opening the big French doors to the outside.
“Shotgun!” Cate yelled.
We climbed into a small white car with Kendra in the driver’s seat.
“So, where are you from?” Kendra asked me.
“Montana,” I said.
“Montana!” Cate shrieked. “But you seem so normal. Do you ride a horse to school?”
I laughed for a few moments until I realized she was serious. Did they all think that?
“I used to,” I said trying to compose my expression, “but I found if I lasso an eagle to my moose I can get there even faster.”
Cate stared at me like I’d sprouted wings.
Kendra laughed. “She lives in Montana, not the eighteen hundreds.”
“Well, how was I supposed to know?” Cate grumbled, turning her back on me.
The twenty-minute ride to the mall seemed like an hour as I listened to the girls chat about people I knew nothing about, presumably at the “Academy for Freaks.” Instead, I couldn’t stop thinking about Grand Central and Dune. Why did she want me? So my Talent was rare, but there was a ton of other stuff on that list that would be more valuable than a painter who could move color.
“Aya, did you hear me?” Cate asked.
I started. “No, I’m sorry, did you say something?”
“I said, Andy and I totally have been texting for months.”
“Okay?” I wondered why on earth this had anything to do with me.
“Cate’s just hinting Andy is hers, so hands off,” Daria said.
Apparently the girls at the Academy for Freaks were exactly like regular high school girls, only scarier, because they had hidden
and terrifying abilities.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
“Well, we can always hope Andy keeps it in mind, too,” Kendra said in a mischievous tone.
“Oh, he will,” Cate said tossing her shoulder-length honey-colored hair and glaring at me.
“Really, dating anyone here is about the last thing on my mind,” I said. Except for maybe Liam, but no one needed to know about him. Already the drama was hurting my head. The red beneath my skin tingled. I let out a sigh of relief when we pulled into the mall parking lot.
I wanted to ask them about their Talents, but I just couldn’t do it. What if they asked me about mine? I had no idea what I would say to them.
The mall was small, matching the size of Scarborough, but it still had plenty of stores to look through.
“You do realize it’s summer outside don’t you?” Cate asked as I picked up pretty much the only long-sleeved shirt I’d seen.
My face burned under her scrutiny. “I like long sleeves, even in summertime,” I lied, but she still stared at me. “My skin burns even in the shade, so it’s a small price to pay.” At least that was true. I don’t know why I didn’t just say the real reason. Kendra, Cate, and Daria were Aolians also, but I didn’t want them to know about my skin. I found my size and bought every color they had of the long sleeve T-shirts and threw in some jeans. Forget comfortable shorts, I’d just overheat for the rest of the summer.
“So, what are you wearing to the ceremony tonight?” Kendra asked me.
I glanced down at the clothes I had on. “You mean something besides this?”
Kendra looked scandalized. “You can’t wear that! Didn’t anyone tell you this is a big deal?” She turned to the other girls. “What are you all wearing?”
“My mom and I looked for three months before we found the perfect dress,” Cate said.
“We bought my outfit in New York a few weeks ago,” Daria said.
I peeked in my shopping bags, trying to see if there was anything Kendra would think was good enough.
“Let me see.” She took my bag and sifted through my purchases, wrinkling her nose at what she saw. “Why didn’t you buy anything cute?”
I laughed at that. Because I am more concerned with covering the red than anything else. Kendra was so genuine, I couldn’t help but like her.
“What do you think I should wear?” I asked.
“Yay!” Kendra said with little girl delight. “I thought you’d never ask!”
In a few minutes she had me inside a store with no fewer than five outfits picked out for me to try on, but she abandoned them all when she found the dress.
“This is perfect,” she said. “The deep emerald will be lovely with your dark-red hair and green eyes.”
She was right. It even had long sleeves but was very short. I bought some black leggings to cover the red on my legs, and some black heels just because I could. After all, they said tonight was a big deal.
“I think we’re all set!” Kendra said, as if it were her duty to make everyone as fashionable as she was.
We passed a bookstore, and in the window I noticed a cover bearing Van Gogh’s self-portrait in the window—a different book than the one I had already.
“I’m gonna check something out real quick,” I said to the others as they walked toward an accessories shop. Kendra waved in acknowledgment.
The familiar art section greeted me, with books on various artists and time periods. Amongst Rembrandt, Da Vinci, and Monet, I found him, Van Gogh. The first book I picked up displayed the self-portrait Van Gogh did after he cut off his own ear. The bandage was wrapped around his head, giving the hint of something missing, but sparing the viewer the gory sight. Was it me or did Van Gogh paint the whites of his eyes red on purpose? Did he know how it felt to lose control?
Beside the biographies was a thick paperback, with the self-portrait of Van Gogh in a swirling blue suit with a matching background staring out: The Letters of Vincent van Gogh. I flipped it open to a random page and read the first paragraph that caught my eye.
“Well, even in these depths of misery I felt my energy revive & said to myself, I shall get over it somehow, I shall set to work again with my pencil, which I had cast aside in my deep dejection, & I shall draw again, & ever since I have had the feeling that everything has changed for me, & now I am in my stride & my pencil has become slightly more willing & seems to be getting more so by the day. My over-long & over-intense misery had discouraged me so much that I was unable to do anything.”
I bought both books on the spot: the biography with the self-portrait on the front and the compilation of the letters he wrote.
We stopped to get smoothies, and Cate and Daria flirted with the guy working there. I sat on a bench in the middle of the walkway facing a jewelry shop and a department store. Kendra came to sit by me.
“Just ignore Cate,” Kendra said. “She has low self-esteem and feels the need to make fun of others to make herself feel better.”
“Wow, that’s honest,” I said.
“Like I said, I call it like it is,” Kendra said.
“So what’s—” I started to ask, but the whole wall of televisions in the department store caught my eye. Every screen was tuned to one of those twenty-four-hour news stations. Black-and-white security footage showed a wide angle of Grand Central station.
I knew what was going to happen, but I couldn’t look away. The glass wall obscured the sound, but the newscaster’s words scrolled along the bottom of the screen for the hearing impaired.
“If you are just joining us, we are live outside Grand Central Station in New York City, and have received a statement from the FBI and the Department of Home Land Security,” the caption read. “It states, ‘On Thursday, there was an attack on Grand Central Station in New York City. Bombs were placed in several areas in the main terminal, and security footage shows each bomb ignited at precisely the same moment.’”
“Are you okay?” Kendra asked.
The words crawled across the screen, and I didn’t answer her, in case I missed anything. I could barely make out my own image, blurry and small on the far wall of Grand Central. It didn’t look like I was being attacked. The same thirty seconds of security footage ran constantly in a small box off to the right of the reporter. Over and over, I watched the explosion I created and the panic that ensued after.
“No one was killed. Three were severely injured by shrapnel from the explosion and are in critical condition. Twenty more were injured as they attempted to flee the scene.
“Three radical terrorist groups have stepped forward, claiming a hand in this bombing. The Department of Homeland Security is working closely with the FBI and the NYPD to find the responsible parties and bring them to justice for the American people.’ Again this is the statement from the Department of Homeland Security. CWO News reached out for additional information, but the Department of Homeland Security stated they couldn’t comment on an ongoing investigation. Live from Grand Central here in New York City, I’m Sarah Miller. Back to you, Ashley.”
Ashley appeared inside the studio. “Thank you, Sarah.” The footage continued to play again and again in the box. “After the break, we have terrorism expert Neil Trantor here to talk about the implications of this attack.”
A commercial for cold cereal in a bright red box blinked on the screen.
“Aya,” Kendra said, “what’s wrong? Was that Grand Central on the TV . . . ?” Her voice faded away.
I couldn’t speak. So many emotions boiled inside me. Relief first. I hadn’t killed anyone. Then disgust, hatred for Dune, and the most vivid of them all: anger. Would I hurt someone—someone who wasn’t attacking me—if I lost control again? What if I’d killed those men? Only a few days ago, all I wanted to do was be an artist. I turned my face down so I didn’t have to look into Kendra’s eyes, but I let out a gasp when I saw my hands.
I hadn’t even noticed we’d sat on a red bench. Surrounding my hand in a foot-wide diameter, the p
lastic surface was bleached bone white. I jerked my hand up and the red disappeared into my skin before spreading throughout my body.
Instantly, my emotions exploded, flaring like an out-of-control forest fire. I couldn’t breathe as red permeated my vision. I fell to my hands and knees, trying to get away from it.
As soon as my skin hit the checkered floor, tiny tendrils of red made their way from the tile toward me. I couldn’t stop them.
Kendra jerked me to my feet, and the red stopped chasing me.
“Come on,” Kendra whispered, dragging me along by the arm. “I don’t know what’s happening, but you need to calm down.”
Everything was red, the storefronts, the lights, the walls, everything.
“So much red,” I said. “Why does the world have so much red?”
“Come on!” Kendra jerked me down a hallway that doubled as a maintenance/emergency exit and pushed me against the wall. “Look at me.”
I couldn’t. Her ruby-colored face terrified me.
“Look at me!” she screamed.
The red pulsed beneath my skin, aching to overpower any obstacle. “I can’t control . . .”
“Calm down,” she said. “You can control it. It doesn’t control you. Push it down, create a place deep inside you where it can live.”
“I can’t. It’s too powerful.”
“You can!” Kendra said. “You must.”
It was too much. Too much power to hold inside my frail mix of bones and blood. I was weak compared to it. I had to escape. No, I had to set the power free.
“Wait!” Kendra shouted.
8
Hold on to what you have, Theo, my boy, brother whom I love.
—Vincent van Gogh
Kendra grabbed my hand, and as her fingers touched my skin, a ripple of excruciating pain ripped through me. I gasped as my knees buckled and I hit the ground. Crippling agony swallowed me whole.
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