I rolled my eyes. Whatever.
Dad’s face flushed. “No.” He made a steeple with his fingers. “I certainly didn't anticipate this.”
That made me stop eating.
“What did you think I'd be?”
“Your mother and I had a lot of theories. In the last few years, every parent has waited for the Aptitude Tests or the manifestation of a talent to rear its head. In your case, we didn't need the test.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Mom said. “What if it had been flushed out in the AP Test, then he'd have been whisked away or worse.”
“'Or worse'?”
I resisted the urge to lick my fingers, picked up my napkin instead, and started working over my hands.
“Just look at the Parker boy,” Mom said.
“What about him?” I asked. “I've never heard anything about him.”
“Exactly,” Dad stated.
CHAPTER 19
My parents weren’t thrilled when I unceremoniously stuffed the pill in my front pocket. I told them if anyone got the lame idea of checking our backpacks, they wouldn't find the pill. It made sense.
Mom huffed, and Dad mumbled something about my constitutional rights.
I was on my sixth pancake, having already plowed through half a pound of bacon.
Mom grimaced.
“Caleb, stop shoveling your food.”
“Mom! Come have a pancake and stop panicking about etiquette.” I took a swig of milk and the whole load slid down the pipe.
She rolled her eyes. It might have been impressive, but I'd seen Tiff Weller do it. No one could compete.
I shoveled in my last bite. “Thanks for the breakfast, Mom.”
My hair fell into my eyes, so I whipped my head back.
Mom looked at me and my hair then back to my plate. She gave a big sigh and turned around to put the next batch of pancakes on a plate.
“Ah... hon?” Dad called.
“I think I want something lighter.” He patted his belly which was barely over the belt.
I said, “I'll suck those up, Mom.”
“Are you sure? You've had six already.”
“Yeah, Mom, still hungry.” I stood and jerked up my shirt, displaying my flat stomach and ribs.
Dad laughed. “Wow! Doing some dieting?”
“No, doing some growing, I think,” Mom said, looking at me critically.
After I ate the next batch of pancakes, I put my dishes in the sink. Mom came over and gave me a hug, which I ducked out of as soon as I could without hurting her feelings. Mom was cool but no touchy.
Dad gave me a hard clap on the shoulder. “Do you remember the protocol for the pill taking?”
“Yes,” I told him. “I figured forty times is enough reminders for the next hundred years.”
“I didn't remind you that many times, Caleb.”
Mom and I guffawed.
Dad threw up his hands. “Okay, okay, I surrender. I guess I mentioned it a few times.” When we laughed again, he added, “Ah... more than a few times.”
I walked to the door, throwing on my backpack and headed outside. A drizzle settled over me, and I was instantly wet, freaky weather. I drug myself to school.
My thoughts crowded inside my head like cobwebs. The Js and Jade were gonna meet at my locker, and then we had alphabetical buildings for the testing.
I ripped open the door and entered the foyer. I used my foot to prop the door open so a girl could slide through. Her hoodie obscured her face . She let it slam behind her with a satisfying clatter.
She flipped her hood back. “Hey, Hart,” Tiff said. “Done any playing in the graveyard sandbox lately?”
I grinned. A light bruise lay beneath one eye. I wondered how she'd explained that to her parents.
She read my face and said, “They don't know.”
“Who?”
“My parents, bright one.”
I looked around while kids surged back and forth, the constant noise of their talking in the background.
I leaned closer to her. “Are you nervous?”
“Hell, yeah. I don't want any attention for this. Maybe I'll just hit a couple of points. I'll get noticed but not noticed, if ya know what I mean.”
I did.
“I was thinking about what happened. It’s damn good that we're not testing in the same building. Since we're like... ” She frowned.
“An old radio?” I supplied.
“Somethin' like that. Whatever it is, I don't want to pop some false-positive crap. Ya know, hit as an all-five just because you're in the room.” Her eyes narrowed. “Ya know, Hart, you're okay... for a boy.”
I frowned at her backwards compliment. “Thanks... I guess.”
She looked around furtively then whispered, “But just because we're both AFTD doesn't mean we have to be in the same frying pan.”
She straightened and started to turn away.
“Wait. Can I count on you?”
“Well, yeah. I just meant that I don't want to be corralled in some creepy place because of getting sucked into your undead drama.”
Tell me how you really feel.
Aloud I said, “Gotcha.”
“See ya later and good luck.” She flipped her hood back, skulking into the crowd.
I'd been so into my conversation I'd missed everyone standing by my locker. Three faces peered at me through the mess of kids. John had his usual expression of silent mode, and weather had stirred his shock of orange hair into a tornado. Jonesy was smiling.
Jade made my breath catch in my throat like an errant bubble. She wore coal-black jeans and All Stars with laces as black as the jeans. A brilliant green camisole stole all attention inside the V-neck of a tight black T-shirt that ended at the swell of her hips. She gave a subtle flick of her head, and her hair swept away over one shoulder.
I realized I had stopped moving forward. With a low chuckle, I resumed my progress across the commons. Jade's smile seemed just for me.
We shuffled around nervously. The test meant a lot to all of us. So far, I was the only one who had the big guns. Well, Carson could burn the place down, but he didn't have any cool drugs that would buy him time. He was going away to the same school as all paranormals.
An evil idea began to take shape in my mind.
Jonesy picked up on it immediately. “You've thought of something cool.” Leave it to him to scope the potential for trouble.
“Yeah. Here we were hoping to distract the dorks from making trouble for me, but Carson has his own.”
John stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“Let's play it cool today,” he said, looking at Jonesy.
Jonesy glared at him.
“Let's try not to make a ruckus,” John clarified.
“A fracas,” Jade added.
Jonesy appeared deeply confused.
“What they mean is, don't blurt out anything in the middle of testing to get us in trouble,” I said.
“Well, hell no.” Jonesy put a hand to his chest, offended. “I wouldn't do that.” His eyebrows dumped above his eyes. “Thanks for the faith, ya wankers.”
We all did eye-rolls. Yeah, that was so going to happen; Jonesy not talking out of turn. Jonesy following along and playing well with others.
Jonesy having a filter.
Jade said, “You're a great guy, Jones, but I have noticed that you aren't always self-aware.”
After a short staring contest, Jonesy slumped. “Okay, I guess I'll try to concentrate on the test.”
“Well that's the concept,” John said.
The principal walked out into the commons, manually ringing the class bell. Suddenly, my awesome bacon and pancake breakfast sat like a cold lump in my belly, waiting for expulsion.
Jade held out her, hand and I took it. The Js glanced over at me nervously.
Principal Avers began in his monotonous voice saying, “People, listen closely to your building assignments. All pulse accessories are not allowed in the testing facilities. There
will be mandatory breaks every fifty minutes.”
He droned on about some other unimportant stuff. I tuned him out as I played on my pulse. Then, I started listening when he got to building assignments.
“Last names beginning in A through H will test in Building Alpha. Last names beginning in I through P will test in Building Bravo. Names beginning in Q through Z will test in Building Charlie.”
I did some mental sorting: Jade, Sophie, and Jonesy in Bravo, along with Brett. I would be with Carson in Alpha, while John and Tiff were in Charlie.
My eyes met John's over Jade's head. He was thinking the same thing I was; Carson with me and Brett with the girls. Sucky.
Principal Avers added, “Disperse to your respective buildings. You have five minutes. Line up outside the doors to be scanned.”
Pretending to cough into my hand, I jammed the pill in my mouth and dry swallowed it.
I turned to Jonesy. “Can you sit next to the girls?”
He nodded, serious for once. “Yeah, I know Brett's in there.”
“I think it'll be okay, but he's riding on the edge. I don't know what'll set him off.”
He nodded and walked toward Bravo.
Jade pressed her lips to my cheek. The sensation was like butterfly wings on my skin. The school had a rule against PDA, but she had chanced it anyway. I smiled down at her, squeezing her hand as her fingers slid slowly out of mine. I watched her walk away, Sophie flanking her out of nowhere.
John came up beside me. “She'll be okay.”
That was one of those lies I let John tell. An untruth of comfort. Nothing was going to be okay.
“Good luck.”
“You too,” I replied and walked over to the scanning line.
***
The slim paddle hovered behind my ear for about two seconds, then the school nurse said, “Hart, cleared.”
I was definitely feeling high or something. I'd never been high, but I would have bet the feeling was similar to what I was experiencing. I could wait until I turned twenty-one and jump into any of the drug bars and have at it. But, having a scientist for a father was an advantage. Dad had outlined drug use and consequence. It hadn't sounded that hot.
I had a fuzzy warm feeling as if covered by a blanket of tranquility. The whispers from the dead were even down to a manageable roar. The near-silence of the dead meant I was floating on the cerebral pond.
I slumped into my assigned seat.
My floating cloud of warmth was momentarily interrupted when the AP Test supervisor and two assistants began handing out pulse-pads. They had the same thickness as my pulse-phones, but the dimensions were more like Mom's old-fashioned paperback books.
I stared at mine—just a blank screen with a thumb pad. My head was filled with cotton.
The testing supervisor instructed, “Please press your thumb on the pad and think your identity and pertinent information. You have eight seconds. Begin.”
I did as instructed.
Caleb Hart, Age 14, Kent Middle School, King County, Washington.
Confirmed.
When I looked up, I spotted Carson. He was already staring at me. After making sure none of the adults were watching, he gave me the middle finger salute. Consistent as usual.
He was such a moron. But a powerful one. He'd spend the next four years in a fire-proofed classroom. I smiled at the thought.
The instructor spoke again. “You'll be asked a series of questions. All answers will be confirmed as valid. There is obviously no way to cheat.”
I was overwhelmed with an insane urge to laugh. I bit my cheek to hold it in. I had a small problem with laughing at inappropriate times.
Like now.
“All areas of aptitude will be identified. Make your best effort to give concise answers. Keep your thought processes clear of extraneous thinking.”
Translation: don't think about anything fun or what you'd rather be doing.
“One more thing, there will be control questions inserted that must be answered even if they seem to be unrelated to the main body of testing. You may begin.”
I dug into the test questions, thinking my responses. I felt decidedly dull, but I was able to answer okay. The upside of the pill was a no-show of nervousness. I let the calm wash over me.
Math and science completed, I began the verbal section. A few question in, I came to an odd one.
How do you feel about things that have died?
That was a control for sure.
I had an instant stab of dread, but I had to answer. I thought, Good.
The moment I answered, the buzzing voices in my head became louder, even breaking through my drug-induced haze.
The instructor came to my desk.
Great.
“We need you to change buildings.”
I replied carefully, drug befuddled, “But this is the building for my name.”
A condescending smile appeared on her face. “We're aware, but some of your responses have alerted us.” She paused, seeming to contemplate something. “The remainder of your testing will be administered at an alternate location.”
Carson and about ten other kids were herded by assistants who must have leaked out of walls, because the original two were on the other side of the room. The other kids were staring at them and at me.
Oh joy.
The instructor raised her voice to address the class. “Please continue with your test. This interruption will be as brief as possible. Your first break will be in,” she glanced at the pulse clock, which counted backwards, “five minutes.”
I stood unsteadily, feeling woozy, and she gave me a penetrating look. I tried to appear more alert as I headed for the group on their way out the door.
We were ushered back into the commons, pulse-pads in hand. There was another head honcho guy out there, and through my semi-drug fog, I spotted two other instructors—one from Bravo and one from Charlie—along with a bunch of assistants.
The head honcho guy waved at my group. “This group will be escorted to Delta.”
Delta? That hadn't been part of Avers' instructions.
We followed one of the instructors, the assistants flanking us. Scanning the area, I saw Tiff and John. I assumed that I had pinged paranormal and that was why I was getting moved to another room, but that didn’t explain what John was doing there. He looked over at me and shrugged.
I searched for Jade. When I spotted her, she smiled at me, and a tight spot in my chest loosened. I also saw Sophie, but Brett and Jonesy weren't there. I didn't really know Sophie, but figured she was okay because Jade dug her.
We walked through Delta's doors and settled into our new seats.
We were arranged alphabetically. Only one kid separated Carson and me—Alex of the bad piano playing. We gave each other the guy-nod.
Head Honcho went to the front of the room. “I am the instructor for this building. You have all been moved here because your responses indicate paranormal aptitude. We will resume your testing in”—he looked at the pulse clock—“approximately three minutes.”
Another inappropriate urge to laugh came over me, and I bit the inside of my cheek until the copper taste of blood squelched it. I ducked my head, my hair sliding into my eyes. My cheek hurt like hell.
A skeletal guy was leaning against a kid-sized desk angled into the corner, drumming his long, tapered fingers against its edge. His face was all dark planes with a complexion to match. His fingers were stained nicotine yellow. He had to be rich since he was obviously a smoker.
Head Honcho went over to Smoker and had a whispered conversation, his fingers nervously running the length of his tie. At one point, they both looked out at the classroom and seemed to stare straight at me. Their focus could have been on Carson or Alex, but somehow, I knew it was me. AFTD was so rare that I'd be the star of this little show.
A chime sounded. Gaunt-man lounged in his corner and Head Honcho worked over his tie one more time before moving back to the front.
“You've
answered a satisfactory amount of academic questions, and we have a strong idea of where each of you fall in these categories. This building is being utilized to further gauge your individual potential.
“You will have a series of control questions interspersed with academic questions. These questions are tailored to your individual gifts. Every year, we have been surprised by a new ability, sub-ability, or one not easily quantified.”
“You may begin.”
I pressed my thumb to my pulse pad.
Useless question after question appeared. Most seemed standard but a few were funny, like:
I answered,
How dumb was that. What were you supposed to say?
They need the tomahawk?
This was a control question. I bet they had people in windowless rooms without food thinking this crap up.
Another laughable one was:
Real answer: they suck, of course.
Even in my semi-stupor, I realized that I had to play along but not be too obvious about it. Until recently, I could have answered pretty honestly. But lately, I didn't feel all adults could be trusted.
Finally, I answered, Some are trustworthy.
The pulse chimed for lunch. I pressed my thumb to the screen, and my answer floated away to be cataloged, for better or worse.
***
I was wrong, lunch wasn't served in the testing rooms, it was in the cafeteria, like usual. At every door stood what I thought of as Formula People. They all wore the same ties and suits or skirts and sensible shoes.
My friends and I, plus Sophie, snagged one of the coveted round tables along the wall. The seats were the best because I could see everyone when we talked and keep things private. The noisier the better.
I spotted Carson sitting with Brett and some other standard loser plug-ins a couple of tables away.
Jonesy unraveled his gigantic lunch. His lunchbox was kind of like Dad's: a huge rectangular tin thing with a flat bottom. It had been red once but had faded to a dull rust color.
First, the thermos came out with what I was sure was a quart of milk, then two sandwiches bursting with lunch meat appeared. He had a bag of Funyuns, which made breath reek like ass but tasted strangely good. Dessert was a fat brownie full of disgusting walnuts.
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