by Sarah Noffke
Shrugging off my frustration I pull out a piece of paper. I address a letter to Bob and Steve. First I thank them for sending me the package. I roughly tell them what’s happened so far: being chosen as first alternate, the bracelet, how much Ren makes my life miserable, and how I just want the whole thing to be over. I’m uncertain why I’m writing this letter, or giving them so much information, but it makes me feel lighter. I fold it up, put their name and address on the outside, and stick it in my notebook. There has to be a way to get it to them, I reason. If they can send me something why couldn’t I send them something back?
Picking up the card they sent me I, reread it for the tenth time or more. The questions that plagued me all along rise to the surface, wanting to be stoked like a burgeoning fire. The night I’d come to the Institute, one reason above the rest propelled me here: I wanted to know where I belonged. This uncertainty is a constant dull ache in my chest. And to add insult to injury I have agonizing guilt. I want to care about my mother, father, and brother. But I don’t. That’s pathetic. What kind of person doesn’t care about their family, at least enough to let it monopolize a small fraction of their thoughts? They could be dead right now, and for some reason that doesn’t affect me. It’s like they’re someone else’s family, like I heard about it on the news. It’s sad, but I’m removed.
Maybe it’s because I’ve always been different. But then the questions remain: Why? Why am I different? Why do I feel that difference coursing through my veins? Why don’t I feel I belong in that house with my family? Opening up the letter from Bob and Steve, I reread it, feeling sad and far away from the possibility of a home.
Before I wallow around in any more of this pity, I shake it off and crawl into bed. I’m a loner. I’ve always been one. Now isn’t the time to be weakened by questions and uncertainties. The sooner I accept this, the sooner I move forward and embrace my potential.
Chapter Eighteen
The workout the next morning is harder than before due to the soreness of my fatigued muscles. I grit my teeth through every exercise and pray it will be over soon. After an hour my prayers are answered and I shower and head off to breakfast.
I sit down at the table with my oatmeal and fruit, ignoring Trent and Samara. Luckily, they’re both talking to Shuman about that day’s lesson plan. Whitney smiles at me, her kind eyes glittering. Thankfully she isn’t angry at me. She doesn’t look like anything could make her angry. Her face is one of peace and her eyes sympathetic and gentle. I’ve liked her from the start.
My mind reels with a sudden flash and I push back from the table. It’s quick, but shows a distinct image of me handing a note to someone. Instinctively, I stand and scan the room. Seconds later I stride over to the person who matches the image I saw in my mind. I pull out the note I wrote last night.
“Excuse me,” I say to the courier guy in the hat and sneakers.
The delivery guy turns, holding a plate of eggs and bacon.
“Name’s Patrick, sweetheart,” he says, his white mustache covering his expression.
“You can take letters, can’t you,” I say in more of a confirmation, rather than a question.
“Yep,” he confirms.
“And deliver them?” I ask to be sure.
“Of course.” He holds out his free hand.
I lay the note in Patrick’s outstretched hand, just as I’d seen moment’s ago in my mind’s eye. He tucks it in his pocket and then turns back to the buffet.
♦
“Each of you,” Shuman begins in her airy tone, “is here because you performed well on the tasks. You are also here because you have a unique ability. However, these abilities have not been honed. You do not know how to control them. Maybe sometimes you do, but mostly you are surprised when they occur, as if by chance. I will be working to help you enhance these abilities. If you are going to contribute these skills to creating a dreamscape that will help Misty defeat Zhuang, then you must gain control over them first.”
This isn’t the first time I have absolutely no clue what Shuman is talking about. Is she referring to the gifts that Joseph mentioned?
“Most of you have trouble channeling these abilities because not only are you hiding them from yourself,” she says, crossing her arms across her leather vest, “but also from everyone else.” The snake tattoo on her arm catches my eye as she speaks, seemingly coming alive for an instant, flicking its tongue in my direction. “You must embrace these abilities. Be proud of them.” She spreads her arms like wings. “This is your tribe. You are safe to explore these abilities here. From this moment forward, be honest with yourself. Do not run from it. And be honest with your tribe.” She pauses. “Agreed?” she says with finality.
We all nod our heads in unison.
“Good. When I point to you, name or describe your ability.” She points first to Whitney on the far side of the room. Whitney flushes red. “I can, um, heal. If I touch something I can repair it.” She looks down doubtful. “Sometimes.”
Without a word, Shuman points at Trent. Pride oozes from his voice as he says, “I’m telekinetic. I move objects without touching them.”
Shuman revolves her finger on George. His shoulders slump an inch further as he brings his eyes up. Struggle coats his expression like tattered leather gloves on a hand. “I’m empathic. I feel people’s emotions, without them telling me. At least, I used to…” Something simmers under the surface of his words, making them sound hot. Angry.
Shuman points at Joseph. “I talk to spirits,” he says with a slight snigger.
Lowering her hand, Shuman gives him a piercing stare.
Finally Joseph waves his hands as if surrendering. “All right, that’s not quite true.” There’s a pause and then looking at no one he says, “I see the future.”
Taking a step, Shuman moves in front of Samara and points. Without needing to be prompted the girl with whitish blonde hair and gray eyes says, “I read thoughts. I’m telepathic.”
A second later the finger is aimed at me. Everyone’s eyes are fixed in my direction.
I rack my brain, searching through the layers. What had Ren called it? Didn’t he have a name? My mind trails back and hooks into that moment in the past. A second later I look into Shuman’s dark eyes and say, “I’m clairvoyant.”
“Good.” Shuman withdraws to the center of the platform. “Now let us open up this council so we can better understand each other. Whitney, go to the back right corner of the room. Samara, stay where you are. George, you to the back left corner. Now Trent, Roya, and Joseph pair up with one of these three. You each have two minutes to ask each other questions regarding your ability. Answer the other person’s questions honestly. More importantly, as you speak, own your ability. Be proud of it. After four minutes we will rotate until everyone has been paired up. Go now.”
Trent heads straight back to Whitney. Joseph is already turned around talking to Samara. This leaves me staring nervously at George and his defeated attitude. I walk back to where he sits and notice he’s shredding a piece of paper in his hand, first in half, then again, then again. For a moment I just watch, feeling his tension.
“So,” I say, taking the seat next to him. “You want to go first?”
“No,” he answers without looking up.
“Fine.” I look at the ground for a few seconds. “Have you, uh…” I search for a question. “Have you always been able to read emotions?”
“Yes.” His hostility is palpable, like an angry stallion thundering across the ground, threatening to charge.
We sit in silence for the rest of the time. He doesn’t say another word. When Shuman says, “Rotate,” I find immense relief. Those were the longest four minutes of my life.
♦
Whitney reminds me of a doll, with her tiny frame, curly brown pigtails, and enormous eyes. After sitting with George she’s like cool, spring water for a parched throat. Openly, she explains that she’s mostly used her powers of healing on animals, bugs, and sometimes herself. The
re was one time her little sister had a high fever and wouldn’t awake from a comatose state. She used it then, but wasn’t sure if that’s why her sister recovered. I’m immediately fascinated by her gift. The idea that this seemingly innocent girl holds one of the most important powers to all of mankind is exhilarating. Curiosity, a trait I’m not prone to, fills me with question upon question until Shuman tells us it’s time to rotate. Whitney frowns, sincerely remorseful. “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask you any questions.”
“I’m not,” I say.
♦
I’m worried Trent will be hostile much like George, but he isn’t. He opens up right away, talking eagerly about his ability. In comparison to Whitney, he’s confident.
Although complete concentration is necessary for his telekinesis to work, he’s had dozens of successes moving objects as large as a shoebox.
When we have less than a minute left he asks how often I “know” things.
“More frequently lately,” I answer honestly.
“I wonder why,” Trent muses, pushing a dreadlock behind his ear.
“I don’t.”
“Why?” he asks, looking at me curiously.
I shrug. “Just doesn’t seem important.”
♦
As soon as I sit with Samara I bombard her with questions. “Can you read people’s thoughts without them knowing? Do you? Do they know?”
She laughs. “Why is everyone so paranoid? What all do you have to hide?”
I stare at her and she stares back. Finally she says, “I can read thoughts without the other person’s consent, but I’m also traceable. People usually know when I’m there. Can feel me somehow.”
“Well, that’s kind of a relief,” I say.
“What about you?” she asks, braiding a piece of her hair. “What kind of stuff do you see?”
“Mostly stupid stuff,” I say without enthusiasm. I tell her about that morning with the letter.
“That seems pretty helpful,” she says.
“Back to you,” I urge. “Have you read my mind at all?”
“No,” she states at once.
I’m relieved and offended at the same time. Thank God she hasn’t read my thoughts. And why the hell not? What’s so wrong with me that she doesn’t want to know my internal dialogue?
“It’s draining to read thoughts,” she says finally. “I have to be choosy.”
I watch her cautious gray eyes scan the room before they return to mine. “Besides, I make it a habit to stay out of the heads of my friends.”
♦
“It seems Trent and Samara have forgiven me for my injustices,” I say.
“That’s good, but I don’t think that’s what we’re meant to discuss here,” Joseph states.
“Just thought I’d pass it along.”
“I’m sure you did. So I guess you figured out your gift,” Joseph says, an edge to his voice.
“Yeah, and I guess you did too,” I remark dully. “Were you lying about it the whole time?”
He shrugs in a noncommittal fashion. “Were you?” Joseph asks.
I don’t respond. We’re even. Best we start fresh. “How does it work for you?” I ask.
“I see things in the distant future. Nothing immediate. I’ll see a flash of somethin’ and know it’ll happen in one, two, or five years. And it does.”
“Wow,” I say, meaning it.
“You?” He looks nervous. It isn’t an expression he wears often.
“I usually see things that are about to happen, like within the next few seconds. It’s always something stupid like a leaf falling off a tree right before it does.”
“I’m gonna need you to repeat that and this time show more pride.”
I glare at him.
“Shuman said.”
Thankfully Shuman interrupts just then to tell us time is up.
“See ya.” I flash a mischievous smile at Joseph as I stand.
“From here on out,” Shuman says, “we will be honing these abilities, making them stronger, more reliable. We are going to make them what they should be: super powers.”
Silence settles in the room, and I think everyone else is doing the same thing I’m doing: trying on this newfound pride and enjoying the way it fits.
“You are dismissed for today.” Shuman stands, stoically staring at us. After a few more quiet seconds we all shuffle our belongings and move toward the exit.
“George.” Shuman’s voice interrupts the chatter that has begun to build among the group as we leave. “Stay behind. I need to speak with you.”
Chapter Nineteen
Thankfully, after that we don’t see George for the rest of the day. He’s been a real drag and I’m glad to be rid of him. Without his presence the mood at lunch is light and fun. It’s like a window has been opened, although that would have literally been impossible. While Joseph tries to get Trent to telekinetically throw a salt shaker at one of the white coats, Samara and I probe Whitney for more information about her ability. At first she’s shy, but after a while she eats up the attention, like a baby with her first birthday cake.
Goat Girl isn’t at lunch, and that’s probably another reason it’s so pleasant. We’re told we won’t see her that much from this point forward outside of morning workouts. Now if I could just get rid of Ren my world will improve drastically.
♦
A ton of equipment clutters up a large corner of Aiden’s lab, making the space feel cramped.
“Welcome everyone,” Aiden says, walking over carrying a small handheld device. “You all will remember the GAD-C, from your first few moments at the Institute.” He holds out his hand, presenting all the large equipment jumbled around a bunch of wires and computers. “This is the second one we have here at the Institute and it’s brand spanking new. I just built it.” He slaps the side of a metal box and something sounds like it falls and breaks inside. With a guilty smile he waves it off. “No worries, that thing isn’t really an important part of the GAD-C. Anyway, you’ll remember this is how we generate your body from a dream layer. This large device is super helpful. For instance, let’s say you decide to dream travel to France. Like so many, you fall in love with the French culture and decide you want to live there and eat croissants for the rest of your days. Airfare is costly and your consciousness is already there, you just need your body. Believe me, you’re going to need your body to enjoy all those pastries. So what do you do? You go and find one of these handy dandy GAD-Cs in order to bring your body all the way to France. Comprende?”
Samara and Whitney giggle. Aiden looks pleased. Apparently his goal is to entertain, as well as educate.
“Okay, and on a serious note, while trying to fight Zhuang you might need to generate your body at some point. We aren’t sure what the dreamscapes are going to look like, or the strategy for that matter. The point of today’s lesson is to orient you with the idea of autogenerating your body, which takes some getting used to. We’re going to practice this until you’re comfortable with it and the shock wears off, which will probably take several turns. Also, I won’t be there to operate the machine for you so you’re going to need to know the proper procedure.”
Samara holds up her hand. “The other GAD-Cs, how will we find them?”
“It all depends on the dreamscapes,” Aiden explains. “If we know where you’ll need them then we’ll make arrangements. Otherwise, there are roughly half a dozen located throughout the world. You’ll be given these locations and can travel to them to generate.”
A spark shoots from a cluster of wires next to the GAD-C. Aiden eyes it nervously. When it dies out he says, “It’s supposed to do that.” Then he rubs his hands together eagerly. “So who’s first?”
I don’t volunteer. Neither does anyone else. It doesn’t matter because when everyone’s silent for too long Aiden points at me. “Oh, Roya, that’s so nice of you. You’re so brave.”
I shoot him an angry grin.
“All right, here’s what you’re going to do
: Dream travel to the room you arrived in the first night. You remember, the one where you almost died.” There are several chuckles from my peers, which ignite a brilliant smile on Aiden’s face. “There will be a GAD-C in that room. You’ll then meet my lovely assistant, Amber. She will help you operate the GAD-C. Once you’ve obtained your body, I want you to dream travel back to this room and we’ll test this ol’ boy.” Aiden points his fingers like a gun at the contraption. “Got it?” he asks with a smile.
I don’t have the heart to say no, so I nod. With an arm around my shoulder, he steers me to the back of his lab.
“Do you usually have to volunteer people to get them to test your new equipment?” I ask him.
He gives me a look of mock offense. “I gave you the honor of going first.”
“Well, I really don’t want to take that privilege away from someone more deserving. Maybe we should go back and draw straws,” I say, feeling rather giddy.
Aiden shakes his head. “We can if you want to, but you’ll lose the opportunity at bragging rights.”
“Oh, is that what’s at stake?” I say with a laugh.
We exchange looks. The breathlessness that accompanies all of my interactions with Aiden intensifies. I quickly glance away.
“In all seriousness, are you ready to do this?” Aiden ask, tethering his excitement under his sensibility.
“Of course,” I lie, caught up in his enthusiasm.
His excitement takes center stage again. “Fantastic! You’ll be stellar!” We stop by a cot. “You don’t have to lie down to dream travel, but until you’ve done it for a while, it’s the safest way.”
Lying down on a soft mat on the cot, I stare at Aiden nervously. He’s grinning. Is he always grinning? Is he one of those naturally happy people?