by Amy Ignatow
Cookie was confused. Sure, Jay had it coming to him, but he was essentially a good person. Would he have stopped calling her things like his “Nubian princess” if she had just sat him down and explained why that was hurtful, like Martina had suggested? It was impossible to know.
Nick was agitated as they watched Farshad disappear down the path out of the woods. “Who does that guy think he is, anyway?” he fumed. “Should we be worried that he’s going to do something stupid?”
“Probably not,” Martina said. “He seems pretty smart.”
“But also really angry.”
“That’s true,” Martina said, thinking a moment. “He could do something stupid.”
Nick threw up his hands in frustration. “You always know the least comforting thing to say.”
“I have to go,” Cookie said. She hadn’t realized that she was going to say it, but now that it was said she turned on her heel and started walking out of the forest. Martina followed her.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Cookie told her.
“Okay,” Martina said, and they walked back in silence.
It had been a half hour since the chance-meeting-gone-awry in the woods, and Jay still hadn’t said a word to Nick. They’d walked out of the woods in silence, over the creek in silence, past the road that led out of town to the farmland in silence, and all the way to Jay’s house in silence. Nick couldn’t remember another time when Jay had been so quiet for so long, and that included ten days in the third grade when he’d had laryngitis and had insisted on communicating through a series of small percussion instruments (their teacher, Ms. Dean, put up with it for twenty minutes before confiscating Jay’s collection of drumsticks, maracas, finger cymbals, and a little toy xylophone). Jay’s silence was unnerving. Had Cookie damaged him? Permanently?
“Well . . . here we are,” Nick said lamely outside of Jay’s house, searching his friend’s face for any sign of that old Jay sparkle. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Sure, sure,” Jay said, distracted.
“Call me later?”
“Don’t worry about me, old sod,” Jay said, throwing back his narrow shoulders. “I merely have a lot of thinking to do.”
“About what Cookie said? Er, thought?”
“Precisely. Precisely, old . . . I’m a little worn out, I’ll think of a new name to call you tomorrow.”
“Looking forward to it.”
Nick headed back toward his aunts’ place, thinking about what Cookie had done to Jay and the crazy argument he’d had with Farshad, and also that if he and his mom weren’t able to move back into their own house soon he was going to have to drag his old bicycle out of the basement and find the pump to inflate the tires because Molly and Jilly lived too far from everything and this walking everywhere was getting old . . .
And then he was standing in the basement of his house.
What the . . .
There it was, his old blue bicycle. It was covered in dust and the tires were definitely flat. Nick had no idea where the bike pump was, though. Plus, even if he did get the pump, and inflate the tires, his mom was going to ask all sorts of questions about how he had gotten into the house in the first place and GAAAAAAHHH HE HAD JUST TELEPORTED OVER A BLOCK AND LANDED IN HIS OWN HOUSE. Nick felt dizzy and a little sick. He made his way up the stairs to the kitchen.
The house still smelled like smoke. Nick lurched to the sink and leaned over it to splash cold water on his face. He had done it. He had teleported farther than ever before, farther even than the day of the bus accident when he’d teleported himself out of the rolling bus and into the safety of the nearby field. But how? How had he done it?
“My room,” Nick murmured to himself. “I command me to teleport me to my room!”
Nothing. He was still standing in front of the kitchen sink with water dripping off his nose. He grabbed a hand towel with a print of clocks on it and buried his face in it. He had to tell Jay about what had happened. Jay would be able to help him figure out how he’d done it. Jay would know where to start . . .
“GOOD GOD, OLD MAN!”
Nick looked up from the hand towel. He was in Jay’s bedroom, with Jay sitting on his bed stark naked and staring at Nick with his mouth hanging open. Nick let out a shriek, took a step back, and tripped over a pile of books.
“WHY ARE YOU NAKED?” he bleated from his new vantage point on the floor.
“WHY ARE YOU HERE?” Jay yelped back.
“PUT ON SOME CLOTHING!”
“Nicholas! I. Am. In. The. Privacy. Of. My. Own. Room. I was doing some meditation, which was rudely interrupted by the likes of you.”
“Jay?” Nick heard Jay’s mother calling from downstairs. “Is everything all right?”
“Just fine, Mother!” Jay said.
“Is Nick there? I didn’t hear him come in.”
“That’s because he teleported in, Mother!”
“Okay, just don’t spend too much time on the Internet.”
Nick reached for a pair of sweatpants that had been discarded on a pile of books and hurled them at Jay, who shimmied them on and then reached for a Rogue NASA T-shirt that was crumpled up on his bed. “You can look up now,” he said when he was fully clothed. “I have covered my glorious body so you won’t be blinded by its magnificence.”
“Thanks for preserving my eyesight,” Nick said wryly. It was a relief to hear the old Jay ridiculousness. “Sorry to interrupt your . . . whatever you were doing.”
“I was meditating, you raw noodle. My experience with Daniesha earlier left me somewhat shaken and I wanted to clear my head.”
“I didn’t know that you meditated.”
“I didn’t know that you could teleport farther than four inches to the left. Apparently we do not know each other as well as we thought we did a mere five minutes ago.”
“But since when do you meditate?”
“Since about ten minutes ago. It’s very effective. Five more minutes and I might have reached enlightenment.” Jay leapt off the bed and grabbed Nick by his shoulders. “Now let’s talk about how on earth you just managed to beam into my room.”
Cookie wasn’t sure how she and Martina had ended up at the ice cream parlor, but there they were, sitting on the bench outside. Cookie had a cup of pistachio and Martina was sipping on a milkshake. Cookie took a bite of ice cream, and the cold sweetness of it helped to wake her up from the fog she’d been in since her confrontation with Jay.
“Does that help?” Martina asked.
Cookie took another bite. “I think so. Ice cream usually helps with most things.” She sighed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“About what?” Martina asked, slurping her milkshake.
“What do you mean, about what? About my newfound ability to melt a dude’s brain.”
“Oh, that.”
“Oh, that? OH, THAT?” Cookie stared at Martina, who seemed perfectly content to sit and sip her milkshake while Cookie grappled with issues of power and morality. “Doesn’t it bother you that I can hurt people?”
“Sure it does,” Martina said, “but you could always hurt people. Everyone can hurt people.”
“Not everyone can melt a dude’s brain.”
“Sure they can. If they set the dude’s head on fire.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that everyone who is old enough to hold a bucket of petrol and light a match can set a dude’s head on fire. You throw the petrol onto the dude’s head, then you light a match, and then you throw it at the dude. I mean, you’d have to be quick about it, but it is doable.”
“That’s horrifying!”
“So, whose head are we lighting on fire?”
Cookie looked up to see Addison, Claire, and Emma. Her friends. Well, Addison and Claire were her friends, anyway, or at least they had been up until their phones spontaneously broke. Addison looked surprised to see her with Martina. Claire looked angry.
“Don’t bother telling me, I don’t thi
nk I want to know,” Addison continued. “Sooooo. What are you . . .” She looked at Martina, confused. “. . . ladies up to on this fine evening?”
“Nothing,” Cookie said at the same time as Martina was saying, “Eating ice cream, I thought that was obvious.” Cookie shot her a look. Was Martina trying to be weird in front of her friends? Probably not. Cookie had learned that Martina never tried to be weird, it just happened. Don’t be weird! she thought desperately at Martina.
“I am a normal person,” Martina said to Addison.
“Sure you are,” Addison said warily. Martina slurped her milkshake.
“Hi, Cookie,” Emma said. She was so annoying. Cookie did her best not to roll her eyes.
“Hey, Emma,” she said.
“So, what have you been up to?”
“I know what she’s been up to,” Claire said. “She’s been up to not caring at all that some of us did really well on the exams. She’s been up to avoiding us. She’s been up to hanging out with her new normal friend over here.”
How. Dare. She. Cookie stood up and shoved her ice cream into Martina’s hands (because she really couldn’t be as intimidating as she needed to be if she was holding on to a cup of frozen deliciousness). “Oh really?” she asked quietly. Claire blanched. Cookie knew Claire had heard her use that tone of voice before and was terrified of it. “So what you’re saying is that all your accomplishments basically mean nothing unless I congratulate you? Well, then. Congratulations, Claire. I would have thought all the banquets and newspaper articles would have been enough, but silly me, I forgot how important I am. So, good. For. You.”
Claire sucked in a breath, and for a moment she looked like she was going to burst into tears. Addison burst out laughing. “Well, you know we can’t live without you.”
“I know, I know, I just forgot to put on my tiara this morning so I’m having an identity crisis,” Cookie said, and turned back to Claire with a warm smile. “But seriously, Claire-Bear, congratulations. Your dad must be crazy proud.”
“He is, he totally is!” Claire blurted, almost hysterical with relief. Cookie smiled. Claire would always rather be on Cookie’s good side, and getting too close to her . . . not-good side was terrifying enough to send her scampering back to the natural order of things, where Cookie was in control. “So . . . what are we doing?” She looked at Martina. “With our new friend?”
Cookie thought fast. Just play along. “This is Martina. She’s awesome.”
“Yes. I am. Very much so,” Martina said, playing along.
Claire laughed nervously. “Cool.”
“Yes. Cool,” Martina agreed, and when Cookie looked at her she understood why Martina’s older sister insisted on calling her “Martian.” Martina didn’t have actual antennae sticking out of her head but she moved through the world like she was a recent transplant from another planet who had read some books on human behavior without ever having any contact with an actual real-live human.
Addison eyed Martina. “So,” she said, “are you going to Izaak’s house tomorrow night?”
“I was thinking about it,” Cookie said, trying to sound like she’d been invited.
“You should both definitely come!” Claire squeaked. “I mean, it’s kind of a congrats celebration for the people who aced the test, but you should totally come anyway.”
“Yes, that sounds like a cool thing to do,” Martina said.
WHAT? SAY NO! TELL THEM THAT YOU’RE BUSY!
“Although we may also be busy with things that need to be done,” Martina added.
NO, THAT YOU’RE BUSY. YOU. YOU ARE BUSY. NOT US. YOU.
“I am a particularly busy person.” Martina smiled.
“Oh,” Addison said, “but you should definitely come. It will be cool.”
“Cool,” said Martina.
“Cool!” yelped Claire, looking at Cookie.
“Cool,” she said as noncommittally as possible. “Look, we gotta go now. See you later.”
GO. GO. GO. SAY NOTHING ELSE.
Martina got up and waved a vigorous good-bye to Addison, Claire, and Emma as Cookie steered her away from the group. Once they were safely out of earshot Cookie scowled at the Martian.
“Why did you say that you wanted to go to the party?!”
“Because I was acting normal. Normal people like to go to parties, yes?”
“Well, yes . . .” Cookie said, exasperated.
“And if we go to a party with the kids who we think were treated with the formula by their parents we might get clues about what happened, right?”
Cookie hadn’t thought of that. All she had been thinking was how weird and awkward it would be to attend a social function with Martina. But the Martian had a point. “Sure,” she said lamely, “but with all those thoughts swirling around I wasn’t sure that I’d be able to control my power.”
“No, you just thought I’d embarrass you in front of your old friends,” Martina said, her eyes turning from a light blue to a rich brown as she looked at Cookie. Cookie started to protest, thought better of it, and stopped. Lying to Martina was useless. Not only did she know the truth, but she didn’t seem to care.
“I’m sorry,” Cookie said. “But I still don’t know if it’s a great idea.”
“Oh, it’s a terrible idea,” Martina said, and resumed walking. “But we should still do it. Also, you’re getting a lot better at directing your thoughts to me.”
“I am?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thanks, Martina. That actually makes me feel better.”
“Okay.”
“But, if we’re going to do this, we have to take care of a few things first,” Cookie said, heading off in the direction of her own house. “Come with me.”
Farshad was still fuming when he got home. He had run for an hour, hoping to work off some of his anger, but it was still there. Nick’s words were rattling around his brain as he got to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of water, ever mindful of his ability to accidentally shatter the glass with his indomitable thumbs. Constantly being aware of his thumbs was exhausting.
But in a way Farshad was used to it. Ever since he was little he’d always had to keep his strengths in check. Sure, he could get the best grades, but even before he’d become the school pariah, he’d known not to flaunt them. His parents had even sat him down and told him not to show off, ever, because no one liked a show-off. It was okay—great, even!—to crow about his accomplishments to his family, but not to other people. You know. Non-Persians.
So Farshad had learned to be humble. He’d ace a test but act like it was no big deal. He’d score the winning soccer goal but be the first to congratulate his teammates. He was just a normal American kid, nothing special, nothing to see here . . .
And for what? Why had he gone through all the effort to appear normal and likable when in the end they all turned on him anyway? Why was he trying to hide his crazy-powerful thumbs when he could use them—
The glass smashed in his hand. Farshad looked around nervously to see if either of his parents had heard before gathering the shards of glass and throwing them out. He had to stop doing that. Or maybe just stop drinking out of glasses. Or stop thinking about what Nick had said.
Farshad recognized that Nick didn’t have it easy. Everyone remembered when Nick’s father had passed away—he’d been out of school for a while, and after the teachers sat them down and told them what had happened the kids would talk about it in hushed tones. There were plenty of kids in the school who had only one parent, but that was usually because of divorce or one parent had been called up for military service or something, not because they died. It was unthinkable, and that’s why for a while most kids had given Nick a wide berth. They’d even left Jay alone (for a little bit) because they knew that he was Nick’s best friend.
And Nick, to his credit, had never taken advantage of the sympathy or used it as an excuse to act out. He’d come back to school and kept his head down, and after some time people stopped t
alking about it and went back to stuffing Jay into lockers and flushing his head down the toilet. Most people probably forgot about it; Farshad certainly had until Mr. Friend had set Nick’s house on fire and Nick and his mom had to move in with his aunts.
Farshad thought for a moment about Mr. Friend, and his and Abe’s decision to leave him trapped in the secret lab at Auxano. Would Nick have risked himself to get Mr. Friend out? Even though Mr. Friend had almost killed his mom? Probably, because Nick was soooooo good. Farshad felt himself getting angry again and forced himself to take a few deep breaths so he wouldn’t accidentally smash something else.
He couldn’t just be . . . good. The world as Farshad was coming to know it was not a good place. It was a world where completely undeserving kids got to advance well beyond their capabilities because their parents had gamed the system, and that had been happening even before they were all “Oh, and here’s a magic potion that will make you not a huge idiot!”
It wasn’t fair. And Farshad knew enough to know that life wasn’t fair; it wasn’t fair that Nick’s dad had died, and it wasn’t fair that Mr. Friend was trapped in some lab prison, and it wasn’t fair that kids avoided Farshad just because his parents were from Iran. Farshad understood all of it. But why couldn’t he at least try to make things a little more fair by taking advantage of his power the way that the Company Kids were taking advantage of theirs?
Farshad looked at his thumbs. What could he do with all that power?
What wouldn’t he do?
Nick and Jay had decided to relocate to Nick’s house (walking there this time instead of teleporting). “It occurs to me,” Jay said, once they were out of earshot of Dr. Carpenter, “that your power is increasing.”
“Funny, that occurred to me as well after I teleported into your room,” Nick said.
“But it’s not just you,” Jay said. “Clearly Cookie is also getting stronger.”
Nick looked at his friend as they walked, and could see that Jay was thinking before he spoke again, a rarity in Jay. “What exactly did she do to you?” he asked.