A surge of adrenaline made my hand twitch. I scrambled up from the dingy industrial carpeting, and a shadow crossed Simon’s face as he climbed to his feet.
“Aren’t you afraid,” I said slowly, contemplating how I could escape if I had to, “that I’ll tell someone?”
Simon loomed over me, his dark look solidifying into an icy mask. “No one would believe you, Kira.”
I swallowed. He was right; no one would believe a sim like that, especially from a zero. I hardly believed it myself, and I had just jacked into another girl’s head.
“I won’t, you know,” I said. “Tell anyone.”
My words seemed to erase Simon’s cold look as quickly as it had appeared. “I know.” He touched my hair, smoothing it back from my face. “We’re the same, Kira. Now that we’ve found each other, we’re in this together. Just you and me.” He gently swept his thumb across my forehead. We weren’t readers, so there was no surge of emotions between us when he touched my bare skin. But it still sent a shiver through my body.
When he stepped back, I teetered, not sure if I should run or stay. “Take some time to think,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Without another word, he turned and strode down the hall.
chapter NINE
I stumbled through the walk home, my skin slick with sweat.
I told myself it was only the heat, not the traumatic after-school events with Simon, but I was so distracted thinking about my newfound mindjacking ability that I nearly ran into the garage door. I slid in the passkey, and it opened to reveal our red hydro car. Mom was already home, and I searched my brain for a plausible reason to be late.
As I hiked up the stairs from the ground level, the cool air of the house prickled my skin. Mom shuttled back and forth between the kitchen and the living room in a flurry of activity, and the acrid smell of glass-cleaning solution followed her. She had hauled out Grandma O’Donnell’s crystal plates, the ones Gram claimed were hand-cut by our distant relatives in County Kerry during the potato famine. She also said Big Foot crashed her eighteenth birthday party.
Gram could make up stories like that, and no one could tell if they were true memories or sims because she was a zero, and zeros were liars. Even a truth magistrate couldn’t read her thoughts, in spite of their skin-to-skin questioning.
I wished Gram were still rambling around the house. Given what she had been through—being a zero, having her dad in the camps—she might have understood what I was going through. But my mom… she was always trying to be like everyone else, even with her semi-heremita lifestyle.
And I was about as far from fitting in as possible.
Mom shuffled back from the living room and carefully set another sparkling crystal plate with the others on the kitchen table. “How was school?”
“Um, okay,” I said, stalling. “The, uh, hearing aid worked great.” Her face broke into a picture of relief. She must have expected a heinous story related to the tiny ear bud that still sat in my ear. I popped it out. “See, I forgot to take it out. Hardly noticed it.” That earned me a smile. I edged toward the stairs. “I’ve got a ton of homework to catch up on. I should get started.”
“Why don’t you work here in the kitchen?” she asked. “I made a snack for you.” Snickerdoodles beckoned from one of Gram’s crystal plates on the table. My mom always cooked up a storm whenever my dad was on deployment, as though she could fill the emptiness with baked goods. I longed to eat cookies and spill out the contents of my day so my mom could help me make sense of my life. But I couldn’t tell her that I had mind controlled a girl at school. That I had become a freak even worse than a zero. I wrenched my eyes away from the solace my mom had laid out for me.
“I’m totally beat,” I said. “I’ll just study in my room.” I hitched my backpack on my shoulder and slunk toward the stairs. I cast a parting look at the cookies.
It worked.
“Well, go ahead and take one,” she said. “You can eat it upstairs.” I snagged two cookies and gave her a smile before I trudged up the stairs.
I slung my backpack on the bed. A jitter started in my stomach, and my appetite for the cookies disappeared. After dropping them on the nightstand, I sought refuge from the day under my bedspread. Eventually, the shaking calmed to a quiver.
I jacked into a girl’s head today and told her what to do. And she did it.
My battered silver phone, tucked in the pocket of my backpack, beckoned to me. I could call Seamus, but then he would want to know: why are you asking about mind control, Kira? And I would have to lie, because I couldn’t tell him what happened on the bleachers. Or in the chem lab.
Besides, he would insist that I tell Mom, and she might take me to another doctor, like the one that had wanted to image my brain when I was fourteen. Mom had insisted he use the standard thought-wave cap, but the Cerebrus 3D imager had loomed in the corner like a giant bullet, threatening to illustrate in bold, color images precisely what was wrong with me.
I shivered under the covers, sending a wave of pink sheen down the length of it. If anyone found out I could control thoughts, they’d lock me away in a laboratory. Do experiments. Dissect my brain. I understood why Simon insisted that this had to be a secret. Simon, with his dark eyes and smirky grin. He had passed as a reader for years, and no one knew the truth.
Because he mindjacked everyone to believe the lie.
The image of Raf crumpling like a lifeless doll sprang up, and I pulled the blanket tighter under my chin. I was a dangerous, possibly lethal, weapon. Waves of horror at that thought crashed into an upswelling of hope: maybe I wasn’t doomed to life as a zero. Maybe I could control this thing and pass for a reader like Simon. The feel of Simon’s thumb lingered on my forehead. He knew how it all worked.
Tomorrow I would ask him to teach me.
chapter TEN
I left the house early, hoping to catch Simon before school.
Last night’s condensation steamed up from the streets, leaving my shirt damp by the time I reached the school. Students walked in synchronized groups through the hall, breezing past me and unaware of the danger standing next to them.
I watched them, drawn by the new connection between us. All I had to do was reach out and touch them with my mind…. I pressed closer to the lockers, putting more distance between myself and the bustling crowd. Just to be safe.
There was only one person I wanted to talk to, but he wasn’t in hallways. I sat in the back of first period, as far away from the other students as I could. Between classes, I peered through the crowds, searching for Simon. I fumbled through the things in my locker and grabbed my paper book for English. My hand stopped mid-reach. Raf should be back in class today, and he had an uncanny ability to know what I was thinking, even if he couldn’t read my mind. Would he see the change that was invisible to everyone else?
I realized that the bell had already rung and whirled to join the stragglers hurrying to class. I stopped dead when I saw Raf had saved me a seat. He smiled, but all I saw was the ugly purple bruise on his forehead, which had spread and turned a sickening yellow. The physical reminder of my freakish new power wrenched my stomach. I took the seat in front of him and busied my hands with my backpack.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’ll live.” I involuntarily shot him a glance and then quickly faced forward so Raf wouldn’t see the guilt in my eyes. Mr. Chance had remembered to wear his mini-mic, but it played like a bad phone connection as he only mumbled about half his thoughts.
Raf tapped me on the shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I was the furthest thing from okay, but I couldn’t have Raf asking questions and piecing it together. That I almost killed him. I gave him a short nod and pretended to be fascinated by Mr. Chance’s crackling monologue. Raf didn’t speak again until it was time to break into groups. Of course, no one wanted to be in a discussion group with the zero. Except Raf.
His irresistible smile was back. I considered feigning illnes
s to avoid sitting face-to-face with him, where he might see the difference inside me. The way my stomach was twisting, claiming sickness wouldn’t have been far from the truth. We turned our desks and he searched my face. I focused on my paper book and tried to interpret Mr. Chance’s halting instructions.
“Kira.” Raf’s voice was heavy with patience.
I wondered how long I could avoid looking at him. “Yeah?”
“Kira, what is it?”
“Nothing. I just…” I tried to muster the smile I usually had for him. “What are we supposed to discuss again? Because I’m pretty sure I know nothing about Hester Prynne’s life.”
Raf scowled to show he didn’t appreciate my dodge.
Mr. Chance’s voice was a staccato message, “…Hester …the women…” Raf glanced up front. “We’re supposed to discuss what punishments the women of Hester’s time would have given her.”
A fitting topic. What was the right punishment for almost killing your best friend? The scraping sounds of turning desks faded as the other students silently engaged in their literary discussions via mindtalk.
“Wait.” Raf’s eyes refocused on me. “Didn’t you get the hearing aid?”
“How did you know?”
“Word gets around.”
Of course, the speed-of-thought rumor mill at Warren Township High would be buzzing about my new hearing aid. “Well, yeah, I have it.” I glanced over my shoulder at our hapless English teacher. “But Mr. Chance doesn’t know how to use it.”
“Good thing you still have me to translate.” His eyes captured mine.
“Good thing.” I broke the stare and pretended to concentrate on the book. “So, what do you think would be a proper punishment for Hester?”
“I don’t think Hester deserves any punishment,” he said.
I resisted the urge to glance at him. “I don’t think Mr. Chance will take that for an answer.”
He sighed and I nervously thumbed through the pages of the book. Then he reached across our desks to lay his hand on mine. I flushed at the sideways snickers we were garnering and flashed back to the chem lab. I jerked my hand back. He slowly dragged his away.
“Is this about what happened… before?” he asked. My heart nearly leaped out of my chest and fell dead on the floor. Does he know? I peeked at him, but his face only held frustration.
“N-nothing happened before.” I forced a grin. “People faint all the time during homework. Just thinking about my homework makes me wish I could pass out.”
He had that stubborn look that I knew too well, the one he wore when he insisted I taste Mama Santo’s arroz doce or listen to his new favorite synchrony band. He would press on until he got what he was after. “I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about before…” Then I finally understood: the near-kiss.
Which was why my brain had exploded in the first place.
Why couldn’t he have left things alone? Waited until I changed? Then maybe none of this would have happened. And why was he bringing it up now, in the middle of English, where everyone could overhear his thoughts? Everyone except me.
I stared at Raf, unable to speak.
“Please, Kira. Say something.”
I gripped my paper book harder. “Nothing happened, okay?” I said. “Just… nothing happened, and I think we need to do our work now.”
Raf’s face fell.
I was tempted to jack into his head and erase the look that was shredding my heart. But I banished that idea in an instant. There was no way I would ever mindjack Raf again. Even if I could do it without hurting him, the idea of forcing Raf to do something against his will creeped me out. It was wrong. And sick.
We concentrated on our work and concocted some lame answer. By the end of class, Raf’s face had transformed into a mask of carved stone, a poor imitation of the true Rafael.
My heart shrank as Raf left English without saying goodbye.
chapter ELEVEN
I skipped lunch again and went for a run in the August heat.
I told myself I needed to get away from the curious eyes and lightning-fast rumors, but I was really avoiding Raf and his stony looks. By the eighth time around the track, sweat drenched me. I headed for the showers, eager for a chance to talk to Simon in math.
I arrived early to find Simon standing two classrooms down the hall, having a pointed silent conversation with a balding, portly man that I vaguely recognized as Mr. Gerek, the shop teacher. I leaned against a wall scarred from rubbed-out graffiti and waited for Simon. Mr. Gerek caught sight of me and Simon turned around. He wore his mesh nove-fiber jeans like the day before, but today he sported a band t-shirt for the Melders. It sounded like something Raf would like.
Simon left Mr. Gerek and quickly strode down the hall. “Hey,” he whispered when he got close.
“Hi,” I said. “I didn’t know you took shop.”
He seemed puzzled. “I don’t.”
I raised my eyebrows, but Mr. Gerek had already disappeared. Then I tried to remember my burning questions, but Simon beat me to it.
“Have you been practicing?” He brushed a lock of hair from my face, and his fingertips swept across the top of my ear. That simple touch seemed to light my ear on fire. I pulled away from him and glanced around to see if anyone saw us. The students down the hall seemed to be averting their eyes.
How did he do that?
Simon’s head-turning trick brought all my questions back in a rush that tangled up in my throat and made my voice disappear into a squeak. “Practicing?”
“Don’t be afraid, Kira.” His hand lingered by my face. “I’ll help you. We’re in this together, remember? We’ll practice in class. I want to see what you can do.”
“I don’t know what I can do,” I protested. He was supposed to help me.
“Time to find out,” he said. “Don’t worry. If anything happens, I’ll fix it.”
My eyes went wide. If anything happens? He only smirked and stepped back. A couple of students walked past us into Mr. Barkley’s class. Simon tilted his head toward the door. I gritted my teeth and filed into class with the others.
Mr. Barkley checked in with me on the mini-mic, because he’s mesh that way. “Good afternoon, Ms. Moore.” I smiled my acknowledgement. I tried to focus on his introduction of tangents, but I was hyperaware of Simon in the seat behind me.
A few minutes later Simon whispered, “I’m waiting.”
The boy sitting in front of me was as tall as a basketball player and had to hunch over his scribepad. Ignoring the soft-spoken math instructions in my ear, I leaned forward and stretched my mind toward him. The distance between us shrunk until I pushed into his mind.
It was like Jell-O that was not quite set—solid, but gooey and on the verge of turning liquid with a few good stirs. I shuddered. His thoughts and an echo of Mr. Barkley’s played at the same time, like a harmony. The tangent is the ratio of the cosine to the sine…
Nathan—his name popped up like a nametag on the back of his head—translated Mr. Barkley’s lessons into magnetic ink on his scribepad. The scent of freshly mowed grass tickled the back of my throat, and I remembered the overpowering flowery mind scent of the girl on the bleachers. I wondered if every person had their own flavor.
For no reason at all, I decided to have Nathan draw a smiley face. Before I could form the words in my head, a crooked face smiled from the middle of his notes like a sinister hiccup in his writing. I pulled back out of his mind, which cut off his thoughts like a switch.
Simon laughed quietly. “Is that all you’ve got?” His words were soft, so they wouldn’t carry over the shuffling sounds of the room. I gave him a dirty look and twisted forward, jacking back into Nathan’s mind. After a moment, the first three verses of Mary Had a Little Lamb scrolled by on his scribepad. While still in his mind, I reached to the student ahead of him. Janice. Soon she was writing nursery rhymes as well. Then I noticed something in both of their minds, a hard presence, like a marble. I pushed at the marble b
ut invisible forces held it firmly embedded in their gelatin brains.
Simon.
I looked back and his face had gone deadly serious. I held Simon’s gaze while I gave the marble another nudge. It didn’t move. The barest smile parted Simon’s lips. I lost my focus, causing Nathan and Janice to return to copying the lesson.
Simon grinned, and my face grew hot.
I turned my back on him and reached into mind after mind. Students twenty feet in every direction had the cold, hard spot of Simon infiltrating them.
He must be jacking all of them. At the same time.
I finally found a girl up front who didn’t have a hard marble suspended in her head. She only half listened to Mr. Barkley and the echoes of the other students, with the rest of her thoughts occupied by a dark-haired boy. Her mind lingered on his curly hair and how she’d like to run her fingers through it. I was about to leave, feeling like a voyeur, when I recognized the boy… Raf!
Taylor. Raf’s Pekingese fangirl. I clenched my teeth and wanted to jack those thoughts out of her head, but her next ones froze me. I wish he’d stop hanging around that pathetic zero. He should just do whatever he wants with that little charity case and get over it…
My fingernails dug into my palms. A tornado swept all thoughts out of my mind and drove them toward the soft jelly of Taylor’s brain. Her head flopped forward and a sudden force shoved me out of her mind. Her head popped up and shook, as though she had nodded off and snapped back awake.
At the same time, Simon launched out of his chair, grabbed me by the arm, and hauled me out of my seat. I sputtered, but couldn’t get any words out as he dragged me past Mr. Barkley’s desk toward the door. Before we left the classroom, Mr. Barkley whispered in my ear bud, “I hope you feel better soon, Ms. Moore.”
In the hallway, I finally had enough wits to resist. I pulled against Simon’s iron grip on my upper arm, but I didn’t even slow him down as he dragged me down the hall. Once we were around the corner, he let me loose. I backed against the lockers, a surge of horror washing over me. I had nearly knocked Taylor out. It was like Raf all over again, only this time Simon was there to save her before I sent her crashing to the floor.
What Tomorrow May Bring Page 6