by John Dixon
She lifted the lid.
On top was a shred of yellow paper that read, FOR LUCK. DAD.
The box held a gold-plated watch. A man’s watch, used and sort of old-timey, with one of those elasticized metallic bands that made gaps between the metal segments when you stretched them, like the one her father used to wear.
And then she understood. This didn’t just look like her father’s old watch. It was his old watch.
Why would he…?
She lifted the watch from the box and examined it. She hadn’t seen the thing for a long time. Her father had worn the watch for only a few years, back when things were at their worst, and he was like a bear that sometimes shouted and sometimes brooded and sometimes went upside her brother’s head with a meaty palm, often without even the slightest provocation. She remembered sitting at the dinner table, afraid to meet his eyes and staring at the watch instead, distracted by the way his dark arm hair sprouted here and there between the band’s golden segments.
An inscription on the back of the watch read, WITH THANKS TO CORPORAL CHARLES WINTER, WHO DESERVES A HELL OF A LOT MORE THAN A WATCH.
Huh?
Then the door banged open, and Lucy’s voice chimed, “Honey, I’m home.”
Scarlett stuffed the strange gift back into its box, shoved the box into her pocket, and scooped her mom’s care package from the cot. Standing, she said, “Who’s the best roomie in the world?”
Lucy grinned, and the eyes behind the spectacles brightened with that crazy light. “That depends. What’s in the box?”
Scarlett lifted the lid.
“Gott in Himmel!” Lucy said. Her jaw dropped…and a snickerdoodle lifted from the box and floated to her open mouth.
Later, as they were resetting the chess board, both of them half sick on sugar, Lucy snapped her fingers and smiled. “Your mom’s cookies hijacked my brain, so I forgot to tell you, sis. Cramer said we can tag along.”
Scarlett didn’t know what Lucy was talking about but liked the way she was smiling. “Tag along where?”
“Say vaya con di-bros to The Point,” Lucy said. “We’re heading off base for a little R&R!”
SCARLETT GRINNED AS LUCY APPROACHED the table. Carrying two large pitchers of beer in one hand and five frosted mugs in the other, Lucy looked like the world’s skinniest Oktoberfest girl, only instead of a low-cut top, she wore a heavy wool sweater. Scarlett wore a black West Point hoodie, jeans, and work boots. Being off base and wearing civvies, no one eyeballing them or telling them what to do, was awesome.
Cramer, a firstie healer, had driven. Her car was small. Vernon, a meathead plebe, had looked utterly ridiculous crammed into the front passenger seat. Scarlett had squeezed into the backseat, sandwiched between Lucy and Seamus, who seemed just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
The roads were snowy but passable. Instead of heading to Highland Falls, with all its bars and restaurants, they had driven to Fort Montgomery, happily sacrificing dining options for an increased likelihood of privacy. Nothing would ruin a night out more quickly than Hopkins showing up and spouting regulations.
The lot of Barnburners BBQ had been almost empty, but a neon pig had glowed orange in the steamy window, a good omen if ever there was one, and now they had the place practically to themselves.
Lucy’s submariner boyfriend, Malcolm, who’d driven all the way from Connecticut, stood and asked if Lucy was sure that she didn’t need a hand.
“No thanks, Jacques Coust-bro,” Lucy said, and set the pitchers and mugs on the green-and-white checkered tablecloth without spilling a single drop.
Telekinesis, Scarlett realized with a grin.
Technically, they weren’t supposed to use their special powers outside The Point. Scarlett was happy to see her generally rule-abiding roomie loosening up a little bit. Lucy slid in next to Malcolm, who put his arm around her waist. The two of them seemed very happy together, very natural.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Seamus said, smiling at the beer.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Cramer said with a smile. Scarlett didn’t really know her, but she seemed cool. “Underage drinking is a serious honor code violation.”
Seamus laughed. “Speaking of honor code violations, ma’am,” he said, pointing to where Vernon’s big arm was draped over Cramer’s shoulders, “what are your feelings about The Point’s zero-tolerance policy on upperclassmen dating plebes?”
“We’re not dating,” Cramer said. “I’m just healing his arm. It gets so tired lifting all those heavy things.”
Vernon, who’d been smiling like a 300-pound infant with a new rattle, turned toward Cramer, confusion dawning on his face. “My arms don’t get tired.”
Cramer pinched his cheek. “Cute and dumb, just how I like ’em.”
Vernon beamed. “She said I’m cute.”
Scarlett laughed. Playing dumb was a thing with the meatheads. Not a bad plan, she thought. Do your job, play stupid, and keep expectations low. Not a bad plan at all.
“Here you go, Eleanor Bro-sevelt,” Lucy said, sliding a mug toward Scarlett.
“Thanks,” Scarlett said. The cold mug felt good in her hand despite the cold night outside, and the smell of beer filled her with crackling anticipation. She hadn’t had a sip of alcohol in months.
“A toast,” Lucy said, raising her mug.
They all lifted their beers.
“Zu Freundschaft und Bier,” she said.
“I’ll drink to that,” Malcolm said.
“I’ll drink to anything,” Scarlett said, and gulped down half her beer in a pull. It was pale and cheap, cold and bitter…the best thing she’d ever tasted.
“Go easy,” Cramer said, “and beware the freed plebe curse.”
Scarlett grinned across the table and took another drink. If there was one thing she could do, it was party.
“After all this clean living, you won’t handle alcohol the way you did in high school,” Cramer explained.
“Thanks for the warning,” Scarlett said, and finished the mug.
They drank and talked and laughed. Vernon turned out to be a funny storyteller. When he told the story of crashing a golf cart, even Seamus laughed so hard that tears rolled from his bright blue eyes. They ordered cheese fries, a colossal nacho plate with meat and cheese and guac piled on top, two dozen “nuclear” chicken wings, and another round of pitchers. Vernon also ordered a cheesesteak and a loaded pizza, explaining that he was “a little hungry.”
At one point, Lucy leaned across Malcolm and nudged Scarlett. “It’s good to see you smiling, sis.”
Scarlett realized that she’d been grinning nonstop since sitting down. It was awesome to be off base, hanging out like real people, laughing and telling stories and busting on one another. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“Right on,” Lucy said, and clinked her mug against Scarlett’s.
The group’s optimism surprised her. She’d known that Lucy was an optimist, but Cramer and Vernon felt lucky and thankful and hopeful, too. Cramer couldn’t wait to graduate this spring. “I’m looking forward to doing something real,” she said, holding up her hands. “This gift, I want to do something with it, you know? I want to save lives.”
“Must be nice,” Seamus said, examining his own hands. “I wish I was a healer.”
Lucy poked him. “No complaining, bro,” she said. “The rest of us TKs would kill to have your natural talent.”
“That’s exactly what I don’t want,” Seamus said, suddenly serious, “to kill.”
“Very few soldiers want to kill,” Malcolm said, “but we accept that we might have to kill.”
“I won’t be Rhoads’s weapon,” Seamus said.
“Why attend The Point at all, then?” Malcolm asked.
“I got into some trouble,” Seamus said. “The Point made it
go away. Now I’m just trying to get an education.”
Cramer and Lucy busted on Seamus then. Apparently, he was all business in the classroom, the hyperfocused Dr. Jekyll to the rebellious Mr. Hyde that Scarlett had witnessed.
Seamus shrugged. “I’m not going to cut off my nose to spite my face. Laugh all you want. I was a good student in high school. But I wouldn’t even be able to attend community college on my own. We walk out of here with basically an Ivy League education.”
“How about you, Scarlett?” Cramer asked. “How do you like The Point?”
Scarlett had finished another beer. She was just beginning to feel the alcohol, a slight buzz coming back to her like an old friend who’d been gone for far too long. She reached for the pitcher. “Things have been better lately, but I hated it for a long time. Everybody else was pairing off in ability groups, but I was alone. Training sucked.”
Vernon laughed. “You think it sucked for you?” He told everyone about the time he and half a dozen meatheads had geared up in padded suits and reported to Room 17. He made the story funny, all these big guys waddling down the hall and everybody confused at the order to pummel this skinny little girl, and then how she’d tossed them across the room like so many bowling pins.
Lucy shared some of the strange aftermaths she’d witnessed. Limping meatheads. A charred Lopez champing his smoldering cigar stub. The shattered two-way mirror.
Cramer said she’d healed a lot of people who had participated in Scarlett’s training.
Seamus nudged Scarlett playfully. “You should’ve seen her intimidate the guards today.”
Scarlett smiled uncomfortably and took another drink.
Malcolm looked impressed if not surprised. “Lucy said you can absorb energy.”
Then they were all asking questions. Did it hurt? What were her limits? What were Rhoads’s plans for her?
Scarlett leaned back against the wall, surprised by their interest in her powers. She answered their questions, holding nothing back. It all came tumbling out of her. Someone filled her beer again. At one point, she stopped, realizing that she’d been monopolizing the conversation, and apologized for talking too much, but they urged her on, clearly fascinated.
They ordered more pitchers. The food came. Vernon tried a nuclear wing. His eyes went comically wide. He dropped the wing. “Those are really hot,” he said, and fanned his tongue.
“Maybe that’s why they call them nuclear,” Cramer said.
Vernon gulped beer and winced. “They’re really hot,” he said, and pressed his tongue into the mug.
Seamus handled the wings, but his face turned red, and Scarlett saw beads of sweat forming on his forehead and his freckled nose. He kept eating them, though.
“What are you, a masochist?” she asked him, and gave his arm a squeeze. The muscle was compact but rock hard.
“You want hot,” Seamus said, “try my grandmother’s kimchi. She buries it for months. You open up a jar, set it on the counter, and stand back.” He leaned into her, away from the invisible kimchi. “Your eyes start burning, and your nose starts running. Stuff’s like tear gas—but it tastes great.”
“Guys,” Vernon said, addressing everyone. “Those wings are really hot.”
“Let’s see,” Cramer said, and leaned to kiss the big plebe.
After a while, Scarlett and Seamus left the couples and went into the other room to play a game of pool. When she stood up, Scarlett realized that she had a good buzz on. A very good buzz. After months of forced sobriety, blurring the edges of reality was absolutely delicious.
“No TK tricks,” she said, chalking her stick.
Seamus laughed and said that she could trust him, and that was when she noticed that he was looking at her differently.
That was okay. She was taking a closer look at him, too. His square face was chiseled and angular, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones. She liked his glossy black hair and the spray of light freckles across his nose and cheeks. He had a great smile and full lips that softened his otherwise rugged face to a degree.
They played and drank and talked, everything suffused with the energy of two young people drawing closer for the first time.
Seamus asked about her life. Not her powers, not The Point. Her life before.
She told him about home, her friends and parents and brother, about school and her Yamaha, about partying and some of the trouble she’d gotten into over the years.
He nodded and winced and asked more questions, taking it all in stride.
She liked that. Usually, you met a guy who’d been locked up, he was more trouble than he was worth no matter how good he looked or how cool he acted. Most of them were angry, crazy, or just plain stupid. But Seamus had brains and didn’t seem to be out to impress anybody or manipulate the world. It was nice talking to somebody smart who’d also experienced his share of trouble, someone who understood the things she’d experienced, someone who wouldn’t judge her when she told the truth. It felt almost conspiratorial.
Seamus’s life had been up and down—pretty much in that order. Like most army brats, he’d moved around a lot, growing up. He’d lived all over the world and met some pretty cool people, and he’d been happy as a kid, but his father had changed over the years, becoming increasingly abusive. That was rough. Still, Seamus had managed to carve out a life for himself wherever they went. “Until I came home one day,” he said, avoiding her eyes then, pretending to line up a shot, “and found my family dead. Murdered.”
“Oh, Seamus, that’s terrible,” she said, and touched his arm. She’d known that his parents were dead, but this was shocking. “I can’t imagine. I’m so sorry.”
He nodded, took his shot, and sank a ball. “That’s enough about that, though,” he said, and straightened, showing her a forced smile. “Did you really have a job scooping ice cream?”
“Ah,” Lucy said, leading the others to the pool table, “it’s Bro-meo and Juliet.”
The others crowded around, offering refills and cracking jokes, Vernon asking with mock seriousness if Scarlett knew that her roommate was a complete derelict.
Scarlett laughed, but she felt preoccupied by the sense of time having passed, of things having changed. She felt closer to Seamus. As the others laughed and drank and talked smack, filling the space with noise and movement, Scarlett felt disappointment. For as much as she enjoyed everyone, she wished that she could have spent more one-on-one time with Seamus.
Oh, well, she thought, and remembered one of her brother’s favorite sayings: “Wish in one hand, shit in the other…and see which one fills up first.”
Dan was engaged—and hadn’t even bothered to tell her.
But no…she wouldn’t let Dan ruin her night.
She leaned against the wall and drank and sneaked glances at Seamus.
A couple of ugly pool games later, Cramer asked Scarlett what she could do other than absorb and rerelease energy. What could she initiate on her own?
Scarlett just shrugged. “Nothing?”
“Whoa,” Vernon said, and she could tell by his grin and tone that he was busting on her. “So you’re just like…a lightning rod?”
“Pretty much,” she said.
Vernon looked back and forth between the others with can-you-believe-this mock amazement. “Wow, Scarlett…that’s superboring. Guys, I don’t know if we should let her hang out with us anymore.” He shrugged his big shoulders. “I mean, we have standards, don’t we?”
Scarlett laughed and rolled her eyes. “Let’s see you do this, Bro-nan the Barbarian.”
“Nice one!” Lucy said.
Scarlett crossed the room to the bar and climbed onto a stool.
“Hey,” the bartender said, looking up from his phone. “That’s enough.”
Scarlett leaned forward and popped into a handstand. Her sweatshirt dropped to her armpit
s, and she could feel cool air on her stomach and ribs.
The bartender stopped complaining.
She walked on her hands, traveling the whole length of the bar before springing off and landing on her feet.
The cadets applauded. The bartender grinned.
“A perfect ten, Nadia Bro-maneci,” Lucy said, patting Scarlett on the back.
Then the bartender was saying, “All right, that’s enough,” and Scarlett looked down the bar, where Seamus had climbed onto a stool.
People talked over one another, telling him to come down.
Seamus clapped his hands and cartwheeled into an impressive handstand. His shirt fell, too, revealing a narrow waist and six-pack abs.
Scarlett felt a grin spread across her face.
“Piece of cake,” Seamus said. He reached out a hand…and came crashing down. His head knocked into the bar, and he tumbled to the floor, knocking over a row of bar stools and cursing the whole way down.
They helped him to his feet. Seamus laughed woozily and dabbed at his split eyebrow, wiping away blood. His eye was ballooning rapidly.
Scarlett cupped his jaw and turned his head, examining the wound. “You okay?”
“I’m good,” Seamus said, and winced. “Ouch.”
“Dude,” Vernon said. He looked around, smiling incredulously. “Dude…that was awesome!”
“Come on,” Cramer said, pulling Seamus away from the bar. “I think I have a Band-Aid in the car.”
Lucy raised a finger, catching the bartender’s attention. “Check, bitte.”
* * *
—
OUTSIDE, THE NIGHT had grown even colder, and a fine snow was falling. Scarlett shifted her weight back and forth and hugged herself, shivering, her breath coming out in pale clouds like bong hits.
Behind her, she heard the restaurant door lock. The orange pig went dim for the night.
Cramer looked around the empty lot as if scanning for witnesses. “In the car.”
“I’m fine,” Seamus protested as Vernon pushed him into the backseat.