The Point

by John Dixon

  But this was more than friendship. Scarlett had wondered, the morning after their trip to Barnburners BBQ, if their make-out session had been nothing more than two drunk kids having ten minutes of steamy fun in a backseat. The next day, however, she’d known the instant she’d seen Seamus at lunch—both by the way she felt and by the way he looked at her—that their story had more chapters, and later that afternoon, returning to Flirtie, they’d kissed again.

  Because she was a plebe and he was a yearling, they couldn’t let on that they were anything other than friends, but that went out the window when they were off base, surrounded only by friends, and during their campus strolls, especially after they discovered the famous drafting room, a dusty, abandoned space that West Point cadets used to find true privacy. Sometimes it was nice to take a break from talking and thinking and just lose themselves in each other.

  Tonight, of course, they couldn’t even hold hands, but that was all right. Just being with Seamus and her new friends made things a million times better and made this the best New Year’s Eve of her life.

  Around eleven-thirty, Major Petrie cut the music, and Rhoads took the microphone.

  “Play ‘Free Bird,’ ” someone called out.

  “All right, Cadets,” Rhoads said, flashing a grin. “It’s great to see all of you having a nice time tonight. I’m very proud of the things you’ve achieved over the course of the past twelve months here at The Point, and we look forward to incredible things in the coming year. Now let’s move this party down the hall to the auditorium so we can watch the ball drop.”

  The cadets gave a loud “Hooah!” and made their way toward the auditorium.

  “Last New Year’s Eve,” Scarlett told Seamus, keeping her voice low, “I got so high that my friend Ginny convinced me that we’d gone back a year.”

  They filed into the auditorium. Much to Scarlett’s relief, they were allowed to spread out and move around rather than having to sit for the ball drop. The big screen at the back of the stage cut among network commentators, celebrity performers, and parties around the country, focusing, as tradition would have it, on the jubilant masses crowding Times Square.

  As the minutes slipped away, Scarlett couldn’t help but marvel over the many ways this year had changed her life and wonder what changes the rapidly approaching year ahead would reveal.

  “What’s your New Year’s resolution?” she asked Seamus.

  “Find cooler friends,” he said, grinning.

  She elbowed him, wishing they were someplace else, someplace away from the rules of The Point, someplace that didn’t frown on public displays of affection.

  They should at least be allowed to kiss at the stroke of midnight.

  And in that instant, as the final minute of the year arrived, she decided that she would kiss Seamus, rules be damned, right at midnight. If anybody gave her a hard time, she’d play stupid. Hey, it’s New Year’s Eve.

  The thrill of excitement fluttered in her chest. She couldn’t wait to see the expression on Seamus’s face.

  “Here we go,” he said, pointing at the screen. The descending ball flashed and shimmered.

  The final ten seconds arrived. Scarlett stole a quick glance at Seamus’s face as he joined the other cadets, who all shouted along with the countdown.

  “10, 9, 8…”

  She grabbed Seamus’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “7, 6, 5…”

  He smiled but pulled free, obviously worried about getting caught.

  “4, 3…”

  She laughed. He was going to shit a brick when she kissed him.

  “2, 1…Happy—”

  BOOM!

  In Times Square, the big ball exploded in flames and glass.

  The auditorium filled with screams, a chorus of terror blasting from the telecast and from the cadets themselves.

  The ball wrenched free of its flagpole and shot into the air as if yanked by an invisible cable. For a full second, it hovered ten stories above the ground, and then it rushed back down, not simply falling but hurtling at a sharp angle, and pounded into a packed section of screaming spectators like a half-ton hammer smashing slugs.

  The ball rose and struck again and then again and again, each time smashing down on another section.

  The tightly packed crowd lurched crazily like a single organism going to pieces as waves of panicked spectators lost their minds and stampeded in all directions, trampling the fallen.

  Scarlett stared in a paralysis of terror, understanding, as every cadet around her understood, that they were witnessing posthuman terrorism.

  The ball came to rest in the middle of Seventh Avenue, burst into flames, and whipped away, rolling along the ground. A tumbling fireball six feet in diameter, it zigzagged back and forth, mowing a gruesome path through the crowd.

  THE TIMES SQUARE TRAGEDY, AS the New Year’s catastrophe came quickly to be known, rattled the nation. The Atlanta event had been shocking, but the Times Square Tragedy was terror on a completely different level: hundreds dead, thousands injured, and millions traumatized.

  Rhoads debriefed the cadets in an assembly, regurgitating the same facts that were playing 24/7 on every news station in the world and adding cryptically that The Point would play a role in bringing the terrorists to justice. He allowed no questions.

  Rumors flourished, blaming everyone from aliens to high-tech radicals to feral posthumans. Scarlett even overheard false flag whispers claiming that the government had orchestrated the whole thing to justify what was happening here at The Point.

  Ridiculous—yet understandable, to a degree.

  People all over the world were terrified. Despite the NYPD’s amazing security and surveillance, they clearly had no idea what exactly had happened, let alone who was to blame. The terrorists were still at large, almost certainly would strike again, and apparently could attack anyone, anywhere, anytime. The nation gnashed its collective teeth, demanding blood and answers in that order.

  Yet life went on, as it does in the wake of tremendous loss.

  In the days that followed, the snow melted, fell again, melted partway, fell again, and then Christmas leave was over. The West Point cadets returned, looking forlorn and resigned, no doubt missing their friends and families. January at West Point is known as the Gloom Period. Everything is gray: the sky, the buildings, the river, even the cadets’ uniforms and attitudes. Motivation is at low tide. West Point responds by kicking them in the teeth: the second semester starts at a sprint and accelerates along months fraught with high-pressure milestones.

  Rhoads had changed since the Times Square Tragedy. His characteristic politician’s smile was nowhere to be seen. He pushed Scarlett harder than ever during energy training.

  Dalia had changed since the attack, too, dropping her usual apathy to become a yoga Nazi. “Try harder,” she’d say. “Focus. Position is everything. Keep your back straight, Scarlett. You call that straight?”

  Gung-Ho Dalia, Scarlett soon decided, was even more annoying than Self-Aggrandizing-Slacker Dalia.

  Scarlett’s new classes were brutal, too, but Seamus was in her mythology class, which gave them an excuse to study together, and they continued to sneak out of The Point most nights.

  That was why, despite the miserable weather, Rhoads pressuring her, Dalia harassing her during yoga, and classwork kicking her butt, Scarlett was happy.

  Unfortunately, Rhoads noticed her lightheartedness.

  One afternoon, when Scarlett released the energy even more quickly than usual, Rhoads said, “Perhaps you’re distracted.” He crushed his coffee cup and tossed it into the wastebasket. “Perhaps your mind is on other things. Maybe I should help you focus.”

  “No, sir,” Scarlett said, sitting up straighter. “I’ll break through soon.”

  “Good,” Rhoads said. “Otherwise, I’ll have to separate you f
rom your distraction.”

  She couldn’t let Rhoads interfere. Without Seamus, she’d go insane here. She hadn’t realized how disconnected and miserable she’d been until after they’d started hanging out. The prospect of returning to that former state, in which she was alone save for her increasingly annoying sessions with Dalia and increasingly infrequent chess games with Lucy, was unfathomable. And what of Seamus? He had been even more alone than she had and for much longer. How would he feel if Rhoads interfered?

  She had to avoid that no matter what. If only she could do what Rhoads was asking of her, but it was hard, and it hurt, and she wasn’t even sure if it was possible regardless of what Rhoads said. Wanting something to be possible didn’t make it possible.

  That night, Lucy cursed in German, pushed her books aside, and pulled out the chess board. Scarlett chuckled and helped her set up the board. She really didn’t have time for a game—she had fallen behind in The Odyssey—but Lucy had even less time. This was a sacrifice on Lucy’s part, a sacrifice for friendship. Scarlett wouldn’t reject that.

  Midway through the game, Lucy began singing “White Rabbit” in her horrible German accent. She pushed a pawn, locking the center. Suddenly, Scarlett was all jammed in with no dynamic moves. It was a simple move she hadn’t seen coming.

  Lucy said, “Either I’m getting better or you’re off your game.”

  Scarlett snarled, searching for a new plan. She waved her fingertips over the pieces like a woman trying to read Braille for the first time.

  Lucy gave her the happy grin that always lit the eyes behind the spectacles with a glimmer less than sane. “I know what’s wrong with you, Bro-phelia,” she said, and leaned back against the wall, folding her arms over her chest. “You’re falling for Seamus.”

  “What?” Scarlett said, looking up from the pieces. “I…” Her face suddenly felt hot, and she realized with some annoyance that she was blushing like some dizzy sixth-grader on a sleepover.

  Lucy nodded. “Is that your move?”

  Scarlett took her hand off the knight and shrugged. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

  “Is weak,” Lucy said, switching from the horrible German accent to an even lousier Russian accent. Another pawn lifted into the air and advanced, forcing Scarlett’s knight to retreat. “I can see it in your eyes, sis, and hear it in your voice.”

  “Nah,” Scarlett said. “I mean, I like him. Don’t get me wrong. I like him a lot.”

  Lucy nodded. “And when you’re not with him, how do you feel?”

  “I want to be with him.”

  “You’re falling…hard,” Lucy said, bringing out her queen. “Check.”

  Scarlett reacted automatically, blocking the threat with a pawn move that simultaneously threatened the queen. “It’s just a crush. He’s cute and fun and helps me keep my mind off how much this place sucks.”

  Lucy shook her head. “Nope. It’s the real deal. You’re falling for him, and he’s falling just as hard for you, sister.” She moved her knight, leaving her queen in danger. “Check.”

  Scarlett looked down at the board. Her impulsive pawn move had opened a crucial square for Lucy’s knight, which now forked the king and queen. “Grand.”

  “You must address das check,” Lucy said, returning to the abysmal German. Then she laughed, watching Scarlett figure it out. She had to move her king. Lucy would capture Scarlett’s queen, blocking flight squares and unveiling a discovered check by the bishop all the way at the other end of the board. This would leave Scarlett’s king with one square, and…

  “Mate in three,” Lucy said.

  “Anybody ever tell you that you’re a pain in the ass?” Scarlett said, grimacing at the board. “A grade-A, rub-a-dog-the-wrong-way pain in the ass.”

  Lucy grinned with amusement. “Your anger,” she said, returning to her deplorable Russian accent. “It is…how do you say? Cute.”

  “Piss up a rope,” Scarlett said, and tipped her king.

  “You two are a great match,” Lucy said, resetting the board, “and I wish you well. Just don’t let it destroy you both, all right?”

  “We’re careful,” Scarlett said. She felt funny. Off balance, with this conversation making her excited and nervous at the same time. “We might sneak a kiss or two while you’re around, but we know the rules.”

  “I’m not talking about honor code violations,” Lucy said. She finished straightening the pieces and spun the board, offering Scarlett the white pieces and the first move. “Love is a purer form of energy than any of that stuff Rhoads pumps into you. I’m not certain that either one of you is ready to channel that much power.”

  * * *

  —

  THE FIRST TIME, they didn’t even get all the way out of their clothes.

  After hours, they’d slipped out of The Point and come together to the dusty drafting room. On the walk, they’d talked about classes—tough, but at least they had mythology together—and Seamus’s upcoming TK testing and Scarlett’s continued struggles with energy training, both of them going through the motions of conversation as new energy crackled between them.

  Alone in the drafting room, they dropped all pretenses. She popped onto her tiptoes, raised her face to his, and then they were kissing: a long, drawn-out kiss that started slowly and built speed. She smoothed her hands over the rippling muscles of his upper back, and he hooked his fingers into her belt loops and pulled her hips against his. They fell into the kiss, pressing into each other. The kiss slowed again, growing sweeter.

  She stepped back and said his name, and Seamus touched her hair and said her name, and they looked at each other for a long second, Scarlett feeling something she’d never felt before, a kind of seriousness, her desire and affection melding to make this more than the simple fun she’d known with guys in high school.

  Then they were kissing again, and she pushed him back against the wall and went for his belt. Five minutes later, it was over. They lay together, half dressed, sweating and laughing, both of them shocked.

  “Wow,” Seamus said. He had a lean body, sinuous in the moonlight, gorgeous.

  “Now that we have that out of the way,” she said, straddling him, “let’s slow down and really enjoy it.”

  * * *

  —

  THE NEXT DAY, Scarlett buzzed with happiness. Nothing could destroy her good mood. Not chemistry class, not Hopkins messing with her during lunch, not even training with Rhoads.

  Then, two minutes into yoga, Dalia started barking about focus. Day after day, week after week, month after month, Scarlett had been putting up with her, so it should have been easy to put up with her for one more session, but when Dalia screeched, “What are you, stupid?” something inside Scarlett shifted.

  “What’s up with you, Dalia?” she said. “You blow off yoga for months, can’t be bothered to teach me, and now you’re G.I. Jane all of a sudden?”

  Dalia looked momentarily shocked, then laughed humorlessly, eyes flashing dangerously. “You know what your problem is, Scarlett? You’re lazy and selfish.”

  Scarlett gave her an equally fake smile. She was sick of Dalia. She’d made such a big deal of taking Scarlett under her wing, but what had she done for her, really? Nothing, that was what. And now she was acting like Scarlett owed her everything. “Lazy and selfish; that’s two problems. So which one is it?”

  “In you, lazy and selfish are all twisted together like a braid. You never work hard, because you don’t care about anybody but yourself.”

  “How would you even know? All you do is talk about how great you are. You don’t know anything about me.”

  Dalia’s eyes drilled into Scarlett. “I know more than you think. More than you could dream.”

  SCARLETT AND HER CLASSMATES SAT in a large circle, reviewing The Odyssey. At the far end, near the door, Dalia doodled, not even pretending to pay attention. Beside her�
��and apparently back in her good graces, at least for the moment—Clayton lounged, massive and slack-jawed, doing his hayseed routine for anyone who would buy it. Directly across the circle from Scarlett, Seamus sat up straight and achingly handsome, his attention locked with laser focus on their instructor, Major Petrie.

  He looked nothing like the wild and playful Seamus who sneaked away to the drafting room with her most nights. One night, she’d joked about his “split personalities”—rebel, lover, hyperfocused student, and chess player—and he’d explained his classroom demeanor. After years of fretting that he’d never be able to afford college, he was determined to make the most of this opportunity. Learning to use his powers was one thing; learning to use his brain—and earning a degree that would mean real job opportunities after he parted ways with the Army—was something completely different.

  Scarlett envied Seamus and Lucy for their ability to see the future as a real place, a destination over which they had some degree of control, and the toughness they showed, working toward those futures day after day. Their approach to life made a lot of sense. She just couldn’t do it. Literally couldn’t. Occasionally she’d make a pact with herself to work toward something, but sooner or later she got derailed. Sometimes she wouldn’t even realize that she’d gotten derailed until weeks or months had passed and she no longer even felt like the person who’d put so much value on the thing in the first place.

  “In the Underworld,” Major Petrie said, “everything was codified and ritualized.”

  Someone nudged Scarlett’s foot.

  She glanced from side to side. The chair to her left was empty. To her right, Bentley leaned over his desk, frantic as always, scribbling notes, unaware that she existed.

  Another nudge. This time, the pressure lingered, traveling back and forth like someone playing footsie.

  She leaned and looked under her seat. Nothing.

  When she looked up again, Major Petrie was scowling at her. Petrie was pretty cool compared with the other instructors, but he’d obviously caught Scarlett scanning the floor. “Cadet Winter, how did Odysseus’s mother die?”