Authors: Jessica Knauss
The curtain pulled back, and we all breathed out with relief. It wasn’t so bad, except that it was. This guy had been burned all over his chest, third degree or worse, and it had mostly healed. That’s amazing in itself, but I couldn’t help feeling disappointed at how mottled his chest looked. His skin shouldn’t have been half those colors, and they twisted together in lumps like the rope on the Rhode Island flag. It looked bizarrely shiny and uncomfortably tight over his bones. It was hard to imagine he would ever take off his shirt once he got out of there.
“Hi, kids.” He must’ve been expecting us. He adjusted his blanket to cover a little more of his torso, confirming my feeling that he must be embarrassed. But he also smiled and said, “I’m like you, and I had a little accident. But Beth, the Healer, maybe you know her? She cured me when I first got here. I probably wouldn’t have survived without her.”
Suddenly he sucked in air, rasping and dry, and coughed. The one word doesn’t describe the contortions his body went through. He convulsed until it didn’t look like his chest could take another minute. One of the doctors gave him a shot that knocked him out. This guy is going to show up in my nightmares, I know it. I squeezed Brian’s hand on my shoulder, looking for anything nice, or at least less horrible.
Mr. A looked at us and said simply, “Never take off your patches.” He might as well have said, “Look how repulsive and uncontrollable you are. Even the best Talent can’t erase what your horrible Talent does!”
A couple of the students gravely nodded their heads in agreement. I almost felt like agreeing, too.
December 18
The call with Beth went well. I mean, I was nervous and I had to talk about some horrendous stuff with someone I hardly knew and suspected was a little insane, and after seeing that guy in the burn unit I know her Talent has limits, but at least I have a little hope now. She’s agreed to see my mother if only we can figure out how to get to Boston. She potentially could, but I can’t hop on the bus because I’m watched and locked up and penalized, which is another horrible thing I had to explain to her. As if the demonstration at her school with her dim principal wasn’t enough. At that point, I was looking over at Jill, who had put on headphones so I could talk privately. I had turned away from her and was speaking really low, into the bedspread for most of the conversation, but when Beth failed to understand why we couldn’t go to Boston tomorrow, I kind of wanted Jill to step in and help me out.
Anyway, we’ve come to an understanding. I just wish all this other crap wasn’t in the way.
Just to add that Ms. Matheson has been really cold since the incident in her office. I think she’s like that to most of the students, but I’m not used to it. I can’t even get a stray smile out of her anymore, and although I hang around after class, she doesn’t talk to me. Far from it. She acts super busy as soon as the bell rings and won’t even look in my direction.
December 23
It’s winter break, and I wasn’t able to stay with Brian or Jill, and I wasn’t able to talk to my dad about this great new idea I have for Mom because he was too busy telling me about the last-ditch efforts they’re making to keep her alive over there in Boston. The skin grafts haven’t helped much and she was in the middle of a crisis when I last talked to him. If I could get a word in edgewise, he would know that all he has to do is bring me and this new great white hope I’ve found to my mom and everything would be okay. We could not only get her out of any immediate crisis, we might even be able to fix her forever. Maybe it sounds too good to be true and he wouldn’t believe me, anyhow. I’m the one who caused all of Mom’s problems to begin with, so how could I possibly help?
Grandma understands. She doesn’t ask me why I go through stacks of tissue boxes every time I get on the phone. I talk to Dad every day now because Mom’s status changes so much, so I work on getting through to him any way I can, wait for the big Christmas dinner with all the aunts and uncles, and hunker down texting Jill and Brian. Two weeks is too long to go without seeing either of them. And today I got a text from Jill that said Raúl was going to visit her. That fills me with jealousy to the brim.
But at least now I have friends, even if they can’t be bothered to see me over Christmas, and I have a way to help my mother instead of just feeling guilty about what I did. Beth’s been calling me and asking if she can come over. Apparently, telekinetics don’t have their movements nearly as restricted as us pyros do. At least Other-Talented Healer ones. But I’ve seen what she can do, I don’t need any other information, and who knows what rules she might unwittingly break if she came here?
December 25
Merry Christmas! Today we had the big turkey roast with all the aunts and uncles and cousins.
As everyone came in, they gave me and my grandma a hug. It turned into a sort of receiving line, and soon enough, Uncle Jack appeared. He started swooping in for the hug, but I felt the strength of my new friendships, and the support of my boyfriend, and the hope that we might escape from our prison-school, and that my mother will soon be well and come back to me. I said one word to him: “Arsonist.” He backed up with such a white face, I thought he might fall over.
One of the other uncles said, “What did she say to him?”
The aunt who went with him answered, “I think it was ‘arsenic.’ Why would she say that?”
Uncle Jack ran down the steps and got back into his car, so it was a great day. I didn’t mind the other relatives’ confusion, and his flirtation with felony is still a secret between us. I got some envelopes with money for presents, and Brian texted this morning to say he’s coming by in a few minutes. I feel totally bloated from the dinner, so I hope he doesn’t hug me too hard. It will be great to see him. And maybe kiss him . . .
January 8
Christmas was triumphant, as I wrote on the previous pages, and it got better. Brian’s dad dropped him off at Grandma’s house and he met most of my relatives and everyone was so impressed with him, how tall and handsome he is. I looked like a pure genius for finding him.
We went to my room and I puckered up, ready for some of those great kisses, but he pulled a wrapped box out of his pocket and handed it to me.
“Merry Christmas,” he said.
I was so surprised, if I’d said anything it would’ve been something stupid, so I worked the bow off the package and removed the paper to find a small jewelry box. I couldn’t bring myself to open it. What kind of jewelry does a boy give a girl? I didn’t want to know if Brian thought heart-shaped gold was the way to my real heart, because it’s not. Heart-shaped jewelry is tacky and lame. Gentleman that he is, he put my fears to rest by popping the lid open while the box was still in my hand.
Inside was a darkly shiny herringbone chain.
“It’s tungsten,” he said. “My mom thought it might be too masculine for you, but you know tungsten is my kryptonite, so I thought you’d like it. It makes you my honorary buddy. If you like it, that is.”
“I love it,” I said, even though I still didn’t know what it was.
He lifted it out of the box and fastened it around my left wrist. It was a bracelet, delicate and feminine as you please.
He picked up a kind of cube that seemed like a charm and was dangling at the bottom of the chain. “This opens up, so you can put some sulfur in it if you want. Then our kryptonites will always be together.”
It felt like I imagine it does when you’re proposed to. I wanted to shout YES from the rooftop. Yes, world, yes, Brian is my guy!
I didn’t have a present for him, so we kissed for a few minutes, and when it started to get more urgent than I’ve ever felt, we went by mutual agreement to the living room and ate some chocolate pie. I’m not sure how far Brian wants to go with me, and I’m not sure how far I want to go, either. I mean, pretty soon he’ll figure out I’m a complete loser, so how much longer can I really expect him to stay interested? Pretty confusing, and I don’t have my mother to talk to about it.
All too soon, Brian’s dad was honking his horn for Brian to come out. My relatives were groaning as much as me, just as sorry to see him go.
After the Christmas carols had stopped and I got back here, I couldn’t convince the PMA to let me use the bracelet with its sulfur storage case instead of a patch. So I still itch so bad I can hardly stand it. I wear the bracelet, anyway. It kind of shows the world Brian has staked his claim on me, even though it’s not a ring. I love how it looks on my arm and I’m all the time trying to avoid snagging it on coats and long sleeves. All the girls have complimented me on it, even Melinda. Jill says she wishes Raúl was that thoughtful. I wonder if she’s sorry she had him visit over winter break instead of me.
I’ve spent most of the time in my classes staring at this bracelet, turning my hand around and around to catch the light, but I did have time to notice Ms. Matheson being slightly cheerier. But she still hasn’t asked me to stay after class to talk. I wonder if that era is just over.
January 13
It’s happening! I don’t know how, but it’s going to happen. At lunch today, a group of seniors had taken our window table, so we were in the middle of the room. Brian couldn’t wipe a smile off his face, anyway. Jill and I looked at him and Raúl started poking Brian’s arm because he didn’t know what was up, either. No one took a bite and I was starting to think of ways we could force it out of him without making too much noise when he said it.
“We all made it to the next step for BoPLA.”
I stood out of my chair and Jill shrieked before she could stifle it. Raúl waved his arms and hushed us, but geez, this is the most important thing any of us has done so far. I think we deserved some unrestrained joy. But I sat back down after I noticed all the eyes on us and whispered, “Did your dad tell you?”
“Yes,” he replied. “He got four envelopes in the mail and called me right away. I talked to him after class.”
“So what is the next step?” asked Raúl.
“Interviews. I had my dad schedule them for the same day so we can all go together. It’s on January 30.”
That gives us just under two weeks not only to prepare for the interviews but also to figure out how we’re going to escape from here. Brian says his dad is going to make up a fake field trip to take us on. I’m not sure it will work, but we’re going to have some help, apparently. As we kept talking about BoPLA, students kept passing by the table to put away their trays. They seemed unusually interested in our topic of conversation, but Willa actually stopped and stared at me for a minute before Melinda came back for her and dragged her away.
After we’d finished, I hotfooted it back here to the room with Jill so I could call Beth and see if she could make it on January 30. As I was punching the number, though, Melinda and Willa came in so fast they almost tore the door from the hinges. “What the hell—” I started, but Melinda was ahead of me.
“You have to take me with you to Boston.” She was crazed, grabbing Jill’s wrists. “I can’t stand it here anymore. I have to escape.” She let go only to point at me. “She—I have information against her. I could turn you all in if you don’t take me.”
“Calm down, Melinda,” said Jill, massaging her wrists. “What is this all about?”
The silence was deafening as we all looked at one another—well, all except Willa, who seemed to be utterly out of place. Finally, I decided to take the high road.
“Melinda has some artistic aspirations only the BoPLA can help her with. Don’t you, Melinda?”
“There’s no art at this school at all. I’ll suffocate if I stay here,” she said quietly.
Then I switched to devil’s advocate. “Have you sent in an application?”
“No.”
“You have to have your application approved before you can go for the interview.”
“When’s the interview?” she asked, gasping like a fish out of water.
“January 30.”
“Not a problem,” she said, her whole demeanor changing. “My dad can send it in with any late fees and set up the interview at the same time.”
That’s quite a dad she has. But Jill and I looked at each other, trying to think of more reasons she couldn’t come, and there weren’t any.
“All right,” I said. “We’ll put you on our field trip roster. If we can get out of here, you can come with us.”
That was when Jill came up with a possible reason: “How are we going to get so many of us out of here all at once? Does anyone have a van big enough for you Kelly, you Melinda, me, Raúl, Brian, and Beth? Not to mention someone to drive us?”
I would’ve folded my arms with satisfaction—gotcha! But Melinda is only one person, and a pretty small one at that. It wouldn’t be her that sank us. Fortunately, Melinda—la di da?—stepped right in and saved the day with that remarkable dad of hers. “You said it was a fake field trip? Leave it to me. My dad will get us a van and a driver and school approval. I’ll text you to confirm.”
Then she sauntered back out the groaning door with Willa in tow.
“Did Melinda just solve our main problem?” I asked Jill, aghast.
“I think she did. Quick, call Beth before we have to get to class.” The bell rang to punctuate her urging.
I punched the last number and hit send. Beth picked up with, “Well, hi!” like we were the best of friends.
“I don’t have much time, Beth,” I said. “Can you arrange to be at the hospital in the morning on January 30? A bunch of us have interviews at BoPLA, and then you and I can go to MGH.”
“MG . . . ?”
“Mass General Hospital. That’s where my mother is.”
“Oh! Yeah. January 30. I can try to arrange something.”
“Okay. Gotta go. We’ll talk later.” I hung up, reassured and almost late for class. Who can pay attention to that boring stuff when we have so much more important stuff going on?
February 13
It’s only been a month since I last wrote? That’s insane.
I’m going to take this writing slowly. I hereby pledge that if things get too intense, I will stop for the time being.