Pivot Point (26 page)

“I sense some knee trouble,” one of the other guys says.

“I was thinking shoulder, like that kid from Dallas.”

“No, save the shoulders for the quarterbacks; this guy relies more on his legs,” Ray says.

“Duke’s still in, right? We can’t do it without him.”

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

They all laugh at this point, just like evil villains in books. My mind is stuck on ‘that kid from Dallas’ they mentioned. A quarterback. Was it possible they were referring to Trevor? Duke had asked him about his shoulder that night. What is going on? I need to talk to Duke. I need answers.

The laughter stops, and I strain to hear, but the normal voices of before have turned to quiet mutters. I move to my knees and inch toward the window, raising my head slowly until I can see inside. The guys are huddled around a table, watching Ray draw something on a piece of paper. Probably their plans to take some poor guy down.

Now is a good time to leave, while they’re distracted. I stand, put the hood of my hoodie up, and walk through the parking lot toward the quickie mart. The bells on the door behind me ring, and I take a quick glance over my shoulder. It’s just a couple going inside. I let out a breath of air and turn back around, finishing my walk to the car.

On the drive over to Duke’s, I feel terrible. What is wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just trust Duke? He had been exactly where he said he was going to be tonight. And I’m sure he’ll have an explanation for what I just overheard. He’d
better
have an explanation for what I just heard.

At Duke’s, I watch him and his parents pull into the garage from where I parked several houses down the street. I don’t want his parents to see me. It’s a school night, and I’m sure his dad will want him to go straight to bed and rest up for the game tomorrow. From where I’m parked, I can also see Bobby’s house, across the street from Duke’s, and as I give Duke ten minutes to get inside and up into his room, Bobby drives up.

I grit my teeth as he walks inside. I pick up my cell phone from the center console. When I see Duke’s light go on in his bedroom, I dial his number. It rings twice before he answers, “Hey, girlfriend.”

“Hi. I need to talk to you about something that happened tonight. Can you come see me?” I have a conspiratorial smile on my face as I get ready to tell him I’m right outside. He’ll be surprised.

“Man, I wish I could, believe me I do, I’m so bored. But I think this party is going to last all night. The old people are rockin’ out.”

My smile freezes in place. A new set of headlights coming down the street blinds me for a moment. But when the car parks in front of Duke’s house and the headlights dim, I wish they had blinded me for longer, because I can now see it’s Laila’s truck.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, though, right?” Duke’s voice in my ear reminds me I’m still on the phone. “Can we talk then?”

Laila steps out of the car, her long legs glowing in the streetlight. I pray for her to walk across the street to Bobby’s house. But she doesn’t. She bends over to check herself out in her side mirror, fluffs her hair, and then walks the path to Duke’s front door.

“Addie? Are you still there?” Duke asks. “We can talk tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah.” I don’t know how I manage to choke out any words, but I do. “Sure.”

Laila reaches over and rings the doorbell.

“I have to go, girlfriend. Sleep good.”

“Bye.” I hang up and stare at my phone as if it were the one who betrayed me and not my best friend. I want to start the car and drive away, but apparently I’m a fan of self-torture, because I force myself to watch Duke answer the door, hug Laila, and then take her inside.

NOR•Mo•ther•mia
:
v.
the process of returning my body temperature back to normal

“You went to Lincoln High?” Trevor asks me this from across the yard. My eyes sting with the question. I just want to disappear with my dignity, but he’s standing between me and my only escape—the house.

I must’ve been staring at the front door, because he steps aside and gives the don’t-let-me-stand-in-your-way gesture. At this point, much to my dismay, my body starts shivering from the cold. With my eyes focused on the door, I walk toward it as fast as possible. “I’m sorry,” I say as I pass him.

“Addison, wait. Don’t I get an explanation?” His voice is low and hard.

I know he deserves one, but I lied. It’s as simple as that. I’m still lying. And according to my dad, I have to keep lying. Nobody can ever know who I am. I stop on the porch, my back to him, and take the anger I feel toward the Compound for making me keep their secret and let it swell inside me. It’s the only emotion that’s going to let me survive looking at him.

I turn and his eyes are pleading. “Do you want one?” I ask.

“Yes. You lied to me. And for what? Were you worried that I hated your old school because of my shoulder?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t. It’s just part of the sport. Why would I judge
you
for that?”

“Because it’s more than that. There’s more.” So much more.

“Can we talk?”

I nod and lead him into the house. We sit on opposite ends of the couch, and he won’t even look at me. I have to tell him.… I want to tell him. The problem is that I don’t know if the truth is going to make everything okay again. His shoulders look stiff, and I hate that I’ve done this to him. I want to reach out, hold his hand, rub his shoulder, anything to help him relax. I inch a little closer, and he shoots me a warning look, sending me right back onto my cushion. I take a deep breath and dive in. “Rowan was right. Our school is top secret, and your shoulder wasn’t an accident. But I promise I didn’t know that until after I met you.”

He doesn’t respond for a long time. “The pain didn’t come until after I was tackled. It felt like someone was ripping out my bone. For a year now I’ve tried to talk myself out of that memory. I don’t understand. How did they do it? Special technology?”

I bite on my lip. “I’m not supposed to tell you. My dad would kill me. You can’t tell anyone.”

He nods.

“Aside from the fact that you gave me way too many muscles and I’d never wear an outfit like that in my life, I am the Amender.”

He stares at me, probably waiting for the statement to make sense.

“The story we’re writing—that’s me, that’s my high school.”

His eyes that were starting to soften put up their cold barrier again. “Is this a joke to you?”

I shake my head, then stare at the window over his shoulder for a moment, concentrating on bending the light so I can change the color of my eyes. It’s one of the things I had made the comic book version of me capable of. When I look at him again, he jumps off the couch and backs away.

“I’m sorry,” I say, quickly letting them change back and standing as well. I hold up my hands. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. Please don’t freak out. I’m still me.”

He’s quiet for a long time, lingering between the couch and the front door.

I stay where I am, not wanting him to retreat any farther. He’s already looking at me like I’m something out of a sideshow. I rub my arms, the chill from outside still clinging to my body. “I can’t read your mind or anything, so help me out here. What are you thinking?”

“I think I’m dreaming,” he says.

“Good dream or nightmare?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” He studies my face as though he can find the answers written there. “How?”

“There are a lot of theories. Some say the psychologically advanced have just always been a percentage of the population. Others think that we are descendants of demigods (that’s the only theory Laila chooses to acknowledge). And then there’s the idea that we are the next step in evolution. Whatever the case, it’s definitely genetic—something we’re born with.”

The phone in my pocket vibrates, and I check the screen. It’s a message from my mom:
Call me. We need to talk.
My heart flips, and I write back,
Is this about Laila? Is she okay?
My mom responds,
Laila? No, this is about us.
I sigh and set my phone on the coffee table. Trevor follows my every action, and I can’t tell if it’s from shock or if he thinks I’m about to evaporate him with my mind powers. I point at the phone. “Sorry, it was my mom.” As another chill goes through me, I realize I forgot to turn on the heater when I came home. It’s so cold in here.

Trevor crosses his arms in front of his chest, and I want to run over and tug them down, tell him not to close up on me. To give me a chance. My eyes blur with tears, and I look up at the light to keep them at bay. “Will you just …” My shoulders shake with a sob that I’m trying my hardest to hold in. “Will you just please sit down? I’m not going to zap you or anything.”

He drops his arms to his sides before running one hand through his hair. “I know. It’s just …” He walks to the couch and sits back down. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

I slowly sit down as well, again on the farthest cushion from his. My phone vibrates, and from where it sits on the coffee table I can see that it’s my mom. I sigh. “While you’re deciding if you’re horrified or not, can I ask for some advice?”

“Sure.”

I tell him about the argument I had with Laila over Bobby.

“So this Bobby guy hurt you?”

“Was going to hurt me.”

“So you
can
change the future?”

“No. I can only take the opposite path. For all I know, Bobby ended up doing the same thing to a different girl.”

“So Bobby is one of the villains in the story, right? The guy who’s purposefully injuring …” He trails off, as if finally connecting the story to real life. “He did this to my shoulder?”

“I don’t know … maybe, or someone like him. He has the ability to manipulate mass. I think he could probably separate muscle from bone even from a distance.…” I cringe. “I’m sorry that sounds horrible.”

Trevor doesn’t say anything, but his expression has softened considerably.

“He sounds like a prick.” It’s the harshest thing I’ve ever heard Trevor say, and it makes me smile a little because I can think of so much worse.

“He is.”

“And Laila is hanging out with this guy despite all this?”

I nod my head.

“She’s either a horrible friend or has no common sense.”

“She’s an amazing friend. It’s not like her. I mean it’s like her, but it’s not. What should I do?”

“Just give her some time, Addison. She’s probably feeling defensive because she knows she shouldn’t be hanging around a guy who did what he did to you.”

I remember Laila’s words and repeat them out loud. “He didn’t do anything to me.”

“But he would’ve.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“To you it is, right?” He presses his palm against one eye, then turns toward me. “Am I understanding that right? To you, it feels exactly the same as if it had happened.”

It’s hard for me to admit it out loud. For some reason I’m embarrassed, because I think what Bobby did to me was partially my fault. If I hadn’t followed him into the house, if I hadn’t sat so close, maybe I led him on … “Yes, it feels exactly the same.”

“Why didn’t you have Laila Erase that memory? She is the Mind Eraser, Lola, from the comic, right?”

I nod. “Some memories I don’t want to forget. A lot of times because they’re so good, but sometimes, like in Bobby’s case, because I need to remember.”

“That makes sense,” he says. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

I look at my hands, suddenly very interested in my fingernails. “It’s not your fault.”

He turns again, sliding his feet to the ground, and lifts his arm. The action is most likely a result of pity, but I’ll take it. I crawl forward, across the cushion separating us. Wrapping my arms around his chest, I sink against his side, determined to never let go.

He runs a hand down my hair and then softly pulls on the ends. “It’s not your fault either,” he says quietly. “You know that, right?”

I nod and squeeze my eyes closed as hot tears fill them. It takes a few shaky breaths before I get myself back in control. I play with the zipper on his jacket as we sit in silence, moving it up and down a few inches. He’s wearing a black V-neck shirt beneath it. On his collarbone is a single freckle. I run my finger over it. “You’re warm.”

He rests his cheek on the top of my head.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

His deep, even breaths and the steady beat of his heart lull me. My breath has warmed the little cocoon I’ve created against him. He smells spicy, like cologne and salt. The skin on his neck is soft on my nose and I push it farther into him until my lips rest against him. My finger traces back and forth over his collarbone, and my mouth brushes along his neck until it finds the skin right behind his earlobe, which is even softer.

I realize Trevor has gone perfectly still. Even his breathing has stopped. I sit back and look at him, gauging his reaction. “I don’t want to lose you over this,” I say. “I didn’t—”

He presses his lips to mine, stopping not only my sentence but my breath in my throat. He takes my face in his hands and moves his mouth slowly across mine. Every nerve ending in my body is electrified.

He pulls away and searches my eyes. “You haven’t lost me,” he says, before bringing me back to him. Just when I decide that I could kiss him all day long, he says, “Addison?”

“Yeah?”

“What if this is a Search?”

I stiffen. “What?”

“Have you ever thought about that before? What if now, this very moment, isn’t set in stone. What if you’re just seeing a vision of what could be?”

“I think about that all the time.” I run my hand over his chest. He feels so real.

“What if you don’t choose this? What if you decide your other future is better?”

I hug him, resting my cheek against his. “Do you know what’s weird, Trevor?”

“What?”

“In the six years I’ve had this ability, nobody has ever asked me that question. Nobody has ever thought they were negotiable.”

He takes a deep breath. “I want you to choose me, Addie,” he whispers. “I want this to be real.”

“Don’t worry. It is. I always know when I’m in a Search.”