Split Second (Pivot Point) (4 page)

Laila:
Know anything useful about motorcycles?

I walked up the drive to the open garage. Connor stood staring at a holographic image of a motorcycle. He slid the holograph simulator across the counter so the glowing image moved to fit perfectly over his real bike—the ghostlike replica giving the metal a hazy appearance. Then he picked up an engine part off the counter beside the simulator and turned it, trying to replicate the placement of the part.

“What happened to your bike?”

He looked up, surprise making a momentary appearance on his face before he went back to his task. “It had an unfavorable meeting with the pavement.”

“Poor bike.” I watched him for a little longer. A lock of hair fell across his forehead, and he pushed it out of his eyes. It was obvious he had been doing that all day by the grease streaks that lined his face. He had amazing hair—the perfect amount of body and shine.

I shifted on my feet, moving my hand to my hip. This would work a lot better if he looked at me, but his bike had all his attention. I finally got impatient. “I need something.”

“What?”

Since the guy at the party had been reluctant to give his name, I figured Connor wouldn’t openly admit he had ability advancement programs. I had to be careful in how I approached this: start with what I knew he had, then work my way up to the other things I needed. “I’m not sure. You offered me a block enhancer a few weeks ago at a party. I want it.” It wasn’t like I didn’t want the block enhancer. After my dad had taken the grocery money, I needed something to keep him out of my head. My own mental blocks weren’t strong enough yet.

“Give me one minute.” He popped off a dented section on the front of his bike and sighed. “These aren’t easy to get here.”

“Maybe you should stop playing with Norm toys, then.”

“This is not a Norm toy. It’s a hybrid. If it were Norm-made, it would be gas-powered. It just has the body of a Norm bike. I think they look so much better.”

I gave his holograph-cloaked bike a once-over. “Paint-covered metal, so beautiful.”

He ran his hand along the seat, the tips of his fingers glowing
blue as the light hit them. “Can’t think of anything more beautiful.” He met my eyes then, with his muddy green ones, like he expected me to challenge that statement. I didn’t care what he thought was beautiful.

“If you get me the blocker, I’ll give you and your bike some privacy.”

“Funny.”

I took a lap around his garage. It was like a collision of old meets new. The sleek shelves and high-tech tools next to the old, greasy parts. A case of oil sat on the shelf. So his motorcycle wasn’t Norm, but he had something that was. Out the window, in his side yard, I saw the offender—a beat-up truck. He really did like Norm toys. I didn’t understand people who collected old things. Didn’t they appreciate how far we’d come? Whatever. It was none of my business. I just wanted his help.

I sat on a stool nearby. Now he was going slow on purpose. To make a point. I could tell by the way he studied the part in his hand, then looked at the image over and over. If he would just look at me more, I knew I could get him to do what I wanted. A small smile, a flip of my hair. Men weren’t hard to manipulate. I was so tempted to Erase the last five minutes and step into the garage again for a do-over. This time he wouldn’t be in control. I would.

“Do you ever sit still?”

“What?”

He pointed to my knee, which was bouncing all over the place.

“Most people don’t make me wait.” And by
people
I meant
guys
.

Connor wiped his hands on a towel and said, “I’ll be right back. Stay.”

I rolled my eyes.

He came back with a case and opened it, revealing several neat rows of electronic clips.

“Which one did you want? I forget.”

“A block for Telepaths.” I stood and peered over his shoulder into the case. “Does it work?”

He shrugged. “I’m just the middleman, Laila. I haven’t tried all these. But my customers are usually very happy.”

I pulled my card from my pocket. “I only have ten.”

“Well then, I guess you’re out of luck.”

“How much is it?”

“Twenty.”

“Bill me.” I handed him my card, and he pressed the chip into my palm. He ran my card down a black strip on the inside of the lid, then handed it back to me. His case was full of other chips and drives. They were a good excuse to ease my way into what I really wanted to talk about. “Do you have anything for ability advancement?”

His eyes flashed to mine and then back down again. “Nope.”

So he was going to be difficult. “Do you know anyone who does?”

“I only sell what I’m given. I don’t ask questions.”

“No questions? That’s not very smart. Didn’t think you were
such a brainless follower, but I guess I was wrong.”

His eyes revealed only mild humor, not the anger I was hoping my comment would inspire. Anger was so much more telling. “I know what I need to know, and the rest is none of my business and definitely not any of yours.”

“Who’s your supplier?”

“Confidential.”

“I’m not trying to take over your business, Connor. I just need information.”

“You’re looking in the wrong place.” His hand hovered on the lid of the open case. “Now, did you need anything else?”

I had done this all wrong. He obviously had information, and I’d put him on the defensive. I lifted my hand ever so slightly and concentrated hard. Ten minutes. That’s all I’d take back, and then I’d try again. I’d be sweeter this time or more flirty. Act innocent, not demanding. I searched for the paths in his mind that I needed to block. His mind felt stiff. Usually I had no trouble quickly blocking the few active paths where I could feel the short-term memories had been stored. But as I tried to perform that task on him, the energy in them didn’t die. It only waned slightly and then sprang back to life.

He tilted his head. “Is that a no?”

I tried not to visually react to my failure, even though I wanted to demand how he’d done that. I hid my shock by studying the items in his case. “What are those?” On a raised portion, a variety of different metal devices were displayed. On closer inspection, I saw one even looked like a fly.

“Way out of your price range.”

“But . . . are they listening devices?”

He pointed to the row of winged bugs. “These are listening devices. This row is tracking devices.”

“They look so real.”

He slammed the case shut. I tried a memory wipe one more time, but it didn’t work. Tucking the chip into my pocket, I left his garage. What was wrong with me? Was I losing my ability? No. That was impossible. He must’ve been using something that protected him from Memory Erasers. Did he know that was my ability?

I’d get information from him. I’d just have to find another way.

Addie:
Must reread the Compound secrecy agreement.

I was under the table, because it was the only quiet corner of the bookstore. I found three books right away that I wanted, but apparently my dad was a browser. My dad was right—the bookstore was amazing, and normally my dad’s browsing wouldn’t have been a bad thing. I would’ve explored every corner of the place. But today was kids’ day or something, because a million kids who didn’t know how to use indoor voices had taken over the store. So with my purse as a pillow, I started reading a graphic novel under a table.

“What are you doing?”

I lowered the book to see a little boy staring at me between
the slats of a wooden chair. “I’m reading.”

“That’s a boy book.”

“A boy book? It is not.”

“Is too.”

“Says who?” Why was I arguing back?

“It’s about shooting. Girls don’t like shooting books.”

“Well, I do, and I’m pretty sure I’m a girl.” I pointed to the book he held. “What do you have?”

Apparently thinking that was an invitation to join me, he pulled out the chair and plopped on the floor in its place, then held up the book.
Spaceships
. “I’m learning to draw. My brother is teaching me.”

At least he was a kid with good taste and seemed to be able to talk at a normal volume. “That’s cool.”

He offered it to me. I took it and flipped through a few pages, which illustrated steps to drawing different spaceships.

“This one kind of looks like the
Millennium Falcon
, don’t you think?”

He squinted at the picture. “Yeah, but the
Millennium Falcon
has a dish thing on top.”

“True, but you could always add that.”

I shut his book and handed it back. “Have fun drawing. Those are going to be cool.”

“Girls shouldn’t know what the
Millennium Falcon
is either.” I could tell he was trying to be funny. I looked at him closer. He couldn’t have been much older than eight.

“Who are you hiding from?” he asked.

“Nobody . . . everybody. I just wanted a quiet place to read.”
I glanced around. “What about you? I bet your mom is looking for you.”

“My mom’s not here. She’s at work. I’m here with my brother. He brings me to story time every week.”

“That’s nice of him. So, don’t you think he’s worried about you?”

He looked up as if considering this and then furrowed his brow. “Ew, there’s gum under here.”

“Come on, I’m going to help you find your brother, okay?” This place was huge, and I could imagine his brother frantically looking for him in the mob scene. Plus, I obviously wasn’t getting any reading done. I slid out from under the table and tucked my books under one arm.

“What does he look like?”

“Who?”

“Darth Vader.”

“Huh?”

“Your brother, of course.”

“Oh, uh . . .” He screwed up his face. “He has brown hair and big muscles.”

I laughed. “Okay, that might help.” We walked the entire perimeter of the upstairs area and didn’t find his brother anywhere, so I led him toward the stairs.

“There he is!” The little boy pointed over the railing.

I followed his gaze, prepared to see the brown-haired, big-muscled guy, and felt my mouth open a little. “Trevor.” My heart gave a flip that surprised me.

It shouldn’t have surprised me. Trevor was even cuter in
person than in his pictures in Stephanie’s room and a lot cuter than I remembered him being at the football game. Not the obvious cute. In fact, taken individually, his features were a little off: his lashes too long, his nose slightly crooked, his cheekbones too high. And yet as a whole, they made him uniquely attractive.

“Trevor!” the little boy yelled.

Trevor looked up, pointed at him, and then pointed at the ground beside him. As in,
Get your butt down here
.

“Looks like you’re in trouble,” I said.

“He pretends like he’s mad, but he never really is.”

I laughed.

“I better go.” He rounded the railing and took off down the stairs at a run. Halfway down, he turned and waved good-bye to me. I saw his misstep, the way his heel nicked the edge of the stair, causing him to lose his balance. He was going to fall the rest of the way down the wooden staircase. My breath caught, but then the world slowed.

The boy flew in the air, slowly careening backward, ready to land on his spine. I let go of my books, and as they swam toward the floor, I rushed forward and positioned myself below him. Then I directed him toward my lap, wrapping both arms around his waist and bracing my feet against the stair below me. It was a good thing I did, because the minute I touched him, he plopped into my lap. His momentum jerked me forward a little, but I was able to maintain my grip on the stair with my shoes.

I sat there for several deep breaths, not letting go, while the world around us took its time returning to normal speed. Then I
panicked. I’d just used my ability in a store full of Norms. It was over, wasn’t it? I was in huge trouble. But when I looked around, nobody was even paying attention. Nobody was looking at us. Well, except Trevor.

He took the stairs two at a time and, when he arrived in front of us, squatted down. “Are you okay, Brody?” he asked, smoothing the boy’s hair out of his face.

“I almost fell.”

“Yes, you did. You scared me.”

I let go of Brody’s waist and he slid off me sideways, leaving Trevor and me face-to-face without a barrier. He met my eyes, his chest brushing lightly against my knees. “Are you okay?”

My heart beat out of control from where it seemed to have taken up residence in my throat. I stared at him in shock. This was my vision in the hospital. The wooden staircase, Trevor and his question. Why? Could I see the future without Searching now? Why had my brain picked this moment? I leaned back on my elbows as a wave of pain struck behind my eyes, causing Trevor’s image to blur. I tried not to cringe. “I’m fine. Just need to catch my breath.”

He looked up the stairs and then back to me. “You came out of nowhere.”

“No, I was on my way down too. You probably didn’t see me. I’m just glad he’s okay.”

He stayed kneeling in front of me, but reached a few feet to my right and picked up my purse. I had no idea how it ended up there. I had probably let go of it halfway down the stairs. I wasn’t
sure if it was his hair or his deodorant that I got a whiff of as he stretched to reach it, but it smelled amazing.

“Thanks,” I said, breathless, when he handed me my purse.

He nodded and stood, then held out his hand. I took it, letting him help me to my feet.

He ruffled Brody’s hair. “You sure you’re okay, kid?”

He scrunched his face up, and I held my breath. Once I had pulled him onto my lap, had he been able to see the world in slow motion around us like I had?

“Your books,” Brody said. “Where’d they go?” He looked down the stairs, like he would find them in a heap at the bottom. I knew they were at the top, confirming that I hadn’t been on my way down at all and had been way too far away from Brody to catch him like I had.

“I put them down up there, when we saw Trevor, remember?” I pointed.

“No, you didn’t.”

“I’ll get them for you,” Trevor said.

“That’s okay,” I objected, but he was already walking up and up and was probably realizing just how far I had come in less than a second. When he finally reached my books, I noticed they were scattered, as though dropped in a hurry. He squatted down and picked them up one at a time and then shifted his gaze between them and Brody and me for a few beats before coming down again.

“Thank you,” I said, taking them from him. The confused look on Trevor’s face made me know I needed to quickly get his
mind off the books and what he had witnessed. “Well, good to meet you, Brody. Have fun drawing your spaceships.”

I walked down, and they followed.

“Have we met before?” Trevor asked.

Apparently, I wasn’t very memorable. “Yes, we sort of met at a football game a couple weeks ago.”

“So how do you know my brother?”

“I don’t. We just met here.” I pointed up the stairs.

“She was under a table reading comics,” Brody said with a smile.

Trevor’s already lowered brows got lower.

“She wanted to be alone,” Brody whispered loudly.

Trevor studied me for a moment. “A football game?” Then recognition came into his eyes. “You’re Duke Rivers’ girlfriend.”

He must’ve been a Duke fan. Like every other football player seemed to, he probably thought Duke was amazing. I knew something that would make him hate Duke in under a second flat. I had the strongest desire to share it with him. “No, no, no . . . no,” I said both to answer his question and to stop myself from saying what I really wanted to.

He smiled. “Are you sure?”

“Sorry, it’s just . . . we broke up.”
And he and his buddies screwed up your shoulder
.

He nodded, then looked at his brother. “Well, Brody, we better let . . . um . . .”

“Addie,” I filled in for him.

“Addie?”

“Short for Addison.”

“We better let Addison go. Tell her thank you.”

“Thank you, Addison,” Brody said.

Trevor took a step back. “Maybe we’ll see you around.” He gave one last glance up the stairs to where my books had been, his eyes flashing suspicion. Was this why my brain had warned me about this moment, about Trevor? Because he was someone I needed to be careful around? Make sure nothing about the Compound slipped?

“Yeah, maybe.” I waved and then turned on one foot and made a beeline for the nearest bookshelf. Once safely behind it, I leaned against it and tried to quell the pounding in my skull.

At home later, my head still ached. I tried a few mind patterns, which helped a little, then headed for my bed, thinking a good nap would heal me completely. It didn’t. I tried to analyze when and why this was happening. The added ability wouldn’t have weirded me out so much—abilities grew and expanded all the time—if it didn’t come along with this massive headache.

I rubbed my temples and watched the light on my ceiling dance as the heater blew the drapes. I hadn’t Searched anything since Bobby’s house. What if I just tried a simple Search, two minutes? The choice: Should I get up and get some water or should I stay in bed and stare at the ceiling? I would Search that easy choice.

I took a deep breath and drew on the energies. I felt the cold glass in my hands and the memory of water trickling down my throat. It layered with the other memory of staying where
I was, the pillow fluffed up around me. Just when I thought I had nothing to worry about, a pain so intense I had to push my palms to my temples radiated through my head.

I rolled onto my stomach and pressed my face into the pillow. It took a few minutes for the pain to dull. I took a deep breath and forced the tension out of my shoulders. Then I rolled out of bed.

After I walked to the kitchen and took my first drink of water, my dad came in through the garage door.

“You’re home,” I said. It sounded more like a sigh than the happy declaration I was going for.

He set a bag of groceries on the counter. “Not feeling well?” It must’ve been pretty obvious.

“Headache.” I thought about all the things that might happen if I told my dad what was going on with my ability. Would he send me home to have tests run? “I’ve been getting them lately.” I chose my words carefully. I didn’t want him to worry if this really was nothing. “Is that normal?”

“When do they come on?”

“Right after I Search.” I left out the part about being able to slow down time.

“That can be normal.” His eyes looked worried. I may not have been a lie detector, but his look seemed to oppose his reassurance. “Why don’t you rest your ability for a few weeks and we’ll see how you feel then?”

I thought about pressing him. But resting my ability sounded nice. I needed a break. This had to work itself out.