mentioned, even in a top-secret document (!!), but I promise I’ll never let you down. Cross my heart, hope to wake up one day as brain-dead as Big Dawg (infinitely worse than death), stick a needle in my . . . er, you get the idea.
See you Friday!!!!!
12
I’VE BEEN STRESSING about this meeting all week, my mood swinging back and forth. One minute I’m excited, pumped to meet other kids like me (finally!); the next minute I’m sweating bullets. I want friends, I don’t want to be alone—but what if Darla’s friends don’t want me?
And I like Darla, but I barely know her—even with all that top-secret file stuff. What if I open the door and she’s suddenly bald and sitting in a wheelchair with a plaid blanket on her lap and her massive cranium is throbbing like a telepathic strobe light? What if her crappy disguises were merely tacked onto a truly excellent disguise, and she’s not who I think she is at all??
Okay. Calm down. Time to call for backup.
Hiding behind the fountain in Sophie’s driveway, I punch in the number for Roast—conveniently added to my speed dial this afternoon, in case of an emergency freak-out. I try to make my voice as deep as possible, so that whoever answers believes me when I claim to be Catherine’s dad.
“It’s Avery,” I say when she picks up. “Sorry to bother you. I need some advice.”
“About coffee?”
“Not exactly. I’m meeting some other kids today who have um, unusual abilities. Hint hint? And I’m freaking out. I don’t know what I should do or say or if I should even go through with it. What do you think?”
Classic-rock music fills the silence. The growl of a blender crunching ice assaults my ear.
“Are they for real?”
“Yeah. I mean, I think so.”
“I don’t know. It’s kind of suspicious. I’d probably skip it.”
“Even if they seem—”
She curses under her breath. “I have to go. Some kid dumped a pack of chocolate muffins on the floor and is smearing them everywhere. It looks like a giant crap streak.”
She hangs up. Okay, really—what did I expect? That she’d wish me luck and volunteer to go with me? In my dreams, maybe.
I’m still behind the fountain, trying to force a fearless smile onto my face so I don’t look like I’m about to pee myself, when the front door opens and Nicholas storms out.
This is what I hear before the door slams:
Darla: “You can’t just invite someone else without clearing it with me! That wasn’t part of the plan!”
Sophie: “There are other people on this team besides you, and if you would ever take the time to listen to their ideas, maybe it wouldn’t be such a shock when—”
SLAM!
Nicholas is hurrying down the driveway, so I fake an untied shoelace to seem less creepy. “Oh, hey,” I say, popping up from behind the fountain. “Everything all right in there?”
His hands are plowed into the pockets of his trench coat. His eyes flicker. For a second I think they’re lit from within, like cool blue Christmas lights. But. Um. That’s impossible.
“Yeah. Fine. I just can’t deal when people argue. I get too agitated.” He’s taking deep breaths, like you do at the doctor’s office when they’ve got a stethoscope pressed to your back and all you can think about is breathing. “I don’t recommend going in to play peacemaker—neither one of them is going to budge. Feel like walking? I need to calm down.”
“Walking’s good,” I say.
Damn. His eyes are glowing. Does he have laser eyes? I wonder if Darla told them what I can do. How much does she even know? You could draw a few conclusions from my hero moment last summer, but does she know I fly? I’ve been pretty good about keeping that feat to myself. Catherine knows, but she barely talks to me, let alone the rest of the human race. I doubt she’d spill my secret to her “stalker.”
“So, when you say ‘agitated,’ how big of a risk is there that laser beams will shoot out of your eyes?”
Nicholas
See you Friday!!!!!
12
I’VE BEEN STRESSING about this meeting all week, my mood swinging back and forth. One minute I’m excited, pumped to meet other kids like me (finally!); the next minute I’m sweating bullets. I want friends, I don’t want to be alone—but what if Darla’s friends don’t want me?
And I like Darla, but I barely know her—even with all that top-secret file stuff. What if I open the door and she’s suddenly bald and sitting in a wheelchair with a plaid blanket on her lap and her massive cranium is throbbing like a telepathic strobe light? What if her crappy disguises were merely tacked onto a truly excellent disguise, and she’s not who I think she is at all??
Okay. Calm down. Time to call for backup.
Hiding behind the fountain in Sophie’s driveway, I punch in the number for Roast—conveniently added to my speed dial this afternoon, in case of an emergency freak-out. I try to make my voice as deep as possible, so that whoever answers believes me when I claim to be Catherine’s dad.
“It’s Avery,” I say when she picks up. “Sorry to bother you. I need some advice.”
“About coffee?”
“Not exactly. I’m meeting some other kids today who have um, unusual abilities. Hint hint? And I’m freaking out. I don’t know what I should do or say or if I should even go through with it. What do you think?”
Classic-rock music fills the silence. The growl of a blender crunching ice assaults my ear.
“Are they for real?”
“Yeah. I mean, I think so.”
“I don’t know. It’s kind of suspicious. I’d probably skip it.”
“Even if they seem—”
She curses under her breath. “I have to go. Some kid dumped a pack of chocolate muffins on the floor and is smearing them everywhere. It looks like a giant crap streak.”
She hangs up. Okay, really—what did I expect? That she’d wish me luck and volunteer to go with me? In my dreams, maybe.
I’m still behind the fountain, trying to force a fearless smile onto my face so I don’t look like I’m about to pee myself, when the front door opens and Nicholas storms out.
This is what I hear before the door slams:
Darla: “You can’t just invite someone else without clearing it with me! That wasn’t part of the plan!”
Sophie: “There are other people on this team besides you, and if you would ever take the time to listen to their ideas, maybe it wouldn’t be such a shock when—”
SLAM!
Nicholas is hurrying down the driveway, so I fake an untied shoelace to seem less creepy. “Oh, hey,” I say, popping up from behind the fountain. “Everything all right in there?”
His hands are plowed into the pockets of his trench coat. His eyes flicker. For a second I think they’re lit from within, like cool blue Christmas lights. But. Um. That’s impossible.
“Yeah. Fine. I just can’t deal when people argue. I get too agitated.” He’s taking deep breaths, like you do at the doctor’s office when they’ve got a stethoscope pressed to your back and all you can think about is breathing. “I don’t recommend going in to play peacemaker—neither one of them is going to budge. Feel like walking? I need to calm down.”
“Walking’s good,” I say.
Damn. His eyes are glowing. Does he have laser eyes? I wonder if Darla told them what I can do. How much does she even know? You could draw a few conclusions from my hero moment last summer, but does she know I fly? I’ve been pretty good about keeping that feat to myself. Catherine knows, but she barely talks to me, let alone the rest of the human race. I doubt she’d spill my secret to her “stalker.”
“So, when you say ‘agitated,’ how big of a risk is there that laser beams will shoot out of your eyes?”
Nicholas
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