STARSCAPE BOOKS(28)

She didn’t blink at the change. In fact, she smiled. “Hey,” she called after me as I went out the door, “you doing anything tonight?”

“Yeah, sorry. I expect to be tied up later.”

As soon as I hit the street, I knew I’d picked the right costume. People would stare for an instant as I walked toward them, then look away, as if the image stung their eyes. They noticed me, but they didn’t really see me. I was radically shielded.

But I’d feel a whole lot better once I got out of Philadelphia and headed for some other city. Preferably a big one. Maybe I’d go to New York. It would be easy enough to disappear once I got there. I’d figure it out when I reached the station.

Every time I saw someone in a dark suit heading toward me, my breath sped up. I knew the whole world wasn’t searching for me. That would be a crazy thought. But somebody was trying to find me.

I reached the alley where I’d stashed my backpack, floated it down, then crossed over to the train station. I spotted a guy in a blue suit right by the main entrance. He was just standing there holding a tiny yellow shopping bag. Guys in suits don’t carry shopping bags. Not unless they’re with a lady who’s shopping. None of the men I’d seen earlier had a bag. Maybe it had taken Bowdler a while to get more of those disrupters made. If this guy had one of them in the bag, I’d be powerless. I tried to move a candy wrapper that was crumpled on the ground near his feet. It didn’t budge.

I wanted to turn and run. I was sure he’d grab me when I went past. My disguise stunk. What was I thinking? He’d knock me out and take me back to Bowdler.

The guy glanced at the small photo in his other hand, then scanned the crowd. I froze as his eyes moved past me. He stared at me for an instant, then shook his head in disgust and looked away.

He didn’t recognize me. Still expecting to be grabbed, I walked past him, then slipped over to a corner of the terminal and studied the departure information on the big board that hung over the information desk. Maybe New York was a bad idea. They’d probably expect me to go somewhere like that. For all I knew, they had guys in Penn Station, watching everyone who arrived from Philly.

It would be better if I went to New Jersey first, and then to New York. There was a train leaving for Trenton in five minutes. That would work.

I bought a ticket and headed across the terminal toward the stairs that led to the platform for my train. I saw another guy in a suit ahead of me. I looked down, trying to make myself invisible. A crowd was coming in my direction. I guess another train had just arrived. Good. The more people around me, the better. Crowds were my friend.

I kept my attention glued to the floor. Once I got past this last guy, I could go down the steps and get on the train. Despite the crowd, I wasn’t bumped much. Even without checking around me, I could tell that people were avoiding contact with someone who looked as creepy as I did. I almost enjoyed the feeling that nobody wanted anything to do with me.





elsewhere …


MARTIN WAITED WHILE the rest of the passengers rushed off the train. He hated getting jostled in crowds. The flood of impressions he received was a heavy load to carry. Every person he bumped into left him with the details of his or her greatest prides and deepest sorrows.

Finally, he left the train. There was hardly anyone on the stairs, but the crowd grew denser when he got up to the terminal.

Luckily, he saw a break ahead. There was a punky-looking kid coming toward him. People were moving wide of the kid, as if the air around him was poisoned. That was good. It gave Martin more room to slip through without getting jostled as much.

Even so, he couldn’t completely shelter himself. At least he was used to it after a year weaving through the crowded halls at his high school. Impressions flittered through his mind with each jostle. I’m so good at trading stocks. I hate my body. I wish I’d learned to play the guitar. I can move things with my mind. I have a photographic memory. I beat my dog. I make the best blueberry pies in the world.

Martin spun around as one impression seized him. I can move things with my mind.

Trash! But Trash was dead. Martin searched through his memory for anything paired with the pride. I can move things with my mind. I draw awesome spaceships. My parents don’t spend much time with me.

He scanned the crowd of people who’d just passed him. There were only three kids in the group—a little girl, a guy in his midteens, and the spiked-hair kid in a ripped Ramones shirt.

Martin didn’t recognize the punk kid. But the walk—the way he moved, slunk down like the world was pressing on him—that was familiar. Amazingly familiar. He remembered the way Trash had acted at Edgeview before he’d learned about his talent. He’d been beaten down by everything. Almost crushed out of existence.