STARSCAPE BOOKS(7)

I needed help. But until I knew who had kidnapped me, I didn’t think I could trust anyone—except my friends from Edgeview. As I thought of them, I stared at the small, round scar in the center of my right palm.

Torchie would help me. Just like I’d do anything for him. But he wasn’t great at figuring things out. Lucky was fiercely loyal, but he was also as tense and touchy as an unsprung mouse trap. Cheater was smart, but the stuff he knew didn’t have anything to do with the real world. He could tell you who invented asphalt or why people drive on the right side of the road, but he never remembered to look both ways before he crossed the street. He was always bumping into trouble.

It had to be Martin or Flinch. Flinch was the smartest as far as the real world, and the funniest, but Martin had an awesome ability to solve problems, and to get people to work together. That’s who I needed to talk to. If anyone could help me figure out what was going on, it was Martin.

He lived farther away, which meant the call would cost more. I figured I didn’t have enough coins. I saw a bank on the next block. I headed there to get some change. When I saw my reflection in the window, more memories rushed back, kicking away the remaining drifts of fog from my brain with a jolt, and flooding my throat with another harsh wave of nausea. I remembered that single moment of greed and stupidity—the moment that led to all this.


E-MAIL FROM CHEATER,

DATED FEBRUARY 17TH

From:

TriviaKing@quickmail.net



To:

Martin316@xmail.com,





Dodgeboy@zipnet.com,





PhilipGrieg@cheapmail.com



Subject: Not to be paranoid, but …

Have any of you guys heard from Lucky? Hehasn’t texted me in a couple weeks. I called his house. His dad took a message and promised Lucky would call me back, but he didn’t. I don’t want to call again and make a pest of myself.





sometimes, it’s ok

to swear


I STAGGERED AWAY from the bank window as that one memory kicked loose a dozen others, each one freeing more in turn, like a nuclear fission reaction. The past returned with a blinding flash.

MARTIN HAD BEEN the first one to get out of Edgeview. I got out a couple weeks later, right before the end of the school year. So did Flinch. The other guys all went to summer programs so they could be allowed back in regular school in the fall.

But it was the day he left—the last day we were all together—that’s important. We’d taken a vow. Martin had just finished cramming his stuff in his bag, but we still had an hour before he had to go.

“We can’t ever tell anyone about our talents,” Lucky had said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“What about our parents?” Cheater asked. “Or my big brother?”

Martin shook his head. “Not even them. Unless we absolutely have to.”

“That’s the way it’s gotta be,” Flinch said. “Normal kids get beaten down just for being a little different. Wear the wrong shirt, listen to the wrong music, and you get crushed. Imagine what would happen to us. We all need to swear not to tell anyone.”

“Right,” Martin said. “We don’t tell. And we don’t leave any evidence. We shouldn’t even mention our powers when we email each other.”

Torchie held up his little finger. “Pinky swear?”

“No way,” Lucky said. “This is a blood oath. Hang on. …” He dashed off, then came back a moment later with a compass—the kind you use to draw a circle. He jabbed the point into his palm, then held out his hand.

“Do you know how many pathogens are in human blood?” Cheater asked.

“We’ll count them later,” Lucky said, jabbing Cheater with the compass.

The rest of us stuck ourselves, then clasped hands and swore to keep our talents secret from the world. I’d kept my vow and kept my mouth shut. But I also couldn’t help testing my limits. I’d even found I could move stuff I saw through binoculars, or in a mirror, though not stuff I saw on live TV.

School definitely got better now that I had control of my power and wasn’t snapping and breaking stuff all around me. Even with my control, I was reluctant at first to do anything. The memory of my punishment lingered.

But temptation always wins out over memory. At first, I played around with small stuff. I could make a biology specimen twitch just enough to get a whole table to scream, or open some lockers for fun. Then I discovered the thrill of being an anonymous hero.

I loved watching Max Eldretch, the nastiest kid in my class, suddenly trip and fall in the cafeteria—especially when he landed face-first in a trayful of nachos. The whole place laughed and clapped. Even though I couldn’t take credit, I felt like they were applauding me.