Overtaken (19 page)

“Lay it on me.” I poured myself a second cup of coffee. Dad wasn't here to stop me, so I might as well find the slightest of silver linings. It was going to be a double cream and sugar, too. “Are you sure we're the only ones?” Maya asked. “The only kids affected by the pulse who haven't been enlisted in Dana's Ski Club?”

I imagined the folders upstairs in my dad's office. I'd seen them together in the halls, together on the slopes, and together in Bar Tech's very special version of 24 Hour Fitness. I could think of one other outlier, but he'd already said no right to my face.

“There is one other person,” I proclaimed. “I saw him vanish off the school roof.”

“Who is it?”

I sighed. “I already tried to get him to help, but he just stonewalled me. There's a difference between not joining Ski Club and signing up for the rebellion.”

“Let me try,” insisted Maya.

“I don't think—”

“Nica, I can be very convincing. I talked you into being my friend, didn't I?” She was right about that. If not for Maya's determination, we never would have said two words to each other.

“Topher Hansen. He works at—”

“Ebinger's. I remember him. Uh, Nica . . .” She hesitated. “I really hate to say this, but . . . you're going to be late to school.”

We laughed together at the absurdity. “I'm really glad you're back,” I told her, genuinely happy that she'd decided to stick around.

“Me too.” Maya returned the smile.

•  •  •

Four hours later, I'd made it to lunch without a hiccup. Dangerous as it was to show my face, I was staying quiet, polite, and below the radar. I'd successfully avoided Dana and Jackson and the other kids. Lunch, however, was a place a little trickier to not stand out these days. My first instinct was just the table farthest from Ski Club, but unfortunately, that one was already overpopulated with the Drama Club. So I settled on easy targets that still were a considerable distance from Dana's cronies: freshmen.

The table was only about half full when I sat down at the leaner end. They all looked up, surprised, but didn't say a word. A few shuffled their chairs in the opposite direction, putting a little extra distance between them and myself. I tried not to smile. At least I knew they'd leave me alone.

“Where have you been hiding?”

I looked up. Oliver sat down in the seat across from me with his lunch.

“I haven't been hiding anywhere,” I replied coolly, keeping up my guard. “Why aren't you eating with your brother and Dana?”

“Because I miss you, Nica,” he answered with a smile as he took a bite of his vegetarian pizza. “I just wish we could be friends again.”

“I didn't know we weren't,” I said. I sensed Oliver had a reason for seeking me out beyond friendship. “What do you really want, Oliver?”

“You're wrong about Dana,” he insisted. “She's got our best interests at heart. If you'd only listen to her . . . give her a chance to explain about things, you'd understand.”

I looked around the quad, suddenly feeling vulnerable. Was this some sort of an ambush? Oliver would try to break down my resolve and then Dana would come in for the kill. She wanted to turn me, and now she was using Oliver as an emotional weapon to lure me. I put my fork down on my half-eaten Cobb salad and got up.

“The only thing I understand is that she's using you to get to me. Tell Dana to do her own dirty work.” I turned and walked away, fighting back the sob that nearly overtook me. I needed backup. And soon.

I ditched the remains of my lunch and dug out my phone. I scrolled through my texts for any communications from Maya, or better yet, my mom. Nothing. I tried calling my father's cell phone. I hoped that his being away from Dana had freed him from her influence. But I was stunned to hear that his number was disconnected—no longer in service. I then tried to text him. The message that bounced back said it was undeliverable. I tried again. There must be a mistake. But it really looked like my father's account had been closed. There was one person left who I hoped would help me.

In fact, besides Chase, the most recent text exchange of record was still between the mystery texter and me. I was pretty sure I had unraveled the identity of Blackthorne. I quickly typed out a text. “I've got something for you.” Vague enough. My thumb hesitated over the send button for just a few seconds before I committed to it. Hopefully, it was enticing enough that he'd respond.

When I stepped out of class the following period, Dana was waiting for me. “You think you're so clever, that no one knows your secret or what you've been up to.”

“What did I do? Take your seat at lunch?” My voice was so thick with sarcasm, a pool was forming at our feet.

“I see right through you, Nica. The little girl who wasn't there. Except I know you were. Sneaking around Whiteface. Spying.”

How could Dana possibly know I was there? Was she just playing a hunch? I decided not to give anything away.

“That's quite an imagination you have.” It wasn't the most creative of brush-offs, but it would do. I started to walk away from her, heading down the hallway, but Dana's long legs kept pace easily.

“You're the one imagining things,” she said with a cold, threatening tone as she stalked toward me. “Inventing conspiracies. Psychiatrists call that paranoid delusion. I hear electroshock therapy can be very successful over time. Then again, some patients never recover. And with your father missing, who knows what will happen to you?”

“You have no proof of any of this,” I responded, looking her right in the eye. Dana knew I had a power—otherwise she wouldn't have tried to recruit me to Ski Club so intensely—but there's no way she could guess that I had the ability to become invisible. There's nothing that could've given away my presence.

“Luckily, infrared cameras pick up all sorts of things,” she declared. “We have about thirty of them installed at the lodge.”

Except those. I knew damn well that my heat signature would show up on one, even if I was invisible to the naked eye. Dana whirled in front of me and caught my eyes with hers. I tried to tear them away, but I couldn't. She had me. Just for a second. Just long enough.

“You may think you're immune to me,” she said, practically whispering. “You'll break. Everyone does.”

I felt my mind begin to spin, truth and lies combining into a colorful swirl that I couldn't make heads or tails of. What had happened last night? Had I wandered out into the woods alone, confused, and upset? Had I hallucinated that building and all those kids? Was it all a response to fact that my dad had left me?

No. It was her. She was fucking with my head. I tried to shake her claws loose from my brain.

“I know what you can do, and it's not going to work on me,” I vowed, taking a strong step forward and backing her toward a row of lockers. “I know you took my dad from me. I know you think you can break me. You can't.”

Dana looked around for a lifeline, one of her friendly minions to step in and whisk her away, but we were alone. I think I even saw a brief flash of fear.

“I just want to be your friend,” she responded humbly.

“Keep telling yourself that.” I wasn't buying her bullshit anymore.

“I think you need help, Nica. Serious mental help.”

You do
, a voice in my head agreed. With every ounce of mental strength I could muster, I hung on to what I knew to be true, even though Dana was trying to toss me off like an angry bull. I was so mad and confused that I could barely see straight, and I had to back away before Dana broke into my brain completely.

When I left her, it took only a second for her to compose herself. I saw a creepy grin cross her face as I slunk farther away into the school.

I headed home and crashed, downing Advil to fight off a headache. I couldn't stop staring at my phone. I'd survived the rest of the school day. My optimism was telling me that I'd scared Dana off, but I suspected she was just licking her wounds, preparing to come back bigger and badder, a perpetually poked hornet nest. I was willing my phone to come to life, but I had been waiting for hours and had little faith left. All I was asking for was one little buzz, just one little vibration to let me know my source had gotten my message.

I'd set Maya up on the fold-out bed in the living room. I had thought about offering her my dad's room—it was empty, after all—but it was just too weird. I couldn't stop hoping that he'd come through the door at any moment, throw his arms around me, and apologize profusely. There was no way anyone could ever make him forget his own flesh and blood, his only child. But I was still waiting. The longer I could keep the fantasy alive, the longer I could keep the reality from tearing out my heart.

Adding to the mountain of emotional upheaval, this radio silence from my mystery texter had thrown an even bigger wrench in the works. How long would I have to wait to hear back? What if I didn't hear? What was the appropriate amount of time before I had to assume that my only other ally was missing in action? On the flip side, if my covert meetings in Barrington public places were truly over, I felt like I had to tell Maya everything the Mystery Texter had shared. If something happened to me, she would be the only one left. Trusting no one wasn't working.

I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep without at least one more attempt. I snatched up my phone and opened my messages, pulling up our conversation. Still nothing. I didn't know what to say. Not sharing specifics over the phone had been rule number one when we'd sent Maya out of Barrington. It felt even riskier to break that now. I settled on “Are you okay?” I hoped it communicated urgency without giving anything away. I rolled onto my back, my eyes boring into the ceiling, waiting for a response. My vision went soft as my body finally began to succumb to the complete exhaustion. In just a few deep breaths, I was out like the dead.

Not dead enough to not bolt upright at the sound of someone in my room hours later. My sleepy eyes tried to focus on the blurry form—not Maya's—but the voice tipped me off the second it rolled off his tongue.

“Shhhhhh. Keep the lights off.”

I was terrified. The gruff-voiced stranger from the theater was in my bedroom. I could make out only his silhouette, the same long winter coat he'd worn at the theater.

“You shouldn't have texted me. It's not safe. I text you. I set the drops and the meetings.” It was a whispered lecture, but his tone was absolute. “You better have something good.”

I was still trying to catch up to how he was in my house. I knew I'd never been able to sneak past our very own Bar Tech home security system. How on earth had he? I doubted asking would get me anywhere, though.
I have my ways,
he'd say, impatiently.

“I have Blackthorne,” I said, proud of my work. I told him everything I'd seen on the mountain, how Mr. Bluni and Cochran were going to patent the gene so that they could grow their own army of supersoldiers with Dana as their fearless leader.

“Did you hear the name referenced? Did someone actually use the word ‘Blackthorne'?”

I could hear the disappointment, but my mind reeled. How could Blackthorne be anything else?

“No,” I reluctantly admitted, “but the program, what they're doing . . . It's a huge secret right under the town's nose. What else could Blackthorne be?”

He went silent, and I stared into his shadow, trying to make out his identity, but he was too much in the shadows. It sent an honest-to-God shiver down my spine. I pulled the blankets tighter up around me.

“You're getting closer, but that can't be it. Whatever Blackthorne is, it's secret even inside Bar Tech. We're still missing something, something bigger.”

“That's it? ‘Something bigger'?” My voice rose as I mocked his cryptic styling. “I need more to go on and I'm tired of this charade. Tell me who you are!”

But he was gone, a swift exit out the window, without another word.

I woke up the next morning to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and what I'd now memorized as the signature spicy vanilla scent of Ebinger's Bakery. I didn't quite bound down the stairs with the energy of a kid on Christmas morning, but there was a distinct spring of excitement in my normally lethargic stumble.

While I was expecting muffins or croissants or maybe even a crumb cake waiting for me, I was surprised to see Topher in addition to the most beautiful breakfast spread. He and Maya had already helped themselves, spreading Ebinger's house-made hazelnut spread onto this morning's brioche. A slight chill came over the mood as I added myself to the mix, and I got the distinct feeling that I was interrupting something. Several baked goods later, I knew why. Maya had snuck out to the bakery early, intent on bringing Topher into the fold. She'd gotten a lot further with him than I had—he was here, at least—but he was still full of reservations.

“I'm not an idiot,” he began. “I knew from the minute Dana Fox not only acknowledged that I existed but insisted we become friends that something was going on. Girls like her don't just suddenly talk to guys like me.”

“She signed you up for Ski Club too?” I tried to relate.

“Not exactly. After I said no, she worked her charm on Noah. He signed me up and seemed so excited about it. I just went with the flow.”

Lure 'em in with your boy du jour. I was starting to see the repetition in Dana's playbook.

“When I didn't go back, she seemed to cool off for a bit. At least until you got in the middle of it,” he said, that “you” rolling off his tongue to pierce me.

I, per usual, had no idea how I'd made things worse. “What are you talking about?”

“Noah. He left me because of you.”

He could tell I wasn't putting any of the pieces together.

“Well . . . sort of. Dana found out we were friendly and warned us that you weren't the kind of person I wanted to be hanging out with. After she heard about the night you came to the bakery, Noah broke up with me. I don't know how she does it, but she has all of them just wrapped around her finger.”

I felt terrible that I had been the cause of Topher and Noah's breakup, but I was honestly more curious as to how Topher seemed to be completely immune to Dana's influence.

“I'm sorry about Noah,” Maya said sympathetically. “But you're right—he's not the only person Dana's taken away. And we know how she's doing it.”

Topher leaned forward, looking at both of us, intrigued.

I jumped back in. “Dana has an ability, too, just like I do. And Maya. And you.” He grimaced. He didn't seem quite ready to admit to it, but he wasn't shouting protests either. “She can control people's thoughts. I know it sounds crazy, but—”

“I believe you.” Topher pursed his lips. “In fact, I think I've seen her do it. And for some reason, my skepticism, and maybe my power, makes me immune to it. I think that's why she gave up on me.”

“I don't get it,” I said, mystified. “How would being able to teleport stop Dana's power from working on you?”

“I can't teleport,” Topher said. “I can astral project. It's why I'm always staring off at school and at the bakery. It's because I'm literally somewhere else.”

I had heard of astral projection before. Chalk up another one for Lydia and her New Agey friends, but Maya looked confused.

“It's like being in two places at once,” Topher explained. “I can leave my physical body behind and travel in a second to anywhere I want to go. I look like and sound like I'm really there, but it's more like . . . like a hologram. I can snap back to my corporeal body at any time. I've even spent the whole day at school that way, as a sort of challenge to myself. Which sounds like how you caught me.”

I smiled. It sounded a lot like how I'd been experimenting with my power. With Jackson and Oliver being distant for so long, I had forgotten how nice it was to have other people I could relate to, in the full “I'm-a-superpowered-teenager” way.

Topher continued. “It's also how I knew Dana was full of shit. My projected self is completely unfazed by her power. I've watched her straight-up lie to people and get away with it.”

“So, you've seen how powerful she is,” I said, thrilled that I had found another ally. “How she's changed everything so quickly. You have to help us.”

Topher didn't respond and didn't look so convinced. Maya saw his hesitation and moved in for the close.

“Dana's smart. She's used to getting her way,” Maya reiterated, locking eyes with Topher. “We don't have a lot of time, but I think if we fight back—not just close our eyes and hope she'll go away, but actually fight back—we can take her on. Use the element of surprise. Get our friends back. I don't know about you, Topher, but right now I think fighting would feel really good.”

Maya's speech had me sold, but I wasn't the one she needed to sway. We both looked to Topher.

“You really think we can beat her?” he asked, still wavering between leaving my house or staying.

“Yes.” Maya's reply was fast, assured, and decisive.

I wasn't nearly so sure, but I also knew when to keep my mouth zipped shut.

“So, what's the plan?” As soon as Topher asked the question, I realized we might lose him as quickly as we'd gained him. I was hoping Maya would chime in with another deep pull, but the silence was ominous. Then inspiration struck and I jumped in.

“Well, for starters,” I said, interrupting the silence, “you can help me get in touch with my mom.”

“This low-budget operation doesn't even have phones?” Topher joked, but it was clear he didn't hold a lot of confidence.

“Nica's mom is a journalist,” Maya proclaimed. “We think she can help protect us by publicly exposing Bar Tech.”

“Unfortunately, I haven't been able to get ahold of her for almost a week. She's in Antarctica. That's where you come in.” But Topher was already shaking his head in doubt.

“I think Antarctica might be a little out of my reach,” he confided, unsure about the plan I proposed.

“Are you sure?” Maya was pressing Topher hard. “The only way you can get your power to develop is by pushing it to the limit.”

I didn't want to bully Topher into anything. I was trying to be different from Dana, not just like her. I remembered, though, that Maya had once been Dana's very own Mini Me. I decided to try another strategy.

“Can you tell us more about how your power works?” I asked Topher, truly interested in his ability. “What have you learned using it?” I had made a habit now of carrying gloves in my back pocket. I was sure Topher had similar nuances that only his power could provide.

“Well, for starters,” Topher began, “ever since it started about six months ago, after the pulse, I haven't gone farther than my aunt's house in Los Angeles. I spent last summer there, so I know the place really well. That makes my projection easier. I have to imagine in my mind—like, a real 3-D place—before I can project myself there. It helps to create an anchor of sorts. But usually it's just around town. Sometimes maybe Denver.”

“Have you ever projected anyone else along with you?” I asked.

“No one knew I could do it at all until about five minutes ago,” Topher confessed. “It's not like I've been advertising for passengers.”

“So Noah doesn't know?”

Topher shook his head in confirmation. “No one does.”

“That's probably for the best,” Maya chimed in, injecting a note of caution. “The less that Dana can get out of him, the better.”

I continued on ahead. “Could we try? Just somewhere in town, somewhere you know really well, and go from there?” It was a first step—a tiny, baby step on the way to Antarctica—but we had to start somewhere. Topher had placed his trust in us, and now I wanted to earn it.

“So you're really serious about this Antarctica thing?” Topher's expression was a cross between amusement and incredulity.

“Yes,” I answered. “If it's possible.”

“It's possible in theory, I guess,” Topher accepted, still highly skeptical. “The farther away I project from my own body, the more I can feel it. There's a physical sensation to it, like a tether with just a little bit of elastic to it. The farther I go, the more it stretches and the harder it is. I've projected from my house to school all day, but when I went to California? It was a workout. Twenty, thirty minutes max.”

“It sounds like a muscle. I bet you can strengthen it with more practice.”

I shot Maya a look. I didn't like how pushy she was being.

“I've done some research,” admitted Topher, now on the defensive. “Even some of the best, most highly trained spiritualists have fallen into deadly comas when they've pushed their powers too far.”

“You have to wonder, though,” I replied. “Their form of astral projection might be a little more . . . psychological than yours. It's possible that those guys in comas might've just done too much peyote.”

Topher laughed.

I continued. “How about a test run? Try to bring me along on your projection, just somewhere close in Barrington. A place you're already comfortable going.”

He sighed and chewed his lip as he pondered my request. “Okay,” he finally relented. “Let's try it.”

“Tonight?” I was eager to mobilize.

“I can't. I'm closing the bakery and then curfew. Tomorrow morning?”

I looked at Maya and we nodded in unison. Then I smiled: “Tomorrow morning.”

After an uneventful day at school, I hurried right home to see how Maya was doing. She was getting a bit of cabin fever being stuck in the house all day, but boy did she put that bottled-up energy to work. The floor was clean enough to eat off of, and she'd perused my dad's cookbook collection in preparation for dinner.

I was excited to see my dad's old-fashioned pasta maker out on the counter. I had found it once in a deep pantry dig, but Dad was reluctant to use it. I wasn't sure if that was because it had been a wedding gift or because of his deep aversion to refined carbohydrates.

A deep red sauce was brewing on the stove. “Smells awesome,” I said, inhaling the fragrant aroma of tomatoes, basil, and garlic. “You're hired.”

“Thanks,” Maya responded, quite proud. “It's a traditional Italian dish I learned on
Top Chef. Festa dei guerrieri
, the warriors' feast. Seemed appropriate.”

“I've never heard of it, but I'll happily eat it when it's ready.” Maya grinned as she stirred the sauce. I could read between the lines. She'd spent the whole day trying to distract herself but couldn't stop thinking about being so close to her family and her old life.

“Try not to worry, okay?” I tried to reassure Maya, but it wasn't the same thing as being together. I knew that because I was missing my dad something fierce. I didn't want to think about the awful things Bar Tech or Cochran might be doing to him.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks.” She turned her attentions back to cooking dinner, but I knew I hadn't completely assuaged her sadness.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I dug it out. My first thought was that it might be Lydia, back online on the other side of the Antarctic storm. I switched gears as soon as I saw the sender. It was Chase. I felt an immediate pang of guilt and angled the phone away from Maya. I still hadn't found a way to bring up that I was kind of, sort of—to be fair we hadn't put a name on it, either—flirting with her ex. I didn't want to betray the holy covenant of female friendship, but at the same time, my tenuous relationship status seemed like such small potatoes next to the bigger problems we were dealing with. Maya was too concerned with Bar Tech and Dana and getting our lives back to be pining over boys. At the same time, I had to admit I was dying to open the text.

The phone buzzed again. Make that texts.

Are you okay?
Not the subtle flirtation I had been hoping for.

You're 40 minutes late. Text me back when you get this.

Late for what? I racked my brain, but I couldn't remember making plans for a date with Chase. Then I remembered and immediately felt like a total jerk. It wasn't a date.

It was our stupid Shakespeare project. I had completely forgotten about our English assignment, and right along with it, our plans to collaborate. I quickly sent a response.

Sorry—totally lost track of time. Will be right there!
I knew I had to keep some semblance of my life intact. And I didn't believe Chase was trying to ambush me either. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I thought going to his house might be a good idea. Maybe I could even find out something about my father's whereabouts. Maybe Chase knew something he wasn't even aware of. Something he overheard his father talking about.

Unfortunately, that left me to deal with Maya and the dinner she had made for both of us. I decided it was time to come clean and tell Maya the truth. I took a full-body breath.