Pivot Point (20 page)

“We hate to show up and then run, but we’re going to catch the football game.”

“No worries. I know you came for the game. You’re all mine tomorrow though.”

“For sure.”

He shows me to a room that looks more sterile than a hospital and says, “I know it’s kind of plain, but it’s yours for whenever you visit, so feel free to put up your comics pictures and stuff.”

“Thanks, Dad. I will.” He starts to leave, and I stop him with, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He chuckles. “I’m fine, Addie.”

As Laila and I get ready in front of the cramped bathroom mirror, she asks, “Did you and Duke do any more surveillance last night at Poison’s house?”

“No, we didn’t have time. Why, did you?”

“Yes. But it was nothing different from last time. Just druggies going in and out. Is it weird to you that half the druggies are teenagers?”

I go over my hair with a straightener, wondering if I should’ve reverted back to curls for the wetter air. It’s already a little frizzy. “I know. I found that odd as well. I don’t know why, but I guess I thought our classmates were smarter than that.”

She adds some black eyeliner under her eyes. “You know what it has confirmed to me, though?”

“What?”

“That we’ve been worried over nothing. Duke feels the same, right?”

“Yeah, he does. There is nothing but extreme-brain-cell-deterioration going on at Poison’s house.”

At the game, I wish I had brought an extra layer of clothing—it’s pretty cold. I blow on my hands and then rub them rapidly across my thighs. Laila is bouncing up and down next to me, and I can’t tell if it’s in an effort to stay warm or if she’s excited. She solves the mystery when she says, “I don’t believe we’ve never been to an away game before. What’s wrong with us? This is fun.”

“Yeah, exciting.”

“The Norms seem so … normal.”

“Here they come.” I point to where the team, led by Duke, runs out of the tunnel as the announcer says a drawn-out version of our school name.

Duke runs to center field and bows.

I sigh. “I wish he wouldn’t do stuff like that. It makes him seem more cocky than he is.”

“It’s just Duke having fun. If we were closer, you’d see the teasing twinkle in his eye.”

Teasing or not, the whole stadium probably thinks he’s full of himself. Why doesn’t that bother him? To our left is the other team’s student section. I notice Laila looking over.

“What?” I ask.

“Norm boys are pretty cute.”

I scan them as well. They seem like the guys I see on a daily basis at my own school.

“We should mess with their minds.”

I laugh. “How?”

“Okay, pick out one of those boys and I’ll get him to come over here.”

“How?”

“He’ll think it was his own idea. You should do it too, since you’re supposed to be practicing Thought Placement. How is that going anyway?”

Not well, and I’m tired of practicing. Whenever we have free time, it’s all Duke wants to do. “I think I’m getting better.”

“Prove it. We’ll have a race. Whoever gets her boy to come over first wins.”

I roll my head to the side and groan. “Fine.”

“Okay, name your boy, so we’re not trying to call the same one over.”

This time I study them closer. “The one with his hands in his pockets. Cowboy boots. Dark hair.” He looks sort of familiar to me, but I can’t place him.

She rolls her eyes. “Of course, typical Addie boy. I pick the guy with the foam finger.”

“Which one?”

“The one jumping all over the place. Shoulder-length hair, beautiful skin.”

I zero in on him. Just when I think I’ve figured out Laila’s taste in guys, which for a while I thought was just any male between the ages of sixteen and twenty-two, she surprises me by picking someone completely different. Like this guy, for example; he’s cute enough, but thin and too dressed up for a football game. I thought Laila liked to have the upper hand in the style department.

“Ready?” she asks.

I nod.

“Go.”

Without trying to be obvious, I take several glances at my guy and concentrate.
Go talk to the girl with the blue stripe in her hair,
I say in my mind and then try to push it into his. He meets my eyes once and then looks away. I try again, but by this time Laila’s guy is already walking toward us. I let out a low growl, and she laughs. “Ha! I picked a guy with less impulse control. You have to look for the wild ones, Addie, not the conservative ones.”

Ah, so that was her criteria this time.

He takes a seat two rows behind us. Does he think he’s being subtle? Poor guy is being told he wants to come over here and has no idea what to do now that he’s here.

“I told him he wanted to sit by us. That’s not really by us.” Laila turns around, looks up at him, and says, “Really? Are you that much of a wimp?”

“He’s probably intimidated by you,” I say, but he walks down the cement steps.

“What’s your name?” Laila asks, when he sits down next to her.

“Rowan.”

“I’m Laila. This is Addie.”

“Hi,” I say.

“You guys here with the visiting team?” he asks.

“That’s kind of why we’re sitting in this section.”

“This is a long way to come for a game. You must be friends with some of the players.”

“As a matter of fact, that’s Addie’s boyfriend.” She points to the field, where Duke is dropping back for a pass.

“The quarterback?”

“Yeah, his name’s Duke Rivers. Have you heard of him?”

“He’s up for All-American this year, isn’t he?”

I shrug my shoulders, but Laila says, “Yes. Is he up against any of your players?”

“No. Our quarterback sustained a major injury.”

“That’s too bad,” I say.

“It really is. He was awesome. He might’ve beat Duke this year.” He points back to where he had been sitting. “That’s him right there—Trevor.”

Laila laughs, and I know exactly why she’s laughing—Rowan’s pointing at the guy I had done Thought Placement on. Was that why he looked so familiar? Had I seen his picture in some of Duke’s football albums?

“What’s so funny?” Rowan asks.

“Nothing, my
friend
just thought he was cute. And my friend swears she doesn’t like football players.”

“Ah, well, he’s sort of taken.” He points to a gorgeous cheerleader waving her pom-poms around down on the field. Just the kind of girl I would expect a guy like Trevor to be with.

“How can someone be ‘sort of’ taken?” Laila asks.

“He broke up with her about a month ago, but she keeps coming around, and he’s too nice to tell her not to.”

“Wow,” Laila says. “We just have to put a quarter in you, and you spit out all kinds of information.”

Rowan’s face reddens. “What about you guys? What’s your school like?”

Laila shrugs. “Just your average high school.”

“Then how come you never host sports there?”

“Because our stadium is a piece of crap. And our school would rather spend the money busing us all over the place instead of fixing it. The school is run by a bunch of idiots.” We had been trained by the Containment Committee the day before on what we were and were not allowed to say to outsiders. This is an example of an acceptable answer. Well, close to acceptable. Laila probably found the irony of her last sentence hilarious.

Rowan tilts his head and seems to be studying her sincerity.

“Wait?” she says with a gasp. “Has our real secret been blown? This guy’s good. He found out we’re all superheroes-in-training and that we’re hiding out so no one will know our secret identities.”

I barely hold back the laugh that wants to exit through my nose.

“Funny.” He laughs.

“You’re adorable,” Laila says. “I bet you’re feeling the desire to buy me a soda right about now, aren’t you?”

His eyes widen a little and I know Laila had probably made him think that right before she said it. “Yes. I’d love to.”

“You going to be okay for a minute alone, Addie?”

“Yeah, of course. Be nice to the boy.” When she leaves, I turn my attention back to the field and notice Duke on the sidelines looking up at me. He waves, then blows me a kiss, and my cheeks go red. A few girls behind me let out a dreamy sigh. I lift my hand in a half wave. When Duke goes back to his game, I self-consciously glance toward the Norm student section. Trevor is gone.

NO[R]M•i•nal
:
adj.
being true in name only but not in reality

After doing our round in enemy territory—Lincoln High’s student section—and finding nothing except some friends to chat with, Laila and I settle in for the second half of the game. When the whistle blows, indicating the start of the quarter, I’m surprised Trevor isn’t in his seat, watching intently. I scan the sidelines to see if he’s talking to Stephanie. He’s not. Stephanie’s in the middle of a high kick.

“Hey,” I say to Laila. “I’m going to see if I can find Trevor. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

Now that the game has started again, the blacktop behind the stadium is deserted. The lights from the lone building—the snack hut—create a glowing island in the otherwise dark alley. I immediately see the broad back of Trevor, standing at the counter, giving the cashier some money. When she hands him his soda, he turns away from the stadium steps where I stand and walks into the darkness. I have to run to catch up to him.

“Trevor,” I call, breathless.

He turns. “Oh, hi, Addison.”

“What are you doing? Aren’t you going to watch the rest of the game?”

“I … no, actually.”

“Why not?”

He takes a swig from his soda. “I just feel a little stiff. Thought a walk would help.”

“That’s a good excuse, but what’s the real reason?”

He smiles. “Did you inherit some of your father’s lie-detector genes?”

“Maybe,” I say, even though the only bit of Discernment I have has to do with manipulating time. The reason I know he’s lying is because he’s not acting like himself. He’s been even quieter than normal all night, which isn’t saying a lot, because he’s pretty quiet all the time.

“I guess even though I’m usually good at not thinking about ‘would’ve-beens,’ I’m having a hard time tonight. I’ll blame it on the team we’re playing.”

“Let’s just blame everything on them.”

“Sounds good.”

I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. He just quietly drinks his soda. I know the would’ve-been that he’s having a hard time not thinking about—his injury. But I wonder if there’s more to it. “What are you thinking about?”

He rubs his shoulder. “The doctor says I can throw again next week, but I realize I’m never going to play competitively again.”

I nod.

He takes another long drink from his soda, finishing it off. He seems to be stalling, maybe waiting for me to leave, but I don’t want to. I want him to talk. I want to be here for him. “It’s not that I’m not strong enough,” he finally says.

“Of course not,” I agree too quickly, then laugh a little. Technically I shouldn’t know that, but I just happened to have seen him with his shirt off and took plenty of time appreciating the evidence of his statement.

“I am.”

“I know. I just agreed.”

“But you’re laughing. You don’t think I am.” He looks at the soda can he’s holding, turns it sideways, and then crushes it between his hands.

I laugh harder. “Was that meant as proof?”

He smiles. “Yes, actually.”

“You totally got that out of
Ninja Wars Two
. I remember that. Naoto’s eyes are like bugging out of his head while he crushes a soda can.” I bite my lip to stop my laughing. “You’re such a nerd.”

“You’re the one who remembered the comic. You can’t call me a nerd.”

“Total nerd.”

He grabs me by the wrist, pulls me toward him, and somehow lifts me up and is holding me off the ground, his arms wrapped around my thighs, before I can blink.

My heart is immediately in my throat. “Okay, that’s much better proof of your strength,” I say, patting his shoulders. “I believe you. You can put me down now.”

He doesn’t move. His face is serious again. “It’s not that I’m not strong enough to play. It’s just that specific motion.”

“Throwing?” My hands are gripping his shoulders, their solidness further proof of his claim.

“Yeah.”

So a Paranormal precisely targeted his throwing muscles? It’s hard for me to believe someone would do that on purpose. But what else could it be? I have to find out who. Trevor loosens his hold, and I slide gently to the ground. A little light-headed, I take a few wobbly steps back.

“Tonight, watching Duke play, was hard.” He pauses for a long moment, and I don’t want to push him into continuing, so I hold my tongue. “Do you ever feel like you do something or are something for so long that it defines you?”

If only he knew. “Yes. I know exactly how that feels.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Sometimes I feel like I’m slowly floating away. I’m constantly looking for something to grab on to so I don’t lose myself.” Mostly because without my ability to define me, I’m not sure who I am or how others see me.

He nods like he understands exactly what I’m talking about. “I know I was only a junior last year, but I had my whole future planned. Now I feel like I’m still trying to hold on to what I was, even though the thing that made me that person is gone. And everyone else seems to be hanging on to that person too … man, are you sure you want a future best friend who is such a whiner? Just ignore me. I’ll be back to pretending tomorrow.”

His thumb is hooked in the front pocket of his jeans, and I have an overwhelming desire to hold his hand. To comfort him. But I know I can’t. He has Stephanie for that. I’m supposed to punch him on the shoulder and tell him to buck up or something. I settle for a speech. “Whining is definitely something best friends are allowed to do in front of each other—it’s in the handbook. And you don’t have to pretend with me, Trevor. You are more than a football player to me. I didn’t even know that version of you. I only know who you are now—a great friend, easy to talk to and be around, an amazing artist, an awesome brother … a total nerd.” I smile. “And that’s just what I’ve learned in the last few weeks.”