The Talents (3 page)

BY ELEVEN
the next morning I had worked myself into a complete panic. As part of my invisibility routine I'd made a point of accumulating a wardrobe of completely nondescript clothing. This had never particularly bothered me before because I'd never been invited to lunch with an incredibly hot guy. Now I realized with painful clarity that none of my clothes really fit—everything had come from a clearance rack at Walmart or the Goodwill—and the colors ranged from black to brown to tan. So basically, I'd be cleaner than yesterday, but not much more attractive.

I locked my bike to a “No Parking” sign and walked into Bev's Café—the only decent restaurant in Danville—right at noon. Some annoying oldies music blared from a jukebox across the room. Grandma loves Bev's. It's got black-and-white floor tiles, white tabletops, and red leather booths. She thinks it's adorable. I just like the hamburgers.

Cam had already grabbed a corner booth, and he waved at me. Pure terror swept over me.

He was even cuter than I remembered.

I took a deep breath and wandered over, trying to act as if I did this sort of thing every day.

“Hey, Dancia. Glad you could meet me.” He lounged against the booth, his shaggy hair falling into dark eyes.

“Yeah, hi.” The words stuck in my throat like I'd just swallowed a huge mouthful of peanut butter. Of course I knew he had only agreed to meet me because it was his job. But a girl could dream, right?

I sat across from him, and a waitress bustled over. She brightened as soon as she saw me. “Dancia, sweetie, how are you? How's your grandma?”

“She's fine, thanks, Patty.” I hoped Cam didn't think it was hopelessly geeky to talk to the waitress. Grandma and I came in here a couple times a month, and it was impossible not to know everyone. “How's Ella?” Ella was her cat, and Patty doted on her the way most people doted on their kids.

“What a sweet thing to ask! Actually, she did the cutest thing the other day…” As she handed us menus and filled our water glasses, Patty droned on about Ella's latest adorable antics, which included shredding the living room curtains. Then she aimed a curious look at Cam. “Are you new to town? I don't recognize you from the high school.”

Cam held out his hand. “I'm Cameron Sanders. I go to school up at Delcroix.”

“Oh.” Patty took a step back. She focused on his hand for a moment, and then wiped her own on her apron. “Delcroix? Really? You folks don't come in here much.” She shook his hand with a quick, nervous jerk.

“A terrible mistake.” He gave her a wide smile. “This place is great. From now on, I know where I'll be coming on my days off.”

Patty stared at him silently for a moment and twisted her hands together. I couldn't tell if she was horrified or appreciative. I guess I hadn't thought about how other people in town might view Delcroix. I mean, the kids in my middle school thought the Delcroix kids were rich weirdos, but we didn't pay them much attention. Grandma, on the other hand, talked about Delcroix like you'd have to be some kind of god to go there.

“Does one of your teachers really write speeches for the president?” Patty asked, the words coming out in a rush. “My sister said it wasn't true, but I heard it was. And they said he might come for a visit this year.”

Cam nodded. “They talked about him stopping by. But we don't know for sure.”

“Well, that would be nice.” She twisted her lips into an awkward grimace that I think was meant to be a smile. “I sure would like to see the president.” With that, Patty gave Cam a little nod that was almost a bow, and then she scurried away.

I grabbed my glass and drank down about half. Maybe Delcroix was even more out of my league than I'd thought.

With Patty gone, silence stretched out between us. Ask a question, I told myself. That always works.

“So I guess you like Delcroix a lot, huh?”

He paused and studied me with those big dark eyes. “I love it. I think you would too.”

“What do you like about it?”

“Well”—he gazed directly at me as he spoke—“I know a lot of kids who feel like they can't be themselves at their school. They think they have to change themselves to fit into a group or feel accepted. That doesn't happen at Delcroix. Everyone just
is
. Hard to believe, I know, but it's the truth. You don't have to pretend at Delcroix.”

His voice dropped, and even though he couldn't have planned it, his words traveled straight to my heart. Not have to pretend? What would that even feel like?

“You can just be yourself, Dancia. Wouldn't that be amazing?”

Something about Cam's voice was hypnotic. The restaurant, Patty, even the cheesy music faded away. I closed my eyes for a second and imagined walking down the hall of a new school, people passing by and saying hello, friends waiting for me as I got to class. I swallowed hard as tears pricked the backs of my eyes.

When my eyes opened, Cam was studying me. His forehead wrinkled a little, like he was concerned. “I know it sounds strange,” he said softly, “but you aren't the only one who feels that way.”

How did he know what I was thinking?

I waved my hand and struggled to sound nonchalant. “Actually, my middle school was fine. Really. I mean, there's all the usual stuff with the geeks and the cool kids, but in general, everyone gets along.”

“Of course.” He nodded and picked up the menu. The magic string connecting us snapped and dissolved. “So what's good here?”

“You've really never eaten at Bev's?” I couldn't hide my surprise. “Didn't you say you started at Delcroix two years ago?”

He looked a little embarrassed. “I stay pretty busy at school.”

I thought about what Patty had said, how the people from Delcroix never came down here, and I realized with a start that before Cam, I'd never met any kids from there. Sure, we made up stories about them, but we'd never actually talked to one. Which made them seem odd, all of a sudden, or maybe just snooty. But not Cam. Cam would never be snooty. I could tell.

“Oh, I didn't mean anything by it,” I said. “I just thought everyone in Danville ate here. They have really good hamburgers and fries. But stay away from the clam chowder.”

He grinned. “Thanks for the tip.”

When I got home two hours later, I marched straight up to Grandma and scowled.

She didn't even close her magazine. “How was lunch?”

“Great,” I snapped. Amazing. Incredible. And I was now completely in love with a guy I'd probably never speak to again.

“What did you and Cameron talk about?”

“Nothing. School. Delcroix.”

Everything. We talked about soccer and how the girls' team needed a new forward. We talked about the cool electives Delcroix offered, like popular music, poetry, and independent study, where you could make up your own class. He told me about his dad, how he missed him during the school year but how fun it was to live on campus. I played it cool, pretended like I had lots of friends I'd be leaving behind, but I had the feeling he knew the truth. He wasn't mean about it. He was…sweet. Caring. Understanding. He told me about amazing things they did, like getting to visit Cape Canaveral. One of the space shuttle pilots had gone to Delcroix, and does a tour for the advanced astronomy classes. Not to mention all the musicians who do guest lectures there. Not just classical musicians, either. Cool people. People I'd heard of.

“And did you make a decision?”

I set my jaw. “I'll go to Delcroix, but if I don't like it by Christmas break, I'm transferring back to Danville High.”

She flipped through a few more pages. “That sounds lovely, dear. An excellent plan.”

“Aren't you going to say anything else?” I snapped. “Like, I told you so?”

“Why would I do something like that?” Grandma said, closing the magazine. “Now, what should we have for dinner?”

I stomped off to my room, thoroughly annoyed by the knowledge that, as usual, Grandma had gotten exactly what she wanted.

I WOKE
early the next morning after a night of very little sleep, and stumbled into the bathroom. Through puffy eyes I took in my usual attractive early-morning hairdo—half frizz, half ringlets—and a crease across my cheek from my lumpy pillow.

I picked halfheartedly at a few blackheads. My whole body felt out of sorts. I'd spent the night fantasizing about Cam, imagining us as boyfriend and girlfriend, walking down the hall arm in arm. It was painfully delicious, even in my mind, and definitely not conducive to a good night's sleep.

But he was just being nice, I kept reminding myself; just doing his job.

As if that could keep me from developing the crush of the century.

I decided to go for a jog. Running usually helped clear my head. And now that I knew Cam, I had a figure to maintain.

I dug through my hamper and found an old pair of running shorts and a relatively clean T-shirt with a picture of Danville Central Hospital on it.

Grandma's not much for doing laundry, and unfortunately, neither am I.

Grandma's door was closed, which was a relief because I had a suspicion she would want to talk about Delcroix as soon as she woke up. I tiptoed past her bedroom and through the living room, locked the door behind me, and started off at a decent pace down the street.

According to Grandma, people in Danville used to make good money working at the mill or logging in the forests. But they stopped logging before I was born, and closed the mill, so now there's just a lot of rundown houses and people without work. People like Grandma and me, who are just getting by.

The bright side is that the forests nearby are young and thick, and there are trails within a few miles of my house. When I was a kid, Grandma would take me on picnics and nature walks, and I always loved it, even when I pretended not to. I feel better in the woods, like my problems aren't so overwhelming.

We're close to Mount Rainier, which has always worried me a little because they say it's only a matter of time before it erupts again, and it would be just my luck to get caught in a freak lava flow. But this morning all I could see was the peak off in the distance, covered with snow. It looked peaceful, and the air was damp and still. The slap of my sneakers against the road was the only sound I could hear, and I calmed down a little as I ran.

Maybe things would be different at Delcroix, just like Cam said. Maybe I wouldn't feel threatened. Maybe I wouldn't have to try so hard to make myself invisible. Danville Middle School wasn't exactly a good place to stand out, but with all the amazing kids at Delcroix, no one would be paying the least bit of attention to me, right?

Even though I hated the idea of leaving Grandma alone, I had to admit that living at Delcroix sounded pretty amazing. No doctor appointments, no cooking or cleaning, a computer, a library I could use whenever I wanted.…And then there was Cam. Living at Delcroix meant I'd get to see Cam
every day
.

Images of Cam seemed to block out all rational thought, so I didn't see the kid running toward me until we were about to collide. He was looking over his shoulder and scowling at the road behind him, eyebrows knit together like a dark smear across his forehead. He had long legs and arms, black hair, and pale skin. I thought I saw the scrawl of a tattoo across one bicep.

“Hey!” I yelled, ducking out of the way just in time to avoid being flattened.

He stopped and spun around. His gaze darted wildly from my face to the road and back. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He brushed it off with an impatient, trembling hand.

I saw panic in his eyes, and fear in the rigid, jerky way he kept moving, as if he couldn't afford to stand still.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He looked over his shoulder again, and then took a step closer to me. Grabbing my shoulders, he peered right into my face. “If a man asks if you've seen me, say no, okay?”

Beautiful silvery-gray eyes stared out from spiky black eyelashes. I froze, unable to tear my gaze from his.

“Okay?” he repeated, shaking my shoulders. His voice cracked.

I gulped, my heart pounding in my chest. Suddenly I had a taste of the fear that seemed to consume him. “Should I call the police?”

“No!” His voice cracked again. “No,” he repeated. “Just say you haven't seen me.”

He let me go and started running down the block. When he got to the corner, he took a right and headed in the direction of the open space on the edge of town.

Just as the boy disappeared from view, a beige sedan appeared at the head of the street, several blocks away. It moved slowly, deliberately.

As the car approached, I could see the driver looking carefully from side to side. He was blond and clean shaven, and mirrored sunglasses covered half his face. When he saw me, he pulled over and rolled down the passenger-side window, the seat belt pulling tight against his shoulder as he leaned to the side.

He pushed up the sunglasses and arranged his face in a semblance of concern. “Excuse me, miss, but did you see a boy run by here? He would have been about your age, tall, with a tattoo around his arm.”

My heart thumped hard, paused, and thumped again. The whoosh of a windstorm filled my ears. “No,” I said, trying to sound calm. “I haven't seen anyone.”

His mouth tightened, and then he manufactured a worried grimace. “Are you sure? See, my son and I had a fight, and he stormed off. I'm really worried about him. You're absolutely sure you didn't see him?”

Now I knew something was up. Unless this guy fathered that kid when he was in elementary school, he was lying. And the kid had looked terrified. Why?

“Look, I already told you no. Now, I'm right in the middle of a workout, so if you don't mind…” With an annoyed look, I backed away and started running again. It took all my willpower to set a steady rhythm and keep my shoulders loose, as if I had no idea something unusual was going on. Behind me, I heard the car engine rev and the tires squeal. I shot a glance over my shoulder just in time to see the car turn in the direction of the open space.

The same direction the kid had run, just a minute before.

He was in danger. I couldn't ignore it. And I was the only one who could help him.

Helplessly, I fixated on the car as an image appeared in my head. A second later, both front tires blew out with a sound like a shotgun. The car began fishtailing wildly. There was a sickening sound of screeching tires and then crashing steel as the sedan slammed into a huge red pickup parked on the side of the road.

I sucked in a deep breath, spun around, and sprinted toward the car, my heart beating so fast I couldn't hear where one heartbeat stopped and the next began.

A huge lump stuck in my throat.

I hadn't thought he would crash like that.

Please, let him be okay. Please don't let me have hurt him.

A woman in a bathrobe ran out of the house behind the pickup with a phone in her hand. I got close enough to look over her shoulder as she peered into the car window.

Thank you, oh thank you.

He must have hit the steering wheel, because a crack ran down one lens of his sunglasses, and a thin line of blood connected his eyebrows. But he was alive. He swore loudly and pulled the glasses from his face. The seat belt I noticed earlier held him pinned to the seat, and he jerked it loose.

The woman with the phone began asking him questions. “Are you all right? Can you hear me? Do you know what day it is?”

The man barked something at her, but I couldn't hear what he said. The rushing still clogged my ears, though it sounded muted now, like the distant roar of the ocean. He grabbed a cell phone and held it up, glaring at the woman until she backed away from the car. As soon as she gave him room, he leaned over his cell as if wanting privacy, and began to speak in a low voice. A few seconds later he flipped his phone closed and pushed against the car door. It didn't budge, and he swore again.

I eased my way toward the sidewalk when I saw a couple of other people coming out of their houses. Clearly the situation was under control. The lady in the bathrobe started calling the police or a hospital while the man with the sunglasses pulled himself out of the car window,
Dukes of Hazzard
style. He paced back and forth, muttering nasty phrases and looking furious. Once again I started running—nice and slow so it didn't look like I was running away.

Relief rolled off my shoulders in waves, along with a strange, unfamiliar sense of triumph.

Usually after something triggers my power, I feel horrible. I tell myself I shouldn't have gotten involved, that I should have fought the instinct to throw my power at someone like a ten-ton truck. Invariably, I seem to end up hurting someone, and I worry about the person I hurt—if I did the right thing or not, and if I had the right to be making that decision at all. And this time I could have seriously hurt that guy. If he hadn't had his seat belt on…Well, the very thought of it made me cringe.

Despite that, I had the oddest sensation of wanting to laugh in Sunglasses Guy's face. All because he'd been following a tough-looking kid with a tattoo who I didn't even know.

This was precisely why I needed to keep myself separate from normal human beings. Clearly I was deranged. I should have been feeling guilty, and here I was enjoying the memory of that guy pulling himself out through the window of his car.

I turned the corner and headed toward the open space, following the kid's path without even thinking. Of course he was gone. When I got about three-quarters of the way down the block, the noise of the accident began to fade, and the quiet of early morning resumed. I glanced at my watch: barely six a.m. It always amazes me that so much can happen in such a short period of time.

That's when I heard the sound of footsteps.

I slowed down. I tried to breathe shallowly so I could hear better, but my heart was beating too fast. A few blocks away, the open meadow stood empty and quiet.

Had Sunglasses Guy come after me? The footsteps continued, and I darted a look over my shoulder.

Nothing.

I slowed down further, and the sound grew softer, barely audible. Too scared not to look, I stopped and spun around.

The street was empty.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead and forced myself to smile. Tattoo Kid must have really gotten to me. Now I was imagining that
I
was being followed. How ridiculous was that?

I started walking, my gaze darting back and forth across the street. When I heard a noise again, I yelled, “Who's there?”

A woman opened the front door of a tiny bungalow with peeling yellow paint. She looked up and down the block and then stared at me, obviously thinking I must be crazy, yelling at myself like that. I laughed nervously and started running.

A few houses down, a fat orange-and-white tabby cat padded down a driveway to sit in the middle of the sidewalk. It sat there, licking one paw and staring at me.

I stuck out my tongue and picked up the pace. This time I didn't stop until I got home.