The Wild One (5 page)

Isabel stuck the free miniature golf coupon in the frame of her dresser mirror. She made sure it was evenly lined up with the picture of her and Alex at the homecoming dance, then she flopped down on her bed.

That had actually been fun. Miniature golf had a high potential for dorkitude, but Alex managed to make it cool. Except for that part at the end. That weird moment when she felt the little buzz of power being used.

Could Alex be right? Could she have used her power to direct the golf ball without realizing it? The idea really creeped her out.

It doesn't make any sense, she told herself. They were talking about miniature golf here. There was no way anything related to miniature golf could qualify as an unconscious desire. Yeah, making that hole in one had been fun. But it's not like she really
cared
.

It would be a different deal if Brad Pitt had suddenly materialized in front of her. Or if Stacey Scheinin had ballooned up to, like, four hundred pounds. Then she would really have to consider Alex's unconscious desires theory.

There had to be some other explanation. But she had absolutely no idea what. And trying to figure it out was starting to make her head hurt.

Isabel stretched out on her bed and shut her eyes. Maybe she would just take a peek into a few dreams. She could use a little distraction.

At least she could still dream walk. It was the only use of power that was safe—humans never knew about it. Even Max, Mr. Responsibility, dream walked once in a while.

Isabel wondered if there would ever be a time when she could stop being careful. If there would ever be a time when she could use the other kinds of power. She missed it. It felt like part of her had been injected with novocaine and was totally numb. Almost dead.

Maybe Max and Michael didn't care about losing that part of themselves. But Isabel did. Living without using her power was like having a big, beautiful, brightly colored pair of wings—but never being able to fly.

There's no point in thinking about it, she told herself. You use your power to do anything but dream walk, and you could end up dead. Period.

Isabel adjusted her pillow under her head. She focused on taking deep, even breaths, preparing to dream walk. In moments she slipped into the state between sleep and wakefulness, and the dream orbs became visible.

She sat up and let her eyes wander over the glistening orbs spinning around her. They always reminded her of giant soap bubbles, filled with iridescent colors.

Each orb belonged to someone who was asleep and dreaming. Over the years Isabel had managed to match up most of the people she knew with their dream orbs. She identified them partly by colors but mainly by sound. Each orb gave off one pure note of music, and none of these notes were exactly alike.

Isabel closed her eyes to focus her attention on the sounds of the orbs without being distracted by their shimmering beauty. Yes, there was a new sound. So low and deep, it was almost inaudible.

She began to hum, calling the dream orb to her. The sound grew closer. Isabel opened her eyes and stretched out her arms. She hummed louder, coaxing the orb closer. She smiled as it spun into her hands.

It will probably be some middle-aged guy who just moved to town, Isabel thought. He'll be having some gross dream about him and a supermodel. Sometimes when you peeked into people's dreams, you saw some really icky stuff. Stuff that made you want to run into the bathroom and wash your hands.

Isabel took a deep breath and peered into the orb. All she could see was her own face reflected back at her. Weird. The surface of the other orbs was translucent, making it easy to see the dream inside. But the surface of this new orb looked like metal, like bronze, but thinner than a sheet of paper and soft.

It definitely wasn't enough to keep Isabel out. She drew her hands apart, humming low in her throat. The dream orb expanded until it was too large to hold in her arms. She released it and it continued to
grow. When it was large enough, Isabel stepped inside. The orb re-formed behind her.

Whoa. This was much better than some sweaty guy's dream. This was awesome. Truly.

Isabel stood on a deserted beach. The sun had almost set, and the darkening sky was splashed with deep reds and oranges. The air smelled ozone charged, the way it usually did after a storm. But it didn't look as if it had rained recently.

This is someone's dream, Isabel reminded herself. Don't look for logic.

It didn't feel like a dream, though. For one thing, it was way too static. There were a few tiny birds chasing the waves when they went out and running away from them when they came back in, but that was it. If this was a regular dream, something would be
happening
.

And where was the dreamer? Okay, in some dreams the dreamer didn't quite look like himself, but whoever was having this dream should be here in
some
form. Could the dreamer be dreaming he was one of those little birds? That would be sort of a nice dream.

Isabel decided as long as she was going to be hanging out here, she might as well enjoy herself. And she wasn't really dressed for the beach. An instant later Isabel had on a bright orange bikini with a gauzy wraparound skirt. Her feet were bare, and she had a big tropical fruit drink in one hand. She decided to give herself a nice golden tan, too. She loved how easy it was to manipulate reality in a dream.

Isabel wandered along the shore, her feet sinking
deep into the sand with each step. The sand felt so soft, as soft as dusting power. She had never seen such small grains.

The sky grew completely dark, and the moon came out. Isabel sat down and stared up at it. That's when she realized that there wasn't one moon in the sky—there were two. Both perfectly full and glowing with a silver light.

A breeze kicked up, blowing Isabel's hair across her face. A moment later her hair was up in an elegant twist. She wished she had this much power when she was awake! She'd never have to suffer through another bad hair day.

Clouds drifted across the moons. Acid green clouds.

Isabel felt her heart give a little flutter in her chest. She had seen clouds like those before. She and Max and Michael had all come out of their pods with memories of their home planet. Max figured they were some kind of species memories, memories all the people on their planet were born with. Those acid green clouds—that's where she had seen them before. In one of her species memories.

Why were those clouds in this dream? It would make sense if it were Max or Michael doing the dreaming. But they definitely weren't. Isabel knew exactly what their dream orbs looked like.

It's just a coincidence, she told herself. Acid green clouds could turn up in anyone's dreams. It's not like humans couldn't imagine weird-colored clouds.

Isabel shoved herself to her feet and headed down the beach. She came to a stand of trees. They were
short, shorter than she was, with peeling, papery bark. She had never seen anything like them, but she wasn't a biology head like Max. These trees could be some ordinary earth variety for all she knew.

She reached out and pulled off a strip of the flaky bark. Red sap, as glossy as nail polish, began to leak from the tree. The scent hit her nose—sharp and tangy. And familiar. But familiar only from one of her species memories.

Whose dream was this? Why couldn't she see them? Was the dreamer hiding from her? Watching her? That had never happened before. But she had never encountered an orb with a metallic surface before, either. She had never had a dream match up with her species memories.

“Where are you?” Isabel cried. “Who are you?”

This was getting too creepy. She wanted to get out of here. Next time she would bring Max and Michael into the dream orb with her and they could explore together.

Isabel stumbled away from the tree. Two strong hands caught her by the waist, steadying her. Then she was pulled up against a broad, bare chest. All hard muscle under smooth skin. She knew she should jerk away. But it just felt too good.

“Looking for me, Isabel?” a low male voice asked. The feel of warm breath against her ear sent shivers through her.

“Who are you?” Isabel demanded. She started to turn around—and the dream broke. She was back on her bed, back in her regular clothes.

She sat up, feeling groggy and disoriented. She dipped her fingers in the glass of water that she had placed on her nightstand earlier and splashed some water on her face. It helped a little. But she still felt half asleep.

That's it! Isabel drew a sigh of relief. She must have fallen asleep before she entered the plane where the dream orbs were visible. That explained everything—the strange metallic orb, the acid green clouds, the way it felt like there was no dreamer in the dream.

Isabel
was the dreamer. Yeah, that explained everything.

Well, everything except those two strange bursts of unexplained power. Those weren't part of her dream.

Max tilted back his head, enjoying the feeling of the sun shining down on his face. In another month or so it would be too cold to eat lunch in the quad. But today the weather was perfect. He liked the way he, Liz, Alex, Michael, Maria, and Isabel had gotten in the habit of eating together. Of course, he would like anything that gave him the chance to spend a little more time with Liz. But that wasn't the only reason. Being surrounded by people who knew the truth about him—and cared about him, anyway—was still an amazing feeling.

“Well, hush my mouth. Look who's come calling,” Alex said in an overdone southern accent.

Max glanced over his shoulder and saw Elsevan DuPris heading across the quad, dressed in his usual
rumpled white suit, white Panama hat, and white shoes.

“Well, hello there, children,” DuPris drawled as he strolled up to them. His southern accent sounded almost as fake as Alex's. “I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you would be so kind. I'm working on a story for my little paper.”

DuPris's little paper was the
Astral Projector
. It was Roswell's answer to the
National Enquirer
. Except Roswell being Roswell, all the stories were about aliens. Max had never read an issue. The headlines were bad enough. “Alien Baby Melts Mother with a Single Kiss” kinds of deals.

“Tin sorry. I told my lawyer I wouldn't talk to the press unless she was present. I'm always being hideously misquoted,” Alex said.

DuPris ignored him. “I heard that something a tad unusual happened at the football game the other day. Something about a mascot behaving in a most peculiar way, almost defying the laws of physics. Can any of you tell me anything about that?”

Of all the kids who were at that game, why is he asking us? Max thought. He told himself not to get paranoid. DuPris was obviously a buffoon. This was nothing to get in a sweat about.

“That was the Guffman mascot, not ours,” Maria told him. “You should go over there.”

“I shall, I shall. But do y'all have any impressions for me since I'm here and all?” DuPris asked. He rolled his walking stick between his palms, twirling it back and forth.

“I didn't notice. I was too busy checking out our new football player,” Liz answered, looking right at Max.

And Liz Ortecho delivers a crashing punch to Max Evans's stomach, a little sports commentator voice in Max's head said. He staggers, but he doesn't go down.

“It was a pretty good flip. All of us cheerleaders were saying we should start taking gymnastics lessons to keep up,” Isabel added. She smiled at DuPris, her blue eyes open wide.

That's Iz, Max thought. Thinks a pretty smile is all it takes to get her way. And usually it was. Except with him, of course. Brothers are invulnerable to that kind of tactic from their sisters.

“Oh, don't be modest,” DuPris cooed. “You're a fine athlete from what I hear. Everyone's talking about your performance at the miniature golf course.”

Isabel stiffened a little. “Oh, pfft, that was just luck,” she said.

Yeah, right, Max thought. It was totally obvious his sister was lying—at least it was totally obvious to him. Maybe not to DuPris. As soon as DuPris left, Max would have to ask Isabel exactly what her
performance
involved. Obviously something had gone on that he should know about.

“I don't believe in luck,” DuPris said. “Some people believe that we all have an angel on our shoulders and that's where luck comes from. But I have a different theory.”

Max tried to keep his face completely blank. Maybe the guy would take a hint that no one wanted to hear his
theory
and take off.

“My theory is that our luck comes from alien intervention. I believe there are aliens among us and that sometimes they give us a little help,” DuPris continued.

Michael raised his eyebrows. “They came billions of miles to help us with
miniature golf?
” he asked.

“Well, among other things,” DuPris agreed.

The bell rang, and Max sprang to his feet. “Got to get to class.”

“Ah. Well, I thank you for your time.” DuPris tipped his hat and wandered off.

“Why do I suddenly feel the urge for some southern cuisine every time I see that guy?” Alex asked. He shoved the last bite of his hamburger into his mouth and grabbed his backpack. “See y'all later,” he added. He headed toward the gym.

“Wait up,” Michael called. He trotted after Alex.

Maria turned to Isabel. “Are you ready for another round of
Julius Caesar?
”

“No, but let's go, anyway.” They wandered toward the east wing.

“Alone at last,” Max said to Liz. He meant for it to come out sort of cool and jokey. But instead it sounded lame.

Liz stood up and stared after Maria and Isabel. “That's something I never thought I'd see. A few weeks ago Maria was convinced Isabel wanted to kill her, and Isabel …” She shook her head.

Whoa. Max knew that “alone at last” thing was dorky But he didn't think it called for a complete subject change.