Authors: Jessica Knauss
“We’re not far enough away,” he mumbled.
I looked back at Jill and Raúl. Smoke was pouring from a cigarette that neither of them put to their mouths. “Do you think we have time to go farther?” I asked Brian.
He looked around at all the cars and buildings. “We’ll have to get inside the hospital and use their Wi-Fi,” he said.
But Raúl started fake coughing and Jill was waving her arms at me, so I told Brian we had to go. We arrived in time for the janitor to think we had all been together the whole time. I can’t speak for the others, but I think our punishment of being grounded for three days isn’t very bad. We all have to wear a red badge so the security guards will know we don’t have hall privileges. It’s a million times better than an ankle bracelet. And while the others might have felt like the principal was chewing us out, to me it almost felt like a pat on the back.
The mission was a failure, but now we know at least that the information is out there. Just not in here.
December 12
As soon as our grounding was over, I made sure to act depressed in Ms. Matheson’s class so she would ask me again what was bothering me. I asked her if I could talk about it in her office today, and she said yes, after class. That gave us time to get all our materials together on thumb drives. Ms. Matheson was surprised to see the four of us at her office door, but we all squeezed in. Raúl leaned up against the metal filing cabinets, I sat in the guest chair, Jill stood by the window, and Brian kind of acted as my backrest.
“What’s this all about?” Ms. Matheson asked behind her metal desk. I could read, upside down, that she had pulled a file with my name on it. The paper files do exist!
I said, “Ms. Matheson, I’ve been terribly depressed ever since I came to this school.” I fudged the truth: I got depressed after my manifestation and since I’ve been here, it’s been off and on. Mostly off since Thanksgiving, until I ask my dad about my mother. But she nodded and rested her chin on her folded hands like she was getting ready to listen to the confessions of Salieri.
“There’s no hope here,” I said. “There are no arts programs, no music, no sports. It’s worse than a prison.”
Her face tensed in recognition of what I was saying. I felt like I almost had her, so I paused, unwilling to mess it up by saying the wrong thing. Raúl took it as hesitation and chimed in.
“Brian’s found a better school for us all to go to in Boston. We can’t access the site from our computers and wondered if we could send in our applications here.”
“You want to go to a different school, Kelly?” asked Ms. Matheson, clearly hurt. I wished I could hit Raúl for giving everything away. Instead, I held Brian’s hand for strength.
“Yes, Ms. Matheson. We all do. But not for the sake of leaving Providence. We want to go to the Boston Pyrokinesis and Latin because it would offer us so many more options for study and college afterward. You know I love your science class, but there aren’t any more advanced classes at the PMA. What can I do in the world with just first-year science?”
I laid it on thick with the science because I had no idea if she liked music at all, but the whole time, the image in my mind was of the concert hall and the happy students in the orchestra at the BoPLA. Brian squeezed my shoulders, but I could already tell I was doing well because Ms. Matheson was so serious. At the end of my speech, she stood.
“Be quick. I’ll stand guard,” was all she said. She squeezed past Raúl and the file cabinets and shut the door with her eye to the glass.
We needed no more prompting. Brian went first because this was all his idea and he had the web address memorized, and in turn, we all stuck our memory sticks in the side of the computer and uploaded our documents. It must have taken a good ten minutes for each of us to finish our applications, which is a very long time when your nicest teacher is doing you such a huge favor and looks so nervous the whole time. I was already convinced Ms. Matheson was going to get in huge trouble or fired because of us, so by the time it was my turn, my stomach was churning. I tasted bile in the back of my throat when Ms. Matheson opened the door and slipped outside to talk to Mr. A. without letting him see who was in her office. My elbows felt like they were made of jelly when I took my memory stick out, and my hand was shaking so much that I dropped the stick under her desk. Jill rummaged around and found it for me, and I was almost feeling better when Ms. Matheson reached into the room, turned out the light, and locked the door!
We all looked at one another in the gloom of the desk lamp. How long would we be trapped here? Raúl grabbed Jill’s wrist, and I was afraid they were going to start making out, so I turned, and when I saw the file cabinets, it came to me that we should look for everyone’s files. Mine was already out, and I quickly fished out the grounding for the supposed cigarette break. I handed it to Raúl, who chucked his patch into the rubber tree plant and snapped his fingers over the paper. A shower of sparks made short work of the document. Then he whipped open the drawer marked with the letter of his last name and pulled out his file, which was crammed full of violations. I returned to mine so I could get rid of my first day incident while he set fire to half the office with materials from his file alone, but I got a sinking feeling when I read the word stamped on the top of each page: COPY.
“Stop, Raúl, stop,” I said. “It won’t make a difference. These aren’t the central files.”
By then, the room was filled with smoke and reeked because of the nasty cheap ink they use for copies at this school. Brian opened the window and a few of the papers got sucked into the screen with the vacuum effect (thanks for teaching us that, Ms. Matheson). I don’t know how long we were in there in the dark, but we’d finished throwing the remaining papers back into their proper files when the lights came on. Ms. Matheson looked at us like “What happened?” but didn’t say anything. I looked back at the desk and realized we’d filed away my papers, which had been on the desk when she’d left. She’s not stupid, so she must have figured out what we did by now. Science class will be interesting tomorrow.
Now that I think back, I don’t remember seeing anything in my file about my manifestation. I’ll have to ask Jill if she saw anything related to hers.
We’ve made some progress. Of course I feel like dirt because, with all the excitement, I forgot to look up Other-Talented Healers!
December 16
Today we had our last field trip before Christmas. It was a doozy.
Now there’s no doubt—they’re thinking we’re flame addicts who want to set everything on fire all the time. Someone in the school admin thought it would be a good idea to have a field trip to the burn unit at Rhode Island Hospital. My heart flipped over, but then I remembered that my mother was transferred to Boston when they couldn’t take care of her here anymore, so maybe we would see run-of-the-mill burn victims. Do such things exist?
Tamping down all the fears this field trip brought up in me, I talked it over with Brian and Jill and Raúl and they agreed to smuggle their smartphones in so we could try to find out about Other-Talented Healers. In spite of the short distance, Mr. A. couldn’t walk us over there because of regulations—they don’t think he can keep us corralled as neatly if we’re not in a vehicle—so we all climbed into the bus and, for show, it made a loop around the hospital to come to a stop at the entrance.
We stayed at the back of the group, the better to carry out our illicit activities. As soon as we entered the foyer, a group of white-coated individuals shook Mr. A.’s hand and turned to us to instruct us on how to behave in the burn ward.
Brian whipped out his smartphone, as we’d agreed, but something caught my eye and I looked up. A new doctor had joined the presentation, and I can hardly write with the joy that surged up in me to see that it was none other than the annoying girl with the aluminum weakness from Moses Brown. No need for the internet.
“Oh,” I shouted. “You’re from Moses Brown!” I should’ve stayed back, stealthy, and made a move on the sly, but this was how it went down instead.
“You may remember me from the telekinesis demonstration,” she replied with a confidence that belied her age.
“Yes, but you’re here because . . .”
“Don’t take over the field trip, Kelly,” said Mr. A. “I’ll send you back out to the bus.”
“It’s all right,” the Moses Brown girl said as if she had it all under control. “I was just going to explain that I do attend the academy for telekinesis, but because I’m a super rare Other-Talented Healer, I also have my own medical clinic on the East Side and I come to the hospital as often as my schedule allows to cure the otherwise incurable.”
My head was swimming. I felt Brian’s hands on my shoulders and they reminded me to breathe. His gentle voice called out, “Are you going to demonstrate your Talent for us?”
A low rumble of “yeahs” and “let’s sees” went around our group and the girl smiled. “The ER is this way. Let’s see if anyone needs my help.”
One of the doctors reached to hold her back, saying, “We’re headed to the burn unit. That’s all they need to see.” This girl gets her way most of the time, I guess, because the doctor’s hand moved off her, but he seemed to be straining against the motion, as if he wasn’t doing it voluntarily. We all followed her eager strides.
I turned to Jill. “I didn’t get her name. What’s her name?”
“Beth, I think.”
“Like Elizabeth?”
“I guess so. I can’t believe we’re going to see if this is true. Kelly!” She squeezed my arm. Of the group, Jill knows most intimately why I’m so interested in Other-Talented Healers, and she hasn’t said anything mean to me about it yet. I feel so happy because she doesn’t think I’m the scum of the earth for what I did to my own mother. It wasn’t on purpose, after all.
The whole crowd of us entered the ER, and an attendant with an occupied gurney practically ran into us, shouting, but then he saw who was leading us, and said, “Beth, thank God! This one’s for you.”
They placed the gurney near some equipment and got out of the way. The boy was barely conscious and scalded all over his face and torso. The edges of the burn would have looked like water spots if they hadn’t been bright red. I felt his pain.
“Here’s a burn victim for you,” Beth said to the doctor who’d tried to stop her earlier. She calmly went to the sink and sanitized her hands, then returned to the bedside. She looked at the boy’s face and told him, even though I was certain he couldn’t hear her, “This is going to hurt at first. I’m sorry.” She placed her hands slowly and ceremoniously on his chest where the skin seemed most stripped away and closed her eyes, kind of humming. I was holding my breath even more than everyone else, hoping it worked. I have to admit, it didn’t look like it was going to. It seemed to be taking an unbearably long time and the kid was writhing in pain.
And then it was like the heavens opened and poured out their celestial music. Out from under Beth’s hands spread a new layer of pristine skin, exactly the same peachy color as the rest of the kid. It crept outward and met the original healthy skin with a slurping sound. Beth moved her hands to the kid’s neck and finally his face. As the new skin met his hairline, he woke up. Beth let go and stepped back, and the kid sat up and looked around as if he had no idea where he was. Applause broke out all over the ER. It sounded so composed, I thought they must all have a lot of practice clapping for Beth. She was nodding and smiling, satisfied with herself, but I looked and was disappointed the kid was missing his eyelashes. I wasn’t able to get any closer, but for his sake I hope they’ll grow back. Otherwise, I guess there’s a real reason for fake eyelashes.
Since everyone was standing around as if she was the teacher, Beth addressed us. “They recently removed all the aluminum from the hospital—that’s my kryptonite. I’m just glad I can come here once a week and help people who really need it. The people I get at my clinic lately have chronic diseases caused by poor eating habits or posture. I guess I’ve cured all the genuinely sick.”
She’s crazy. I decided right there. Certifiable. But she, and apparently only she, has the Talent I need.
Mr. A. said, “Why don’t we move this presentation up to the burn unit, where we were headed anyway?”
But I interrupted, asking Beth something I needed to know. “Are there many Other-Talented Healers?”
“There are only ever about a hundred of us in the world at any one time. We all keep in touch,” Beth answered gamely.
“Are there any in the Boston area?” I insisted.
“I’m the closest one to Boston now that Katarina’s moved out West to the desert,” she said before the doctors and Mr. A. physically started ushering us pyro kids out of the ER.
I unfolded myself from the crowd and grabbed a pen from a patientless chart. “You have to call me,” I said to Beth. “We have to talk.”
“Okay,” she said like someone who doesn’t often get such requests, even though people must stop and ask her to cure their warts and whatnot all the time.
I wrote my name and phone number on the palm of her hand, and she’s already texted me. She was testing that she got the right number, but we’re planning to talk tomorrow evening.
When I joined the group in the foyer again, I saw that the adults hadn’t come to get me because they were debating heatedly amongst themselves. The doctors seemed to think we’d seen enough for one day, and after all, a scald is a sort of burn, but Mr. A. insisted that the school wanted us to spend some time in the burn ward, and we all filed into the elevator.
I can think of few places I would rather stay away from than the burn unit at Rhode Island Hospital. I’ve spent plenty of moments of my life there already, thank you very much. And, come to think of it, so have the rest of the pyros. As patients, a lot of them. Brian and I got to stand really close in the elevator, but my heart was beating loudly and I was starting to cry from the bad memories. If Brian hadn’t been holding my hand, I would’ve tried to run away.
All of the beds in this giant room in the burn unit have curtains drawn around them. It’s almost worse that way because you imagine what they might be hiding. Mr. A. led us past what looked like shroud after shroud until we came to a bed by the window. He reached for the edge of the curtain, and I turned into Brian’s chest. A bunch of other kids must’ve been hiding their eyes, too, because Mr. A. went through the students and positioned their faces toward the curtain. I didn’t let him touch my head, but acted like I was going to cooperate. Brian stood with his hand on my shoulder, ready to cover my eyes if necessary. Jill was doing the same for Raúl.