ExtraNormal (18 page)

“No. Not necessarily.” He looked up, his eyes dancing merrily. “Come look.”

I took the precaution of throwing my curiosity forward and stepped close. The insides of the television weren’t randomly strewn across the room like I’d first assumed, but carefully placed in categories. He sat on the floor and crossed his legs. “Here!” He held up a thin board covered with small pieces of electronics that had apparently once lived inside the television, then pointed to a small square. “This is so incredible. Look at this transistor. It’s generated by electricity, but doesn’t use an ounce of magnetics. I don’t know how they’ve accomplished it.”

“Hmm. Are you saying they had to be smart to figure this out?”

“Yes, definitely. In some ways even more intelligent than us.” He ran his finger over the transistor.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just that they haven’t had the advantages of our world. What with their Dark Ages…eschewing basic life forces…calling all things they don’t understand mystical. Every invention they’ve made has been born of pure sweat and tears. Some of their discoveries are simply fantastic.” He moved from the pile of rubble in front of him, to another pile several feet away, then back again.

I leaned against the doorframe and pretended to be only mildly interested. “So will they ever be like us? Like, will they ever learn to stream?”

He looked up with an expression of surprise, as though the question were ludicrous. “Oh no. I can’t imagine it.”

“Why not?”

“The way they regard those with strong magnetic forces with suspicion instead of prestige. Turning them into outcasts. They passed their window of opportunity for evolving those life forces many centuries ago.”

“And without that, they’ll never stream?”

“Telepathic communication requires an understanding of one’s electromagnetic force. Same with the intuitive ability to sense emotion.” His attention returned to his pile of parts. He walked on his knees to a different pile.

“What about linkmates?” The question spilled out of my mouth before I had time to think.

“Linkmates?”

 I steadied myself on the doorway. Tried to act nonchalant. “Will humans ever be able to repattern?”

He picked up two wires, comparing them. “Oh my no. They have the basic forces that pull them towards certain individuals. But absolutely no idea why.” He looked up again, though he didn’t seem to really see me. “It seems a rather empty way to live. Don’t you think?”

I nodded and turned away, hoping Dad wouldn’t read anything from my expression. I noticed a red streak outside, bopping up and down behind the cinderblock wall in the backyard. I moved to the fridge. Found some carrots. Poured myself a glass of water. I had to keep moving. Couldn’t let myself think. Dad knew about Becca. He wouldn’t mind if I sat in the backyard with her.

I moved robotically to my cluttered, textured bedroom. So different from home. I found the flimsy swimsuit in the drawer where I’d left it. My hand shook while unbuttoning my jeans. Jesse could not repattern. He had not repatterned. He could move on after I was gone. Find someone new.

I was so relieved.

And at the same time devastated.

I sat on the edge of the bed in my underwear and let the ever-familiar tears flow.

I had to learn more about Everett. I couldn’t get beyond the hunch that he was somehow a threat to Jesse. But once I did that there would be nothing to keep me here. I’d let Dad put me on the transport and face my future knowing that Jesse would eventually be fine.

But I had to get myself under control. Even if I managed to block my grief from Dad, he’d recognize the tears. I found a tissue and wiped them away, then changed into the awful suit, grabbed my phone and a towel, and walked stoically into the backyard. Becca waited for me at the side of the pool, her legs dangling in the water. The moment the child spotted me she dropped into the water.

I tried not to think about Jesse. About the adoring but confused look in his eyes when he’d dropped me off. I opened the file Geery had sent on Everett. It told the typical story of an over-achieving boy born to wealthy parents. The family had moved seven times—including a short stay in Albuquerque, New Mexico—just like Everett had said. They moved into a new luxury home every couple of years, selling each time for a profit. And apparently causing girls to giggle was not Everett’s only skill. Everywhere they moved, Everett left behind a list of varied accomplishments: 4-H Rodeo King, Little League Regional Champs, District Spelling Bee Winner, State Talent Showcase Finalist. The boy couldn’t have been more all-American.

Geery even managed to find a birth certificate, from seventeen years earlier in St. Paul Minnesota. The parents and siblings were just as I remembered from the portrait hanging in his living room. I’d known none of those people could possibly be from Nreim. But hoped for something—I wasn’t sure what—that would prove otherwise.

But if it was there, it was as cryptic as one of Dad’s lectures.

I watched Becca jump off the diving board—my knees tucked into my chest—and tried not to consider the option that I’d already pondered a hundred times that day.

I could be in and out in seconds. No one would know.

“Mira.”

I looked up, startled, and shielded my eyes.

It was Dad. “You need to keep hydrated in this heat.”

I put my hands self-consciously over my bare stomach. “Thanks.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. It’s great, thanks.” My smile was strained. On such short notice I couldn’t even think of an emotion to throw out to him that would cover how tense I was. Dad hesitated for just a moment then went inside.

I turned my gaze back to Becca. In and out. Just a quick peek. I wouldn’t even need to read his mind. Just see if I could get in. If I could, I would just jump back out and know I was on the wrong track. But if I couldn’t—if he blocked me—that would have to mean something.

Conducting an unauthorized stream would be grounds for immediate dismissal from the student emissary program. I wouldn’t even get the two weeks until Dad left. There might even be a trial. But Everett was the only one who would know. And it wasn’t like he could report me. His secret, if he had one, was as big as mine.

Before I could talk myself out of it I closed my eyes, concentrated on Everett’s face, and sent out a communication tunnel. It traveled like any other stream, until careening with what looked like a black wall. The stream abruptly flew back in my direction, resulting in what felt like an explosion in my head.

My lids flew open. I blinked several times, confused. The image before my eyes was distorted—darkened.
What just happened? Was I blocked
? Nothing like that had ever happened before. My eyes sought out the palm tree above me, the patch of grass, the pool, Becca—

Becca teetered on the diving board, her arms spread wide. Her gaze fixed straight head.

“Becca?” I called.

She tipped, first one way, then the other.

I half-rose from my lounge chair. “You okay?!”

The next moment was a blur of red. The little body dropped like a rag doll, bouncing against the diving board before falling into the water below.

“Becca!”

The tiny ball of red that was her hair grew ominously away from her head, turning the sparkling blue water into a bloody bath.

“Becca!” I started to run to the water. Then turned to the house. I needed to pull her out before she drowned. But I needed to call for help. “Dad! Daddy!” I ran to the edge of the pool.

A flash dove past me into the water.
Dad.
He thrashed in the water, fully clothed, groping for the little body.

I had to call 9-1-1. Push nine one one. Keddil had explained it in my training. It was the only reason I had a phone in the first place.
In case of emergency
. I tapped my wrist anxiously. Stopped myself and dug with shaky hands through the towel on the lounge chair until I spotted the metallic shine of my phone. What a stupid device. Always getting lost. All those blasted buttons.

Dad returned to the edge of the pool with Becca cradled in his arms.

Nine
, I had to find the nine. My hand quaked as I searched for the button.

He lifted her limp body out of the water and rolled her onto the concrete. She landed on her back. A stream of thick red water flowed away from the little ball of matted hair.

One
. I tried to steady my hand. Where was the lousy
one
?

Dad pulled himself out of the pool, water rushing off his heavy clothes, and kneeled over Becca. The child’s eyes were closed, her face ghostly white.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” I said, holding the phone up to my ear.

“It’s primitive,” he said. “But I know it. So should you.” He bent over Becca and put his ear next to her mouth.

“You have reached 9-1-1,” a voice said. “What is the nature of your emergency?”

I opened my mouth to speak but my throat constricted. I whimpered instead.

Dad snatched the phone from my hands.

I’d never felt so helpless.

Dad listened to the voice on the phone and then put his mouth over Becca’s. He pushed lightly on her chest. Blew into her mouth again. The pattern looked familiar. I knelt next to Becca and tried to hold back tears.
Cardiopulmonary resuscitation
. I
did
know it. Had downloaded it before my UNID was removed. Since the beach, my thinking had been more clear than any time in my life. But hitting the wall in Everett’s brain was like being in an actual collision. What if Dad hadn’t been here? Becca could have drowned.

A siren sounded from up the street.

“Go out front,” Dad yelled. “Show the ambulance where we are.”

I sprang to my feet and ran blindly through the side gate, waving my arms at the approaching ambulance. The truck pulled to the curb. I followed the emergency workers through the gate, then stood to the side, watching anxiously.

One of them, a heavy-set black woman, approached me. “Did you see what happened?”

I nodded, kneading my hands. “She was fine. Just playing. She…she was on the diving board, and all of a sudden, she just looked…” I hesitated, trying to come up with a word that should have come easily.

 Becca was on a bed with wheels by now…a
stretcher
. I followed through the side gate. I was vaguely aware of Becca’s brother amongst the group of neighbors gathered in our yard. He climbed into the ambulance with Becca. I jogged my feet anxiously. I had no car. Dad didn’t drive. There was no way to follow. I’d taken responsibility for Becca, and look what had happened.

The ambulance pulled away from the curb and revealed a silver Jaguar parked on the other side of the street. Everett leaned against it, his arms folded across his chest.

It only took a few strides for me to be in front of him. “You did this! Didn’t you?”

He grinned. His eyes squinted playfully into the sun at my back. “Mira. Mira. You do have a temper.” He looked at my bikini-clad body in a way that made me feel violated all over again.

“She’s a little girl! How could you?” I slapped him, trying to wipe the smug smile off his face. The sharp sound resonated throughout the quiet street.

He winced, but remained motionless otherwise.

Hands gripped my arms from behind. “Mira, what are you doing?”

I shook them off. “He tried to kill her! I know it!”

“Mira, sweetheart.” The hands were pulling on me, taking me away. “Come. Please. You are behaving irrationally.”

Everett just grinned.

I wanted to put my hands around his thick neck. To choke him the way he’d choked me.

“Mira, calm yourself.” It was Dad, pulling me onto the grass on our yard.

I fell onto my knees, sobbing.

Dad rubbed my back. “Shh, there now.”

“Why would he do that?”

Dad sat down next to me. “Mira, what are you talking about?”

“He…he tried to kill her. The accident. It was
his
fault.” I pointed across the street, but both Everett and his car were gone.

“That male?”

“Yes. His name’s Everett. And he’s nafarian. I’m sure of it.”

“Ah, yes. The boy. Mom said you’d been making inquiries.”

I wiped my eyes. “I didn’t think it was anything. But I’m sure now.”

“What makes you so…
sure
?”

“I…he…” I gulped. There was so little I could tell him. “He…he manipulates people,” I spat out. “He won an election when he was new to the school. And he knows things he shouldn’t.” I ran my fingers through my hair. My mind racing. “He knew you were here.”

“And you hadn’t told anyone?”

“Well…” I hesitated. “Only one person.”

He raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“But it was someone who never talks to him. And then he showed up here. Right when it happened!” I couldn’t provide the most damning piece of evidence—that I’d attempted to probe his mind just seconds before the accident.

Dad straightened his legs out in front of him, his wet clothes hugging his body. “Mira, listen, this is what I believe.”

“What?”

“I believe you have developed romantic feelings for this human male.”

“What!?”

He put up his hand to stop me from arguing. “I think you desperately want him to originate from Nreim, in order to justify your feelings for him.”

I sat up on my knees. “No, Dad, please! That is
so
not right.”

“Mira, sweetheart. Your mother and I can discern that you’ve been withholding pertinent information from us. We are worried about you.”

“No…no…this isn’t it.”

“Sweetheart.” He reached for me.

I pulled away. “No!”

“I sense that your heart is breaking. You are afraid of being separated from him. I’m all too familiar with that emotion.”

“No!” I stood up, holding my head. Covering my ears. “I hate him! He’s cruel! He hurt Becca. Didn’t you see him here?
Laughing?
How do you explain that?”

He didn’t look up at me. “I believe he was here because you two are involved in a relationship. I suspect he comes here frequently.”