Project Paper Doll (9 page)

He should have known this was happening. He had sources in GTX for this exact sort of situation. Unless GTX was keeping things quieter than normal. That might mean they thought they were closing in on me. And/or maybe someone had finally figured out that we had a mole on the inside. My father might be under suspicion.

I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread creeping up in me. GTX was nipping at my heels. The only question was how long would it take them to pin me down.

Glancing at the camera behind me and the tech fussing with it, I had to guess it wouldn’t be long.

Urgency pulsed through me. I had to find a way to stop my little power outbursts and regain control. Immediately. My father had theorized that time, patience, and practice would eventually work. But I couldn’t wait anymore.

I had to do something else. Now. But what? If I’d had other ideas to try, I would have tried them already.

I could feel desperation swelling in my chest, threatening to cut off my breath.

The bell signaling the official end of A-lunch rang, startling me. I forced myself to slowly draw in air.

Think, just think.
But the noise from the cafeteria—both in my ears and my head—made that impossible. And standing here in the hall, pondering it all, right in the flow of traffic and ten feet from a GTX employee wasn’t smart. Better to catch up with Jenna, get my food, and hide out with her in the library, where I could hear myself think.

I tucked my phone into my pocket and started toward the cafeteria, but before I’d covered half the distance, a loud crash came from inside, followed by a piercing shriek.

Jenna.

I ran for the doors. Her distress was coming through loud and clear, but her thoughts were too muddled with the others for me to get a clear picture of what had happened.

I stopped at the threshold, the scene frozen in front of me like some kind of tableau or diorama entitled
Trauma in the Lunch Line
.

Jenna was on the floor in front of the salad bar, lettuce from a plastic container spread around her. A broken bottle glittered in an orangish-pink puddle of juice. Jenna’s face was flushed, and her hands were up as if to defend herself from an invisible force.

A big shiny metal dog collar hung loosely around her neck, the prongs tangled in her blond hair. A box of Milk-Bones lay on its side, its contents pouring out of the open top.

Oh God, Jenna.

I rushed toward her, ignoring the voice in my head that warned me to stay away. And the second I moved, the entire cafeteria broke free from its hold of surprise, and jolted to life again.

The room exploded in hoots of laughter, catcalls, wolf whistles, and “Here, doggy, doggy” from all directions. Mr. Scaliari, one of the teachers on cafeteria duty, left his position against the far wall and jogged toward us.

I avoided the broken bottle and knelt down next to Jenna, shielding her from view as much as I could. “Are you all right?” I whispered. I didn’t see any blood, and I wasn’t sensing physical pain—more shock, horror, and abject humiliation. The entire area reeked of too-sweet juice, ranch dressing, and something far less pleasant.

Jenna looked up at me, her hands still up in the air and shaking. Her eyes were filled with tears. “I…I stepped in something.”

I glanced around and discovered a half-squashed bag of what appeared to be dog excrement under the edge of the salad bar. Probably from the park across the street and definitely the source of the bad smell.

“And when I tried to move back, they put… What is this?” She lowered her hands to pull at the collar around her neck. Before I could stop her, she ripped it off over her head, taking chunks of her hair with it in the links.

When she recognized it, her mouth worked wordlessly, and tears spilled down her cheeks. She looked as if she was going to be sick, and my stomach twisted in agony for her. “Oh, Jenna, I’m sorry. I should have been with you.”

But she didn’t seem to hear me, her gaze focused on something behind me.

I stood and turned. Rachel Jacobs was there, wearing another of her flimsy spaghetti-strap tank tops—in red, of course. Her arms were folded across her chest, gold bracelets poking out, emphasizing her tanned skin and her slim wrists.

Two of her cronies—Angela and Deni or Demi?—sophomores desperate for her approval, were on either side of her, grinning like idiots, empty plastic shopping bags in their hands. They may have done the actual dirty work, but even money said that Rachel had done the planning and the shopping.

The worst thing was, Rachel didn’t attempt to pretend. She didn’t hurry away or make some offhand comment to pretty up what she’d done.

She just stood there and smiled. But not at Jenna. At
me
. She raised her eyebrows, and I heard her, loud and clear.
Yeah, what are you going to do about it?

My heart sank.
She’ll find your weak spot.
Zane’s words echoed back at me, and I looked around, spotting him easily. He was standing at the back of the room, a tray in his hands.

Mouth tight, he looked unsurprised and weary at the events unfolding in front of him. His gaze met mine.
I told you.
His thought came through as distinctly as if he’d shouted it in my ear, his emotion and intensity lifting it above the mental chaos of the cafeteria.

Rachel was torturing Jenna to get back at me. Fresh rage swept over me, and a high-pitched buzz filled my head. The overhead lights began to sway and flicker. A low rattling came from the hall, followed by several sharp metallic bangs. Lockers flying open.

The barrier in my brain had dropped again.

My stomach twisted.
Oh, no. No, no, no. Not now.
Not with all these people around, and with the GTX tech right out in the hall.

Panic turned my fingertips cold, and the lights shook harder. We were maybe seconds from more lightbulbs exploding, or worse. The energy that had once bent to my will, moving objects as I desired, now ran wild, uncontrolled. Without focus, it would simply arc outward to nearby targets.

I could feel the energy tingling up and down my arms, seeking direction that I could not give.
No! Stay calm, breathe through it,
the voice of logic from somewhere deep within me commanded.
Get control.

Great idea, except I had no clue how. I visualized a white stone wall and then a metal door. Then a metal door inside a stone wall and…nothing. I couldn’t stop it. It was like trying to hold back an ocean of waves, one right after another.

The few people not distracted by Jenna’s plight began to look up and point at the lights.

I turned to face Rachel—always know your enemy’s movements—but she was no longer paying attention to me. She was staring at Zane.

…he looking at her? Shouldn’t be looking at her. Little freak!

I froze. Her thoughts were loud and intrusive, breaking into the buzz of power that filled my head.

What, because she’s some weirdo stray he feels sorry for?
The more Rachel’s thoughts intruded, the more distracted I became. She was the only thing I could hear—so damned loud!—overwhelming even the thrum of my power gone wild.

And what was she talking about?

With that thought, the barrier in my mind suddenly slammed into place, knocking me back a step. The rattling from the hall stopped, and the lights slowed their swaying and began to provide steady illumination again.

My ears rang with the chatter of the cafeteria, marking the return of my regular hearing.

Whoa. What was that? What had just happened? I rubbed my hands over my arms, brushing away the last prickles of fading energy. The barrier had dropped, all that power about to go wild…and then it stopped. I’d heard Rachel through all the noise, and when I’d focused on her thoughts…

“Mayborne, Tucker, Jacobs, Carson, and Lehigh. To the office,” Mr. Scaliari spoke behind me, startling me. I’d almost forgotten his presence. “Now.” He sounded irritated.

With a loud huff, Rachel spun off toward the doors, her two henchwomen trailing.

I turned slowly to follow, feeling wobbly and out of sorts. All of that uncontrolled energy and force that would have blown something up had instead retreated within me. Mr. Scaliari was supporting Jenna with one hand under her arm. She looked pale, though her cheeks were splotchy and red.

She was frowning at me. “Are you okay?” she asked.

No.
But I nodded.

“Tucker, let’s go. Move!” Scaliari pointed at the doors with his free hand.

I drifted through the doorway and down the hall, seeing everything through a haze—the GTX tech on his ladder, the brightly colored Bonfire Week posters, several lockers hanging open, groups of B-lunchers heading toward the cafeteria—as my brain whipped up and discarded possible explanations and scenarios.

Had I gotten my control back in one fell swoop? The wall broken by one moment of extreme pressure? That had been one of my father’s theories, once upon a time, and it sure as hell would be good timing if that’s what had happened.

But no, when I forced myself to focus on one of the open locker doors, I couldn’t make it budge.

Jenna’s voice was a low murmur behind me as she talked with Mr. Scaliari.

I bit my lip. Something had happened. Something was different. That was the first time the barrier had dropped and gone up again without stuff blowing up or flying around the room.

It wasn’t controlled. I’d simply gotten distracted, and when I’d focused on Rachel’s thoughts, the mental block had snapped back into place.

But that was more control than I’d had before. I’d spent years practicing, trying to regain the use of my ability. But maybe that was like trying to cook in the kitchen when I was still locked out of the house.

Perhaps all those years of practice hadn’t worked because the barrier had to be gone—even temporarily—for there to be any hope of making the ability mine again. It sort of made sense: how could I direct something I couldn’t even access?

A chill slipped over my skin. Was it as simple as that? The theory seemed sound. But to know for sure, I needed to test it. Get the wall down and then try to duplicate the results. Unfortunately, I knew of only one way to reliably make that happen.

Rachel.
Proximity to her would likely spawn at least one more opportunity, maybe more.

I gave a mental groan. That was not a good idea. So dangerous.

Then I looked up at one of the newly installed cameras—
GTX
emblazoned in red on the side—staring down at me from high on the wall. Was doing nothing, and waiting for a retrieval team to catch up to my father and me, a safer option?

“Stop dragging your feet, Tucker. Keep moving,” Scaliari called.

I gritted my teeth and picked up the pace. There was another problem. Since my life up to this point had generally revolved around avoiding Rachel as much as possible, it wasn’t as if I could suddenly start inviting myself to her lunch table. Not with any chance of success, anyway.

That left me only with one option if I was I going to go through with this insanity.

I was going to have to take Zane Bradshaw up on his offer.

A zing of anticipation shot through me. Because no matter what my practical reasons were for agreeing to Zane’s proposition, participating came with one giant bonus. A chance to beat Rachel at her own game, an opportunity to score a victory for myself, for Jenna, for all the people Rachel walked on like it was her right to trod on a person-paved path.

I wanted that. Badly.

“Tucker!” Mr. Scaliari shouted over his shoulder. At some point, he and Jenna had passed me. “Hurry up.”

But first I had to go to the principal.

I’d never been in the principal’s office before. It struck me as surprisingly mundane for all the fear and dread everyone accorded it. Four walls and a desk with a computer, a phone, and some family photos. But Mr. Kohler himself, a large man with an enormous shiny head, may have played some role in that fear and respect.

“No one else can verify your story,” he said to Jenna, leaning back in his worn leather desk chair, which creaked under his weight.

“The entire cafeteria saw what happened!” Jenna protested, her face tear-stained. She smelled of spilled juice and the dog “present” Rachel and her followers had put underfoot.

“That’s not what I’m hearing,” he said. “And it’s your word against Rachel’s.”

It turned out Rachel had had a purpose in speeding out of the cafeteria. She’d arrived at the office first and had the principal wrapped around her finger—and her side of the story—before we arrived.

And evidently, no one else was willing to speak for us. It was like that gangland documentary I’d seen. No one will talk, for fear of being included in the next round of punishment/killing.

“But if Jenna’s story is true, then Rachel is the aggressor,” I pointed out. “Why should Rachel’s word be given equal weight? It’s not as if you expect her to admit doing wrong, is it?”

Principal Kohler frowned at me. “Who are you again?”

I swallowed hard. “Ariane Tucker.”

He nodded slowly, but I could hear him rifling through his mental files of students and not coming up with anything. Which was how it was supposed to be, after all. But once again it would have been nice to have had a reputation as a solid student, non-troublemaker, and credible witness in this scenario, instead of a blank spot in his memory. “Well, Miss Tucker, Rachel is a good girl.”

…I think. She runs with a wild crowd, but they’re kids. The things I did when I was that age…

I cocked my head to one side, listening to him ramble internally.
Good grief. He isn’t even sure what he believes about her.

“And her family has done a lot for this school,” he continued.

Now, that was the truth. He didn’t want to lose the favor the school had with GTX and Arthur Jacobs.

It always came back to him. That bastard would rule in hell or bribe his way into it.

“Can you play back the recordings from the new cameras?” I asked, trying not to seem as if I was holding my breath waiting for the answer. If the cameras were on, I was toast.

“The new system isn’t up and running yet,” Mr. Kohler said. “They’re still in the installation process.”