

# Origin Story to

# The South Louisiana High Book Series

For Bonnie
Our identity is defined again and again, by the paths we choose each day.

-Anonymous
Table of Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Quote

Prologue - Karen

PART I - Identity's Unraveling

Chapter One- Karen

Chapter Two- Tessa

Chapter Three- Nathaniel

Chapter Four- Karen

Chapter Five- Nathaniel

Chapter Six- Tessa

Chapter Seven- Karen

Chapter Eight- Nathaniel

Chapter Nine- Karen

Chapter Ten- Tessa

PART II - Identity Revealed

Chapter Eleven- Nathaniel

Chapter Twelve- Karen

Chapter Thirteen- Nathaniel

Chapter Fourteen- Karen

Chapter Fifteen- Nathaniel

Chapter Sixteen- Tessa

Chapter Seventeen- Karen

Chapter Eighteen- Nathaniel

Chapter Nineteen- Karen

Chapter Twenty- Tessa

Chapter Twenty-One- Nathaniel

PART III - Identity

Chapter Twenty-Two- Tessa

Chapter Twenty-Three- Karen

Chapter Twenty-Four- Nathaniel

Chapter Twenty-Five- Karen

Chapter Twenty-Six- Tessa

Chapter Twenty-Seven- Nathaniel

Chapter Twenty-Eight- Karen

Chapter Twenty-Nine- Nathaniel

Chapter Thirty- Tessa

Epilogue - Karin

What's next?

Acknowledgments

Contact E. J. Mara

Copyright Notice

#

#

# March 11, 1997

Esther backflips off of the beam and sticks the landing. She arches her back and lifts her hands skyward, a triumphant smile on her face. I sigh and glance down at the inch-long bruise that's already begun to form on my thigh, a reminder of my failed attempt at what Esther's just executed.

"That was perfect!" Coach Mendoza says, approaching the beam. His weathered features mirror Esther's jubilance as he claps a large hand on her shoulder. "Absolute perfection kiddo, keep it up."

"Thanks, I will," she aims that smug smirk of hers at him and tucks a loose strand of her straw-colored hair behind her ear.

I cross my arms, feeling a bit sick to my stomach.

"Way to go, Esther!" the girl next to me shouts while a few of the other girls in my gymnastics class follow suit, clapping and whooping in Esther's behalf.

Okay, now I seriously want to puke.

"Let's take fifteen. Rehydrate, cool down, stretch, etcetera," Coach Mendoza says. "Hey, Karen?"

At the sound of my name, I glance up.

"Come here," he says, beckoning me to his side.

My stomach tightening with nerves, I do as told. While I head his way, Esther glances at me. Our eyes meet and she averts her gaze, quickly turning her attention to one of her friends. "Lucy," she calls as she darts away, "race you to the bench!"

I lift my chin, determined not to let Little Miss Perfect make me feel any worse than I already do.

Do I care if Esther Reams can't even stand to look at me? Nope. Her snobbery is her issue, not mine.

"Alright, Karen. I appreciate your fortitude," Coach says, "but you need to admit when you're hurt."

"What?"

He points to the bruise on my thigh.

I shrug. "It's fine."

Coach Mendoza narrows his eyes. "It's dangerous for an athlete not to admit when they've been injured. How many times have I told you that?"

"At least five billion, because that's how many times I've fallen off the beam this week," I retort. "I'm used to bruises. I barely feel them."

I'm not exaggerating, I don't feel them. What hurts more than a bruise is failure...that sick feeling that comes with seeing yourself fall so behind your teammates.

Coach rests his hands on his hips and shakes his head, giving me a pointed look. "You're too hard on yourself. Remember, we gave you that scholarship for a reason." His thick mop of curly black hair jostling with every shake of his head, he continues, "You're a natural. But to hone your abilities, you've got to listen to what I tell you. Alright?"

I nod.

"When you're hurt, admit it." He gives me another long look, which I return. "Now, I'm going to ask you again. Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. And if I wasn't, I'd tell you ...I promise."

His expression softening, he nods. "Alright, Karen."

I turn on my heel, ready to head to my water bottle.

"Hold up, one more thing," Coach says.

Just ahead, the girls in my class have gathered around the benches where we keep our water bottles and towels. To be honest, I'm glad Coach has one more thing to tell me, even if it's to fuss at me. I'd rather spend my water break listening to his criticism than waste it listening to the dumb conversations of my teammates. Yesterday, during our water break, the girls spent the entire fifteen minutes singing theme songs from Disney movies. If there's Karaoke in hell, I'm sure it'd be exactly like what I had to sit through.

Coach nods to the beam. "Why do you think Esther does so well up there?"

"Because she's been taking gymnastics since she was two."

"It's more than that," he speaks slowly, as if he's choosing his words with care. "It has to do with her awareness. Esther pays attention to her surroundings. You don't."

"Yes I do!"

Coach's eyebrows go up and I realize I've said this louder than intended.

Glancing down, I avoid his eyes as I explain myself, "My mom and my little sister are Deaf. I've been interpreting for them my whole life, and they're constantly asking me what's going on. So I'm, like, always hyper aware of what's going on around me. My mom jokes ... used to joke that awareness is my super power."

"I know about your situation, Karen and that's not what I mean." Coach sighs. "You're focused, no doubt about it. But my point is that you're too focused on what's going on in here." He taps his forehead. "You need to take a moment and pay attention to where you are in time and space."

"I don't understand what you mean."

"To put it simply," he chuckles and runs his palm over his face, "be aware of where you are on the beam so you don't fall off."

My face warms as I recall the awful moment of falling. Right after gravity pulled me down from a split jump, there was this gut-dropping sliver of a second when I realized my left foot hadn't landed on the beam. My thigh scrapping the beam, I hit the mat and heard an audible gasp from the girls in my class. That was one of the most embarrassing moments I've had in gymnastics.

Coach's dark eyebrows go up, and ditching his smile, he speaks quickly. "Even so, I think you're doing great for only taking gymnastics two years."

"Three."

"Three years is still nothing compared to the experience the others have. What you need to do is focus on your awareness. Stop rushing into everything. Slow down and pay attention to where you are."

I nod. Coach might be right. I do rush into my moves. I think I'm afraid that if I stand still, I'll freeze up and fail to move at all.

"So today, I want you to stay after class and work on your split jump with that in mind. Then tomorrow we'll work on your backflip. Alright?"

"Yes, sir."

Coach gives my shoulder a brief pat, and I can't help but notice that it isn't the warm way he clapped a hand on Esther's shoulder after her perfect routine. Instead, this is a short, compulsory touch. "Good. That's all then." He starts to his office, but turns back to me, calling over his shoulder, "Get one of the girls to stay and spot you. I can't stay after practice today."

"Oh. Okay," I reply, my stomach sinking.

I glance back at the thirteen girls comprising my class. They're still loitering near the benches, water bottles in hand, talking and laughing. Which one of them is going to want to stay after class and spot the weird scholarship-kid who falls off the beam every five seconds?

I head to them, my stomach continuing to sink as I scan their faces, searching for one that has a hint of compassion. My gaze stops on Esther Reams, and at the sight of her, my hopes are doused with a fresh damper.

If Esther, the leader of this rich-girl pack, won't even acknowledge my existence, then I'm sure none of her minions will. She stands at the very center of the crowd, her head held high while our classmates assume their roles as her sycophantic friends, surrounding her like ladies in waiting.

It's disgusting, the way people with money are worshipped. I mean, sure Esther's the best gymnast in our class, but that's because she has the money to train with as many coaches as she wants for as long as she wants. If I had her money, I'd be as skilled as she is.

Now that I'm close enough to hear more than giggling and indecipherable high-pitched noises, I tune into what the girls are saying.

"...and did you see the way her leotard's all worn in the butt? It's so gross," a girl named Heather whispers, her green eyes sparkling as she speaks in between titters of laughter.

"I swear to God," another girl, Lucy, says in a stage whisper, "Karen wears the same leotard to every practice. Look at it! That wedgie-machine is the same one she wore yesterday."

As my name leaves Lucy's lips, my heart drops and warmth floods my face and neck.

"What are we even talking about? Who's Karen?" Esther asks while her friends laugh.

Mortified, I grab a water bottle from the nearby ice chest and turn away from the giggling. Apparently, they still haven't noticed that I'm within earshot, because now they're not even bothering to whisper as someone fills Esther in on who I am.

My breath becomes a ball that's stuck in the back of my throat. Forcing myself to calm down, I take a swig of water and turn to the mirrors lining the wall at my left.

Matthew's Gymnastics used to be a dance studio before the owner, a former gymnast named Earl Matthews, converted it into a gymnastics training center. Mr. Matthews keeps saying he's going to remove the remaining mirrors, but he has yet to do so. I'm glad they're still lining the walls because, as Lucy so eloquently pointed out, due to outgrowing all three of my leotards, there's always something on my person that needs to be readjusted.

Right now for example, I do look like I'm wearing a wedgie-machine. I fix my leotard and my gaze returns to Esther and her friends.

"...so what are we watching tonight? Independence Day or Twister?" Esther asks as she smooths down her already perfect dirty blonde hair.

Lucy shakes her head. "No! Romeo and Juliet! Remember? Last time you promised we'd watch Romeo and Juliet next!"

"Fine, whatev'," Esther says with a shrug. "So we'll watch two movies. And how about we get take-out from The Olive Garden this time? Their breadsticks are like crack, I literally..."

An unsettling hollowness forming in the pit of my stomach, I turn away from their conversation, leave the benches, and start for the boys' side of the floor.

It's not that it hurts to be so blatantly left out. It's that I like to master things. And clearly, when it comes to mastering social challenges, I suck.

Every other kid at Matthew's Gymnastics has scored an invitation to one of Esther's famous movie nights. Even the boys get invited. She hosts them a couple of times each month, and I've heard they're awesome because her house is a veritable mansion. They say her parents are always out of town too. Of course I can only go by what I've heard, being that I've never been invited. And even if I were, it's not like my dad would let me go. Even though he's hardly ever home to care what my little sister and I are up to, when he is around he's ridiculously overprotective about letting us hang out with other people. So, I'm used to being on my own, and Esther's refusal to acknowledge me isn't that big of a deal.

I pad across the floor and reaching out my hand, let it graze one of the high bar's poles as I pass it.

Actually, I guess I do kind of feel left out. It's not that I don't understand why someone like me doesn't make a bleep on Esther's radar. I get it. I'm here on a scholarship (a while back Peake High School had a deal with Matthew's Gymnastics that every four years Mr. Matthews would give one "needy" student with athletic potential a four-year scholarship. My freshman year, I was that needy student), my leotards are too small and faded, and there's the small fact that these kids think my family is beyond weird. So, I understand that I'm not the happy-go-lucky, money-falling-out-of-her-ears prepster who Esther would invite into her circle. But understanding why I'm shunned doesn't stop it from hurting.

I pad past the rings and enter the boys' territory, trying to ignore the sting of dejection that's creeping into my mood.

The boys' half of the floor is similar to ours, but it sounds different; it's much louder due to the amount of talking and goofing off. Unlike our coach, the boy's instructor, Coach Peterson, is lax about letting the other guys talk and hang out when he's focused on working with just a couple of them. And despite Coach Peterson's laid back attitude, the guys do really well at meets-especially Nathaniel Colbert.

Esther is the best of the girls and Nathaniel is the best of the boys.

While Coach Peterson patiently works with two boys on the pommel horse, I scan the surrounding gymnasts for Nathaniel and spot him at the tub of chalk. At the sight of him, relief washes over me. I start towards him, my ebbing mood already beginning to improve.

There's not a chance any of the girls in my class will be willing to stay late and spot me, but I bet Nathaniel will. He's, hands down, the nicest hearing person I've ever met.

When I first started coming to Matthew's Gymnastics, Nathaniel hung out with me on breaks, and on the many nights Dad would forget to pick me up, Nathaniel was quick to offer me a ride home.

I smooth down my hair and give my leotard a quick tug at the butt.

To be honest, his kindness took me by surprise. I've gone to school with Nathaniel since sixth grade and we'd never said much to each other. Besides that, with his dark hair, perpetual tan, and dreamy hazel eyes, he's super-hot. So I naturally assumed that, like most of the wealthy, good-looking guys at Peake High, he'd be a jerk. But I couldn't have been more wrong.

Taking a deep breath, I hope my too-tight leotard will stay put for at least the next five minutes and return my attention to Nathaniel. His dark brown hair is already growing out of the Caesar-style haircut he got a few weeks ago. It's growing almost as fast as he is. These days it seems like he gets taller and more muscular every time I look at him.

A serious look on his face, he dusts his hands with far too much chalk and accidently gets a ton of it in his hair.

I can't help but smile.

He looks up, spots me, and his eyes light up.

"You have chalk in your hair," I point out.

He leans forward and shakes out his hair, but this does nothing.

I laugh. "I'll get it."

He grins and stoops so I don't have to stand on my tiptoes.

Just last year we were practically the same height. And now, a mere three months later, he's shot up to six feet. Lightly biting the inside of my cheek, I lean towards him and try to ignore the flutter that runs through my chest.

"So, the town vigilante struck again. Did you hear the latest story?" I ask as I run my fingers through his soft brown hair, dusting away the chalk. "I heard it on the radio on the way here. They're calling it, 'The Unseen Adventures Continue'."

"Nah, I missed that one. What happened?" he asks.

And then there's that-the deeper voice that came with the height.

"Got it. You're chalk free."

"Thanks." Nathaniel stands, straightening to his full height as he crosses his arms. "So, who did Unseen save this time?"

"This time," I say, "some guy who lost custody of his kid brought a gun to Peake Skating Rink, where she was having her birthday party. So there were all these kids there when he busts in waving a gun around, saying he's going to take his daughter with him. Then out of nowhere he gets punched in the face by 'something that appeared to be invisible', even though some witnesses claim they saw a flash of a figure with glowing eyes. Then, some reporter asked one of the Sherriff if this proved that Unseen's real, and of course the Sherriff refused to comment."

Nathaniel sighs. "When are they just going to admit the dude's real?"

"I know," I say. But my thoughts drift to a brief conversation I had with my dad a few months back ...Mom and Tessa Jr., my little sister, were both still asleep, so our house was unusually quiet as my father and I sat at the table eating breakfast. I was reading the newspaper while he, barely touching his cereal, frantically jotted some formula or whatever into one of the notebooks he's always carrying. Meanwhile, I came across an article about Unseen rescuing a family from a burning building. I was so impressed that I started reading it out loud. But three sentences in, Dad shut me up with, "No. Stop. Stop!" I asked him why and he shook his head. "Because it's implausible nonsense."

So I figure that if my father, a high school science teacher with a PhD in biology and a penchant for sci-fi shows like The X-Files, calls the idea of Unseen " implausible nonsense," then it's certainly understand for the police to, likewise, question the existence of our town's "supernatural" vigilante.

"Well, my dad doesn't think Unseen's real," I say, glancing at Nathaniel, "and he's the smartest person I know. I mean, we are talking about an invisible superhero. The whole idea's pretty out there."

"Yeah." Nathaniel shrugs. "But when you hear the same kinds of stories from tons of different eyewitnesses, you have to admit there's got to be something to what everyone's saying."

"I know," I agree, "I'm just saying I can understand how the idea of an invisible guy running around saving people's lives is a little hard to believe."

A stream of laughter erupts on the other side of the gym and I glance that way.

Esther, still at the center of the circle that the girls in my class have formed, appears to be telling some hilarious story.

"Then again, sometimes I think Unseen and I have a lot in common," I mutter.

"What do you mean?"

"We're both invisible." I look at my feet. Some of Nathaniel's chalk has fallen on them.

"You're not invisible, Karen" Nathaniel says.

I glance up and he's looking at me with those intense hazel eyes of his. A streak of nerves zip through me, so I avoid his eyes and let my gaze wander to Coach Peterson while he points to the base of the pommel horse, explaining something to one of the boys he's working with.

"Yeah, I am." I make a face and shrug. "Here, no one notices me, except to make fun of me. At school the only people who know I'm alive are you and Julia. Then there's home where my mom..."

I gulp, my thoughts darting to the catatonic look in Mom's eyes when I told her goodbye this morning. She didn't even acknowledge me. It was like I wasn't there. And if she's still lying in bed when I get home, today will make the seventh day in a row that she hasn't gotten out of bed.

"People at school do notice you. And your mom...she's not herself. She's..." Nathaniel stammers.

"She's crazy?" I suggest.

"That's not what I was going to say. She's not crazy."

"Yeah, well, whatever." I clear my throat. "Anyway, I didn't come over here to talk about her. I wanted to, uh, ask you, um...Coach Mendoza wants me to stay late and work on my split jumps. But he has to leave right after practice, so I was wondering if you, like, maybe, could-"

"Yeah, I'll help you," Nathaniel interrupts, grinning.

I return his smile, my cheeks warming. "Thanks. And I'd ask my dad to pick me up, but lately he's been-"

"Sure, I'll take you home too." Nathaniel's perfect smile widens.

I laugh and run my palms, which are beginning to sweat, across the front of my leotard. A sudden silence falling between us, Nathaniel shifts on his feet and I rack my mind for something to say.

Coach Peterson bails us out by shouting, "Nathaniel, you're up, bud." The older man points to the rings where all of the other boys are headed and I breathe a sigh of relief. As much as I like talking to Nathaniel, sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in a pool of my own awkwardness.

"Gotta go," Nathaniel says, touching my elbow.

My skin tingles where he's touched me, and barely able to find my voice, I nod. As he turns to leave, I force my gaze away, refusing to let it wander after him.

What would be the point? We're friends, and friends don't stare at other friends' butts when they're walking away.

"Girls, break is over. Come on back!" Coach Mendoza shouts.

I head in the direction of my classmate's giggles, grit my teeth, and prepare for invisibility.

"IF I'D KNOWN you were going to work me so hard, I wouldn't have asked you to help me," I say, rubbing my calves.

I'm only half-joking, Nathaniel actually did kind of get me to perfect my split jump, which I will be eternally grateful for.

"Mmm ..." he replies, distracted as he turns onto my street and drives towards my house.

"Why are you so quiet tonight?" I ask. Usually, I'm the quiet one and Nathaniel's the talker. But he's been oddly silent during our ride home.

"When you were on the beam, I was thinking how we have the opposite problem," Nathaniel says as he pulls into my driveway.

I glance at my house, and not only is Dad's station wagon nowhere to be seen, but our front door is ajar. I roll my eyes. Dad does this way too much. What kind of a father disappears for hours on end, saying he's working an "invention"? It's annoying the way he's always leaving me to deal with Mom and Tessa Jr. on my own.

I guess this time he came home and then left in such a hurry that he forgot to close the front door behind him. Typical.

"We have opposite problems?" I ask, turning back to Nathaniel.

"Yeah. When you're up there, you're..." Nathaniel frowns, searching for his words. "You're fearless. You just go for it. But a lot of times your form is all wrong."

"So I'm a brave idiot." I smile. "Thanks."

"No, your form's not always wrong," he quickly says. "Sometimes it needs work, but that's no big deal. I'm just saying you're not afraid, and I'm not like that. My form's good, but there are these moments when I'm up there and..."

"And what?"

"Gymnastics is everything to me, you know?" Nathaniel's tone lowers, turning more serious. "And I don't...I don't always fit in, like, at school."

I have to frown at that one. Why does Nathaniel think he doesn't fit in at school?

He's gorgeous, so the girls adore him. He's a star gymnast with the kind of build you see on the pages of a superhero comic book, so the guys want to be him. These two factors equal to him having tons of friends.

But I keep my mouth shut, deciding to hear him out instead of pointing any of this out.

"People just feel sorry for me," he slowly continues. "But when it comes to gymnastics, I'm good. So good that when people see me up there, they forget to feel sorry for me. They finally see me instead of this kid whose Dad used to send him to school with a busted lip every other week."

Nathaniel's gaze darts down to the steering wheel, his features pushed forward into a sort of pinch, like he's been hurt. That look sends an ache to my stomach and I wish to God I knew how to soothe his hurt. But I'm the worst at comforting people, all I know how to do is listen.

"Yeah?" I quietly say.

"Yeah," he says, his eyes still on the steering wheel. "But sometimes, when I'm up there, especially when I'm on the high bar, sometimes I can't forget who I really am and I get, like...frozen."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He nods. "I get this helpless feeling, just like when I was a kid. It's like this overwhelming coldness that chokes me and I can't finish the routine. I literally freeze up."

I stare at him, processing this.

First of all, I can't believe he's never told me this. And secondly, I've never witnessed this happen to Nathaniel. His routines are always fluid and graceful. He makes everything look easy.

"It only happens on the high bar...I guess I need your fearlessness." He offers me a weak smile and runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than it already is. This, however, does nothing to detract from his looks.

In fact, the messy hair somehow makes him sexier. With his leather jacket, disheveled hair, and sleepy hazel eyes, he's gorgeous. I could spend the rest of tonight sitting here and just staring at him. Then again, it's probably callous of me to let myself fantasize about Nathaniel while he's trying to bare his soul about a serious problem.

I shift in my seat and attempt to resituate my thoughts.

"Nah, you don't want to be like me." Without thinking, I point to one of his biceps. "And thanks to these guys, when you're quietly freaking out on the high bar, no one even notices."

Nathaniel glances at his upper arm and then at me. "What do you mean?"

"People are too distracted by your body to notice the look on your face."

His eyebrows go up and he turns the color of a stop sign.

I cringe. "That sounded different in my head."

Nathaniel breaks into a grin and utters a low whistle. "All this time, I thought you didn't even notice the gun show." Still grinning, he flexes his muscles.

I wave him off. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant ..." I pause, trying to figure out how to not sound like a leering freak.

"You meant, 'Geez Louise, Nathaniel, you're, like, so hot,'" he says in a terrible imitation of my voice.

I give him a shove. "No, that's so not what I meant! You know nothing I say comes out right. It's not my fault I'm a freaking CODA."

He narrows his eyes at me. "A what?"

"A CODA, A Child of Deaf Adults, meaning English isn't my first language."

"Yeah, I'm going to have to call B.S. on that," Nathaniel snorts and, looking a little too pleased with himself, narrows his eyes. "Just because one of your parents is Deaf doesn't mean you have no grasp of English."

"Not one, both." I punch him in the arm.

He laughs and says, "I took your Dad's Biology class last year and we had spoken conversations every day, Karen. Your dad's not Deaf."

"Technically he is because he can barely hear without his hearing aids, and more importantly he's a huge supporter of Deaf culture." I thrust a finger in Nathaniel's face. "So you don't know what you're talking about. Oh, and when I was a baby I signed in ASL before I learned how to talk. So English is not my first language. Ha!"

Nathaniel arches an eyebrow at me. "And all of that has what to do with you calling me hot?"

My face is now burning, but I play it cool by rolling my eyes and opening the passenger door as if I couldn't care less. "I didn't call you hot."

"You inferred it."

"You wish. Or maybe you don't, because then Julia would kill us both." I jokingly reply as I slide out of his Jeep. "Hey, uh seriously though, thanks for the ride and everything." I glance back at Nathaniel and his grin has vanished.

A serious look returning to his eyes, he nods. "Yeah, no problem. I'll see you tomorrow."

His sobriety stops me cold and I realize what I've said wrong.

Julia. I shouldn't have mentioned her.

When your two best friends decide to go out with each other and then decide to break up, apparently it's bad form to mention them to each other. It's especially bad form to mention them to each other when you, the one who's caught in the middle, have an obvious crush on one of the said best friends. Sighing, I start towards my house and Nathaniel pulls away, his tires crunching the bits of gravel on our driveway.

I approach our opened front door, where I'm greeted by sound of my little sister's incredibly loud crying.

"Geez Louise, why'd he leave her here with just Mom home?" I mutter, my annoyance with myself shifting into annoyance with my absent-minded father. He's overprotective and yet he seems to constantly forget that we exist. It'd be nice if he'd pull it together at least every once in a while.

My little sister's cries become screams.

I dash into the house, my gaze going to a red stain on the carpet near our front door. It looks like blood. My heart racing, I run in the direction of my little sister's screams...

#

#

# March 18, 1997

The first word my mom taught me to spell was "Deaf." I remember her gently guiding my pencil strokes and explaining that "Deaf" should always be written with a capital D because this important word defines our culture, our entire identity.

Even though I'm hearing, Mom went on to explain, I come from two Deaf parents and this means that culturally, I'm Deaf.

Now, this familiar word is what I stumble over as Reverend Miller says, "For many years, Tessa Lyles was an active member of her community, outspokenly fighting for the rights of the Deaf here in Peake, Alabama..."

Grass crunching under my shoes, I shift on my feet, embarrassed, as I meet the frowning faces of some of the Deaf in the audience. I've made a rookie mistake and accidently signed 'Native American' instead of 'Deaf'.

I glance at Dad to see if he's noticed my screw up.

His dark eyes, red and watery, are downcast. Nope, he hasn't noticed. He's not even watching me interpret.

While Reverend Miller pauses to clear his throat, I drop my hands to my sides and study my father.

As usual, Dad's a hot mess. His salt-and-pepper hair is unruly, and he wears an ill-fitting three piece suit that he borrowed from an incredibly thin friend.

For once, however, his disheveled appearance is appropriate. The widower attending his wife's funeral is supposed to look tragically unkempt.

In fact, if there's an oddity among us, it's me. My eyes and cheeks are tear free, my hair is brushed, and my brand new Walmart dress is neatly pressed. I even volunteered to interpret when, in the midst of this afternoon's chaos, it was discovered that we'd forgotten to hire an interpreter for the gravesite sermon. So yeah, I'm not exactly the picture of a heartbroken daughter.

It's not that I didn't love Mom. It's more like the stranger who overdosed last week wasn't my mother. I don't mean this literally. What I mean is that something bizarre happened to Mom's mind. For most of my life, I knew her as the woman who was intelligent enough to talk biochemistry with Dad, gentle enough to calmly ride out Tessa Jr.'s inexplicable fits, and brave enough to stand up for what she believed in. As a matter of fact, that's why she named my little sister 'Tessa Jr.' "Why," Mom signed, "is it that only boys can be juniors? Why can't a daughter carry on her mother's name? Are we insinuating that men's names are more important than women's?"

My mother was amazing. But two years ago something like invasion of the freaking body snatchers went down. Mom woke up one morning with no memory of me or my sister, and her personality had completely changed. That's when I lost her; two years ago, not last week.

I still don't understand what triggered Mom's breakdown. Maybe it was stress or ...actually, I don't know and to be honest, I'm not up for trying to figure it out right now.

I take a deep breath, my nostrils filling with the scents of fresh rain and earth as I refocus on Reverend Miller's sermon.

"Tessa was also a devoted mother, a beloved wife, and a friend who will be deeply missed..."

Interpreting his words as succinctly as possible, I glance at my little sister and wonder how much of this she understands. She was the one who found Mom. Only God knows how long she was with the body by the time I found the two of them.

I know Tessa Jr. understands that Mom's dead (actually, I guess I can stop calling her Tessa Jr. Now that Mom's gone, there's only one Tessa in our family). But she's never been to a funeral before now, and I can't begin to imagine how odd this must all be from the perspective of a fourteen-year-old with limited mental capacity. What's she thinking as we stand in this graveyard, preparing to lower the coffin containing Mom's body into the ground?

I shift on my feet and meet Tessa's bright blue eyes. As pretty as can be, she looks back at me, blinking quickly while she follows my every sign. Despite the intelligence in her eyes, her mouth hangs open and a pool of drool collects in the right corner of her lips.

I sign, "Excuse me for one second," to the audience before signing to Tessa that she needs to wipe her mouth.

She returns my gaze, her expression blank.

One of Mom and Dad's friends, a short Deaf lady named Judy, who's standing right behind Tessa, touches Tessa's shoulder and helps her wipe her mouth.

Thank God for my parents' friends. The Deaf don't wait for you to ask for help. They just help. Hearing people never do that. Well, except for maybe Nathaniel.

I pick up where I left off in interpreting and peer into the crowd of black-clad mourners. There are, like, a ton of people here. The crowd is comprised of our neighbors, acquaintances from church, Dad's fellow teachers from school, and to my surprise, a good amount of our classmates have shown up. But dispersed among the familiar faces are people I don't recognize.

For example, just behind Ms. Nancy Greenich, our school guidance counselor, are an unfamiliar man and woman, both of them wearing expensive-looking dark suits and sunglasses. They stand with their arms folded and vague, expressionless faces. Thanks to their sunglasses, I can't tell if they're watching me or the Reverend.

Movement from my little sister catches my eye. She leans over, picking her raggedy brown diary up from the grass.

I roll my eyes at the diary Tessa just has to have with her wherever she goes.

It's a habit she picked up from Dad. But his notebook fetish is understandable. With his background in biology, engineering and some other sciences that I don't bother trying to remember, Dad's a wannabe inventor (wannabe because he has a lot of ideas and no clue as to how to bring them to fruition) and "inspiration" hits at the oddest moments.

My little sister's notebook, on the other hand, is not filled with supposedly inspired formulas. Instead, it's a collection of random, and slightly unsettling information. For example, she once stared at me for a solid fifteen minutes and then asked, "How much does your head weigh?" before jotting my answer down.

I'm not sure why this information was important to her, but I was concerned when I noticed that the next page of her notebook contained a shoddily-drawn sketch of my head separated from my body. I know it's silly of me to let things like that get to me. It's not like Tessa knew what she was drawing. After all, she's not violent, she's just slow.

Now Tessa opens the worn book and grabs the pen that was stuffed between its pages. With that, she looks at me, arches one of her blonde eyebrows and signs, "Sad?" She's asking me if I'm sad.

A twinge of pain erupting in my stomach, I consider lying and saying, "Yes".

But I hate lying.

After signing, "Excuse me," to the audience, I look at my little sister and reply, "I'm confused." Tessa nods and I watch her jot this down in her diary.

Our family's so weird, and now that Mom's gone, I have a feeling we're going to get even weirder.

THE TWINGE OF pain that's been making an appearance in my stomach ever since Mom's overdose is becoming worse. It's not an ache, more like a burning. I've been trying to ignore it, but that's becoming impossible.

Holding Tessa's hand, I weave in and out of the crowd and do my best not to make eye contact with anyone. I'm in no mood for stilted conversations about my mom.

Tessa yanks my arm and grunts. I glance back at her and she's pointing to Nathaniel. Tall and broad-shouldered in his dark suit, he stands with his back to us, talking to his friend Brad and a few other boys from school.

The fiery pain flares up in my stomach as I study each of Nathaniel's companions: Brad, Ryan, and Mark. Why are they even here? It's not like they care about my mom or my family.

Tessa grunts, decidedly releases my hand, and starts for Nathaniel.

"Oh, God, no," I whisper. I reach for my sister, but she dodges my grasp and heads for him like a woman on a mission.

I take off after her, hoping I can grab her before she gets to Nathaniel and his stuck up friends. But Tessa zips through the crowd with superlative speed, and I'm stopped by some hearing lady who plants a kiss on one of my cheeks and tells me she's sorry for my loss. Barely looking at the woman, I offer a quick, "thank you," and keep my eyes on my sister.

She's come to a halt directly behind Nathaniel, where she carefully opens her diary to a fresh page and readies her pen.

I dart away from the hearing lady and head for Tessa.

She has no idea what she's walking into.

As I approach the boys, their conversation drifts my way.

"...thought Deaf people were supposed to be quiet," Ryan drawls in his thick Alabama accent, "but, dude, they're so loud."

"I know. And did you hear when one of them farted? It lasted for a solid eight seconds; it was one of those machine gut farts," Brad says.

I tense, pausing in stride while he, Ryan, and Mark laugh like this is the funniest thing in the world.

These idiots know that none of the Deaf had the audacity to fart during Mom's funeral. They're just being jerks.

"Brad," Nathaniel says, "we all know it was you. Quit trying to blame your gas on other people."

The boys laugh and I shift on my feet. I don't know if I'm more relieved that Nathaniel said something in our defense or upset with him for hanging out with these hearing-minded jerks.

At this, Tessa darts forward. She charges past Nathaniel and barges her way into the boy's conversation.

A roll of thunder sounds above while she faces Nathaniel and signs, "Tall? You? Tall? You?" She's trying to ask him how tall he is so she can record this crucial information in her diary.

"Whoa! Look who it is." Ryan laughs and, tapping my sister's arm, points to her diary as he looks down at her and begins to speak in an exceptionally slow voice, "Hey, Forest, what you got there?"

Tessa blinks back at him, confused.

"She can't hear you even when you talk slowly, moron. She's deaf!" I shout and all three of the boys jump.

I push past Nathaniel and Brad and grab Tessa's hand. Of course she fights me, not understanding that I'm saving her from being made fun of. Tessa's surprisingly strong, but I manage to drag her away from the boys.

"Karen, wait!" Nathaniel calls, following us.

Tessa slips out of my grasp and runs back to Nathaniel, where she links her arm through his. At this, she smiles up at him like he's her knight in shining armor.

But her knight's eyes are full of guilt as he sheepishly says, "I'm sorry. They're idiots."

"Yet, you hang out with them..." I start to say more, but the remorse in his eyes stops me.

"I know. But they're not bad guys," he nervously replies, "they're just insensitive and I'm sorry they said that stuff."

My thoughts dart to what he told me in his Jeep the day I found Mom- that sometimes he freezes up and finds himself trapped in an overwhelming fear that stops him from doing anything. Maybe that's why he didn't jump to Tessa's defense, he froze up.

"I get it, it's fine." I glance at my sister as she opens her journal. "And she was trying to ask you how tall you are. So she can write it in her journal."

"Oh." Still looking unsure of himself, Nathaniel says, "I knew she was signing 'tall' but I didn't understand why."

"Yeah, it's hard to put together what she's saying." Several raindrops fall right splat on top of my head and I glance at the darkening skies. "Sometimes I can't understand her either."

Using the signs I've taught him over the years, Nathaniel tells Tessa how tall he is. I watch their conversation, silently wondering what my sister would be like if she weren't mentally impaired.

When she was about six, one of our town's specialists diagnosed her with autism and Mom and Dad argued over the diagnosis for months. Dad insisted that Tessa did have autism, but Mom thought the doctor was wrong because Tessa doesn't always display the symptoms of autism. So, I don't know if my little sister really has autism, but I know she's different.

The kids at our school know too and they're jerks about it. They make fun of her poor motor skills, which often result in her drooling or walking with an odd gait, and they really go after her lack of social grace. Some of them mock her to her face, but most do it behind her back, which is typical of hearing people.

"Your dad," Nathaniel says, nodding in the distance, "he holding up alright?"

"Honestly? Probably not." I glance at Dad and he's abruptly turning away from Ms. Greenich, our school guidance counselor, as she attempts to make conversation with him.

Great. Now Ms. Greenich probably thinks my family is even weirder than she did before.

While Ms. Greenich is talking to him, Dad thrusts his hands into his pockets and scowls, staring straight ahead. He says not a word to her and after a moment, Ms. Greenich takes her leave with an unbothered expression. I watch her, surprised by how unaffected she seems. I know she's a nice person, but wow, I have to give my guidance counselor props...most people would be at least a little thrown by Dad's rudeness.

"Dr. Lyles," Nathaniel says, his voice deepening. Before I can blink, he's making his way to my dad while Tessa clings to his arm like a parasite that refuses to leave its host.

Nathaniel straightens his posture and gives my dad a firm handshake. I can't help but grin at this, and then Nathaniel pulls Dad in for a hug, which erases my smile.

"No, you know better than that, Nathaniel," I whisper.

"Please refrain from hugging me. I am not a hugger," Dad says in his loud, hard-of-hearing voice. He pushes Nathaniel away and utters a loud sniff before dusting off his jacket as though it's been soiled by Nathaniel's touch. I cringe, embarrassed.

Sometimes my dad reminds me of a robot. The way he talks to people without a thought to their feelings and even his movements, so abrupt and measured, appear robotic.

"Sorry about that, Dr. Lyles." Nathaniel's face falls as he takes an awkward step back. "I just wanted to, uh, to say how sorry I am for your loss. Mrs. Tessa was an amazing lady."

"She was." My dad blinks quickly, his eyes going to Nathaniel's tie while he takes a deep breath and says, "And she would never kill herself. This was not a suicide."

"Here we go..." I mumble, looking down at the grass. I've been hearing this since last Thursday. It goes something like: "Your mother didn't kill herself, she would never do that. I can't explain how she was killed, but I know she wasn't the cause of her own death..."

"My wife didn't kill herself," Dad says, loudly enunciating his every word, his gaze glued to Nathaniel's tie like he's having a conversation with it instead of with an actual human, "she would never do that. I'm not at liberty to explain how it happened, but I know my wife didn't do it."

I glance at Tessa and she's frowning in confusion, her gaze going from Dad to Nathaniel.

I don't want to hear this and where I go, Tessa needs to follow, so I'll need to find a reason to tempt her away from Nathaniel. I turn to the surrounding crowd, scanning it for someone who Tessa might want to hang out with.

Our nosey next door neighbor who often drops by to bring Tessa her favorite cookies, Ms. Davidson, catches my eye and waves to us. Normally, I'd avoid Ms. Davidson like the plague. She talks a lot, sticks her nose where it doesn't belong, and she's starting to lose her memory, so she tends to say the same things over and over again. But now I grab Tessa's hand, force a smile, and use my free hand to sign, "Let's go see Ms. Davidson! Maybe she has cookies for you!"

Tessa acquiesces, but of course Ms. Davidson does not have cookies. Instead, she has lots of hugs and a sermon about the sin that is suicide. "...apparently she didn't know how loved she was," Ms. Davidson says, her large hand warm as it envelopes mine.

Thunder rumbles above and I glance at Tessa while she looks from me to Ms. Davidson, her blue eyes narrowed.

"...and girls, that just may be what took your mother from us, a sadness that was spurred on by loneliness. Now all we can do is hope she's safe in the Lord's grace despite the wicked path her emotional state led her down and..."

A raindrop lands on one of my eyelashes, startling me. I retract my hand from Ms. Davidson's and interrupt her longwinded speech. "Ms. Davidson, my sister wants to know what we're talking about, so I need to interpret for her."

"Oh, honey, we've been neighbors for seventeen years, little Tessa Junior understands me!"

she exclaims, her pigeon-like chest shaking as she chuckles.

I barely refrain from rolling my eyes. If I had a nickel for how many times people say that to me. 'Oh, she understands me!' or 'Tessa and I have our own special language.'

"A lot of people think that," I say, "but Tessa really can't understand it when people talk to her. She's Deaf."

"You're such a cutie aren't you? You understand me you little cutie-patootie!" Ms. Davidson says in a baby-voice as she reaches down to pinch Tessa's cheeks.

Her eyebrows meeting in a fierce scowl, Tessa swats at Ms. Davidson.

I wince and sign, "Stop! No!"

But Tessa ignores me and thrusts her fingers in Ms. Davidson's face, frantically signing, "No touch! No touch!" Her blue eyes are full of anger as I grab both of her hands, stilling her.

Ms. Davidson laughs. "My, my. What a big temper for such a little girl!"

"She doesn't like to be touched," I explain before nodding to the ever-darkening skies above, "and it looks like we'd better get going before the rain, so we'll see you later, Ms. Davidson."

"Oh well, look here, take my umbrella." Ms. Davidson shoves her umbrella into the crook of my arm.

I want to be annoyed, but the older woman's brown eyes are so full of sympathy that her earnestness startles me. I shift on my feet and nod. "Thank you. You didn't have to."

"An umbrella's nothing, dear," she says with a wave of her hand. She offers me a shaky smile, and for the first time, I notice that she seems a little hesitant, like she's not quite sure what to say. I guess I'm not the only one who feels uncomfortable.

Ms. Davidson smiles. "We're neighbors, we look out for each other. Oh!" The older woman's drawn on black eyebrows move up so quickly that she startles me for the second time. "Speaking of, I almost forgot to tell you, be careful when you take the garbage out at night. I noticed that you do that sometimes. Even at midnight, wearing nothing but a T-shirt, bless your heart." Ms. Davidson prattles on, unaware of the blush that's crept into my cheeks. "For the past two days there's been a black car parked two doors down from me, all day and all night- someone just sitting in there!"

I blink back at Ms. Davidson. "Really?"

She nods. "Yes. And so last evening I marched over to the car, ready to ask them what on earth they were doing in there and the car sped away! So, be careful when you..."

"Karen!" My dad's voice, louder than a bullhorn, yanks my attention away from Ms. Davidson's tale of strange black cars and I wince at his volume. Along with every hearing person in the vicinity, I turn to my father while he shouts, "Let's go!"

I glance at the hearing people who are pretending not to stare. This is awkward, but not nearly as awkward as the time we were on the chips aisle in Walmart and Dad shouted, "Didn't your mom say you needed tampons? Where are the tampons? They're not in this part of the store, are they?"

As usual, however, Dad's oblivious to the staring crowd; his eyes red and watery, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his suit and trudges to our car.

"Ms. Davidson, we'd better go. See you at our house." I get a firm grip on the umbrella and pull my sister forward.

"Bye, dear. I'll see you there. And keep in mind what I said about that car. In fact, it looks just like the one parked in front of you..."

"Right, okay. Bye." Tuning Ms. Davidson out, I meld into the crowd, hauling Tessa behind me. We pass a Deaf family from church and they give us sympathetic smiles. I nod but hurry along, hoping to get out of sight before they're able to pull us into a long-winded conversation. That's one thing about our Deaf friends-- ASL is all about story-telling, so our conversations literally last for hours.

Hurrying past them, I glance right and spot Julia. I pause in stride, hesitating. Julia's my one friend from school, well other than Nathaniel, of course. She sort of took me under her wing in ninth grade, loaning me clothes and helping me sneak out to stay the night at her house when she could tell I needed a break from my family.

Julia wipes her eyes with a tissue, her nose and cheeks as pink as ever. I want to tell her everything's going to be okay or at least be there while she cries, but she's standing with her "other" friends, Esther Reams, Amber White, and Riley Frasier.

Amber and Riley I can stomach. But Esther? The painful burning sensation flares up in my stomach as my gaze darts from Julia to Little Miss Perfect.

Tessa taps my shoulder and I sign, "Just wait a minute," without looking at her.

I should go to Julia, but I'm awful at comforting people, and with Esther right there, I'd be even more uncomfortable.

More tears stream down Julia's pale cheeks while she wipes her eyes and my heart sinks. What should I do?

Just then, Esther, even taller and prettier than usual, with her billion inch high heeled shoes and expensive-looking black dress, leans over and gives Julia a big hug.

Annoyed, I turn away from the preppy triplets, reaffirm my grip on Tessa's hand, and guide the two of us around Reverend Miller while he comforts a sobbing mourner.

Clearly, Julia's going to be fine. She has her other friends.

My sister and I leave the crowd behind, and as our station wagon comes into view, relief settles down on me. But when I catch sight of Dad behind the wheel my relief scurries away like a scared rat. He's sitting there, frowning while he stares straight ahead, his eyes narrowed and his lips curled into a snarl. I follow his gaze to the license plate of a black car parked in front of ours. It has a Louisiana plate, but other than that I don't see anything especially odd about it.

My thoughts shift to Ms. Davidson's warning about a black car parked down the street from us.

Why would that make Dad angry? Does he know who's in the car? I glance at the black car's tinted windows, but I don't see anyone inside.

A loud honk sounds from our car and I return my attention to Dad. He's punching the steering wheel, which elicits several more honks.

"Lord have mercy," I mumble, looking around and hoping no one else hears or sees what's happening in our station wagon. But of course, all the hearing people are aware of it and they're giving Dad the side-eye.

My cheeks burning, I pull us towards the car, but Tessa yanks on my arm. She points to Dad and asks, "Mad?"

I glance at him, and now Dad's getting out of our car and marching to the vehicle parked behind ours. It, like the one in front of ours, is also black. Dad runs around to its bumper, where he stoops to look at its license plate. He shouts the F-word and someone behind me gasps. Horrified, I look around. But most of the hearing people are pretending not to notice.

Yeah, of course they're pretending not to notice. That's what hearing people do. They pretend they're oblivious to whatever's happening, and then as soon as you turn your back, they're gossiping about you.

Tessa pulls on my arm, yanking me out of my thoughts. She points to Dad and repeats her earlier question. "Mad?"

"Stop asking me questions," I sign and then point to our car. "Go to the car."

Tessa's eyes darken but she does as told.

Her question lingers in my mind...is Dad mad?

I follow Tessa to the station wagon, a lump forming in my throat as I watch our father walk from car to car, stooping to check each vehicle's license plate.

The drizzle that tap-dances on top of our heads intensifies, turning into rain. I open Ms. Davidson's umbrella and running after Tessa, pull her under its shelter while my gaze returns to Dad. He's getting soaking wet as he shakes his head in despair and runs to yet another car, checking out its license plate.

There are so many things about my family that I don't understand. Mom losing her mind and memory for seemingly no reason, and now this...Dad running from car to car at her funeral, like he's searching for someone. What's wrong with us? Why can't we be normal?

I open the car door and give Tessa a nudge, signing, "Get in." She slaps at my hands, signing something about me being bossy. I ignore her and close the car door.

Reaffirming my grip on Ms. Davidson's umbrella, I head to my father. I don't know what's going on with him, but I know that from now on, I'll be the one to take care of it.

#

#

Karen not nice. Me hate Karen.

Karen have ugly ring and me took ring.

It silver. Silver so ugly! Me like pearls. Pearls beautiful.

When Momma give Karen ring, me watch and feel sad. Momma never give me ring!

Me nothing. Karen everything.

Karen go gymnasticals, me never go gymnasticals.

Karen go fun doing with Nathaniel. Me never go fun doing with Nathaniel.

Me sad.

Today, breakfast finished, me go Karen's room and me take ugly ring. Me happy.

Now, funeral finished. I sit here, front door, watch people come in house. They bring flowers and food. Many many peoples.

I don't like. Too many peoples. My head pain.

Now old man with wife smile to me. They carry food under foil paper.

Foil paper look like Momma's curtains.

Before Momma die in all the blood, Momma say, "Foil over windows good, protect us from I.T.I.S."

She run around house, her eyes big, foil in her hands, covering windows.

Momma smart, beautiful, and Momma hate me.

Me not understand. Momma hate me why?? Me not understand.

Now front door open, my heart beating. Me hope for Nathaniel.

Me look, wait. Nathaniel?

No. Not Nathaniel.

Allie O'Rourke. Allie fat. Her hair ugly, red color. Red hair ugly.

My hair blonde. Blonde hair pretty.

Allie have small house and cat. Cat brown.

Cat's tail, I give fire. I watch tail burn. Fire beautiful.

Cat in fire, cat become angry, but me happy. Allie see, become angry. Yell, yell, yell yell.

Front door open again. Nathaniel?

Yes! My heart beats fast!!!

Nathaniel so pretty. His eyes brown like Cary Grant. His hair brown like Cary Grant.

Me love Cary Grant but me love Nathaniel Colbert more!

Me stand, my ring hold, and me go Nathaniel.

His eyes big, he look to me, backs away.

He scared? Why scared to me?

Me hug Nathaniel, he try go away.

Me his hand hold, ring give.

Ring must take! Like wedding. Ring means we married!! If married can kiss!

Nathaniel Cary Grant. Me Grace Kelly. Like To Catch a Thief. We love, kiss!!!

Now Karen here frowning. Ring she takes. Nathaniel she takes.

I hate Karen. Karen take everything.

#

#

"Little Tessa has quite the crush on you, doesn't she?" Ms. Davidson, Karen's nosey next door neighbor, declares. She laughs and turns to the lady standing beside her, another neighbor who's serving garlic bread. "She was trying to ask him to marry her. Stole her older sister's ring to do it! Isn't that adorable?"

I want to say, 'No, that's not adorable. That's creepy.' But I smile and glance at the lasagna Ms. Davidson is supposed to be serving.

"Now I know you want a slice of my four-cheese lasagna, don't you dear?" she finally asks, her laughter dying down.

"Yes, please."

"Lord, have mercy, listen to that voice!" Ms. Davidson sinks a large serving fork into the lasagna and cuts a hearty slice before plopping it on my plate. "It's gotten so deep! How old are you now?"

My cheeks warm. "Sixteen."

"My word. Time flies," she replies with a shake of her head. "Are you still in gymnastics with Karen?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Karen says you're good," Ms. Davidson loudly continues. "She's always talking about you. Says you're the best on the boys' team. Is that what it's called? A team?"

"Technically, we're divided into levels. But we also compete as a team." I glance at the long line behind me.

One of Karen's neighbors, a heavyset lady named Allie O'Rourke, is giving Ms. Davidson and me the evil eye. "Well," I say, smiling, "I'll see you later, Ms. Davidson."

"You know," Ms. Davidson says, placing her hands on her hips and tilting her head. "I saw your mother at the graveside service, but I didn't get a chance to speak to her. How is she?"

I blink back at her. It's like she doesn't realize we're holding up the line. "She's fine. But she got a headache after the funeral, that's why she's not here." I inch away from the table. "I'll tell her you said hello."

"You do that. It looks like she finally put on some weight, thank heavens. She's such a pretty little thing, but then Mexican women usually are." Ms. Davidson points her serving fork at me, jabbing the air with it as she says, "Be proud of your heritage, Nathaniel. Or should I say, Nathanĩel? Is that how you say it in Mexican?"

"Well, my mom's not Mexican. She's from Nicaragua." Continuing to back away from her, I force a smile. "And I never learned Spanish."

"You don't speak Spanish? You should. That's your heritage, boy. Lord, have mercy! Next time I see your momma, I'm going to tell her she needs to teach you Mexican, and that's all there is to it."

Ms. Davidson laughs and I continue to grin like an idiot because what else am I supposed to do? Tell an old lady she's being rude? "See you later, Ms. Davidson." I offer her a nod and duck out of the Lyles' kitchen as quickly as possible.

I make my way through Karen's house and head for the porch. If I know Karen, she's either alone on the porch or alone in her room. She's a huge fan of solitude.

The back door that leads to the porch is open, but the screen door is closed. I ease it open and there she is. Her back to me, Karen sits with her legs dangling over the edge of the porch.

She turns around and her brown eyes light up, but she doesn't smile as she says, "Hey."

"Hey." I step outside and take a deep breath. The rain's finally let up and the air smells great, like fresh wet grass. "Can I sit with you?"

"Yeah, always."

I make myself comfortable beside her and she glances at my food, her eyebrows going up as she says, "I bet Coach Peterson didn't see that lasagna on your plate."

I grin. "I need this. Not to knock my mom's gallopinto, but a guy can only eat so much beans and rice." Karen smiles and I notice that she doesn't have a plate of her own. "Want me to grab you a plate of food?"

She shakes her head. "I'm good. And I wanted to apologize for my sister and the ring thing earlier."

"It's no big deal." I take a bite of my lasagna.

"I still don't get why she wanted you to keep my ring," Karen says.

"I think she was trying to ask me to marry her," I chuckle. "I'm not going to lie, Tessa had this...look in her eyes, and it was a little scary." I glance at Karen to make sure I haven't offended her.

She's super protective of Tessa and I get why, I would be too. In fact, I am. It's just that sometimes Tessa really does scare the crap out of me. She'll get this glassy-eyed look, start staring at me without blinking, and before I know it she's trying to hug me or even bite me.

In the distance, an owl hoots while I assess Karen's reaction. Her shoulders are hunched, which is unusual for her normally straight-as-a-rod posture. But nothing like offense crosses her features as she looks straight ahead, sort of blindly staring into the backyard.

"Autism works in mysterious ways." Karen speaks softly, and without any warning whatsoever, swipes a slice of garlic bread from my plate.

I grin. I thought I had good reflexes until I met Karen. She's always sort of reminded me of a mosquito: tall, skinny, and stealthy until she attacks. Of course, mosquitoes don't have big brown eyes, long brown hair that always smells good, or soft skin that's been bronzed by the sun.

She brings the bread to her mouth, and instead of eating it, looks at it and mumbles, "Honestly, I don't understand why anyone in my family does what they do."

I swallow my food and watch her carefully. Her voice, like her posture, is way weaker than usual.

When we first started hanging out, her definite tone of voice really struck me. Everything she said was laced with a reassuring confidence that made me want to slip my hand in hers and never let go, but at the moment that confidence of hers isn't making an appearance.

She tears her garlic bread into tiny pieces, eating them one miniscule bite at a time. Her dark eyes void of warmth, she stares into the cornfield beyond her family's backyard.

I set my plate in her lap and she turns to me in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"You can have the rest, I'm not hungry," I say, hoping my stomach won't give me away by growling. With that, I turn my attention to the lightning bugs that are beginning to gather in the distance and realize that I probably have cheese all over my mouth. I run the back of my hand across my mouth and wipe my fingers on the edge of the porch.

"That's okay," Karen says, her voice small, "you can eat it."

"Did you even eat anything today?"

She shrugs and her long bangs fall over her eyes. They've been annoying her for a while. She says they're at an awkward stage because she's trying to grow them out. But I like the way she's constantly flicking them out of her eyes. Sometimes I have to stop myself from reaching out and brushing them away.

Karen pushes them out of her face and says, "My stomach's still weird. So, here." She sets what's left of her garlic bread on the plate and, giving me a wobbly half-smile, returns the plate to my knee.

"Still?" I ask. "My mom said if the pain lasts more three days, you should see a doctor."

She frowns. "You told your Mom?"

"She's a nurse and you were in pain. So, yeah I asked a nurse what she thought you ought to do."

"Well, I'm fine. I'll just wait it out."

I glance down, Karen's words ringing in my ears. My breathing labored and my heart racing, I try, unsuccessfully, to get a grip. What Karen's said shouldn't a big deal. She's only being her usual stubborn self. But my brain is like a former war-zone, one wrong turn, initiated by a particular phrase or word, and a landmine of anxiety erupts. And at the moment, I can't help but remember Mom saying, 'I'm fine. I'll just wait it out...'

I was eight when she said it and I know I was eight because I'd had a huge Batman-themed birthday party the day before. The cost of the party was most likely why she and my dad were arguing. Of course I can't be a hundred percent positive about that; I was at gymnastics when the fight erupted. But after practice, when Mom didn't show to pick me up, I got sick to my stomach and I had a feeling Dad was the reason she wasn't there.

Coach Peterson had been waiting with me, and when he offered to drive me home, I could tell he knew too, though he didn't say anything. We pulled into my driveway where Dad's truck was noticeably missing, and Coach insisted on walking me in.

Our back door was half-opened and a trail of blood greeted us. It started from the bottom of the stairs where one of Mom's slippers lay upside down and continued on to the upstairs guest bathroom. We found Mom standing over the sink, tending to her broken nose, busted lip, and black eye. She was trembling more than I'd ever seen, but no matter what Coach Peterson said, she wouldn't go to Peake General. She kept saying she'd be fine, that she'd wait it out.

I cringe at the memory, my mouth going dry and the Lyle's backyard disappearing around me.

At the time I didn't understand her reaction. Now, in retrospect, I get it. Mom was in shock and when you're in shock, you don't see things as they are. Instead you become one-track-minded about some tiny thing that doesn't matter. So, having been a nurse at Peake General for over six years, Mom was focused on not allowing herself to be taken to work. No matter how beat-up she was, she didn't want her friends and colleagues in the ER to see her so 'weakened'.

That, I can relate to. There are few things worse than showing up to school the day after a complete pummeling. Of course not everyone knows why your face is a mess, and most people believe you when you lie and blame it on gymnastics practice. But your friends know the truth and when they give you those pitying sideways glances, it makes you feel...I don't know. I guess defeated is the word.

Another owl hoot sounds in the distance and I try to focus on the plate of food I've been staring into. Robotically lifting my fork, I shove some salad into my mouth. My pulse slows and reality settles into place around me.

"You should go to the doctor," I say, gazing into the cornfield, "and if your dad can't take you, I will."

"Geez Louise." Karen snorts. "Thanks, Mom."

"I just care about you."

"I know." She folds her arms across her stomach and mumbles, "Which actually proves that you're nothing like my mom. To be like her, you'd have to forget who I am and then kill yourself. So thank God you're nothing like her."

Helplessness washing over me, I scratch the back of my head.

I have no idea what to say or do to make her feel better. I've never lost anyone close to me. Dad being hauled off to jail was different, that wasn't death.

"I'm, uh, I'm sorry about all of this happening to you. It's not fair..." My voice trails off and I feel about as eloquent as a potato.

"It's alright," she mutters. "I'm fine." Her tone and body language, however, say she isn't fine.

"Okay." I set my plate on the porch and scoot closer to her. "So, don't freak out like your dad would, but I'm going to hug you. I just have to."

She freezes, immediately bristling, and I hesitate. I meant for this to be helpful, not awkward.

A slow smile forms on her lips, and I relax as she says, "Okay."

I drape an arm around her shoulders and gently pull her towards me. "You can talk to me about things. You know that, right?" Karen's cheeks turn red and she glances down.

Aw.

I lean in towards her and get a whiff of her shampoo, which smells great, like fresh flowers.

"Yeah, I know. Thanks."

"So, come on," I say, "talk. What are you thinking right this minute?"

"That you're annoying." She laughs and keeps her gaze on the backyard, as if she's afraid to look at me. She then takes several halting deep breaths, which is exactly how I breathe when I'm having one of my frozen-in-terror moments on the high bar.

Okay...maybe the hugging is too much. I begin retracting my arm, but Karen scoots closer to me and rests her head on my shoulder. My breath hitches in my chest and I gulp nervously. Funny how I told her not to get freaked out. I run my palm along her left forearm and focus on calming my heartbeat and breathing.

There's a rustle of movement in the cornfield beyond the Lyles' backyard and grateful for the distraction, I turn my attention to the direction of the noise. A pair of large, glowing eyes peer back at me before disappearing into the field.

"Dang. You guys have monster-sized raccoons." I utter a low whistle.

"We don't get raccoons around here, maybe you saw a rabbit."

"Too big to be a rabbit. Maybe it's..." I stop speaking as the eyes reappear, but this time as part of a nearly seven foot tall silhouette. The shadow glances backwards and then quickly turns away from the house, running even deeper into the field.

I retract my hand from Karen's shoulder and stand.

"Nathaniel? What's wrong?"

Barely able to believe what I've seen, I whisper, "What was that?"

"What? What did you see?" Karen gets to her feet and touches my shoulder.

"It had glowing eyes...it was huge." I strain my neck, peering into the distance as the cornstalks rustle.

"Seriously?" Karen hops off the porch and heads to the cornfield.

"Wait, no!" I panic. "Don't go after it, Karen!" I jump off the porch and catch up to her as she approaches the edge of the field. "Hey!" I grab her arm and pull her towards me. "What are you doing?"

She looks down at my hand and then at me. "I'm seeing what's in my backyard."

"Whatever that was, we don't want to mess with it. Trust me." Chills running down my arms, I glance ahead to make sure the thing hasn't come tearing out of the field to kill us.

In the distance, some of the stalks rustle. It's still out there.

Karen shifts under my grip and realizing that I'm still clutching her arm, I let her go. "Sorry. Let's just go inside and tell your dad, or Ms. Greenich, or somebody."

She arches an eyebrow at me, says not a word, and heads into the cornfield.

"Karen!" I reach for her.

"Grab my arm again, Nathaniel," she barks. "I dare you."

I drop my hands to my sides and, against my better judgement, follow her into the field.

I STAY AS close to Karen as possible, making sure to keep track of what's happening behind us as well as to our left and right. The ground is still wet and my good shoes sink deeper with my every step. "My mom's going to love the way I track mud all over the house when I get home." I mumble.

"Then clean off your shoes before you go home," Karen says, pushing a stalk aside. "Duh."

I'm too nervous to roll my eyes at her...or at myself for sounding so whiny.

The moon casts an eerie glow on the stalks, some of them still glistening with rain as we push them out of our way.

"Do bears' eyes glow in the dark?" Karen whispers.

My breathing intensifies to the point that I'm sure Karen feels like she's got a heater blowing on the back of her neck. "It wasn't a bear," I say, choosing not to add that the shadowy thing couldn't have been a bear because it had defined shoulders, as well as a neck and head that looked human.

"Are you sure it had glowing eyes?"

"Yeah," I mumble, even as I silently begin to doubt myself. After all, what kind of creature is seven feet tall with glowing eyes? Am I seeing things?

The crunch of a foot landing on a stick sounds a few feet ahead of us and I grab Karen's hand. A loud "thud!" rips into the field's relative quiet and the ground shakes, all of the stalks around us swaying as their leaves rustle.

"What was that?" Karen says, coming to a halt.

My heart pounding, I look around at the rustling stalks. "Our cue to get out of here."

As soon as I say this, footsteps sound, splashing in the cornfield's mud as they run towards us from just ahead.

I wasn't seeing things, there's something in this field and now it's chasing us.

"We should go!" I urge, my stomach turning somersaults.

"Yeah, I think you're right." Karen says, backing up.

She doesn't need to say it twice. Without a second thought, I pull her towards me and take off in the direction of her house. "Julia's dad has a hunting rifle," I shout. "When we get inside, we should call him."

I run as fast as I can, not caring about the mud that's splashing onto my pants or about the cornfield leaves that are whipping scratches onto my face. I just need to get us back to the house before that thing catches up to us.

I can see the lights of the Lyles' back porch. Just a few more steps and we'll be out of this godforsaken field.

"Karen!" A familiar voice bellows from behind us.

Karen jerks her hand out of mine and turns around. "Dad?!"

#

#

My dad is breathing even harder than I am and his too-small jacket and vest have been ditched. His dress shirt is half-untucked as he stands before me, pale, sweaty, and fear in his eyes.

"What are you doing?" We both say at the same time. Nathaniel moves to stand beside me, his eyes raking my father from head to toe. I turn to Dad, unsure of what to say and, quite frankly, embarrassed. I mean...really? Does Nathaniel really have to be here to see this too? It's like life has given the one guy I like a front row seat to the ways in which my family has gone mad.

Earlier, Nathaniel sat through Dad rambling about how Mom's death wasn't a suicide, after that he was a part of the crowd that saw Dad running from car to car in the rain, shouting yelling the F-word. Hours later, my little sister tried to force Nathaniel to marry her and now Nathaniel's a witness to my dad, unkempt and looking guilty for no apparent reason, emerging from our neighbor's cornfield in the dead of night.

Nice. Thank you, Life.

"What were you doing out here?" I ask, my voice sounding small.

"I saw a coyote." Dad glances over his shoulder. "I chased it. It's gone now."

"You chased a coyote." I slowly repeat.

"Yes, Karen! I chased a coyote!" Dad shouts, startling me as he points to our house. "Now go inside, before it comes back."

My cheeks are flaming and I can feel Nathaniel looking at me. "Dad, why are you yelling at me?" I ask between gritted teeth. But I'm speaking too quietly and he doesn't hear me. He adjusts his glasses and glances down at himself. Realizing that he looks like he's been attacked by a tornado, he dusts off his shirt and tucks it into his pants.

He catches me looking at him and points to the house, his eyes widening. "Go! Now!"

I shake my head in annoyance. There are no words for this. Literally, no words.

"Um, yes, sir." Nathaniel nudges me with his elbow. "We're going."

The three of us make our way back to the porch in silence, fireflies dancing around us like they're having a party. And at the moment, their happy little jigs are just irritating.

My upper arm hurts where Nathaniel grabbed me and I glance at it.

It's as bruised as the current state of my ego. I guess it's easy to forget how strong Nathaniel is. You'd think that when someone looks the way he does, you wouldn't forget. But he's so gentle with everyone that you do forget, until those moments when you flippantly challenge him to an arm wrestle and then feel really stupid...or like tonight, when he gets scared and reacts without thinking.

I steal a peek at him and he's frowning, his gaze on my father.

"Dr. Lyles," he suddenly says, "how big was that coyote?"

Without looking at Nathaniel, Dad mumbles that he doesn't know. With that, he hurries ahead of us, nearly jogging up the three stairs that lead to our back porch before flat-out running into the house.

"Please Dad, act weirder in front of my friends," I say, my stomach blazing with that all-too familiar burning.

"It's fine, Karen." Nathaniel's frown dissolves as he offers me a sympathetic smile. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. At least now we know we don't have monsters from "The X-Files" in our backyard, just overgrown coyotes. So, there's that." I try to return his grin, but it doesn't feel quite right. "You okay?"

Nathaniel's face falls, and completely distracted, his eyes narrow as he takes a shaky step back.

"Hey?" I wave one of my hands in front of him. "Are you there?" I stare at him while his mouth falls open. He looks like he's just realized something. "Nathaniel?"

He takes a deep breath. "Karen, what if it...um, I think, I think..."

"You think what?" I ask.

He meets my eyes, his eyes searching mine as he says not a word. The scrutiny makes me self-conscious and I run a hand through my hair, which sends three small green leaves from my hair to land at our feet.

I bet I know exactly what Nathaniel's thinking and doesn't have the guts to say.

"You think my family's a mess?" I say as a zing of pain travels across my stomach. "If that's what you were going to say, agreed."

"No." Nathaniel's eyes soften and lifting a hand, he ever so gently brushes my bangs from my face. "I was going to say, I think... I think that even though it doesn't feel like it right now, everything's going to be okay."

I don't know if it's the comforting way he's touching me or if it's the pressure of this massively horrible day, but my eyes fill and my nose starts to run.

"Sorry," he mumbles. Stooping, he grabs a napkin from his abandoned plate of food and hands it to me. I wipe my nose as he says, "I didn't mean to make you feel worse."

I shake my head. "You didn't."

With that, I lower the tissue and take a good look at Nathaniel Colbert. Every time I look at this boy, a trillion emotions erupt and collide inside of me. Usually, I try and pretend like these internal car crashes aren't happening. I tell myself that behind Nathaniel's charm and looks, there's something broken about him. It's so broken that it makes him scared of things and even kind of makes him a Momma's Boy.

But that thought process never works because there's no denying that I like everything about Nathaniel, even the way he's so protective of his mom. He's patient, kind, and he gives everyone a chance...even me. How could I not feel something for the one person who accepts me exactly the way I am?

I plant my right palm on Nathaniel's chest and lean towards him.

Surprise registers in his face, but he's quick to slip a hand around my waist. So, I wrap my free arm around him and ease into the security of his arms.

As he holds me tight, I close my eyes and confess, "You make everything better."

#

#

"I thought she was going to kiss me," I say, grabbing the can of Ginger Ale I've promised Karen.

Brad, my best friend since I don't even know when, stands over the Lyles' wooden table that's filled with various almost-eaten dishes and sticks his fork into what's left of the pecan pie. Brad and I are practically brothers. Our moms went to college together, worked at Peake General together until Brad's mom quit, and then they decided to send us both to Matthew's Gymnastics Center when we were six.

We're the same height at six feet exactly, but Brad's bigger. He's built kind of like a bear and sometimes he acts like a bear, what with all of the scratching in public and hibernating during class. He's sort of a goof-off, but I wouldn't trust anyone except him with what just happened between Karen and me.

Brad laughs. "You got burned, man."

"No, not exactly." I pause, my thoughts returning to the way Karen looked at me, her eyes clouded in emotion as she bit down on her bottom lip and decided that she needed to hug me.

As cheesy as I feel thinking this, it was a beautiful moment, to see her decide that she needed me. For a minute there, I even forget what I'd just figured out about her dad.

"Well, you know who would've kissed you?" Brad asks with his mouth full, several crumbs falling from his lips to his chest.

"If you say you..."

"Nah man." He laughs and brushes the crumbs off. "Julia. She's here, you know."

"Yeah, I know." I sigh at the mention of my ex. "We just stay out of each other's way. She's cool with that."

Brad's blonde eyebrows, so light they're nearly translucent, shoot up as he snorts. "No she's not. Yesterday she spent fifth hour crying, the whole freaking hour, man, just crying."

I shift on my feet, guilt spiking in my gut. "You serious?"

Brad burps and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Yeah, it was pretty sad, actually. It's not my business, but she seems really, like, hurt."

I glance at the Lyles' wooden floors, my heart sinking.

Break-ups suck, and breaking up with Julia was especially sucky. I wasn't in love, but she was.

"You're not going to cry, are you? Do you want a hug? Because Karen will give you a hug. She won't kiss you or show affection in general, but she might hug you. If you catch her on a good day."

"Her mom just died," I say, annoyance coursing through me. "Give her a break."

"Yeah, I know." Brad gives me a funny look. "Sorry."

"I'd better get this to her. I'll catch you later." I slip out of the kitchen and head back to the porch, Karen's drink in hand.

Right now, I have two wishes. First of all, I wish people were more tolerant with Karen and that Karen were more tolerant with people. She's always complaining about my other friends...Brad, Esther, and basically everyone at school. Sure, the Peake High crowd is on the uppity side, but they're not that bad. Karen's just...kind of mean, and it makes people avoid her. But I'd never tell her that.

My second wish is that I could tell Karen what I just figured out about her dad. But I can't do that to her. Not today. It would be too much.

I open the screen door that leads to the porch and step outside. In the few minutes that I've been gone, the temperature's dropped and my breath sends puffs of white into the night air as I realize that it isn't Karen I've found.

Tessa now occupies the edge of the porch where Karen and I had been sitting. The raggedy brown diary that she carries everywhere is in her lap and her narrowed eyes are glued to the book as she scribbles in its pages. At moments like this, it's startling how much she looks like Karen. The resemblance is in their mannerisms, the way Tessa sticks her chin out when she's deeply invested in whatever it is she's doing. Karen does the same thing when she's poised to begin a tumbling pass.

To Tessa's left, she and Karen's dad paces the edge of the porch. His back is to me and he's got a cordless phone to his ear.

"...yes, Claire!" Dr. Lyles shouts into the phone. "In my backyard, in the cornfield! My oldest daughter nearly saw the whole..."

I back out of the doorway and close the door. Now that I know who Karen's dad really is, I know that I don't want to get in the middle of whatever he's got going on.

Unseen's business is not my business.

A tap on my shoulder sends Karen's Ginger Ale crashing to the floor.

"Oops, my bad."

My panic spikes at the sound of my ex's voice and I turn around. Julia, hand in hand, with her little brother, Seth, faces me.

"Hey, Armpit," Seth says, his smile revealing two missing teeth.

"Hey, Earwax." I grin and kneel to pick up the soda can. My gaze goes past Seth's messy black hair and up to Julia. As usual, she's picture perfect, not a strand of hair out of place and wearing a tight black dress that shows her every curve. I gulp. "Hey, Jules."

"Hey, Nate." She smiles, but something about her grin is sad. "I have a huge favor to ask and if you can't-"

"Course I can." I stand and step away from the Lyle's back door.

"My mom was super tired, so she left." Julia pauses, fiddling with her right hand. I glance at her hands and the promise ring I gave her last summer gleams back at me.

I wish she'd stop wearing it. Quickly returning my gaze to her eyes, I ask, "You and Seth need a ride home?"

"Only if you can."

"Yeah, definitely."

Giving her a ride home is the least I can do after giving her a promise ring and then breaking my promise with no real explanation.

She offers me a hesitant smile, her full lips shimmering with a light pink gloss. I remember it tasting like strawberries...

"Can I drive your Jeep?" Seth asks.

Grateful for the interruption, I tear my eyes away from Julia's mouth and focus on Seth.

"Sorry, bro, you're seven. We'll talk when you're eight." I ruffle his messy hair, briefly wondering at how different two siblings can be. Julia's blonde with silky, straight hair while Seth's hair is almost as thick and black as mine. It's funny, the surprisingly normal things you bother thinking about when you've just realized that the girl you're crushing on is the daughter of a superhero.

"I was hoping we could head out now," Julia says, "it's past Seth's bedtime."

"Sure, let me clean up this drink I spilled, then we can go." I start for the kitchen.

"Karen can get that." Julia touches my arm, her trademark smile gleaming back at me. "She likes to clean."

Something about the way Julia says this rubs me the wrong way and I cover my annoyance with a smile. "Nah, I'll just clean it-" I shut up as Karen emerges from the hallway to our left. Her dark eyes widen and she looks from me to Julia.

Crap.

"I looked for you on the porch," I explain, "but you weren't there."

"Yeah." Karen crosses her arms and takes a step back. "There was a problem with Tessa that I had to take care of."

"She puked all over Ms. Greenich," Seth interjects with a knowing nod. "I sawed it happen."

"Oh my God." Julia laughs. "Poor Ms. Greenich. She goes out of her way to come all the way over here and gets puked on by your little sister. Geez."

I glance at Julia, briefly wondering at her lack of a brain-to-mouth filter. Yeah, Karen's neighborhood is on the cheaper side of town, far away from where the rest of us live, but you're not supposed to just casually bring up things like that. That's mean.

But Karen doesn't seem to mind. She nods and says, "I know. And I should've been watching Tessa because she always does that when we have company. She gets excited and overeats. But-"

"You changed clothes, didn't you?" Julia interrupts, grabbing the hem of Karen's outfit. "Ooh, I like this dress."

I look at the short brown dress Karen's wearing and wonder if her other dress got messed up from our incident in the cornfield. It took a while for me to get the mud stains off of my own pants and shoes.

"You should've worn this to the funeral, girl," Julia continues. "It makes your legs look so long and sexy!"

Of course now I can't help but glance at Karen's legs. Tanned, smooth, and perfected by well-defined calves, I silently agree with Julia.

"Yeah. Because that's what I was going for, to look sexy at my mom's funeral," Karen dryly replies. "I changed because some of my sister's puke got on me."

Julia drops Karen's hem and huffs, "I was just trying to give you a compliment, Karen. God."

And, here comes the arguing. I don't know how these two have managed to stay friends for the past couple of years.

"Hey, why don't we go?" I clear my throat and turn to Seth. "Ready, Earwax?"

"Yep. Bye, Karen!" Seth waves to Karen, whose face has fallen.

When she notices me looking at her, she tries and fails to change her expression to one of indifference. "So, you're taking them home?"

I start to reply when Julia chimes in, "Yep, Nate came to my rescue, as always." Julia then links her arm through mine and nods to the spilled Ginger Ale. "And we're so sorry, but Nate spilled that. We hate to leave you with a mess."

"Actually." I unlink my arm from Julia's. "I'll clean it up."

"No, don't worry about it." Without looking at me, Karen heads to the kitchen. "I'll see you all at school tomorrow."

"Oh my God! You're going to school tomorrow? You can't be serious, Karen! Your mom just died!" Julia calls after her.

Karen doesn't respond as she slips into the kitchen.

I close my eyes, wanting to kick myself.

"...ISN'T THAT THE worst?" Seth asks as I pull into the Scardinas' driveway and put my Jeep in PARK.

The little kid's been talking nonstop since we left Karen's and I'm grateful, because the possibility of a conversation with his sister is freaking me out.

"Yeah, boarding school doesn't sound easy, buddy," I agree, glancing at him in my rearview mirror. "But you're a cool guy, I bet you'll make plenty of friends there."

I don't add that I also feel terrible for him. I spent a couple of months in boarding school when I was about his age. Mom was that desperate to get me away from Dad. But eventually, Dad complained about the cost and pulled me out. Though my home life wasn't all that great, I preferred it to boarding school.

"Hey, Seth," Julia says as I turn the headlights off, "say goodnight and go inside. I need to talk to Nate for a minute."

Dear God, no ...

I robotically wave goodnight to Seth before slowly bringing my hands back to the steering wheel. Clenching it in a death grip, I stare at the Scardinas' front door long after Seth's closed it.

Last spring, I would've given anything for this kind of time alone with Julia. Sure I had a crush on Karen, but I was more than a little distracted by Julia. I'd known her since forever; a cute and talkative girl who lived a few streets over from me. But when we got to high school, Julia looked different. She wasn't just cute anymore, it's like she blossomed. Her Pacific Ocean-colored eyes were suddenly topped by these long dark lashes and her lips, always shimmering with a pinkish-red color, seemed like they were made just for kissing. And most importantly, her body was nothing like it'd been in middle school. All of a sudden, she had the kind of body that inspired non-musical guys to whip out guitars and spout cheesy love songs. I won't lie, somewhere in my bottom dresser drawer is a handwritten poem called, "Julia, You Blow My Mind", which I (thank God) chickened out on handing to her.

With all of my attention focused on Julia's appearance, it took a while for me to figure out that we're not right for each other personality-wise. Julia lives in Julia-world and I live...on earth. Earth is earth, while Julia-world is an imaginary bubble where nothing bad happens because when bad things happen, Julia completely ignores them. She says she 'doesn't believe in negativity'.

For example, when I finally decided to trust her with the details of what Mom and I went through with Dad, Julia interrupted me before I could finish, told me I should be strong, and then changed the subject. After that, she never brought it up again. I've always wanted to forget about that part of my life, but for some reason I'm not okay with my girlfriend ignoring it. It's like she didn't care about who I really am.

"Seth misses you." Julia's voice snatches me from my thoughts.

Tearing my eyes away from the Scardinas' door, I turn to her. Her nose is pink and her eyes are full of tears.

"But I miss you even more." A tear slides down one of her cheeks and my breath hitches in my chest.

"Please don't cry." I reach out, gently wiping the tear away.

"I don't understand," she says, her voice shaking, "what I did wrong. Why'd you break up with me?"

Her question sits on my chest, weighing me down with a heaviness that's getting in the way of my breathing. I struggle to catch my breath, beads of sweat forming on my forehead. This is exactly what happens when I get stuck on the high bar...

"Is it because you think I don't care enough about your gymnastics goals?" Julia asks, her voice breaking, "I do. And I can care more. I can go to more meets. I can be whatever you need."

I take a deep breath and try to pull myself together. But everything's growing blurry through my panic and all I can see are Julia's glossy pink lips. Strawberries...I wonder if they still taste like strawberries.

No, don't think about that. Why am I even thinking about that? I don't want to kiss Julia. Tearing my eyes away from her, I focus on her parent's garage door and speak carefully, "You didn't do anything wrong, it's me. I'm..."

My heart racing, I stop speaking because I have no idea what to say. I can't just admit that asking out anyone other than Karen was a hormone-induced mistake.

I risk another glance at Julia and she's got her face in her palms, quietly sobbing as her shoulders move up and down. My stomach drops. "Hey, come on. Don't cry."

She shakes her head, her voice muffled as she says, "I can't help it, I miss you so much."

I move Julia's hands from her face and wipe away her tears. Panic fogging my brain, I let my hand linger near her chin and lean towards her.

Her eyes brighten and her lips part. She's moving towards me and before I know what's happening, her hands are at the sides of my face as I'm closing my eyes. She plants a strawberry-flavored kiss on my mouth and runs her hands through my hair.

For a moment I'm flying, soaring above my anxiety. And then that sinking feeling of crashing, face-first to the ground overtakes me. I open my eyes, realizing what I've done.

Julia's arms have moved to my neck; a gentle embrace that's nothing more than a noose. But I'm the one who, like an idiot, picked up the noose and put it around my neck.

Her eyes on mine, Julia whispers, "So, you missed me too."

I stare back at her, inwardly shouting at myself: what are you doing?!

"It's, like, not fair how much I need you," she continues, her eyes boring into mine, "since you broke up with me, I don't even know who I am. You're my rock, Nate."

My stomach turns and remnants of lasagna creep into my throat.

"So, are we, like, are we...going to give it another try?" Julia asks, her voice halting.

I inch away from her, returning to my side of the car.

"Nate?"

I rake a hand through my hair and look up into the night sky. The stars wink back at me, mockingly. They're up there, free, and I'm here, trapped like a rat in a never-ending maze. Why can't I escape my own stupidity? Why do I keep making the same mistake over and over again?

"Please, Nate?"

My chest growing heavier by the minute, and Julia's voice pouring into every space of my lungs, drowning me, my confidence caves like a collapsing building. I glance at her and she's twisting the promise ring around on her finger, her eyes expectant, trusting that I won't hurt her.

"Okay," I hear myself say. "But let's take it slow."

#

#

My Daddy smart.

Now, we watch movie "To Catch a Thief".

Ago, when me baby, me and Daddy watch, "To Catch a Thief." My first movie!

Now, I watch every day.

Me love Cary Grant, he beautiful.

But dead.

My momma dead also.

She eat too many medicines and die. Blood all over.

I cry, cry.

Now, Daddy look to me and sign many signs.

Me not understand.

Me smile and nod.

Maybe Daddy think me smart.

Daddy think Karen smart.

Karen smart yes, but Karen so mean! So bossy!

Me hate Karen.

Me love Karen but me also hate Karen.

Me confused.

#

#

I wake to a sinking feeling in my stomach, and for a while all I can do is stare at my ceiling, tallying our loses and gains. Mom's gone, Dad's losing his mind, and we've got a giant coyote in our backyard: two losses, and one furry gain.

Another potential loss looms in the back of my mind. Something tells me I might lose Nathaniel to Julia again. Why else would he have taken her home after the repast? I push the thought aside and easing out of bed, step over piles of clothes, books, and shoes. I'll pick them up eventually.

When Mom was in her right mind, she'd constantly get on me about my room by saying things like, 'It's better to clean up now. Procrastinate and before you know it you'll have a big mess on your hands.'

She was right. I'll definitely clean my room tomorrow.

I open my bedroom window, try not to sneeze as dust from the blinds drifts my way, and glance at Mom's ring. Yesterday, after realizing Tessa had stolen it, I slipped it on and I haven't taken it off since. Now, I splay my fingers apart and stare at the odd little cat's eye stone.

It's more unique than it is pretty, but I like it. I wish I'd had the decency to tell Mom thank you when she gave it to me. But when she placed it in my palm and told me to keep it, her signing was sloppy, her eyes bloodshot, and she had the "faraway" look she'd get after convincing her doctor to give her yet another unnecessary prescription. So, I was too mad at her for being high to care about the ring.

I should have cared, but then there's so much I should've done. The day she died, I should have gone home on time instead of staying late at gymnastics. And before then, I should've had the sense to insist that we keep Mom under twenty-four watch. Why didn't I think to do that? If I had, she might still be around.

An image of Mom, her eyes wild and glazed over as she gave me the ring, comes to mind.

Dismissing the memory, I tear my gaze away from her ring, exhale, and keep my knees straight as I bend forward from my hips. Stretching...I just need to focus on stretching.

The familiar tingle in my upper thighs feels great. But as much as I enjoy the stretch, focusing on it alone is a problem. My thoughts are like naughty dogs with no leashes in that they keep running back to Nathaniel.

Last night, after the scare with that stupid coyote, I felt like we'd had a moment. And then, twenty minutes later, he offered to drive Julia home. It's like he still has this need to take care of her, like he's still her boyfriend...

Actually, why am I even thinking about them? What Nathaniel and Julia do with their relationship or non-relationship or whatever it is they've got going on doesn't matter.

I cut my stretching short and jog out of my room. What matters is that I get Tessa and me to school on time because God knows Dad won't.

I let my hand graze the hallway wall as I make my way past Dad's workroom and on to Tessa's room.

Besides, I need to have more faith in Nathaniel. Sure, he was infatuated by Julia for half a second; that's what happens to most guys when they're around her. Their brains all but melt as other body parts begin to take over. But Nathaniel's not as shallow as most guys. I think he's finally over Julia's looks and now he sees how wrong they are for each other.

Our wooden floor creaking under my every step, I cross the hallway and come to a halt in front of my sister's door. Pushing it open, I peer into Tessa's tidy little room. All of her toys are lined in neat rows beneath her window. Why my sister does this has always been a mystery to us.

Years ago, Mom bought her a large wooden antique chest to match our oak floors, and no matter how many times Mom put Tessa's toys in the box, my little sister would insist on taking them out and lining them up in neat little rows on the floor of her room. After a while Mom decided that since Tessa kept her room so clean, it didn't really matter. As long as her toys weren't strewn all over her room (the way I'd kept mine when I was little) she could do whatever she wanted with them.

Above the line of toys gracing her floor, on her windowsill Tessa has also lined up all eight of her little diaries. And to the left of her window, her bed, made with the precision of a cadet trying to impress their drill sergeant, is empty.

Where is she?

A raucous laugh sounds from the front of our house and I follow it into the living room, where I pause in stride. Tessa and Dad sit on the floor, both of them resting comfortably against the foot of the couch. Tessa's even got her head against Dad's shoulder as they watch the very end of her favorite movie, "To Catch a Thief."

I can't help but smile at the sight. Crossing my arms, I lean against the wall, watching the two of them.

On screen, Cary Grant and Grace Kelly kiss while my sister points to the TV and signs, "Love, kiss."

"Yes." Dad pushes his glasses up on his nose, eagerly signing, "But more importantly, Hitchcock's signature can be found in the movie's every shot. This could've easily been just another lightweight film, but he turned it into a work of art. He was a genius."

Tessa nods, her eyes wide as she stares at Dad.

I chuckle. She has no clue what he's saying, she's just glad he's paying attention to her.

I tap my fingers against my forearm, thinking. It is kind of unusual, Dad spending time with Tessa. He loves us, that's a given. But it's no secret that we're second to his never-ending 'projects,' whatever they may be. He's forever locked in his workroom, tinkering away, and if we disturb him, that leads to a long lecture about how we're supposed to stay away from his workroom...

Outside our living room window, the diesel sound of a garbage truck pulls me from my thoughts and I glance at the time on our VCR. "Hey Dad," I shout, "Tessa needs to get ready for school."

He squints at me. "School?"

Geez Louise, the squinting. People always tell me how much I look like Dad and that's cool, I like his dark hair and dark eyes. But I hate the squinting. Sometimes I catch myself doing it and I'd just rather not look like I'm fighting off a horrible migraine every time I pause to think.

"Yeah." I nod, and realizing that my little sister is frowning as she watches us, her eyes darting from me to Dad, I start to sign as I speak. It's not like she'll 100% understand me, but it'd be rude not to sign.

"People with autism need structure and routine. Right?" I sign.

"Of course," Dad replies, "that's why I always..." He stops signing and I blink back at him, waiting for him to finish his sentence.

"That's why you always what?"

"Nothing." He shakes his head. "Go on."

I arch an eyebrow at him and he stares at me expectantly, like I'm the one who just randomly stopped speaking midsentence.

"Please, continue," he urges.

So. Weird.

"Right. Anyway," I slowly reply, "I was saying that considering what's happened, Tessa needs to stick to as much of a routine as she can. That's why we should both go to school."

Dad nods, and his dark eyes, the same deep brown I see every time I look in a mirror, meet mine as he signs and speaks, "Good idea, very astute Karen."

I blush, a surge of pride moving through me.

"Me smart too, me smart too," Tessa signs. A scowl mars her pretty features and her blue eyes narrow as she looks from me to Dad.

He pats her on the head. "Yes Tessa, you do possess a measure of intelligence."

At this, her scowl is smoothed and she smiles at Dad.

I twist Mom's ring around on my finger, realizing that as different as my sister and I are, we're exactly the same in our need for Dad's approval.

THE FRONT OF the bus is fairly silent, except for the noise of Tessa's near-frantic pen strokes as she, sitting beside me, scribbles in that diary of hers. Laughter from the rowdy kids in the back of the bus drifts our way and I sigh, wishing they'd take it down a notch.

I stare out of the window and try to ignore their noise as the school bus eases down our street. We pass Ms. Davidson's house, where I catch a glimpse of her in her kitchen window. She holds a coffee mug that's even bigger than her permed brown hair and takes intermittent sips of her drink as she watches us pass with her large, all-seeing eyes.

I swear, that woman is always standing at her kitchen window, looking for something to get into or gossip about; she's pretty much our one-person Neighborhood Watch program.

A little ways past her house is a black Buick, similar to the one that was parked in front of us at Mom's funeral. I glance at the license plate.

LOUISIANA.

Shifting in my seat, my thoughts return to Ms. Davidson's warning, "...for the past two days there's been a black car parked two doors down from me, all day and all night...someone just sitting in there..."

In the chaos of the funeral, I hadn't paid much attention to Ms. Davidson's claim. But now I turn around in my seat, watching the strange car and wishing I'd listened more intently.

As we head in the opposite direction, the Buick becomes smaller and smaller. I crane my neck, straining to see if there's someone in the driver's seat. I think there is...yeah. There's definitely a broad-shouldered figure behind the wheel.

We turn onto the next street and I, likewise, turn back to the front, thinking hard. Is there some connection between this Louisiana car and the way Dad was looking at all of the license plates in the parking lot at the funeral?

Tessa grunts and touches my hand. She signs, "See Nathaniel school?"

I roll my eyes. Every Monday through Friday morning on our way to school, Tessa asks me the same question: will we see Nathaniel at school today? You'd think she'd know the answer by now.

"Yes," I snap, "Nathaniel goes to our school, of course we'll see him. But don't try to hug him or bite him. Do you understand me?"

Tessa frowns. "You ugly." With this declaration, she returns her attention to her diary and continues to write.

I shake my head. If my little sister weren't slow, I'd find her very difficult to love. Well...actually, I guess that's not true, because Tessa's personality would be completely different if she weren't slow. It's her mental deficiency that makes her the way she is. That's why I shouldn't get mad at her for the things she does and says. I should just put up with it.

A Hershey's Kiss candy skims my ear as it flies our way and then falls between Tessa and me. As soon as it hits our seat, a peal of laughter erupts from the back of the bus.

Tessa picks up the Kiss and, before I can stop her, it's in her mouth, some of the wrapper still on it. She turns around, grunting as she signs, "More."

The laughter increases and I spin around. Three boys from our neighborhood are laughing their heads off. One of them, a fat kid with curly red hair, blows kisses at Tessa, but stops at the sight of me.

"Hey." He shrugs. "We just want to give her some candy."

A blonde, freckled-faced guy beside him holds up a bag of Hershey's kisses. "Want one?"

Tessa grunts and points to the bag, signing, "More candy. More candy want, give more..."

The boys laugh and throw two more Kisses our way, one of them hitting Tessa in the forehead. This doesn't seem to bother her at all. She scarfs it down, all the while singing, "More, more."

How is our bus driver not seeing these idiots throw candy everywhere?! Seething, I glance at our middle-aged driver, and the woman's eyes are glued to the road.

"Dude, she didn't even chew it," one of the boys says with a chuckle, "she eats like my dog."

"Throw some more," another boy urges.

Tessa grins and signs, "More candy, more" completely oblivious to the fact that she's being made fun of.

I should have asked Dad to drive us to school. Even his distracted driving would have been better than this!

I jump to my feet and before I know what's happening, words are leaving my lips, "Don't you douchebags have anything better to do? Leave my sister alone!"

"Karen Lyles!" The bus driver yells, startling me. "Sit your butt down and close that filthy mouth! My goodness!"

My heart pounding, I do as told and turn to face the window while the bus driver goes on about how she doesn't know what's gotten into me. Meanwhile, Tessa smacks as loudly as humanly possible on her candy while everyone else on the bus whispers and giggles. I can practically feel their eyes on us.

My cheeks burning, I dare not let my gaze leave the window. It's times like this when I'd give anything to be normal, to have a life like Julia's...or even Esther's. Esther Reams is wealthy beyond belief and popular, not to mention that she doesn't have a little sister who gets candy thrown at her, or a father who manages to embarrass her nearly every hour of every day. Esther was basically born into a fairy tale. Why couldn't I have been born into a life like hers?

Tears blur my vision, and feeling stupid for letting myself get so emotional, I blink them away. A lot of people look at Tessa and feel sorry for her because she's so obviously different. But Tessa isn't the only one who's "different." When you're a CODA, it's not like you're average. For me, being a Child of Deaf Adults meant that as early as six years old, I had to interpret, not only for Tessa, but for Mom. Of course Mom tried to save me from the responsibility of interpreting big things, like her Doctor's appointments and other adult conversations between herself and the hearing world, but sometimes she had no choice but to use me.

That kind of responsibility does something to a kid. I can't quite put into words what that "something" is, but I still feel it inside of me, a weight that I bet no one else at my school has. I'm different from them in a way that even I don't understand.

And it's not just that I'm different from my classmates, I'm not even the same as my own family! A couple of years ago I was bored and looking through Mom's books, trying to find something to read, when I stumbled across a thick book called "Deaf and Raising Hearing Children." Mom had sticky notes on some of the pages, so out of curiosity I opened the book to one such page. She'd highlighted a sentence in yellow marker: "Children of Deaf Adults (CODA's) can be described as the most conflicted members of Deaf culture. They often search for their identity in both the Hearing and Deaf worlds, but find a home in neither."

As soon as I read that, my heart sank. I'd always suspected that I didn't really belong anywhere, not even with my own family, and all of a sudden here was the proof, written in a book. Eventually, that highlighted sentence became a whisper in the back of my mind, following me wherever I went.

Now, the fire in my stomach flares up and I close my eyes. I'm being way too negative and it's just making me feel worse, I need to get a grip on my thinking.

I open my eyes, exhaling slowly.

As our bus pulls into Peake High, I turn my attention to the student parking lot, watching the kids from Nathaniel and Julia's neighborhood park their shiny sports cars and trucks. I spot Nathaniel's black Jeep and, my heart skipping a beat, I sit up straighter in my seat. The Jeep's passenger door springs open and Julia emerges.

Surprise washes over me. So he brought her to school too?

Julia is talking and laughing, exuding unrestrained happiness as she tosses her hair over her shoulder and then straightens her short beige skirt. Nathaniel, meanwhile, slides out of the driver's side and hoists his backpack onto his shoulders.

I realize that I'm grinding my teeth and try to relax my jaw. Why should I care about the two of them? Nathaniel and I are friends and that's all. Besides, I need to stop being paranoid about him going back to Julia. He would never...

My thoughts come to a halt as Julia approaches Nathaniel, places her hands on each of his shoulders and leans towards him. He slides his hands around her waist and kisses her.

I freeze, my every breath arriving in slow motion.

Nathaniel ends their kiss and Julia leans towards him, grinning as she says something.

I seem to have gone numb...like a shot Novocain's been injected into my heart. But I can't tear my eyes away from the two of them. It's like when I'm hungry and I know there's nothing in the fridge, but I keep staring at the empty shelves, some OCD part of me needing to continually reaffirm what I'm seeing.

Julia kisses Nathaniel again and all I can do is stare at them until my eyes are as numb as my heart.

"HAVE A GOOD day girls," Ms. Greenich, our guidance counselor, calls as we pass her in the hall. I return her greeting with a grunt.

Ignoring the kids around me, I turn to Tessa, making sure she's still by my side. She is, and she's signing to herself, enjoying a little conversation with herself about how handsome Cary Grant is.

Returning my attention to our trek to her first-hour, I shake my head at the memory of that kiss...and I thought Nathaniel was different from other guys. I guess that's what happens when you put too much faith in someone. The people you care about the most will always let you down. Why is that? Is it because I care about them more than they care about me? Maybe the little moments I've treasured with Nathaniel meant more to me than they did to him. I guess that's obvious now. And Mom...there was a time when she loved me and Tessa, but towards the end, she stopped caring.

Sighing, I re-situate my backpack on my shoulders, and a tall boy who's repeatedly tossing a baseball in the air and then catching it, passes me, bumping my shoulder. I turn around and glare at him.

"Derrick! Rude much? You practically knocked Karen over. "

I come to a halt at the sound of Julia's voice. She, Lucy, and Esther are just ahead, coming my way.

"Sorry, Cameron," the tall guy calls from behind me.

"Her name's Karen," Julia shouts with a laugh.

"Oh. My bad, Carol," the boy replies, his voice fading into the distance.

I tense as the overly-mascaraed triplets approach, their high heels clicking in unison.

"Oh my God, he's such a jock, right?" Julia murmurs with a dismissive wave of her hand. Without waiting for my reply, she continues, "Karen, we have to talk. I have major news. You busy after school?"

My stomach burning, I mumble, "Yeah, I'm busy. Sorry."

"Aw, come on. Just hang out with us. I want to talk," Julia whines. She reaches into her purse, retrieving a tube of lip gloss. It's got pictures of tiny strawberries all over it. Whiles she's smearing the shiny goo across her lips I can't help but wonder how much of it Nathaniel is inadvertently wearing after having kissed her. I bet he's even got some of the crap on his chin by now. Frustration tearing through me, I shift on my feet, and avert my eyes while Julia shoves the lipgloss back into her cute little purse.

"Jules," Lucy whispers, "Karen's mom just passed. Give her a break." Lucy offers me a sympathetic smile.

I don't return her fake smile because come on ...really? This rich bimbo rarely talks to me in gymnastics and only mentions my name to make fun of my clothes. Now I'm supposed to believe she suddenly feels sorry for me? That's hearing people for you...

"Sorry, Jules. I have practice after school," I reply, stealing a peek at Esther Reams, who hasn't said much at all.

Actually, Esther isn't even pretending to care. Oblivious to my existence even as she stands right in front of me, she toys with a few strands of her dirty blonde hair and stares off into the distance, completely ignoring me.

"Um, seriously Karen? I think your Coach would understand if you missed one more practice considering what you're going through. Come on, chica." Julia gives my shoulder a light punch. I glare at her and she arches an eyebrow. "Or maybe we can hang out another time."

"Yeah, another time."

"Aight, Karen, I tried." Julia sighs. "Well, I've got to get to first hour, so-" My sister emits a loud grunt and Julia stops speaking. All three of the girls, even Esther, turn their attention to Tessa and my sister is suddenly signing frantically, her hands flying everywhere.

"Stupid, you. Nathaniel marry me, not you. You stupid," Tessa signs, her eyes flashing anger as she stares Julia down.

"Oh, my God. She looks possessed." Lucy grabs Esther's arm and backs away.

Julia's eyes widen as she, too, inches away from my sister. "Uh, what's she saying, Karen?"

"That she doesn't want to be late for class," I lie through gritted teeth, "and of course my sister isn't possessed, Lucy."

Julia offers me a weak smile, her gaze darting to Tessa as she says, "Okay, uh, well...we'll talk later, Karen."

"Yeah," I reply, my tone dry. Beside me, Tessa makes another low, guttural noise in the back of her throat. "Later." I take my sister's hand and start down the hall. The pain in my stomach intensifying, I try not to think about Julia and Nathaniel kissing, but I stared at them for too long and now the image is burned into my brain.

The first-hour bell rings and we become officially late.

"Great," I mumble.

I pull Tessa on towards her Development Class, but she lags behind, grunting as she roots around in her backpack.

"Geez, Tessa," I mutter, dropping her hand and turning to her. My sneakers make an annoying squeaking sound against the linoleum as I sign, "See how empty the hallway is? That means we're super late. So, come on, hurry up!"

"No!" Tessa snaps, swatting at me with an opened palm before continuing to dig through her backpack.

"Why are you being like this?" I retort. "Just do what I say and-"

Loud footsteps sound in the distance, stopping me midsentence. Just beyond Tessa, Esther Reams, minus the rest of her preppy trio, runs towards us.

She's running full speed, like she's on the verge of a tumbling pass, her long hair streaming behind her and her eyes focused straight ahead. She's no longer wearing her book bag and in her left hand, she grasps something small and black.

I glance at her shoes. Three inch heels. How can she run so fast in those?

My sister, a few feet in front of Esther, and unaware of the high-heeled bullet behind her, takes a step left, inadvertently planting herself right splat in Esther's path.

I dart forward to pull her out of Esther's way, but I'm too slow. Esther collides with Tessa's shoulder, the impact knocking my sister to the ground and sending her backpack, along with its contents, sprawling across the hallway. Tessa grunts as she hits the ground, and I gasp.

"Sorry!" Esther yells without turning around. She just keeps running, leaving a trail of flowery scented perfume in her wake.

"Jackass," I mutter, pulling my sister to her feet and giving her a quick once over. Her ponytail is askew, but other than this she seems alright.

"Are you hurt?" I demand, my stomach twisting into fiery knots.

Tessa shakes her head and points to Esther, who's now running through the school's exit doors. "Stupid girl, hearing stupid."

"Yeah," I sign, the pain in my stomach intensifying and my pulse racing, "hearing people are stupid. Especially when they're rich jerks."

I glance at my sister as she smooths down her mussed hair and my gaze returns to the exit doors through which Esther's passed. Little Miss Perfect didn't even bother to stop and help Tessa up, she just kept running.

That's it. I'm done letting people walk all over us. "Go to class," I sign, meeting Tessa's eyes. "Do you understand me?"

Tessa nods and, frowning, adjusts her backpack on her shoulders.

I point to her classroom. "Go now."

Tessa rolls her eyes, but does as told. As soon as the classroom door closes behind her, I ditch my book bag and sprint to the end of the hallway. Thinking but not thinking, I push through the exit doors, run into the sunlight, and there's Esther, headed to the student parking lot.

Increasing my speed, I follow her, determined to catch up. When I'm only a few feet behind her, I shout, "Hey!"

She turns around and, surprise registering in her features, comes to a halt. "Karen? Look, I'm really sorry but I don't have time to talk."

I grab her arm, pull her towards me, and the little black thing she's holding clatters to the cement. Esther's eyes widen and she starts to say something, but I punch her.

I don't think, I just push my fist into her nose. Her hands going to her nose, she stumbles backwards.

"You hurt my sister and you ran away!" I shout, my voice sounding as if it belongs to someone else. "You can't do that. You can't just push people around!"

"I didn't mean to." Esther raises one of her hands in surrender, the other remaining over her nose. I lunge for her, but she darts out of reach.

Her eyebrows going up, she chuckles. "Look, Karen, I'm sorry. But seriously, I-"

"Why are you laughing?" I shout, shoving her into the side of a nearby car.

Drops of blood fall from Esther's nose, dotting her sky blue blouse with red as she slams into the vehicle's passenger door with a thud. The car's alarm goes off, slicing the air with an incessant beeping.

"Do you really think it's funny?" I scream. "Hurting my sister is funny?"

Esther regains her balance, and crouching, grabs the black thing she's dropped. With that, she moves away from the car. I lunge for her again, but she sidesteps and I stumble forwards.

"Karen!" Someone behind me shouts.

"No. I don't think it's funny and I'm sorry," Esther says, her grin gone and her expression grave. She backs away from me and lifts her hands in surrender while a trail of blood flows from her nose, sending more drops to her ruined blouse.

My breath gets stuck in my chest and my thoughts are hit with a memory...the blood in Mom's nose as she lay on the floor beside her bed, her eyes closed and her hair half-covering her face...

Now, my stomach sloshes every which way and the parking lot begins to spin.

What's wrong with me? What did I just do?!

I drop to my knees, panting and look up to find Esther gone.

"Karen!" Just below the noise of the car alarm, an adult calls my name and several pairs of footsteps close in behind me. I turn around and the school guidance counselor, Ms. Greenich, is running towards me. Behind her are the principal and two more teachers, all of them shouting at me.

Oh, my God. What have I done?

#

#

Lately I've been obsessed with figuring out what's wrong with me. Now, from my perch on top of the filing cabinet, I stare down at Mom's desk, considering this.

When I was a kid, I'd pretend to be sick and ask her to check me out of school. She'd pick me up, we'd get ice cream, and then she'd bring me to her job at the hospital, both of us knowing there was nothing wrong with me other than a lingering bruise or two. I'd stay in her office for the better part of the day, Mom and the other nurses intermittently checking on me, until her shift was over.

This office, and especially this desk within her office, became the safest place I knew. Dad never came to the hospital; everyone here knew Mom and would've protected her.

To make sure I was extra safe, I'd camp out under Mom's desk and stay there for hours, playing with toys, grabbing the phone and calling my Grandma Colbert, making sure I didn't say anything bad about Dad during our long conversations.

Now, I'm sixteen and right back where I started, hiding in my mother's office when I'm supposed to be at school. At least I'm not under her desk playing with action figures.

Folding my arms across my chest, I let my gaze drift to the window behind Mom's desk.

Below the branches of the red oaks, an ambulance pulls into the ER's driveway while my thoughts return to the way Julia looked at me after I kissed her this morning.

We'd just pulled into the school parking lot and I did it automatically. I just ...kissed her. As soon as I did, her eyes brightened and she said, "You finally kissed me back." After that, Julia kissed me again, harder. I stood there like a statue, nausea washing over me. Everything about that moment felt wrong, the kiss, the way Julia was looking up at me like I was the best thing that had ever happened to her...it was all so wrong.

When she finally turned around to walk to class, I made a beeline back to my Jeep. She asked me where I was going and I invented some lame excuse about forgetting my Math book at home. In any case, I ended up here, in the very same hideout I'd had as a scared six year old.

The office door flies opens and Mom rushes in. "Querido?" Closing the door behind her, she heads straight for her desk and looks under it.

"Jesus, Mom, I'm not six."

My voice startling her, she jumps and covers her heart with her hand. At the sight of me, her mouth twitches, and I can tell she's trying not to laugh. "Nathaniel, how many times do I have to tell you not to use the Lord's name in vain? And what are you? A cat?" Resituating her hands onto her hips, she nods to the chair on the other side of her desk. "Come down and sit."

I jump down from the file cabinet and it emits a cranky groan. Mom eyes get so wide they look like they're going to pop out of her head as she glances up, her expression pinched with nerves. I fleetingly wonder if that's how crazy I look like when I get stuck on the high bar.

"That thing could have fallen with you on it," she says. "I don't want you sitting up there anymore."

"I wouldn't have let it fall."

"Just don't sit up there anymore. Alright?"

"Alright, fine." Before I can take a seat, Mom's on her tiptoes, bringing her wrist to my forehead.

"What's the matter?" Satisfied that I don't have a fever, she examines the lymph nodes in my neck, frowning. "Are you sick or do you think you pulled something in practice? I can grab an X-ray tech to take a look for you."

I move her hands from my neck and plop into the seat across from her desk. "It's not that."

She watches me carefully, her left eyebrow arched, pronouncing the scar just above it. The blemish is care of my father. He gave it to her the year she tried sending me to boarding school. Other than it, Mom's olive skin, the same color as mine, shows little indication of the hell she's been through. I guess mine doesn't show much either. The worst of our injuries are invisible, making a brief appearance when we suddenly freeze up for no reason.

Without taking her eyes off of me, she perches on the edge of her desk. "So, what is it?"

I look down at my hands, wishing I could just say what I'm feeling. But I don't even know how to put it into words. "It's me, I don't know...I don't know anything."

"Did something happen at school this morning?"

"I'm back with Julia."

"Jesus Christ, Nathaniel."

In spite of the way my confidence seems to be collapsing and sliding into my stomach, I can't help but smile at Mom's faux pas. She runs a hand through her hair and sighs. "Okay, well, is that really what you want? Julia Scardina? You want to be with her?"

My smile too heavy for my face, I let it fall as I shake my head. I meet Mom's eyes and she crosses her arms, blinking back at me. "Then what do you want?"

Outside, another ambulance screeches as it pulls up to the ER and as crazy as it sounds, I envy the vehicle for having something audible to send into the world. I've got nothing, absolutely no way to answer Mom's question because I have no idea what I want.

"For a long time, it's been gymnastics," Mom says, her voice softening. "You and Coach Peterson have been devoted to your training. But now, you seem distracted."

"Yeah."

"Is there something else you want?" Mom leans forward, ruffling my hair. "If you're tired of gymnastics, that's fine. That doesn't have to be your dream."

"No, I still want it, but..." My thoughts slow except for one, a singular idea that rushes towards me; I want to be strong enough for Karen, I want to deserve her.

"But what?" Mom asks.

"I don't know how...how to be the...the," I sigh, annoyed with myself for stammering. "I don't know how to be that guy, the winner everyone looks up to."

"Aww, Querido." Mom pulls me into a hug and I close my eyes.

She smells like rubbing alcohol and sweat. But that's okay.

"You don't have to be anyone but yourself." She plants a kiss on top of my head.

"I know."

"Nurse Colbert," a voice announces via the hospital's intercom, "you're needed in the ER, Room 2B. Nurse Colbert to the ER, Room 2B."

Mom releases me, stands, and rights her stethoscope around her neck. "So, we're back to Julia coming over to the house in those short skirts and that awful perfume she always wears?"

I shrug.

"Dear God," Mom mumbles, heading to the door. She turns around. "Oh. I meant to ask you this morning, did everything go okay at the repast last night? Did Dr. Lyles calm down?"

The glowing eyes in the cornfield come to mind and chills cover my arms. I shake my head. "Don't ask."

Mom groans. "Poor Karen. Even before her mom's breakdown, there was something odd about that woman, actually, about both of her parents. They were so overprotective. They wouldn't even let poor Karen play with other kids and-"

"Nurse Colbert, please report to the ER, Room 2B." The intercom cuts Mom off.

"I'll be back to check on you as soon as I can," Mom says, hurrying out of her office.

"Okay." I make my way to the window and watch two paramedics head back to their ambulance.

Karen's dad being Unseen, and struggling to keep his identity a secret, makes so much sense now. That's why he and Mrs. Lyles kept Karen and Tessa at home instead of letting them get to know other kids. And that's why now Karen doesn't know how to act around other people our age.

The ambulance pulls off and I lean against the window, watching it drive away.

I wonder if Karen even knows that her dad's Unseen.

How would she react if I told her I've figured it out? I bet it would establish more of a bond between us. She'd trust me even more than she does now.

I grab my keys and head to the door. I don't need to talk to Mom about this anymore. I know what ...or, who, I want, and now I think I know what I need to say to get her.

#

#

Ms. Greenich has a large ivy perched on the edge of her desk, and for some reason I find it incredibly depressing. Then again, I've never been much of a plant person.

After the principal and Ms. Greenich had a long conversation in his office, it was apparently decided that Ms. Greenich would deal with me. So, for the past ten minutes, I've been sitting in a soft brown chair on the opposite side of her desk, and so far Ms. Greenich hasn't said much of anything. She's answered her office phone, which rings every few minutes, amidst typing on her computer. Every now and then she'll ask me if I'd like some water, a mint, a bathroom break, or a miniature Almond Joy like the one she's nibbling on.

I expected yelling and lots of angry questioning. At first, when we were on our way to the principal's suite -where Ms. Greenich's guidance office is located- the principal was still with us and he did barrage me with angry questions. But there came a point when Ms. Greenich politely suggested that he let me think about what I'd done instead of asking me questions.

That was about forty-five minutes ago and since then we've been quietly sitting in her office. I let my gaze wander to the rest of her desk. It, like the walls of her office, is eggshell white. But the mental institution vibe is diminished by the many picture frames and cutesy figurines occupying her desk. I guess it's also diminished by Ms. Nancy Greenich herself.

She glances at me and smiles before returning her attention to her computer. "Give me just a few more minutes," she says.

I nod and look down at the ugly bruise on my fist, a remnant from what I did to Esther. The way I went after her was horrible. I can't believe Ms. Greenich can smile at me like I'm a normal person who didn't just completely lose her mind.

Then again, there's something different about Ms. Greenich. She's not like the other adults in our school. I've never talked to her much, but she makes a point of smiling at me and saying hello when we pass each other in the halls. And I've seen her using ASL to have brief conversations with Tessa. Apparently, she's learned some basic signs to help her communicate with Peake's Deaf students. It's like she genuinely cares about people, which is unusual for a hearing person.

Ms. Greenich now brings what's left of her Almond Joy to her mouth and pauses, tilting her head as she frowns into her computer screen, apparently baffled by something. The Almond Joy is nearly the same color as her skin, which is a few shades darker than the cloud of thick curly hair framing her face. Her hair is really cool, but I wonder if it feels heavy on her head.

Peake's a fairly hick town and our guidance counselor is one of only a handful of African-Americans within its borders. Nathaniel and I were talking about this one day, and he admitted that every time he passes her in the hall, he wants to touch her hair to see what it feels like.

I don't know... maybe being different is what makes her more compassionate than the average hearing person. Like, even though my sister and I may not have the nicest clothes or whatever, since Ms. Greenich knows how it feels like to be different, she doesn't judge us as harshly as other hearing people do.

Now, Ms. Greenich looks up and catches me staring at her. I shift my gaze back to the ivy.

"Sure you don't want an Almond Joy? You didn't eat much last night," she says.

Last night? I think quickly and recall that Ms. Greenich came to Mom's funeral and repast.

My eyes still on the plant, I say, "No, thanks, my stomach hurts."

"Well, that's not good." She pops another Almond Joy into her mouth, balls up the tiny wrapper and tosses it into a trash can beside her desk. "But the question is, if you make a doctor's appointment, is your dad even going to remember to take you?"

There's a smile in her voice as she says this and despite myself, I grin. I guess she knows my dad pretty well.

"When I first met your father, he annoyed the crap out of me," she chuckles and I glance up, surprised by her bluntness. She's still grinning and her dark eyes dance as she continues. "For a while I was the only African-American on our research team and not everyone was pleased to have me on board."

"Research team?"

Ms. Greenich tenses and straightens in her chair, as if she's been shocked by an electrical current.

"Not 'research team.' I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. I meant our team of faculty here at Peake." She clears her throat. "Anyhow, my first day on campus, I passed your dad in the hall and of course I said, 'Hello, Dr. Lyles,' and he walked right past me without a word. The same thing happened later in the day and I assumed he was one of the many who didn't want to talk to me because of the color of my skin."

Ms. Greenich chuckles and, my face warming, I shift in my seat. Why is she telling me this? Is she trying to make me feel worse?

"And then," Ms. Greenich continues, shaking her head as an amused grin forms on her mouth, "that evening when I was leaving the parking lot, your dad accidently backed into my car. I was pretty upset, but since I felt conspicuous enough as it was, I didn't want to make a fuss. But Karen..." She sighs and, absently picking up one of the pens on her desk, toys with it as she goes on. "Your dad is as kind as he is intelligent. He apologized over and over again, paid for the damage, and then he noticed something else wrong with my car, something that had nothing to do with our little accident, and he fixed it!"

I nod politely, all the while wondering what she's getting at.

"So," Ms. Greenich says, "while he and I got to know each other, I realized that earlier, when I spoke to him in the hall, he hadn't heard me because, A, he's hard of hearing, and B, he's absent-minded as hell."

I laugh, which surprises even me.

Ms. Greenich chuckles. "The man is so smart that, with all of the things happening in that brain of his, there's no way he can simultaneously see the people around him."

"Yeah, that's my dad," I agree. "He barely even notices that I exist. So it wasn't you, he's not racist, he's just perpetually preoccupied."

"Has he always been that way?"

"Pretty much. My mom's always been the buffer-" I stop short, realizing I've used the wrong tense. "My mom used to be the buffer between him and us, I mean between him and Tessa and me."

Ms. Greenich nods and absently toys with her pen. "I see. Was your mom good at being the buffer?"

"For a while, yeah. She was a great Mom. She was like a best friend, but a teacher -always using playtime to, like, teach us these little life lessons or whatever. But when I started high school all of that changed. She woke up one morning with some crazy form of amnesia that her doctors didn't understand. And things got worse when she..." My hand going to my aching stomach, I consider what I'm on the verge of saying.

Ms. Greenich isn't toying with her pen anymore. Instead, she sits perfectly still behind her desk, her brown eyes focused on me. I don't know if this is a confession I really want to make. I haven't told anyone other than the police this one very big thing about my mom. Not even Nathaniel or Julia know ...

Ms. Greenich says nothing, she just sits there, waiting for me to continue and all of a sudden I'm saying it. "And things got worse when she developed a drug problem," I blurt. "At first it was pills, like painkillers, but that turned into cocaine. And when she wasn't high, she'd get mean. She'd hit my little sister and say mean things." I pause because my mouth has gone dry.

"She was abusive?"

"More so with Tessa. She'd slap her, call her stupid, tell her to go away."

"Well, that explains a lot of your sister's behavior," Ms. Greenich quietly says.

"I guess. And sometimes, depending on what Mom took, she'd get super paranoid." Now that I've started talking, I can't stop. "Like, one day I came home from school and our windows were covered with aluminum foil because she thought people were spying on us."

Ms. Greenich's face is drawn. "Did she say who she thought was spying on you?"

I shrug. "She kept rambling about scientists who wanted to make her hearing. It didn't make sense. She was delirious and high. I told Dad we should send her to rehab, but he said he'd fix it. He tried, and once he got her off the cocaine, she went back to the pills, which explains her overdose."

For some reason, it's like I'm unable to stop talking, and the rest of it tumbles out. "Now, he says Mom's death was murder, not suicide. Course that's not true, but I get why he has to tell himself it is. He can't take the burden of guilt." At this, I take a deep breath and something deep inside of me feels emptied, like a basketball that was attached to my gut has been surgically removed.

"That must have been so rough for you." Ms. Greenich's voice is soft as she says, "How did you cope with all of that going on at home?"

I squeeze my palms together and shake my head. "I had gymnastics and Nathaniel and Julia. But it was harder for my sister because before Mom got sick, she'd been Tessa's whole world. They're both Deaf you know, so they had this special bond. When Mom changed, she was mean to Tessa and it confused her."

"So, you think your mom's behavior affected Tessa's personality for the worse?" Ms. Greenich asks.

I shift in my seat, a wave of sadness hitting me. "Tessa's always had a bad temper, but that comes with being slow, and-"

"No, it doesn't." Ms. Greenich's voice is so gentle that I barely realize she's cut me off. I glance up as she says, "Our disabilities don't make us who we are."

I shake my head. "With all due respect Ms. Greenich, trust me I know what I'm talking about. My mom was Deaf and that did make her who she was. She was proud of her Deafness, it was her culture."

"Karen," Ms. Greenich clasps her hands together and leans forward, "do you know what your sister and I have in common?"

I shake my head.

"Autism."

I blink back at her, racking my mind for what Ms. Greenich means. There's no way she's saying what it sounds like she's saying.

"What do you mean?" I finally ask.

"I have a disability called 'Aspergers,'" Ms. Greenich says, "which is considered a form of autism. But it took a long time for me to be diagnosed because my personality doesn't fit the typical profile of someone who has autism. Just like my race doesn't define my personality, neither does my disability. I shape my own identity."

"So...you have autism?" I stare at her in disbelief.

She nods. "A form of it, yes. And get this, I'm a people person, I like people. But a close friend of mine who also has Aspergers is the exact opposite. He's very quiet, withdrawn, and unresponsive to the people around him. We have completely different personalities, even though we have the same disability. So our disabilities affect us, but they don't make us who we are."

I sit back in my seat, processing this.

"That's why I think it's important," Ms. Greenich continues, "we don't excuse Tessa's bad behavior by saying it's all because of her disability."

I bristle. "My sister's not 'bad.'"

"I'm not saying she is," Ms. Greenich quickly replies. "In fact, it could be that the way your mother treated her after she became ill has a lot to do with Tessa's current behavior. Just like what happened with your Mom has a lot to do with the way you treated Esther today."

My thoughts return to the moment I went after Esther and my stomach churns. "I didn't mean to," I stammer, "I don't know what happened to me. I'm sorry. It's just like..."

"Like what?"

My eyes fill and I close them, shaking my head. Before I know it, Ms. Greenich is leaving her desk and I open my eyes to find her stooped in front of me with a bottle of water and a tissue.

"Wipe your nose and drink some water," she says.

For some reason it's comforting to have someone tell me what to do. So, I do exactly as she's instructed and then wipe away the tears that crawl down my cheeks.

Ms. Greenich perches on the edge of her desk, watching me. "May I ask you a question, Karen?"

I nod, too drained to care.

"Is there some part of you that blames yourself for what happened to your mom?"

I set the water on the edge of her desk and shrug.

The answer to her question is easy, of course I do. How could I not blame myself? I could've saved Mom if I'd been a better daughter. I bite down on my bottom lip, willing my tears to stop. I've already cried too much.

"I ask because, sometimes," Ms. Greenich continues, "when we're used to being responsible for the people around us, we blame ourselves for every bad thing that happens to them. And I just hope you know that what happened to your Mom had nothing to do with you."

I glance down at my lap, rebellious tears blurring my vision. "You don't know that for sure," I say, my voice cracking. "I could've stopped it."

"No, you couldn't have." Ms. Greenich's definite tone makes me look up. Her gaze on her desk, she frowns. "And while what happened to your mom is a terrible tragedy, it happened. You can't control the past. But you can control your reaction. You can stop your pain from becoming rage. And you have to, Karen, because rage will ruin you."

I brush my index finger over the bruise on my fist, considering this.

Ms. Greenich might be right. When I lost my temper, I don't think I was just mad at Esther, I think maybe I was mad at myself for letting Mom die.

"Do you understand what I mean?" Ms. Greenich asks, meeting my eyes.

I nod.

"Good. You're stronger than anything that's happened in your past." She leans towards me, her dark eyes intense. "In fact, you're strong enough to decide how your past shapes your identity."

The eye contact is getting a little uncomfortable, so I fix my gaze on the edge of her desk.

"For example, when I was about seven," she goes on, "I happened to be with my best friend Bobby when he saw his dog get hit by a car and die."

I wince and glance up at her.

"He was devastated. He cried for days. It was very traumatic for us both." Her eyes still on me, she twirls a curly strand of hair around on her finger, pulls it taut and then releases it, letting it spring back to its original state. "By the time we were sixteen, Bobby had three dogs and he knew he wanted to be a veterinarian when he grew up. I, on the other hand, had never owned a pet because I was afraid that if I got one, something terrible would happen to it."

"I get it," I blurt. "You both saw the dog get hit, but it affected you in different ways."

"Right," Ms. Greenich agrees. "Part of the reason why we were affected so differently had to do with our personal decisions to react. I could've decided to let what I saw strengthen my resolve to take care of animals, the way Bobby did. But I didn't. I decided to let it make me afraid."

I turn Mom's ring around on my finger, thinking hard. "How am I supposed to see my mom's death as a good thing?"

"There's nothing good about it." Ms. Greenich arches one of her eyebrows. "And it shouldn't have happened, but it did. What I'm saying is that because it happened and you can't change that, eventually you'll need to make a choice about how you let it affect you."

I glance at Mom's ring. "Like a choice to not punch people."

"That'd be a good start," Ms. Greenich agrees, her voice softening. "What happened with Esther today was a bad decision. But it was made by your pain, not by you. That girl out there who went after Esther, that wasn't the real you."

"I don't know," I say, fighting back the lump that's forming in my throat. "I don't know who I am anymore."

"That'll change, you'll find yourself," Ms. Greenich says, "and mark my words, you're going to be the sort of person who lets her past strengthen her. You'll become more compassionate and you'll look out for people who can't look out for themselves, all because of how you let your past effect you."

My left eyelid twitches and I can't decide if I'm annoyed by my guidance counselor's slightly preachy tone or if her words are fueling some empty space in my heart. Conflicted, I shift in my seat.

"You're not the sort of person who'll let her past change her into just anyone." Speaking quietly, Ms. Greenich says, "You're strong enough to shape your own identity."

I tug at Mom's ring, considering this. Shape my own identity? I like the way that sounds; it's like saying I have a choice. I don't have to be one thing; I can be more than the daughter of a suicide victim, more than a lonely CODA, more than a weird science teacher's kid. I have the choice to be whoever I want.

I nod, afraid that if I say something, my voice will break and my temporarily dammed tears will be released.

Ms. Greenich smiles. "You're a good kid, and I honestly believe that, even though I'm going to have to recommend to the principal that he suspend you for three days."

Suspend me? The word stings and I gulp so loudly I'm sure Ms. Greenich hears it. I've never gotten detention, let alone a suspension, but I've also never hauled off and punched another student in the face.

"And in a way I think the three days will be good, because you probably don't need to be here with all of these annoying kids right now. Am I right?" Ms. Greenich asks.

My gaze still on the edge of her desk, I nod.

"So stay home for three days, try to get some rest, and go see the doctor about your stomach. Okay?"

I know it'd be polite to say something, but afraid I'll burst into tears, I just nod.

"I've called your dad and he should be here any second. So can you hang out with me for

another few minutes?" she asks.

She's being so nice...I should acknowledge her by saying something, even if it makes me cry. I lean forward and open my mouth. But as a rush of hot tears fill my eyes, I shut my mouth and nod for the billionth time.

"Great." Ms. Greenich's voice is soft as she walks around to the other side of her desk, returning her attention to her computer.

Blinking back my tears, I try to get a hold of myself.

If I stop thinking about myself, that'll help.

I shift my focus to Ms. Greenich's desk, examining it and its tiny figurines more carefully. Near her computer screen is a cute little bear in a cap and gown, holding a diploma. On the other side of the figurine sits a picture in a wooden frame. The picture shows Ms. Greenich with a little girl who looks like a miniature version of herself. They aim happy smiles at the camera and based on the trees, crowd, and line of people leading to some kind of ride in the background, it looks like the photo was taken at an amusement park.

"How old is your daughter?" I hear myself ask. Ms. Greenich looks at me in surprise and my face warming, I point to the photo. "I just saw the, um, the picture."

"Oh." Ms. Greenich bites down on her bottom lip and blinks quickly. Realizing that I must sound incredibly nosey, I start to apologize for prying into her business, when she says, "Karin was seven there. Unfortunately, she went missing shortly after the picture was taken."

Oh my God.

Ms. Greenich's eyes meet mine, but it's clear she's a million miles away. An awkward silence passes before I manage to stammer, "I'm s-so sorry."

Seeming to return from the fog she's temporarily lapsed into, Ms. Greenich acknowledges me with a nod. "Thank you, Karen..." She tilts her head, a weak smile forming on her lips. "That's funny, you and Karin almost have the same first name."

I'm not sure how to reply and a knock on Ms. Greenich's door saves me from having to.

"Excuse me." She glances at her door and calls out, "Come in."

The principal's administrative assistant steps into the office. "Hey, Nancy, Dr. Lyles is here to pick Karen up. He says he's going to check Tessa out too."

"Great, thanks." Ms. Greenich stands and reaches out to shake my hand. "Well, Karen, remember that I'm always here if you want to chat. Okay?"

"Yes, ma'am. And, uh, thanks," I stammer. Getting to my feet, I shake her hand. As I withdraw my hand, Ms. Greenich's gaze goes to my fingers and she freezes, her expression tensing.

I look down at my hand, wondering what's caused this reaction.

"Did your mom give you that ring?" she asks.

Her eyes are still on my hand as I say, "Yeah. How'd you know?"

Without a word, she points to her desk. I follow her gesture to the photo I've just asked her about, and the same cat's eye ring is on one of her daughters' small fingers.

"Oh." I don't know what to say. After a moment's hesitation, I decide on, "Cool."

Ms. Greenich's face is drawn, even sad, as she says, "Yeah. Okay, well, see you later."

I feel bad for her, so I return her smile. "Bye, Ms. Greenich."

"...WHEN THEY TOLD me you'd punched her, I thought they were joking!" Dad says, talking loud enough to wake the dead as we make our way to Peake High's parking lot.

The wind picks up, and pulling my jacket on more tightly, I glance around, hoping no one's out here to listen to him chew me out. Thankfully, the sidewalk that leads to the parking lot is devoid of anything except for cars, foraging squirrels, and sparrows.

"Since when do you go around punching people?" Dad's walking fast and he's a few steps ahead of me. He, ever so briefly, turns around to look at me as he asks, "What's wrong with you, Karen?"

Tessa elbows me in the ribs and my left eye twitches. She's been signing nonstop since we came from the principal's office. But I've been ignoring her because I thought she was just having one of her little tête-à-têtes with herself. Now, though, I rub my ribs and glance at her.

Her eyes are full of so much joy you'd think she'd just gotten a batch of Ms. Davidson's gingersnap cookies. Radiant, Tessa signs, "That hearing girl dead?"

I blink.

"She dead?" Tessa repeats, a smile blossoming on her pretty face. "You hit her, she died?"

Oh. My. God. My little sister hopes I murdered Esther? I pause in stride, Ms. Greenich's words coming to mind: 'That's why I think it's important, we don't excuse Tessa's bad behavior by saying it's all because of her disability.'

I stare at my little sister's smile, realizing how right Ms. Greenich is. Tessa needs to be taught what's right and wrong, not excused when I'm in a good mood or just snapped at when I'm too tired to excuse her. Otherwise she could end up becoming some kind of psychopath.

"Karen! I'm asking you a question!" Dad shouts, his voice so loud that I jump.

I adjust my book bag on my shoulders and sign, "No," to Tessa. With that, I turn to my father and say, "Sorry, Dad. Tessa was talking to me and I don't know what's wrong with me, maybe it has something to do with the fact that my mother just committed suicide."

He pauses in stride and turns to me, his eyes wide.

I stop walking too, my heart plummeting. "I-I didn't mean to say it like that."

He runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, and I can't help but notice the sagging bags under his eyes. Dad's so worn out, there's no need for me to say things that make him feel worse.

"Karen." His tone lowering, he says, "Your mother did not commit suicide. Do you understand me?"

"Okay, yeah. Sorry." The words have barely left my lips when Tessa elbows me so hard I nearly stumble off of the curb. She shoves me and screams, a high pitched wail, directly in my ear. "Oh my God, what?!" I sign, "What do you want?"

"Hearing girl dead?" she demands, her fingers impatiently speeding through every sign.

I turn to Dad, wondering if he's seeing what his youngest daughter is asking, but he's already ahead of us, headed to our station wagon.

Following him, I sign, "No, Esther's not dead, and I was wrong to hit her. You should never hit anyone. And you do know that it's wrong to kill people, don't you?"

Hoping Tessa understands me enough to be able to answer the question, I turn back to her and a black Buick that's just behind her catches my attention. Parked beside the curb with its tinted windows all rolled up, I see a silhouette in the front seat. As we pass it, I glance at the license plate.

LOUISIANA.

"Hearing people stupid," Tessa signs directly in front of me, forcing my attention to her.

This response to 'You do know that it's wrong to kill people, don't you?' bothers me, but honestly, the black car with a Louisiana plate bothers me even more.

I take another look at the vehicle.

Tessa starts to sign something, but telling her to hold on a second, I run and catch up to Dad.

He's unlocking the driver's side door as I ask, "Why were there so many cars with Louisiana plates at Mom's funeral? Who were those people?"

"Why?" Dad freezes, his expression darkening.

"Because I want to know. Do we have family in Louisiana? Did Mom used to live there?"

Dad turns away from me, opens the car, and mumbles, "Let's just go home."

"Whatever, Dad." Frustrated, I wave Tessa forward.

She greedily accepts the front seat and I greedily slip into the relative space offered by the back. I actually don't mind a moment to myself wherein I can think for five consecutive minutes without having to interpret for Tessa, remind Dad that he's talking too loudly, or answer a million questions about what's wrong with me.

Closing my eyes, I try to relax while the car shakes as Tessa and Dad get settled, slamming their doors shut. Tessa grunts and claps. Dad laughs, and I wonder what she's signing, but don't bother opening my eyes to check. Based on the clap, I assume it's something about school.

I take a deep breath, enjoying the noise of their signed conversation. But when Dad starts the car, I open my eyes and turn to my window so I can watch the scenery fly by.

The lane beside ours is occupied by a sleek Maxima. Inside are two girls, probably a few years older than me; they car-dance and sing along with whatever music they're listening to.

What if I could switch lives with one of them? Or better yet, what if I could switch lives with Julia or Esther? All they have to worry about are things like who their next boyfriend is going to be or whether or not they feel like going shopping this weekend. Those two have no idea how difficult life is. They probably never will. When you're born rich and beautiful, it's like you're born into life with a force field surrounding you. Bad things bounce right off of you.

Sighing, I glance at Dad's driver's side mirror and the black Buick is right behind us. A jolt of fear zipping through me, I sit up.

Is it following us?

I whirl around in my seat to make sure I'm looking at the same car. Yeah, unless I'm completely nuts, it's the same car that was sitting in the school parking lot a few minutes ago!

"Dad!" I lean towards the front seat. "Why is that car from Louisiana following us?"

Dad's eyes widen and his gaze darts from me to the Buick, but his voice remains calm as he says, "No one's following us, that's your imagination."

"No it's not," I retort. "I saw it at Mom's funeral, I saw it on our street, and now it's following us home from school!"

"Calm down, Karen!" Dad yells, startling me. "You've caused enough excitement for one day. Just calm down and be quiet."

My stomach starts up with another fire-fit, and I simply can't find the strength to argue. Clutching my stomach, I glare at the back of my father's head. He's hiding something, and I'm going to find out what it is.

#

#

"No!" I yell to teddy bear.

Beside teddy, my green and purple dinosaur, and beside dinosaur, my Buzz Lightyear doll. But teddy bear bad.

"Bad! Bad!" I sign.

I hit bear's head.

It falls.

I kick bear.

I pick bear up, stretch it.

It strong! I break it cannot!

I throw bear on floor.

My mama...she died on floor, her eyes closed. Her hair wild, her nose red, bleeding.

Now, I sit on floor. It cold.

Maybe when Momma died she feel cold?

I don't know.

Now, my teddy bear smiles.

I grab it.

"Bad, you bad." I sign.

I hug my teddy bear and close my eyes.

The floor shakes.

I open my eyes.

Floor always shakes if Daddy or Karen leave go through front door...if Karen leaves go, her ring I take can!

I drop teddy bear, run to front door.

Karen leave not.

Ms. Davidson, fat woman from next door stands in doorway with large metal pot.

Cookies!

I happy.

I try take cookies but Karen stop me.

Always stopping me!

Karen mean.

"No." Karen signs, shaking her head. "Those aren't cookies, it's cabbage juice, Ms. Davidson was nice enough to bring it to me for my stomach."

I not understand. I want cookies, Karen mean!!!

MS. DAVIDSON COME again, bring gingerbread cookies.

Now, me and Karen watch Cary Grant movie. I eat cookies!!!!

Karen not eat cookies.

Karen drinks ugly green drink named "Cabbage Juice".

I sign, "My cookie, share? Yes?"

Karen smiles and signs, "No, thank you. My stomach hurts and the cabbage juice helps it feel better. But a cookie would make it worse. You understand?"

I not understand.

I nod and sign, "Yes, I understand."

I eat cookie and watch "To Catch a Thief."

Grace Kelly and me blonde. Grace Kelly and me so pretty!

Blue eyes, blonde hair beautiful!

I look to Karen and point to TV, sign, "Me!"

"What?" Karen signs.

"Me!" I sign.

Karen not understand.

Karen stupid sometimes.

"Me, me, me, me, yes. Me..." I sign.

Karen too stupid. And mean.

Karen stands and signs, "I have to go to gymnastics. Be good, okay? Dad's in his workroom if you need anything. You understand me?"

I ignore.

Karen mean.

Karen go gymnasticals with Nathaniel. Not fair.

I want kiss Nathaniel.

Cary Grant and Grace Kelly kiss.

Me and Nathaniel, we will kiss.

#

#

I'm starting to think that the universe, or someone, is out to get me. Soon as I left Mom's job, determined to talk to Karen, my car died. After two hours of me and some Good Samaritan named Buddy taking a look at the Jeep's alternator, I got back to school at one in the afternoon and Karen was nowhere to be found. So, if the universe isn't completely against me, she'll be here at practice, meaning I'll be able to talk to her in a few short hours.

Hopeful and nervous, I leave the boy's locker room and catch sight of Brad by the pommel horse. He's in deep conversation with Esther Reams, gesturing wildly while Esther nods and occasionally gets a word in edgewise.

I can't help but grin. The poor guy's been into Esther since forever, but when he's around her, he gets nervous and talks too much. I want to see her reaction, but she's got her back to me.

"Hey, Esther, this guy bothering you?" I call, jogging their way. The two of them turn to me, Brad grinning and Esther...whoa. I stop short and stare at her. A swollen black eye distorts the right side of her face and a Band-Aid covers the upper part of her nose. Stunned, all I can do is stand there and stare.

"So, I guess you noticed," Esther speaks dryly as she points to her hair, "my new highlights."

"Jesus, Esther," I finally manage to say, "what happened?"

She grins. "Oh, you know, Ninjas. The usual."

Brad laughs, but it's obvious that the laugh is forced. His pale blue eyes are somber as he pats Esther's shoulder.

"Seriously, what happened?" I ask, approaching them and making sure to avert my gaze from her eye. I don't want to keep staring and make Esther more uncomfortable than she must already feel. Besides, seeing her like this brings back bad memories.

Unsettled, I crack my knuckles and glance at Brad, but he looks down at the mat and clears his throat. So I return my attention to Esther. "Esther, it's okay. Just tell us who did it, and we'll make sure he never does it again." I glance at Brad. "Come on, back me up, Brad."

He grimaces. "Actually, no can do, cuz it was a girl."

"Oh." I think quickly, trying to recall if Julia said anything about a fight breaking out at school. But why would anyone fight Esther? Literally everyone likes her.

"And not just any girl," Brad says.

"Hey!" Esther arches an eyebrow at him. "It's a black eye, not the plague. I'm fine. Just forget about it. My God ..."

"How?" Brad frowns. "Every time we look at you, we remember there's a psycho in our school and all she's getting is three days suspension. If you ask me, somebody needs to teach that-"

"No one needs to do anything." Esther cuts in. She straightens her spine, making herself nearly as tall as Brad, and moves towards him. Brad gulps and takes a tiny step back.

Mere inches from his face, she lowers her voice and says, "If I wanted something "done", I'd do it myself. So, leave her alone and keep your mouth shut. Can you manage that?"

I look from Brad, who's now blushing to the worse degree possible, to this...street fighter version of Esther Reams. I've known Esther since middle school, and when she's not joking around or planning the next party at her house, she's talking about gymnastics. She's never this intense.

Brad's lips twitch and his nostrils flare as he nods. "Yes, ma'am."

I can tell he's trying not to laugh.

Esther gives him one final look before turning her attention to me. "And you won't bring it up again either, right?"

"If that's what you want," I slowly reply.

"It is." She turns on her heel and heads to a group of girls who've just exited the locker room.

"Dude," Brad whispers, "that was so freaking hot. Did you see the way she looked at me?"

"Yeah," I say, unable to take my eyes off of Esther. "But that was strange, right?"

Now that Esther's with her friends, she softens her toy soldier posture. Reaching up and pulling a strand of hair out of her bun, she twirls it around her finger. With that, Esther plants a huge grin on her face, says something to a girl named Lucy and they laugh as Lucy loops her arm through Esther's. It's like she's become a completely different person...weird.

I finally turn to Brad, who's still staring at Esther, but for completely different reasons. His head tilted and his eyes narrowed, he watches her with glazed over eyes. The guy likes her so much that it's kind of pathetic.

I clear my throat. "So, sounds like you know who did that to her."

Brad snaps out of his trance and glances at me. Sighing, he tugs at the shoulder strap of his blue leotard. "Yeah, but I'm pretty sure you won't want to hear it."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Esther's going to kill me for saying this," Brad says with a groan, "but it was you and Julia's psycho friend. Before first hour she ran Esther down in the parking lot and tried to beat her up."

I blink back at Brad in confusion. "Me and Julia's psycho friend?"

Brad points to someone in the distance. "That, right there."

I turn around and Karen, her head down and her shoulders sagging, is sauntering into the practice area from the girls' locker room.

Like every other girl in her class, her hair is pulled back into a bun, and she wears a light blue leotard. Still...she's different, not just from her classmates, but from any girl I've ever seen.

My breath hitches in my chest and whatever Brad was talking about drifts, forgotten, into some black hole of my subconscious. This happens to me almost every time Karen walks into a room. And it's not just because she's pretty, it's more than that. She's got this solidarity, a quiet confidence that paints her every movement and gesture with...well, I don't even know how to explain it. All I know is that the word to describe Karen isn't "pretty," it's beyond that, it's a word that hangs out somewhere in the neighborhood of "divine."

She pauses in stride, lifts her hand, and slips off the strange-looking ring she's recently taken to wearing. With that, she returns to the locker room, and as she turns around, I can't help but let my gaze slide to her backside. It's perfect; the kind of butt that makes everything she wears sexy, even those worn-out gymnastics leotards of hers.

Okay, I'm starting to drift.

Warmth rising to my cheeks, I tear my eyes away from Karen's butt and try to focus on what Brad's still going on about. I try and retrace my thoughts. What were we talking about?

"...cute or whatever, but man I'm telling you, she's nuts," Brad says as he grabs his ankles and pulls his calves behind his thighs, stretching, "I'm not trying to be a jerk, but there's a reason why her mom did what she did."

Regaining my footing in our conversation and realizing what Brad's claiming, I bristle. "Yeah, right. Karen gave Esther a black eye? Sure, Brad."

Brad stops stretching and leans against the pommel horse as he arches an eyebrow. "I saw the whole thing happen from Mr. Day's class. It was messed up. Karen just went after her for no reason. It was like she snapped."

Hesitant, I watch Brad's eyes, waiting for their seriousness to level out into amusement. He does this; he'll say something bizarre and then come back with, "Just kidding, ha ha, gotcha."

Still unsmiling, Brad claps a hand on my shoulder. "I hate to say it, 'cause I know you like her, but I'm telling you, Karen's got issues. I've never seen anything like the way she went after Esther."

I shove him away and Brad stumbles backwards. Surprise registering in his features, he raises both of his hands in surrender. "Whoa."

"You're not funny, man. Don't you think she's been through enough already? Actually, whatever. I need to go warm up." Turning away from Brad, I pad across the mat, headed for the rings.

Sometimes I don't get Brad. He's a pretty nonjudgmental guy, but then he goes and rags on Karen. Sure, she's different, but why hate on someone just because they're different? So what if they're quiet and a little socially awkward...well, a lot socially awkward, maybe even to the point of acting stuck up. But Karen's not really stuck up. She's had Unseen as a father her whole life. Of course she's messed up!

I grab a handful of chalk, spread it over my palms and glance at Esther while she laughs with a few of her friends. At the sight of her eye, all swollen and purple, my stomach turns.

Anyway, Unseen's daughter wouldn't do something like that.

I turn away from Esther and her black eye, reeling as the memory of my father's fist connecting with my face comes at me out of nowhere.

Taking a deep breath, my own fists clenched, I approach the rings. Grabbing them, I hoist myself up and swing, determined to clear my head.

"WHAT WAS WRONG out there?" Coach Peterson asks, his voice low so my friends won't hear.

I dare a quick look around the locker room. Brad's in conversation with a few of the guys, and all four of them keep glancing our way.

Coach's discretion is kind but pointless. Everybody saw me freeze up on the high bar during a basic routine. There's no need to whisper about it now.

Stifling a sigh, I meet his eyes and shrug. "I started thinking too much."

"Is your dad trying to get you to go out there and visit him again? Is that what's going on?" Coach Peterson asks.

I shake my head. "No, sir. I'm just having a rough day. Sorry."

Crossing his arms, Coach leans against the empty locker behind him. "Of course I care about this weekend's meet, but you're more important than a meet. So if there's anything you need to talk about, I'm here. Got that?"

I nod.

I know Coach means it; he's definitely been there for Mom and me. That day he took me home and we found Mom with a black eye, he was the one who finally convinced her to press charges against Dad and leave him for good.

"Okay, now go on, get out of here," Coach says, securing his clipboard under his arm and heading to his office.

Without a word to my friends, I grab my duffel bag and leave the locker room. The last thing I want is to hang around and listen to Brad joke about how badly I screwed up on the high bar or, even worse, listen to him badmouth Karen...Karen.

"I completely forgot," I mutter.

Oh well, it's not like I'm actually up to having that whole, "I know about your dad" conversation tonight. Maybe tomorrow. My keys in hand, I make a mad dash for the gym's back exit, hoping to avoid running into anyone.

I get to my Jeep and, of course, being that the universe is against me, it doesn't start. Cursing under my breath, I turn it over a few times and finally, the engine revs. I peel out of the parking lot, gravel flying behind me, and turn onto the highway.

It's beginning to get dark and the moon peeks out from behind a silvery cloud. Something about it looks ominous, putting me on edge. I chide myself for being silly, but I can't shake the feeling. Trying to ignore the premonition, I zoom past an abandoned gas station, past the Tipson's small fenced-in field where their three horses lounge, and past a lone figure walking along the roadside.

I hit my breaks.

My eyes going to the rearview mirror, I pull over and watch the silhouette behind me. It's Karen. She's walking slowly, her gym bag in her left hand. Well, maybe the universe isn't completely against me.

I put the Jeep in reverse, run a quick hand through my hair, and park a few feet ahead of her.

"Your dad forget to pick you up again?" I shout, hopping out and heading her way.

"Yeah."

I stop in my tracks as I get a good look at Karen. Her eyes are watery and her nose is red. My heart sinks. "You alright?"

She glances sideways, blinking quickly. "Thanks for stopping, Nathaniel, but I don't need a ride."

"But it's dark out." I gesture to the darkening skies.

"It's also Peake, Alabama" she dryly replies. "Nothing happens here. Except suicide." On that cheerful note, she walks past me and says, "So, I think I'm good."

"Karen, wait." I start after her, but she doesn't slow down for a millisecond. I hurry to catch up with her. "Hey!"

She says nothing and gives no indication of having heard me. Her shoulder-length hair, freed from the mandatory gymnastics bun, is lifted and tossed by a nighttime breeze. I fall in step beside her as the wind sends whiffs of her shampoo my way and inhale the scent, her scent.

I stare at her, unable to help myself. I wish other people could see her the way I do. Between her flowing hair, the soft curves of her cheeks, and her deep brown eyes, she looks angelic. How could Brad say she beat Esther up?

"Hey."

"What, Nathaniel?" she snaps, hurrying past my Jeep.

Wincing at her tone, I scramble to keep up with her. "Why are you mad at me?"

"I'm not."

"Then let me take you home. That's better than you walking alone for five miles in the dark."

"Oh my God, fine." Sighing, she turns on her heel and heads back to my Jeep.

Relieved, but panicked, I nod. "Well, good...then...okay." As we head back to the Jeep, I toy with my keys, realizing that in spite of my godawful day at practice, I do want to talk to Karen. But, what do I bring up first: her dad's secret identity or the deal with people saying she hit Esther?

I glance at Karen and her eyes are no longer red, but as they meet mine she averts her gaze.

"Whatever I did to make you mad," I say, opening the passenger door for her, "I'm sorry."

"I'm not mad at you. And it's not the 'fifties, I can open my own door." She tries to shove me out of her way and rolls her eyes when her attempt is useless.

"I'm pretty sure you're mad at me." I throw a pointed look at her hand, which is still in shoving-mode on my arm, and come face to face with a purple bruise that all but covers her fist. It's the same kind of bruise my father's fists often had. My stomach turns and an unexpected surge of anger rises within me.

Karen lowers her hand. "What?"

I can't believe this. I turn away from her and head to the driver's side.

"Nathaniel, what was that face for?" Karen calls after me. "Why'd you look at me like that?"

I don't even know where to start in answering her.

"I'm glad you're letting me take you home," I finally reply, sliding into my seat as she hops in and turns to me. I try my best to sound calm as I continue, "Because we need to talk."

"...AND SHE WAS laughing, like she didn't even care." Karen's fists are clenched as she hits her knee. "Esther's just another one of Peake's rich, self-centered brats."

I slow for a red light, conflicted between empathy for Karen and disgust at what she's done. That's why I can't look at her right now, it'd be too confusing. I turn my attention to two deer standing along the roadside. They dart away, retreating into the nearby woods while Karen goes on, "Out of all the preppy snobs at school and gymnastics, Esther's the worst."

I can't let that one go.

Trying to keep my voice even, I speak through gritted teeth, "How do you even know what Esther's like? When was the last time you had a conversation with her?"

"Why would I talk to her?" Karen mutters as she turns to glare out of the passenger window.

"Because she's cool," I retort, unable to keep the annoyance out of my tone, "and-"

"Esther Reams is not cool."

We turn to each other and I start to negate this, but Karen interrupts me.

"And the only reason you think she is, is because she's cute and she invites you to her stupid parties." Karen blinks back at me, her big brown eyes boring into mine. My heart skips a beat. As pissed off as I am, I'd have to be completely blind not to notice how pretty she looks right now.

Startled by the blankness that consumes my thoughts, I blurt the first thing that comes to mind, "You're just being retarded."

"Oh, my God, Nathaniel!" Rolling her eyes, Karen shakes her head and, to my disadvantage, moistens her lips. I watch her tongue dart over her lips and shift in my seat uncomfortably. If I keep staring at her I'm going to forget the whole point of this argument. I turn away from her and see that the light's green. Accelerating through it, I attempt to get a handle on myself.

Karen, meanwhile, continues to bite my head off. "...that word is so offensive! You know how insulting it is to people with disabilities, so why would you use it?"

Once her words start to make sense in my head, I quickly reply, "You're right, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said retarded. I wasn't thinking."

She shakes her head, mumbling something under her breath about me starting to sound like my snobby friends. Annoyed, I grit my teeth and ease off the accelerator as we head into town, where the speed limit is only 35 mph.

"And if me using an offensive word hurt you that much," I snap, "can you imagine how much you hurt Esther by punching her?"

"She wasn't hurt, she laughed!"

"Even though her eye is swollen and her nose is nearly broken, she wasn't hurt? Is that what you're saying?"

"I'm saying she deserved it, Nathaniel!"

I wince, my thoughts shifting to my father as we approach a red light at the intersection between Peake Grocery and one of our town's two gas stations. I slow to a stop and say, "No one deserves to get punched in the face."

That was Dad's word of choice when it came to defending what he'd do to us; we "deserved" his every blow. A sudden feeling of claustrophobia bearing down on me, I can hardly breathe. I flip on the AC.

"Trust me, Nathaniel, she did deserv-"

"No, she didn't. You're just jealous. That's the problem," I retort. "You're jealous and you're too proud to admit it."

"I am not jealous of Esther Reams! I don't want her stupid money or her fancy-"

"I'm not talking about her money," I cut in. "I'm talking about her friends. People like Esther. Nobody likes you. You're the snob, Karen. You judge people before you even get to know them. You're so busy criticizing everyone that you don't even see them. That makes you the snob, not her."

Silence, sudden and as sharp as a knife, fills the Jeep while I turn away from her, setting my gaze on the road ahead.

Holy crap. What did I just say? Gulping, I dare a glimpse at Karen and she's staring at me with wide eyes, her mouth open.

Upon meeting my eyes, she blinks and turns away, facing forward. A pang of regret grips my heart.

I start to apologize, but she says, "I'm not jealous of Esther, and since we're talking about my flaws, how about yours?"

Words leaving me, I look at her in dumb silence.

"You're a coward," she says, her eyes narrowed and her tone even. "You don't know how to fight for what you want and you don't even know what you want because you're afraid to be honest with yourself. You're afraid of everything."

I nearly wince, but catch myself. Rolling my eyes in a show of nonchalance, I shake my head. "Okay, first of all," I say, hearing my voice shake. "I do know what I want, um..."

"Obviously, you don't." Karen turns away from me. "I thought you wanted to be my friend, that you were, like, the one person in this stupid town who I don't have to defend myself to."

"Hey, come on. I am your friend. I am." I touch her arm and she flinches.

That, right there, is worse than a punch to the gut.

I retract my hand. "Sorry." Looking down at my hands, I take a moment to collect my thoughts. Even though she's dead wrong about the Esther-thing, I don't want her to walk away from this conversation angry with me.

Sighing, I turn to her and address the side of her head since she's refusing to look at me. "Karen, I'm sorry. And I am on your side. Even though I just acted like a complete jerk, I promise, I couldn't be more on your side."

Finally turning to me, she searches my eyes, the anger in hers diminishing.

Relief washes over me. "In fact," I continue, "there's something I want to tell you." My nerves taking over, I grip the steering wheel.

"What?"

"I've been thinking about what happened in the cornfield the other night, um, about what I saw." I take a deep breath. "And I think your dad -"

A thud sounds on my Jeep's roof.

I look up as Karen gasps. "I think something just fell on top of us." Her words are drowned out by what sounds like running footsteps above our heads. They dart from the back of the roof towards the windshield.

"What is that?" Karen unfastens her seatbelt and grabs the door handle.

The underside of a black boot appears on the windshield and horrified, I grab Karen's hand. "Wait, Karen! Don't open the door."

A second boot appears and stomps against the glass so hard that it fissures, leaving a long crack in my windshield. At this, both feet dart away and their owner, a shadowy silhouette, jumps into the air before vanishing into the darkness.

My heart pounds...Unseen. That was Unseen! What if he heard me?

Stricken, I peer into the dark skies ahead, searching for some other sign of him.

Did he hear me on the verge of telling Karen the truth about his identity and show up to stop me? Does that mean he's been tracking me?

"Nathaniel, look!" Karen grabs my arm and points to the gas station at our left.

Directly above the building, a bright light shines in the night sky. In the gas station below, a man is hurled through the front door, glass shattering everywhere.

My fear of Karen's dad pounding me to a bloody pulp fades as the man lands on the cement with a thud. Unseen's victim is a burly guy in a flannel jacket and ski mask that covers his face. A thief. He struggles to his feet as the light in the sky above the gas station diminishes. In the distance, police sirens scream their approach.

So, Unseen isn't here because of me, he showed up to stop that.

Only slightly relieved, I accelerate through the red light and mumble, "We're getting out of here."

"Wait, stop." Karen tightens her grip on my arm. "Stop the car!"

I hit the brakes. "What's wrong?"

"Up there," she says, awe in her voice, "on top of the bank."

My pulse racing, I squint into the darkness and follow Karen's direction to Peake First National's roof, where the silhouette of what appears to be a woman stands on the ledge.

I shiver, an ice cold bucket of fear dumped over me. What is this?! It's like we're running into one disaster after another!

"She's going to jump." I put the Jeep in park and start for my door, but Karen grabs my elbow.

"No. Don't you get it?" Her words rushed in excitement, she grins, "That's Unseen. I think...I think she's a "she"."

"That's impossible." I say, peering up at the shadowy figure in question. It's definitely a woman, but there's no way she's Unseen.

"It's not impossible." Karen's tone is as definite as ever, "We're seeing Unseen and she's obviously a woman."

"That's not Unseen, trust me." I retort, opening my door.

The woman leaps, jumping off the ledge in one swift motion. I bolt from my Jeep, my gaze not straying from the falling woman. I run as fast as I can, but there's no way I'll get to her in time...please God, please let one of the nearby tree branches break her fall... My prayer comes to an abrupt halt as the woman disappears midair. I stop running and blink into the darkness. Where'd she go? Behind me, the Jeep's passenger door slams shut.

"Did you see that? She disappeared," Karen shouts as she runs towards me. "That had to be Unseen!"

Confused, I scan the area where the lady should have fallen, but there's just grass, trees, and an empty sidewalk. She really disappeared. I turn to Karen who, her eyes as wide as saucers, is grinning more than I've seen in a very long time. Speechless, I turn back to the bank and make sure the woman isn't there...somewhere.

"Now my dad will have to believe in Unseen," Karen says as she heads back to the Jeep. "Come on, let's leave before the Police get here. They'll want official witness statements and that'll take all night."

Dazed, I follow her to the Jeep. If that woman was Unseen, then what happened to Karen's dad in the cornfield last night?

The ominous feeling from earlier returning to settle down on me, I start the Jeep and glance at Karen.

Mom was right. There's something strange about Karen's parents; they were hiding a secret and that secret had nothing to do with Dr. Lyles being Unseen. He's something else completely.

#

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I tossed and turned all night, not only because of our Unseen sighting, but because of what Nathaniel said when he got mad. I've seen him annoyed, but never angry. And definitely never angry at with me...

"You're so busy criticizing everyone that you don't even see them..."

His words resounding in my head, I tighten the belt of my robe and take another bite of Frosted Flakes. Yes, what I did to Esther was awful, but I didn't do it because I was jealous of her, and I'm definitely not a snob. Esther's the snob. The girl treats Tessa and me like we don't even exist.

But ...whatever. Like Ms. Greenich said, I don't have to stay bitter and angry, I can decide how to feel. And right now, I want to feel like a girl who's enjoying her Frosted freaking Flakes and pleased with herself for catching a glimpse of her town's vigilante.

Reaching across the table and grabbing today's newspaper, I take another bite of cereal and read the front page.

# UNSEEN NABS GAS STATION ROBBERS!

I grin and drop my spoon into my cereal. Milk splatters onto the table as I shout, "Hey Dad!" I start to bolt from my seat, ready to pull him from his workroom. But I pause, recalling that he's bringing Tessa to school.

Dang it! I still haven't had a chance to tell him what we saw last night. And I really want to because maybe hearing about our Unseen sighting will pull at least a hint of a smile out of him.

"This is so cool," I murmur, picking up the newspaper and reading the article.

It details the account Nathaniel and I saw firsthand, explaining that two ski mask-wearing men, who've apparently taken to robbing gas stations all over North Alabama, tried to do the same at Peake's Gas last night. But according to the small gas station's cashier, the two thieves were stopped when, "...a bright light shone in the sky. And then one of the robbers fell backwards, passing out for no reason whatsoever. The other man was thrown through the front door and out onto the sidewalk. It was like someone pushed him, but I didn't see anyone there. Then the light went away and I put two and two together and realized I'd been saved by Unseen."

"Geez Louise," I whisper, unable to dismiss my ridiculous grin. Setting the article aside, I glance at our front door, hoping Dad comes back soon. I can't wait to tell him about this!

Our phone rings and I glance down at our Caller ID box. It's Julia, calling from her cellular telephone, because yes, she is a huge fancy pants when it comes to tech gadgets. I think most rich people are, it's a status thing. The more tech toys you have, the higher up on the totem pole you are.

"Hey, Jules!" I exclaim, unable to keep the enthusiasm out of my voice.

"Oh, my God, Karen, I've been dying to talk to you and I just couldn't take it anymore!" Julia screeches, sounding even more excited than I am.

I laugh. "Me too!"

"Really?" she says with genuine surprise. "Okay. You go first. What's up, chica?"

I lean against the counter, my gaze returning to the newspaper on our kitchen table. "You're never going to believe what me and Nathaniel saw." I pause, my thoughts darting to something I almost forgot about.

Nathaniel and Julia are back together...that's probably what she wants to tell me. A jolt of pain disrupting my stomach, I wince.

Yesterday afternoon Ms. Davidson brought me to the doctor and he told me I have an ulcer, which he gave me some medicine for. In addition to that, Ms. Davidson was kind enough to give me a few liters of cabbage juice. She says it's a home remedy that used to help her husband's ulcers. It's been helping, but at the moment, my pain seems to have temporarily returned.

"Oh, yeah!" Julia exclaims, the screech factor in her voice making me flinch. "You guys saw Unseen. Nathaniel told me. That's so crazy! And he said she's a girl. I never would have thought Unseen was a girl. That's so cool, Karen!"

"Yeah." I clutch my stomach.

"So, are you ready to hear my news?" Julia asks in a sing-song voice.

Despite my stomach and jealousy, the happiness in Julia's tone stops me from inventing an excuse to decline this conversation. I close my eyes. "Yeah, Jules."

"So, I would've told you yesterday, but we completely missed each other with...um, everything that went on with you and Esther. But anyway, it's the best news ever." Julia sighs dramatically. "Guess whose back together? Me and Nate! Ack!!! Can you believe it?" She laughs and continues, "When he brought me home from your house the other night, we talked for a while and then we kissed! It was the sweetest, softest kiss. Oh, my God! And then we talked about how much we missed each other and we're all like, "Let's take it slow, but..."

As Julia goes on, I begin to feel dead, like my heart has stopped. I'm sure it hasn't really, but that's how I feel. Opening my eyes, I stare at the oak cabinets on the other side of our kitchen, my mind blank, my heart silent, and my breath halted.

Julia, on the other hand, is as animated as ever. "...so we're definitely back on," she exclaims, "isn't that great? Now you won't have to be caught in the middle of me and Nate's drama, am I right?" She laughs, but I can't even speak.

"Karen?"

I take a deep breath and try to ignore the burning that's resurfaced in my stomach. "Yeah. Sorry about that, I accidently muted the phone. Jules, that's so great. I'm happy for you." The lie slips from my lips as easily as the truth, and Julia goes on to talk about some things that I really wish I didn't have to listen to.

The more she talks about the way they kissed, the more I realize how right Nathaniel was. I am jealous. Not of Esther Reams, but of all "The Esther's", the pretty, rich girls with normal families, normal personalities, and normal lives. They're the ones who "The Nathaniel's" fall for. And can you blame The Nathaniel's? Who wouldn't choose the fun, happy girl over the moody chick who seethes with so much jealousy that you can practically smell it emanating from her pores? I can't be mad at Nathaniel for choosing Julia.

"...I'm going to miss you today. Sucks you got suspended. But, um, speaking of that, like, what exactly happened with Esther?" Julia stammers. "There are some crazy rumors going around. Of course I don't believe them, but, I was kind of wondering."

I look down at Mom's ring, my emotions as clouded as the opaque stone. It's funny how even though our feelings are what make us who we are, they're the most difficult thing in the world to understand. Like, I wouldn't have realized I was jealous until Nathaniel pointed it out. And now...now, I don't even know what I'm feeling. It's not just jealousy, it's this rawness that's making me numb.

"Karen? Are you there?"

"Yeah, sorry. The thing with Esther was a misunderstanding. I thought she was trying to hurt Tessa, and it was just a stupid mistake."

"Oh," Julia replies, her voice soft, "I get it. Well, look, Nate's right here and he's saying he needs to talk to me, so I guess I'll see you later. Bye, chica."

"Bye, Jules." I set the phone in its cradle and stare down at it. I don't even know how to... be right now. All I know is that I feel like crap.

Our front door creaks opens and our entire house shakes under Dad's footsteps. He slams the door shut and I slide off of the counter to peek around the corner. As Dad's face comes into view my concern about my own feelings fade. He's as pale as he was the night we found Mom. His dark salt-and-pepper hair full of sweat and flattened against his head, he scowls so much that a series of lines mar every inch of his forehead.

"Dad? What's wrong?"

Looking past me as if I haven't said a word, he lifts a trembling hand to wipe the perspiration from his forehead, marches to his workroom, and slams the door behind him.

I hear him shouting, but I can't quite make out his words. He must be on the phone. Though most of what he's saying is garbled, I hear, "Leave my family alone," quite clearly.

Confused, I hug myself and stare down the hallway. Could this have something to do with those Buicks that have been following us? Between seeing Unseen and dealing with my feelings for Nathaniel, I kind of forgot about them.

I slip back into the kitchen, pick up the phone, and glance at our Caller ID box to see who Dad's talking to, but it says "Restricted Number."

"...saw one of their cars at my little girl's school," Dad says, distress staining his every word, "and my oldest is starting to notice them. Tell Jayne I don't have the serum! Tell her to leave us alone!"

My heart pounding, I grip the phone and turn to the kitchen window where morning sunlight streams through our curtains. Absently watching the golden rays, I try and wrap my head around what Dad's saying. First of all, who's Jayne? And what "serum" is Dad talking about?

"Dr. Lyles," a whispered female voice replies, "you shouldn't call me here, it's not safe. I'll contact you later, from a secure line. Understood?"

"Claire, I can't deal with this," Dad hisses, "I ran their experiments, I did what they wanted, and now I'm done! Tell Jayne to stay away from my family. Tell her I'm never going back to I.T.I.S. I'm through with them!"

"Dr. Lyles, you know I can't do that," the woman he's called "Claire" whispers. "She'd kill-"

There's a click and Claire says, "Dr. Lyles? Dr. Lyles?"

Dad must have hung up on her. My hands shake as I set the phone back in its cradle. Those black cars...they were following us. I was right. And what's I.T.I.S.? It sounds vaguely familiar ... The door to Dad's workroom flies open and his footsteps sound on the floor. I dart away from the phone and peer around the corner.

Dad heads to the front door, shouting, "I'll be back. Don't open the door for anyone." With that, he shuts the door behind him, his keys clattering while he takes a moment to lock the top and bottom locks. That in itself is odd, Dad never remembers to lock the front door.

I glance down the hallway, eyeing Dad's workroom as his words ring in my ears, "...I ran their experiments, I did what they wanted ...I'm never going back to I.T.I.S."

I.T.I.S.- that sounds so familiar. I think Mom may have mentioned it once or twice when she was delusional. But what is it? Could it have something to do with the cars that have been following us? My thoughts swarming and colliding, I look down at Mom's ring. What if Mom's "delusions" weren't exactly delusions?

I head to Dad's workroom, determined to find answers.

EVER SINCE TESSA and I were little, we were told to keep away from Dad's workroom. I've never understood why Mom and Dad were so strict about that, but now the rule makes sense. If Dad's connection to I.T.I.S. is supposed to be confidential and the information surrounding this big secret is kept in here, then no wonder we were shooed away.

I approach the door, take a deep breath, and turn the knob. It's locked. But, that's okay. When you have a little sister who's prone to throwing tantrums and locking herself in her room, you become a pro at prying open a locked door.

Hurrying to the bathroom, I open the drawer where I keep me and Tessa's hair supplies, and grab a bobby pin. In less than three minutes, I've used the pin to open the door to Dad's workroom. Slipping into the "bat cave", I look around.

Well...it's more messy office than bat cave. Much like my room, there are random piles of clothes on the floor, but there are also stacks of thick textbooks and cardboard boxes scattered about. A small rusty metal file cabinet occupies the room's right-hand corner and a large wooden office desk sits in front of the window.

"Hm, I wonder who I take after." I mutter as I step over a pile of balled up papers that, upon closer inspection, appear to be bills.

Mom and Tessa are definitely the neat-freaks in our family. My father and I, on the other hand, are the same when it comes to mess; we thrive in it.

Passing three cardboard boxes that have been stacked on top of each other, I approach the large oak desk. Among the numerous outdated day planners and random pieces of papers strewn across its top is a large framed picture of our family. The four of us stand shoulder to shoulder, smiling as we pose on the front lawn of our church. I don't want to pick up the picture, because picking up old family photos and examining them is an invitation to sentimental sadness. Even so, I find myself grabbing the picture and studying all four of our faces.

We looked so different back then; for one, we looked happy. I think Tessa was ten and I was twelve when this was taken. Her hair was wild, coming out of the cute little bow Mom had tried to tie it back with.

Mom...my God, Tessa looks exactly like her; they have the same golden hair and blue eyes.

I touch the glass just above Mom's cheek, as if this is somehow the same as touching my mother's cheek. Sighing, I set the photo down and slide into Dad's desk chair. I'm not here to look at pictures and push myself into a depression, I'm here to find out what I.T.I.S. is.

I open Dad's bottom desk drawer and scan its contents. Not much here, just some random papers and a three-hole punch. I lean forward to close the drawer and a VHS tape with my name on it catches my eye. I pick it up, my heart skipping a beat as Mom's handwriting, scrawled in black marker, stares back at me, "For Karen & Tessa."

I touch the cursive letters, each of them long and elegant, and a strange sort of homesickness washes over me. I make myself set the tape aside. If I get all emotional, I won't be able to focus. Anyway, the tape is probably just a recorded message with one of Mom's "I love my beautiful girls" speeches. Before she lost her mind, that's the way Mom was. She'd use every second she could to tell us she loved us or teach us some life lesson.

My stomach smarting, I take one last look at the tape. I'll definitely watch it later.

I start to close the drawer when something that must have been behind the tape catches my eye, a tiny metallic spray can. I almost didn't see it because it's shoved into the corner of the drawer and partially covered by a legal pad. It doesn't look like cologne or like any cleaning solution I've ever seen. Curious, I pick it up and turn it over.

A small label on its underside says, "Property of I.T.I.S. - Hearing"

I.T.I.S! This must have some connection to Dad's secret!

My nerves spiking, I remove the can's top and sniff the spray nozzle. The floral scent that slinks into my nose is surprisingly familiar. I turn the bottle around, examining it. Where have I smelled this before? And why's it called "Hearing"?

Our phone rings, startling me so much that I jump and the can falls out of my hands. I retrieve it, toss it into the pocket of my robe and scramble out of Dad's office, hurrying to answer the phone. As soon as Dad gets back, I'm showing him this can and demanding that he tell me what I.T.I.S. is.

#

#

"Nate, I don't understand." Julia says, her eyes filling.

A lump forms in my throat. No matter how much she cries, I have to stand my ground. I avert my eyes and say, "Because I care about you and I want you to be with a guy who deserves you."

A loud group of sophomores, all of them slowing in stride as they pass us, leave the student parking lot and head into Peake High. Each of their stares, weighty with judgment, land on my shoulders and my anxiety goes into overdrive. I wish I'd had the brains to start this conversation in the car and not on the sidewalk where everyone can watch the latest episode of "Julia and Nathaniel."

"Nate?"

"Yeah?" I shift my gaze to the sidewalk, and Julia's tiny feet, the only part of her that I can bring myself to look at, are moving towards me.

The silver toe ring on her right foot glares back at me as she says, "Would you at least look at me?"

I do as she asks and with her shoulders hunched, she seems even shorter than her petite 5'4' frame. But the slouched posture doesn't diminish her beauty.

I take a deep breath. Any other guy would think I'm an idiot for doing this to her.

"There has to be a reason why you keep breaking up with me," She says, her bottom lip trembling. "Just tell me what I'm doing wrong."

"Nothing." I rub the back of my neck and stare into the distance, searching for the right words. "I..."

"You what?"

The bell rings and the noise around us increases as everyone shuffles to their first hour; everyone, except for Julia and me. Rooted to her spot on the sidewalk, she crosses her arms and stares me down.

"I can't say you did anything wrong, because you didn't." My words come out in a nervous rush and needing to do something with my hands, I slide my book bag off my shoulders and set it at my feet. Julia shakes her head, a scowl forming above her eyes. "You're lying."

"No I'm not," I quickly say. "Jules, you're perfect. And whoever you end up with is going to be the luckiest guy in the world, but it's not me. You need to be with someone who deserves you."

"You keep saying that!" she snaps, tears falling from her eyes. Two passing girls slow down, turning to glance at us.

The unwanted audience sends a rush of heat to my face, and I stammer, "I keep saying it because it's true. B-but..." I gulp. I wish I could just say it.

"But what?" Julia demands.

My chest heavy and my palms making like Niagara Falls, I gather my courage and force myself to look her in the eye. "But you deserve to be with someone who sees you as more than a friend, because I don't."

Julia's face falls and she takes a shaky step backwards.

"Jules..." I reach for her, but she pushes my hand away.

"Screw you, Nathaniel." Her face bright red, she turns on her heel and hurries away.

I watch her disappear into the crowd while passing kids whisper and stare, looking from me to Julia with unveiled curiosity. I want to go after her. But if I do, she'll either push me away and make an even bigger scene or break me down until I find myself back in a relationship with her. My fists clenched, I exhale. If that was the right thing to do, then why do I feel so horrible?

Frustrated, I pick up my book bag and trudge to first hour.

"...ESPECIALLY THE ONES derived from differential equations," Ms. Hines, our math teacher continues. "The variables involved are not linked to each other in an explicit way. Most of the time, they're linked through an implicit formula..."

Linked; that's what Karen and I are ... or at least it's what I want us to be. I feel like she trusts me. But it's a limited trust.

Ms. Hines raps her blue dry erase marker against an equation on the overhead projector and continues to explain it. I stare at the calculus problem, blind to the numbers and deaf to everything she's saying. All I can think about is what Karen said about me last night. She got mad and her real feelings came out. She called me a coward.

What if there's some truth to that? After all, I am scared of pretty much everything. I still haven't really allowed myself to process the fact that what I saw in the cornfield means that...well, that Karen's Dad might not be fully human. I mean, whatever I saw in that out there was gigantic, with glowing eyes. And all I know is that her dad came out of there. But, until now, I haven't even wanted to admit that to myself.

On top of that, is my relationship with Julia. I've been dating her out of fear; fear of looking like a bad guy, fear of Karen potentially rejecting me. It's like my entire life is me on the high bar, freezing up and letting fear get the best of me.

The realization washes over me like a cold shower; Karen's right, I am a coward.

Without a second thought, I raise my hand.

Ms. Hines adjusts her wire rimmed glasses and pauses her lecture as she looks at me with raised eyebrows. "What's wrong, Nathaniel?"

"May I go to the bathroom?" I ask.

She nods and I shoot out of my seat, hurrying through the classroom door and into the hallway. I jog down the hallway, past the boy's restroom, and straight through Peake High's exit doors. With this, I truck it to the student parking lot. This makes two days in a row that I've skipped school, but I don't care, and I don't care how scared I am right now. It's time for Karen to know how I feel about her. If that means I get rejected, then I get rejected. But I can't be a coward anymore.

A cold breeze bites through my jacket, sending chills up and down my arms as I make my way to Mom's Lexus. My Jeep is at the dealership so they can fix the windshield and figure out what's wrong with the alternator. Since Mom has the day off, she let me take her car to school.

Despite the cold, my palms are sweating as I pull out of the parking lot and glance down at Mom's brand new car phone; a clunky black device that she's proud of. She bought it just in case of an emergency. Telling Karen that I'm on my way over seems like an emergency to me. I dial her number, and as she picks up and my heart nearly stops.

"Would you stop calling?" Karen snaps.

Taken aback, I hesitate, "Uh, what do you mean? This is the first time I've called you today."

"Oh, my gosh, Nathaniel?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry about that, somebody keeps calling and hanging up and I-"

"Hey, I need to talk to you," I cut in. "Can I come over?" I hold my breath as she remains silent. Why isn't she saying anything? I turn onto the highway that leads to her neighborhood, hoping she'll say yes.

"Okay," she finally says.

"Okay," I repeat, inadvertently echoing her tone. I clear my throat. "See you soon."

"Yeah, see you soon."

As we hang up, I turn onto the street that will bring me to the girl who I've got to prove myself to. I want to tell her everything, not just about how I feel about her, but about her Dad. Then again, I might get to her house and completely freeze up.

I hope I can do this ... no. I'm going to do it.

#

#

I stare down at the phone, Nathaniel's voice lingering in my head, 'I need to talk to you. Can I come over?' I should have asked, 'talk about what'. Maybe he still feels bad about what he said last night. If that's the case, I'll tell him to save his apology because everything he said was true.

Discomfort nips at my stomach, and figuring I should get a glass of Ms. Davidson's cabbage juice, I head for the refrigerator. A glimpse of my reflection in our microwave door horrifies me. I, basically, look a troll doll. With my bed head hair, sleepy eyes, and large fluffy robe thrown on over pink and red PJs, I'm betting that as soon as Nathaniel sees me, he'll congratulate himself on choosing Julia over me.

I comb my fingers through my hair and pause as the distinctive creak of our back porch screen door sounds. Crap, Dad's back.

I trudge out of the kitchen and head for the back door. I need to have a serious conversation with Dad about that I.T.I.S. stuff, so maybe I should ask Nathaniel to come over later...

My thoughts come to an abrupt halt and I stop in the middle of the hallway. Just ahead, the window in our back door, its white curtains askew, reveals an extremely tall man who's definitely not my father. The nearly seven foot tall giant of a man stands at our back door, his head down, and his gaze on the doorknob, which he seems to be trying to unlock.

Oh, my God.

As the doorknob shakes, my mouth goes dry and I take a step back in disbelief. This guy is trying to break into our house! I take a deep breath, pretend my knees aren't shaking, and shout, "Hey!"

The stranger looks up, his dark eyes locking onto mine.

I approach the door and try to look as menacing as possible, which probably isn't working very well. Despite this, I say, "I'm calling the police. Get out of here!"

The man smiles, revealing large yellowed teeth that give him a horse-like appearance. I instinctively take a step back as he arches an eyebrow and chuckles as if my threat is funny.

I'd better call the police. My hands shaking, I run for the kitchen phone. Behind me, a loud tapping noise sounds at the back door.

What's he doing to our door?

I turn around and the door, somehow removed from its hinges, falls forward and lands in our hallway with a thud, causing dust and grass to billow up from the floor. I blink back at the strange man who stands in our doorway. The giant's about Dad's age and despite his gargantuan height, he's lanky in a blue flannel shirt over a pair of worn jeans. His stringy blonde hair, long and oily, looks like it hasn't been washed in weeks.

How did he do that to our door?

I take a shaky step back as he meets my eyes, his yellowed smile still in place.

"Hi there, Karen. You're going to need to come with me."

Chills creep from my scalp to the very bottoms of my feet as he says my name, and my instincts taking over, I turn around and run down our hallway as fast as I can.

Who is this creep and how does he know my name?!

The staccato of the stranger's footsteps follow me, moving faster. I skid into Tessa's room, slamming her door shut, and locking it. My hands shaking, I glance around. What do I do? Should I hide under the bed?

No that's stupid...what about the window? Maybe I can get out through Tessa's window, run to Ms. Davidson's house, and call the police from there.

The same tapping noise I'd heard at the back door before it fell off of its hinges sounds at Tessa's door and my heart sinks.

"Please, don't let him get in here," I mumble, hurrying past Tessa's rows upon rows of stuffed animals as I make my way to her window. I trip over something hard and crash, hip first, into her windowpane.

My every movement clumsy, I right myself, shove Tessa's window open, and catch a quick glimpse of what I've tripped on. At my feet is a fuzzy brown teddy bear that's been stabbed through its stomach with two of our steak knives.

Refusing to consider why my little sister might have done this to her teddy bear, I turn back to the window. It's only gone up a couple of inches. It's stuck!

"Come on," I hiss, pushing against the window with all my might. The metal ridges make indentations in my calloused palms, but the window refuses budge.

Behind me, Tessa's bedroom door slams to the floor with a crash. It's too late, he's in.

My heart beating wildly, I spin around.

The tall man shoves both of his hands into his pockets and steps into Tessa's room with a casual air. This is bad. I crouch and grab the two knives from Tessa's teddy bear.

The giant strolls towards me without much of a care in the world. In fact, his grin widening, he tosses his shaggy blonde locks out of his eyes and says, "You're going to stab me? That's so cute."

I blink back at him. There's something odd about his eyes. They're hazel, but tinged with a silver glint.

"Come on, really." Still smiling, he heads my way, his hands not moving from his pockets. "Try and cut me. Knick me once and I'll let you go, I promise."

My thoughts a jumble, I take a step back and crush a stuffed animal under my right foot. "You should leave while you can," I say, my voice shaking. "I called the police, they're-"

I shut up as the silvery glint in each of his irises becomes more pronounced, overwhelming the hazel until it's drowned. His eyes are turning silver. Horrified, I stare at him. He takes his hands out of his pockets and the backs of his hands are a glistening gray, as if they've been doused in silver glitter.

"What's wrong with you?" I blurt, looking at his hands, the fingernails of which are completely silver.

"You'll find out soon enough." He saunters towards me.

My heart pounding, I back into the wall. He starts for me and I lunge forward, aiming one of the knives at his chest. He catches my wrist and grips it so tightly that I'm forced to drop the knife. His hold on my wrist constricts, in mere seconds becoming unbearable.

Tears spring into my eyes. "Let go!"

He chuckles and grabs the other knife, tossing it aside. While it clatters to the floor, he positions himself a few centimeters from my face. His breath, smelling of aluminum and a familiar floral scent, wafts over me as he says, "Guess you won't be stabbing me after all."

I kick him in the shin and gasp as pain radiates from my big toe all the way up my foot and into my calf.

He chuckles, grabbing my other wrist. "Hurts, doesn't it?"

My mouth dry with nerves and my knees still shaking, I shout, "Leave me alone!"

To my surprise, he complies; but not by choice. Losing his stupid grin, he freezes and his eyebrows go up as if something's stunned him. Stumbling backwards, his grip on my wrists relaxes, and those shiny eyes of his roll back in their sockets. He falls to the floor in a large crumpled heap.

Every part of my body shaking, I look down at him in confusion. What just happened?

On the other side of his body, Esther Reams appears out of thin air and I scream. Her eye as black as ever, she wears jeans and a navy blue T-shirt; in her left hand she holds the tiny tubular device she'd been carrying when I decked her in the school parking lot. She shoves it into the pocket of her jeans and extends a hand in my direction.

I stare at her, speechless.

"Karen, it's okay. I'm here to help. Everything's going to be fine." For once Esther isn't looking straight through me. Instead, her gaze doesn't leave mine as she beckons me. "But this guy's going to wake up in, like, seconds," she continues, wiggling her fingers in earnest, "so you need to come with me right now. Come on, take my hand."

I blink back at her. "I don't understand."

"I know." Esther glances at the man, who's already begun to stir. "Once we're safe, I'll explain everything. But for now, just take my hand."

This makes no sense, but what choice do I have? I take a step forward and do as Esther asks. Her hand is warm as she loops her fingers through mine. I look down at our entwined fingers. "Why do I need to hold your-"

"You'll see," Esther cuts in. She tightens her grasp. "Whatever you do, don't let go. Got it?"

"Uh, yeah."

The man grunts and I eye him nervously. How did Esther knock him out like that?

"Hold on," she says. The words have barely left her lips when my little sister's room bursts into a blur of colors, all of them bleeding into each other. Completely paralyzed, I can't move. But I hear my every breath, loud and echoing in my skull. A multitude of tingling sensations erupt throughout my body; it's like I'm feeling my every cell at work.

I try to ask Esther what's happening, but the paralysis prevents me from opening my mouth. And then, as quickly as the immobilization and blurring of reality took hold, it ends.

The world is once again still.

Gasping for breath, I look around and recognize my surroundings. Esther and I are no longer in Tessa's room. Instead, we're somehow on the cement path that leads to the front door of my house. My house is behind us and Nathaniel stands in front of us. Pale and wide-eyed, he stares at me in confusion, his mom's car parked just a few feet behind him.

Out of breath and more disjointed than I've ever been in my life, I say the first thing that comes to mind. "Hey."

Nathaniel's gaze goes from me to Esther. "Uh, hey?"

My left eye twitching, I turn to Esther and stammer, "I...I...don't..."

"Know what to say?" She smirks. "A thank you would be a good start."

#

#

I'm pretty sure I just had a panic attack that led to a hallucination. That has to be what happened because there's no way Esther and Karen appeared out of thin air...and why is Esther here anyway?

Rattled, I return my attention to Karen. She's kind of a mess; her cheeks flushed, her hair as wild as ever, and her eyes wide with... fright? Breathing hard, she glances over her shoulder, looking at her house. Yeah, she's definitely got frightened written all over her face.

Anxiety cresting in my chest, I touch her shoulder. "Karen, what's wrong?"

Esther grabs my arm. "Keys, Nathaniel! Give me your keys, we need your car."

"You need my car?" I repeat.

Esther's eyes are as frantic as Karen's and she looks over her shoulder at the Lyles' house.

"Why?" I glance at the house. "Is somebody in her house..."

I shut up as the Lyles' front door opens and a giant of a man with long, blonde hair stumbles out onto their front porch.

Karen gasps and shoves me towards Mom's car. "I have no idea what's going on," she exclaims, uncharacteristically hysterical, "but I know we need to get away from him!"

The giant runs towards us, his brow knotted in an angry scowl and ...Jesus! I stare at him, petrified, as his dark eyes take on an eerie silver glow.

Esther grabs the keys from my hand and, pulling Karen behind her, shouts, "Get in the car! Come on, Nathaniel!"

Strands of Karen's hair hit me in the face, melting me from my frozen state and I follow the girls to the car. Glancing over my shoulder one last time brings me to yet another standstill and all I can do is gape, chills shooting up and down my arms. The giant's skin is turning silver. It's like his body is morphing into some sort of metallic armor.

"Nathaniel, come on!" Esther orders, jumping into the front seat and starting Mom's car.

Ignoring the question on the tip of my tongue, I slide into the backseat and slam my door shut. Esther peels off, Mom's tires screeching as we speed away. I turn around in my seat to keep an eye on the strange silver guy. He's jumping into a black Buick that was parked across the street from the Lyles' house.

"Who was that?" I shout as the metallic giant, tires screeching, starts to follow us. "Actually, what was that?"

Esther flies past a stop sign and swerves right, headed out of the Lyles' neighborhood. I'm thrown against the door, the side of my face hitting the window with a thud. Shaking it off, I straighten in my seat and look from Esther to Karen, hoping they'll explain what's going on.

But Esther, more somber than I've ever seen her, is one hundred percent focused on the road. And Karen's eyes are still wide with fright as they repeatedly dart to the rearview mirror.

I want to comfort her, but I don't know what to say because I have no clue what's going on!

I turn around as the Buick races out of the Lyles' neighborhood and onto the highway, only a mile or so behind us.

This is insane.

Returning my attention to the girls, I lean forward, eyeing Mom's car phone. "We should call 9-1-1." I reach for the phone.

Karen nods. "Good idea."

"Nope. Terrible idea." Esther slaps my hand away.

"Why?" I glance at her. "What are we supposed to do? Try to get away from that...that thing ourselves?"

"Yep," Esther says, her blue eyes fixed on the road ahead. "These guys work with the cops, meaning we can't trust the police."

"These guys?" I repeat, wishing I understood even half of what she's talking about.

Esther glances in the rearview mirror, hangs a sharp right, and speeds through a red light. I grab the passenger seat's headrest, steadying myself while she careens in between honking cars.

"Jesus, Esther!" I shout. "This is my mom's car, be careful! And what guys are you talking about?"

She glances up at the mirror, her knuckles white as they grip the steering wheel. Instead of answering my question, she curses under her breath and says, "How is he still behind us?"

I turn around and Esther's right, the silver giant is about five cars behind us. Even if he doesn't catch us, I'm still going to die because, if we get out of this alive, Mom's going to kill me for skipping school and getting her car involved in a high speed chase that's probably going to end up on the twelve o'clock news.

I look at Karen. So pale that she's nearly white, she grips the door and turns to Esther. "I.T.I.S." Karen says, her voice a strangled whisper. "Is that who's following us?"

"What's I.T.I.S.?" I demand.

Esther glances at Karen, her eyebrows going up. "So you know? Your dad told you?" she asks, speeding up as she turns onto a street that will lead us to the freeway.

Karen's lips pressed together tightly, like she's barely repressing a scream. "No, he didn't tell me anything," she says, her voice low, "all I know is that my dad was forced into making serums for some place called I.T.I.S., and once he refused to make more, this giant started following us. Now the he's trying to kidnap me, so I'm assuming he's with I.T.I.S."

I stare at her, processing this.

So, some whacko who works for a place called I.T.I.S. is trying to kidnap Karen? Every inch of my body tensing, I say, "We're not going to let that happen."

Esther's gaze darts to the rearview mirror, and balling up her fist, she pushes it into the Lexus's console. I turn around to see what's caused this reaction. The Buick is just a few feet away and the silver giant thrusts his arm out of the window, revealing that he's holding a gun.

Fear coursing through me, I shout, "Gun! He has a gun!" I duck, reach forward and push Karen's head down. "Get down, he's going to shoot!"

"I'm with Karen and Roy's on our tail...yeah, the titanium guy," Esther says.

I glance up and Esther's holding her fist close to her mouth, the chunky ring on her finger just below her lips as she speaks. She must have pushed her fist into the console, not out of anger, but to activate a communication device in her ring.

I take another look at the ring...why does Esther have something like that? And who is she talking to? My thoughts are cut off as a popping sound erupts behind us and Mom's car is jolted sideways. My palm still at the back of Karen's head, I push her down further while the popping noise sounds a second time.

"Track me and meet us with Iris," Esther shouts, "we need an extraction now!"

The back windshield shatters behind me, and after nearly crapping my pants I lift my head to check on Karen. She's still ducking and appears uninjured, thank God.

"Nathaniel, keep your head down," Esther orders.

I do as told and the car jolts forward.

"I hate this guy so, so much," Esther shouts.

It sounds like she's flooring Mom's car, but we're still moving slowly and the tires feel like they're flopping instead of rolling along the highway.

"He must've shot the tires," I point out, no longer worrying about whether or not Mom's going to be pissed about her car. Now that some losers called I.T.I.S. have apparently sent a gun-wielding metallic giant to kidnap Karen, I think we all have bigger things to worry about.

"Yeah, and now he's pushing us," Esther grumbles. "This is why I hate Roy, he never gives up."

I glance at Karen as she lifts her head. "You gotta stay down." I urge, pushing her head down while our I.T.I.S. stalker, in turn, pushes his car into our bumper, this time much harder. My forehead makes contact with the back of the passenger seat and I wince.

"You okay, Nathaniel?" Karen asks, her voice muffled.

"Yeah." A strange rhythmic sound erupts above us, its noise overshadowing my reply.

"Noooo," Esther groans, "Mom, would you hurry up? They have a freaking chopper!"

"I.T.I.S. sent a helicopter after me?" Karen cries.

"Sort of...but no worries, everything's fine!" Esther yells, her tone convincing me of the exact opposite.

Mom's car swerves left and I look up to find that we're veering into a lane of oncoming traffic. A little white Honda darts out of our way, honking as Esther veers through approaching traffic, barely missing a blue station wagon and a brown minivan. I fall backwards in the seat where waiting shards of glass slice through my shirt, cutting the skin on my back.

"We're in the wrong lane!" Karen shouts, leaning over to grab the wheel.

"It's not me, I'm not doing it!" Esther cries.

"It's because of the tires," I say, sitting up. I turn around and get a glimpse of the large white helicopter following us. Its side door is open revealing some kind of machine-gun-looking equipment that's aimed our way. My mouth goes dry at the sight. This is a nightmare!

"Mom!" Esther shouts into her ring, "They've got a Super-Massive Luomnem device in the chopper. I'm really not in the mood to get my memory erased today, so could you please hurry up with the extraction?"

Roy, still in our right lane, speeds up, trying to get beside us.

I know what he's going to do. Once he's beside us, he's going to take the shot.

My heart in my throat, I say, "Esther, brakes, hit the brakes! Don't let him get beside us!"

Esther slams on the brakes, and we realize several seconds too late that my suggestion was a terrible one. Thanks to its two flattened tires, Mom's car spins out of control and swerves, headfirst towards a huge truck.

"Whatever you do, don't let go!" Esther orders as she slips out of her seatbelt and reaches for my and Karen's hands.

"What are you doing?" I shout, fear cresting in my chest, I brace for impact.

Mom's Lexus slams headfirst into the truck's grill just as Esther grabs my hand and the car's leather interior withers away, to be replaced by swirls of colors that twist and spin around us.

I can't move. My eyes dart left and right, but my neck refuses to acknowledge my command to let me turn and check on Karen. In the midst of the colors, sparkling particles float through the air. An intense floral scent bears down on my lungs, smothering me. I cough through my nose, being that I can't even get my lips to part. Burning sensations, not exactly painful, but...powerful, erupt throughout my body. Am I imagining this or is it really happening?

As one of the sparkling particles floats towards my eye, I try to close my eyes so the fleck won't get in, but I can't. The particle flies into my eye and all at once, blinding sunlight is heavy on my face. I blink, realizing that the sky is above me, nothing is behind me, and that I seem to be falling. The falling stops as pain shoots from the back of my head straight through my skull.

I hear myself groan and the world fades to black.

#

#

C-A-R-Y

My favorite name.

Now, my teacher talks but me listen? No!

I write C-A-R-Y G-R-A-N-T in diary again and again and again and-

My teacher, Ms. Wells, tap my shoulder.

I look up.

Ms. Wells so UGLY!!!

Brown hair, brown eyes- UGLY!

Now, Ms. Wells signs, "Please pay attention and stop writing in your diary."

I ignore and write, 'C-A-R-'

Ms. Wells put her hand on diary.

I bite her hand.

She try get away, but I bite more hard. Taste like salt!

Ms. Wells eyes cry, I stop biting.

My classmates staring.

"Everyone quiet, stay quiet and seated!" Ms.Wells shout and sign.

Her hand have blood. A lot...

Mama had blood too. A lot. Blood in her nose and blood in her hair.

Mama died...Ms. Wells die too?

"Come here!" Ms. Wells signs.

Ms. Wells crying.

I feel sad.

I sign. "I'm sorry."

"Well," Ms. Wells signs, "Sorry or not, you'll still need to come with me to the principal's-"

Classroom door opens, a tall man there. His hair pretty blonde, like me! But his eyes dark brown like Karen's.

Man walk to Ms. Well, they talk. Now tall man reach into his pocket, gets silver metal thing.

I look at tall man's face. His brown eyes change color, silver...and I remember him.

Yes, I know him!

I saw him a long time ago. He came my house. He had that silver thing, he hurt Mama.

He put silver thing in Mama's nose. After that, Mama always mean, she always sniffing white stuff and hitting me.

Now man push Ms. Wells against wall and puts silver thing in Ms. Wells nose.

Me scared.

Ms. Wells eyes big, her scared too. And then, her eyes close...she asleep.

Same happened to Mama. First asleep and then wake up mean.

Now blonde man look to me and smile.

I don't like him.

I soooo scared, I can't move!

He walk to all kids in class, put metal thing in their nose.

They all asleep!

Now, he walk to me and I run to door.

He grab my arm and turn me around.

He look different now. His skin silver, like pots and pans for cooking- silver skin!

Scary!!!

The shiny metal thing he put away. He reaches into pocket and gets needle.

Sticks needle in my arm.

I sleepy.

My eyes close...

#

#

I wake with a gasp, my thoughts immediately returning to the car accident. I sit up and look around, confused. This isn't my room. And I hear whispering, but I'm not sure where the noise is coming from.

The four walls around me are white and blue. Directly in front of me, a television with a VCR is mounted to the wall. It's off, so that can't be where the whispers are coming from. To my right is a worn blue couch beside a coffee table. Both pieces of furniture are a mess; covered by newspapers, a beige sports coat that I recognize as Dad's, candy bar wrappers, and a small aquarium filled with white flowers. To the right of the couch and coffee table is a dark wooden door with a lever handle.

Based on the clinical look of the room and the lingering smell of bleach in the air, I think I'm in a patient room at Peake General Hospital.

...I should check on her again to see if she's awake...This strange whisper slinks just above the other murmurs and as soon as it does, the room's door flies open. My dad steps in, wearing wrinkled khakis, a light blue shirt that's partially untucked, and his hair is all over his head.

"Karen!" He rushes to my side....thank God she's awake...

Confused by the whispers that are invading my thoughts, and the fact that Dad is kissing the top of my head, all I can do is gawk at him, speechless. I can't remember the last time my dad kissed me.

Holding my chin steady, he studies my face.

...eyes look good, but you never know, as soon as we get out of here she's going to need a complete visual examination...The whispers fill my head, refusing to leave. It's like I'm somehow hearing what Dad is thinking. But that's impossible. Maybe I'm losing my mind. Maybe this is what happened to Mom before she went off the deep end.

An eerie disjointed feeling slinking through me, I glance down at the light blue hospital gown I've got on, my gaze going from it to the IV needle that's been inserted into my left arm. It's attached to a nearby machine from which an incessant beeping noise is being emitted.

"How do you feel?" Dad asks.

I open my mouth to reply, but before I can answer, he holds up one of his fingers and moves it to his left, instructing, "Follow my finger with your eyes." I do as told and mumbling, "Good," Dad drops his hand. "Do you remember what happened yesterday?" he asks.

In my mind's eye I can still see the intruder, a tall guy with strange silver eyes, his grin revealing large yellowed teeth. The memory is vivid and as piercing as a gust of wind. It pricks at my skin, making me shiver.

"Are you chilled? Do you need another blanket?"

"No." Briefly closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and try to pull myself together. "There was a man who broke in, and...his skin, it...it..."

"It turned silver, yes." Dad holds my gaze, which is very unusual for him. A typical conversation with my father is like having a chat with someone who can't stand the sight of you. "We need to talk about why he broke in." Dad's voice is low and deliberate, as if he's choosing his words carefully.

"But the car accident," I blurt. "What about Nathaniel and Esther? Are they okay?"

Before Dad can answer, the door is opened by a bald guy clad in a long white lab coat. I assume, from the coat, that he's a doctor. He gives me a huge smile, his face brightening. "Look who's awake!"

Ignoring his exclamation, I return my attention to Dad. "Are Nathaniel and Esther okay?"

"When did she wake up?" Dr. Baldy asks.

"Right before you walked in," Dad replies.

The doctor heads my way, his hand extended, and Dad steps aside. "Karen, I'm Dr. Winters. I'll be taking care of you while you're here. Do you know why you're here?"

I look down at his hand while '...pupils appear normal, breathing is about right, slight pallor...' runs through my mind. But this isn't the only whisper that's invaded my thoughts.

The others- a steady stream of murmurs, all of them soft and following various monologues lurk in the recesses of my thoughts.

...this is all my fault, I should've never lied to Tessa...

...what do I want for lunch today? Pastrami or...

...I'm so glad he finally woke up...

And they go on, endlessly.

I glance around the room, looking for a radio or some other logical explanation for what's happening in my head, because I can't possibly be hearing other people's thoughts.

"Karen?" Dr. Winters and my father say in unison.

...she's already showing signs of an altered mental state. It may be an aggressive one...

Trying not to appear as freaked out as I feel, I shake the doctor's hand and say, "Car accident. I was in a car accident."

He nods. "Right, and-"

"Are my friends alright?" I look from Dad to Dr. Winters.

"Nathaniel's stable," Dr. Winters replies with that tone of restrained reassurance doctor's always use when relaying good news. "He had a rough go of it at first. But he's much better."

Relieved, I let out the breath I've been holding. "What about Esther?"

"Esther?" Dr. Winters arches an eyebrow.

"Yeah, she was driving," I explain, "she-"

"My daughter is, obviously, disoriented," Dad cuts in. "Would you let her rest for a few minutes, Dr. Winters?"

The doctor nods before taking an awkward step back.

...we need to get a biopsy of this kid's tumor as quickly as possible...

Tumor? A jolt of fear careens clear through me.

Dr. Winters wipes the worried expression from his face and shifts my chart from hand to hand as he gives Dad a smile. "Sure. I'll be back in about an hour to fill Karen in on, um, on her results."

"We understand," Dad says, moving to my bedside.

A tumor? Bewildered by what I'm hearing, I let my gaze drift to the aquarium on the couch. More than half of its flowers are gone. A small red and black bug, about the size of a beetle, munches away on the remaining plants, wiping them out with startling speed.

First of all, I can't actually be hearing other people's thoughts. And secondly, if I somehow am...what if I really do have a tumor?

Dr. Winters leaves the room, the door loudly closing behind him.

I take a shaky deep breath and Dad touches my shoulder. "Karen, Esther's fine, but no one else knows that she was in the car with you and Nathaniel."

"What do you mean? Why doesn't anyone know she was in the car with us?"

"The point is, Esther's safe. But there's something else we need to discuss." Dad's face is pinched.

"My tumor?" I ask, my voice cracking over the scary word.

He tilts his head and studying me, slowly asks, "How did you know about the tumor?"

"I heard Dr. Winters."

His expression relaxing, I hear, '...she must have been half awake when he discussed it with me...'

"You have nothing to worry about, the tumor is benign." Dad adjusts his glasses. "Of course Dr. Winters doesn't realize that yet, and he'll want a biopsy. But that's not going to happen."

"What do you mean, that's not going to happen?"

"Karen." Dad sets his hand on my shoulder, and unlike the unexpected kiss, this gesture is more dutiful than kind. It's like he's trying to steady me. Frowning, he continues, "By now you must know that your mother's death wasn't a suicide."

My left eye twitches. I look at his hand and try to shift my thoughts from my supposedly benign tumor to what Dad's saying. My gaze slides back to him. Pronounced bags underline his eyes and a thick layer of scruff covers his chin and jawline. He looks even more worn out now than he did at Mom's funeral.

"Are you..." I hesitate, "are you saying I.T.I.S. killed Mom?"

He retracts his hand and I realize I've startled him.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. So, you've already put the pieces together? You understand what's happening?"

"No. I still don't even know what I.T.I.S. is."

A ragged sigh escaping his lips, Dad looks down at the metal bedrail between us. "It's an organization I used to work for, a dangerous one. I thought that leaving and cutting all ties to them would keep us safe. But your mother was wiser, she knew we'd never be rid of I.T.I.S. That's why she left this for you and your sister." He turns to the jacket on the couch and, pushing it aside, reveals a VHS tape. I recognize Mom's handwriting on the label, "To Karen & Tessa." It's the same tape I saw in Dad's workroom.

"No matter what happened, she wanted to be the one to explain this to you," Dad says as he slides the tape into the VCR. "The tape's damaged, but you should be able to make out most of it."

My throat going dry, I turn my attention to the TV, and as Mom appears onscreen, my heart skips a beat. She looks so healthy.

Sitting on our living room couch and wearing a lime green tank top with dark blue jogging pants, her long blonde hair is pulled into a ponytail that sits directly on top of her head. She smiles into the camera and waves.

Tears fill my eyes, and I clasp my hands together in my lap, trying to get ahold of my emotions. Mom lifts her hands and signs, "If you're watching this, then I'm no longer with you, and your father may be gone as well."

I take a deep breath.

"The organization that took our lives is called, "The International Team of Investigatory Science" or "I.T.I.S." They claim to conduct research for the betterment of humanity, but their true goal is to change humanity. Take me for example."

I glance at Dad. His eyes glued to the television, he slowly crosses his arms. The intense longing in his expression is a little too weird for me, so I return my attention to the TV.

"...my Deafness," Mom signs, "is a part of who I am, it shapes my entire way of life, and I wouldn't want to be any other way. But I.T.I.S. would force me to change. They view Deafness, not as a culture, but as a weakness that marks a person as "damaged." You see, they use a plant called Louisiana Alyssum to develop formulas that supposedly cure people with genetic illnesses. These "illnesses" include hereditary hearing loss."

I bite down on my bottom lip, thinking back to the little spray can labeled, "Hearing" that I found in Dad's work room. I guess that's the cure I.T.I.S. wanted to use on Mom.

"But forcing someone who's Deaf to become hearing isn't the worst of what I.T.I.S. does. That's the tip of the iceberg." Mom's face grows grave and my stomach goes to knots. I twist her ring around on my finger, preparing myself for something awful.

"They target the parents of children with various disabilities and lure them into sending their children to I.T.I.S. headquarters, describing it as a 'lush island paradise.' That description is a lie." Mom's upper lip curls in disgust and her hands move faster as she signs, "I.T.I.S. headquarters are nothing more than an isolated island in a Louisiana swamp. The island is secluded because I.T.I.S. doesn't want the residents of the nearby town to know that they use children with disabilities as guinea pigs for their experiments."

I glance at Dad and his eyes are narrow slits, darkened in an anger that's tinged with something else ...maybe sadness. His Adam's apple moves up and down in his throat.

No, it's not sadness, it's guilt.

"You worked with these people?" I blurt.

"I had no idea what they were doing." Dad's reply is quick, almost automatic. "They lied to me, they-" He shakes his head and points to the television. "Just watch your mother, Karen."

"...I.T.I.S. is currently headed by a woman named Jayne Mire," Mom signs, "and her connections within countless government and economic systems give her the freedom to do as she pleases. Until now Dr. Mire's been unstoppable, but that's going to change." Mom leans forward, reaching for something off-camera. Upon straightening, she holds a small aquarium that's filled with tiny white flowers.

I glance at the identical aquarium on the couch near my bed. The flowers are gone and now the little red and black bug is pacing the aquarium's walls. I point to it. "Is that the same one?"

Dad puts a finger to his lips, hushing me. "Just watch."

I return my attention to Mom.

"Your father's discovered a surprisingly simple means of counteracting Dr. Mire's main resource, Louisiana Alyssum." Mom's eyes brighten as she sets the aquarium in her lap and points to the bug that's hanging out in its upper right hand corner. "This is a bagrada, a type of stink bug that has an appetite for the Alyssum plant. Unfortunately, it doesn't touch Louisiana Alyssum, which is a key ingredient in all of I.T.I.S.'s serums. But if your dad can genetically modify the bagrada so as to develop a voracious appetite for Louisiana Alyssum, we'll be able to get rid of the plant altogether and..." A burst of static shrouds the video in gray lines and indistinguishable high pitched sounds. The tape jumps and the image of Mom disappears.

A heavy void sinking down on me, I feel as blank as the blackness on the television screen.

"That's where the tape was ruined." Dad's voice is low as he states the obvious.

I try to ignore my feelings and with a glance at the bagrada in the aquarium, ask, "Why do you want to go through the trouble of creating a bug to eat the plants? Why didn't you just get people to create a poison to kill the plants ..." But my voice trails off at the sight of Dad. Now, he looks more than angry or guilty, it's like he's sick with worry.

"Because the plants are too strong." He takes off his glasses, brings his index finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose, and gives his nose a squeeze. "I.T.I.S. genetically alters the Louisiana Alyssum to withstand almost all known poisons."

... how do I tell Karen the rest of this? She's going to ask why I.T.I.S. killed her mother...

"Do you need to sit down, Dad?"

He doesn't seem to hear me. "Karen, listen. I want to explain some things your mother left out." He puts his glasses back on. "I knew Jayne well. We were childhood friends who'd lost touch. Then, the day after I graduated, she called out of the blue and asked me come to work for her. I accepted and became head of I.T.I.S. Research and Design. I led the creation of cures for all sorts of sicknesses and the invention of military-grade equipment."

There's a frown creeping into my expression and I know I should hide it, but I can't. Why on earth would anyone want my dad to head the creation of cures and military-grade equipment? He's book smart, but he's not Einstein smart.

"What, exactly, did you invent?" Even I can hear the skepticism drenching my every word.

"A host of innovations that were misused." He shakes his head. "For example, Jayne and I...Dr. Mire, that is, Dr. Mire and I created a memory-erasing serum called Luomnem."

"You're saying you made ..." I pause. "You made a memory-erasing serum?"

Dad's always tinkering away at various projects in his workroom, but I've never known him to successfully invent anything. I bet he supervised the memory-erasing serum project, and Dr. Mire was the one who was hands-on in the actual creation of the formula.

"Yes," Dad continues, "it was comprised, mostly, of Icem, an extraterrestrial substance that can be used to render memories temporarily inaccessible to any region of the brain other than the subconscious."

"W-wait a second," I stammer, "you said, 'extraterrestrial,' as in, it's not from earth?"

"I did." Dad waves this off like it's unimportant. "Anyway, based on the assumption that memories are to a mind as shoelaces are to a shoe, interlaced and coming together to form mental connections between experienced events and relating triggers, I created a machine to contain and work with the Luomnem."

I blink back at Dad, confused.

But unable to read my look of bewilderment, he continues, "The original version of the Luomnem was large and tubular, not dissimilar to an MRI machine. When a subject was placed inside, a technician would use radiograph equipment to target specific areas of the subject's brain where a memory was to, so to speak, 'be untied' and therefore rendered inaccessible to other regions of the brain. This way, the subject would only lose a specific memory."

"So," I slowly reply, "you and Dr. Mire created a huge memory erasing machine?"

"Yes." Dad adjusts his glasses, his scowl deepening. "We created it to treat veterans with severe Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. We believed that by disabling the soldier's access to memories of the inciting traumatic incident, we'd help them. " Dad's eyes glaze over with sadness, and uncomfortable, I push my palms together. I hate seeing him look like this. "But against my advice, Dr. Mire simplified the Luomnem and converted it into two aerosol forms. One is a Super Massive Luomnem machine and the other is handheld. Instead of deleting a specific memory, it unties or 'erases' up to twenty years of a subject's recall."

"So they can't remember anything from the past twenty years?"

"Precisely," Dad nods. "The Super Massive version is typically distributed via a helicopter. It's injected into the air, tainting it to ensure that anyone within a four mile radius is infected."

"Geez Louise." I murmur, my thoughts darting to the helicopter that showed up right before our car accident. Come to think of it, Esther even said it had one of those Super Massive Luomnem machines in it.

"The handheld version," Dad sighs, his expression darkening, "is disbursed via a small metal device that's inserted into a subject's nasal cavity. The man who was chasing you, Roy Hallowell, is an I.T.I.S. agent who specializes in administering handheld Luomnem. Three years ago he used it on your mother."

"What?" I unclasp my hands, a sort of internal earthquake shaking me from the inside out as I realize what he's said. "That man erased Mom's memories?"

Dad nods.

My mouth dry, I think back to Mom's abrupt change in personality when I started high school. It happened exactly three years ago, just like Dad said. All of a sudden, Mom claimed she didn't know who Tessa and I were, she was inexplicably addicted to drugs, and she even started hitting Tessa. So, Roy did all of that to her by erasing her memories? My breath becomes a cresting wave that's stuck in my chest and overwhelmed, I close my eyes.

"Karen?

I open my eyes and Dad's looking at me, his brown eyes softening in sympathy.

"I'm fine." I straighten my spine. "Right before the accident, I saw a helicopter and Esther said something about it having a Super Massive Luomnem. Did I.T.I.S. erase all of those people's memories?"

"Yes. Everyone who would have seen the accident and the helicopter have had their memories adjusted." Dad nods. "Unseen brought you and Nathaniel to the hospital-"

"But Esther, why isn't she here?" I cut in, a streak of guilt tearing through my stomach. "Why didn't Unseen bring Esther too? What if her memory's gone and..."

Dad offers me a weak smile. "Esther's fine, trust me."

My stomach turns. "But how? There's a Luomnem-carrying lunatic out there!" Dad's still smiling as, '...she was created for these kinds of things...' slips into my thoughts. "What do you mean she was created for these kinds of things?" I demand.

"I didn't say that out loud," Dad says, his grin vanishing.

"Yeah, okay. About that..." I hesitate, and Dad moves towards me.

"How did you know about your tumor, Karen?" Dad asks, "And how did you know what I was thinking just now?" Despite his question, the look on his face tells me he's already figured out what's going on.

"I'm hearing thoughts that aren't mine," I confess, "I heard Dr. Winters thinking about my tumor and I heard you thinking about Esther."

Dad's eyes shine, a crooked half-smile returning to his lips.

...of course! That makes perfect sense!...

"How does that make perfect sense?" I ask, "It doesn't make any sense to me."

"Look." He reaches into his pocket and retrieves the tiny aerosol can I'd lifted from the bottom desk drawer in his workroom. It's now warped and half-melted. "Karen, this explains your ability."

"How?"

Returning it to his pocket, he says, "It's a combination of a drug known as "Triphylamonal" and a carcinogen called "Lexilohr"."

I sigh. "I'm already confused."

Dad scratches his head and squints. "The Triphylamonal binds itself to a subject's DNA, changing it. In so doing, it endows the subject with seemingly 'supernatural' abilities, such as the ability to fly or to, at will, transform the body's cells into a liquid or a stronger solid. Take Roy, for example. He's got Triphylamonal attached to his DNA and it enables him to morph into titanium at will."

"He morphs into titanium at will?"

Dad nods. "It's really nothing more than a chemical reaction."

"Why does it give different people different abilities?" I ask.

"Good question. Triphylamonal is sensitive to countless features within the subject's DNA and body chemistry. To put it simply, since everyone has differing body chemistry, everyone's Trip-based abilities would be different. But anyhow, the other drug this," he says, tapping the small aerosol container, "contains, Lexilohr, typically causes tumors within a subject's body. But when forms of Triphylamonal and Lexilohr are combined, the result is a new substance that, upon inhalation, makes its way into the subject's DNA sequence and provides them with whatever missing body part, organ, or other physical deficiency the body requires replacement cells for."

"You're saying it makes people grow entire body parts?" I ask, stunned.

"Precisely. If, for example, you were missing a spleen, the Trip-Lex combination would enable you to grow a new spleen. The new spleen, however, would first emerge as a noncancerous tumor which would then develop into a spleen over time."

I think back to the accident. Everything happened so fast, but I definitely remember the aerosol can falling out of my pocket and going off, emitting a spray, just as Esther grabbed my hand. And when that weird time-stopping-while-colors-fill-the-air crap happened, I saw these sparkling things flying through the air and a lot of them flew into my nose, mouth, and eyes. What if those sparkly things were the Trip-Lex?

"So, the aerosol went off during the accident and that's what caused my tumor?" I ask.

Dad nods. "But you're fine, because the Trip-Lex tumors are always noncancerous, and like I said, they're designed to become whatever organ your body lacks."

"But I don't need any organs."

"That's the thing," Dad says, adjusting his glasses, "Dr. Mire and I designed Trip-Lex to correct your mother's auditory nerve damage. I thought she'd want to at least try being hearing."

"But Mom was still Deaf," I say. "So, it must not have worked."

"Your mother wouldn't even think of testing it." Dad takes a deep breath and makes his way to the VCR, ejecting the tape. "She was proud of who she was. She knew she didn't need to change. I was the one who lost sight of what really matters." Dad sets the tape on the sofa, tucking it under his jacket, and what he's just said about Mom hits me.

I take a deep breath, absorbing his words; my mother knew exactly who she was. She was proud of her identity. Am I ever going to be like that?

"Anyhow, Karen you proved that it would've worked," Dad says with a smile. "Of course, you don't have auditory nerve damage, so the aerosol affected you differently. The Triphylamonal bound itself to your cells and gave you an added ability in the way of a Lexilohr tumor. When the aerosol exploded, Esther must have opened a wormhole and the components of the aerosol followed you..."

...they're in here...

As this strange whisper, louder than the others, slinks into my ear, I turn to the door because it seemed to come from there. The door opens, interrupting Dad midsentence. A slender woman with short dark hair stands, planted in the doorway. She wears a starched lab coat over a navy blue pantsuit that fits her like a glove. Her gaunt, thin-lipped features are leveled by high cheekbones and startlingly dark, wideset eyes. I can't decide if she's exceptionally beautiful or just odd-looking.

... This can't be happening...

I glance at my dad and he's gone pale.

"Hello," the woman speaks in a low voice, something in the sound of it, familiar. But I don't know where I would've heard her before. I've never seen her in my life. "David," she offers Dad a nod before turning to me. "Karen."

Just behind her, Roy Hollowell ducks into the room and shuts the door behind him. At the sight of the giant, my pulse takes flight and I grab my bedrails.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Karen." The woman clasps her hands together and sets those dark eyes of her on me. "I'm Dr. Jayne Mire."

#

#

...he looks so much like his father. Gracias a Dios que es un hombre mas mejor que su padre....

"How are you feeling?" Mom asks. Her green scrubs are more wrinkled than I've ever seen them and her eyes are red with worry. She puts her wrist to my forehead, checking my temperature. Mom's usually pretty calm about my gymnastics injuries, but this is different. She's been crying, not in front of me of course, she rarely lets that happen. But I can tell she's been crying and that she's even more shaken up than I am.

"I'm okay," I lie, choosing not to worry her with the whispered voices I'm hearing or the pain in my ankle, "and I'm sorry about your car."

Mom frowns and tilts her head, giving me a long look. "Querido, it wasn't your fault, the drunk driver hit you."

... he carries so much guilt inside. All of it unnecessary, his father's fault...

I close my eyes and run a hand through my hair. I'd love to understand what's going on. Ever since I woke up, nothing's made sense. First of all, Mom thinks a drunk driver hit me and no one seems to realize that Esther was driving or that we were being chased. But what's even worse is that, as impossible as it seems, I'm pretty sure I'm hearing other people's thoughts!

"Sweetheart, tons of witnesses saw what happened. A drunk driver hit you, you're innocent," Mom says, and I open my eyes, looking at her.

... maybe we should order another scan, recheck, just to make sure his head injury isn't more severe than we thought. After all, there was that spot Dr. Winters said he'd like to recheck...

Ignoring Mom's whispered thoughts, I say, "So, no one saw a black Buick chasing us? And no one knows where Esther is?"

"Nathaniel." Mom's eye widen. "Why don't you get some rest? You've been through a lot and you're probably a little disoriented."

She looks so tense that I cave, nodding. "Okay, I am tired."

Mom plants a kiss on my cheek. "I'm so glad you're alright. I don't know what I'd do if..." Her eyes fill and averting her eyes, she blinks the tears away.

I take her hand and give her the best smile I can manage. "I'm fine. Everything's okay."

She returns my grin and laughs. "Sometimes I wish I could lock you in the house and never let you leave. Just to keep you safe."

"That's not weird at all."

She swats at me, missing on purpose. "One day, when you're a parent, you'll understand."

... he's right, I do sound crazy. But that's what love does, it makes you crazy. You'd do anything to keep the ones you love safe...

My thoughts revert to Karen. "Can I see Karen now?" I ask, hoping Mom's answer will be different from what it was a few minutes ago.

"You're both still recovering, querido. Give it some time. You'll see her soon." Mom ruffles my hair and smirks. "And when you do, I think it's high time you tell that girl you're in love with her."

Startled, I look at her in surprise.

... he must think I'm blind. I'm his mother, of course I notice the way he looks at Karen and the way he rolls his eyes at poor Julia...

"Yes, Nathaniel," she says with a chuckle, "I know your secret. Mothers always know their sons' secrets. We just pretend not to."

I groan and lie back against my pillow. "Jesus, Mom."

"Stop saying that." She half-heartedly taps at my wrist in what's supposed to be a slap. "Stop hiding your feelings from Karen. When you're in love and you try to hide it, that only makes it more obvious."

"I am going to tell her."

"Good." Mom nods approvingly. "If there's anything I know, it's that life is short and you never know when you won't have another chance to say what matters most. That's why you should always tell your beloved the truth about your feelings. Even if it embarrasses you, just say it. Because when the moment passes, it's gone forever and ..."

While Mom goes on to discuss life's fleeting nature, my thoughts drift back to the chase. That silver giant who was after Karen...what if it was him I saw in the cornfield that night? If this guy was freakish enough to start turning silver, then who's to say his eyes don't also glow in the dark? And who's to say that he's not still after Karen? My stomach turns, a burst of fear rolling through me.

"...love is the most beautiful thing about life, so if you think Karen's the one, then-"

"Mom!" I sit up, panicked. She looks at me in horror as I grab her hand. "I need to see Karen now. Where is she?"

"Oh, sweetheart." She grins. "I know you're excited, but I already told you, she needs her rest. You can talk to her later."

"Where is she? Just tell me. Please."

... so beautiful, the way he cares about her... Mom's face softens. "Right across the hall. I figured you'd want to be near each other, so I finagled it for you."

"Good, thanks." With this, I push down my bedrail and start to climb out of bed.

"Nathaniel!" Mom exclaims. "Really, you shouldn't-" She's interrupted by a loud knock on my door.

A slew of whispers come from the direction of the door, hurling themselves my way.

... broke up with me, left school, and went for a joyride with Karen? I don't get it...

... hope they get back together, such a nice boy...

... I bet boarding school is like a giant hospital. I hate hospitals...

I freeze and Mom starts to the door where a staccato of taps are followed by shouts from Julia's little brother, Seth.

"Nathaniel?" he calls in his high-pitched voice. "Ouch! Mom! I was just saying it loud so he can hear me!"

...maybe now after almost dying he'll realize that we're meant to be together...

"Great," I mumble, and wishing I were invisible, I shut my eyes as Mom opens the door.

"Hi, how are you?" Julia's mom, Mrs. Scardina says, her tone dripping in sympathy.

I lean back against my pillow, my eyes still closed. When I was little and Dad got mad, sometimes I'd close my eyes, thinking that if I didn't look at him, eventually, he'd go away.

Mom and Mrs. Scardina exchange pleasantries, and I listen as Mom explains that I'm resting. Meanwhile, Julia's thoughts are a steady background noise, desperately hopeful daggers that stab my conscience, reminding me that she deserves closure.

... maybe before he passed out I was the last person he thought of...

I'm not a kid, I can't close my eyes and hope my problems magically disappear. My left hand curling into a fist, I open my eyes.

Julia stands just in front of the window overlooking Peake General's parking lot, her mom and Seth beside her. The three of them face Mom as she explains that I shouldn't have visitors.

Seth glances at me and his eyebrows shoot up. "He's awake!"

With this declaration, everyone's eyes are on me and my face and neck flush with warmth.

"Nate!" Julia whispers, her smile trembling. Fresh tears make their escape to slide down her cheeks.

I lift my hand and wave. "Hey, everybody, thanks for coming."

Seth runs to my bedside. "Hey, Nathaniel!"

"How's it going, Seth?"

"Okay, but Julia's sad," he lowers his voice to a dramatic whisper. "She thought you died."

"Well, I'm definitely alive." I give him a smile and glance at Mom. She discreetly tilts her head toward the door, her eyebrows lifted in a question.

Clearing my throat, I raise my voice so everyone can hear me, "Would you all mind if I talk to Jules alone for a minute?"

My mom's surprised thoughts mirror the look on her face.

"Oh, of course we wouldn't mind, dear." Mrs. Scardina gives me a gigantic smile and ushers Seth to the door. "Come on, let's give them some privacy."

Mom narrows her eyes at me but doesn't say anything while she follows the two of them to the door.

"Bye, Nathaniel!" Seth shouts, waving while Mrs. Scardina pulls him along, "I won't see you for a while 'cause I gotta go to boarding school, so..."

"Seth, that's enough. Be polite and lower your voice," Mrs. Scardina hisses.

"Bye, buddy," I wave.

Mom gives me one last look and then closes the door behind the three of them. I turn to Julia and she's breathing hard as she blinks back the remaining tears in her eyes and then pushes her long hair over her shoulder.

"Nate, oh, my God, how are you? This is crazy! I was so scared! How do you feel?" The words tumble out of Julia's mouth almost as quickly as her whispered thoughts.

...Maybe the accident was a good thing; it'll be like one of those romantic comedies where the guy finally realizes that everything he wants has been right there all along...

I think I'm going to be sick. "I'm fine, thanks, Julia."

Grinning, she leans over the bedrail and wraps her arms around my neck, giving me a gentle hug. I try not to jerk away from her as she plants a lingering kiss on my lips and whispers, "You smell like flowers."

"Julia, I..." I glance down at my sheet, gathering my courage. This is it. No more backtracking or lying. "Thanks for coming, as a friend. It wouldn't be fair if to you if I didn't tell you that all I want to be is friends."

Julia blinks back at me, her expression frozen. The only sound in the room is a beeping noise coming from one of the machines at my right.

I clear my throat. "Um-"

"So this is really it," Julia's upper lip curls and she speaks quietly. "You really don't want to be with me?"

"I want you to be happy, and I want us to be friends." The words trip over my heart, which is somehow in my throat, and creep out of my mouth at a geriatric speed.

"Why, Nathaniel? Why can't you just tell me why?"

"I can." I take a deep breath. "Because I've liked Karen since the moment I met her and I still can't stop thinking about her."

"Karen?" Julia's face, falling, turns red and her blue eyes brim with fresh tears. She crosses her arms and glares at me from below an arched eyebrow. "Are you joking? You must be joking."

"I'm not." My voice shakes and I clear my throat. "I've always liked her, Jules. I'm sorry."

"Well, I'm sorry for you because..." Her bottom lip is quivering so much that she can barely speak. Several tears slide past it, continuing on to her chin. She averts her gaze, refusing to look at me as she says, "She'll never love you. She can't. She doesn't know how to love anyone. She's so ...God Nathaniel!" Shaking her head, Julia backs away from my bed. "You know what? I'm sorry for you, because you're going to be miserable with Karen."

"Julia, wait." I slide out of bed, forgetting about my injury. Pain shoots from my ankle up to my calf and I curse under my breath. Pain, I can deal with; but when it takes me by surprise, that's a different story.

"I know you're mad, but I do care about you," I call after her as she marches to the door. "And I don't want to end things like ..." Julia flounces out of the room and the slamming door cuts me off.

"...like this," I mutter.

In a matter of seconds, the door springs open and Mom darts into the room. "Nathaniel! What are you doing?" She hurries to my side and bullies me back into bed. "You're supposed to stay off of your feet."

I run my palm over my face. "Sorry."

Mom sighs, her mouth pinched the way it gets when she's annoyed. But as she tilts her head and studies me, there's no denying the empathy in her eyes. "Well, I'm glad you were honest with Julia. And I'd be lying if I said I'll miss seeing her around the house."

"She's a nice girl. I'm the one who broke her heart."

Mom gives me a long look. "You know, it might not feel like you did the right thing, but you did." With that, she runs a hand through my hair. "You were honest with someone you care about and that's always good thing, even when it doesn't feel like it. Now try and rest."

"But I need to check on Karen."

Mom smiles. "Relax. You'll see her soon."

I am tired and I can't help but lean back against my pillow. Even so, an ominous feeling sends chills down my arms. That silver giant's out there somewhere, on his way for Karen. I've got to get to her before he does.

#

#

Roy pushes Dad down on the couch and stands over him while Dr. Mire makes her way to the aquarium. Her thin brown hair, teased and high on top of her head, shakes with her every step.

Forget the question of this woman being extraordinarily beautiful. The beady-eyed wench is as odd-looking as some villainous witch in a fairy tale.

She picks up the aquarium and smiles. "My God, David, was this your plan? To infest my Alyssum with bagradae?"

I glance at Dad, praying he won't say anything to upset Dr. Crazy Pants. If she's murderous enough to send one of her agents to kill Mom and kidnap me, I can only guess what she'll do to a grown man.

... Dr. Mire called this guy a genius. He ought to know he can't overthrow I.T.I.S. with a few bugs... Roy thinks with a chuckle. I glare at him, wishing he didn't have his titanium ability. If he didn't, I could probably take him with one good blow to the back of his giant head.

Dad scowls at Dr. Mire. "Jayne, don't do this."

She bites down on the inside of her cheek, her eyes narrowing as she assesses my father.

...he hasn't changed at all... Her gaze, ever so slowly, moves down Dad's body, shamelessly checking him out. My stomach turns and I clench my fists. "These bagradae," she says, finally meeting Dad's eyes, "are a fluke."

Dad's scowl fades, the steel in his expression weakening even as he tenses. He looks as conflicted as I felt when I saw Nathaniel kiss Julia in the school parking lot. I unclench my fists, confused. Why is Dad looking at this psycho like that? There's no way he'd have actual feelings for her!

Dr. Mire drops the aquarium and it hits the floor, sending glass everywhere. My thoughts are similarly fragmented and I jump at the noise.

The small red and black bug waddles away from the mess as fast as it can, but it isn't fast enough. Dr. Mire steps on it and digs her heel into the floor, crushing the insect with unnecessary force. Her nostrils flaring, she pushes a strand of hair off of her forehead and returns her attention to Dad. "Your Autism Reversal serum on the other hand, wasn't a fluke. It was incredible, David. And if you hadn't run out on me, we could have used it to treat millions of people."

"Used it to treat millions?" Dad shakes his head and his scowl returns, as if whatever spell he'd temporarily come under has lifted. "That was never your plan, Jayne. You kidnapped children and used them as test subjects," he snaps. "Why wouldn't I have run away from an organization that did that?"

I bite down on my bottom lip, mentally willing Dad to stop yelling at the crazy murderer.

Dr. Mire's eyes widen. "If you'd trusted me enough to come to me and ask me why I ran tests on underage subjects," she retorts, her voice going up an octave, "I would've explained that I only did so because I found it easier to cultivate the minds of the young. All you had to do was ask, David! I was right there, waiting to explain everything, and I was ..."

She pauses, glancing up at the ceiling. Her eyes water and she gulps before taking a deep breath. "I was excited. I was going to show you how every aspect of my plan was for the good of humanity."

"And you would have had me killed for disagreeing with you." Dad averts his eyes to the floor, like he's forcing himself not to look at her as he says, "Your judgment was flawed; it still is. Everything you've done is revolting."

"You call it revolting," Dr. Mire says, the sadness in her eyes shriveling and morphing into pain as she takes a step towards him, "and I call it progress because I'm not a coward. You're afraid, David. That's all this is, that's all it's ever been, you being afraid."

I wince, the familiarity of what she's saying hitting me with severe déjà vu.

Why does this sound so familiar? As Dr. Mire stands over my dad, her eyes narrowed and an icy rage taking hold of her every feature, my thoughts revert to my last conversation with Nathaniel.

I called him a coward ...I said nearly the exact same thing to him. My heart sinks even as I sit up straighter, mentally preparing myself to knock this stick thin psychopath out if she so much as touches my father. Not that Roy's going to sit by and let me do that, but I have to do something. I can't just watch Dr. Crazy Pants hurt Dad.

"You've always been afraid of change, and that wife of yours made you even more of a coward." Dr. Mire's upper lip curls. "What kind of an imbecile wants to stay deaf?"

"Do not talk about my wife!" Dad shouts, his face contorting with rage. Roy inches forward, eyeing Dad.

My heart pounding, I hiss, "Dad, calm down!"

Dr. Mire glances at me like she's just remembered my presence.

"Yes, listen to your daughter and calm down." Dr. Mire says, "You know why I'm here, David. I need your formula."

"You've killed my friends, kidnapped my child, and murdered my wife." Dad's voice shakes. "Why would I give you anything?"

Dr. Mire exhales slowly, her eyes not leaving Dad's as she leans towards him. Their gazes lock, as if an imaginary line connects the two of them.

Dr. Mire's sharp features soften, a shadow of sadness falling over them and a silent alarm goes off in my mind. I panic, looking from Dr. Mire to my father. The way she's acting and what I hear her thinking ...it's like they were definitely more than friends.

"Dad ...?" I start, not sure what I'm going to say.

"David," Dr. Mire speaks quietly, staring into Dad's eyes, "you know that the only reason you're still alive is because I -"

"Need the formula, I know." Dad glances at me, his left eye twitching, the way mine does when I'm stressed out. "But, Jayne, think about it. My youngest daughter has autism. If I still had the formula, wouldn't I have used it to treat her?"

Dr. Mire chuckles and shakes her head. "I know you still have it. Just give it to me. That's all I'm asking."

"I told you, I don't have it."

Annoyance taking hold of her expression, she takes a step back, shattered glass crunching beneath her feet. "You and I are the same in that we love our research and we protect it with our lives. I know for a fact that the Autism Reversal formula is the most important project you've ever devoted yourself to, which means you still have -"

"I love my family." Dad cuts in. "They're my most important project and I won't help the woman who's murdered my wife and kidnapped my children!"

Dr. Mire lifts her chin, glaring down at Dad.

"And even if I had the serum, I wouldn't give it to you," he goes on.

My heart pounding, I look from Dad to Dr. Mire. She turns to Roy. "Prepare the sedative."

"Sedative?" I whisper.

"Yes, ma'am." Roy cheerfully agrees, retrieving a slender object from his pocket.

Dr. Mire pulls a small cellular phone from her lab coat, quickly dialing a number. She offers Dad a fleeting glance and says, "As you know, I have your youngest daughter."

Terror turns my stomach. I hadn't even considered the possibility of Roy going after Tessa, but I should have known! Hot tears sting my eyes. "Don't hurt my sister, she's just a kid," I exclaim.

"I don't want to hurt her," Dr. Mire says, bringing the phone to her ear. "That's why I'm offering your father one last chance to give me what I need."

Dad's visibly trembling, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

"Give me the formula," Dr. Mire continues, "and all I'll do is inject Tessa to ensure it's functioning, then I'll let her go. But refuse me again, and I won't hesitate to toy with Tessa's DNA, using a formula of my own."

Dad lunges for Dr. Mire.

"Dad, don't!" I shout.

Dr. Mire moves out of reach and speaks two words into her phone, "Initiate Tessa." With that, she hangs up.

Roy grabs Dad's arm, shoves him backwards and plunges a needle into his neck.

"No!" I cry, phantom pain stinging my own neck as I attempt to hop over my bed's railing and completely lose my balance. My IV dislodges from my arm and I tumble into Dr. Mire, accidently pushing her into the nearby coffee table, which tips over and falls. Glass cutting into the bottoms of my feet, I regain my balance and turn to Dad. His eyes are closed and he's slumped against the couch.

My heart sinking, I start for him, but Dr. Mire grabs my arm. I push her as hard as I can and she stumbles backwards, her stupid teased hair shaking as she rights herself and hisses, "Roy, handle this!"

"What did you do to my sister?" I demand. I start to shove Dr. Mire a second time, but Roy wraps his cold hands around mine, stopping me. I kick him and this does nothing except hurt my foot.

"Tessa's fine." Dr. Mire reaches into the pocket of her lab coat. My foot aching, I glare at her and the rage I'd felt when Esther tripped my sister begins to resurface in my veins. "And she'd have been even better if your father had provided me with his formula."

I stop struggling as Roy holds both of my hands in a death grip, forcing me to face Dr. Mire. She retrieves a needle and syringe from her pocket. My mouth going dry, I eye the needle.

"My dad said he doesn't have the formula, so he doesn't," I say, "unlike you, he doesn't lie."

Dr. Mire arches an eyebrow.

...it's amazing how very little children know about their own parents...

"I must say," Dr. Mire quietly replies, "I'm surprised by your naiveté, Karen."

"Why do you want to hurt my sister? She's a kid. What good is it going to do to hurt a kid?" I ask, my eyes going to the needle as she uncaps it.

"Once again, I'm not hurting her," Dr. Mire says. She lowers the needle, her thin lips pressed together as she studies me. "I'm helping her in a way your parents never would. I'm no monster, Karen. I'm a pioneer in my willingness to go to great lengths for equality."

"What?" I blink back at the crazy woman, my heart beating wildly. "How does experimenting on kids have anything to do with equality?"

"People like your sister, and people like..." Dr. Mire's voice trails off as she observes me with her beady dark eyes. It's like she's trying to memorize my face or something and all I can do is return her stare. Finally, she says, "People like your parents and your sister are treated as less than human, our society perpetuates the belief that their genetic makeup makes them less deserving of freedom. I don't agree, and I want to give people like Tessa Jr. the freedom they deserve." Dr. Mire's eyes are still all over me, watching for some kind of reaction.

... is she anything like me...?

The question slips from her mind to mine as she moves towards me with the needle. My knees begin to quake and I take a deep breath. "You could give my sister freedom by letting her go."

"Letting her go back to what?" Dr. Mire tilts her head. "Back to a family that treats her as incapable of making her own decisions? Back to a school where she's made fun of? Back to an identity-less life in which she's ignored and ignorant of her own potential? Don't you want more than that for your sister?"

My breath hitches in my chest. I hate that what Dr. Mire's saying is beginning to make sense. "What would you do to change all of that?" I whisper.

Dr. Mire frowns. "Didn't your father ever mention the effects of his formula?"

"No. And this formula you keep saying he made," I nervously reply, "my dad's not some great scientist. So, even if he came up with something, it might not work. Did you ever think maybe that's why he won't give it to you?" Dr. Mire laughs like I've said the funniest thing in the world.

"You know nothing about your own father." She touches my cheek and the gesture is unexpectedly gentle, but I flinch. She withdraws her hand. "You also know very little about yourself. But that'll change." She lifts the needle and I try to back up, but Roy tightens his grip on my arms and, stuck in place, I can barely move.

What do I do? My blood running cold with fright, I scream as loud as I can, "Someone help! Help!"

"Good God, I'm not going to hurt you," Dr. Mire says. "This is only a sedative."

I bend my knee and lift it, hitting the heel of her hand with my knee cap. The needle tumbles from her grasp and clatters to the floor. Before I can blink, Roy slams me onto the couch beside Dad. The wind knocked out of me, I lift my head as Dad slumps towards me. Roy pins me in place, the fallen sedative in his free hand.

"Don't worry," he says with a condescending smile, "this'll only sting for a second, then lights out, no harm done."

I cringe. Well, this is going to suck.

#

#

I wake up, crud in my eyes. But I can't wipe my eyes because my hands and legs are stuck.

That's so bad!

I blink the crud out and it falls down my cheeks. Above me, I see an ugly ceiling. It's dirty and cracked. My heart starts to beat fast because I'm not in my room. Where am I? I try to look around at the strange room, but my head only moves a little, it's stuck!

It feels like a belt is tied around my forehead, nearly pinning me to this cold table. But why? Belts are for pants, not foreheads. This is so stupid.

I try to lift my hands and legs so I can get off of the table, but they're under belts too, smaller ones.

My heart pounding and my underarms sweating, I open my mouth and breathe hard like a dog. I think it's called ...what's the word? Shirting? No, it's panting.

Still panting, I look at my right arm and a fat needle is sticking out of it. The needle is attached to a thick plastic string that is very long. My eyes follow the long string to where it meets with a machine that has a blinking green light and a small bag which is full of brown liquid that looks like Dr. Pepper.

I look at the fat needle again and tears fill my eyes.

This is so bad!

I close my eyes and scream.

I want my Daddy and I don't want to be here! I don't even know where "here" is!

A tap on my shoulder sends my eyes open.

A blonde woman with bright blue eyes is looking down at me. She's pretty, like me.

She smiles and opens her mouth, talking.

I blink back at her.

Is she nice? I don't know...she is pretty, so maybe that means she's nice? I don't know.

She steps away from the table I'm belted to and returns with a miniature white board, like the big one my teacher uses at school.

The blonde lady uses a marker to write on the board. Once she's done writing, she turns the board to me and smiles as she points to it.

I read the words: "My name is Claire Hawke and I am going to help you. You have autism and I want to take it away."

Confused, I watch Claire erase the words and write new ones.

She writes very fast. She must be smart.

Claire turns the board my way and points to her writing.

"Your brain has many parts and all of the parts must talk to each other. But autism builds invisible gates in your brain that stop the different parts from talking to each other. This is bad. So we are giving you a special medicine to remove the gates. Soon, you will not have autism. The medicine is already beginning to help you."

These sentences don't make sense. How do I have gates in my brain?

Frowning, I return my attention to Claire. She's still smiling.

She sets the white board down near my right leg and I imagine kicking her.

This makes me smile.

At the sight of my smile, Claire's widens. She opens her mouth and begins to talk as she points to the fat needle in my arm.

I imagine removing the needle from my arm and sticking it in Claire's arm.

How would she like that?

I grin as she turns to the needle and begins to poke at it, doing something.

She's so close that I can smell her lotion, it smells like baby butts. I hate babies. Except for me when I was a baby. I've seen pictures of me when I was a baby and I was so pretty. I bet I didn't smell like a baby butt.

Claire leans even closer to me while she frowns in concentration, adjusting the needle. As she moves her other hand to rest on my shoulder, I inch forward, as far as my head belt allows, and bite her wrist.

She jumps back, her eyes widening as she looks from me to her bleeding hand.

I smile.

#

#

"...someone help! Help!"

That sounds like Karen.

I push down the railing and stumble out of bed. The linoleum is cold beneath my feet as I sprint to the door and pain radiates from my left ankle into the base of my leg. Wincing, I open the door and step into the hall. "Hey," I shout into the empty hallway, "the girl across the hall needs help!"

But oddly enough, the hallway is empty, with no nurses, doctors, or medical assistants in sight. When is a hospital corridor ever this empty?!

Frustrated, I hurry to Karen's room and try her door. It's locked. I take a step back and assess the door. Can I kick this thing in? I might not be able to, it looks pretty solid...

A crashing noise sounds from the other side and I lift my good leg, kicking the door just beneath the lock. It weakens, but doesn't open.

"Hey!" someone behind me shouts. "What do you think you're doing?"

The voice belongs to a nurse, an older lady who I recognize as one of Mom's friends.

"Someone's hurting the girl in here," I quickly explain, "can you call Security?"

Beyond the closed door, some of the soft whispers that have been filling my thoughts begin to grow louder.

...eventually, she'll understand what I'm doing...

...gotta give this kid props for trying to fight back...

...well, this is going to suck...

I kick the door as hard as I can and it flies opens.

"You can't just break down the door!" Mom's friend shouts from behind me.

Ignoring her, I run into the room and abruptly stop in my tracks. Just in front of me is a tall, thin brunette. She's about Mom's age and she wears an intense scowl that's aimed in my direction. To my left, the silver giant has Karen pinned to the sofa and he's holding a fat syringe just above her left arm. Beside Karen, her dad is slumped over, his eyes closed.

My heart in my throat, I start for the silver giant. "Get away from her," I warn.

"I suggest," the brunette hisses, "that you get away from us. Unless you have a death wish."

Karen struggles to get out of the silver giant's grip while he readies his syringe, swiftly bringing its needle towards her skin. A toppled coffee table sits in front of me and I kick it towards them. It skids forward, crashing into the giant's left leg and then breaking to pieces as if it's been thrown against a titanium wall.

He glances at the broken table and chuckles. "Bet ya didn't expect that," he says, the needle he holds poised an inch or so above Karen's skin.

He's right, I didn't. A wave of fear washes over me.

"Sedate Karen and then take care of the boy," the brunette orders.

"No!" Karen shrieks and, panicked, I meet her eyes. She looks at me and disappears. Like, she literally disappears.

Breaking into a cold sweat, I blink into the space that she, only seconds ago, occupied.

The look on the giant's face mirrors my confusion as he turns from the couch to the brunette and asks, "What just happened?"

"Esther," the brunette snaps. "Esther happened."

Freaked out, I take a step back and a warm hand slips into mine. Before I can react, a familiar voice whispers in my ear, "Don't let go."

"Esther?!" I exclaim, realizing what's happening.

Her name has barely left my lips when an array of swirling colors replace the hospital room. Instantly paralyzed and glued to Esther's hand, all I can do is stare into the mass of colors. The shimmering, diamond-like anomalies I saw the first time this happened are nowhere to be seen. In seconds, the colors vanish and reality reappears with startling abruptness. The hospital corridor surrounds us, its bright linoleum floors and patient rooms lining the hallway to our left and right. Most importantly, Karen's beside me.

I take in the sight of her and my thoughts come to a standstill. She's pale and her dark hair is as askew as her hospital gown. A large purple bruise mars her right cheek. Other than it, she looks uninjured. "You okay?" I push her bangs away from her face and take a closer look at the bruise. It's pretty bad, it had to have hurt.

"Yeah." Breathing hard, she turns around. "But my dad's still in there."

"She's right there, get her!" A female voice shouts.

We turn around and the brunette is a few yards behind us, her silver henchman beside her. The brunette shoves the giant forward, ordering, "Don't just stand there, Roy. Get her!"

"We need to go, like, yesterday," Esther says, positioning herself between Karen and me as she grabs our hands. "Run!"

I do as told, my foot throbbing. We pass hospital staff who stare at us in shock, some of them calling after us to stop and I point out, "I still have no idea what's going on."

"That woman back there, Jayne Mire? Well, she's basically the devil," Esther says. "She killed my parents. I'll fill you in on the rest of her resume when we're not running for our lives."

"She killed your parents?" Karen and I say in unison.

I glance at Esther. Her eyes are steely and her mouth is set in a grimace.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know your parents were-" Before I can finish my sentence, Esther's shouting, "Hold on!" and tightening her grip on my hand.

The hallway is transformed into a blur of colors and once again, I'm paralyzed. But it doesn't last long. In an instant, reality resumes its position with a nurse's station just ahead on our right and the elevators to our left. I recognize our location and take a closer look at the nurse's station, searching for my mom. I spot her behind the desk, peering into one of the computers.

"Stop those kids!" A voice shouts from behind us. The noise jarring her, Mom looks up and catches my eye. She freezes, horror taking hold of her features. "Nathaniel? What's going on?"

My stomach turns as I shout, "We're fine, don't worry. Everything's fine."

Well, that was a huge lie. We're being chased by some kind of mutant and a woman who Esther just described as the devil. I'm pretty sure that's the exact opposite of everything being fine. Also, my foot is getting worse.

Attempting to ignore the pain and the sound of my mom's voice as she calls after me, I try to focus on running faster. But I can't. Guilt swims in my stomach, making me feel like I've just eaten bad yogurt. Mom must be scared out of her mind and here I am, just leaving her...

"Don't feel bad, Nathaniel," Esther says. "If your mom understood what was going on, she'd want you to keep running. Hold on again."

Esther transports us further down the hall and once I've regained my bearings, I steal a quick peek at Karen. She's frowning down at her arm.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Yeah," Karen says, "it's just this bug, a bagrada. I thought it was dead, but it's not and it's like, stuck to my sleeve."

Esther comes to an abrupt halt, releases my hand, and grabs Karen's arm.

"Ow!" Karen's cries, her eyes flashing anger. "What are you doing?!"

Esther flicks the small red and black bug from the sleeve of Karen's hospital gown. The insect lands on the floor and Esther points to it. "If that had bitten me, we'd all be dead. The bagradae cannot ever touch anyone with abilities. Do you understand me?"

"No," I immediately reply, confused.

Karen glances at me before meeting Esther's eyes and nodding gravely. "Yeah, I get it."

"Uh." I shift my weight to my stronger foot. "When you say 'abilities,' do you mean..."

Behind us, a high pitched scream is followed by a crashing sound.

"And that's our cue to stop chatting and leave," Esther says. With that, she grasps our hands and paralyzes us several times in a row, one right after the other.

Before I know it, we're on the hospital's top floor, where the executive offices are located.

The carpeted floor beneath our feet begins to shake and the room is filled with the metallic rattle of a loud drill.

"What's that?" Karen asks, a note of hysteria in her voice.

"That'd be ol Titanium Butt trying to make a dramatic entrance," Esther mutters. She reaffirms her grip on my hand and says, "Once again, hold on."

But this time we aren't transported anywhere. Instead, a crash erupts directly below us and a silver hand bursts through the floor. The hand grabs Esther's right ankle and a string of curses leave Esther's lips.

"What's going on out here?" Some guy in a suit emerges from one of the offices and stops in his tracks. His gaze goes from the three of us to the metallic grip that Esther's struggling to free herself from. His eyes widening, he screams and backs away.

I'm no better, in the midst of the chaos, I freeze.

...this is insane. From the silver hand that just tore through the floor beneath us to the fact that Esther's been transporting us through thin air- nothing that's happening makes sense! How is any of this even happening?

The rhythmic puncturing noise intensifies, and just behind Esther, a large silver drill crashes up through the floor, sending bits of carpet, wood, and flooring everywhere. This snaps me out of my frozen state.

"Run! Get out of here," Esther orders, waving us away. "Hurry!"

"No way are we leaving you with that ...thing." I release Karen's hand and crouch beside Esther's trapped ankle.

"No, Nathaniel," she cries, her eyes widening in panic, "just get Karen out of here, don't worry about me."

"We're not going anywhere without you," Karen says as I attempt to pry the thick metallic fingers from Esther's ankle.

This guy, whatever he is, he's strong. It's taking forever to move just a few of his fingers. Groaning, I pry harder and yank three of his fingers from her ankle. The drill that's burst through the floor morphs into a second large, silver hand. I gulp at the sight of it, realizing that it's not actually a drill, it's the giant. He's somehow changing parts of his body into...well, into drills.

The second metallic hand grips the floor as more crashing noises sound below us. I bend his pinkie all the way back just as his silver head emerges from the floor.

By now, everyone on the hallway has come out of their offices to see what's happening. Screams surround us as the gleaming metallic giant releases Esther's ankle and crashes up from the floor, leaving a gaping hole behind him.

Esther falls and I yank her back to her feet. The seven foot tall giant is now completely silver, from the irises of his eyes to the gleaming gray that tints every strand of his long hair. He even smells like metal. This is so impossible...I mean, I'm seeing it with my own eyes, and I still don't believe it's happening. I back away from the giant and his gaze goes from me to Karen. He starts for her and Esther vanishes before reappearing on his back. She wraps her arms around his neck and tries to choke him.

He flicks Esther away like she's nothing more than a gnat and she crashes to the floor with a groan. Now that she's out of his way, the giant's attention returns to Karen, who's tripping over her feet as she backs away from him. Everything's happening so fast ... I know I should do something, but what?

The giant grabs Karen's right arm and my heart sinks into my stomach. Without thinking, I run towards him and leap onto his back. I wrap my right arm around his neck and once his chin meets the crook of my arm, I squeeze.

This close to him, I can really smell the metal.

He tries to flick me away, like he did to Esther, but I maintain my position. Tightening my chokehold until I'm trembling, the giant twitches under my clutch, a gurgling sound emerging from his throat. But he's still got a firm hold on Karen's arm.

...this kid's going to kill me...

"Let her go and I'll let you go," I say, a bead of sweat rolling down my forehead and getting in my eye.

The silver guy releases Karen and she stumbles away. A second wind washing over me, I tighten my chokehold. I want to finish him off, no, I need to finish him off. It's the right thing to do. Guys like him are all the same. They hurt people just because they can. They deserve to die.

The giant's entire body begins to tremble, his twitching worsening. His scattered thoughts build and then crescendo like some kind of sick melody in my head. Through every turn of their dying song, I'm sorry, is a repeated whisper, a pattern in his thoughts.

Guilt overtaking me, I release Roy and the wheezing man falls to his knees while firetrucks and police sirens sound in the distance. Just beyond his collapsing form, Karen stares at me, her eyes wide.

A flashback to the way I used to watch Dad, utterly petrified and unable to look away, pushes its way into my thoughts and a shock of chills consume my arms. Shaking off the memory, I back away from Roy.

His skin is changing, the metallic glint fading, as a more human tone emerges. He's still weakened, slouching as he tries to catch his breath.

I offer Karen my hand and nod to Roy. "You might want to get away from him. Just in case."

Hurrying to me, she grabs my hand. "Geez Nathaniel," she says, speaking so softly that I can barely hear her, "how strong are you, exactly?"

I glance at her, and her face flushed, she averts her eyes like she's embarrassed.... we're running for our lives and I'm gawking at Nathaniel's biceps. What's wrong with me?...

My guilt lessens and a smile creeps into my expression. If we weren't completely surrounded by violence and destruction, I swear I'd kiss her right now.

"Hi, Roy." At the sound of Esther's voice, we turn to her and she holds a piece of broken flooring containing the red and black bug she and Karen call a bagrada. Still wheezing, the giant crouches as he holds his chest. Esther pushes the bug into one of his ears. "Bye, Roy." With that, Esther disappears and reappears at Karen's side.

The man's eyes widen and his ear turns bright red. He screams as his skin morphs from pale to luminescent silver. I squint at the extreme brightness and tighten my grip on Karen's hand. The giant's tortured thoughts flood mine in a torrent of whispers and I can't help but feel sorry for him.

"What's the bug doing to him?" I ask, horrified.

"Turning his own DNA against him; he's poisoning himself," Esther says. She positions herself between Karen and me, forcing our hands apart as she grabs hold of them. "Let's get out of here."

"What about my dad?" Karen yanks her hand out of Esther's. "We can't leave him here."

In the distance, the noisy rhythm of a helicopter begins to overshadow the firetrucks and police sirens. I turn my attention to the end of the hallway where a large picture window reveals the source of the sound; a helicopter that seems to be headed straight for us.

I point to it. "Um, you guys there's a..." A blurred figure darts into my line of vision and my voice trails off. The anomaly appears and disappears so quickly that I look around in confusion, doubting what I think I've seen. Just then, a voice whispers, "The roof, Esther, get them to the roof."

"What was..." Karen's eyes widen. "Wait, was that Unseen?!"

Esther grabs her hand. "Yeah. And don't let go of my hand again, we're leaving."

My heart hammering in my chest and my palms growing sweaty, I turn to the helicopter that's still headed straight for us. The few remaining office workers who've been too shell-shocked to run away screaming are now swarming to the stairwell and elevators.

'What kind of nightmare have I gotten myself into?' I wonder as the helicopter disappears and a swarm of colors fill my vision.

#

#

I run my tongue across the front of my teeth, still tasting salty remnants of blood from Claire's hand.

It's been several hours, and now that I've had time to process her explanation of what's happening to me, I understand what she's doing. But why is the question. Why did that man with silver skin break into my school, injure my teacher, the students in my class, and then kidnap me? I'm sure there are thousands, if not millions of other children with autism who he could have taken. So, why me?

I turn my attention to the door as it's opened by a stranger. She's tall and thin with short dark hair; she wears a wrinkled white lab coat over a navy blue suit, and there's something familiar about her eyes. I study her, my curiosity piqued. Where have I seen this woman before?

She opens her mouth, begins to speak, and as always, my gaze darts to her lips. But this time, something shocking happens.

Chills consuming my arms, I stare at the stranger's mouth in amazement. Though I can't hear her words, I somehow understand everything she's saying. Her lip movement's form words!

"...my name is Dr. Jayne Mire. I've been too busy to speak with you until now. And I'm sorry that you found my assistant, Claire, so unpleasant. Clearly, our attempt at an Autism Reversal serum hasn't left you as docile as we'd anticipated."

The woman speaks without a trace of a smile and her dark eyes are cold as they drift to the IV in my arm. "You must have many questions. And one fact that may answer at least some of your questions is that your father is the reason you're here."

My stomach turns. My father is the reason I'm here? Daddy, like most hearing people, is sad and eternally distracted. Still, in spite of his being almost hearing, he isn't cruel enough to have me sent to a place like this...is he?

"So if you want to lash out at someone, Claire is not the optimal target." Dr. Mire leans towards me as she says, "Your father is."

I shiver. This lady, with her penetrating eyes and unsmiling face, is even scarier than the silver-skinned giant who came to my classroom.

"Your father had a choice. He had to choose between protecting his work and protecting you. He chose his work." Dr. Mire pauses to let her words deliver their blows. I shift on this table that's supposed to be a bed, my stomach filling with the most painful hollowness. It's the same empty feeling that overtook me when I saw Mom on the floor. Like the whole world stopped, inside and outside of me...everything just stopped.

"You're here because your father didn't love you enough to save you," Dr. Mire says, her narrowed eyes going to my hair. "But I'm going to save you, Tessa. The serum Claire and I have made is more than a mere attempt at a replica of your father's Autism Reversal formula, I've added to it. If successful, it will not only free you from the effects of autism, but you'll be stronger, smarter, and transformed into our planet's most powerful solider."

My emotions still smarting from the sting of abandonment, I blink back at Dr. Mire, processing her words. I'll be smarter? My heart skips a beat. She's saying I'll be like everyone else, maybe even better than everyone else.

I open my mouth and attempt a word that now makes more sense than it did the last time I brought my index finger to my mouth and signed it. "Hearing?" I ask.

"Yes, eventually." Dr. Mire nods. "This serum contains a combination of DNA-altering drugs called Triphylamonal and Lexilohr, and should they work as theorized, there is the possibility of your regaining a percentage of your hearing. Based on your vocalization, it seems you're already experiencing the serum's positive effects..."

She hesitates while my head spins with dizzying euphoria. I'll be hearing?

"Standing here and looking at you is almost surreal..." Dr. Mire says, but I'm barely paying any attention to her at this point.

Hope shuttles through me, finding its way to my eyes in the form of tears. I blink them away, not wanting to cry in front of Dr. Mire. But it's impossible to completely restrain my feelings and a tear escapes, crawling down one of my cheeks. If I'm hearing no one will be able to laugh at me or tell me what to do. Everything will be different. Dad will find me worthy of his love and even Karen will respect me.

My hope refusing to be squelched, I grin uncontrollably as I return my attention to Dr. Mire. My grin wavers at the sight of the darkness that's fallen over her features.

"You look just like her," Dr. Mire says, her thin lips forming a straight line as she backs away from the table.

Curious, I follow her with my eyes. Who's she talking about?

Dr. Mire looks up and holds out her hand. "Claire, I'll do it, give it to me."

I follow her gaze to Claire, who I hadn't even realized had returned. She now wears a skin-colored bandage on her hand.

"Yes, ma'am." Claire agrees, obviously nervous as she passes a syringe to Dr. Mire.

Now that I'm truly studying Claire Hawke's face and mannerisms, it's clear that she's as out-of-place as I felt when I woke up on this table; it's as though Claire doesn't want to be here. Actually, she doesn't look much older than my sister. Is she a teenager? And how did I not notice this before?

My observations come to a screeching halt as I catch sight of the fat needle within the syringe Claire's placed in Dr. Mire's palm. Shifting in my bounds, I say, "No!"

Dr. Mire glances at me. "I'm giving you hearing, intelligence, and a life. In return, you'll do as I say. To ensure your obedience, I'm going to track your movements and location, which is what this injection will allow me to do. This will hurt, so you'll need to be strong until it's over."

I glance at Claire. She bites down on her lip and sets her bandaged hand over mine, a kind gesture that does little to alleviate my agitation.

I strain to get out of the straps that hold my wrists and ankles at bay. I don't want that needle in me! Dr. Mire uses an alcohol prep pad to wipe a small section of my hip and tears return to my eyes. This time it isn't hope that's incited their arrival.

Before I can blink, the needle is under my skin and making its way into my bone, which elicits first, a gasp and then a scream. It isn't only that this hurts, it's that, to one degree or another, I've endured this very thing every day of my life.

Karen tells me what to do, my father tells me what to do, my teachers tell me what to do, everyone tells me what to do. Other people get choices, they say, "No" to the needle and it goes away, but not me. I want choices; I want to decide what happens to me.

Dr. Mire removes the needle and, without another word, leaves the room. Claire, however, stays behind, her warm hand over mine. I glance at her and though my vision is blurry with tears, I manage to read her lips as she says, "I'll get you out of here. I promise."

I shake my head and scream, "No!" Claire backs away from me, her eyes widening. I clench my fists, so angry that I'm shaking.

When I escape, it won't be under Claire's direction; it will be my own doing. For once, I'll be the one to make the decisions.

#

#

You'd assume that after the snobbiest girl in school turns out to be some sort of guardian angel mutant who saves your life and then transports you to the innards of a futuristic-looking spacecraft, nothing would shock you. But no. Apparently, one can still be shocked...

I stand beside Nathaniel in a small, windowless room comprised of bright metallic walls and floors. To our left is a row of closed lockers, which Esther said are filled with Unseen's supplies. To our right is a hallway I have yet to explore, and in front of us is a sight that's making the hairs on the backs of my arms stand on end. I take a deep breath, and a step back.

"I can't believe we're here, looking at this," Nathaniel whispers.

Unable to take my eyes off of the pitch black body suit that hangs in the opened locker before us, all I can do is point to the sleek costume's utility belt and mutter, "It's like..."

"Batman's." Nathaniel quietly finishes my sentence.

"I was going to say, like a futuristic fanny pack."

"Oh." He tilts his head, looking at it from a different angle. "That too."

"I keep saying we should cut it in half and move each half to the shoulders," Esther pipes up from behind us, startling me. "That way, say Unseen's hands are tied, then the utility belt is still accessible."

The girl has appeared, once again out of thin air and she's out of breath as she points to her shoulder and pantomimes a sort of biting gesture that makes her look like a crazy person. "See? If the utility belt's at your shoulders, even if your hands are tied, you can still use your mouth to get to it."

"Where's my dad?" I ask, realizing that she's returned alone. "I thought you went back for him."

"I did, he's fine." Esther smiles and gives my shoulder a pat. "I took him to the cockpit. He's all strapped in, resting. The sedative Dr. Mire gave him should wear off in about an hour and a half."

Relief washes over me. "Thank you."

Esther's smile widens and she swings her arms forward and back like a little kid. "You're welcome."

I can't help but take a second glance at her bruised eye, and though it's healing well, the sight of it fills me with shame. I still can't believe I did that to her.

"What about the hospital?" Nathaniel asks as his thoughts dart to his mother, "Did that helicopter crash into it?"

"It didn't." Esther shakes her head. "The chopper belonged to I.T.I.S., of course, and it had a Super Massive Luomnem device..." her voice trails off and pity forming in her eyes, she watches Nathaniel carefully, her thoughts filled with concern for him.

I brace myself. Did something happen to his mom? I gulp, my mouth going dry as the memory of what Dad said about the Super Massive Luomnem device he and Dr. Mire made comes rushing back to me.

"Did they," I ask, "use it on the people in the hospital?"

Esther nods and Nathaniel turns to her sharply, "What did it do?"

"The Super Massive Luomnem machine is used to erase memories." Esther speaks slowly, choosing her words carefully. "So, your Mom is physically healthy, but she's experienced some memory loss."

"Memory loss?" Nathaniel's eyes widen and he shakes his head in confusion, his thoughts coming to an abrupt halt, all of them momentarily vanishing. In an instant, however, they resurface loudly, a mob of question upon question. "What do you mean?" Nathaniel asks, his eyebrows meeting in a scowl, "How much of her memory did she lose?"

"Um..." Esther shifts on her feet and, clearly uncomfortable, tugs at her pinkie finger. "Well, the memory erasing device, it...it erases up to twenty years of memory."

Nathaniel's face falls.

"I'm so sorry." She rests her hand on his shoulder.

My heart sinks as Nathaniel's eyes widen and grow fearful.

"Are you saying ..." his voice shakes and he clears his throat. "Are you saying she won't remember me?"

"She won't," Esther gently replies. "No one in that hospital will remember anything from the past twenty years of their life. I'm so sorry."

... I shouldn't have left her there. I just left her...

Esther rubs his shoulder and I ask, "Is there any way to reverse the memory loss?"

"Unfortunately, no." Esther shakes her head and sighs as she drops her hand to her side. "The only way a victim's suppressed memories will return is if they come down with Alzheimer's disease or dementia. That's the only way."

Nathaniel's eyes water and he takes a deep breath. His thoughts, broken and half-formed, are full of him blaming himself for what's happened to his mom. I bite down on my bottom lip, hating that he has to feel anything like what I felt when my mom died.

"It wasn't your fault, Nathaniel." I take his hand and give it a squeeze.

He doesn't look at me, but his grip on my hand tightens.

... don't cry, keep it together. You can't cry in front of her...

As Nathaniel silently tells himself not to cry, I slide my arms around him and lay my head against his chest, hugging him as tightly as I can. He rests his head on top of mine and I hear him sniff.

"I'll get you some water," Esther quietly says.

We hold each other, Nathaniel's thoughts filling the silence. I close my eyes, and guilt inches its way into my heart. He blames himself, but the truth is that his mom would be fine if it hadn't been for my family. I.T.I.S. showed up at the hospital to get that formula from Dad and now, because of us, countless lives are ruined.

I don't understand what's so special about this formula my father supposedly made. Knowing Dad, it probably doesn't even work.

"Here's that bottle of water," Esther says, her voice startling me yet again.

Nathaniel releases me but keeps a hold of my hand as he accepts the water. "Thanks, Esther."

"Sure." She turns to me. "Want one?"

I shake my head. I actually do want the water, I don't know why I refuse.

"You going to be okay, Nathaniel?" Esther asks.

He nods and takes a swig from the bottle, forcing his thoughts away from his mother. I study the strained look on his face, wondering if this is what I've been like ever since Mom's overdose; trying not to think about her and inadvertently making myself even more tense than if I'd let myself dwell on her for a bit.

"So." He points to the black outfit hanging in the locker in front of us. "When are you going to admit that's yours and tell us how you became Unseen?"

"There's no way Esther's Unseen," I blurt. Both of them turn to me, and my face warming, I explain myself, "Remember, we heard Unseen speak when Esther was right there with us. So unless she's a pro at throwing her voice, Esther's not Unseen."

Esther laughs and inches her way between Nathaniel and me. She rests each of her elbows on our shoulders and I try not to wince.

I know I shouldn't be uncomfortable with her in my space. She saved my life and, more importantly, she got Dad away from that sociopath, Jayne Mire. Even so, I can't help wishing she'd back off.

...oh yeah, I forgot. The Ice Queen doesn't like to be touched...

Esther moves away from me and re-situates her full weight against Nathaniel as she says, "Karen's almost right. I'm not a hundred percent Unseen, just fifty percent."

I glance at Nathaniel and he's watching Esther expectantly. In fact, he looks super comfortable with her all cozied up beside him. I cross my arms, scrutinizing the two of them. Why have I never noticed their relationship before?

Esther and Nathaniel get along really well. She always invites him to her movie nights and parties, and come to think of it, she's the entire reason Nathaniel and I got into that argument the other day. What if they ... oh my God, what if they've hooked up at some point?

My jealousy spiking, I speak through clenched teeth, "I don't understand what you mean, Esther."

"Well, Karen," she offers me a pleasant smile, "maybe if you weren't so busy being judgmental, you'd understand."

"If you want to talk about being judgmental," I retort, "who's calling who an Ice Queen?"

She frowns. "I didn't call you an Ice Queen."

"You thought it," Nathaniel points out.

Esther turns to him so quickly that her ponytail slams into his face.

He blinks her hair out of his eyes and says, "Sorry, Esther, it's true."

"Yeah," I add, triumphant. "So next time maybe you should think before you..." I stop talking as the impact of what Nathaniel's just said hits me.

Esther, like me, is staring at him in shock. Finally, she says, "Are you saying you heard what I was thinking?"

Nathaniel nods, his dark eyes going from me to Esther. "Ever since the accident, I've been hearing other people's thoughts."

"Me too." I meet his eyes.

"I kind of thought so, but I wasn't sure," he says with a shy grin.

It's the first smile he's attempted since the horrible news about his Mom. Seeing it is a relief and even though I'm internally freaked out by the fact that the boy I like has a front row seat to my every thought, I return his smile and confess, "If there has to be someone who can hear my thoughts, I'd want it be you."

Nathaniel's grin widens. "Same here."

Esther clears her throat. "I hate to butt in, but I'm in the Hearing Thoughts Club too."

I'm not a fan of bad language, but I have to bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself from uttering an especially foul expletive.

Esther grins and tousles Nathaniel's hair as she says, "During the car accident, something must have happened to all three of us."

I glare at her. Why does she have to keep touching him? It's like every time she says something, she has to touch his shoulder, his arm, or his hair. I cross my arms. "How awesome, Esther."

"I know, right?" She beams. "It's a rad ability, but it can get a little confusing when I'm around a lot of people because it gets hard to tell whose thoughts belong to who. Other than that, I'm so loving it."

"Well," I mumble, "just remember that when you call me an Ice Queen I can hear you."

"And," Esther quickly says, "you should remember that every time you think, 'oh, my God, Esther's touching Nathaniel. Does that mean they hooked up?' we can both hear you."

Heat travels up to my neck and face. My gaze darts to Nathaniel and his lips are twitching as he tries not to smile. Embarrassed, I nod to Unseen's suit. "Would you just explain who Unseen is?"

"Like I said, I'm half of Unseen," Esther says, her blue eyes shining with merriment. I watch her, confused. It's like this girl doesn't take anything seriously. We've just been chased by a titanium giant, broken the news to Nathaniel that his own mother will never remember him, and she's on the verge of revealing Unseen's secret identity. In spite of all of this, Esther looks like she's about to burst out laughing. I don't know if I want to laugh with her or punch her in the face for being so maddeningly happy.

"Esther," an all-too familiar female voice fills the ship and Nathaniel and I look around at the gleaming silver walls as the voice instructs, "bring them to the cockpit for lift off."

I gasp, barely able to speak. "I know that voice."

Reconstructing her ponytail, Esther laughs and says, "I wish you could see the look on your face. It's like you just realized your red jell-o is canned beets."

"Why does your... ship," Nathaniel slowly asks, "sound like Peake High's guidance counselor?"

Esther pats Nathaniel's shoulder and immediately stops, removing her hand as if his shoulder's burned her. She glances at me. "Sorry, Karen, I know that bothers you." I blink back at her, too stunned to respond. Esther takes this as her cue to continue, "That wasn't the ship, it was the intercom through which you heard Ms. Greenich's voice because she's the pilot. She and I, we're sort of Unseen."

"You're sort of Unseen." I repeat. I glance at Nathaniel to see how he's taking this and he looks ten miles past lost.

"Relax, this'll all make sense soon." Esther gives me a slap on the back and I stumble forward. With that, she starts down the hallway at our left and calls over her shoulder. "Then again, maybe it won't make sense at all. In any case, just go with it. Come on, follow me."

Nathaniel and I exchange glances. Unable to believe that I'm at the mercy of our school's most snobby girl and our guidance counselor, I fall in stride behind Esther and pray that these women have what it takes to rescue my little sister.

I CROSS MY arms and peer into the family portrait hanging in Esther's sitting room. Stationed between a plush red couch and mahogany coffee table, it isn't the kind of professional Sears or K-Mart photograph most families have. No, that'd be too ordinary. This, instead, is a large oil painting. Esther looks about ten or eleven, and she's smiling as a woman with curly brown hair drapes an arm around her shoulder. The woman laces the fingers of her available hand through one belonging to a tall man with dirty blonde hair like Esther's. The three of them look super happy, like the perfect family. But according to what Esther said when she brought me in here, the man and woman are nothing but actors who were hired by Ms. Greenich and my father.

I look around at the other paintings, all of them hanging in expensive frames. A few hours ago, when Ms. Greenich landed our mode of transportation, an invisible "ship" that she and Esther call Iris, in a deserted field, Nathaniel looked around, his face brightening as he said, "I know where we are!"

I'd looked past the pilot's chair and into the window ahead where I saw cows, a lake, a field, and then more cows, more lake, and more field. It looked like any average spot in Peake, and I'd wondered how he knew where we were. But once we exited the ship, I understood. Esther's house, a huge mansion that stood less than a mile away, was sprawled across several dozen acres, and it was more sophisticated than I could have ever imagined.

Of course Esther's "castle" and its surrounding acreage looked familiar to Nathaniel; he was one of the many who'd been invited to her infamous parties. But me, the judgmental CODA who lived in the kind of neighborhood where no one had their own garage, let alone sixty or more acres of land, of course I'd never been invited here.

I slip my thumbs through the belt loops of the jeans Esther's let me borrow. Even in our current situation -with Tessa having been kidnapped by some whack scientist who's obsessed with my dad, and with the ability that Nathaniel, Esther, and I share in common- I still feel this twinge of insecurity about the gaping difference that separates Nathaniel and me.

I'm not jealous of Esther's money, but I am completely, one thousand percent envious of her easy access into friendships with people like him. Their money links them in a way I'll never understand.

My gaze returns to the fake family portrait and I sigh. Since we left the hospital, Nathaniel's been holding my hand and planting himself at my side like a boyfriend, and I love that...but it isn't real. In the back of my mind, I know Julia's waiting for him, and that no matter what, he'll keep going back to her because the Julia's (and even the Esther's) of the world are who the Nathaniel's belong with.

Trying to dismiss my depressing thoughts, I take a deep breath and get a whiff of the floral scent that seems to be following me everywhere. As soon as we stepped into Esther's house, the smell grew even stronger.

...wish my foot would heal faster...

The whisper slinks into my brain, surprising me. Nathaniel's the only one of us with a foot injury, so I must be picking up on his thoughts. I head for the guest bedroom that Esther told Nathaniel he could use for a shower and nap. As I make my way down the carpeted corridor, the whispers from his thoughts grow louder.

... need to take a second and tell her. But maybe now isn't the right time. She's probably too worried about her sister to care...

Just ahead and on my right, his bedroom door is cracked and light from the room seeps into the hall. My slippers are soundless against the soft beige carpet as I head to it. In front of his door I catch sight of one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen and come to an abrupt halt, my heart flip-flopping in my chest. Nathaniel is shirtless, every one of the defined chest and stomach muscles visible as he zips the fly of a pair of jeans that he must have just put on. The sight of him making my mouth water, I bite down on my bottom lip.

He reaches for a T-shirt on the bed before him and his biceps stretch, accentuated. I automatically exhale, a thousand stiff breezes running up and down my spine. I wish I were where that T-shirt is and that he were reaching for me.

The shirt in his hands, Nathaniel freezes and a grin forms on his lips. Ever so slowly, he turns to me.

Crap.

Warmth flooding my face and neck, I inch away from his door.

"Karen, wait!"

I cringe as his footsteps sound near the door. He peers into the hallway, his dark eyes settling on mine.

My heart pounding, I attempt a smile and twist Mom's ring around on my finger. "Well, I guess you heard that thought."

Nathaniel grins, his gaze briefly darting to my jittery hands. He steps out of the doorway and I can't help but take a second look at his bare chest. Below his broad shoulders are pecs that have been sculpted by the twenty-five to thirty hours he spends training each week, and his entire midsection, ridiculously ripped, forms a perfect V.

"If you heard even half of what I'm thinking when I'm around you," he says, his face reddening, "you'd know you have nothing to be embarrassed about."

Butterflies fill my stomach and all breathable air seems to get lost on its way to my lungs. So, I open my mouth and inhale a generous gulp of air. "Are y-you saying..." It's like my mind has turned to oatmeal and I can't manage to finish my sentence. So, for no apparent reason I start to laugh, but it's a strange, high-pitched giggle that should come from someone like Julia.

My God, I need to pull it together. I close my eyes and take yet another deep breath.

"I'm saying I like you." Nathaniel brushes my bangs away from my face and I open my eyes to find him looking into mine. Instead of retracting his hand, he gradually lowers his touch, tracing the curve of my cheek until his fingers reach my chin. "I always have." He speaks quietly and his gaze goes to my mouth.

My pulse racing, all I can do is look into his eyes. Is he going to kiss me?

... Yes. Is that okay?...

My body poised between paralyzing nerves and boundless anticipation, I whisper, "What about Julia?"

He shakes his head. "We broke up. I couldn't stop thinking about you, it wasn't fair to her."

An embarrassing grin that I have zero control over takes ahold of my mouth. At the sight of it, Nathaniel leans forward, gently brushing his lips against mine. The warmth of his mouth sends a heated current straight through me and I'm barely able to suppress a shiver. He pulls away, and exhales, his breath warm and smelling of flowers.

"Should've done that a long time ago," he quietly says.

"Yeah," I smile. He pulls me towards him and meets my lips in a hungry kiss that melts me like ice cream. My heart pounding and my insides bursting into a million sensations, a part of me wonders if I'll have a heart attack. Probably not, but even if I do, that'd be fine. Kissing Nathaniel wouldn't be the worst way to go.

His cheek brushes a bruise on my face, but I barely feel the sting as his breath fills mine. He slides his hand down the curve of my backside, and I run mine along the muscles comprising his abdomen, both of us trembling with nerves.

He brings the kiss to a close by lightly brushing his lips against my cheek and then gently pulling away. "Was that okay?"

I grin. "Better than okay." Once again, my voice sounds high-pitched, like Julia's. Maybe that's something that happens to girls after their first...romantic encounter, or whatever you'd call this... maybe a surge in hormones makes our voices lighter.

...a surge in hormones? ... Nathaniel chuckles, his hazel eyes almost glowing as they catch the light that drifts in from the bedroom. He reaches for a strand of my hair, toying with it. I'm not even embarrassed by him hearing this.

"Yeah, you just sent them through the roof," I say, staring into his eyes. My gosh, I think I might need to kiss him again.

Nathaniel's smile widens as I lean towards him... And there it is. I should've known they wouldn't last twenty-four hours without this happening...

The foreign thought slips into both of our minds, and startled, we turn in its direction. Esther, clad in Unseen's black bodysuit and her long hair gathered in the same kind of bun we wear for practice, stands behind us, her arms folded and a huge smirk on her face.

"Wow." She arches an eyebrow at me and I instinctively lower my gaze to the carpet. "Well, I hate to interrupt, but your dad's awake."

"He's awake?" This pulls me from my embarrassment and I look up. "Is he alright?"

"Yeah, he's great." Esther smiles and nods to the other end of the hallway. "But of course he's anxious to get to Tessa, so if those of us who are shirtless will remedy that, then you guys can just follow me and we'll get out of here. Okay? Okay."

My thoughts revert to Tessa and I could kick myself. I'm in a comfortable mansion making out with Nathaniel while my little sister's being held hostage by a whack scientist. Esther's right, we need to get to Tessa as soon as possible.

Esther snaps her fingers and points to Nathaniel. "I meant you, in case you were wondering about the shirtless part."

"Nah, really?" He grins, narrowing his eyes at her before planting a quick peck on my cheek and ducking back into his room.

Esther uncrosses her arms and adjusts the utility belt at her hips.

"So, we know where Tessa is?" I ask.

"Yep, we've got a pretty good idea, and don't worry, we'll get her back," Esther says, confidence in her voice. "No question about that."

I nod, soothed by the certainty in her tone. But silence drifts between us as Esther continues to double-check the supplies on her belt. Suddenly self-conscious, I smooth my hair and steal a peek at her. I bet she hates me, considering that she just caught me making out with her best friend's ex.

"Karen?" Esther turns to me. "When are you going to get that I don't hate you?"

Her question takes me by surprise and, unsure of how to respond, I cross my arms and scowl.

Without taking her eyes off of me, Esther says, "The only reason I didn't talk to you at school was because your dad told me not to."

"Are you serious?" Genuinely shocked, I uncross my arms. "Why wouldn't he let you talk to me?"

She shrugs. "He said I shouldn't have any obvious connection to your family. He was paranoid that if we were friends, things would come out."

"What things?"

Esther tilts her head and looks at me like I've just asked her who Bill Clinton is.

... she really has no idea how important her dad is...

"If it weren't for your dad, there'd be no Unseen." Esther looks at me expectantly, like she's waiting for me to applaud or burst into proud tears. But as usual, all I feel is confusion.

"I thought Dr. Mire gave you your...um, your power," I say. "I thought she experimented on you as a child and killed your parents. So, what does my dad have to do with your power?"

"I'm not talking about my ability," Esther explains. "The ability helps, but it isn't what makes Unseen. Your dad created the technology that lets me and my mom do what we do. Besides that, if it weren't for him I'd still be an I.T.I.S. lab rat and my mom would be as dead as my real parents. Your dad saved us. He got us out of there and gave us something to live for."

I glance down, taking all of this in. How in the world could my head-in-the-clouds dad have given Esther and Ms. Greenich "something to live for"? He can barely focus on completing a sentence, let alone saving people's lives.

"If you weren't so critical of him," Esther quietly says, "you'd see what everyone else sees."

"You know what, Esther?" I snap. "How about you..."

Nathaniel steps into the hall, wearing a red T-shirt over his jeans and his gaze goes from me to Esther.

I clamp my mouth shut and Esther smirks, chuckling as she says, "Anyway, like I said, I don't hate you, I was just following orders. Now come on, let's skedaddle."

Nathaniel glances at me, his eyebrows going up as his thoughts slip into mine...everything okay? ...

I nod and hesitantly offer him one of my hands. He grasps it and plants a kiss on my cheek.

"Give Esther a chance," he whispers. With that, we fall in stride behind her where I cling to Nathaniel's hand and watch Esther sashay ahead of us.

He's right. And it isn't that I don't want to give her a chance, it's that she makes me feel so...ashamed. She's a beautiful, rich superhero who apparently has some kind of special connection with my dad. On the other end of the spectrum, I'm a perpetually-confused, boyfriend-stealing puncher of superheroes. Being around Little Miss Perfect is a constant reminder of how screwed up I-

"I'm not perfect!" Esther exclaims without pausing in stride or turning around.

"Oh, my God." I cringe. "You heard all of that."

Nathaniel gives my hand a squeeze.

"Yeah," Esther says as we turn the corner and enter her humongous sitting room, "and trust me, I'm so not perfect, Karen. In fact, a few minutes ago, while we were talking back there, I farted. It wasn't a huge one but, it was big enough. And if you don't believe me, I'll let another one rip."

Nathaniel laughs. "No, that's okay, we believe you."

I roll my eyes at myself, half-embarrassed, half-relieved. Esther's not too bad, I guess...she's a little weird, but not too bad.

"WHY'D YOU BRING us to your pantry?" Nathaniel turns to Esther and accidently jostles one of the small jars on the spice rack at his right.

"Why'd you bring us to your pantry?" Esther mimics his deep voice and narrows her eyes in imitation of the way he's looking at her.

Despite myself, I grin. The more I'm around Esther, the more intrigued I am by her, she's surprisingly kind of hilarious.

"It's not just a pantry," Esther says as she closes the door that's letting in light from the kitchen. "It's a secret entrance to a secret door that leads to a secret lab because that's how we roll around here, lots of secretivity."

"That's not even a word," I point out, and as Esther turns to us my thoughts evaporate.

Beside me, Nathaniel gasps. Esther's eyes are glowing in the dark, they're golden and literally glowing, like a cat's.

"Or is it a secret word that you didn't know about?" Esther asks in an over dramatic voice as she flips on the pantry's light. It's like she hasn't noticed our reaction to her eyes. Now that the light is on, they've returned to normal. She blinks back at me and says, "Ever think about that, Karen Lyles?"

"Your eyes." I point to her. "Why do they...change in the dark?"

She looks surprised and then understanding registers in her features. Chuckling, she points to me. "Next time you're in the bathroom, turn off the light and look in the mirror. You'll see the same thing. It's a side effect of the Triphylamonal. It makes our eyes glow in the dark."

"Like the guy I saw in the cornfield." Nathaniel quietly says.

Esther blinks back at him. "Yeah, I have no idea what you're talking about. But in any case, welcome to the You're Officially a Freak of Nature Club. It's fun. You get to find excuses for no one to ever see you in the dark unless they're too drunk to notice that your eyes are glowing. Yay."

I glance at Nathaniel. "Is she always like this?"

"Unfortunately." He offers me a weak smile.

"Okay, enough about that." Esther points to something directly behind us. "See that jar of olive oil on the shelf behind you? Move it over and there's a tiny brown marking on the wall. It's easy to miss, so look hard. When you find it, press it."

Nathaniel moves the olive oil aside and I glance at Esther questioningly. "Press it?"

"Yes," she nods gravely. "If there's even one wrinkle left, the secret door won't open."

I blink back at her and she blushes, murmuring, "Yeah, that was a failed attempt at humor."

"I got it," Nathaniel announces.

"Thank God someone gets my jokes..." Esther pauses as the wall behind us begins to slide backwards. She points to the wall and rolls her eyes. "Oh, you got that. Dagnabbit. Also, thank you for opening the secret door."

"Welcome," Nathaniel whispers, his nervous thoughts filling my head. He takes my hand and moves us away from the wall as it swings right, revealing the entrance to a brightly lit room.

I can't see what's in the room yet, all I'm able to see is white linoleum. And the smell...my God, it's intense! It's the same floral scent that seems to be coming from my pores, but it's even stronger now.

"Excuse me, I'll lead the way," Esther says, inching around us and stepping into the new room, "to your exclusive tour of our super-secret lab."

Nathaniel and I exchange glances before following Esther through the secret passage and stepping into a well-lit room.

I look around, and just as Esther said, it's a lab. On either side of us are long white counters containing test tubes, glassware, empty operant conditioning chambers, and other types of equipment that I recognize from Dad's chemistry lab at school.

"Come on. No standing still!" Esther urges.

Nathaniel and I do as told, still hand in hand as we walk between the counters. To our left we pass several aquariums that team with bagradae.

I point to one of them. "Are those the kind that are dangerous to you?"

"Yeah." Esther turns around, walking backwards so she can face us. "And now they're dangerous to you too because you have an ability. Look down."

She points to our feet, and Nathaniel and I glance down. To my surprise, we're no longer walking on linoleum, but glass. Below the glass are tons upon tons of small white flowers.

"There's a Louisiana Alyssum greenhouse below us," Esther explains. "That plant is super important. None of our abilities would be possible without it."

I shake my head, remembering my conversation in the hospital with Dad. "But my dad said my ability came from a tumor caused by Trip...triphyl..." I take a beat, trying to remember how to pronounce the word.

"Yeah, Triphylamonal," Esther says, "the synthetic drug that's the source of our abilities. On its own, Triphylamonal is deadly to humans. Combining it with Louisiana Alyssum makes it safe for us."

...I have no idea what they're talking about...

I glance at Nathaniel and the look on his face is a perfect reflection of his thoughts.

"No worries, Karen will fill you in later." Esther waves him off, and continuing to walk backwards, she explains, "If it seems like ever since the accident you've smelled like flowers, you're right, that's exactly what you're smelling. The Alyssum is in our bloodstream as a protection because without it, the Triphylamonal would kill us."

I instinctively glance down at my arms, looking at my veins. Now my blood isn't just blood, it's a mix of Triphylamonal, Louisiana Alyssum, and God only knows whatever else is causing this weird ability.

"On that happy little note," Esther continues, "your dad genetically engineered the bagrada to be like little vampires. Except it's not blood they're sucking, it's Louisiana Alyssum. Unlike regular bagradae, which just eat plants, these guys only drink the nectar of Louisiana Alyssum and when they come in contact with a subject that has Louisiana Alyssum in its bloodstream, the bugs make like vampires."

Nathaniel gulps audibly.

"They dig a hole in the host's skin and quickly drain every vestige of Louisiana Alyssum from the subject's bloodstream. But the bagradae can't ingest Triphylamonal, so it's left in the host's body. And being that Triphylamonal is deadly without Louisiana Alyssum, that's it- the host is dead." Esther wrinkles her nose. "Pretty awful, right?"

"So that's what happened to Roy when you stuck the bagrada in his ear?" Nathaniel asks, a horrified look on his face.

"Yeah." Esther bites down on her bottom lip and her expression grows somber. Her voice lowering, she says, "I hated what I did, but I had to stop him the only way I knew how."

I study her carefully. I've always assumed that Esther's life was a fairy tale. And even when I found out about her abilities, I thought she had the superhero's version of a fairytale life. I couldn't have been more wrong. She's constantly keeping secrets about who she really is, and she has to hurt people. Even though she knows what she's doing is justified, that can't make it easy.

Esther frowns and smooths down her hair while bits and pieces of her thoughts drift my way.

Nathaniel was right when he said I don't see people. All along, Esther's been right in front of me and I've been so prejudiced I haven't noticed who she really is. Sure, she's rich and she seemed standoffish. But if I'd had the courage to look beyond the bruising she gave my ego, I would've spotted a glimpse of the real her, and then maybe we could've been friends.

Nathaniel gives my hand a tug and I glance at him as '...it's not too late for that...' slips into my thoughts.

I smile and whisper, "Get out of my head."

"You know, actually," Esther quietly says, and we both turn our attention to her, "in retrospect I think there might have been one other way I could've stopped Roy."

"How?" I ask.

She stops walking backwards and nods to my ring. "The ring your mom gave you, I think it-"

"Esther! Hurry up please!"

The unmistakable sound of Ms. Greenich's voice, over yet another intercom, surrounds us.

"We're coming!" Esther shouts, nearly rendering us deaf. She clears her throat and says, "I'll explain later. Come on."

We follow her out of the lab and down a small flight of stairs that leads to the greenhouse below. The sea of tiny white flowers ends near a large pool and a small carpeted area that looks like a makeshift office. Between the pool and the flowers, it's a strange set up; two large desks, a computer on each, are parallel to each other and several metal file cabinets stand between them.

Considering the grandeur of Esther's house, the furniture down here is startlingly cheap. Even Dad's cherry oak desk back home looks better than the metal desk Ms. Greenich is perched on. But, even more surprising than this is Ms. Greenich.

Nathaniel and I come to a complete halt.

...She's definitely Unseen...

"Geez Louise," I mutter, unable to believe my eyes. Our guidance counselor is clad in a black jumpsuit that's identical to the one Esther wears. The sight of Esther dressed like an acrobat wasn't as shocking, we see her in a gymnastics leotard pretty much every day. But our school's guidance counselor dressed like a comic book character? That's a little strange, to say the least.

Leaning over one of the desks and typing something on its computer, Ms. Greenich turns to us and smiles. "Karen, Nathaniel long time no see."

Neither of us seems able to find our voice. I glance at the black face mask beside her computer. Ms. Greenich, the nice lady who makes endearing yet sappy comments like, "if you dream it, you can do it" to us at school, puts that mask on every night and goes out to kick bad guy butt?

"I think they're a little startled to see you in uniform," Esther says, prancing up to the desk. She perches on the edge and crossing one leg over the other asks, "So, do you think we'll rescue Tessa before dinner? Because I was thinking we could all go to the Olive Garden."

Ms. Greenich turns to Esther and arches an eyebrow.

...she has no idea how serious this is...

"So I guess that's a no to the breadsticks I've been craving all day," Esther sighs. She opens the top desk drawer and reaching inside, pulls out a fun-size Almond Joy.

She finishes off the candy bar in one bite, and Ms. Greenich shakes her head. "I told you to have more than one pancake for breakfast this morning."

"It's not that I'm hungry, I just want breadsticks," Esther whines. "I was going to get some for lunch, but then there was that robbery, and then we had to go straight from there to the hospital."

"Please stop whining," Ms. Greenich quietly says, "you're stronger than that."

"This is so weird," Nathaniel whispers, looking from Esther to Ms. Greenich.

"How about OG take out?" Esther says, refusing to give up. "You guys order whatever you want and I'll pick it up..."

Ms. Greenich waves Esther off and makes her way to us, her calm smile returning to its place. "I can imagine how unsettling all of this must be. And Karen, I wish we hadn't had to hide certain things from you, but your father thought it best you remain protected from the truth."

"Where is my father?" I ask, finally finding my voice.

Ms. Greenich points to the pool just as a garish grinding noise, like the turning of large metal gears, sounds. The ceiling above the pool lowers and four separate waterfalls, all of them forming a square within the pool, dump water from the ceiling into the pool.

My gaze not leaving the waterfalls, I take a careful step back, and Nathaniel tightens his grip on my hand as he asks, "What's going on?"

"It's fine," Ms. Greenich raises her voice above the noise, "Karen's dad is bringing the ship closer so it'll be easier for us to load the bagradae aboard."

"Load the bagradae?!" Nathaniel and I cry in unison.

"Yes." Ms. Greenich gives us a funny look and then nods to one of the large filing cabinets. For the first time, I notice that there's something behind it.

I move to get a better look around it and, sure enough, there's a clear, rectangular-shaped container that stands almost as tall as the filing cabinet at about five feet. It contains tons of swarming bagradae and at the sight of it, chills run up and down my arms. "Well, that's a little scary."

"Tessa's being held at I.T.I.S. headquarters in Louisiana," Ms. Greenich explains, "and it just so happens that their main supply of Louisiana Alyssum is also right there at their headquarters. Your father wants to make sure we destroy it."

"Oh." I return my attention to the ceiling as it lowers. Now I can see that the small silver ship Ms. Greenich and Esther affectionately call "Iris" is perched on top of the descending ceiling.

As the ceiling lowers towards the pool, the ship zips to the right and, in so doing, sends a gust of wind our way. My hair goes crazy, flying all over the place, and loose papers on Ms. Greenich's desk are whipped up, most of them sailing off of her desk.

The ship, still headed our way, slows down and lowers to the floor. My dad's piloting that?

"Your dad's a pilot?" Nathaniel asks.

"Apparently," I whisper, my voice stuck in my throat.

Iris hovers above the floor and one of its wings slides up while a side door extends, creating a ramp that leads to the floor. My dad emerges and his eyes brighten when he sees me.

"Dad!" I release Nathaniel's hand and run to him.

Dad extends his arms as if he's going to hug me and, taken aback, I nearly stumble over my feet. He closes the distance between us and wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. Despite my surprise, I sink into his embrace. This feels weird but right, we should hug more often.

...I can't let anything else happen to Karen... I close my eyes as his thoughts creep into mine.

"I'm so glad you're safe," he says, his voice muffled against the side of my face.

"You too," I reply, opening my eyes. Behind us, Ms. Greenich asks Esther to help her move the bagradae to Iris.

"I'll help," Nathaniel pipes up.

"No, just rest that ankle," Ms. Greenich says, "Esther and I will take care of this."

While their footsteps and busy movements continue behind us, Dad releases me and we take an awkward step away from each other. The first thing I notice about my father is that his eyes are red-rimmed and sunken into his face, dark circles underlining each of them. He looks like crap.

"Are you okay?" I ask, though the answer is obvious.

"I'm fine. But as you know, I.T.I.S. has your sister." His words tumble into each other and his expression becomes even more haggard.

"Yes." Shifting on my feet, I say, "Back at the hospital, Dr. Mire said you came up with a formula she wants. What's she talking about?"

"When I worked at I.T.I.S., I ...created a lot for them." Dad glances down, shame in his eyes. "One of my innovations was an Autism Reversal serum. As implied by the formula's name, I hoped it would reverse the effects of autism. But when we tested it on a candidate, it didn't reverse their condition, it expanded it into something greater, giving them near genius abilities. Jayne was excited, and she demanded I lace the serum with an I.T.I.S. drug called Ypόdeixi."

"What's that?" I immediately ask. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Esther and Ms. Greenich lugging the bagaradae towards Iris, Nathaniel limping after them, insisting on helping.

"It's a drug that affects its subject so they're permanently prone to the power of suggestion." Dad pauses, his jaw tightening. "In other words, they're at the mercy of a "master," who tells them what to do from when to use the restroom to when to kill a target."

"Geez Louise." My heart racing, I look Dad in the eye and make sure to speak so he can hear me, "Dr. Mire wanted you to make people with autism into geniuses who she could control?"

He nods. "She's obsessed with the idea."

"Why?" I shake my head. "That's so insane. Why would anyone target people with autism and try to do that to them? It doesn't make sense."

"It does, in a way." Dad shifts on his feet and adjusts his glasses. "You see, Jayne had a rough time when she was a kid. She was constantly made fun of, misunderstood, bullied. She had...has the same..." Dad sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

"Has the same what?" I urge.

"She has the same form of autism that I have, it's called Asperger's. Though we were both diagnosed with autism, Jayne figured out that a more correct term for our way of thinking falls into the category of Asperger's." As Dad says this, I take a step back, looking at him in disbelief. He watches me carefully and frowns. "Are you surprised or did you notice?"

"I had no idea, Dad."

"Our diagnosis of autism was actually how Jayne and I met. We were both sent to a horrible summer camp for children with autism. It was more of a research study than a camp. Anyhow, the way we were treated was upsetting, and Jayne's more sensitive than I am. I believe she began her plan with good intentions, she wanted something better for people like us. That's why the majority of her I.T.I.S. employees and test subjects had some form of autism. She was giving us a chance. But Jayne became greedy and she wanted more, she wanted control."

"I get it." I nod.

"That's one of the reasons I left I.T.I.S and destroyed the bulk of my research. The thing is, I knew Jayne would come after me, demanding I replicate everything I'd created. So I used the Luomnem Machine to erase my memories of every formula I'd come up with."

"You erased your own memory?" I stare at him in horror.

His eyes fixed on mine, he opens his mouth to say something and then closes it.

"What? Go on," I urge.

His gaze returning to the ground, he says, "I used the Luomnem Machine to target specific memories, not everything. My point is, when I tell Jayne I don't have the formula, I'm telling the truth. Even if I tried to replicate the serum, it wouldn't be exact. Which is dangerous, perhaps even lethal."

"Okay, I understand." I nod, terror turning my stomach. "But back at the hospital, Dr. Mire said she'd mess with Tessa's DNA, like she'd experiment on her or something. Do you think she'll use a blend of her own Autism Reversal serum with Ypόdeixi on Tessa? Do you think she's going to try and control Tessa?"

Dad bites down on his bottom lip, his eyes so sad that they answer my question without my even needing to hear his thoughts. I clench my fists. "We've got to get Tessa away from her."

His voice low, Dad says, "Yes, we do."

"And we will, if we leave now," Ms. Greenich cuts in as she makes her way back down Iris's ramp. "Jayne works fast, and there's no telling how much she's already done. So, I suggest we get a move on."

"Right, let me just gear up..." Dad says, scurrying away.

I glance at the sea of small white flowers beside us. Traces of those plants and the Triphylamonal are now probably in my little sister's blood, and there's no telling what Dr. Mire's turned her into...

My stomach turning, I start towards the ship.

I keep telling myself everything's going to be okay, but what if Dr. Mire's really hurt Tessa?

"Karen and Nathaniel?" Ms. Greenich interrupts my thoughts. Her mask in her hand, she glances at Nathaniel as she says, "I.T.I.S.'s headquarters are heavily guarded and considering how dangerous this is, I don't like the idea of you two there. So you won't be entering the headquarters. You're going to wait it out in Iris. Understood?"

"Only you and Esther are going in?" I ask. My heart sinking, I imagine the two of them facing a mob of mutants like Roy as they try to get to my sister.

"Your dad too. Three of us is enough."

"My dad?!" I cry, horrified. "Ms. Greenich, you can't possibly think it's a good idea to send my dad in there. He's not a fighter."

"Do you remember our conversation about shaping your own identity?" Ms. Greenich asks.

Nathaniel looks from me to Ms. Greenich.

"Yeah." I shift on my feet.

"Your dad may not be a born fighter, but he's strong." She says, looking me in the eye the way she always does. "Strength isn't just knowing who you are, it's the ability to change who you are as the need arises. Trust me, I've seen your dad adapt to become whatever he needs to take care of the people he cares about."

"No, with all due respect, Ms. Greenich," I say, shaking my head, "this isn't some guidance counseling session; this is my dad's life. I don't think he can even throw a punch, and you want to send him into I.T.I.S.?"

"Karen." Ms. Greenich points left. "Look at your father."

I do as told and nearly fall over. Dad's wearing an on-body holster as he makes his way towards us, and he's loading a gun.

"He knows how to load a gun?" I whisper.

"Your father's stronger than you give him credit for," Ms. Greenich says. "The only reason any of us are here today is because fifteen years ago, he got us out of I.T.I.S. Trust me, he's an adaptable guy."

My entire world rattled, I watch Dad put the gun in his holster.

I bite down on my bottom lip, turn away from him, and mumble, "Just promise me you'll take care of him."

"It'd be my honor," Ms. Greenich says, gently patting my shoulder.

Nathaniel takes my hand and we glance at each other. He nods in the direction of the ship. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

We make our way up the ramp and I turn back, glancing at my father.

There's so much about my dad that I never noticed...his genius, his strength, the reason why he sometimes behaves the way he does. It's taken the whole world turning upside down for me to really see my own father. That's not good, I've got to learn to open my eyes and see people as they are.

#

#

Despite Ms. Greenich's best efforts in wrapping my ankle and giving me two Aleve, my ankle feels worse. But I'd rather keep my mouth shut about it. Tessa's been kidnapped by a lunatic who's going to shoot her up with a DNA-changing drug and I complain about my ankle hurting? Lame.

I take a deep breath and push my thoughts away from the pain, my gaze going to Karen. She's strapped into the seat beside me, having a pretty intense conversation with her dad. He's seated to her left, across from her on the other aisle. Just ahead of us, Ms. Greenich pilots Iris and Esther occupies the copilot seat to her right.

The ship teeters right and Ms. Greenich calls, "Just a little turbulence guys, no worries," over her shoulder. I say, "Okay," and return my attention to Karen, studying her while she talks to her father. There's intensity in both of their eyes as they discuss how long he worked for I.T.I.S. and what being there was like.

"When I first got to the island and saw what Jayne and her team had built, it was like a dream come true," Dr. Lyles says, his voice low and his expression thoughtful. He nods to Karen, "I took to it the way you took to gymnastics the second you walked into Matthew's Gymnastics. Do you remember that first day when your mother and I dropped you off?"

He smiles and Karen's eyes widen. "Yeah, but, um, I didn't think you remembered."

"Of course I do." He clasps his hands together and nods. "A parent doesn't forget something like that. That and the day you learned to walk ..."

Karen's face lights up as he describes her first day of gymnastics in detail and I have this overwhelming urge to hug Dr. Lyles. Of course he'd probably punch me in the face if I tried. So, I just sit back in my seat and watch them, my heart mushing the way it does after one of those sappy Hallmark card commercials. Dr. Lyles has his quirks...and his secrets, but none of that stopped him from caring about his family. In fact, he kept secrets from Karen and her sister to protect them. They're lucky to have a Dad like him.

My foot throbs and, in an attempt to ignore it, I glance at Ms. Greenich. Decked out in the sleek Unseen costume that clings to her like a wetsuit, she looks like she's stepped out of the pages of a comic book. The black face mask that she has yet to put on sits on the console between her and Esther's seats. It's still kind of difficult for me to process the fact that Ms. Greenich and Esther are Unseen.

"Isn't it crazy?" Esther turns around, tossing me one of her smirks.

"Yeah." I return her smile and adjust my ankle so it's propped up on my other leg.

"That's hurting pretty bad, huh?" Her eyebrows go up as she glances at it.

"It's fine," I shrug. "Tessa's the one to worry about. It's not like my ankle's been kidnapped by a deranged scientist."

Esther's smirk becomes a sympathetic smile and I can't help but notice how her eyes light up when she smiles. She really is pretty and for all the crap she's been through, she's an incredibly decent person. I can see why Brad likes her. Of course, Brad doesn't know the half of who she really is.

Esther's eyes soften and she says, "I don't like him the way Karen likes you. You're perfect for each other. Me and Brad just aren't like that."

My face warms as I realize she's picking up on every one of my thoughts.

"Well, yeah, I get it." Embarrassed, I glance down. "So, um, I've been meaning to ask you about your ability. Like, what is it exactly? I've been there when you do what you do, of course, but I still have no idea what's going on when it happens."

Esther laughs. "Yeah, it's pretty wild, right?"

I smile. "Moving faster than the speed of light? Nah. Boring, completely normal."

She chuckles. "Dr. Lyles calls it "tunneling". Basically, my ability allows me to access various points in time and space a lot faster than the average person." Esther rattles off the response so quickly that it takes a second for me to turn her words over in my mind.

After frowning into space while Esther silently chides me 'not to break my brain', I ask, "So, that means you can run really fast?"

"Nah, not quite." She tilts her head and purses her lips. "It's hard to explain. I guess I'm a lot better at hiding my ability than I am at explaining it. Dr. Lyles is better at that ..."

Her words take me by surprise and considering them, I watch her turn to Karen's dad and cheerfully apologize for interrupting their conversation.

...a life devoted to keeping secrets can be downright oppressive. For about ten years, my Mom and I had that burden. We kept Dad's abuse a secret, and honestly, I think that hurt us even more than the actual abuse. Even today, remnants of that time in our life still affect me. Like, Karen thinks I have no problem making friends or opening up to people, but I do. No matter who the person is I'm talking to, especially if it's another guy, in the back of my mind, I expect them to hate me.

Now, I watch Esther's easy smile brighten her expression and I can't help but feel even more respect for her. Sure, her secret's different from mine, but it's inspiring to see someone like me, someone with real baggage, face other people with confidence.

"Dr. Lyles will explain it more clearly," Esther says, returning her attention to me.

I nod and glance at Karen's dad, my gaze inadvertently going to the holster at his hip. As much as I like Dr. Lyles, the sight of it is unsettling.

While he launches into his explanation, I steal a peek at Karen and she's looking at me. I grin and silently ask her if she's alright, my gaze darting to her lips. If her dad weren't here, I'd kiss her again. She shrugs and blinks a little too quickly, like she's trying not to cry.

... just worried about Tessa...

Her eyes fill and my heart sinks. I wish I could hold her, but there's no way I can with Dr. Lyles right here. He's as overprotective of Karen as she is of Tessa. 'We'll get her back, Karen,' I silently reply. 'Ms. Greenich and Esther know what they're doing.'

"... have you, Nathaniel?" Dr. Lyles asks.

I snap to attention and shift in my seat. "Sorry, sir, uh, what was that?" I ask, clearing my throat.

"I said, you've examined a flat surface under a microscope at some point during your studies, correct?"

"Yes, sir. In your class."

"Oh, good. You took my class." He adjusts his glasses. "Then you know that upon examining a supposedly flat surface under a microscope, you'll find that it isn't, in fact, smooth. Instead, it's riddled with numerous ridges and imperfections that are invisible to the naked eye. Well, Nathaniel, time and space are comprised the same way. Understand?" Dr. Lyles looks at me expectantly, so I nod.

Karen crosses her arms and I glance at her.

...speaking of time, I wish we could go back in time and stop all of this from happening...

I slide my hand next to Karen's and open my palm. 'Whatever happens,' I think as our eyes meet, 'I'll be right here with you.'

She places her hand in my palm and whispers, "Thank you."

"What was that, Karen?" Dr. Lyles asks, turning his attention to her.

She shakes her head. "Nothing, Dad. Go on."

"Good, okay." Dr. Lyles continues his lecture, completely unaware of the tears Karen's trying to blink away. "This concept can be difficult to accept because we're trained to think of time as a continual entity, something constantly moving forward, and space as something visible to the naked eye. But time and space are one and the same, first of all. And they exist with imperfections, or "wormholes," if you will, that are accessible under certain conditions. Got that?"

"Yep, got it," Esther pipes up.

A tear slides down Karen's cheek and she wipes it away with her free hand. I give her hand a squeeze.

"Esther can," Dr. Lyles goes on, "at will, produce these conditions within herself and fan them out to include everything she touches. The conditions she produces last, for Esther, for about five to eight seconds, but for those of us outside of the wormhole through which she passes, only a fraction of a second goes by. All we see is Esther disappearing as she accesses the wormhole, and then reappearing on the other end, which is usually somewhere less than a quarter of a mile from her original starting point."

"I think I get it," I say with a nod. "She's basically Azazel."

"Oh, God, I hope I'm not that bad." Esther laughs.

Dr. Lyles and Karen frown as they look from me to Esther in confusion.

"What's an Azazel?" Karen asks with a sniff.

"He's a character from a comic book," I explain, tucking a few strands of her hair behind her ear. I glance at Dr. Lyles and he's staring at me like I've just found the Holy Grail and smashed it to pieces. "Uh," Thinking fast, I release Karen's hand, sit up straighter, and say, "so, I have another question about Esther's ability. You said time and space are one in the same. Does that mean time travel is possible for Esther?"

That does the trick. Dr. Lyles brightens and brings his hands together in a clapping motion as he exclaims, "That is an excellent question to which I believe the answer is yes!" He points to me and, arching an eyebrow, leans forward. "However, we have no proof of my being correct in this. Yet..."

While he goes on, I glance at Karen. I'm glad I finally found the courage to tell her how I feel. If I hadn't shown up at her house when I did, she'd be on her own in this. Her dad's here, and I know he loves her, but he doesn't always see what she needs.

I look at Dr. Lyles and he hasn't even noticed that I'm no longer listening.

I return my attention to Karen as she bites down on her bottom lip and stares straight ahead. Yeah, I'm glad I found the courage to be here with her. Now all I can do is hope we're able to get Tessa out of I.T.I.S. before it's too late.

#

#

After only about twenty minutes of flying, Nathaniel and I grew sleepy and now I wake to the sound of his heartbeat, a comforting and steady rhythm in my ear. His chest rises and falls with the deep breaths of sleep and thoughts from his dreams dart from his mind to mine. I must have been really tired, I don't even remember falling asleep with my head on his chest. I scoot closer to him and wrap my arms around his torso. Still asleep, he grunts and one of his scattered thoughts drifts into my mind, '... I think it's a raccoon...'

I chuckle softly, so as not to wake him. When he's awake, I'll have to ask him what he was dreaming about.

Directly ahead, Ms. Greenich's pilot seat is empty, and behind me, random thoughts like, '... where'd I put that? I hope I brought it...' drift in and out of my mind.

Before I fell asleep, I heard her say, "Iris, continue your present course on auto pilot." So I'm guessing she's in the locker-room behind us, looking for something, while Iris takes the wheel.

Esther, meanwhile, her safety harness undone, lays crossways in her seat, her eyes closed and her feet draped over one of its arms. She must be as tired as we are. I wonder if my dad's asleep somewhere in the back of the ship. I hope so. He's going to need his rest before going into I.T.I.S. headquarters with Esther and Ms. Greenich. Sighing, I tighten my embrace around Nathaniel.

...Why is Karen cuddled up with that boy?...

I roll my eyes. Well, now I know where Dad is.

As Dad's thoughts grow louder in my mind, I sit up and unwrap myself from Nathaniel, who twitches in his sleep. Dad's hand clamps down on my shoulder, startling me. I turn around and he's looking from me to Nathaniel, his eyes narrowed.

"What is this?" he demands, his hard-of-hearing voice louder than ever.

I steal a peak at Nathaniel and unfortunately, he's definitely beginning to wake up. "Nothing," I hiss, trying not to speak too loudly. "Can you please not be weird about this?"

Dad's eyebrows go up and he takes a step back, like I've said the most shocking thing he's ever heard. " 'Not be weird?' Karen, you're only fourteen and look at yourself!"

"I'm sixteen, and there's nothing wrong with falling asleep next to my friend."

Deaf to what I've said, Dad runs a hand through his messy hair and exclaims, "How well do you even know this boy?"

Does he have to talk so loudly? I slide out of my chair and face him. Lowering my voice so as not to wake Nathaniel, I ask, "Can we not do this right now?"

"What?" Dad shouts. "Speak up, I can't hear you."

Bringing my finger to my lips to shush him, I try to direct him into the nearby hallway. "Can we at least talk over there?"

...oops, sorry, Karen... I glance at Nathaniel and his eyes are wide as he looks from me to my father.

Great. Nathaniel gets to witness yet another embarrassing moment involving me and my dad.

"Fine. Have it your way, Dad." I shrug. "Go ahead and yell at me."

"I'm not yelling!" he exclaims. "I simply don't find it appropriate for you to be so...so familiar with a boy you barely know!"

"A boy I barely know?" I shout, enunciating my every word. "Nathaniel's been one of my best friends since ninth grade, and if you don't know that, that's your fault."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He crosses his arms.

"Just because you claim to remember my first day at gymnastics doesn't mean you've ever really been there for me or Tessa." I'm shouting, but I barely know what I'm saying. It's like the words are just coming out, uncontrolled. "Mom was ...," I falter, shaking my head as Mom's face comes to mind. My thoughts drift to the video she made for me and Tessa, and overwhelmed by how much I miss her, my eyes water. "Mom always thought about us, she was there. Not you. So, don't yell at me for not knowing who my friends are. It's not my fault you never cared enough to find out."

Dad's face falls and his thoughts creep into my mind... she's right. All of this is my fault... He takes a step back and shakes his head like he doesn't know what to say.

I don't know what to say either. My heart plummets and guilt settles down on my heart like a fog. "I can't do this right now," I mumble before scurrying away to the hallway behind us.

...that was kind of cold...

The foreign thought brings me to a stop, and I pause in the doorway, turning back to my dad. Nathaniel rises from his seat and says, "Sorry, Dr. Lyles, I wasn't trying to be disrespectful. We were talking and we both fell asleep, uh...sir."

Dad looks at Nathaniel, not a word leaving his lips. If I weren't so upset, the scene would be funny; my dad, at least three inches shorter than the six foot tall gymnast he's staring down, has somehow earned alpha status in this exchange. Nathaniel's shoulders are hunched as he nervously stammers his every word.

"And, um, and," Nathaniel falters, "and I know Karen looks up to you, she's always talking about how smart you are. What she said just now, I think she's...with everything that's happened, she's confused. She didn't mean any of that."

Before Dad can reply, I slip away from their conversation, my throat tightening. Confused? I'm more than confused. I'm a jerk. I just screamed at the only parent I have left and made him feel like a failure. What's wrong with me?

Ms. Greenich is a few feet away, her back to me as she rummages through a duffel bag that's partially inside of, but mostly hanging out of, one of the wall's metal lockers.

I close my eyes and lean against one of the metal walls.

"You alright?" Ms. Greenich asks. I open my eyes and stand up straight as she crouches beside the locker and half-contained duffel bag. "Actually," she says, tilting her head as she assesses me with a frown, "no need to answer that. Come here, help me sort the weapons. I'll show you how some of them work."

I head her way and drop to the floor beside her. "So I'm in a bad mood and you give me weapons? Is that what guidance counselors are doing these days?"

This earns me a smile and she says, "I trust you." Reaching into the duffel bag, she retrieves a small, black, tubular something or other that looks like a fat ink pen. I recognize it as the device Esther was holding when I decked her in the school parking lot. She had it again when she appeared in my room and rescued me from Roy. Ms. Greenich holds it up for me to see. "Esther's ability comes from the Triphylamonal-based cells you, she, and Nathaniel have. I'm not like that, my ability comes from this."

I look at her in surprise. It hadn't even dawned on me that Ms. Greenich might not have any powers. "What is it?" I ask, taking a second look at it. It doesn't look like anything other than an obese ink pen.

"It's called the Blackbird. Your father made it back when we worked for I.T.I.S." Ms. Greenich glances at me, pausing before she continues. "The way it works is you press this button here." She points to a circular button in the middle of the device. "And when you do that, the Blackbird's 'wings' open. They're not real wings of course, they're automated extensions that wrap around your arms and legs, giving you the ability to fly."

My mouth falls open. "The ability to fly?"

She smiles, her eyes sparkling. "Cool, isn't it? Your dad's a genius, Karen."

"My dad made this?" I ask, my eyes not leaving the sleek device.

"Yep."

Guilt, stealthy as a ninja, inches its way into my thoughts. Once again, I've blinded myself to something that's right in front of me! My dad is amazing and I've never bothered to notice. I called him out for not knowing who my friends are, but, over the years, how much have I bothered to learn about him?

"And as if flight isn't enough, your dad added an extra feature, using some kind of technology that I honestly don't understand at all," Ms. Greenich goes on. Curious, I meet her eyes, listening as she says, "When the Blackbird's activated, it produces a force field around its wearer. The field shrouds them in, not only invisibility, but in a protection that allows them to move at unfathomable speeds. So when I'm wearing this, I can fly through fire, through brick walls, through basically anything."

"It lets you fly through brick?" I chuckle dryly. "And I used to feel sorry my dad because I thought he'd never invent any of the things he imagined."

"Did you?" Ms. Greenich sounds surprised.

"Yeah..." I say, my cheeks and neck warming with embarrassment. "So why'd my dad decide to call it a blackbird?"

"Ah, good question." Ms. Greenich attaches the Blackbird to a tiny holster within the utility belt at her hip. "So, this is what you'd call a 'smart' object. When you want to fly, it reads the directions of your hands to figure out where you want to go, and it's smart enough to figure out whether you want to pick up a solid object or move through it. Your dad said that blackbirds, much like his invention, are incredibly intelligent, so he named it 'Blackbird.' I couldn't be Unseen without my Blackbird, that's for sure."

Ms. Greenich retrieves a miniature aerosol spray can from the duffel bag and pushes it towards me. "This is Lyxaum, if point five milligrams of this stuff is inhaled, which is the equivalent of spraying it once, it'll put a full-grown adult right to sleep. It's what I use on criminals during robberies. I'll have on the Blackbird, so while I'm invisible, I approach them, spray the Lyxaum, and they're out. For the especially big ones, we have to spray it a couple of times to knock them out, and for people with Trip-based abilities point five milligrams will work, but the sleep effect only lasts about sixty seconds. For example, you probably remember Esther using it on Roy and..."

While Ms. Greenich goes on, I look down at the aerosol, wondering if it's yet another one of my dad's inventions. He must have made all of this stuff for I.T.I.S. and then given it to Ms. Greenich...

My gaze goes to Ms. Greenich's duffel bag as a picture slips out and onto Iris's metal floor. I frown down at the snapshot and recognize it as the framed photograph from her desk at school, the one with her and her daughter.

"...and you're not listening to a word I'm saying," Ms. Greenich says, following my eyes to the photo. "Oh. I had a feeling we wouldn't be going back to Peake after this, so I brought that with me."

"Not going back to Peake?" I exclaim. "What about school? And Nathaniel's gymnastics training?"

Ms. Greenich's eyes soften. "Karen, after we do this, I.T.I.S. will be looking for us. We'll have to go into hiding."

"But we can't." I shake my head. "Nathaniel can't just leave. I mean, honestly I don't care about leaving, but Nathaniel will. This isn't fair to him."

...she doesn't understand the depths of this...Ms. Greenich looks at the picture and picks it up. "You're right, it isn't fair. But, I.T.I.S. isn't fair, Karen. There was a time when I had the opportunity to run from them, and I didn't. " Tearing her gaze away from the photo, she meets my eyes and asks, "Did your dad tell you the truth about my daughter?"

The truth about her daughter? I shake my head.

"A long time ago, like your father, I worked for I.T.I.S., and I thought they were this great company that was devoted to serving humanity." She sighs and lowers her voice. "So when one of my coworkers, a girl named Betty, insisted that I.T.I.S. had used her as some kind of test subject by 'stealing her ovaries'..."

"Stealing her ovaries? What?" I frown.

"Yeah, exactly." Ms. Greenich nods. "It sounds ludicrous, not to mention virtually impossible. So of course I thought Betty had completely lost her mind. But when one of my department's best researchers, a man named Dr. Reams, also began to claim that I.T.I.S. had done something similar to his wife, I took Betty more seriously, and it turned out that Betty and Dr. Reams were right." Ms. Greenich says, disgust in her expression. "Dr. Ream's wife was pregnant with their first child when I.T.I.S. found out and decided to use the unborn child as a guinea pig to test one of your father's serums."

"But Dad didn't know. Right?" I ask, my heart pounding. "He wouldn't do that on purpose."

"Of course I didn't know." Dad's voice startles me and I turn around to find him standing behind me. "Jayne went behind my back, I had no idea what I.T.I.S. was doing with my research," he says, nodding to Ms. Greenich, "until Nancy told me. That's when we decided I'd talk to Jayne to try and convince her to put an end to what she was doing."

There's no anger or resentment in Dad's expression and '...I hope you'll forgive me...,' drifts into my mind. I look down at my hands, a frog in my throat. I should be the one asking him to forgive me for what I said.

...Karen? I'm sorry. Do you forgive me?... I look up and Dad's watching me with the saddest look in his eyes.

"Of course," I nod.

Relief lifting his features, he exhales.

"Right," Ms. Greenich says, oblivious to our exchange. "Being that he was so close to Dr. Mire, we figured he'd be able to talk some sense into her. But before he was able to confront her, I screwed things up."

I glance at Ms. Greenich and she's looking at the picture of her daughter, her expression darkening.

"It wasn't your fault, Nancy." Dad says.

"Oh, it was," she says and turns to me. "I'd assumed Dr. Mire's plan revolved around your dad's Autism Reversal serum. I thought her ultimate goal was to gather people with autism and, upon injecting them with the serum, use them as super-soldiers who'd follow her every command. But that's not all I.T.I.S. was doing."

Dad lowers himself to the floor and sits beside me as Ms. Greenich continues. "The day before your father was supposed to talk to Jayne, I stumbled upon one of her secret labs and I was so upset by what I found that I decided to confront her on my own."

"What did you find?" I slowly ask.

Ms. Greenich bites down on her bottom lip. "An awful I.T.I.S. project called "The Novus Initiative." It involved stolen fetuses and when I saw, with my own eyes, that they'd gone so far as to steal unborn children, I couldn't keep silent for another twenty-four hours. I lost it. I went straight to Jayne and told her that if she didn't stop her experiments I'd contact the police, the FBI, the news, everyone."

Recalling Dr. Mire's cold, snake-like eyes, I cringe in sympathy for Ms. Greenich. Jayne Mire isn't the type of person you want to threaten.

"What'd she do?" I ask.

"At first, nothing. She even thanked me for coming to her. So I left her office, went to pick my daughter up from school and...I was so naïve that I just went home and made dinner, thinking everything would be alright." Ms. Greenich's eyes fill. "That night, I.T.I.S. agents showed up at my house and I tried to run, but they...shot Karin and she died."

Oh my God. Shocked, my jaw drops and all I can do is watch as a tear slides down Ms. Greenich's cheek. She wipes it away and I catch my breath.

Dad sighs before saying, "I.T.I.S. has its hand in everything, including the authorities, and Jayne saw to it that Karin was listed as "Missing." She made sure no one knew what really happened to her."

"I'm so sorry," I whisper.

"What they did," Ms. Greenich says, her mouth tightening and every muscle in her face tensing, "what they've been doing, is unspeakable, and after they killed Karin, I vowed to put an end to it. I bought a gun and snuck into I.T.I.S., determined to kill Jayne. But before I could, I ran into your father. He was frantic, trying to escape with two babies and his pregnant wife."

"Two babies." I turn to Dad. "Why'd you have two babies?"

Dad's face reddens and he begins to answer me when Ms. Greenich cuts him off. "Jayne murdered Dr. Reams and his wife," she explains, "and she planned to continue experimenting on their child."

Reams...that's Esther's last name.

"Esther's parents worked for I.T.I.S." I nod, everything beginning to make more sense, "Dr. Mire murdered Esther's parents and she wanted to experiment on Esther. So Esther was one of the babies."

"Yes," Dad says. "And Esther didn't even have autism. At that point Jayne wanted to use whatever young candidates she could find."

"You saved Esther's life," I say, watching Dad carefully.

"Yes," he agrees, as if this is simply a logical conclusion to come to.

"And mine," Ms. Greenich says. "If I hadn't had Esther to take care of, I don't know what I would have done with myself ...or to myself."

"But what about the other kid?" I ask. "You said there were two babies, and it couldn't have been me, because Mom was pregnant with me."

"The second baby was another rescue." Ms. Greenich glances down and her thoughts shift so quickly that the words became a jumbled mess in my mind.

I frown, disoriented by the confusion in my head. Since the accident, fragments of people's thoughts have been slipping into mine, but something unusual just happened. It's like Ms. Greenich steered her mind away from a specific path, and in so doing allowed one of her thoughts to crash into another. The resulting collision, loud and confusing in my head, is like putting my brain in the epicenter of a car accident.

Still a bit rattled, I glance at Dad and he's standing. He points to Iris's cockpit. "I'd better get back there, make sure we're still on course."

"Okay," I slowly reply. As he leaves, I turn to Ms. Greenich and ask, "So my dad left I.T.I.S. with you, my mom, and two babies?"

She nods, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye.

"That means," I think quickly, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together, "Esther grew up with you, Mom had me, and she and Dad raised me, but what about the other baby? What happened to it?"

"Nothing happened. The other baby's fine, everything's been fine until now." Ms. Greenich glances down, speaking quickly, "Your dad suggested we stick together and look out for each other, so that's what we did. We came to Peake, your father raised his family, and I used the equipment, the things we took from I.T.I.S., to protect us." She tugs at a curly lock of her hair, gently pulling it until it's straight. She releases the lock and it bounces back into its tightly coiled curl.

"...to protect us?" I repeat. "You mean I.T.I.S. came after you when you moved to Peake?"

Ms. Greenich arches one of her eyebrows. "Of course they came after us. And I used everything we had to fight back; Iris, the Blackbird, the Lyxaum, I used it all and it worked."

I look down at Iris's gleaming metal floors and try to sort this all out in my head. "So you waltzed out of I.T.I.S. with a spaceship and some stuff my dad invented," I slowly reply as I look up, meeting Ms. Greenich's eyes, "used it to scare I.T.I.S. off and then they just left you alone for, like, the next fifteen years?"

She purses her lips... How do I say this?...

"Just say it," I suggest.

"Well," hesitating, Ms. Greenich blinks quickly and then says, "Jayne was angry with your father, but she never really wanted to kill him. Me? She'd kill me in a heartbeat, but it was different with your dad. She cared about him. And we didn't exactly 'waltz out' of I.T.I.S., we barely escaped with our lives. We used the equipment we'd stolen in our defense, and it worked."

I nod, beginning to get a clearer picture of what must have happened. Apparently, Dr. Mire was so obsessed with Dad that she didn't want to kill him. So she let him get away, but now that she needs his serum, she's back in his life with a vengeance.

"But I've never forgotten what I.T.I.S. did to my little girl," Ms. Greenich continues, "and I won't let them do that to any of you. That's why, as soon as we get Tessa back, we have to run. Destroying the Alyssum doesn't mean we'll have completely eradicated I.T.I.S. So we'll still need to run."

Sighing, I mutter. "I understand." Ms. Greenich is right. After we do this, going back to Peake isn't even an option because we'd be sitting ducks. "So where do we go?" I ask.

"We're still working that out. So far I've made arrangements to resurrect my little girl's identity so that either you or your sister can become 'Karin Greenich.'"

I bite down on my bottom lip and hope Tessa's okay so she can take the new identity. We'll start over. I'll be kinder to her, try to understand her better.

Ms. Greenich begins to rifle through her duffel bag again. "Here it is, for a moment I thought I'd lost it." Ms. Greenich opens her palm, revealing a small cat's eye ring that looks exactly like mine. She slips it on and says, "Do you know what these rings do?"

"I didn't know they did anything."

"They're remnants from an old I.T.I.S. project. They contain deadly amounts of something called chiatum, an extraterrestrial substance that's not only poisonous to average humans like me, but to the strongest Triphylamonal-infused humans like Roy. Your father said that if I.T.I.S. ever used the strongest of their test subjects to try and stop us, guns might not work, but this would."

"How does it work?" I ask.

"You push the stone into your attacker's skin as hard as you can. When you hear the ring emit a click, twist the stone and a small percentage of chiatum will be injected into their skin, killing them."

"I hope I don't ever have to use it." I glance at my ring.

Ms. Greenich's brow furrows and she watches me silently. After a beat of a pause, she says, "Karen, you've heard about animals that eat their own young, right?"

I blink back at Ms. Greenich. "Uh, yeah."

"That's what I.T.I.S. is like. They have no feeling, no loyalty. They have a mandate that says if one of their own should threaten I.T.I.S.'s security, intentionally or unintentionally, then that agent should be targeted for systematic removal."

"Systematic removal?"

"Death," Ms. Greenich says. "First, I.T.I.S. forces paranoia-inducing drugs on the agent and in some cases, removes their memories. This way, their non-I.T.I.S. affiliated family and friends will think their loved one is losing their mind. I.T.I.S.'s next step is to kill the agent and make it look like a suicide. That's what they did to Esther's parents."

That's when I get it. "And to my mom," I slowly reply.

"Yes," Ms. Greenich says, her voice gentle. "Dr. Mire didn't want to kill your father, so she targeted your mom for systematic removal."

I take a deep breath, my pulse racing as I listen to Ms. Greenich continue, "Three years ago she made contact with your dad, insisting he give her the Autism Reversal formula, and when he refused, your mom was targeted for systematic removal."

I stare into the lockers, neither of us saying a word. My thoughts revert to the horrible memory of finding Mom ...to the way my little sister had been crying and clinging to her.

My chest tightens and the space between my heart and gut fill with pain. Hot tears spill down my cheeks and I exhale.

"We're going to make Jayne Mire pay for what she's done," Ms. Greenich says, her voice gentle, "and more importantly, we're going to get your sister out of I.T.I.S."

In the blur of my tears, Mom's ring seems to shimmer on my finger.

"Actually," I say, "I do hope I get to use this."

#

#

I stare at the eggshell white ceiling above and heave a sigh.

It must have been at least ten hours since I awoke to my current surroundings. That's how long a strange burning sensation has been stinging my hands.

I squirm in my confines, my bladder full and my mind racing. This entire situation is insane, but logical in a sense. Mother and Father were always distant with Karen and me, and all of this clarifies their behavior. Since Karen and I were born, our parents have been hiding their affiliation with this organization.

But what exactly is this organization? And how do I fit into Dr. Mire's plan? I know she's enhanced my intellect for her own selfish purposes. But what exactly she wants me to do for her, I'm not sure.

I wince as the ache in my hands and fingers intensifies. When I was younger, I'd play with any source of fire I could get my hands on and, typically, end up burning myself. The current pain in my hands reminds me of those pyromaniac moments.

I glance at the IV to my right. What is this serum is doing to me? My hands can't possibly on fire from the inside out, but that's what it feels like.

Beyond the IV, the large brown door to my chambers swings open and Dr. Mire's young assistant, Claire Hawke, enters the room.

I automatically tense and follow Claire with my eyes, wondering what else she and Dr. Mire are going to do to me.

But Dr. Mire doesn't enter the room behind her. Claire is on her own, and she appears to be scared. Her blue eyes wide, she shuts the door behind her and hurries to my side. I read her lips as she says, "I'm going to get you out of here."

I roll my eyes. Like everyone else in my life, Claire doesn't bother to ask if I feel that her assistance is required.

"Tessa?" Claire seems confused by my response.

If she had half a brain cell, she wouldn't be. Does she expect me to say, "Sure! You're the boss, strange woman who's shot me up with a DNA-altering drug!"

Ignoring Claire's buffoonery, I return my attention to the ceiling, refusing to look at her.

But she's more stubborn than she looks. Positioning herself directly above me, Claire blocks my view of the ceiling. "I don't have the key to the bolts on your wrists and ankles, but you do," she enunciates her every word as if she's afraid I'll misread her lips.

My attention taken, I put on a bored expression and watch her expectantly.

"Dr. Mire's Autism Reversal serum," she continues, "didn't just stimulate formerly untapped regions of your brain, it gave you abilities. Are your hands burning yet?"

Abilities? Opening my mouth, I voice, "Yes."

Claire nods, her eyes lighting up. "Good. That means your ability to produce a manipulative high intensity light is functional."

I can produce light? I blink back at Claire. How will producing light help me? Were we trapped in a dark cave, my expertise in becoming a human flashlight would be marvelous. But as this isn't the case, I see no merit in rejoicing in my theoretical ability to produce light.

Claire glances over her shoulder, terror etched into her features. "Tessa," she whispers, "we have to work quickly. Dr. Mire or one of her agents will be here any minute. Please, turn your hands around so your palms are facing the ceiling, point one of your fingers at the shackles on your wrists and think about cutting them."

I stare at Claire, sure I've misunderstood her instructions. Think about cutting the shackles? What's that going to do?

"Do it now," Claire urges, briefly glancing over her shoulder. "I know it sounds silly, but trust me, think about cutting them and it'll work. I've seen the Novu kids do it."

Novu kids? I have no idea what she's talking about, but my bladder is full, and if this works I'll supposedly be free, not only to use the bathroom, but to get out of this place.

Turning both of my imprisoned hands around so my palms face the ceiling, I point my index fingers at the metal bolts restraining my wrists. I glance at Claire to make certain I'm doing as she's asked.

"Be careful," Claire says, worry lines appearing on her pale forehead, "don't think about it for more than a second."

I have a feeling this overgrown teenager doesn't have a clue what she's talking about. Sighing, I resolve to follow through on her ridiculous directions, as trying something absurd is better than laying here until I soil myself.

I set my gaze on the shackle confining my right wrist and focus my thoughts on what I'd like to happen. Cut...I imagine the shackle separating, breaking in two, and my wrist freed.

Several flashes of golden light shoot from the tip of my index finger to the metal lock. As the light makes contact with the metal, a slew of sparks erupt, filling the air with warmth. The metal heats quickly and I yelp, my right wrist stinging with pain.

As the golden sparks that have been shooting from my finger recede, what's now left of the melted shackle falls to the table.

My eyes fill with tears of pain and I stare, utterly shocked, at the throbbing burn on my wrist.

I turn to Claire and her jaw tenses as she touches my shoulder. "Are you alright?" she asks.

A tear rolls down my cheek, and the burn on my wrist is like the pain of ten bee stings all in one spot, still...I can't help but smile. This is incredible! Not the pain, of course, but the power that comes with the pain. Claire misled me. It's not simple "light" that I'm able to produce, it's fire.

#

#

"This is it, time to get going." Ms. Greenich grabs her mask and slides out of the pilot's seat.

Just beyond her, Iris's view screen reveals a vast swamp filled with green cypress trees. Their branches are peppered with moss and large white birds that Karen's dad points out as egrets. But there isn't a building in sight. I peer into the marshy wetland, searching for some sign of construction that I must have overlooked.

"This is just a swamp," Esther says, echoing my thoughts. "Where's I.T.I.S.?"

"Trust me, it's here," Dr. Lyles says. "It's about a mile away on an island that isn't visible from the highway."

...if anything's happened to Tessa... Karen's anxious thoughts slip into mine and I reach across the aisle, lacing my fingers through hers.

'Tessa's going to be alright,' I silently assure her.

"Whatever it takes, we'll get her back," Esther says, glancing at Karen before she slips on her mask.

"I'm going to the top floor first," Ms. Greenich announces as she readjusts one of the weapons on her utility belt. "I want to stop in I.T.I.S.'s communication's room. Esther, you and Dr. Lyles should go straight to the basement lab, that's probably where they have Tessa. I'll meet you there. Are you ready, Dr. Lyles?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." He stands and Karen and I, likewise, get to our feet.

"We'll return with Tessa in about forty-five minutes," Ms. Greenich says, her tone grave. "As soon as we're back, we'll release the bagradae and hightail it out of here. All in all, we'll be in and out in no more than an hour and thirty."

"Sounds good," Esther says.

"Also, Nathaniel and Karen?" Ms. Greenich turns her attention to us. "Would either of you feel comfortable piloting Iris? If something should happen to us, one of you will need to fly her out of here."

I glance at Karen and she's gone pale. "Where would we go?" I ask.

"Back to the basement lab, at the mansion," Ms. Greenich says. "All you'd need to do is verbally tell Iris to switch to Auto Pilot and set a course for home base."

"Sure, we can handle that," I agree.

"Once you're in I.T.I.S., how will we know if you're okay?" Karen asks, her voice shaky.

Ms. Greenich flips a switch on Iris's console and says, "Iris has two speakers that are linked to a mic in my mask and to a comm device in Esther's ring. Once I'm in, I'll turn on my mic so you'll be able to hear what's happening on my end, and Esther will check in with you periodically to give you updates on their progress."

"That's great," I say, trying to sound upbeat for Karen's sake.

"Should the feed get interrupted," Ms. Greenich continues, "and you don't hear anything from us, give us up to sixty minutes. After that, if we're not back, leave. Got it?"

Karen turns to me, her eyes wide...I'm not leaving my dad. If anything happens to them, we're getting them out. Okay?...

"Is there a problem?" Ms. Greenich asks, arching an eyebrow as she looks from me to Karen.

"No, they're just nervous," Esther gives Karen a warning look. ...just do what my mom says, Karen...

"Karen, don't be frightened, we'll get Tessa back," Dr. Lyles says. "This is all just a precaution." He claps a hand on her shoulder and I step aside as he looks her in the eye. "I'll see you soon."

"Right." She fidgets with her ring and thinks, 'I should apologize for what I said earlier.' "Um, see you soon, Dad."

"We should go now," Ms. Greenich gently reminds them.

His gaze still on Karen, Dr. Lyles takes Esther's hand, and in a split second the two of them disappear.

I glance at Karen. Her face falls as she turns to me. "I should have said it."

I couldn't agree more, but I plant a kiss her on her cheek and push the negativity from my thoughts. "You didn't have to, he knows."

"See you in forty-five minutes, an hour at the most," Ms. Greenich says, and we turn our attention to her. Before we can say goodbye, she's pressed a button on the Blackbird and vanished.

Karen takes a deep breath. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"It's going to work," I say, hoping I sound more confident than I feel.

"WE'RE IN." ESTHER'S voice, garbled by static, is emitted from a speaker in Iris's console.

I glance at Karen. She stands over the speaker with her palms on the console and her face paler than I've ever seen.

"The holding room is empty, but it was definitely occupied," Esther continues. "There's an empty IV, and the shackles that would've held the test subject look like they've been burned."

In the background, Dr. Lyles says something, but his voice is too muddled by static and background noise for me to make out the words.

"I'm in." Ms. Greenich's voice comes from the other speaker on Iris's console.

"No sign of Tessa yet, but your dad thinks he knows where we can find her," Esther says.

On top of Esther's updates, a loud, roaring sounds from Ms. Greenich's mic.

"What the heck is that?" Karen whispers.

"It sounds like a garage door opening," I say, "so maybe that's what it is, a door." I don't point out that it also sounds like the roar of some kind of mutant-hybrid monster creature that I.T.I.S. very well could have made.

"They've added way too much security to this comm room," we hear Ms. Greenich mumble over the sound of loud footsteps.

"We're heading upstairs and..." Esther's voice cuts out and Karen stares at the speaker expectantly. But Esther's speaker remains silent, while footsteps continue to emerge from Ms. Greenich's.

"I wonder what happened to Esther," Karen's voice shakes.

"Maybe she just couldn't talk, maybe she had to go," I suggest.

"My name is Nancy Greenich," Ms. Greenich says, "and I'm interrupting this taped I.T.I.S. message to tell you the truth about The International Team of Investigatory Science. You deserve to know what I.T.I.S. really is. They say they're here to help us by curing diseases through cutting-edge technology and that's a lie. I.T.I.S. has a singular goal, to kill..."

Ms. Greenich's words are drowned out by a loud siren and Karen turns to me, panic in her eyes. "That must be an alarm. I.T.I.S. knows they're in there! We've got to help them."

"How?" I ask, my mouth going dry.

Karen looks down at her ring and then back up at the view screen, determination in her eyes. "We fight." Before I can protest, she plants herself in Iris's pilot seat and says, "Iris, Auto Pilot, go to the roof of I.T.I.S. headquarters."

"Karen, no!" I panic. I know she's brave, but she can't be serious right now. "We can't just burst in there and..."

"And save their lives? Look, see this?" She points to her ring. Sunlight shines through Iris's view-screen and bounces off the ring, throwing a blinding glare in my eyes. "What about it?" I move away from the glare.

As Iris acknowledges Karen's request, the sunbeam shifts to Karen's eyes, and they sparkle like gold while she explains, "It's not just a ring, it's a weapon. Ms. Greenich told me it's laced with something called chiatum, which can kill the strongest mutant or whatever you call the people they've got in this place. I could be in there helping instead of sitting here."

Iris begins her ascent and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. As the ship shoots into the air, I trip over my feet and quickly grab the armrest of a nearby seat, righting myself. I slide into the black leather co-pilot seat, fear sitting in my gut like a dead weight. I take a steadying deep breath.

We shuttle forward and a small island appears in the distance, its tall buildings standing out among the surrounding swampland. The sight sends my fear into overdrive.

"Since your ankle's messed up," Karen quietly says, "you should stay with Iris."

"Are you kidding?" I turn to her. "Karen, you're not going in there alone. I'm going with you."

"You can hardly walk." She glances at me. "Just stay and I'll be back, I promise...please, Nathaniel."

I stare at her as Iris slows and announces that we'll be landing in approximately sixty seconds. What scares me even more than sneaking into I.T.I.S. with Karen is not sneaking into I.T.I.S. with Karen. If I'm sitting here like a coward, how am I supposed to protect her? That's why I came with her in the first place, to protect her!

"I should've never called you that. You're not a coward." Shaking her head, Karen bites down on her bottom lip and says, "I'd just...I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you. You've already sacrificed enough for me and my family. Please, stay."

Her thoughts dart to my mom and a sick feeling fills my stomach as I say, "I don't like this."

"Just because you don't like it doesn't mean it's the wrong decision." She returns her attention to the view screen.

It doesn't take a mind reader to see that her decision's made. But her decision isn't my decision. "Karen-"

She shakes her head and speaks without looking at me, "If you try to come with me, I'll find a way to knock you out and drag you back into the ship, which will only slow me down. No, Nathaniel. I'm not losing you too."

"Jesus ..." I mutter.

Iris announces our arrival, and as we descend onto the roof of I.T.I.S.'s headquarters, dread twists at my gut. I glance at Karen. A part of me knows she's right, my foot is getting worse and I would slow her down. But, what if she goes in there alone and this is the last time I see her?

#

#

Iris's door shuts behind me, emitting a sound that resembles a vacuum being shut off. The ship is still invisible, so instead of seeing it, I'm looking into a parking lot full of black I.T.I.S. cars and vans. Beyond the roof's parking lot is a backdrop of mossy tree-tops over which egret's fly, some of them carrying food in their beaks. The Louisiana air is so muggy that after only seconds of leaving Iris's air conditioning, I'm sweating.

The rooftop is huge, at least three miles long, and we're parked at the very end of what looks like a runway. A group of hangers for helicopters and small planes are stationed to my right, while an entrance to a stairwell sits at my left.

I brush my thumb over the stone of Mom's ring and turn my attention to the stairwell. Am I doing the right thing? A few minutes ago I was sure, but now I don't know.

... Karen, wait, I'm coming. My ankle's not that bad, I'll be right there...

I turn around, surprised by Nathaniel's thoughts in my head. We're pretty far from each other; I didn't realize we could access each other's thoughts from this kind of distance. '... No, I'm fine. I'll see you in a few minutes...'

I wipe a thin film of sweat from my brow, reach forward, and ease the stairwell door open. Above me a bird squawks and sunlight trips on the stone of my ring, its light glinting and sparkling like fairy dust. I have Mom's ring, I'll be fine.

I step inside.

The alarm that we heard earlier must have stopped, because now all I hear are the light rumblings of a powerful air conditioner and fragments of nearby thoughts as they slip in and out of my mind. Everything else is silent.

The stairwell is surprisingly pretty, its floor and stairs decked out in rich burgundy carpet and its walls painted ivory. I hurry down the stairs and the scent of Louisiana Alyssum grows increasingly stronger.

I can't help but think about how I'm traversing the very same stairs Dad must have taken at least a hundred times back when he worked here. Inadvertently slowing in stride, I glance at the railing and run the tips of my fingers along the polished metal, imagining Dad doing the same. I should have told him I'm sorry. Sighing, I quicken my pace, only to pause mid-step as the door to the fourth floor comes into view. It's ajar and severely damaged, its small glass window smashed in and its doorknob dangling, useless.

A wave of nerves wash over me, but I make myself go to the door and peer through its shredded window. There's a reception area that, like the stairwell, is brightly lit and pleasantly decorated. Two potted plants sit on either side of an unmanned reception desk in front of a sturdy wooden door which looks like the entrance to a posh office.

I step into the corridor, and as the broken door closes behind me, my breath leaves me, bile rising in my throat. Ms. Greenich is on the floor, her mask removed and her eyes open, but unseeing.

Blood oozes from her forehead, mouth, and chest, seeping into the carpet. I take an unsteady step back, my knees shaking uncontrollably. This can't be happening.

But the longer I stare at Ms. Greenich, the more real it becomes. The blood dripping from her forehead is real, the death in her eyes, her opened palm, the Blackbird still in it, it's real.

Ms. Greenich is gone.

My every move a stumble, I crouch beside her. Her hair is spattered with blood, and all I can do is stare at it, my jumbled thoughts reverting to Mom.

When I found Mom, lying there with Tessa staring down at her in shock, it wasn't like this. For some reason, I'd been too numb to feel anything other than confusion. But now, as I touch one of Ms. Greenich's curls, my thoughts and memories are very much alive. Tears blind my vision.

This isn't right...this shouldn't have happened. None of this should have happened.

I smooth my palm over Ms. Greenich's eyelids, gently closing her eyes.

She was right, I.T.I.S. needs to be stopped. As soon as I find my sister, I'm going to release the bagradae. Destroying the main ingredient to their stupid serums will deal them a major blow, if not irreparable damage.

Across from the broken stairwell entrance, an elevator chimes and the numbers above the elevator light up, indicating that someone is headed to this floor. Taking a shaky deep breath, I grab the Blackbird from Ms. Greenich's palm and get to my feet.

The elevator starts to open as I stumble backwards and press the small round button in the middle of the device, just like Ms. Greenich showed me earlier. The Blackbird grows surprisingly warm and then hot in my hand as ripples fill the air around me.

My heart pounding, I watch the hallway, the elevator's opening doors, and the entire room begin to swim under massive amounts of ripples. It's like everything's been submerged under a pool of water.

The Blackbird expands, the top of the device extending and then splitting into two separate sections that wrap themselves around each of my wrists while the bottom half of the device does the same to my ankles.

Two gun-toting men step out of the elevator just as my feet lift from the floor. I know they can't see me because of the Blackbird's cloaking feature, but I still panic.

One of the men, his I.T.I.S. badge flapping on his collar as he jogs forward, stops at Ms. Greenich's body and then eyes the stairwell. "We've looked everywhere, I'm thinking she was the only one."

The other agent nods in my direction. "What about in there? Shouldn't we check?"

"Nah. Only special clearance gets you in that lab."

I watch them return to the elevator, my only consolation that they have no idea Esther and Dad are here. The elevator doors slide closed and I turn to face the entrance to the room that one of the agents called a lab. Maybe Dad's hiding in there...

Hoping I don't bash my brains out, I extend my arms in the direction of the door and pray that Ms. Greenich wasn't joking when she said the Blackbird allows for travel through solid objects.

I nearly scream as I'm zipped through the thick wooden door with a force so powerful it takes my breath away. Lowering my arms to my sides, I descend, my mouth falling open while I take in my surroundings.

The lab's high ceilings are supported by two walls that are stocked with what look like ... fetuses?! Though the babies are featureless balls of flesh with umbilical cords on their bellies, they're huge, about the size of a toddler. Each child is contained in a glass compartment filled with an amber-colored liquid. Periodically, an electrical current stirs within the fetus and then shoots into the amber liquid.

There are so many of them ...fetuses from ceiling to floor, there must be at least two or maybe even three hundred! Moving forward, I glance at the label on one of the containers and read:

# Project Novus- Test Subject 12273

I touch the label, wondering what "Project Novus" is and what I.T.I.S. is planning to do with these babies. The whispered thoughts that are slipping in and out of mine pale to one that's growing louder, meaning someone's close. I hold still and listen...it's on the roof, hanger two. There's a helicopter we can take and if I can just get Tessa to safety...

Tessa?! Whoever's nearby is thinking about my sister!

I lift my arms and fly in the direction of the thought.

My heart pounding, I speed past a long wall of fetuses, round the corner and relief washes over me at the sight of Tessa.

She wears a grimy hospital gown and her hair is all over her head, but she's unhurt! Exhaling as a thousand tons of worry leave my shoulders, I lower my arms and descend.

Tessa stands ramrod straight, her arms folded across her chest while she carefully studies a young woman with light blonde hair who's...talking to her?

...Hearing people and their 'plans.' They think, 'if I plan it, surely it will work, it doesn't matter that there are nimrods with guns running around, because I have a plan'....

Tessa shakes her head and mutters, "No."

Shocked, I stare at my little sister. It's as if she's actually hearing this woman. Is she?

I press the Blackbird's power button. The device's extensions recede and I'm lowered to the lab's linoleum floor. The blonde turns around and darts in front of Tessa, aiming a gun in my direction.

I lift my hands in surrender. "Don't shoot!"

Tessa grins and sets a hand on the woman's weapon, lowering it. Her smile widening, Tessa runs my way. I slip the Blackbird into my pocket as my little sister crashes into me with a hug that nearly sends both of us tumbling to the floor. She squeezes me tighter than I thought possible and I close my eyes, which are filling with tears.

I don't know what I would've done if Dr. Mire had hurt her.

... How did she appear out of thin air? Did Dr. Mire inject her with a form of Triphylamonal as well? ...

... This must be Tessa's older sister. Oh no, if Dr. Lyles is here, this is going to be bad...

The two streams of consciousness pour into my brain, and I realize that one of them, the more coherent of the two, belongs to my little sister.

A wave of fear washes over me and as Tessa pulls away from me, I assess her carefully. She looks the same, maybe a little less hunched and ...inward-focused, like she's more alert to what's happening around her.

"Can you... hear?" I ask.

"Not yet. For now, I only read lips," Tessa replies, voicing more coherently than I've ever heard. I don't even know what to say.

Before I can formulate a response, Tessa turns to the woman beside her, who's nervously eyeing me as she tucks her gun under her lab coat, and lowers her tone to one of authority as she says, "Direct my sister and I to your helicopter."

But the woman is still watching me, her blue eyes widening. "...Karen?" As her voice shakes, I realize that this "woman" can't be all that much older than me.

"Yeah, I'm Karen. Who are you?"

She nods, her cheeks flushing. "I'm Claire Hawke, technically I work for I.T.I.S. but I've been secretly working with your dad. You see, there's this scientist, Dr. Froner Dortez and he-" Claire shuts up as, in the distance, the heavy lab door slams shut and hurried footsteps sound.

I reach into my pocket for the Blackbird and spin around, but the approaching I.T.I.S. agent is faster. His gun already drawn he rounds the corner. Claire fumbles with her weapon, accidently dropping it.

We're screwed.

My heart pounding, I lift my hands in surrender and back up, "Please don't shoot," I glance at my little sister and she points to the I.T.I.S. agent. A luminescent stream of golden sparks jump from her finger to his chest. I lower my hands, shocked, as the sparks erupt into tiny bonfires that consume the man's chest. He screams and I'm frozen in disbelief, staring at Tessa.

Her expression taking on that of a hardened woman's, her mouth set in a grim, straight line and her forehead lowered, Tessa approaches the agent, her hand extended. She sends another slew of sparks to the man's skull and he falls to his knees. The agony of his screams tear me from my shock.

So, this is what Dr. Mire did to my little sister. I don't know if I'm more disgusted or scared. The smell of charred flesh turning my stomach, I shout, "Tessa, stop!"

She doesn't hear me, but stops as the man slouches forward, mortally silenced. With this, Tessa grabs my hand in hers. It's still warm as she uses her free hand to sign, "Come on, we'll follow Claire to safety."

"No," I reply, my hands shaking as I stare at her. "Follow me. I came in a ... a sort of airplane. I'll get us to safety."

Tessa's eyes narrow and she drops my hand....always so bossy. A dictator through and through...With that, she lifts her chin and looks me in the eye like I'm the enemy. "Why," Tessa voices, "do you always insist on your way?"

My mouth going dry, I take a step back and start to sign, "Tessa-"

"You can speak, Karen," she says, voicing clearly.

"Right," I shake my head, unable to believe I'm so nervous talking to my own sister. It's not like she's going to send me up in flames. Still, I can't quite look her after what I've just seen her do. My words coming out in a rush, I say, "I'm not trying to be a dictator. It's just that in our plane we have these special plant-eating insects called bagradae. And if we release them on the plants I.T.I.S. uses to make serums, we'll destroy the plants, which will stop I.T.I.S. from kidnapping more kids to use as test subjects."

Tessa tilts her head, studying me carefully as she says, "Did you even think to ask the test subjects what they want?"

"Girls, please just follow me," Claire interrupts, "we've got to get to Hanger Two." With this she darts away. Tessa arches an eyebrow at Claire before turning to me and shaking her head. Instead of speaking, she signs. "Claire's useless. We'll do this your way." Tessa turns on her heel and voices, "Come on."

"You don't even know where we're going." I call after her. And then I remember that she can't hear me. Rolling my eyes at myself, I catch up with Tessa and sign as I speak, so she won't have to read my lips while we're running, "Dad's here too, somewhere, but I think we should get you to the plane first and then come back for him."

Tessa watches my signs from the corner of her eye, nods, and then slips through the door. Upon exiting the lab, she pauses in stride and glances down at Ms. Greenich's body.

I start towards my sister, ready to comfort her and explain what happened, but before I can she crouches beside Ms. Greenich's limp form and, quick as can be, lifts the small cat's eye ring from her finger before moving on without a glance back.

I try to mimic Tessa's composure and walk past the body, but my throat constricts and I turn back to Ms. Greenich.

"Come on, Karen. They, undoubtedly, have cameras in the hallways. It won't be long before we're seen," Tessa voices. She grabs my hand and pulls me away.

As we make our way to the stairs, I can't stop looking at my sister. She's definitely still Tessa Lyles, maybe even more of Tessa Lyles than she's ever been.

TESSA OPENS THE door and bright sunlight greets us, making me squint. "Where's the plane?" she asks.

"It's a ship actually." I point to it. "And it's right in front of us. It's invisible."

She turns to the seemingly empty area and arches an eyebrow. "Okay."

The noise of Iris's side door opening sounds above the swamp's bird squawks, and I jog to it as Nathaniel appears in the doorway.

Tessa gasps... Nathaniel's here? ... A huge grin forming on her lips, she runs ahead of me and hurls herself into Nathaniel's arms. His eyebrows going up, he accepts her smothering hug.

"Whoa there," he says with a weak laugh. Tessa still clinging to him, he glances at me while I make my way to the large container of bagradae, Iris's entrance closing behind me.

"Karen?" His face falls and gently peeling Tessa off of him, he takes my hand. "What happened? Where's everyone else?"

"My Dad and Esther are still in there, but Ms. Greenich..." My eyes fill and I shake my head. "They got her. She's gone."

"Oh, no." Nathaniel pulls me to his chest and tightening his embrace, kisses the top of my head.

... she always finds a way to steal his attention...

Sniffing, I ease out of the hug and keep ahold of his hand as I direct him to the bagradae. "Do you remember how they planned to release these?"

"Yeah, I'll help you do it." Nathaniel speaks firmly as he wipes a tear from my eye and kisses me on my cheek.

... he kissed her? He kissed her!...

Iris's side door opens and Nathaniel and I turn to find Tessa exiting the ship.

"Where's she going?" Nathaniel asks.

... this will be the last time she'll steal him from me ...

"Oh, God." I mutter, taking off after my sister as she runs back to the stairwell.

Nathaniel limps behind me and says, "She's not doing what I think she's doing, is she?"

As if in answer to his question, Tessa shouts, "Dr. Mire, help! My sister tried to kidnap me, help!"

"I thought she was just jealous because she had a little crush on you, but this?" I say, the stairwell door slamming behind us as we follow her back into I.T.I.S. "This is insane."

We hurry down the stairs after my sister, while she yells for Dr. Mire. Just below us, the third floor's entrance door swings open and two I.T.I.S. agents, their guns drawn, run our way. The one closest to Nathaniel shouts, "Stand down! Put your hands above your heads and get on your knees! Now!"

I put my hands above my head and Nathaniel, quick as can be, grabs the gun from the nearest agent before punching him in the temple. The other agent fires in our direction and I duck while Nathaniel falls to his knees.

"Nathaniel!" I scream, terror ripping through me.

...I'm okay, just stay down...

My gaze goes to his left arm; it's bleeding.

"Stand down! Hands above your heads!" the agent shouts, his gun still aimed at us. He brings his free hand to his ear and says, "Two targets have been apprehended in the north side, third floor stairwell. I've wounded one."

The fear that's making my heart pound becomes blinding adrenaline. I lunge for the agent, and as I do, Nathaniel knocks the man's gun aside before shoving him. The agent stumbles backwards and I right Mom's ring on my finger. With that, I punch him in the jaw, making sure to push the ring into his skin as hard as I can.

The ring emits a click and I twist the stone. The man gasps and the color draining from his face, collapses.

My stomach turning, I back away from him.

I stare down at the agent, watching for a sign of breath ...there's none.

Nathaniel touches my arm. "You okay?"

I open my mouth to reply and the third floor entrance swings open. Multiple agents flood the stairwell, the one closest to me pointing a taser in our direction. Before I can blink, I'm hit. My body stiffens as my every muscle grows rigid. Stunned and unable to move, I fall, landing beside the dead agent. Just behind me a thud is followed by Nathaniel groaning.

A needle pierces my skin and drowsiness overwhelms me.

I OPEN MY eyes, my muscles burning with pain and a headache knocking on the insides of my temples.

...Karen? Are you alright?...

"Nathaniel?" I mutter, readjusting my vision to the bright lighting. I blink sleep out of my eyes and Dr. Mire, her stupid teased hair making her look like a peacock, comes into view. At the sight of her, a current of dread moves through me and I straighten my spine.

She sits only a few feet away, perched and legs crossed, on an office desk. A white lab coat on over an expensive-looking black pantsuit that she smooths down in a nervous gesture, she lifts her chin and says, "Hello, Karen."

I look around, attempting to make sense of my surroundings. To Dr. Mire's right, a small vase of Louisiana Alyssum sits on the desk, and beyond the flowers, my sister stands with her arms crossed.

No longer dressed in a hospital gown, Tessa wears a silky black blouse over a pair of jeans. Her hair is neatly brushed and it falls perfectly over her shoulders. She's more beautiful than I've ever seen her.

... who's in control now? ...

I lift my hands to sign and find that I can't. My arms and legs are strapped to the chair Dr. Mire's got me in.

"I apologize for the confines, but I thought it best you remain immobile for the time being," Dr. Mire says, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward.

"Karen, are you alright?" Dad's voice sounds from behind me and my heart lifts. I turn around, craning my neck to see him. He, Nathaniel, and Esther stand, lined against the wall. They're handcuffed, feet shackled, and an armed I.T.I.S. agent stands between each of them, watching their every move.

"I'm fine." I glance at Nathaniel and his left arm has been bandaged, otherwise, he looks alright.

...I'm okay, Karen, don't worry about me. Just focus on telling Dr. Mire whatever she wants to hear so we can get out of here alive...

I turn back to Dr. Mire and ask, "What is this?" while I silently ask a different question, 'Esther, can you tunnel out of here and come back with a gun?'

... Nope. Dr. Mire said the second I leave, she'll have one of her goons shoot Nathaniel...

My heart in my throat, I take a deep breath.

"This," Dr. Mire says, "is what you'd call a peace treaty."

"If it's peaceful, then why are we handcuffed and here against our own will?" I ask.

... Karen, you can't be confrontational. Just tell Dr. Mire whatever she wants to hear...

"I'm not here against my own will," Tessa says.

I have no desire to look at my sister right now. So, ignoring her, I try to keep my voice even as I ask Dr. Mire, "What are the terms of your treaty?"

Dr. Mire leans towards me and says, "You want to get out of here in one piece and I want to enhance the quality of human life. To accomplish this I need your father's knowledge of genetics and Esther's unique ability. So, if you all agree to work here with me for the next three years, after that, I'll let you go."

"Even Nathaniel?" I ask, pretending to consider her offer.

"Even Nathaniel." Dr. Mire says.

A funny feeling tugs at my gut while everyone's thoughts run through my mind. Instead of listening to the blur of whispers, I focus on the flicker of intuition.

This doesn't make sense. I'm strapped to a chair while Nathaniel, Esther, and my dad are standing. It's like Dr. Mire has intentionally made me the most valuable of her prisoners. But she doesn't even know about my ability, so why would she care about me?

"Why are you negotiating with me instead of my father?" I ask. "You don't need me here."

"Jayne, no." Dad says, his voice going up an octave. "Karen, don't listen to anything she says." The agent beside him, a square-jawed guy who's built like a sturdy brick wall, backhands Dad and I wince.

"Leave him be," Dr. Mire orders, briefly glancing at Dad. "You're right, Karen, I don't need you here. I want you here because I want to know my daughter."

The scuffling and grunts of a fight erupt behind me and Dr. Mire, jumping to her feet, pulls a gun from her lab coat as one of the I.T.I.S. agents shouts, "Hey!" I turn around to see what's happened. Esther's nowhere in sight, she must have tunneled away, and my father's jamming his left elbow into the ribs of the agent beside him.

Esther reappears between Dr. Mire and my sister. Her smart-alecky smirk in place, she holds Dr. Mire's gun and winks as she says, "Hey there, Jayne. Thanks for the gun, maybe I'll keep it."

Tessa waves. "Hey there, Esther. Thanks for tripping me the other day. Maybe I'll return the favor."

Esther rolls her eyes. "Oh my God, it was an accident, Tessa."

My sister points each of her waving fingers in Esther direction and releases five quick streams of sparks. Esther screams, her gun clattering to the floor as each burst of fire hits her chest. She tries to put them out, but the flames eat into her skin, quickly spreading to her face and torso.

"No!" I cry. "Tessa stop!"

"That," Tessa shouts, her eyes glazed over and full of hate, "wasn't an accident."

"Tessa, no," I scream. "Help her!!"

Esther vanishes as the sounds of fighting intensify behind me. Trembling and barely able to breathe, I turn around.

"Stop it right now!" Dr. Mire orders, darting for one of the guns on the floor. The agent guarding Nathaniel is clearly in possession of some kind of ability, his skin gleaming gold, as he holds Nathaniel at bay and yells at my Dad, who's kneeing the other I.T.I.S. agent in the genitals.

"I said stop!" Dr. Mire commands, but Dad knees the man again, this time in the chin.

The man, red-faced and his features contorted in pain, reaches for the gun at his hip.

"No!" I cry, struggling to get out of this stupid chair I'm bound to. "Nathaniel, my dad!"

The agent lifts his gun and shoots my father in the chest, twice. My blood runs cold as a burst of red blossoms on Dad's shirt. His eyes widen and he slides against the wall, a trail of red painting the wall behind him as he collapses to the floor.

Everything around and inside of me stops. My gaze not leaving Dad, I reel, the entire world quaking on its axis; I can't breathe, think, or move.

Dr. Mire approaches the agent who fired the shot. "Lower your weapon."

He does as told and she lifts her gun to his temple. "I ordered you," she says, her voice low, "to leave him be."

I close my eyes as Dr. Mire pulls the trigger and at the sound of the gunshot the world returns to its tilted spin. I'm once again able to think and every inch of my body trembles as it dawns on me why Dad reacted with such violence. He didn't want Jayne to say it, but she did ... she said it, she gave away Dad's biggest secret, and I nearly missed it.

I open my eyes, my throat dry and my every heart beat loud in my ears. Dr. Mire said, 'I want you here because I want to know my daughter.'

"No," I whisper, shaking my head. "She's can't be my mother. There's no way."

#

#

I don't know who's trembling more, me or Karen. I'd go to her, but this I.T.I.S. mutant who's got me trapped in a relaxed chokehold is even stronger than Roy was.

Tessa screams and runs to Dr. Lyles. He's on the floor in front of me, bloodied and...gone.

My stomach turning, I return my attention to Karen. She's breathing hard and her eyes are full of tears.

... she's not my mother, she can't be...

"Karen," Dr. Mire says, "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry," Karen repeats, her voice barely above a whisper.

The mutant agent who's got me restrained asks, "Dr. Mire, should I call for backup?"

"Yes," Dr. Mire says and he immediately speaks into a mouthpiece near his collar, requesting for a dozen armed agents to join him in Dr. Mire's office.

"How are you my mother? How is that even possible?" Karen spits each word and Dr. Mire winces like she's been hit.

"I understand your anger. I never wanted your father hurt."

"Just answer my question!" Karen screams, her fist clenched and a tear spilling down her cheek. My mouth going dry, I shove against the mutant who's trapped me.

"Keep still!" He barks, tightening his grip even more.

"Alright," Dr. Mire offers Karen a nod. "I'll answer you."

Tessa's sobs lessen and I glance at her. She wipes her tears, her glazed over eyes narrowing as they dart to Dr. Mire and Karen.

"I knew your father long before Tessa's mother did." Dr. Mire returns to her desk and leans against it. "We were both from Louisiana, and as adolescents, we were sent to a summer camp for Children with Special Needs, a cover for researchers who wanted to study autism. That's where we met."

Karen looks like she might vomit, but keeps her mouth shut and listens to Dr. Mire carefully.

"While there," Dr. Mire continues, "your father and I discovered that we and quite a few of our other peers had high intellects and similar ways of thinking. I'd studied the findings of Hans Asperger and I realized, even before the so-called specialists of our time, that Asperger's was a more correct label for our personality traits. Your father agreed, but was much less adamant. After that summer, we kept in touch, and even after he married Tessa's mother, we remained friends."

"Friends?" The growled question comes from Tessa and I glance at her. She scowls at Dr. Mire, but the woman doesn't even notice. Karen has Dr. Mire's full attention.

"A year after their marriage, I invited him to work with me at I.T.I.S. and he accepted. You were conceived shortly thereafter, and so I was pregnant with you while your father's wife was carrying their first child," Dr. Mire explains, her tone flat, like she hasn't just said one of the most disturbing things Karen's probably ever heard in her entire life. "By the time he decided to leave I.T.I.S., you were an infant. He kidnapped you and the Reams girl, and then he left."

Karen's breathing hard as she says, "What about the baby my...my mother was carrying?"

"She had a miscarriage in the chaos of the escape. To be honest, strength was never Tessa's strong suit, physically or emotionally." Dr. Mire rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Your father knew that, and assuming she wouldn't be able to handle the loss, he used our Luomnem machine to erase her memory of the child's death. He made her think you belonged to her."

... Dad lied to me? And to Mom?... The color drains from Karen's face.

"But that couldn't be further from who you really are, Karen," Dr. Mire continues, her voice softening. "You're my daughter. You have my fortitude and I intend to teach you to use it."

Karen's face falls and she shakes her head. "Even if we have the same DNA, you have nothing to do with who I am."

Movement to my right catches my eye and I glance that way to find Tessa gently pushing Dr. Lyles' body aside and getting to her feet.

"And if anyone's weak," Karen shouts, "it's the murderer who killed the only mother I've ever known!"

"I know you're angry." Dr. Mire sighs, pushing a strand of hair away from her forehead. The very Karen-like gesture startles me. There's no denying that the two of them look alike. "But that's because you don't understand the scope of my plan."

"We're angry because you killed our parents," Tessa shouts, raising both of her hands. Golden and red sparks leap from the tips of her fingers. "And my sister's correct, you're weak."

The mutant who's got me in his grip releases me, steps forward, and aims his weapon at Tessa. "Lower your hands, lower them now!"

"No," Dr. Mire waves the mutant off, "don't shoot this one."

As she's speaking, her office door flies open and a dozen armed agents rush the room, followed by a young blonde woman in a white lab coat. Ignoring the agents, Tessa keeps her gaze on Dr. Mire and releases a stream of sparks, but she's tackled to the floor and restrained, her fire landing nowhere near Dr. Mire.

"Don't hurt her!" the blonde woman and Dr. Mire order in unison.

The blonde lowers her gun and stoops beside Tessa. I start for Karen, but the mutant whose been guarding me yanks me backwards and forces my hands behind my back. I glance at him and his narrowed eyes gleam with odd golden flecks.

The blonde woman, crouched beside Tessa, pulls a syringe from her pocket and says, "Sedate Nathaniel and bring him to holding, but don't hurt him."

I glance at Karen and we lock eyes. For some reason, I'm not panicked anymore. Am I afraid? Definitely. But I'm not frozen in panic. The worst has happened, and it's going to keep happening, but as long as we're together, we'll protect each other.

I hold her gaze and think, 'whatever happens, we're going to be okay.'

One of the agents sinks a needle into my skin and Karen's face grows blurry. Among the meaningless thoughts that slip in and out of my head, I hear one that matters.

... I love you, Nathaniel. You're the bravest person I know...

#

#

An agent holds me down while Claire Hawke thrusts a needle into my arm. Wincing at its insertion, I send another slew of sparks to the agent who's got me in his grip. He screams and releases me. I try to get to my feet, but the room spins like a merry-go-round.

Claire Hawke leans close to me and I believe she's whispering as she says, "Don't worry, Tessa, I'll make sure you're alright."

My vision blurring, I return my attention to my sister. Dr. Mire approaches Karen, something small and shiny in her grasp. I can't see what it is, but I don't think it's a gun. Dr. Mire crouches until she and Karen are eye level.

My heart pounding, I squint through my hazy vision, trying to make out what the object is.

The device could be some sort of weapon, but I doubt Dr. Mire would kill her own offspring. "Don't...hurt her," I say, trying and failing to stretch my hand out towards Dr. Mire.

As much as I dislike Karen, she's my sister. I never wanted her dead, I only wanted her respect.

Dr. Mire brings the shiny object to Karen's face and says, "This is for your own good."

"No..." I say, everything around me growing dim. I force my eyes back open.

Claire Hawke is approaching Dr. Mire, a hand on her shoulder as they stand over my sister's limp body. "You've had a hard day," Claire says, "let me ..."

"No!" I cry. My eyes giving way completely, I sink into sleep.

#

#

# May, 1999

"Please welcome our salutatorian to the stage," Fairtowne High's Principal, Mr. Ron Barber, smiles warmly and glances my way as he says, "Karin Greenich."

...the kid's not even nervous. She's something else ... His thoughts slip into mine while the audience claps. Mr. Barber has no idea how wrong he is about my nerves. But I return his smile, a surge of gratitude overshadowing the anxiety that's crept into my gut.

Mr. Barber's the best Principal I've ever had ... well, not that I remember having any other Principal, but that's not the point. The point is that he's been awesome this past year. The last minute addition of an awkward amnesia patient to his student body's graduating class was probably less than thrilling. But instead of making me feel like a burden, Mr. Barber encouraged everyone to go out of their way to make me feel at home.

Standing, I readjust my graduation cap as a cool breeze blows the tassel every which way. Today is perfect for an outside graduation, with bright blue skies and lots of sunlight. Still, though, the weather's on the colder side at about sixty-five degrees. That's not surprising. Fairtowne, a small city in inland Connecticut, is the kind of place where hot chocolate and well-made sweaters are necessary for a solid ten months out of the year. Why we're having an outside graduation on our school's front lawn is beyond me, but ...whatever. At least it's picturesque.

The girl beside me, Bianca Goings, offers her palm for a high-five and I respond with a firm slap. Bianca's the only Deaf student in our school. She reads lips like a pro and on my first day here, when she asked me where I was from (because, apparently, I speak with a 'southern twang'), we were both surprised when I replied by signing, "I have no idea." That was the moment we both realized I know American Sign Language. Go figure.

"You got this, Karin," Bianca signs.

"Yeah," I whisper, "if I don't trip and fall flat on my face."

She chuckles and I make my way down our aisle, accepting fist bumps and high-fives on my way to the stage. In this large of a crowd, the amount of thoughts that pour through my mind are incredible, but I take a deep breath and do my best to avoid letting them overwhelm me.

I glance at the ASL interpreter Fairtowne's hired for Bianca and we exchange nods. In acknowledgement of our previous arrangement, the interpreter takes a step back.

I turn to the microphone and lift my hands, signing as I speak, "Over a year ago, I woke up on the front steps of an orphanage with no memory of my past."

A hush falls over the audience and butterflies fill my stomach. I lift my chin, steady myself, and continue, "All I knew was that, according to the ID card in my pocket, my name was Karin Greenich. Other than that card, I had no identity. But now, a little over a year later, I've gained a clear sense of who I am and where I'm going. I wouldn't be able to say that if it weren't for all of you." I scan the familiar faces in the audience and my gaze stops at Ms. Spencer, the director of Fairtowne Orphanage, the "state-sponsored group home" I belong to. Tall and heavy set with frizzy red hair, Ms. Spencer stands out like a sore thumb. As she meets my eyes and smiles, my anxiety subsides.

"You guys are a close knit graduating class. You've grown up together and you're like family to each other. But when this shy new girl with amnesia and a weird accent," I continue, grinning as a few people laugh, "was suddenly a part of your class, instead of treating me with prejudice you treated me with kindness. Your kindness was so powerful that it actually filled the spaces left empty by my missing memories. Mr. Barber and my teachers, likewise, kindly encouraged me to take my time in discovering things about myself. Like, how much I love acting, and-"A few of my friends from Drama Club cheer. They make so much noise I'm forced to pause. Grinning, I continue, "And you helped me realize that, more than anything, I love helping people the way you all helped me. I have yet to recover my memories of my past, but thanks to your kindness I know exactly where I'm going. I'm going to become a teacher one day. That's my identity, and everyone in our class has their own distinctive identity. Like Bianca, who can dance better than Brittney and JLo put together and-" Before I can continue, the audience claps and someone shouts, "Class of 1999!"

I chuckle and shift on my feet as I prepare to conclude my speech. To be honest, right now I'm sort of grateful for my amnesia. I know it's probably silly to think that because I have so many questions about my past and this weird 'hearing-thoughts' ability I've got going on. But still, something tells me that I wouldn't be this happy if I had my missing memories. Actually, I don't know about that, I could be totally wrong ...all I know is that in this moment, I feel whole, like I know exactly where I'm going in life.

"KARIN, THAT WAS a beautiful speech," Ms. Spencer gives me a hug, her smile as bright as ever. It diminishes only a tad as she lowers her voice and looks me in the eye, "But are you alright? I mean, in this kind of a crowd?"

Ms. Spencer is the sole person I've told about my ability. And the only reason she didn't think I was a complete nutcase is because she was the one who found me on the front steps of the Orphanage that freezing March morning. Ms. Spencer knows there was more than an identity card in my pocket ...the card was tucked away beside a device, a long and slender gadget that, as crazy as this sounds, gives its wearer the ability to become invisible and fly. So, we both realize there's something odd about my past. We've also agreed that, for the time being, it'd be best to let the mystery remain in the past.

"It's not too bad," I say even as I nod to her car and add, "but I wouldn't mind heading out now."

She smiles with understanding and we start towards her little blue Toyota. "Are you sure you don't want to ride to the banquet with one of your friends?"

As if on cue, Adam, a short guy who's had the most ridiculous crush on me since I started at Fairtowne calls after me, "Karin, you riding with me? Right?"

"Sorry, Adam. I already have a ride," I reply over my shoulder. He makes a face, so I smile and blow him a kiss. "But save me a seat next to you."

He winks back at me and I roll my eyes. "Don't worry, Ms. Spencer, I was totally joking-" I pause in stride at an abrupt shift in the whispers waltzing in and out of my thoughts.

...where'd that girl come from? And her face ...my God ...

...did that girl just...appear? Like, out of nowhere?...

...oh my God, what happened to her face...

The murmurs that are pouring into my thoughts begin to resemble one another, only one of them standing out as different ...there she is, there's Karen...

Karen. I exhale slowly, trying to get a hold of myself. Why is my blood running cold at the sound of that name?

"Karin?" Ms. Spencer touches my shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I absently reply, my gaze going to the very center of the crowd, the place where everyone else is pretending not to look.

There stands a girl with stringy blonde hair, chunks of it burned away to reveal a painfully scarred scalp. Her face is, likewise, a tapestry of tomato red burns that culminate into the worse scarring I've ever seen on her chin. She wears a turtle neck, which is loose and over-sized on her skeletal form, and her jeans nearly fall off of her as she limps my way. Her blue eyes, unable to mask the pain of her every step, are full of surprising determination and the intensity of her gaze is so magnetic that I can't look away as she walks toward me.

"Do you know this girl?" Ms. Spencer whispers, taking a protective step closer to me.

I look into the girls' eyes, hoping for some tug at my memory. But all I can remember is ...nothing.

"I don't know," I confess.

"Karen," the girl's voice is raspy.

"Karin," I correct and take a tentative step towards her.

"No, Karen." She shakes her head slowly, as if even this movement requires a ton of effort.

She's so frail that I worry she'll pass out before she even reaches me, so I leave Ms. Spencer and close the gap between us.

"Is there something I can ..." I realize that I don't know what to say. "That I can do for you?"

"Not me." The girl takes a breath and a croaking noise comes from her throat as her eyes fill. My God, she looks like she's in horrible pain. My heart breaking, I touch her arm to steady her. "It's too late for me," she continues. "But the others, you can help them."

... Karin, I don't like this ...

Knowing that this thought must be coming from Ms. Spencer, I glance at her before returning my attention to the burned girl. My mouth dry with nerves, I ask, "What others? I don't understand."

"You hear thoughts." With that, she grabs my hand. "I travel."

I gasp as my school's front lawn with its crowd of graduates and proud family members is no longer around us. Instead, we're surrounded by a tornado of colors and I'm completely paralyzed; I can't even scream!

The tornado comes to an abrupt halt and the girl with the burns releases my hand.

So disoriented that I'm cross-eyed, I shake my head to clear my vision and look around. We're on the sidewalk just down the road from my school. A car whizzes past on the nearby street and my heart pounding, I turn to the girl. "What did you just do?"

"That's my ability. Just like..." she pauses to catch her breath, the life in her eyes dimming. "...just like you hear thoughts. Use your gift to help the others."

"You're saying there are others like us? People with powers?" I know I'm asking too many questions, but I can't stop. "Where did we come from and why-"

"Go here," she interrupts me, and reaches into the pocket of her jeans, her hands trembling with weakness.

I start to help her when a slew of whispers take center stage in my mind ...Target six tunneled to the northeast, a half a mile away...

... eyes on target six. She's on a street corner, talking to a dark-haired girl; a teenager in a graduation gown ...

"People are following you," I say, glancing around. The words have barely left my lips when a black Buick, its windows tinted, careens towards us from down the street. I keep my focus on the shadowy figure in the driver's seat, trying to pinpoint his thoughts within the barrage of whispers assaulting my brain.

... wish Dr. Mire would just let us put this kid down. Watching her waste away is worse than...

The girl grabs my hand and presses something into it, "Find Iris. Save the others."

I turn to her, but she's gone.

"Wait!" I cry, blinking into the empty space she just occupied. In my confusion, I nearly drop the piece of paper she's left in my hand.

... How is this kid still tunneling? She should be dead by now ... The Buick roars away, its tires screeching as it takes off.

I look down at the paper she's left me with and, my hands shaking, I frown into the tiny writing ...actually it's not just writing. It's got a drawing, a map.

I read the map's title aloud, "Swamp Rose?"

Upon closer inspection, what she's drawn begins to make sense. It's a map of Louisiana, with special emphasis on the state's far southern half, a town called Swamp Rose. Each of the town's main streets are labeled and she's got a red arrow pointing to what appears to be an island within one of the area's nearby swamps.

...there she is!... interrupts my thoughts as Ms. Spencer's heavy footsteps sound behind me. "Karin? Are you alright?" She calls.

Dazed, I turn to her. "Yeah, but I think I need to go."

"Of course, we can go." Ms. Spencer agrees, her brow wrinkled in concern. "And we don't have to go to the banquet, not after all of that. In fact, how about a quick chat with your therapist?"

"No." I shake my head. "I mean, I need to go in that I need a plane ticket, a flight."

"What?" Ms. Spencer exclaims, "You can't just ..." She takes a deep breath and dons her social worker expression of calm. "Karin, can you tell me why you feel you need a plane ticket?"

Reaching under my graduation gown, I slip the map into the pocket of my dress and return Ms. Spencer's confused gaze. "I need to go to Louisiana, to a town called Swamp Rose."

Ms. Spencer asks me why again, but I'm not going to explain because ...well, because I don't even fully know how to explain why. I just know there are people who need help and if it takes traveling all the way to some godforsaken town called Swamp Rose to get to them, then that's what I've got to do.

"Karin, you need to be careful," Ms. Spencer's voice shakes. "You have an ability, yes. And that girl who showed up obviously has one too. But think about what kinds of people would want to take advantage of kids like you. So, if that girl told you to go to this ...this Swamp Rose place, who's to say she wasn't coerced into sending you into some kind of a trap?"

Biting down on my bottom lip, I consider this and start towards Ms. Spencer's car.

"Karin?" She follows me.

"Maybe it is a trap, I don't know," I agree, fear washing over me. "But if it isn't and there are others like me who need to be rescued, who would I be if I didn't at least try to help them?"

I turn to Ms. Spencer and look her in the eye, "I meant what I said in the graduation speech. This is who I am, this is what I'm made to do, to help people. I'm going to Swamp Rose."

Her eyes softening, Ms. Spencer says. "I'm proud of you, Karin." To my surprise, she gives me a hug and whispers, "I'll help you with the plane ticket, but promise me you'll be careful."

"I will," I reply, silently hoping I can keep my promise.
To find out exactly what happened to Karen, Nathaniel, and Tessa while they were in I.T.I.S., check out The South Louisiana High Series!

You'll meet "Karin Greenich" as an adult who's decided to make Swamp Rose, Louisiana her home. She's become a Theater teacher at South Louisiana High School, where her students and colleagues stumble upon the full story behind her past and how she managed to escape from I.T.I.S. Check out each of their stories in the books below!

The South Louisiana High Series

Almost Friends

Mia, Kyle, & Elizabeth's Story

Almost Twins

Andy, Gia, & Via's Story

The Other LA

Drew's Story

Bravery

Gina's Story

Almost Human

Lanie & Silv's Story

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Thank you to readers who hung in there and let Karen, Tessa, and Nathaniel lead them on an adventure into the world of I.T.I.S. Trust me, this is only the beginning ...

First of all, I have to thank my friend, Stacy, who is not only one of the funniest women I know, but who patiently taught me about Deaf culture and the art of unabashed honesty. Your patience and humility are refreshing, Stacy. Likewise, Karen's story would be completely different if I didn't know the baker of the world's best gluten-free brownies and her beautiful family. Yeah, that's you, Bonnie. I'm so glad you've been one of my best friends since those long gone days of us aimlessly driving around Baton Rouge while listening to either Josh Groban or the Les Mis soundtrack and trying not to cry in front of each other. Why did we listen to such sad music? And do you ever wonder how much gas we wasted driving around? We were so weird back then. I'm glad we're completely normal now.

Daniel! Thank you for listening to me excitedly explain every single aspect of this story during our road trip from Louisiana to California. Undoubtedly, that experience was amazing for you. You're welcome.

The cover of the book! Rebecca Berto! You. Are. Awesome. Thank you for the beautiful cover! As for the gorgeous interior, a huge thank you to Emily Tippetts!

Okay now, as far as the actual writing goes ...it'd be downright insane for me not to mention The Baton Rouge Writer's Group. You guys were so encouraging. Thank you for taking the time to listen to my chapters and offer great suggestions while still managing to bolster my confidence. Each and every one of you are such incredible writers and critique partners!

Another profoundly huge thank you goes to Jenny Margotta, a wonderful editor! And then there were so many helpful critique partners, thank you to all of you!

Also, it's not like Hans Zimmer, Michael Giacchino, or Philip Glass are going to read Identity, but I'm going to thank these three anyway because they rock! Without their music, this story would be so emotionless. Thank you for your inspiring music.

And that, I believe, shall end these acknowledgments.
Questions or comments about The South Louisiana High Series?

Contact E. J. Mara using the form here!
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2015 by Come Play Studios

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Come Play Studios.

www.comeplaystudios.weebly.com

Cover by Rebecca Berto

Interior Design and Formatting by E.M. Tippetts Book Designs:

www.emtippettsbookdesigns.com

First Edition
