A World Without You(21)

The red string whirls into darkness. Trying to grab it just as it disappears into the void is crazy, like trying to grab a live electrical wire thrashing on the ground.

I do it anyway.

The string cuts into my skin—it feels like I’m trying to climb a mountain with a thread instead of a rope. The swirling vortex at the point in time and place where Sofía is threatens to throw me aside, but I don’t let go. I can feel time around me, building like pressure from all sides, wanting to expel me. I strain against the forces of time trying to keep me out. Strings start to unravel, and they whip against my hand, lashing my skin.

I grit my teeth and pull harder. The string feels like barbed wire crackling with electricity. No, I think to myself, just that word, just no.

But I have to give up anyway. I can’t hold on. The strings of time slip through my fingers, swirling back around the vortex where Sofía is trapped.

I go for a walk. I pace the grounds of Berkshire, from the brick steps to the sick kids’ camp to the green gate blocking the boardwalk and back again. I stand in front of the burned-out brick chimney, the only link between where I am now and where Sofía is in the past. I stare at it. I argue with the blackened bricks. I argue with time. I argue with myself.

There has to be a way.

I wish I understood more about my powers. I wish I could say, “I want to be at this place, in this time,” and go right back to that specific moment. Instead, I’m always sort of guessing, and everything is a little random, a little uncontrollable. It’s like swimming in the ocean. You can point to a spot out in the distance where the waves aren’t cresting yet, and then you can swim and swim, but you’re probably not going to end up at the exact spot you were pointing to. The ocean’s just too big, and the current is always moving.

By the time I make it back to Berkshire, it’s almost dark. The giant lights around the brick facade are already glaring down at me, accusing me of breaking curfew. But when I slip past the big wooden doors inside the main hallway, it’s mostly deserted. I half expected Dr. Franklin to be waiting on me, scowling, but instead, I’m face-to-face with one of the other unit leaders. She works with the older students, the ones who normally would have graduated by now but whose powers are either so odd or so uncontrollable that they’re remaining at the academy.

“Bo,” she says, nodding at me. I’m surprised she knows my name, but then I realize that the Doc probably told her to wait up for me specifically. Since Sofía’s disappearance, he’s been watching me more closely. I think he thinks I’m depressed, but I’m not. I’m just angry. At myself, at my powers, at the whole situation.

I nod to the unit leader, and she checks something on her phone and then proceeds to lock up the building. She sets the alarm and locks all the doors and windows to the academy with a nod of her head—she must have telekinesis like Ryan—then she smiles at me and click-clacks in her high heels toward the kitchens. Some of the staff have begun taking down the black bunting that had been spread throughout the hall for Sofía’s memorial service.

I wonder what everyone else in the school thinks happened. All the units are pretty tight-lipped. We hardly ever see other students. Mealtimes are kept small and regulated. There are very few school-wide gatherings, and when there are, we’re told to keep our powers hidden and in check. Maybe they’re afraid people will show off and lose control. Or maybe there’s some other reason for us to be so secretive.

I bet most people thought the memorial service was real.

I wonder if they think I killed her.

It’s my fault, after all, that she’s not here, now.

What have they been told? Do the other unit leaders and teachers know, or does everyone here think I’m a walking tragedy?

I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. Let them think whatever they want.

My footsteps as I trudge up the stairs are echoed by the unit leader’s. She stays about six or seven steps behind me, but she carefully matches my pace, following me all the way to my unit’s hall. She stands there, staring at me silently, until I’m in my room and the door is shut. Before she leaves, she rattles the handle of my door. It’s not locked, and she doesn’t enter, but the metallic rattle still sounds like a threat to me.

I am reminded of the video cameras that now watch us in the common room. I didn’t think they were added because of me, but now I’m not so sure.

Before I go to bed, I creep around the corners of my room, looking for more blinking red lights hidden in the shadows. I don’t find any more cameras, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.





CHAPTER 12


Phoebe



The last notes of Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D fill the orchestra room at James Jefferson High, lingering among the motivational posters and laminated pictures of long-dead composers hanging on the walls. Mr. Ramirez bows his head, eyes closed, listening as the music fades to silence. We all wait for him to respond. When he lifts his head, his eyes are alight.

“Bravo!” he shouts. “That! That was exactly it!”

The entire orchestra seems to breathe a sigh of relief. We’ve been practicing the piece for months, and this was the first time everything was just right. When we got about halfway through it, we could feel the tension in the room growing, waiting for someone to mess up. But no one did. We played it perfectly.