A World Without You(43)

Is this an allusion to my powers? If so, the Doctor misses it.

Mr. Minh says something indecipherable in a low voice, but whatever it is, it’s obvious from Dr. Franklin’s flustered tone that he’s offended.

I push the door open further. The hinges squeak, cutting through the conversation.

“Bo,” the Doctor says, relieved to see me.

“You told me to come back for a late-night, uh . . .” I start.

“Therapy session,” the Doctor supplies. “I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow morning to discuss this situation.”

Dr. Rivers nods her head, clearly approving of this, but Mr. Minh still scowls. I stare him down as he sidesteps me and they both leave the office.

“That sounded rough,” I say.

Dr. Franklin collapses behind his desk, completely ignoring my comment. “I’m concerned that you’re not progressing,” he says bluntly.

“I—I’m trying, sir,” I say. I stare into his eyes.

I’m trying to save us all, I want to say.

Sofía told me to trust the Doctor. I don’t understand why he’s been cooperating with the officials, but . . .

“You have a Band-Aid,” I say, staring at the Doc’s hand.

He blinks in surprise, then glances down, staring at the Band-Aid wrapped around his left index finger. “I cut myself when I was changing my razor blade,” he says. “Bo, we need to talk about Sofía, about how you’ve stagnated since her death.”

That word—death—guts me. First it came from Gwen, and now the Doc’s acting like Sofía is really gone. But his words sound like buzzing in my head, and all my eyes can focus on is that Band-Aid.

The Doctor can heal. His power is healing. There is nothing in the world that should hurt him enough for him to need a Band-Aid. A razor cut? That should be gone in two seconds. I’ve seen him recover from injuries far more serious than that.

“Bo?” the Doctor says. “Are you listening?”

A test. I’ll test him.

I tell him a joke he told me a month or two ago. He laughs politely, like he’s never heard that joke before in his life.

“Remember when I told you about my pet turtle, Shelly?” I ask. “How my dad accidentally killed him but lied to me about it?” I never told him I had a pet turtle because I never did; I got that from an old sitcom I used to watch at home. But Dr. Franklin nods along as if he knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“But let’s talk about Sofía now,” the Doctor says. “I worry that you blame yourself, and you shouldn’t . . .”

He keeps going on, blah, blah, blah, but it’s pointless. This isn’t the Doctor we all know. This Doctor can’t heal—doesn’t know he can heal. This Doctor is treating me like he’s a school counselor, not like an advisor in a school of superpowered kids.

This Doctor has forgotten the way things really are.

Ryan and I really are the only ones left who know the truth.

“I know you don’t fully understand what I’m saying now,” I tell Dr. Franklin, looking him dead in the eye. “But I want you to know that I haven’t given up. Not yet. Not ever.”

The Doctor sighs and sinks into the chair behind his desk. “Is this about Sofía?”

“I can save her,” I say, praying that my words penetrate the fog of illusion that’s clouding the Doctor’s mind. “I can save us all.”

“Bo,” Dr. Franklin says, leaning forward, tears making his eyes watery. “Bo, she’s dead. Sofía is dead. You can’t save her. It’s over.”

All around me, the world stills. The Doctor becomes a motionless statue. The clouds moving in front of the moon freeze. The clock on the Doctor’s desk stops ticking. His words cut me so deeply that I have accidentally stopped time.

I blink, and the clock starts ticking again. But my heart is calm. Even though Dr. Franklin’s not aware of what I’ve just done, I am, and I know that my powers are still real.

I still have a chance.

“I can save her,” I say again.

“No,” he says in a gentle voice. “You can’t.”





CHAPTER 27




I leave Dr. Franklin’s office and walk slowly back to my room. The Doc watches me go, as if he suspects I’ll get lost along the way.

I pause by my door, looking back at him. All up and down the hallway, doors are closed. On the left side of the hall, the heavy wooden doors to the library are locked for the night, as are those to the common room and our classrooms. On the right side of the hall are the dormitory rooms. Harold’s, then mine, then Ryan’s, Gwen’s, and Sofía’s.

And by each of their doors, there’s a keypad.

There’s one by mine too.

They’ve never been there before. I look closer. The keypad is made of metal, but there are dings and nicks in it, and it’s slightly worn from use.

“Is there a problem?” Dr. Franklin asks.

I jump; he’d moved silently down the hall, and he’s waiting for me to go into my room. “How long has that been there?” I ask.

“It’s always been there,” the Doctor says. “Bo, it’s well past lights-out.”