Pivot Point (Pivot Point #1)
Kasie West
CHAPTER 1
am?bush: n. to pick a subject (me) and lie in wait to attack
“Heads up,” a loud voice called from my right. I looked up just in time to see a football smack me right between the eyes.
I never really understood the saying heads up. At least not as a warning. Duck or watch out or flying object, even heads down would’ve worked. I lie on my back, book clutched to my chest, staring at the purple-and-gold streaked sky—the Perceptives must’ve been gearing up for the football game that night. As if the school colors splashed across the sky would send us running to the ticket booth.
I mentally inventoried my situation. I’d landed on cement, so no mud was involved, thankfully. I’d only lost thirty seconds, at the most, so I’d still make it to class on time. I was fine. A little anxiety melted away with the thought.
A familiar face with a mess of blond hair and a wide smile appeared above me. “Sorry. I said heads up.” His smile proved he wasn’t very sorry at all, but more likely amused.
And I looked up, was what I wanted to say, but instead I ignored his offered hand and pushed myself off the ground. “Yeah, I heard you, Duke.” I brushed myself off and continued walking. The spot the football had hit throbbed, so I pressed my fingertips against it, sure there was a nasty red welt.
Guess I should’ve Searched the morning after all, and I might’ve seen that coming. But I didn’t Search all my choices—only major ones. There were already enough alternate realities floating around in my mind that sometimes it was hard to keep track of which one I had actually lived and which was the opposing choice never made.
And yet, earlier that morning when I climbed out of bed and saw the fog outside my window, I was tempted to see what would happen if I stayed home versus what would happen if I went to school. My mom made the decision for me when she opened my door and said, “Addie, I’m driving you this morning. I don’t like you to drive in the fog.”
“Okay, thanks.” I knew better than to disagree. My mom was Persuasive. It was her mental ability. As far as mental abilities went, I thought my parents had the worst ones any teenager’s parents could have. Who wanted her mom to be able to Persuade her to do anything she wanted? My mother claimed she only used it when it was important, but I wondered.
My father was a human lie detector—although my mom didn’t like it when I called him that; the technical term was Discerner—and he could immediately tell if I lied. He said he could even tell when I planned to lie. Irritating.
I slid into my seat, barely making it before the tardy bell. My best friend, Laila, wasn’t so lucky. As usual, she came walking through the door a good five minutes later. Her bright red lipstick against her pale skin immediately drew my eyes to her defiant smile. We were an odd pair, constantly tugging each other back and forth over the line that represented normal teenage behavior. Everything she did made her stand out, made people notice, but I just wanted to blend in.
“Laila, what do I have to do to get you here on time?” Mr. Caston asked.
“Move the buildings closer together?”
“Funny, Ms. Stader. Warning today. Lunch detention tomorrow. Walk faster.”
She plopped into the seat next to me and rolled her eyes. I smiled.
“Okay,” Mr. Caston said. The lights dimmed, and our desk monitors lit up. Instructions appeared on the screen, and I meticulously copied them into my notebook.
“Seriously, Addie?” Laila asked, nodding her head toward my paper.
I made an exploding sound and kept writing. The school computers hadn’t crashed in more than twenty years, but preparing for the worst never hurt anyone.
“We’re finishing up our partner work today,” Mr. Caston said. “Remember, no abilities, please; just use your brain.”
“We were using our brains,” Bobby said from up front.
“The part of your brain that doesn’t house your ability.”
Everyone groaned. But, considering biology was a Norm-training class, we all knew the rule: Classes that taught us skills to exist on the Outside needed to be learned traditionally.
“Don’t make me turn on the room’s ability blockers. I’m not teaching middle school here. And turn off your phones, people.”
Another collective moan sounded.
Laila flashed her phone at me with a conspiratorial smile. A barcoded football filled the screen. “Come to the game with me this time.”
“You bought a pass? The sky thing worked on you?”
“What? No,” she said as though the implication that she could be influenced by manipulation techniques deeply offended her. “I was going anyway. This had nothing to do with the— Whoa, what happened to your head?”
I rubbed the welt again. “Duke’s football.”
“You talked to Duke?”
“Not really, but his football and I seemed to hit it off.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bobby walk up. His leg pressed against the edge of my desk, and my stomach twisted into a knot. I tried to ignore it and pretend I didn’t see him.
“What do you want?” Laila asked. No matter how often I tried to convince her otherwise, she thought of herself as my bodyguard.
“I want to talk to Addie.”