Pivot Point (Pivot Point #1)(57)

My knees scream out in pain from squatting behind the soccer balls for so long. I am doing this because I have to know … for Trevor. Just as I stand to stretch them out, the hollers and stomping feet of a large body of people echo through the halls. I push myself farther into my hideout.

Before I had the brilliant idea to inject myself into this situation, I hadn’t thought about the logistics of what would actually happen in the locker room. But when I hear water running, I turn all the way around and press my face against the wall. Slowly, some of the players trickle into the rows of lockers, where I can pick up on conversations. Nothing interesting is being said. I don’t know what I had hoped to hear. Obviously no one is going to come out and say, So who should we purposefully maim next week?

“Duke, great game,” a loud voice says. Several others agree with the comment and give an appreciative whoop.

“Thanks, guys. You too.”

“That was some great soothing out there tonight,” a guy I don’t recognize says.

Then Duke says, “Just a little influence is all it takes to make the other team as docile as little girls.”

I peer around the soccer balls to see if I can see the Mood Controller—I’m assuming Andrew—who Duke is talking to. I recognize one of the guys standing next to him—Ray—they were constantly together. The other guy is scrawnier; maybe he’s the freshman. These were the people who ruined Trevor’s career—Duke, obviously the mastermind, and his minions. But who did the actual injuring? Laila had said there weren’t any Mass Manipulators on the team. The only Mass Manipulator I know is…

Bobby? Could he be involved somehow? And why? Did he even know Duke? Did he go to the football games? I’d have to ask Laila.

I stand by the soccer balls until the locker room has emptied out. I feel like my brain has been emptied out as well. Disappointment is slowly filling in the curiosity of before. Deep down I thought I would prove Rowan wrong, not right. I sink to the floor. Is this really the kind of people we have become? The kind who can use their powers to hurt others without any remorse? I wonder what the locker room sounded like after Trevor’s injury had been successfully administered—did they congratulate one another that night? The thought makes me sick.

When I don’t hear anyone, I abandon my hideout and walk toward the exit. Apparently I should’ve walked faster, because Duke rounds the corner and slams right into me, sending me flying backward.

“Oh, jeez,” he says, startled. “I’m sorry.” He holds out his hand to help me up. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” I ignore his offered hand and push myself up off the ground.

“Hey, you’re Addie Coleman.”

“Yes. I am.”

He flashes me a killer smile. “Clairvoyant, right?”

It catches me off guard to hear someone say my ability out loud like that again. I look around. “Yeah, sort of.” I rub at my stinging palm.

“Are you hurt?” He takes my hand in his and inspects it. A chill goes through me as he traces a finger over the tiny scratches on my palm.

His hair smells good and seems to freeze me in place for a moment. I finally regain my senses and take my hand back, wiping it a few times on my jeans. “I’m fine.”

One corner of his mouth goes up into a half smile, and my heart seems to think this is the most adorable thing in the world. I remind myself of who he is and what he’s been doing, and the annoyance comes rushing back.

“Laila told me you moved. Did you move here? To Dallas?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re missed.”

“I know what you’re doing,” I say evenly.

He lowers his head with a smile and kicks at the ground. “My flirting isn’t very subtle, is it?”

Flirting? “Not that. I’m talking about you and your friends using your abilities to get ahead.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “And?”

Anger surges through me. “And it’s wrong.”

“So you’re saying you’ve never used your ability to help yourself?”

“I don’t hurt people.”

“Neither do I,” he says.

“That’s right, you just stand back and let your friends do the dirty work while you reap the benefits. I don’t get it. What’s in it for them?”

Duke’s perfect eyebrows lower, and I’m distracted by the notion that he must pluck them. “What are you talking about?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I’m talking about how one by one your competition is falling down around you and you’ll be the only good quarterback left standing. Congratulations, your plan is working. I hope your victory feels as hollow as your heart. But at least you’ll have your pick of colleges, right?”

Duke’s smile has fallen and has been replaced by a look of shock. “What?”

“Don’t try to deny it. I heard you telling your buddy that all he has to do is influence emotions a little.”

“Yeah, emotions are influenced, but not for the reasons you’re claiming. It just makes the competition less aggressive, a little more relaxed. It’s not meant to hurt anyone, just to keep me from getting sacked.” If my dad were here, I know he’d tell me that Duke is lying. “Listen. Let’s talk about this. Can I buy you a burger or something?”