Pivot Point (Pivot Point #1)(59)

“I’m coming,” Laila yells from across the empty parking lot. “Sorry.”

I sit up, shaking my head until I’m fully awake. “How was Normville?”

“Rowan is funny. He is so curious about us. He kept asking the weirdest questions.”

“Like what?”

“Like why our school doesn’t have a website and why our football players never get injured.”

“Did you tell him it’s because we’re made of steel?” Duke steps away from the tailgate and helps me down.

“No, I just kissed him. That got his easily distracted mind off things.”

“You kissed a Norm?” Duke’s expression seems stuck between surprise and disgust.

“Yeah, I did.”

Duke draws his brows together like he’s about to ask a scientific question. “Was he any good?”

I laugh so hard that I have to steady myself against the truck.

“It’s not that funny. I’m just curious. She kissed a Norm, Addie. As in no abilities whatsoever.”

Laila’s lips purse, and her fists tighten—probably because I’m still laughing and Duke still looks partially disgusted. “Okay, Mr. Mover, how does Telekinesis help you kiss?”

“It doesn’t help, but when I kiss, I heighten all my senses, so I can anticipate every move, hear every noise …” He trails off when I stop laughing and widen my eyes. “You don’t?” he asks me.

“Uh …” I turn toward Laila. “Do you?”

“Yes. So there, Duke. You’ve been kissing a Norm and didn’t even realize it.”

“I’m not a Norm,” I say defensively.

Duke shuts the tailgate. “Don’t worry, I never would’ve guessed.”

“I wasn’t worried. You guys quite obviously think too much when you kiss. Some things don’t require extra thinking. Maybe you’re the ones doing it wrong. How are you supposed to feel anything when you have to concentrate so hard?” I know the more I talk, the more defensive I sound. But I can’t help it. It’s not often you get told you’ve been kissing wrong. “Let’s go.”

“My turn to drive,” Laila says. I drop the keys into her upturned hand and walk to the passenger door.

“I’m sure you’re a great kisser, Addie,” Laila says, unlocking the door. I get in.

Duke climbs in next to me. “She is.”

The middle seat belt is loose and I tighten it to fit. “Okay, stop talking, both of you. I don’t need to be reassured.”

Laila puckers her lips as she slides behind the wheel. “Maybe I just wanted to kiss you.”

The engine rumbles to life and Duke leans across me, his hand reaching toward the dash. It stops a few inches away from the radio. “How do you turn this thing on?”

“Uh …” I study the knobs and buttons, trying to remember. “This one.” I push the knob that says Power, and the radio blares to life.

At my house, Duke grabs my hand as we walk up the path. “I’m nervous.”

“Really? Why? You’re so at ease with my mom. Just tell the truth, and my dad will like you.”

He nods and squeezes my hand. We walk inside, and my dad is sitting in his chair watching what looks to be one of his criminal-interview tapes, but I can’t tell because he turns it off too fast.

Duke drops my hand and extends his toward my dad. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Coleman. I’m Duke.”

“Duke. Hello. How did the game go?”

“We won, so I guess that means good.”

“You guess?” My dad doesn’t like halfhearted statements. He thinks everyone should be able to answer definitively.

“There are always ways to improve,” Duke clarifies.

“I hear you have your choice of colleges next year. Any closer to picking one?”

Considering how many times people ask him about college when I’m around, I can’t imagine how much Duke has to deal with that question. It has to get old—I know I’m sick of it. Maybe because it reminds me that he’ll be gone next year.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re closer to picking?” I ask.

“Getting closer.”

My dad stares at him for a long time, and I wonder how he could think there is something to analyze in that question.

I grab my dad’s forearm, and he turns his attention to me. “Well, Dad, we’re pretty tired. Where do you want Duke to sleep?”

His face is hard when he says, “The room across from mine.”

I wait outside the bathroom, toothbrush in hand, for Duke to finish. The doorknob rattles, but he doesn’t come out. Soon the door is banging against the frame.

I take a step forward. “Are you okay?”

The door goes silent. “I think I’m stuck.”

I laugh. “Just unlock it.”

“I’m trying.” The door shakes again. “Stupid Norm doors,” he mutters.

I lean my cheek against the frame. “See the little lock in the center of the handle? Just turn it a hundred and eighty degrees. It’s old, so it kind of spins. Don’t turn it a full circle or it locks again.”

The door swings in, and he’s suddenly right in front of me. “I’m free,” he says. “How’d you know all that? Are you a Norm-relic expert?”