Pivot Point (Pivot Point #1)(9)

“What’s that?”

“It’s a DVD.”

I pick it up. “Oh, I’ve seen these on TV before. It’s so big.” I turn it over in my hand, then set it back on the counter. “I don’t get it; someone sent you an old movie?”

“No, the Para-bureau transferred the interview onto a DVD because that’s the technology used here, and we’re not allowed Compound technology Outside. I’ll have to pick up a player for it.” He lets out a sigh, then turns his attention to me. “How are you today?”

“Bored.”

He smiles. “I’ll go change and then we can go get something to eat.”

Before he even finishes the sentence, I put my hand behind my back and he does the same. “One, two, three,” I say, and I reveal my hand shaped like scissors at the same time he reveals his flat like a paper. “Ha! I won. I choose Mexican food.”

He groans through a smile, then leaves to change.

I pick up the DVD again. Across the silver surface, written in black letters, is the name Steve “Poison” Paxton. Poison? Really? I wonder if it’s a self-appointed nickname. There was a kid in seventh grade, who, after he Presented, insisted everyone call him Flash. He had developed the ability to speed up the connections in his brain, allowing him to run the mile a whopping one minute faster than the rest of us. One lousy minute. I wasn’t calling anyone Flash unless he could create a tornado around me with his speed. Had that been my ability, I would’ve kept it to myself as long as I could, until I had no other choice and it was permanently embedded onto my Compound Clearance card.

I’d love to see what a guy who calls himself Poison looks like, but I can’t. The stuff my dad gets from the Bureau is classified. I drop it back on the counter and get my shoes.





CHAPTER 5


PAR?A?dox: n. a statement that seems contradictory but speaks a truth





The party is like every other one I’ve been to—loud and crowded. It’s outside but still packed because people parked too close, creating a barrier around one side of the clearing. The other borders are the lake and then the Compound wall—which no illusion can keep from being an actual blockade.

I’ve sneaked to Laila’s truck, climbed in the back where she had a couple lawn chairs set up, and retrieved the book she didn’t know I brought out of my bag. Just when I start to settle into a reading rhythm, the book is ripped from my hands. In vain, I try to grab for it and end up swiping at the air a few times.

“I don’t think so,” Laila says. “This was not part of the deal.”

“Come on. I came. I’m still involved.”

“How is this”—she points at the floor of the truck bed where she stands—“involved?”

“I could’ve sat in the cab.” I look at Laila. She’s beautiful with her dark hair piled on her head and her big, dark eyes staring down at me in mock anger. She belongs here, with these people—the popular kids. Sometimes I wonder if Laila would be my friend if we had met now versus in kindergarten.

She laughs and sits in the chair next to me. “Are you really that bored?”

I lean back, resting my head on the chair. The night sky shines bright with an oversize moon and two smaller ones. Someone at the party obviously wanted extra light. I look around to see if I can pick out the Perceptive responsible for the altered sky.

“You’re the only one I know who still lugs around actual books,” she says, flipping through it.

I take it from her and put it back in my bag. “I like books. They’re pretty.”

A drink floats through the air, and Duke, who is leaning against a tree, catches it. He smirks at me as though I should be impressed. I raise my eyebrows and nod at all the other drinks in the air. Telekinetics are such show-offs.

“Okay, what’s up with you and Duke?” Laila asks. “That seemed like the kind of look only exchanged by good friends. Like you have some sort of inside joke or something.”

“We don’t.”

“Yeah, well, it’s obvious you know him well enough to introduce me.”

“You know him too,” I say.

“The whole school knows him. The whole Compound. He’s the quarterback. But he has no idea who I am. Come on, you’re going to remedy that.”

She drags me out of the truck and through the crowd. I have to apologize to several people she plows me into as we go.

“He has no idea who I am either …,” I start to say, but then remember he had called me by name the other day when his football hit my car. How does he know my name?

Halfway to Duke, a guy steps in front of us. “Hey, Laila. Interested in a block enhancer?” He holds up a clear plastic bag full of electronic chips. “Twenty bucks.”

“Who does it help block?”

“Telepaths.”

Laila reaches into her pocket as though she’s going to pull out her card and clip one of his chips to it. “What’s the—”

“No.” I push the guy’s hand away. “She’s not interested.” When he walks away, I turn toward her. “What’s wrong with you? You’re going to waste your money on some unproven, untested mind-expanding pattern?”

“I wasn’t going to buy it. I was just curious. If your father were Telepathic, you might be a little more open-minded about alternative methods of blocking too.”