Pivot Point (Pivot Point, #1)(8)

“Who?”

“Bobby.”

I curl my lip. “That’s because he’s not used to manipulating people’s minds. Only mass.” He can walk through walls, harden liquid, stretch objects. I will never admit it out loud, but he is really good at what he does. Probably the best Mass Manipulator I know who’s his age.

“That’s exactly what the teacher said. He said it’s nearly impossible for people to master Thought Placement if their abilities aren’t ones that work on others’ minds.”

“My mom told me that. She’s an expert at it. Probably because she’s the master mind manipulator.”

Laila laughs. “True. So how are the Norms? Are they hard to talk to?”

“Not really, but I haven’t really talked to many, just a few on the way here and now the mailman.” I suspect my dad is trying to introduce me into the Norm world slowly, because he hardly stopped at all on the way here.

“You’ve inspired me. I think I’m going to a few away games this year with the football team. If you have to suffer through talking to Norms, the least I can do is experience a little bit of your pain.”

I laugh. “You don’t sound prejudiced at all.”

“And you’re not?”

“I’m not.”

“No, you just think you’re better than they are.”

“Not better, just different because I can do more things.”

She laughs like she won the argument.

I plop, back first, onto the couch and throw my legs over the armrest. It’s warm from my earlier occupation, and after I remember how many other people have probably already occupied this couch, I’m grossed out. I sit up. “It’s not so much the people who are different. It’s the place. I swear it’s hotter here and brighter. Do you think the sun is going to give me brain damage?”

She laughs.

“I’m serious. Why else would they filter sunlight in the Compound?”

“I’m sure they’ve found the optimum lighting for brain development. Just like everything else that’s altered here to maximize our brains’ potential.”

“Exactly.”

“Another reason you should come home immediately. Either way, I have no doubt you’ll come home eventually. Wouldn’t want to risk your children being born without advanced minds.”

I sigh.

“Oh, speaking of perfect marrying genes, guess who asked about you today?”

“No idea.”

“Duke Rivers.”

“Uh … why?”

“I don’t know. I thought you’d tell me.”

The door that leads from the garage into the kitchen opens, and the sound of keys landing on the counter rings out. “Hey, I’ll call you later, my dad just got home.”

“Okay, bye.”

Duke Rivers asked about me? Weird. “Hi, Dad.” I gather my scattered papers and stand up. “You’re home early.”

“Considering I wasn’t supposed to go in at all today, I’m home very late.” He picks up the padded envelope on the counter and looks at both sides.

I place my cure-for-insomnia reading on the table. “Oh, that came for you a little while ago.”

He lowers his brow.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Just something I’m consulting on for the Para-bureau.”

“I thought you weren’t working for them anymore. I thought we were trying out this whole Normal thing.” We’re going to live like the rest of the world, Addie, he had said. It will be refreshing. The words sound cheesy now, but at the time they made me feel like we were marching into battle or something.

“Well, when I left I said I’d do some side jobs if they needed me.”

I grab an apple from a bowl on the counter. “You’re gone less than a week, and they’re already calling on you? They must be hurting without their best lie detector.”

He rolls his eyes.

I take a bite of my apple. “Sorry, I mean Discerner. I bet the bureau here is happy to have you, though. Where do you work again?” I try to remember the acronym. “The EBI … SBI …”

“FBI. Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

“Right. FBI. I guess I should remember that. So are you stickin’ it to all the bad guys? No lies will be told in Dallas ever again.”

“Funny. My daughter is a comedian. Not to mention surprisingly good at talking with her mouth full.”

“It’s a gift.”

He bonks me on the head with the envelope, then opens it. First he pulls out some sort of ID card.

“What’s that?”

He turns it toward me. “I left my Compound Clearance card at the office.”

The holographic logo seems to jump off the surface. It looks exactly like mine except where his says Discerner, mine says Underage. Oh, and of course our pictures are different. I stare at his. If my dad didn’t wear his hair with such a harsh part, slightly off center, he could pull off cool. With a full head of dark hair and a strong jaw, he’s handsome enough. “Dad. Not smart. Are you subconsciously trying to never go back?”

His jaw tightens then loosens again, which surprises me. It was a joke, but his reaction makes me wonder if there is some truth to the statement. He takes out his wallet from his pocket and tucks the card behind his Norm license, then offers me a smile. “I have it now, so no need to analyze me.” He dumps the envelope upside down and a circular disc inside a clear plastic case slides onto the counter.