The Secret Place (Dublin Murder Squad, #5)(68)

‘Cheapo piece of crap malfunctions,’ Julia says. ‘News at nine.’

‘I did it a bunch of times. To check.’

They all remember Selena’s light blinking on and off. The bad weather was already on the way, tarnished sky clashing with the electric lights to give the school a tense battened-down feel: they thought it was just that, if they thought about it at all.

‘So how come you didn’t say anything?’

‘We were in a hurry. And I wanted to think about it. And I wanted to wait and see . . .’

If it happened to anyone else. Becca remembers to breathe out, in a quick burst.

Holly says, almost unwillingly, ‘This afternoon. When I went to the jacks, during Maths? The lights in the corridor: they turned off when I went under them, and then they turned back on again once I was past. Like, all of them. I thought it was just a thing. The snow, or whatever.’

Selena lifts her eyebrows at Holly, and glances up at the light bulb.

‘Oh for God’s sake,’ says Julia.

‘It won’t work,’ Holly says.

Nobody answers her. The air still has that waver to it: heat over sand, mirage-ready.

Holly holds up her palm and makes a fist like Becca did. The light goes out. ‘Jesus!’ she yelps, and it comes on again.

Silence, and the thrumming air. They don’t have ways to talk about this.

‘I’m not psychic,’ Holly says, too loudly. ‘Or whatever. I’m not. That thing in Science, remember, guessing the shapes on the cards? I was crap.’

Becca says, ‘Me too. This is because of . . . you know. The glade. That’s what’s changed.’ Julia flops back down on her bed and bashes her forehead off her pillow a few times. ‘OK, so what do you think just happened, smarty?’

‘I told you. There’s snow in some transponster somewhere in Ballybumcrack. Now can we go back to fighting about how I’m not your real friend? Please?’

Selena does the light bulb. ‘Stop!’ Julia snaps. ‘I’m trying to read.’

‘I thought you thought it was snow,’ Selena says, grinning. ‘Why are you telling me to stop it?’

‘Shut up. I’m reading.’

‘You try it.’

‘Uh-huh, right.’

‘I dare you.’

Julia gives Selena a withering look. ‘Scared?’ Selena asks.

‘There’s nothing to be scared of. That’s my whole point.’

‘Then . . . ?’

Julia is crap at turning down a dare. She sits up again, reluctantly. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ she says. Lifts her hand, sighing noisily, and closes it. Nothing happens.

‘Ta-da,’ Julia says. To her huge irritation, a part of her is viciously, painfully disappointed.

Selena says, ‘Doesn’t count. You weren’t concentrating.’

‘When the lights in the corridor did it,’ Holly says. ‘This afternoon. Naughton had been giving out to me, remember? Cliona was talking and she thought it was me? I was well pissed off. And . . .’

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Julia says. She focuses on Becca being a contrary cow about the dance, and tries again. It works.

Silence, again. Reality feels strange against their skin: it’s rippling and bubbling around them, it’s spinning little whirlpools and shooting up geysers in unexpected places just for fun. They don’t want to move, in case it responds in ways they’re not expecting.

‘Too bad it’s not something useful,’ Holly says, as casually as she can – she feels like making a big deal of this would be a bad idea; like it might draw attention, she’s not sure whose. ‘X-ray vision. We could read the exam papers the night before.’

‘Or not even bother,’ Becca says. She wants to giggle; everything feels like she’s being tickled. ‘If we could just change our marks when the results came in – like, whee, all A’s! – that would be useful.’

‘I don’t think it’s like that,’ Selena says. She’s snuggled down in bed, wearing a huge contented grin. She wants to hug all three of them. ‘It’s not for anything. It’s just there. Like, it was there all along; we just didn’t know how to get to it. Till now.’

‘Well,’ Julia says. She’s still not at all happy about this. It seems to her for some reason that they should have put up more of a fight, collectively: run screaming, refused to believe this was happening, changed the subject and kept it changed. Just not acted like this is something they can look at, go Oh, wow, totally weird! and keep bouncing cheerfully along. Even if that didn’t make a difference in the long run, it would have said they weren’t complete pushovers. ‘At least that settles the Valentine’s dance bullshit. Someone with superpowers had better not be too much of a wimp to wear jeans.’

Becca starts to answer, but she gets hit by a flood of giggles. She falls backwards on her bed, arms spread, and lets the laughter jiggle her whole body like popcorn popping inside her.

‘Nice to see you quit bitching,’ Julia says. ‘So are you going to the dance?’

‘Course I am,’ Becca says. ‘You want me to go in my swimsuit? ’Cause I’ll do it.’

‘Lights out!’ one of the prefects yells, slamming her hand against the door. They all turn the light off at once.