au•to•NO[R]M•ic: adj. having no control over my spontaneous actions
Trevor lies on his stomach on the floor, his notebook open in front of him, penciling several characters I had already written for the comic. I sit next to him, gnawing on the end of a pen, trying to find the easiest way to explain the Compound in story form. It’s turning out to be a lot harder than I thought. I lean back against his bed and stare at the ceiling for a minute. Unlike my own ceiling, there are no words of inspiration there.
I set my pen and notebook aside and slide down next to him, resting my chin on his shoulder so I can watch him draw. The steadiness of his hand gliding across the paper, creating shapes where there were none, mesmerizes me for a moment. “You’re amazing. You know that, right?”
He flips the page of his sketchbook to a blank one, takes my hand, and places it on the page. Then he slowly traces around each finger. A shudder goes through me as the pencil grazes the side of my palm. I haven’t done this since I was five, but it certainly didn’t make me feel like this back then.
After circling my hand twice, he asks, “Writer’s block?”
It takes me a moment to remember I was trying to write the story. I roll onto my back and shake out the tingling sensation in my hand, hoping to regain my thoughts. “Yes.”
He turns on his side, propping himself up on one elbow and draping his other arm across my waist. “So we already have the characters.”
“Yes. The Amender who can tell the future.” I point to myself. “Lola, the Memory Eraser. Robert, evil villain number one who can walk through walls.”
“And myself, evil villain number two. Who can …”
I still haven’t figured out who to make Trevor in the story. At first I thought it was funny to make him the villain, but now that I’m mirroring real life as much as possible, I don’t want to assign him to be one of the “bad guys” in my life. When I look at him, I don’t see evil at all. I thought about making him Bobby but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I should’ve made him the hero, but it’s too late now. He’ll wonder why I’m making such a big deal about it. “Who can … kiss really well.”
He pulls me close. “I didn’t realize that was a superpower.”
My heart races. “Neither did I.”
He gives a breathy laugh and proves my point. After fully taking my breath and my thoughts away, he resumes his position and says, “Maybe we’re going out of order. Let’s figure out the rules of the Superpower Compound first.”
“Rules?”
“You know, things our characters can and can’t do. Kind of like my mom walking by a little while ago and reminding me that I’m not allowed to have the door shut when there’s a girl I like in my room.” He nods his head toward the wide open door. “Rules.”
“What? You like me? When did this happen?”
“It started with the zombie note. How could I resist that?”
I smile and use my finger to trace the line across his bicep made by the shadow of his T-shirt sleeve. “I started liking you when we got trapped in the principal’s car together.”
“Really? So the whole best-friend talk?”
“Me in denial.”
He smirks. “Okay, rules.”
“Yes, rules.” I start listing off the things he needs to know about the Compound. “They can’t leave without permission. Nobody on the outside knows about them.”
“Nobody?”
“Well, only the other people with abilities. There are people with superpowers living outside the Compound, but they have to keep their identities a secret. Let’s make some really smart famous people in history have superpowers too.”
“Like who?”
I pretend to think of some, even though I already know the famous Paras who lived in the Normal world throughout history. “Like Steve Jobs, Henry Ford, and Einstein.”
He laughs. “Okay. They’ll be fun to draw. We can make them plot in super-secret meetings.”
I’m pretty sure they don’t plot together, even if they were all still alive, but it didn’t matter. “There are representatives in almost every government agency and in high-powered positions in the world, keeping the Compound informed and helping to keep it a secret.”
“Spies, then.”
“Yes. I guess you can call them that. But there are also the people who work on the Outside whose job it is to check up on those living Outside. Let’s call them the Containment Committee.”
“So maybe that’s the conflict then. The villain, me, wants to tell the world about the Compound.”
“Why? Then he’d expose himself too.”
“Maybe he wants to show everyone how important and special he is.”
“But people fear what they don’t know. The world wouldn’t embrace him; they’d want to destroy him or study him.” Saying that out loud makes me question again my intentions to tell Trevor about me. How is he going to feel? “The Compound may be full of powers, but its people are still very much outnumbered.”
“So we need internal conflict then. How about we make it so that a child is born without any superpowers within the Compound. And he spends his whole life trying to hide it.”
“That doesn’t happen. Everyone has powers.”
“Everyone?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve thought a lot about this. What if someone wants to marry a Normal person?”
I sigh, my heart hurting a little bit when I say, “They risk not only their children being born without any special skills but also their residency in the Compound.”
“They get kicked out?”
I nod.
“Well, that’s our story then.”
My heart thumps an extra beat when my brain takes too long to process that he’s speaking about the story we’re writing, not the story we’re living.
“Those are some harsh rules you made up.”
“Are they harsh though? Without the rules, there’d be chaos. We can’t let the people come and go as they please, risking the safety of everyone.”
“If you say so.” He moves to his back, putting both hands behind his head. His bicep twitches, and my gaze is drawn to the sharp line that defines it. It twitches again, and I meet his eyes. There’s a teasing gleam in them.
“I also want to be able to fly,” he says.
I shake my head. “You can’t fly. They only have mind powers.”
“I think my mind should be able to control gravity.”
I laugh. “Don’t worry, everyone will know you’re strong. No need for your character to fly or throw buildings … or girls … around.”
He laughs, and it is such a genuinely happy sound that my heart flutters to life. I can’t help myself, I have to kiss him.
He hugs me close. “Want me to pick you up for school tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t really think about the fallout that would happen with Trevor and his friends as a result of us being a couple and Stephanie realizing she and Trevor were finally finished. The girls in the group sided with Stephanie, and because Katie and Brandon are still together, Brandon followed them as well. Rowan was miffed about something and I couldn’t figure out what.
Outside school, everything seemed perfect, and while Trevor drew, I finally got into a rhythm with the plot of the story. Sticking to the mirroring-reality-as-much-as-possible theme, I decided to make the villains responsible for purposefully injuring a group of Containment workers in order to release information into the Norm world. Not that Duke Rivers and the football team are trying to release information into the Norm world, but I needed a plot for my story, and I couldn’t say that the evil villains wanted to thin the competition in a football game; that would be a little too obvious.
By Thursday though, it’s clear I have made some mortal enemies, so when Stephanie plops down in the seat in front of me in Calculus, I’m instantly nervous. She sets a bobblehead on my desk. “It’s a gift for you. I got it from the principal’s office.”
My chest tightens.
“Do you know what it is?” She picks it up and puts it close to my face. “It’s a football player. See the number on his back—fifteen? That was Trevor’s number. Mr. Lemoore has a bobblehead for every quarterback who’s played since he’s been the principal here. Kind of creepy, huh? Anyway, I thought you might like it.”
I push it away from my face. “I don’t want it, Stephanie, so you can put it back.”
She ignores me. “Do you know what’s ironic? This specific bobblehead was sitting on the file cabinet where I also found your transcripts.”
“My transcripts?” An icy chill runs through my veins. Guess there was a really good reason I should’ve stuck to the Compound-appointed backstory after all. My transcripts will not only confirm that I’m not from Southern California, they will let everyone know I’m from Lincoln High.
“Yeah. I made a couple copies of it. I gave one to Trevor before class. That was my gift to him. I thought you could each have a little piece of each other’s past.” She sets the bobblehead back on my desk. “To remember each other by.” She stands and adjusts her miniskirt. “You two make the cutest couple, by the way.” She walks to her desk on the other side of the room. I stare at the toy, its head bouncing slightly.
I am so screwed.
At lunch Trevor isn’t where we had been meeting. I call Laila. “Hey, are you in class?”
“No, it’s lunch. What’s up?”
I sink onto a cement bench and explain to her what happened with Trevor. “What should I do?”
“Tell him the truth. It’s not as bad as you think it is. It’s not like you helped injure those players. He’ll understand.”
I toe the edge of the grass with my shoe. I may not have helped injure him, but I did lie to him. “You think?”
“Yes, now go.”
In the background I hear a guy’s voice say, “Who is it?”
“Who is that?” I ask.
“Bobby.”
“Bobby? You’re still hanging out with Bobby?”
“Yeah, well, turns out we get along.”
I squint, making the trees on the edge of the grass go blurry. “Laila, run away. That guy’s a creep.”
“I’ve met your definition of a creep, and it wasn’t even close.”
“Rowan is not Bobby. Bobby really is a creep.”
“Addie, don’t pretend like you know what’s going on here when you no longer live here and haven’t talked to me in days.”
The impatience in her voice catches me off guard, and I don’t know what to say. “I’m not pretending I know what’s going on there. I’m just reminding you of what Bobby did to Trevor.”
“You can’t prove that.”
My mouth opens then closes. “Then how about what he did to me?”
“He didn’t do anything to you.”
“He was going to. Same thing.”
“No, it’s not the same thing. Not even close. It’s sort of like fiction, Addie—not real.”
I wait for her to laugh, to make some sort of joke. But everything is silent. “Are you being funny?”
“Sure, Addie. Is that what I am in your book? The comic relief?”
In the background I hear Bobby laugh.
“Go find Trevor.” The line goes dead. I stare at my phone in confusion and then stand and walk. But I don’t know where I’m going. Someone bumps into my shoulder and then mumbles an apology. I lift my phone, scroll through my phone list, then push Call.
“Hello?” my dad answers. His voice sounds tense.
“Dad, I don’t feel good. Can I go home?”
“Of course,” he says. Him agreeing with me so fast confirms the truthfulness of my condition. Someone in the background makes a comment, and he answers back. Then to me he says, “Do you need me to come get you?”
I want to say, Yes, please come get me, but it’s obvious he’s busy. “No. It’s lunch. I can find a ride.” That’s a lie. I can’t find a ride. Even though home is within walking distance, I hope he calls me out on it.
He doesn’t. “Okay. Feel better. Call me if you need me.” The phone goes dead.
After the long walk home, I crawl into bed and shove my head under my pillow. When the doorbell rings, I realize I had fallen asleep. My face is sticky with sweat, and I smooth my hair while I head for the door. It’s just the mailman, and he hands me another padded envelope, which I sign for.
After he leaves, I stare at it. Why is the Compound still sending my dad interviews? They need to leave him out of this mess. He seems busy enough as it is. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help myself. I grab a butter knife from the drawer and wedge it beneath the sticky tape. Slowly, I pry it open and pull out the DVD. I shove it in the player and sit on the couch. Maybe I can do something to help. Maybe I can do a Search for him and tell him what he needs to know to break this case so he can move on.
It’s Poison again.
After the initial introduction from the detective, where he recommends the same course of action—brain scan, rehabilitation—Poison is seated in the metal chair. The table screen lights up. “Do you know this girl?”
“A new girl, huh? You really need to get to know more people, detective. You can’t call me in here every time you need a name.”
“Mr. Paxton, answer the question.”
“She looks familiar.” He leans closer to the picture. “You know, I think we did business a while back.”
“What kind of business?”
“Watercolors.”
“Watercolors?”
“I’m tired of you asking questions you already know the answers to. What do you want from me?”
“We want the truth.”
“It doesn’t matter what I say. You have someone telling you what to believe, so listen to him.”
Poison must be talking about my dad.
“Her body was recently found by some campers. She was reported missing three months ago. Did you murder her, Mr. Paxton?”
“You tell me.”
“We believe you did.”
“Then arrest me.” He stands and leans his fists on the table, knuckles cracking as he does. “Oh wait, you can’t, because the evidence shows she killed herself, right? Don’t bring me in again unless you plan to offer room and board.”
I swear my heart has stopped beating. Poison walks out of the shot, and all that’s left is an empty metal chair. I put the DVD back into its package as best I can. In my dad’s room, I search through his dresser and desk for his notebook and find it in the side drawer. Under the title Poison my dad has written three findings: “Drug dealer—yes. Intimate relationship with victim—yes. Murdered victim—inconclusive.”
I stare at that word, wondering if my dad ever used it before in his entire life. He always knows. It is either true or false. Yes or no. Inconclusive is the same thing as saying maybe, and my dad never says maybe. This word seems scarier to me than if the answer to the murder question had read “yes.”
I pick up my phone and dial Laila’s number. No answer. I send her a text: We need to talk. Something big is going on there. Scary.
I wait ten minutes, pacing the floor. There’s no answer. Why is she being so difficult? Is she really going to choose Bobby over me? I shove my phone in my pocket and go outside.
I walk, not sure where I’m going or why, but knowing I need to walk to clear my head. What choice can I Search to help my dad? I have to be involved somehow or it won’t work. So maybe I can Search what would happen if we return together to the Compound so he can investigate versus what would happen if we stay here. Hopefully I’d be able to see who’s responsible at the end. I make it four blocks before I realize it’s cold outside and my toes, not well-protected in flip-flops, feel like ice cubes. I head back home with new determination.
The first thing I notice when I’m almost home is Trevor’s car parked in my driveway. I slow my steps. Today has been bad enough already. I don’t want to have to face Trevor and try to explain why I lied to him.
By the time I get to his car, he’s stepping off the porch. He locks eyes with me. I’m the first to drop my gaze, and that’s when I see the paper clutched in his fist.
I stop, not able to take another step.