NOR•Mo•ther•mia: v. the process of returning my body temperature back to normal
“You went to Lincoln High?” Trevor asks me this from across the yard. My eyes sting with the question. I just want to disappear with my dignity, but he’s standing between me and my only escape—the house.
I must’ve been staring at the front door, because he steps aside and gives the don’t-let-me-stand-in-your-way gesture. At this point, much to my dismay, my body starts shivering from the cold. With my eyes focused on the door, I walk toward it as fast as possible. “I’m sorry,” I say as I pass him.
“Addison, wait. Don’t I get an explanation?” His voice is low and hard.
I know he deserves one, but I lied. It’s as simple as that. I’m still lying. And according to my dad, I have to keep lying. Nobody can ever know who I am. I stop on the porch, my back to him, and take the anger I feel toward the Compound for making me keep their secret and let it swell inside me. It’s the only emotion that’s going to let me survive looking at him.
I turn and his eyes are pleading. “Do you want one?” I ask.
“Yes. You lied to me. And for what? Were you worried that I hated your old school because of my shoulder?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t. It’s just part of the sport. Why would I judge you for that?”
“Because it’s more than that. There’s more.” So much more.
“Can we talk?”
I nod and lead him into the house. We sit on opposite ends of the couch, and he won’t even look at me. I have to tell him.… I want to tell him. The problem is that I don’t know if the truth is going to make everything okay again. His shoulders look stiff, and I hate that I’ve done this to him. I want to reach out, hold his hand, rub his shoulder, anything to help him relax. I inch a little closer, and he shoots me a warning look, sending me right back onto my cushion. I take a deep breath and dive in. “Rowan was right. Our school is top secret, and your shoulder wasn’t an accident. But I promise I didn’t know that until after I met you.”
He doesn’t respond for a long time. “The pain didn’t come until after I was tackled. It felt like someone was ripping out my bone. For a year now I’ve tried to talk myself out of that memory. I don’t understand. How did they do it? Special technology?”
I bite on my lip. “I’m not supposed to tell you. My dad would kill me. You can’t tell anyone.”
He nods.
“Aside from the fact that you gave me way too many muscles and I’d never wear an outfit like that in my life, I am the Amender.”
He stares at me, probably waiting for the statement to make sense.
“The story we’re writing—that’s me, that’s my high school.”
His eyes that were starting to soften put up their cold barrier again. “Is this a joke to you?”
I shake my head, then stare at the window over his shoulder for a moment, concentrating on bending the light so I can change the color of my eyes. It’s one of the things I had made the comic book version of me capable of. When I look at him again, he jumps off the couch and backs away.
“I’m sorry,” I say, quickly letting them change back and standing as well. I hold up my hands. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. Please don’t freak out. I’m still me.”
He’s quiet for a long time, lingering between the couch and the front door.
I stay where I am, not wanting him to retreat any farther. He’s already looking at me like I’m something out of a sideshow. I rub my arms, the chill from outside still clinging to my body. “I can’t read your mind or anything, so help me out here. What are you thinking?”
“I think I’m dreaming,” he says.
“Good dream or nightmare?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” He studies my face as though he can find the answers written there. “How?”
“There are a lot of theories. Some say the psychologically advanced have just always been a percentage of the population. Others think that we are descendants of demigods (that’s the only theory Laila chooses to acknowledge). And then there’s the idea that we are the next step in evolution. Whatever the case, it’s definitely genetic—something we’re born with.”
The phone in my pocket vibrates, and I check the screen. It’s a message from my mom: Call me. We need to talk. My heart flips, and I write back, Is this about Laila? Is she okay? My mom responds, Laila? No, this is about us. I sigh and set my phone on the coffee table. Trevor follows my every action, and I can’t tell if it’s from shock or if he thinks I’m about to evaporate him with my mind powers. I point at the phone. “Sorry, it was my mom.” As another chill goes through me, I realize I forgot to turn on the heater when I came home. It’s so cold in here.
Trevor crosses his arms in front of his chest, and I want to run over and tug them down, tell him not to close up on me. To give me a chance. My eyes blur with tears, and I look up at the light to keep them at bay. “Will you just …” My shoulders shake with a sob that I’m trying my hardest to hold in. “Will you just please sit down? I’m not going to zap you or anything.”
He drops his arms to his sides before running one hand through his hair. “I know. It’s just …” He walks to the couch and sits back down. “It’s just a lot to take in.”
I slowly sit down as well, again on the farthest cushion from his. My phone vibrates, and from where it sits on the coffee table I can see that it’s my mom. I sigh. “While you’re deciding if you’re horrified or not, can I ask for some advice?”
“Sure.”
I tell him about the argument I had with Laila over Bobby.
“So this Bobby guy hurt you?”
“Was going to hurt me.”
“So you can change the future?”
“No. I can only take the opposite path. For all I know, Bobby ended up doing the same thing to a different girl.”
“So Bobby is one of the villains in the story, right? The guy who’s purposefully injuring …” He trails off, as if finally connecting the story to real life. “He did this to my shoulder?”
“I don’t know … maybe, or someone like him. He has the ability to manipulate mass. I think he could probably separate muscle from bone even from a distance.…” I cringe. “I’m sorry that sounds horrible.”
Trevor doesn’t say anything, but his expression has softened considerably.
“He sounds like a prick.” It’s the harshest thing I’ve ever heard Trevor say, and it makes me smile a little because I can think of so much worse.
“He is.”
“And Laila is hanging out with this guy despite all this?”
I nod my head.
“She’s either a horrible friend or has no common sense.”
“She’s an amazing friend. It’s not like her. I mean it’s like her, but it’s not. What should I do?”
“Just give her some time, Addison. She’s probably feeling defensive because she knows she shouldn’t be hanging around a guy who did what he did to you.”
I remember Laila’s words and repeat them out loud. “He didn’t do anything to me.”
“But he would’ve.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“To you it is, right?” He presses his palm against one eye, then turns toward me. “Am I understanding that right? To you, it feels exactly the same as if it had happened.”
It’s hard for me to admit it out loud. For some reason I’m embarrassed, because I think what Bobby did to me was partially my fault. If I hadn’t followed him into the house, if I hadn’t sat so close, maybe I led him on … “Yes, it feels exactly the same.”
“Why didn’t you have Laila Erase that memory? She is the Mind Eraser, Lola, from the comic, right?”
I nod. “Some memories I don’t want to forget. A lot of times because they’re so good, but sometimes, like in Bobby’s case, because I need to remember.”
“That makes sense,” he says. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
I look at my hands, suddenly very interested in my fingernails. “It’s not your fault.”
He turns again, sliding his feet to the ground, and lifts his arm. The action is most likely a result of pity, but I’ll take it. I crawl forward, across the cushion separating us. Wrapping my arms around his chest, I sink against his side, determined to never let go.
He runs a hand down my hair and then softly pulls on the ends. “It’s not your fault either,” he says quietly. “You know that, right?”
I nod and squeeze my eyes closed as hot tears fill them. It takes a few shaky breaths before I get myself back in control. I play with the zipper on his jacket as we sit in silence, moving it up and down a few inches. He’s wearing a black V-neck shirt beneath it. On his collarbone is a single freckle. I run my finger over it. “You’re warm.”
He rests his cheek on the top of my head.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
His deep, even breaths and the steady beat of his heart lull me. My breath has warmed the little cocoon I’ve created against him. He smells spicy, like cologne and salt. The skin on his neck is soft on my nose and I push it farther into him until my lips rest against him. My finger traces back and forth over his collarbone, and my mouth brushes along his neck until it finds the skin right behind his earlobe, which is even softer.
I realize Trevor has gone perfectly still. Even his breathing has stopped. I sit back and look at him, gauging his reaction. “I don’t want to lose you over this,” I say. “I didn’t—”
He presses his lips to mine, stopping not only my sentence but my breath in my throat. He takes my face in his hands and moves his mouth slowly across mine. Every nerve ending in my body is electrified.
He pulls away and searches my eyes. “You haven’t lost me,” he says, before bringing me back to him. Just when I decide that I could kiss him all day long, he says, “Addison?”
“Yeah?”
“What if this is a Search?”
I stiffen. “What?”
“Have you ever thought about that before? What if now, this very moment, isn’t set in stone. What if you’re just seeing a vision of what could be?”
“I think about that all the time.” I run my hand over his chest. He feels so real.
“What if you don’t choose this? What if you decide your other future is better?”
I hug him, resting my cheek against his. “Do you know what’s weird, Trevor?”
“What?”
“In the six years I’ve had this ability, nobody has ever asked me that question. Nobody has ever thought they were negotiable.”
He takes a deep breath. “I want you to choose me, Addie,” he whispers. “I want this to be real.”
“Don’t worry. It is. I always know when I’m in a Search.”
“How?”
“Because I can’t Search within a Search.”
“So you’ve Searched since you met me then?”
“Yes …” I trail off, thinking back. Thinking to all the times I thought about Searching. Just today I was going to do a Search for my dad. But I never actually did. “I … no. But I can. I will. Right now.”
“No.” He stops me just as I’m formulating a simple Search. “Don’t. Not while I’m here. Just promise me something. If this is a Search and you don’t pick me, don’t pick this path, for whatever reason, promise me you won’t Erase me.”
That’s a very serious promise, one I can’t make lightly. Because even though right now, if this was a Search, I can’t imagine not picking him, if for some reason something major happens and I can’t be with him, remembering him and this would be sheer torture.
His eyes seem dark again, which makes his stare more intense.
“I promise.”
He breathes me in and then closes the space between us.