ISABELA SILVA
THE HUMAN GARDE ACADEMY—POINT REYES, CALIFORNIA
ONE OF THE BOYS ON THE SOCCER FIELD WHISTLED loudly when he spotted Isabela walking along the sideline. She paused and half turned, aimed a scornful glare in the whistle’s general direction and shouted in Portuguese, “You will whistle much higher once I’ve cut off your balls!”
Simon walked beside Isabela, his short legs struggling to keep up with her long, purposeful strides. He was French, hairy for a fourteen-year-old, with a tousled mane of dark brown curls atop his overlarge head. Simon was in the process of learning Portuguese—it would be his fifth language after French, English, Spanish and Italian—which meant he’d been shadowing Isabela almost constantly these last few weeks. She tolerated Simon. Unlike most of the other males attending the Academy, he wasn’t constantly trying to hit on her. Simon wasn’t in her league and he knew that; Isabela admired his self-awareness.
“My obscenities aren’t great yet,” Simon said breathlessly. “What are ‘colhões’?”
“Balls,” Isabela replied in English.
“Ha,” Simon said, then adjusted his belt. “And ouch.”
“You should probably keep that stuff to a minimum when we meet the new recruits,” Caleb said stiffly. He had been following a few steps behind Isabela and Simon. “We want to set a good example.”
Isabela and Simon exchanged a look, then stifled laughter. Caleb noticed this, but said nothing. He was aware of his reputation—behind his back, the other students had nicknamed him “Hall Monitor.”
“I heard one of these new kids is from Africa,” Simon said excitedly. He rolled a crystal-blue pebble across his knuckles, the stone freshly charged with his Legacy. “I hope he doesn’t speak English.”
“Why must we all speak English, anyway?” Isabela complained. She tugged at the beaded bracelet that fit snugly around her wrist. One of the beads—the aquamarine one that emitted a slight glow when the sun hit it just right—was charged with Simon’s Legacy. As long as she kept in contact with the bracelet—and the bead maintained its charge—she could speak and understand English. At least, Isabela consoled herself, the bracelet Simon had made for her wasn’t a total fashion disaster.
“Because this is America,” Caleb replied.
Isabela groaned in response.
The trio had drawn orientation duty for that day’s two new arrivals. Simon was always one of the greeters—his Legacy made him particularly useful in that regard. Isabela and Caleb were chosen to give the tour because they both had empty rooms in their three-person suites.
“I don’t understand why we even need roommates,” Isabela huffed. “This campus is huge. There are entire floors in the dorms that we aren’t even using! We could all have our own suites with two walk-in closets.”
“I don’t need that many closets,” Simon replied with a shrug.
“No one needs that many closets, but wouldn’t it be nice to have them?” Isabela asked. “Wouldn’t it be nice to not share a bathroom?”
“Dr. Linda says it’s good for us to socialize,” Simon replied. “Chores are also healthy, apparently.”
“Ugh, don’t talk to me about that old cow,” Isabela replied.
“I like Dr. Linda,” Caleb said.
“You would,” Isabela replied sharply.
Dr. Linda, the Academy’s resident expert on mental health, was in charge of their room assignments. Isabela had asked her over and over again for reassignment, not because she disliked her roommate—Ran was about as quiet and respectful as one could hope for around here—but because Isabela valued her privacy more than most. The therapist always responded with the same psychobabble about support systems and bonding. Isabela didn’t see how sharing a bathroom with two other girls would turn her into a better person, but whatever.
“This new girl better be as clean as Ran,” Isabela said with an edge in her voice. “And quiet, too. We have a good arrangement, me and her. She keeps clean and meditates all the time, and I do whatever I want.”
“Yeah. Sounds great,” Caleb replied dryly.
A helicopter swooped overhead, circling around for a landing. Isabela sighed again. Now her hair was all out of place.
“We’re late,” Caleb said, walking faster.
“I’m sure Dr. Goode is already there,” Simon replied. “He’s got that thing about greeting all the new kids.”
Dr. Malcolm Goode was one of their science instructors. When he wasn’t teaching them chemistry and physics, Dr. Goode headed up the Academy’s research staff. He studied their Legacies, helping the students better understand what they could do. He had a son of his own with Legacies, although he didn’t attend the Academy. Isabela wondered how he’d gotten so lucky to avoid the monotony.
With Caleb now in the lead, the trio made their way down the path that led out to the helipad. The day was sunny and breezy, like it always seemed to be on these coastal cliffs. Sometimes, Isabela missed the sticky heat of Rio de Janeiro, parading around the Zona Sul in her bikini and sarong, looking for trouble. The wind here chilled her, made goose pimples on her light brown skin and forced her to wear more clothes than she would’ve liked. She shoved a curly tangle of dark hair out of her face.
The helipad was constructed in an open field to the east of the Academy. From here, Isabela could see the woodlands that created a buffer between the campus and the fence erected to protect them. When she was particularly bored, she liked to visit with the UN Peacekeepers who patrolled the perimeter. The soldiers were always sweet and stammer-prone—she was beautiful and possessed superpowers, a combination that drove ordinary men to speechlessness. The power to make even grown men nervous was intoxicating.
It was during one of those visits, casually flirting with a group of idle guards, that Isabela realized how easy it was for a person with her Legacy to escape from campus. She’d dipped down to San Francisco a half-dozen times since then, sometimes alone and sometimes in the company of Lofton, the handsome Canadian currently wrapped tightly around her little finger. His eighteenth birthday was quickly approaching and he’d recently been notified that the administration thought he was ready to graduate. They would have to make at least one more excursion to the city before he left the Academy to join Earth Garde.
Then, she’d need to find a replacement.
Ignoring Simon and Caleb, Isabela daydreamed about the little bar she and Lofton had found in Haight-Ashbury, the one that didn’t bother checking IDs. She closed her eyes, let the sun heat her cheeks and imagined the boozy tang of margarita on her tongue.
The newbies waited for them next to the UN chopper, its propeller still making a slow rotation. Just as Simon predicted, Dr. Goode had arrived ahead of them.
“Kopano and Taylor,” Dr. Goode introduced the new kids. “This is Simon, Isabela and Caleb. They’ll show you around and get you settled in. You’re in good hands.”
Isabela quickly sized up the new recruits. The first was a sturdy African boy with a wide grin, the type that thought the Academy would be superhero camp. They got plenty of those. Next to him was a frightened-looking all-American girl. Isabela thought Taylor might almost be pretty if not for the huge bags under her eyes.
Caleb made sure to properly shake hands with the two new arrivals. Isabela didn’t miss that he held Taylor’s hand a little longer than necessary. The new girl smiled shyly. Caleb let go only when Isabela loudly cleared her throat. She gave Caleb a look of acidic amusement. These American boys. Always so obvious.
“So, you guys both speak English, huh?” Simon asked, sounding disappointed. He stuck the smooth pebble he’d been playing with back in his pocket.
“Simon’s Legacy is quite unique,” Dr. Goode explained to the blank-faced Kopano and Taylor. “He can charge objects with knowledge. Whoever touches an object thus charged can then access that information as if it were stored in their own neurons.”
“Amazing!” Kopano stared down at Simon with reverence.
“It’s especially useful considering Simon is a hyperpolyglot.”
“Hyper-what?” Taylor asked.
“I learn languages easily,” Simon explained. “Even before the Legacy.”
“Isabela is using one of Simon’s creations now,” continued Dr. Goode. “She isn’t a native English speaker, but the bracelet allows her to understand us as well as communicate seamlessly.”
Isabela held out her arm so they could get a closer look at her bracelet.
“Pretty,” Taylor said.
“Not so much when you need to wear it every day,” Isabela said, adding dryly, “but it’s worth it to understand all the interesting things you’re saying.”
“It lasts forever?” Kopano asked.
Simon shook his head. He was puffed up from all the attention. “I have to recharge them every week or so. Most people have me charge like a watch or a necklace.”
“Sometimes he screws up and implants a memory along with the knowledge,” Isabela said with a sly smile. “My last charge came loaded with a traumatic vision of young Simon wetting the bed.”
Simon groaned and stared down at his shoes. “I’d had a lot of water when I was charging that one up,” he complained. “Anyway, I’m getting better at filtering.”
“May I try one?” Kopano asked.
Simon kicked around in the grass until he found a small gray rock. “Give me a second,” he said, then closed his eyes and concentrated. Slowly, the stone changed colors, taking on an otherworldly glow that slowly faded to a barely perceptible twinkle. After a minute, Simon opened his eyes and offered Kopano the stone. “It’s not my best work. Usually takes a lot longer . . .”
Kopano grabbed the stone and squeezed. “Now what?”
“Tu me comprends?” Simon asked.
“Oui!” shouted Kopano. “Je parle Francais!”
While the boys messed around, Dr. Goode excused himself. This was another of Dr. Linda’s policies—after the UN orientation process that involved endless encounters with smelly bureaucrats and pushy scientists, the Academy’s on-site headshrinker believed it important to get new arrivals among their peers as soon as possible. If Dr. Linda had her way, they’d spend the whole day playing icebreakers and doing trust-falls with these wide-eyed newbies. Isabela didn’t know about Caleb and Simon, but she had better things to do.
She turned her attention to Taylor. The girl watched with tired amusement as Kopano and Simon had a rapid-fire dialogue in basic French. She didn’t seem at all aware that Caleb was still staring at her. Isabela knew by the way his mouth worked in silence and the nervous movements of his hands that Caleb was getting ready to talk. Well, at least this might be amusing, she thought.
“Where are you from?” Caleb eventually managed to ask Taylor.
The question startled her. “South Dakota.”
“Oh, cool. I’m from Nebraska.” Caleb appeared puzzled about what to say next. “Our states touch.”
“Yep,” Taylor replied, an eyebrow raised. “They sure do.”
“Cool,” Caleb said. “So . . .”
The conversation was too painful, even for Isabela’s dark sense of humor.
“Thrilling!” she said, gliding in to grab Taylor by the elbow. “Come now. Let’s leave these drooling bobos to their silly games and get you settled in. You look completely exhausted.”
Taylor glanced in Kopano’s direction, like she was nervous to leave him behind. After a moment’s hesitation, she allowed Isabela to whisk her towards campus. “Nice to meet you!” she called over her shoulder to Caleb.
“Yeah, you too,” he said. He watched Isabela lean in close to Taylor and whisper in her ear, probably telling her something malicious about him.
“Our states touch. Real smooth talk, Casanova. That was embarrassing.”
Caleb’s shoulders tightened. He looked in Simon and Kopano’s direction. They’d both fallen silent and were staring at him.
He turned in the opposite direction and found his own face mocking him. A duplicate. One had popped out without Caleb even realizing.
“This is why we never had a girlfriend,” the duplicate said, sneering at Caleb. “Because you’re such a sad los—”
Caleb absorbed the duplicate. He took a deep breath and then turned to Kopano, pretending like nothing had happened.
“Should we get on with the tour?”