Pivot Point

“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.



CHAPTER 31



seP-A-RAte: v. to force apart



I park at the quickie mart next door to Fat Jacks and then walk down the alley behind the restaurant. My plan is to hide out there until Duke and his friends arrive and then sit beneath whatever window their table is closest to. With advanced hearing, I should be able to listen through the window without having to read their lips.



The problem is, Duke never shows up. I stand, my back to a stinky Dumpster, looking around the corner for a good fifteen minutes. The smell emanating from the large bin is assaulting all my senses and making me gag every two minutes.



I decide to take my place under the window because three other guys are there, Ray being one of them. I sit against the wall, so to anyone driving by or walking up to the restaurant it looks like I’m just waiting for someone. If that someone ends up being Duke, I hope he’s not too mad. The guys are talking about some assignment for Biology. For a while I think this is a waste of time, but then Ray says, “Where’s Duke?”



“He had something with his parents tonight. He couldn’t come.”



I put a palm to my forehead. I am an idiot. An idiot who is spying on my perfect boyfriend over nothing. I move to stand up when Ray continues, “We’re playing Jefferson High tomorrow. We need a game plan. I’ve had my eye on this guy all season. He’s the last one standing between me and the ‘most yards rushed in a season’ record. He needs to go down.”



“I sense some knee trouble,” one of the other guys says.



“I was thinking shoulder, like that kid from Dallas.”



“No, save the shoulders for the quarterbacks; this guy relies more on his legs,” Ray says.



“Duke’s still in, right? We can’t do it without him.”



“Why wouldn’t he be?”



They all laugh at this point, just like evil villains in books. My mind is stuck on ‘that kid from Dallas’ they mentioned. A quarterback. Was it possible they were referring to Trevor? Duke had asked him about his shoulder that night. What is going on? I need to talk to Duke. I need answers.



The laughter stops, and I strain to hear, but the normal voices of before have turned to quiet mutters. I move to my knees and inch toward the window, raising my head slowly until I can see inside. The guys are huddled around a table, watching Ray draw something on a piece of paper. Probably their plans to take some poor guy down.



Now is a good time to leave, while they’re distracted. I stand, put the hood of my hoodie up, and walk through the parking lot toward the quickie mart. The bells on the door behind me ring, and I take a quick glance over my shoulder. It’s just a couple going inside. I let out a breath of air and turn back around, finishing my walk to the car.



On the drive over to Duke’s, I feel terrible. What is wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just trust Duke? He had been exactly where he said he was going to be tonight. And I’m sure he’ll have an explanation for what I just overheard. He’d better have an explanation for what I just heard.



At Duke’s, I watch him and his parents pull into the garage from where I parked several houses down the street. I don’t want his parents to see me. It’s a school night, and I’m sure his dad will want him to go straight to bed and rest up for the game tomorrow. From where I’m parked, I can also see Bobby’s house, across the street from Duke’s, and as I give Duke ten minutes to get inside and up into his room, Bobby drives up.



I grit my teeth as he walks inside. I pick up my cell phone from the center console. When I see Duke’s light go on in his bedroom, I dial his number. It rings twice before he answers, “Hey, girlfriend.”



“Hi. I need to talk to you about something that happened tonight. Can you come see me?” I have a conspiratorial smile on my face as I get ready to tell him I’m right outside. He’ll be surprised.



“Man, I wish I could, believe me I do, I’m so bored. But I think this party is going to last all night. The old people are rockin’ out.”



My smile freezes in place. A new set of headlights coming down the street blinds me for a moment. But when the car parks in front of Duke’s house and the headlights dim, I wish they had blinded me for longer, because I can now see it’s Laila’s truck.



“I’ll see you tomorrow, though, right?” Duke’s voice in my ear reminds me I’m still on the phone. “Can we talk then?”



Laila steps out of the car, her long legs glowing in the streetlight. I pray for her to walk across the street to Bobby’s house. But she doesn’t. She bends over to check herself out in her side mirror, fluffs her hair, and then walks the path to Duke’s front door.



“Addie? Are you still there?” Duke asks. “We can talk tomorrow, right?”



“Yeah.” I don’t know how I manage to choke out any words, but I do. “Sure.”



Laila reaches over and rings the doorbell.



“I have to go, girlfriend. Sleep good.”



“Bye.” I hang up and stare at my phone as if it were the one who betrayed me and not my best friend. I want to start the car and drive away, but apparently I’m a fan of self-torture, because I force myself to watch Duke answer the door, hug Laila, and then take her inside.



CHAPTER 32



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?”