But right before the fireworks, Lindsay grabbed my hand. She had found the best spot down by the water. At the feel of her skin, the hungry thing leaped out. It coiled around her, and she had no clue. I remember watching her talk about how hot the new lifeguard was, completely unaware of what I’d done. Completely unaware that if I wanted to, I could let whatever it was loose on her. I stopped walking; stopped breathing. If I was still, I could keep it where it was—slack in the way it surrounded her whole body, as if waiting for orders. I choked out that I had to pee and I would meet her in a few minutes.
Someone called her name, and she ran off, breaking my hold on her. The power shot back into me like a lightning bolt, and I fell to the sand, clutching my chest as I let the sobs build in my chest like a storm.
That’s how my dad found me a few minutes later.
“It’s real. I know you and Mom don’t believe me, but it’s real,” I gasped.
He tried to calm me down. He brushed the hair off my forehead like he did when I was little and running a fever. He tried to tell me, for the thousandth time, that it wasn’t possible. I shoved myself upright, broken shells digging into my palms.
I held my hand out, letting the power snake from me. Looking back, I see how dangerous that was. I wasn’t really thinking about that—I just needed my dad to believe me. He couldn’t stop this from happening if he didn’t even think it was real.
As it grabbed him, his eyes widened as a strangled sound slipped past his teeth. In my mind, I saw hints of something inky and dark. My senses were full of the smell of wet stone and something coppery. Metallic.
Blood.
I saw a man in a black suit walking down an alleyway, his back to me. He stopped at a door under a fluorescent sign that read Sue’s Pawn Shop in neon green.
“Vesper. Pull it back.” I heard my dad’s voice, but it sounded far away.
The man in the suit started to turn. He started to say something.
“Vesper!” my dad screamed. His hands shook my shoulders, and I was back at the lake, my dad’s face inches from mine.
I knew then that I was right. I saw my own heartbreak reflected in his blue eyes—the ones that were the same shade and shape as mine.
“What’s happening to me?” I hiccupped out. He pulled me tight to his chest. Above us, the fireworks went off. Shouts and cheers echoed up from the lake, and the sound of the free, careless joy felt wrong against the refrain playing in the back of my mind.
I was anything but free.
Five
I must not have been out long. I open my eyes, my cheek pressed against the soaking pavement. Water rushes over me—the last remnants of the current I pulled from Mitch. A slight breeze rustles the trees above my head, and it feels like razors grazing my exposed skin. I shove myself to my feet as I remember what has just happened, my thoughts clinking together like falling dominoes.
Sam. Gabe. Mitch.
I whip around, my chest tight.
I see Sam then, not ten feet away, his back against a tree that’s on the edge of the parking lot. Gabe is lying beside him.
“Are you okay?” I call, stepping toward him. I ignore the look in his eyes. I ignore the way my shoes squeak as I step closer, and the way I sink in the mud with every step. If there’s anything worse than this feeling—this complete exposure, I don’t know it. I don’t want to look up. I don’t want to have to answer the questions. What was that? How did you do that? Or, even worse, I don’t want to deal with the terror. The way he might avoid my eyes and look for the quickest escape route.
He nods, looking down at Gabe.
“He’s breathing.”
That’s it.
No questions. No panic. It’s a look I understand well now. Most people who were told terrible stories about Oddities outgrow them and cast them aside with all the other things kids outgrow. But there are a few people who can’t leave the stories behind, and I can see in Sam’s eyes that he’s one of them. I wonder who it is. A family member? A friend? I take a closer look. Him? Could he be an Oddity, too?
“We need to get him to a hospital.” I say. Maybe he can take Gabe. That will give me enough time to disappear before the cops show up. And maybe parks and recreation services. The Coast Guard? Who do you call when a giant tidal wave rips through a parking lot? I doubt there is protocol for this kind of thing.
Sam pulls his sweatshirt over his head and tucks it around Gabe. He wears a black tank top with the word “Duncan’s” emblazoned on the front. His wide shoulders are peppered with bruises and scars. He stands, slowly, turning to face me. I take an involuntary step back when I see the look on his face. It’s something between anger and disbelief.
“What was that?” he asks.
“A burst pipe.” The lie is easy and feels right, even though I know he won’t buy it.
“Bullshit,” he counters, stepping closer.
“I don’t owe your unshot face an explanation for anything. You’re welcome, by the way,” I say, refusing to take a step back on what is probably a misguided principle. I hold my ground, hoping I look more certain than I feel. “Because your half-cocked plan almost got you killed.”
“I’m missing how that was better than your fully thought-out plan that almost had all of us killed.”
“Spare me the hero act,” I shoot back, so very painfully aware that I have no moral high ground to stand on. My power was been a monster inside me, prowling restlessly since the night I ran away. Using it was a panic move, and I should’ve known better than to think I could control it now.
Something catches Sam’s attention, and he turns around at the sound of coughing. Mitch. I don’t really want to look over my shoulder. If I look over my shoulder, I’m going to see the extent of my damage.
I wince and turn.
Yep. It’s as bad as I thought it would be. Metal grinds against metal as the cars in the parking lot settle into the mud. The back door of the café hangs loose from its hinges. At the edge of the flooded lot, I see Mitch, pushing himself up into a sitting position. He’s coughing, sputtering, cussing, and having a total mental breakdown, but he’s not dead. I don’t have much time here. He doesn’t move—doesn’t try to run. He looks around. He flinches when he spots me and drops his eyes to the concrete. Sirens ride the wind, pricking my ears. Slowly, I walk closer.
His eyes are wide as I kneel next to him. In his daze, he looks like a declawed kitten. I almost feel bad for him.
But not enough.
“What happened?” His voice squeaks and breaks as he looks at me. I know he’s looking at me for comfort—for answers. I could make him feel better, right now. I could ease the inky panic that will follow him, clinging to his heels for the next few months—maybe years.
Nah. If I feel bad about this, he’s going to, too.
I lean forward.
“You’re going to leave this town without telling anyone what you’ve seen. Do you understand?”
He stares at me with a mixture of fear, awe, and barely veiled contempt. “You shouldn’t be out here, mixing with regular people. You should be locked up in some government facility somewhere.”
A smile slides up my mouth, and I know I look a little unhinged. I roll with it, letting the confusion on his face edge closer to fear. A small laugh escapes my lips. “That’s true. How about this? We’ll go turn ourselves in together. That sound good? They’ll book us and keep us in processing for at least a night before we part ways. That’s plenty of time for you to mysteriously drown in your cell’s toilet water. Or you could shut your mouth and disappear.”