“Come in,” Duke says, and the door slides open.
I step inside. He sits at a desk, his back to me, writing. “Give me one sec.”
His room is bright, the drapes on both windows wide open. From where his house sits, on the very edge of town, the unobstructed view of the mountains is impressive. As I stare out the window, I wonder if the Perceptives change the image throughout the day. Do they elongate the shadows in the afternoon? The thought of a manufactured reality sits heavily on my shoulders from this close up, and I’m suddenly happy I don’t have Duke’s impressive view every day. I’m happy for my daily view of the neighbor’s water-stained fence.
I turn my attention away from the windows. I expect Duke’s walls to be covered with football posters or shelves full of trophies, but they’re a clean beige, like his mom’s pants. A single painting of an ocean view hangs on the wall opposite his king-size bed. As a whole, the room screams hotel—generic enough to house anyone, and yet nobody ever feels like they belong there. It is clean though, which is nice.
He finishes whatever he’s working on and then stands and turns. “Hey, girlfriend.”
“Hi.” My heart flutters. I raise one hand, and when I lower it my backpack slips down my arm, causing me to take a jerky step forward.
He laughs. “Aren’t we past the awkward stage yet? Where is my mouthy Addie who acted like I was nothing special when we first met?”
Sometimes I wonder the same thing. “Are you someone special?”
“There she is.”
He takes several steps forward and scoops me into a hug. When he puts me down, I say, “So this is your room, huh?”
“Yep, this is it. Have a seat.” He points to his bed, and I take the chair he just abandoned instead.
“I thought there’d be more … stuff. Trophies or whatever.”
“Yeah, well, my mom doesn’t like holes in the walls. Plus, my dad has an entire room filled with my … stuff. It’s embarrassing.”
“He’s proud.”
“He just loves football. Has his whole life.”
“So is that why you started playing?”
“Yeah, I was told my dad handed me a football when I was born.”
“Is he Telekinetic too?”
He nods slowly and looks around as if noticing how bare his room is for the first time.
“Have you been to the ocean?” I ask, nodding my head toward the painting.
“Once. A long time ago. I liked it a lot.” He stares at the painting. “Are your walls plastered with posters of hot guys or something?”
“How did you know?”
“Really?”
“No. I actually have a lot of … um …” I pull on my fingers, realizing how uncool I am about to sound and how little he actually knows about me. “Painted words and book pages on my walls.”
“Book pages?”
“Yeah, some are from novels; some are from graphic novels.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Graphic novels? As in, comic books?”
“Yes. But it’s not because I think the characters are cute or anything.” Even though Laila sometimes stares at them with dreamy eyes. “It has more to do with the story lines … usually the parts where I felt the most tense or the saddest. I’ll pin that page on my wall, and every time I read it or look at it, I get that rush of feelings I got reading it.…” Holy crap, this is not normal. Why am I telling him this? “… Never mind.”
“No, wait, tell me. So you’re saying you like to remember certain feelings?”
“Sort of.” I pull up my knee on the chair with me. “It’s hard to explain. In my life, I’m surrounded by people who, no matter if they are trying to or not, can manipulate me. Like my mom. She says she doesn’t use Persuasion on me, but just the fact that I know she can makes me more likely to do what she asks, because I don’t want her to use her power on me. So even though she’s not using it, in a way she’s still manipulating me. I just let her skip a step. My dad too. Since I know I can’t lie to him, I don’t. Does any of this make sense?”
“Yes, of course, but I don’t understand how that relates to pages from books pinned to your wall.”
The desk chair swivels as I shift my leg back and forth once. “When I read, I feel emotion all on my own. Emotion no living person is making me feel. To me, it almost seems more real, because I know that those characters can’t influence me with any power. So I like to remind myself that I can feel without anyone manipulating me.… I know, it’s lame.”
“No, it’s not lame. But you sound like a Naturalist again. You sound like you want to live in a world where people don’t have powers.”
My eyes drift to the view of the mountains out his window. “No. I want to live in a world where people aren’t using their powers against me to fulfill their own agenda.”
“You don’t trust people, do you?”
“I’ve seen a lot of alternate futures. I guess it makes me more wary than most.” I turn toward his desk. “So what are you working on?”
“Are you trying to change the subject?”
“Yes.”
He laughs. “I’m working on college stuff.”
“Oh.” The thought stops me cold. Duke is going to college next year. I’m not. “Where are you going?”