“What’re you doing, kid?” he asks.
I want to ask him about the interview, about Poison and what his conclusions are. But I know he can’t tell me. I remind myself to ask Laila tomorrow about any missing girls on the news. “Oh, just texting with a friend.” Really? I had to actually admit to something? I could’ve just shrugged my shoulders and said, “Nothing,” which would have been the truth in that moment.
My dad stops midstride and lowers his brow. Unfair. I quickly type, Lie detectors suck sometimes, and hit Send. Laila will get a kick out of that. I hold up my phone for him to see. “Just texting,” I repeat. This time it’s the truth.
“Sounds exciting.” He resumes his walk toward the hall. “I’m going to go change.”
“Okay.”
My phone chimes, and I look at it. The text is three question marks, and it’s from Trevor. How did that happen? Then I realize that I just assumed Laila was the last person to send me a text. But she wasn’t; Trevor was. He had texted me last night to ask what the homework assignment in Government was and we ended up texting the rest of the night.
Sorry, that was supposed to go to Laila.
What did you mean by it?
It’s what we call my dad.
Oh. Your dad giving you problems?
Yeah.
I’m inviting the gang over to my house tonight. You up for it?
Am I one of “the gang” now?
You did successfully complete the bobblehead retrieval mission. I think you’re in.
Let me ask. I walk down the hall to my dad’s room. His door is not quite shut, and just as I’m about to knock I hear his voice through the crack. He must be on the phone.
“How did you get this number?” A pause. “I don’t take kindly to threats, Mr. Paxton.”
My breath catches in my throat.
“Just tell the truth, and you won’t have to worry about my input.” Another pause. “No, actually it’s not a subjective ability; my findings are conclusive and binding. Good-bye, Mr. Paxton, and this will go in the report.”
I count to ten, trying to return my breathing to normal, and then knock.
“Come in.”
I start to pretend like I didn’t overhear what I just did, but my heart is pounding and I’m sure he can read fear all over my face. “Are you okay, Dad? Who’s threatening you?”
“Eavesdropping?” His voice is perfectly calm, but for a moment I see tension tighten his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
He lightly brushes my hair with his hand. “It’s okay. And I’m fine. Nothing I can’t handle.” Sometimes I wish I were a lie detector too, so that I could determine if he were telling the truth. But, I remind myself, my dad doesn’t lie to me. His eyes drift down to my cell phone clutched in my hand. “Did you need something?”
“Oh, yeah. Trevor invited me to his house for a movie. There’ll be a bunch of us.”
He loosens his tie. “Like a party?”
I plop onto his bed and lie back. “No, like ten of us.”
“Are his parents going to be there?”
“I don’t know.”
“If they are, you can go.”
I feel lame asking, but I know my dad will know if I don’t. I hold the phone above me and type, My dad wants to know if your parents are going to be home.
My dad’s tie lands on my face. I wad it up and throw it after him as he retreats to his closet. It doesn’t make it very far, uncoiling and snaking to the ground. He laughs at my attempt.
My phone chimes with Trevor’s answer. Yep. And my little brother too.
He’ll love that. Text me directions and I’ll see you in a while.
“His parents and little brother will be home,” I tell my dad.
“Okay, have fun.”
As I leave I give my dad one last look. He’s already unbuttoning his shirt and pulling out a replacement. I hope, like he claimed, that Poison really is someone he can handle.
CHAPTER 19
dis-PA-RAte: adj. distinct, different, dissimilar
My heart races, and my head pounds. The screams of cheering fans surround me. The band’s music pulses in my ears, and I feel lost in a cloud of haze. “This is so crazy!” Puffs of white breath accompany my words. The whistle blows, and Duke runs onto the field again.
“I know, right?” Laila rubs her arms, which are covered by a too-thin jacket. She was obviously more worried about fashion than warmth. “Why can’t the Perceptives make us think it’s warm too?” She nods at the lightning that has been streaking across the sky since the game started. “I’m freezing.”
“Because an illusion is an illusion. Reality always exists despite the facade.” An exceptionally bright flash, unaccompanied by thunder, bursts in time with the snap of the ball.
Duke drops back for a pass. When he releases the ball, it zigzags across the sky, tugged first one way and then the other by all the Telekinetic players trying to direct its motion. Number seventy-six on our team catches the ball, and I start jumping up and down squealing.
Laila gives me a sideways glance. “Okay, the Mood Controllers are laying it on thick tonight.”
“That’s my problem, right? Because I feel super-weird.”
“Go get us some sodas. When you’re out of the stands, the excitement wears off.”
“Good idea.” I climb over cheering teens and down the cement steps to the back of the stadium, where the food vendors are. Once in the open air, I immediately feel better. My heart rate slows and my brain stops buzzing. I take a sigh of relief. I had no idea I was that susceptible to influence. It makes me feel better when I think about how many Mood Controllers work the football game.