I can’t stand it any longer. I’m feeling nervous and guilty. I jump out of my seat, ready to yell, when Trevor says, “I can’t do this, Stephanie.”
A low muttering of exchanged comments ripples through the onlookers.
“Of course you can. You’re doing it.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry. Thanks for this though.”
Considering how many kids are in the backyard, I’m surprised at how quiet it has become. I grab Rowan and pull him to his feet. “Rowan wants to try throwing some footballs. He thinks he can get way more than one into the bucket.” When Rowan doesn’t move, I elbow him in the ribs.
“Yeah, I totally can.”
Stephanie shoots me a look of such rage that I’m surprised I’m still standing. I raise my eyebrows and then say, “Brandon.” He’s sitting next to Katie and looks up when I call his name.
“Yeah?”
“You versus Rowan. Loser has to do a dare.”
Brandon laughs. “Okay, you’re on, Rowan.” This suggestion seems to loosen up the crowd, and soon everyone is talking and laughing again. Stephanie stomps off, and Trevor goes after her without a single glance back. I wonder if he’s mad at me for my attempt to take the pressure off. When Stephanie comes back, alone, she walks straight up to me and in a cold voice says, “You may think you’ve won, Addison, but when he remembers who he is, he’ll come running back to me.”
“He left?” It’s a stupid response to what she said, but it’s the only thing I care about. I don’t even care if it looks like I’m running after him, since that’s what I’m doing. I turn on my heel and run through the house and out the front door, where I see the tail end of his car disappear around the corner.
CHAPTER 27
ir-reP-A-RA-ble: adj. something that can never be how it was
I knock on the door. Duke’s mom answers. “Hi,” she says. Duke must’ve inherited some of her charm, because her smile makes me feel just as at ease as Duke’s.
“Hi. I’m supposed to meet Duke here.” I hold up my backpack. “Homework.” It’s the excuse I’m going to use with my mom when I get home as well—I haven’t asked her permission, but I really want to see him.
“Oh, Addie, he’s not home yet, but feel free to wait in his room.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Up in his room, I pull out a book and start reading. When I’m done with the chapter, I glance at the digital clock on his wall monitor. It’s been half an hour. I know I can’t stay much longer.
My phone is in my pocket and I fish it out and dial his number. On the floor between his bed and nightstand, the song that corresponds to my phone call starts playing. I sigh and reach down the crack, fishing out his singing phone. “Very helpful,” I mutter, and press End. “Where are you?” Guess I’ll have to leave him a message the old-fashioned way.
I move to Duke’s desk to get paper. In the middle drawer I dig through some pages to find a blank sheet. As I grab a piece, a group of stapled pages comes up with it. I pull it free and start to put it back, but a bright yellow mark catches my eye. It’s an alphabetized list of all the kids at school and their abilities. It looks like it was printed off the school computer. I find my name at the bottom of the page: Coleman, Addison. The word Clairvoyant next to my name is highlighted yellow.
That was the word I was directed to write on my registration papers when I signed up for high school. Clairvoyant. I remember my mom arguing with the dean, telling him that wasn’t my ability. It falls in the same class, he said, and our computers don’t recognize the term Divergence or whatever you said her ability is called. Here my mom sighed. She hates it when people act like I’m the only one in existence with this ability. My ability may be rare, but I’m not the only one.
It’s just a technicality anyway, he assured her, to make sure she gets put in the right classes for her tendencies. This isn’t her official government record. When she passes her ability markers, you can take up her title with the Bureau.
I will, my mother assured him. And she would.
In the meantime my school records show Clairvoyant. The word that is now bright yellow in front of me.
Duke’s phone chimes, causing me to jump. I look to where I had set it on his desk. It just takes the slightest movement of my hand across the screen to bring the text message up. It’s from Ray.
We’re meeting Thursday night @ Fat Jacks to talk about football game strategy. 7 o’clock.
I close the message and look back to the paper, a surge of anger working its way up my chest as the implications of this highlighted word sink into my mind.
The door behind me shuts, and I whirl around, the paper fluttering to the ground with my movement. “Duke, you scared me.”
He smiles. “You weren’t expecting me to walk into my room?”
“No, it’s not that, it’s just that I was about to go because my mom will be expecting me. You left your cell phone, so I was going to leave you a note.”
With those words his eyes move to the paper on the floor, and a look of panic flashes across his face, then is gone just as fast. It’s the only confirmation I need.
“You’re using me.” Anger stings my eyes.
“What? No. That’s not true.”
I point at the paper. “Then explain that?”
“Okay, maybe at first I thought you could help me out, tell me my future, which college I’d do the best at. But then I got to know you. It hasn’t been about that in a long time.”