photo of Dad, Mom, Daniel, and me, just before everything went bad. Wherever I go, they’re always with me—my turtle shell of a home, portable and heavy with memories.
“Books are your friends,” Dad used to tell me. “They allow you to hope and to dream, but they also help to strengthen your talent. Never forget that.” I read because I love to. Never thought I’d need to strengthen my talents.
Never needed to. Now I wish I’d read more. Maybe it would have given me an edge.
I shift my backpack. I downloaded the local school’s blueprints and studied them after my swim; I know exactly where all the exits are. I doubt they’ll find us so soon, but it’s better to be prepared. Especially if one of the Para-hunters has inside help. And from the blueprints, I know the school has a pool! I’ve got my suit on beneath my clothes, just waiting until I can use it.
The high school is a five-story building made of dark red brick, the color of dried blood. A group of kids cluster on the wide cement steps, laughing with one another, their strutting body language making it clear that they’re the ruling power here. Others surge past them and are swallowed into the dark mouth of the school.
A man in a black suit stands at the top of the stairs, legs splayed in an army stance, hands held behind his stiff back. His balding head glistens in the sun as his marble-hard eyes scrutinize each student. Our gazes lock.
I shiver, goose pimples skittering along my arms. He’s a Para-hater, for sure. I hope he’s not one of my teachers.
40
HUNTED
Rich, deep laughter, easy and smooth, rises above the hubbub of noise. It reminds me of Dad—happy and secure.
I turn and eagerly search out the laugher.
He’s standing, head thrown back, full lips curved in a wide-open smile. His skin contrasts with his crisp white shirt. Narrow copper bracelets glint along one of his arms.
He’s so gorgeous, he must already be taken. But it’s his laughter that’s the best. It feels clean and pure, with no hidden malice or cruelty—just joy. I haven’t heard laughter like that in such a long time. It makes me want to laugh with him, to find the world beautiful.
His head comes back up, his eyes snapping open, like he can sense me looking at him, and his brown eyes find mine, right through my dark glasses. Beneath his laughter is a kind of sadness, something wounded, even though it’s held at bay by his cheerfulness. And there’s a goodness in him that I can feel right to his core. He befriends outsiders, people who don’t fit in anywhere else. That’s who he’s laughing with and I can tell they love him for it. He could be part of the in-crowd, but he’s his own person.
His eyes draw me in. The mind-noise around me dampens, peace flooding through me. I’ve never felt so safe in a crowd before. I stare at him. I can’t believe this is happening. I know it’s because of this boy, but I don’t understand it. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.
He smiles at me, a warm smile, and it’s like he’s put his hand over my belly. I reach toward him, hoping he’s one of us—but there’s nothing. No vibration, not even a tingle.
But if he’s not one of us . . .
41
Cheryl Rainfield
I look away. The mind-noise comes crashing back like a thunderclap. I don’t know how I could have been drawn to a Normal, or how I could let myself believe there was something special about him. It’s not like we have anything in common.
A girl moves in front of me, blocking my view, her mouth moving, her hands gesturing as she talks.
. . . cute new girl . . . of course she likes Alex . . . everyone does . . . too bad she’s straight . . .
I pull the buds out of my ears, the thoughts around me rising in volume. “Sorry, what?”
“I noticed you’ve got your eye on Alex.”
“Alex?” My cheeks heat up like a sunburn.
“Yeah,” the girl says, nodding toward the boy I was staring at. He’s half turned now, to talk to his
“Books are your friends,” Dad used to tell me. “They allow you to hope and to dream, but they also help to strengthen your talent. Never forget that.” I read because I love to. Never thought I’d need to strengthen my talents.
Never needed to. Now I wish I’d read more. Maybe it would have given me an edge.
I shift my backpack. I downloaded the local school’s blueprints and studied them after my swim; I know exactly where all the exits are. I doubt they’ll find us so soon, but it’s better to be prepared. Especially if one of the Para-hunters has inside help. And from the blueprints, I know the school has a pool! I’ve got my suit on beneath my clothes, just waiting until I can use it.
The high school is a five-story building made of dark red brick, the color of dried blood. A group of kids cluster on the wide cement steps, laughing with one another, their strutting body language making it clear that they’re the ruling power here. Others surge past them and are swallowed into the dark mouth of the school.
A man in a black suit stands at the top of the stairs, legs splayed in an army stance, hands held behind his stiff back. His balding head glistens in the sun as his marble-hard eyes scrutinize each student. Our gazes lock.
I shiver, goose pimples skittering along my arms. He’s a Para-hater, for sure. I hope he’s not one of my teachers.
40
HUNTED
Rich, deep laughter, easy and smooth, rises above the hubbub of noise. It reminds me of Dad—happy and secure.
I turn and eagerly search out the laugher.
He’s standing, head thrown back, full lips curved in a wide-open smile. His skin contrasts with his crisp white shirt. Narrow copper bracelets glint along one of his arms.
He’s so gorgeous, he must already be taken. But it’s his laughter that’s the best. It feels clean and pure, with no hidden malice or cruelty—just joy. I haven’t heard laughter like that in such a long time. It makes me want to laugh with him, to find the world beautiful.
His head comes back up, his eyes snapping open, like he can sense me looking at him, and his brown eyes find mine, right through my dark glasses. Beneath his laughter is a kind of sadness, something wounded, even though it’s held at bay by his cheerfulness. And there’s a goodness in him that I can feel right to his core. He befriends outsiders, people who don’t fit in anywhere else. That’s who he’s laughing with and I can tell they love him for it. He could be part of the in-crowd, but he’s his own person.
His eyes draw me in. The mind-noise around me dampens, peace flooding through me. I’ve never felt so safe in a crowd before. I stare at him. I can’t believe this is happening. I know it’s because of this boy, but I don’t understand it. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.
He smiles at me, a warm smile, and it’s like he’s put his hand over my belly. I reach toward him, hoping he’s one of us—but there’s nothing. No vibration, not even a tingle.
But if he’s not one of us . . .
41
Cheryl Rainfield
I look away. The mind-noise comes crashing back like a thunderclap. I don’t know how I could have been drawn to a Normal, or how I could let myself believe there was something special about him. It’s not like we have anything in common.
A girl moves in front of me, blocking my view, her mouth moving, her hands gesturing as she talks.
. . . cute new girl . . . of course she likes Alex . . . everyone does . . . too bad she’s straight . . .
I pull the buds out of my ears, the thoughts around me rising in volume. “Sorry, what?”
“I noticed you’ve got your eye on Alex.”
“Alex?” My cheeks heat up like a sunburn.
“Yeah,” the girl says, nodding toward the boy I was staring at. He’s half turned now, to talk to his
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