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at the boy, wondering what she can do to get back at him for his callous attitude. She can easily untie all the stuffed animals above him with her mind, laughing as they rain down, making him look foolish. Or maybe she’ll break his cash register in such a way that he gets the blame for it.
    No, she warns herself. Hell no!
    She has already risked discovery once today. Besides, what will revenge accomplish? Will this douche bag miraculously transform into a nice guy? That hardly seems possible. So she snatches the prize from the counter, scowls at the boy, and then walks away.
    Later that day, when she gives the gifts to her mother and Kevin, her hunch pays off. They do indeed love the offerings and promise to wear the rings every day. Hugs are shared. Tears even well in Kevin’s eyes, making Hannah afraid she’s hurt him—made him unhappy somehow—but when a grin brightens his face, she knows she did well, even if what she did comes with a high price.
    Guilt.
    She doesn’t sleep that night, thinking about her actions in the arcade. About the things her father did for money. Hannah hates thieves with every fiber of her being. Hates them.
    And for the rest of the night, she hates herself.

CHAPTER 5

    Not long after Chet’s invasion of Phillip Wise’s house, Hannah discovered her power.
    It was a late August afternoon, the misery of summer’s peak fading. Cool ocean breezes wafted and palmettos swayed. Sitting in a lawn chair, Hannah’s mom wrote in a spiral notebook. And Hannah, pointing her arms in a V, kicked and glided in the YMCA swimming pool. She and her mom spent a lot of weekends here lately, which was great when the place wasn’t teeming with kids.
    But there was a deeper reason they were spending less time at home. Her mom never wrote in the apartment. For whatever reason, she was keeping the whole thing secret from Hannah’s dad.
    That was okay, Hannah figured. After all, Daddy had secrets, too, and she could tell his were worse, because they were hurting Mommy, whose writing was frantic—pressing the ballpoint hard into the paper, her mouth drawn in a pained scowl. The act didn’t seem to bring her much joy.
    Just short of the shallow end’s edge, Hannah collided with someone crossing her path. Her face emerged from the water and she took a deep breath, and that’s when she realized the obstacle was a boy.
    “I’m sowwy ,” the boy said.
    She recognized him from school—a stupid kid who frequently made loud and unfunny jokes during class, who more than once had farted proudly to disrupt Ms. Gelson’s lesson. But recognition didn’t register on his droopy face. No surprise there.
    Ignoring the brat, she scanned the pool. Too crowded now. More beach towels and longue chairs, more mothers reading paperbacks, and way too many children splashing and making noise. Their high-pitched squeals set her nerves on edge, and a headache began blossoming.
    “Hey,” the boy said, “you wanna pway ?”
    Hannah shook her head, then glanced in her mom’s direction. “I have to get back to my mom,” she said. “So, yeah, maybe later.”
    “Okay,” the boy said, beaming.
    Straightening her one-piece suit, Hannah climbed the pool steps. Without running—she didn’t want to break the rules and get yelled at by the lifeguard—she moved fast toward her destination. Without looking up, her mom kept writing, and Hannah didn’t want to disrupt her straightaway. She snatched her SpongeBob Squarepants beach towel and wrapped it around her body, then sat in the chair beside her mom.
    After a respectful silence, Hannah said, “What are you writing about anyway?”
    “Huh?” She looked up from her notebook, as if coming out of a deep sleep. “I’m sorry, what’s that, sweetie?”
    “I asked, what are you writing?”
    “Oh, nothing. Just trying to put my English degree to work. Might as well, considering how much student loan debt I racked up getting it.”
    Hannah didn’t understand but nodded anyway.