Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 (34 page)

He tried to console me by making those shushing noises people use with babies. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

“I know I’m overreacting.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s nice to know someone would care if I disappeared.”

Care? I would die.

The wind whipped up, shaking the branches in the trees. Behind me a flash of lightning lit up the entire yard, and for a second it was bright as day. “Whoa,” I said, turning. I wiped at my eyes. “Impressive.”

When I looked back, we were in semidarkness again. Russ reached over and lowered my hood, exposing the burn scars that covered half of my face. I’d spent years hiding my disfigurement, either by staying inside or keeping my hood up. I couldn’t stand the looks on people’s faces when they saw me—the stares of pity and horror. Thankfully I was homeschooled. Whenever I had to go out in public, I ducked behind my hood. In winter, I added a scarf. There was never a moment when I felt normal. I was always aware of the scars and the work it took to blend in with regular people. Not getting noticed took a lot of effort. Being a monster was exhausting.

Russ looked straight at me and wasn’t disgusted. With our bodies so close I could read his emotions and tap into his thoughts. I could tell he accepted me more than I accepted myself. I reached to put the hood back up. “Don’t,” he said, stopping my hand. “I like seeing you.”

“I hate it.” My stomach churned. “I hate looking so ugly.”

“But you’re
not
ugly.” He put his hands on either side of my face and stared deep into my eyes. “I think you’re beautiful.” I got a flash of what he saw when he looked at me. My eyes, piercing and intent. The way I smiled, which he thought was sweet and shy. My petite size. But most of all, he saw who I really was. His friend and confidant, someone he didn’t need to impress. Russ could be himself with me, and I with him.

I shook my head. “Not beautiful.”

“You are. You just don’t know it.” He leaned over so that our noses met, taking my breath away. “So, what are you doing this summer?”

“This summer? Let me think. I have so much planned… Oh wait. No, just the usual.” I didn’t need to explain. Russ knew all about my life. The usual for me was taking college-level classes online, and waiting to be eighteen, something that wouldn’t happen for nearly two years. My mother kept a tight lid on my life. I never left the house without one of my parents accompanying me.

This had been the case since I snuck out of the house four years before and took the bus to visit a friend without permission. On the city bus, a deranged man got on right before my stop. He was carrying an open bucket filled with some kind of liquid. When the bus driver told him he couldn’t take it on the bus, he started ranting about our imperialistic society. He couldn’t be reasoned with and he wouldn’t stop yelling. When the bus driver told him to get out, he flung the liquid up in the air. It turned out to be battery acid. I got hit in the face, and the driver got splashed too.

The pain was excruciating. I’d been burned before like everyone has—you touch a pot on the stove or whatever—but this was nothing like that. Agony, sheer agony. I wanted the paramedics to put me out of my misery. I would have welcomed death. Seeing my face later was another kind of hell. Even after it healed it was hideous. Half of my face was covered in angry red splotches and crisscrossed with raised lines as thick as earthworms. I cried every time I caught sight of my reflection. My mother made the decision that I wouldn’t have plastic surgery. She thought it would teach me a lesson about disobeying my parents. Her favorite expression became, “Teenagers—they never listen.”

So this summer would be the usual for me. More family time coupled with academic studies. I’d fill the hours with drudgery and obligations, but the nighttime belonged to me. After everyone in my house was asleep, my spirit would drift into Russ’s bedroom. At least no one could take that away.

Russ ran a finger from my forehead down my nose and tapped my chin. “How would you like to go to Peru?”

“I’d love that,” I said. “Sure, sign me up. But could we stop in Paris on the way?”

“No, I’m completely serious.” He grinned. “Remember me telling you about the paper Gordon Hofstetter gave me the night he died? How he said his grandson was being held prisoner and I needed to go find him? Well, Mr. Specter thinks the markings are a map and the numbers are latitude and longitude. And guess where they lead to?”

“Peru?”

“Exactly.” His grin got wider. “Mr. Specter said he can arrange a trip to South America, call it an all-expense-paid class trip and the four of us can go and check it out. He said with our superpowers, we’ll be invaluable for the investigation. Plus, we’re the perfect cover. A bunch of high school students on a class trip. Who would ever suspect us of anything?”

“Except I’m not in your class. I don’t even go to your school,” I pointed out. “And I’m not allowed to leave my house without a chaperone.”

“Eh, details.” Russ waved a hand to indicate it was nothing. He’d never dealt with my mother, that much was clear. “This is still in the planning stage, but we’ll get it all sorted out. When I know more, I’ll fill you in.”

It didn’t matter what he found out, I knew I wouldn’t be going on any trip, especially out of the country. And even if my mother allowed it, how could I go looking the way I did? I had a face that would traumatize small children on two different continents. Wouldn’t that be great?

As we stood together, I picked up on what was going through Russ’s mind. As much as he valued our friendship, it was the idea of traveling with Mallory that thrilled him. Knowing this crushed me, even though she was the obvious choice, of course, with her pretty face and flirty ways. A deformed girl could never compete. The fourth one in our little group, Jameson, barely registered on his meter. The two of them had some kind of pissing match going on, but now that Russ could shoot bolts of electricity out of his palms, heal people, and exert mind control, the fact that Jameson could move objects with his mind didn’t seem all that impressive and Russ felt like he came out on top.

Personally, I wouldn’t be that quick to discount Jameson. Yes, he looked like a nerdy kid with glasses. And he definitely lacked people skills. It would be easy to dismiss him, to think he wasn’t a threat, but I’d used my powers to do a read on his character more than once and there was something intense underneath the surface, something dark and brooding I couldn’t quite get a handle on. It would be a mistake to underestimate him.

“So you and Mallory and Jameson would go to Peru this summer with your science teacher?” I tried to make it sound like regular conversation, but it was hard to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

“It’s not for sure yet,” Russ said. I could tell he was dialing it down for my benefit. “And if your mom won’t let you go, you can always astral project to me at night. It’ll be like you’re there.”

Suddenly our nighttime visits seemed like a consolation prize. If they all went to Peru without me, Mallory would be with Russ on the plane and at the hotel and everywhere else. Anything could happen. The experience would bring them closer, because really, how could it not? Meanwhile, I’d be stuck in my house writing papers and doing homework online, relegated to getting quick updates in the evenings. As cool as it was to have the freedom to travel anywhere in a moment’s time, astral projecting had its limits, namely that it lacked the sensory experiences of touch, smell, and taste. I’d be a ghost, while Mallory, with her infectious laugh and flawless skin, would be right there.

But still, Russ had said I was beautiful and I could tell he meant it. And I don’t think he’d ever said that to Mallory.

I think you’re beautiful
. And when I protested, he’d said,
You are. You just don’t know it
. I could still feel the touch of his nose against mine. Not as intimate as, say, kissing, but still very personal. I mean, how many people would you do that to in a lifetime? I knew that in the upcoming weeks and months I’d replay his words and that moment in my mind over and over again, an infinite loop. Those words and that brief touch seemed like more than I deserved, even as I wanted more.

Down the block, we heard a screen door open and the scrabbling sounds of a dog being let out into a neighboring yard. It was still dark, but the interruption reminded us we weren’t where we were supposed to be. Russ glanced in that direction and said, “I better get inside before my parents wake up. Will you be okay going home? Or do you want me to walk you?”

Every bit of me wanted him to walk me home, but I sensed he only asked to be polite. I said, “No, I’m good.”

“You sure?” Russ sounded relieved.

I nodded. “It’s not too far. I’ll be there in no time.”

“Astral project to me when you get home,” he said. “So I don’t worry.”

“I will.”

Nadia

When I got home, I crept up the stairs. I was relieved to hear my parents snoring behind their closed door. Further down the hall, the blinds in the guest bedroom were open, allowing me to see the sleeping form of my mother’s cat, Barry, from the open doorway. Barry was a gray tabby. He was also a mean, fat cat, the kind that hissed when you tried to pick him up. My mother was the only person he cared about in the world. He adored her and she fussed over him like he was an only child.

Curled up at the foot of the bed, Barry lifted his head as I snuck past the open doorway, but he didn’t move or make a noise. I’d shown myself to him while I was astral projecting once and it had seriously freaked him out. Ever since then he’d regarded me warily.

After I climbed into bed, I settled back and closed my eyes and willed myself to go to Russ. No matter how many times I did it, it still seemed like magic, the way my essence knew to rise out of my body and travel to him. I was aware of the distance—the houses, the trees, the roads—but time didn’t work the way it normally did. One moment I was home, and the next I was there. The in-between part was of no consequence. I fast-forwarded over all of it.

When I arrived in Russ’s bedroom, he wasn’t up worrying about me after all. Actually, he was already asleep. That was fine though. I liked watching him sleep. Even with the light off I could see him perfectly, right down to the way his lips moved slightly when he exhaled. The covers were pulled up to his chin, and he looked content. If I were actually in his room I’d have been tempted to sit on the edge of the bed and stroke his hair, so it was good that I wasn’t actually there. That might have creeped him out if he woke up in the meantime.
Russ
? I tried to reach him.
Russ, can you hear me
? He shifted slightly, making me think that, on some level, he heard.
I got home safely. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay
? He muttered something in his sleep. I thought I heard my name, but maybe not. Hard to tell. It would have to do, though. It was getting late and I needed to get back.
Good night
, I said, and in a moment I was underneath the covers of my own bed.

In the morning, I was back to my usual routine. Without a traditional school schedule all my days ran together, but on the weekends, my mother permitted me to sleep in for an extra hour and a half; since today was Saturday, I’d set my alarm allowing for the difference. When it went off, I struggled out of sleep and went right for the shower. For a teenage girl, my mornings were relatively quick; no makeup to apply, and since no one besides my parents ever saw my hair, I didn’t do too much to it. I tried to dry off and comb my hair without looking in the mirror because seeing my scars still upset me, even now. My one eyelid wasn’t quite right, and the whole left side of my face was ugly. Sometimes I turned out the bathroom light, covered the worst of it with my hands and peered cautiously at my reflection, trying to imagine how I’d have looked if I hadn’t been burned that day on the bus. I know this sounds conceited, but I think I might have turned out to be pretty.

After getting dressed, I joined my father at the breakfast table. He took thin sips of coffee while he read the news. Behind him, my mother stood at the stove cooking eggs and bacon.

“Morning, Nadia,” my father said, giving me a small smile. In our house, we were silent partners.

“You slept well?” Mom asked.

For a moment, I thought maybe she’d noticed I’d snuck out of the house. It was hard to tell because almost everything she said sounded accusatory to me. “Yes, I did. Thank you.” I went to the stove, and she lifted an egg and two pieces of bacon out of the pan and plopped them onto a plate, then handed it to me.

“Very good,” she said, nodding approvingly as if I’d done well on a test.

Within a few minutes all three of us were at the table, eating our usual Saturday morning meal, me with my orange juice and them with their strong coffee. I added Tabasco sauce to my eggs, a habit I’d acquired after getting burned. The cat slinked in and lapped at his water dish, then jumped into Mom’s lap for a neck massage.

Everything was as usual, until my mother said, “What happened to your face?”

I looked up from my plate to see she was talking to me. Call me confused. Did she somehow forget the events of the past four years? I looked to my dad, who appeared to be just as puzzled. “I got burned from battery acid?”

“I know that,” she said sharply. “But something is different.” She lifted her hand from the cat and pointed. “Your scars have changed.”

My hand flew to my cheek. It felt the same. “Changed how?”

“They look better.” She squinted and turned her head to one side.

My father smiled. “Have you been using that ointment I gave you?”

He’d given me a tube of some cream that was so thick and stinky that I’d only applied it once. I knew it wouldn’t help, so I didn’t bother with it after that, but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Here and there,” I said.

“Well, keep using it,” he said. “It’s definitely helping.”

“See, I told you plastic surgery wasn’t necessary,” Mom said.