One (3 page)

I love those water-walking monsters.

I shake my shoulders, trying to loosen them, surprised at how creaky they feel. I’m sure it’s because I’ve got a ton going on inside me, and I honestly don’t know what to make of it. New school. New Merrin, maybe. One who’s not scared of everyone and hiding it by being pissed off and banging on the drums so loud that no one dares come near her.

When I feel that rumble down the back of my neck, skittering across my shoulders, my hands itch to play. I crank up the speaker, and it screams out something heavy metal, fast and angry. I let my right foot warm up to the rhythm of the bass for two bars, and then my arms pump furiously, beating the crap out of those poor tired snares and cymbals. I’m going to have to give them a damn retirement party if I ever get a new set.

After three furious songs, the tightness in my chest has loosened, and I finally feel like I can breathe again.

I listen for the giant cricket that’s made the back of the garage door track his home for the last few weeks. There he is. The sun must finally be setting. Time to practice again.

FOUR

T
oday, I’m looking forward to driving myself to school. A quiet morning drive is one of the few things besides my drums that can calm me. The car glides along the narrow road, and I breathe in deeply, taking in the sunrise, which is gorgeous even through the windshield. One good thing about living in the country is that there’s lots of open sky.

Superior, Nebraska, is a tiny town situated right above the Kansas border, almost exactly in the middle of the United States of America. Cornfields and the wind turbines that live among the stalks line the roads as far as the eye can see, and millions more ears of corn live here than people.

Two miles north, in Nelson, there’s one bar, one movie theater, and three restaurants, two of which are sad steakhouses. Nelson is centered on the same things it’s been obsessed with for decades: 4-H and football. But on the Superior side, it’s a whole different story.

Superior is the home of the Biotech Hub for the Super community of the United States. The money its inventions bring in from the United States government alone could fund more tech-advanced schools, movie theaters, and restaurants than the small number of Supers who visit and live in Nelson could ever want. It’s kind of a shame that most Normals would rather die than set foot in a Hub-centered city — most of them are completely freaked out by Supers. Even though there are no formal structures or laws in place to keep them apart, everyone knows that Normals and Supers don’t mix.

I’ve always thought that was weird. Supers are everywhere, and everyone knows it. People with powers are technically mutants, but everyone here calls them “Supers” — much more flattering. Mom told me we don’t really have all the genetics nailed down yet anyway, and “mutants” suggests there’s something the Hub can do, something they can manipulate about the genetics.

She assures me there’s not. I asked her almost every day from sixth to eighth grade.

At the Biotech Hub they develop new vaccines, medical supplies, and foods for the general world population. At least, publicly. I know Mom has something to do with mapping the Supers’ genomes and genetic research. That’s what I want to get in on, too.

But Dad’s happy to work in the part of the Biotech Hub that manufactures toothpaste. There’s no hope for power or notability there, but he likes it that way. And after all, it’s certainly a better fit for him than the Warfare Hub, down in Texas, where the Supers design weaponry, or Intelligence in DC, where Supers do all their society-helping good by way of dangerous spy missions. And even though he’s a do-gooder, he’d really hate working for the Social Justice Hub in California, where the Supers spend their days coordinating rescue missions, conflict resolution, relief efforts, and other stereotypical hero stuff like that. He wouldn’t want the attention.

I’m different. I wouldn’t mind being recognized for doing something good.

The sun’s gorgeous watermelon and orange display distracts me so much that I almost don’t notice when Nelson High comes into view. Day two.

One of my first priorities at Nelson was finding the smallest desk in the most secluded corner of the library, which really should be called a study room since it doesn’t have any books anymore. That’s where I hide out whenever possible — especially lunch. Every morning, I remove the wrapping from my brownie or pastry and repackage them in quieter bags.

Today, something makes my stomach churn, and as I eye my schedule again, I realize what. Tuesday is art class day. Hopefully this won’t be as awful as last Thursday.

I shake my head. What was so bad? A cute boy trying to talk to me? I need to get a grip.

I duck into my corner of the library and start working problems in the organic chem textbook I found on one of the download catalogs back here. It’s familiar, and it calms me. My mind runs through the questions like a computer, loving the rhythm of each one. Characteristics of a compound in: IR, NMR, visible spectrometry, mass spectrometry. Impurities. Stereochemical configuration. Next compound. Repeat.

They haven’t stored paper books in here in decades, not since the Forestry Conservation Act prohibited printing them even for commercial purposes. This corner of the library still has a couple of creaking metal shelves where they once sat, providing me some kind of cover in the otherwise open study area.

All of a sudden, I hear one of them rattle slightly, followed by muted footsteps on library carpet.

I startle, nearly jumping out of my seat, and have to command my body to be heavy. No one comes this far back into the library.

“Still spending your lunch break studying, I see.” A voice, soft and gravelly, comes around the corner a split second before I see him. Mr. Hoffman stands there, smiling his warm, encouraging smile.

I close my lips against a gasp — I feel like I’m looking at a ghost. I wouldn’t have expected to see Mr. Hoffman at the grocery store, let alone looking for me at Normal High.

After an impossibly long second, I say, “I thought… I thought you were…”

“Gone?” he finishes.

I nod, a grin flooding my face. Mr. Hoffman is the only teacher who ever put me through the paces in science class. I’ve needed that so badly here.

“I left my position as a classroom teacher at Superior High, yes. But I didn’t leave Superior.” He smiles. “How are you finding the classes here at Nelson, Merrin? I suspect they’re not as challenging as you might want them to be.”

“That’s an understatement. Science is way too simple, and history is…weird. Did you know they don’t even have real teachers?” I clear my throat, trying to control my smile. “Will you be teaching at Nelson?”

“That’s part of the reason I’m here. A school full of teachers is expensive, to be sure, but impressive students like you, Merrin… Well, you thrive on individual attention. So, my entire job now is to work with you.”

My eyebrows go up.

“And other students like you, of course. Here, at Superior and across the whole area.”

My shoulders relax down the tiniest fraction, and I sit up straighter. “Like me? You mean, Ones?”

He nods. “Like you. Smart. Capable. Driven. Dedicated. You’ve always wanted to work at the Hub, right?” He smiles warmly. “This is your chance.”

“The Hub?” It’s a serious effort to keep my voice at library volume. I should have known he had an awesome new job. “Oh, right!” My hands shake as I get ready to ask him. “I’m applying for the summer internship. I need your recommendation… I mean, if you can give it.”

Mr. Hoffman pulls up a chair and sits down across from me. He waves his hand in the air. “No need, Merrin. Your name’s already in the running. Every student I’m working with is considered exceptional enough to be automatically considered.”

Everything seems to spin a little. I don’t know exactly where to look or how to sit in my chair. Besides the fact that he looks more polished today — crisp white shirt, blazer, and shined shoes, as opposed to his SHS-standard blue Oxford short-sleeved shirt and khakis — he’s still the Mr. Hoffman I know. The same Mr. Hoffman who stayed after class to help anyone who needed him and whose eyes lit up when he talked about the freaking Periodic Table. He wouldn’t have ditched the students there for just any job.

He picks up the corner of his tablet cover and lets it slap down, over and over, for a few seconds. “Don’t look so surprised, Merrin. Right now the internship program is only for Supers, but President Fisk wants to change these things. He sees potential in Ones. He believes in what you can do. And with that brain, Merrin… I told him. You’re at a college level of study without too much effort. Considering Ones for the summer internship is a great place to start the change.”

“Yeah. I guess I thought… I mean, I’m smart,” I say. “But I’ll never be a Super.”

Yes, I will.

Mr. Hoffman shrugs. “President Fisk believes you can do anything. You’d be an asset to us, Super or not. My job right now is to put you through the next level of testing.”

“I thought there was just the one application,” I say.

He pushes his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose. I smile. If anyone at Superior High wanted to do an impression of Mr. Hoffman, that’s how they would start.

“This year, we’re taking everything more seriously, Merrin. Raising the bar. You do think you can find the time to meet with me regularly over the next few weeks, don’t you?”

I nod, my heart jumping. “Oh, yeah. I mean, it’s only lunchtime. My friends will barely miss me.”

Mr. Hoffman nods and looks at me, his expression unsmiling and intense. Not like him. “You should know that this is under the radar. If the board knew we were preparing Ones to work with us… Well, let’s just say they’d never let us continue. Ones are still not as welcome at the Hub as we’d like them to be. So I don’t want you to tell even your parents, Merrin. Or anyone close to anyone working in the Hub. It could put them in a very…difficult situation.”

I nod, look down at my hands. “Okay. Yeah.”

Something about the idea of not telling my parents makes me nervous. If I’m so great, why should I be kept secret? If it’s a new era, what is the Hub ashamed of?

But then I think of the weird 3-D teacher projections in the classrooms and how the most important thing at this stupid school seems to be who’s on what sports team. My chest feels tight, and I struggle to take a deep breath.

Mr. Hoffman watches me expectantly, waiting for me to say what should feel obvious to me — that I’ll go along with this plan, no matter how top secret I have to keep it. He’s so familiar, right down to the faint smell of the licorice he always kept in a barrel on his desk for the students.

I lock my fingers together and lean forward so my elbows rest on the desk. “When do we start?”

FIVE

W
hen the bell signaling the end of class rings, I head out into the hallway to join everyone else. My chest feels tighter the closer I get to my locker. I get there, swipe my print, and open it in peace, but then I feel it.

An anxiousness, a humming feeling, inches its way under my skin. The feeling, warm and buzzing, builds up in my shoulders, gathering in my muscles. The energy begs to get out.

I slam my locker door shut, knowing Elias is going to be waiting there behind it. Yep. There he is, with his infuriating dimple, the one that makes my insides melt, standing there without flinching.

“How did you find me?” I realize a half-second too late that the question assumes he followed me here. So now I’m saying he is either a creep or way more interested in me than he probably is.

“My locker is next to yours. Fifth period art and all. That’s how they’re arranged.”

Oh. So he didn’t follow me. He was just going to his locker. I am a dumbass.

He sticks out his hand, and it sits there in the air, waiting for me to do something with it. “Let’s try this again. Elias. Elias VanDyne.”

“Related to…”

“The famous VanDyne twins? Yeah.”

The VanDyne girls were seniors when I started freshman year back at Superior High. I don’t know a lot about them, but I do remember their stunning almost-identical faces framed by starkly different hair, the same flawless skin with a spray of freckles, strong jawlines, and eyes sparkling with life. He does look a lot like them.

“I didn’t know…”

“They had a brother? Yeah, no one back there at SHS does.” He smiles a little. “No one back there cares about Ones.”

My heart stutters. He’s a One, too. “So…you never even got a chance at Superior Public?”

He shrugs. “I fit in fine here. I’m okay.” The fact that he’s smiling shows me he thinks he is, but the catch in his voice tells me the opposite.

No One could be totally fine, no matter how much they think they are. Not in Superior, Nebraska, with the Biotech Hub practically in our backyards, for sure.

He’s wearing a thick gray hoodie with a giant N on the breast, looking pleased with himself. “What are you, the freaking quarterback?” I mumble.

His eyes widen a bit, his smile fading for a second, but then he raises his eyebrows at me, not mad and walking away like he should be.

“Do I look like a quarterback?” He motions to himself, his hands running the length of his long, thin torso. He’s right. He’s much too thin to be a quarterback — or a football player at all, actually. But, I notice, his chest does curve his fitted shirt out slightly.

I narrow my eyes.

Elias laughs again. “And do you even know anything about sports? It’s football season now. I would have been on the field every morning.”

“Do you think I’ve been paying attention to what you’re doing in the mornings?”

He quits smiling so widely, and his expression softens. He looks down at the floor. “No. Uh…no. I play basketball. I like this sweatshirt, that’s all.”

“Why do you keep looking at me? And talking to me?”

“I can’t look at you? Or talk to you?”

I shake my head. “You’re, like, everywhere I am. Classes…and…locker.” I know I’m acting like a child, but now that I’ve started, I can’t stop myself. I swing my arm up, and my knuckles scrape against the vent on the front of the locker. It hurts like hell. I push it down at my side and clench my teeth for a second, swallow hard, and say, “And I’m just the stupid new girl. Don’t you have any friends?”

“So, let me get this straight,” he says, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “We randomly get lockers next to each other, and you’re smart enough to be in some of my classes, and this makes you think I’m — what — stalking you?”

I stare down at my shoes, shake my head to one side, then the other, slowly. I have nothing to say, but I can’t move. It’s like Elias is magnetic or something. I look up at him, hoping he’ll say something to make me feel like I wasn’t being a jerk to him for no reason.

“Hey.” He raises his hand up like he’s going to touch my shoulder, pauses it in midair, then lets it drop again. “There’s a good energy coming off you or something. I feel this buzz. I don’t know.” He shrugs.

A warmth floods me. Slowly, the anxiousness starts to turn to relief, the feeling that I can suddenly take a deep breath.

“I just want to get to know you.” He flashes me a smile that must work really well on all the other girls who are probably all over him all the time.

Okay, so I feel it, too.

Is that because it’s real, or because I really, really do want to hang out with him? My eyes flash up to his face, and my cheeks warm faster than I can cover them with my hands.

“You felt it, too! You just did!” The excitement on his face at my expression does not match what he’s supposed to be — a high school jock who hangs with the cheerleaders and only cares about getting a seat at the right lunch table.

“You sound like a hippie.” I shut my locker and tear myself away from him, walking out the exit and all the way to my car without saying a word. But he catches up. When I unlock the door with the stupid manual key — the remote broke a long time ago — Elias reaches down and pulls the door open. Our fingers brush, and I swear a shock of electricity travels all the way up to my shoulder, fast as lightning.

I turn to thank him, but when our eyes meet, I can’t get any words out. The sun pours into the parking lot in angled rays. Sunlight glints off the rims of his glasses, and he looks at me, patient. Waiting.

I want to tell him how I’ve been pretending to be okay but really I’m not at all — can’t everyone see how I’m not okay? — but now that I’m looking at him, really looking at him, I can see my sadness reflected back in his eyes.

It’s humbling.

It reminds me that I’m not the only One around. There are hundreds of us, for all I know, on a farm somewhere or going to soccer practice or walking right beside me through the halls of Normal High.

I can’t be the only One who feels so wrecked because she’s only half of what she’s supposed to be.

I take a deep breath. “My brothers walk on water. Speed on water, actually.”

He nods, still listening, waiting for me to say something else. I don’t.

After a few seconds, he says, “My sisters can teleport.”

“Whoa. Are you serious?” It occurs to me that I never knew what those girls’ Super was. They were really popular, so I assumed it was something awesome. That power actually involves more than two abilities. Seeing where you’re supposed to go by either clairvoyance or seeing through the walls. Breaking your body into molecules. Sending them where they’re supposed to go. Putting the pieces back again.

“Yeah.” That look is back in his eyes, the one that’s telling me that he wants me to think he’s doing okay. Nice trick, but I don’t believe it for a second. I know how it feels to have Supersibs when you’re not. It sucks.

“They’re away right now, actually. Gap year at some top secret program at the Hub, I guess.”

I feel at this moment like I really truly know him, and I know that he needs to talk to me.

And somehow, Elias needing me is a bigger threat than if he had grabbed me by the shoulders, held me against a locker, and tried to kiss me.

“Listen. A couple of my friends are sitting over at one of the picnic tables. Let me introduce you.”

I stare at him like he just asked me go skydiving or eat worms with him.

He smiles again. “Just come sit with us.”

I eye him suspiciously. “You mean, the team?” No way I’m about to hang out with a bunch of jocks who all tower over me. No way in hell.

I look up, and he’s doing it again, that smile, closed-lipped. Dear God, that dimple. I still haven’t figured out my reaction to most of this, but I do know how that dimple makes me feel. Generous.

He gestures back toward the school and there’s a cheerleader — an actual, honest-to-God cheerleader in the ridiculous blue and white uniform with the pleated skirt and pristine white sneakers and everything — sitting at one of the concrete tables outside next to a guy in designer jeans and a button-down shirt. The girl waves like she’s on a freaking parade float, and the guy jerks his head upward, acknowledging Elias.

“Right out there. We’re studying for calc after school — don’t you have Davis, too? — and you should come with us. Tuesday is pizza night. Rosie is great at pizza.”

Rosie? Who the hell is Rosie? I know what I want to do and what his expression makes me want to say. The girl smiles at me, and when she does, I roll up my sleeve and punch Dad’s number into my cuff.

“Let me text my Dad,” I grumble.

He looks at me with a smile behind his eyes and walks toward his friends at the table. I trail behind him, tapping a quick message to Dad into my cuff.

The cheerleader is beautiful, the sort of beautiful that knows it can stop anyone in their tracks. She’s tall, with strawberry-blonde hair so brassy-bright it almost glows. Her skin is touched with gold and dotted with a thousand freckles.

She looks like the freaking sun itself blew kisses at her. She is the kind of girl that guys like Elias want to be with, always are with. She is a prize.

Elias beckons to her, his fingers bending in at the end of an outstretched arm, and she bounces over, her orange ponytail swinging level with Elias’s shoulder, her perfect, glossed lips beaming. A funny burning feeling creeps up through my chest, and I try desperately to make my mouth smile, though I know it turns down anyway.

I hate her.

“Len, this is…uh…”

“Merrin,” I say, acknowledging his cleverness with a humoring smile.

He grins back at me, triumphant.“
Merrin
is new, and she’s gonna tag along to study.”

“Hi, Merrin.” She leans forward and shakes my hand, smiling warmly. Why is this girl being so nice to me? At Superior High, she would have raised her eyebrows and sniffed.

Theoretically, I don’t care, so I force the full-on smile I rehearsed on my first day and stick my hand out, play the fake voice I rehearsed in my head. “Nice to meet you.”

“And this is Daniel,” Elias says and walks over to clap his friend on the back.

Daniel, nearly as tall as Elias, sits at the concrete table with pebbled legs and looks up from his textbook, jerking his chin up in greeting again. His hair is jet black, and his skin is the color of cinnamon mixed with coffee. His eyes are black, too, but they flash fiercely when they look at me.

“Hey, Merrin. Welcome to Nelson.”