Silver (6 page)

And so I have the first real date of my pathetic teenage life. My traitorous heart rejoices, not caring at all that it's about to be sent on what can only be a suicide mission.

N
INE

By the end of the week, things almost settle back to normal. Parker Winslow disappears back into her rich little world, ignoring me and Dart every day after school like always. There are no more stress-induced hallucinations just because a guy talked to me. No more silver flashes of light. I almost begin to think I've dodged a bullet, that everything is back under control.

School goes by in a blur of boredom, saved only by a Friday guest speaker in AP biology, a scientist from a biotech company that's working on isolating genes from DNA. Dr. McKay is probably my parents' age, but so good-looking that the girls in my class all start whispering as soon as he walks in.

“Who can tell us about phantom genes?” he asks, which is kind of a cop-out since he's here to share his expertise with us, not the other way around.

When no one raises their hand, I reluctantly do. He nods at me.

“Strings of genes that were once believed to have a function, but which don't really do anything,” I say.

“Very good. So, the question is, why do we have full strands of genetic material with no purpose?” He looks at me expectantly.

I try to formulate an answer. “Maybe there was a function at one time, but for something we don't need anymore. Something from the early stages of human evolution.”

He's still smiling, so hopefully I'm on the right track. “Like an appendix or tonsil? Possibly. An interesting theory. But I have a different idea.”

Everyone in the room is quiet, waiting to hear what he will say.

“Perhaps phantom genes are not genes from our past. Perhaps these genes are the building blocks of our future. Recessive traits that will someday be triggered by cataclysmic change or the pairing with a perfect genetic partner. The proverbial lightning strike.”

Whoa. His theory is way out there, but something about it is appealing.

He turns to the class as a whole. “That's the beauty of genetics. It's the direct link to our ancestors, but also the map to the future of the human race.” He flips on a Power
Point slide.

I have to hand it to the guy; he knows how to put on a show. He spends the next hour explaining how his company has been working on isolating genes that not only determine physical characteristics, but also genes that spur certain personality traits, intelligence, and athletic ability.

It's pretty cool stuff. In fact, I might love the concept. As fixed as our genetic code may be, there's still hope for change. Hope that some secret element of my DNA could rise up in response to a disaster, fight off a disease, or make me normal.

Sherri Milliken stops me on the way out of class. Her small hand closes around my wrist with surprising strength. She blows a strand of dark stringy hair away from her face. Her chapped lips tremble. “Brianna, we need to talk.”

“Later?” I'm not interested in whether she needs a fourth for the varsity math team.

“It's important.” Sherri tightens her grip on my wrist.

“That hurts.”

She lets go. “Sorry.” She chews on a piece of dry skin on her lower lip, still waiting for a response.

I'm not in the mood for one of Sherri's rants. “I can't talk right now, okay? Call me.” I scribble my cell number on a scrap of notebook paper in case she doesn't have it anymore.

She grabs the paper and stuffs it into the pocket of her jeans. “It can't wait much longer. It's important.”

“Got it. We'll talk.”

She finally disappears down the hall. When she calls on Saturday morning, I don't pick up. I'm not going back to the Mathletes. Not that it wasn't kind of fun, it's just that Sherri is one of those people who should only be taken in small doses, and I have a lot on my plate right now.

Saturday is the kind of perfect day that's easy to take for granted in Rancho Domingo. Warm but not hot, without a cloud in the sky. I stand in the center of the riding arena, clutching my vanilla latte and calling out encouragement to a trio of ten-year-olds whose ponies are probably worth more than the annual salary of the average American household.

I catch Parker Winslow's platinum hair blowing in the breeze at the far end of the arena. She manages to look perfectly styled, even at eight thirty in the morning, surrounded by horse dung and dirt. I'm not sure if it's genetic or just a money thing.

She raises her right hand in what might pass for a wave or something. Great. Seeing things again.

“Brianna!” No mistaking the wave this time. Parker climbs through the fence. Her beige riding breeches cling to her slender thighs before disappearing into a pair of custom-made boots that probably cost more than my car. Correction, definitely cost more than my car.

“Brianna Paxton, right?”

Since when does Parker even know my name? I sip my latte to ease my sudden case of cotton mouth.

“So you know Austin Montgomery?” Parker's voice is pure saccharine.

I almost do a spit-take. Seriously, it's all I can do to swallow my coffee without choking. So now my personal drama involves Parker Winslow?

“Do you know Austin?” Her impatience comes through this time.

“I guess so.”

All trace of her smile vanishes. “Austin Montgomery?” She emphasizes the last name.

“Got it the first time. I know him. Do you?” It isn't like we hang in the same circles, but they do both go to McMillan.

Her eyes narrow sharply before she lets out a laugh. It's a laugh that doesn't invite company, more of a Cruella De Vil kind of laugh. “You really don't know?”

“Know what?”

“Austin and I went out for almost two years.”

I try to process this bit of news.

“Don't pretend you didn't know.” She's openly hostile now. So we're not going to be joining each other for mani-pedis anytime soon.

I lift my shoulders in what I hope comes across as a casual shrug. “He never mentioned it.” I instruct my students to pick up a trot. I don't need to see Parker's face to feel the daggers her eyes throw at my back. After a few seconds, she sputters and goes to the rail. I look over just as she climbs through the fence.

“This isn't over.” Parker glares at me.

A small laugh escapes my lips involuntarily. Parker's eyes widen before she storms off to her evil genius lair, or wherever it is she hangs out.

I probably shouldn't have laughed. It can't be good to have someone like Parker Winslow as an enemy. But she takes the drama queen thing to a whole new level. It isn't like Austin and I are going out or anything. I've met the guy twice. So he kissed me. It didn't mean anything. I instruct my students to bring their ponies to a walk and ride into the center.

“You know Parker Winslow?” Jenna Bowman, a skinny pale girl on a bay pony, asks.

“Something like that,” I say, as the other two girls join us.

“Cool.” Jenna looks at me with new respect, her blue eyes huge.

I don't know why I smile.

Haley and I have a late lunch at Christy's house. We make taco salad while Christy rehashes the details of the Jonah Timken disaster.

“What a prick.” Haley is solidly in my camp on the question of whether Christy should see him again.

“I know, right?” Christy's eyes get all dreamy. “But he's really hot.”

Haley looks at me and rolls her eyes. She might be on my side, but she won't try to stop Christy, either. Maybe I'm hopped up on guacamole, but I tell Haley and Christy about my strange conversation with Parker Winslow, even though Haley still hasn't said a word about Austin.

“Austin went out with an ice princess?” Haley looks thoughtful. “I don't see it. Austin's not like that at all.” Apparently, one hookup makes Haley the authority on Austin.

“She definitely said they went out. For almost two years.”

“Well, he is hot,” Haley says.

“True.” A guy like Austin could go out with pretty much anyone. Someone like Parker wouldn't be out of his league, although he should probably aim higher. “I guess I thought he'd date someone nicer.”

Haley laughs. “I'm sure she was nice to him. Is she pretty?”

“In a plastic, rich-girl way.”

“Well, there you go.” The question is settled as far as Haley is concerned. Throw in rich, and Parker's personality hardly signifies. “How do you think she found out that you know him?” Haley looks at me and lets the bigger question hang in the air.

Parker knows about
me
. Not Haley. Okay, there was that kiss in a dark bedroom, but Parker would be much more concerned if she knew Austin had been with Haley. Haley isn't rich, but she has the kind of looks that are perfect up close and don't require thousands of dollars in hair products or designer clothes.

“Maybe she heard about you and Austin,” I say. A flash of anger lights Haley's turquoise eyes. I've hit a sore spot. No point dancing around it now. “It's probably the first time he's been with someone since they broke up.”

Haley's expression softens. “That would explain a lot.” I'm not sure what it explains, exactly. At least Haley isn't going to fly into one of her moods. She grins instead. “What do you think your buddy Sherri Milliken is doing tonight?”

I embrace the change in subject. “Probably at the library researching her essay on the psychology of peanut butter.” I'm the worst sort of hypocrite, because no matter how boring a life I invent for Sherri, it's nowhere close to the string of social failures marking my current existence.

Haley throws her head back, her hair bouncing in time to her laughter. “Four out of five psychologists prefer Jif to Jung!”

“Even the chunky style is no match for a good old-fashioned Oedipal complex.”

Christy laughs. “I don't even know what that means.”

“Freud thinks every guy wants to screw his mother,” Haley says.

“Gross!” Christy's mouth forms an O. “I don't know Freud? Is he a senior?”

Haley launches into a discussion of Freudian theory that goes far beyond the chapter in our Psych textbook. She's probably read Freud. She tends to read a lot since her mom doesn't allow Internet or television.

“Blake asked about you today,” Haley says, changing the subject yet again. It's what I get for bringing up Austin.

“You saw Blake?”

“He came by Magic Beans.” Haley raises her eyebrows and I know I'm busted.

I haven't said anything about my date with Blake tonight. Admitting to it will only make it that much harder when it doesn't happen. He hasn't called me all week. I know I should be the one to cancel, but I won't. Now that Haley knows, I have no choice but to fess up. “It's no big deal.”

“Are you kidding? He's majorly hot! I can't believe you didn't tell us you're going out with him.”

“Blake?” I can almost see the gears turning behind Christy's eyes. “Seriously? Omigod! Do you think it's the spell?”

“It's not the spell.” I'm going to kill Christy's sister
for giving her that damn book. “We're just friends. It's nothing.”

“Friends with benefits?” Haley grins.

“No! He's just a major flirt.”

“Well, he didn't flirt with me.” I appreciate Haley's revisionist history, even if it's not entirely accurate. She looks over at Christy.

Christy shakes her head. “Me either.”

“So it's just you.” Haley pops a chip into her mouth and crunches with satisfaction.

I don't bother to recite the list of girls that Blake has flirted with over the last year, although I could. And that in itself is a huge problem.

It was the “other girl” thing that made me go crazy the first time.

Once I'd realized that Derek Kingston had another girl in the chemistry lab, I pushed him out of the way and ran to the back of the room. I had no trouble seeing in the dark then. I could make out every detail in the room, but my eyes were trained on the ball of girl huddled under the far table, her shoulders still rolling with laughter. Her blond hair practically glowed in the dark, and I wondered why I didn't spot her as soon as I walked in.

I could feel Derek behind me, his heart hammering in his chest as he followed, sputtering a string of pointless words. I dragged the girl out from under the table by her elbow. Cassidy Martin, the only girl in the band who played flute worse than I did. She wasn't even pretty enough to get invited to the same parties as Derek and me. But Cassidy was still laughing. At me.

Derek pulled her out of my grasp.

I spun on them both. “What are you doing with her?” I demanded, though the answer was obvious. “You're supposed to be with me.” My whole eighth grade year was falling apart around me and it hadn't even started.

I never knew if Derek answered my question. All I knew was that I didn't deserve to be treated this way. These people didn't know who they were messing with.

Then the silver light was there, a bright flash that blinded me for a few seconds before everything went dark. It was as if everything happened in slow motion—I could feel the fire before it started. Not in the lab, but inside me, a heat that ran underneath my skin. My hands tingled with electric heat, arcs flowing between my fingers. A huge ball of fire floated in the palm of my hand, spreading to the tables until the whole lab was ablaze, engulfed in blue flames.

My fire.

I shouldn't be dating anyone, especially not Blake Williams. It's off-the-charts stupid. But there's a part of me that still longs for what I should never, ever allow myself to have, and I'm not going to be the one to cancel.