Spell Robbers (3 page)

“I see.” But inside, Ben wasn’t worried. The cloud had felt completely under his control. It hadn’t felt like a runaway train at all.

“I’m glad you understand,” Dr. Hughes said. “Knowing what I know now about your gift, I’ll be better prepared next time. We’ll take it slowly. Cautiously. You’re very unique, Ben. Who knows what you might accomplish.”

AFTER
class, Ben walked with Peter to the bus stop. Ben didn’t plan to ride the bus, but it was on the way to where he was meeting his mom. It was a busy time of day, and they moved with a tide of college students.

“What did you think?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know what to think,” Ben said.

Peter nodded. “That’ll pass.”

Ben didn’t see that happening. How could you get used to this? “Why’d you give Dr. Hughes my name in the first place?”

“When we met at school, I could tell you were an Actuator.”

“How?”

“You start to sense it after you’ve practiced for a while.”

“Well,” Ben said. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Since I got you in, maybe you could do something for me.”

“What?”

“Tell me how you did that with the cloud. I’ve never seen an actuation that big before.”

Ben shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah, right. Your first time? That was too good.”

“Really. I’d tell you if I knew.”

Peter frowned. “Okay.”

They arrived at the stop, but the bus hadn’t come yet. Peter took a seat under a Plexiglas awning papered with homemade flyers for local bands.

Ben stood in front of him. “So I guess I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”

“I eat lunch in the library.”

Library?
“Um …” Ben might not have made any friends yet, might not ever make any real friends while he was at that school, but that didn’t mean he wanted to throw in with the outcasts. But as soon as the thought occurred, he felt guilty. Peter was the reason Ben was here.
Actuating
. The least Ben could do was hang out with him for one lunch. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll come find you.”

The bus pulled up then, with its squealing brakes and rock-tumbler engine, and Peter took a step toward it. The door hissed open, and then he climbed up the steps and took a seat. Ben watched it pull away through the black cloud of its own exhaust.

His mom’s words echoed in his ear.
At least one good friend
.

But thoughts of lunch reminded him of the cafeteria table, and Ben suddenly wondered if Peter — and actuation — had been involved in that.

Ben’s mom brought home pizza that night, the kind you have to bake yourself. She slid it into the oven and collapsed onto the sofa, where she slumped with one elbow up on the sofa’s arm, her hand resting over her eyes.

“Could you set the timer, Ben?”

“How long?”

“I don’t know. Fifteen minutes?”

He double-checked the directions on the packaging and set the timer for twenty.

“How was the science camp?” she asked.

“It was … fun.” Ben wasn’t sure how much he should share with her. He was still trying to understand what had happened. The whole thing was back to seeming unbelievable to him now, just a few hours later. Like he had imagined it.

Did the other kids’ parents know? How could they not? How could you keep it a secret? But standing there, Ben imagined how that conversation would go.

Hey, Mom, guess what? At science camp today I created a rain cloud out of thin air!

Right, Ben. A rain cloud.

No, really! I created a rain cloud!

Fine. I get it. You don’t have to tell me about science camp if you don’t want to.

And he imagined it would sound something like that for every kid and parent. He wouldn’t have believed it if Peter had told him about it before Ben actually saw it. But even if Ben’s mom did believe him, wouldn’t that just get her all worried about safety and stuff? He figured it was probably best to just stay quiet.

“Fun how?” his mom asked.

“What? Oh, just interesting. I think it’ll be good.”

“Make any friends there?”

“Maybe,” Ben said. “That guy Peter was there. But … he eats lunch in the library.”

“What’s wrong with that?” His mom smiled. “I’m grateful it will give you something to do in the afternoons.” She sighed. That deep sigh usually meant trouble and it made Ben nervous.

He almost didn’t want to ask, but he did. “How was class?”

“Oh … the world is too small.”

Ben tensed up.
Not yet
. It couldn’t be happening this soon. They’d practically just gotten here, and now Ben had discovered actuation. She couldn’t quit yet. They couldn’t move again.

“What —?” Ben shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I ran into someone today. He was in my art history program a few years back, and I couldn’t stand him. Really self-absorbed. He asked me out a couple of times. Anyway, I guess he got a teaching position here, and he seemed a little too happy to see me. Small world, that’s all.”

Ben relaxed, exhaling, relieved it wasn’t what he’d thought. “That guy, Marshall?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. You remember him?”

“I remember. He tried to talk to me about video games.” Ben had met him at the Art Department’s New Year’s party for families. He hadn’t liked him any more than his mom had, but the guy had clearly figured it would help his chances with Ben’s mom if he made friends with her son.

“I’ll just have to do my best to avoid him.” She lifted her hand away from her eyes and let her arm fall over the side of the couch. “Shouldn’t be too hard. Our departments are across campus from each other.”

A little while later, the oven timer dinged. His mom rose from the couch, and they sat down at their table to eat.

The next day, Ben walked past the library twice before going in. The librarian nodded to him over a copy of
The Maltese Falcon
by Dashiell Hammett as he entered and walked past her desk.

“Any good?” he asked.

She winked. “Read it and find out.”

He went to the study area, where a few tables were clustered in the middle of the room. Shelves of books surrounded them, and several students huddled together there. Their own little group of outsiders. But Peter wasn’t sitting with them. He was at a table by himself, outside the outsiders.

He nodded to Ben, leaning back in his chair, peeling the wrapper back from a granola bar.

“That your lunch?” Ben pulled out the chair opposite him.

“Yes.” Half of it disappeared in one bite.

Ben dumped the contents of his brown paper sack on the table. Same as the day before — bologna sandwich with yellow mustard, apple, bottle of water — except there were two bags of chips. One had a note taped to it in his mother’s handwriting:
for Peter
. Ben smiled to himself, peeled off the note, and slid the chips across the table. “You want ’em?”

Peter tipped his head at the chips. “Sure. Your mom packs your lunch?”

“Every day.” Ben looked at his sandwich. “It’s kind of her thing.”

“Where does she work?”

“She’s in school right now. Getting her master’s.”

“Oh.” Peter opened the bag and ate his chips one at a time, examining each one before popping it into his mouth. “And your dad?”

Ben shook his head. “It’s always just been me and her.”

Peter nodded.

“What about you?” Ben asked.

“My mom plays the oboe for the city orchestra. My dad teaches economics.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“A younger sister.”

Ben had often thought it’d be nice to have a younger sister. Someone to do the girly stuff with his mom. She was usually pretty good about not asking him that kind of thing, but a sister would be much better for helping her pick outfits.

“So is that why you moved here?” Peter asked. “Your mom’s degree?”

“Yeah.”

“Where did you move from?”

“Massachusetts.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

“No. We’ve lived in lots of places. My mom … has a lot going on.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just stuff.”

“Like what?” Peter ate another chip.

“She just — she has a hard time sticking with anything. This is her second … no, I guess it’s her third master’s. She didn’t finish the first one.” Ben couldn’t even remember the last time he had talked with anyone about this stuff. It felt a little uncomfortable, but there was something about Peter that made Ben feel like he could trust him, so he kept going. “She’s had a million different jobs. It doesn’t matter what it is. When she starts something new, I know sooner or later she’s going to get bored. So we just keep moving.”

“Sorry. Sounds rough.”

Ben swallowed. It
was
rough. He just never let himself admit it. “Yeah.”

“I actually wish my dad could be more like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he has the opposite problem. He can’t let anything go. He has to pin everything down and dissect it.”

“Like what?”

“Like me.” Peter put down the bag of chips. “I’m a genius.”

Wow
. Ben hadn’t ever heard anyone just come out and say that before. “Okay. Good for you.”

“No, really. My dad has had my IQ tested every year since I was six years old.”

“Why?”

Peter pushed the bag of chips aside and pointed at the table. “Because he wants to see if it’s going up. I’m smart, but he wants me to be smarter. He has me doing all these exercises. The psychologists told him it wouldn’t make much of a difference, but he doesn’t believe them.”

Ben didn’t know what to say. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Peter grabbed the edge of the table with both hands and pushed back, balancing on the rear legs of his chair. “He hasn’t tested me in a while. I think he’s given up on me.”

Ben knew his mom had her problems, but one thing she hadn’t ever done was make him feel like he wasn’t good enough or didn’t measure up.

“So, you looking forward to this afternoon?” Peter asked.

“Yeah,” Ben said. “But you gotta tell me something.”

“What?”

“Did you have anything to do with that cafeteria table?”

Peter paused. “Yes.”

“But Dr. Hughes said we can’t actuate outside the lab.”

Peter smirked. “That’s what she told me, too.”

“So … how did you do it?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said.

But Ben wondered if that were really true.

That afternoon, Ben actuated a fireball of his own, stoking flame from nothing but the air, and once again, his performance impressed and scared nearly everyone in the room. The ability to do this kind of stuff still bewildered him, but it thrilled him, too. If it were somehow possible to do it outside the lab, in the real world … that would be even more incredible.