Winter break begins in less than a week and I'm anxious to head out on my own again.
"I did it last year," I say. "Just go on the school trip, I've got my own places to go."
Vince and I are sitting at opposite ends of the couch.
"Yeah, but last year you didn't have anyone to hang with. Now you've got me, and you're still gonna leave?"
"I like to travel and see things unnoticed. You just can't do that on a school trip."
"I- Fine. You're gonna do your thing, just go do it."
Vince is unusually irritable lately. He's started smoking. I can smell it on him when he comes down from the roof after being there on his own. I know better than to ask where he gets the cigarettes.
Matt collapses over the back of the couch, landing between us with his feet in the air. "So, this is fun. What do you ladies want to do? I've got a license, I can get us places. We'll go into town, or better yet, the city. Yeah, find a concert or something." He starts playing bouncing pop music.
"Stop," I order.
Matt gives me a dirty look. "Why?"
"She's got a headache," answers Vince.
"You get headaches? I thought you didn't have to deal with stuff like that."
"Well, I've got one, so be quiet."
"Okay, but you've gotta admit that's an impossibility on my part-"
"Jeezus." Vince gets up out of his seat. "Just shut up."
Matt rolls into an upright position, watching Vince as he storms off. "What's his problem?"
"How should I know?" I rub my temples and search for something to distract Matt. "Sarah's watching you."
"Eh, Sarah's old news." But he still glances over his shoulder.
"What about that other girl, Lyndsay?"
He cringes. "Ugh, she's dating the other Matt."
"Your life is so hard," I say, getting up.
My telepathy has become unbearable of late, buzzing as though my brain is connected to a lost radio. Every occupied room I walk past makes my headache grow, but the farther away I get from people the less it hurts. The roof would be an ideal escape, but Vince's up there.
Kicking icy leaves out of my path, hands delved into my coat pockets, I trek into the woods. My breath gathers in white clouds that dissipate quickly, so I turn my internal heat up just a little to compensate for the shoddy coat. A flock of ground birds rustles and flutters away, reluctant and unhappy. I get a whiff of cheap tobacco smoke and the standard school shampoo, and give an irritated sigh.
You're going to kill yourself with those. I think loud enough for him to hear as I turn to go.
I figured you'd head up to the roof, Vince replies as I finally locate his heartbeat a few yards to my left. So he's avoiding me too. How's the headache?
Murderous, yours?
Sure.
I'll be on the roof then.
Whatever.
...
The window to the roof is frozen shut. I slump into a barstool and cradle my throbbing head in my arms. A mug of hot cocoa is placed in front of me, but when I look up the responsible party has left the room.
Logan taps me on the head. "Jean says something's bugging you."
I take a long gulp of cocoa, the burn easing the headache minimally. "What makes people like each other?"
Logan raises an amused brow.
"Why can't people just be normal and friendly? Why do they have to go and make things complicated?"
"Please tell me this isn't about a boy."
"Never mind."
He takes a seat rubbing a hand over his face. "Let's cut to the chase, which one is it?" His face fades to guilt. "Or is it both of 'em?"
"It doesn't matter." The thought of Matt being interested in me is laughable.
"Better not be the preppy kid."
"Definitely not," I answer after another long gulp of cocoa. "And his name's Matt. Son."
"Right. So what's the other one? Vinny?"
"Vince." I catch a segment of a thought when I speak the name. "Lay off, we're not talking about them."
"He just being cute or do I need to step in?"
"No," I rise from my seat, "just stay away from both of them."
Rain patters dully against the glass. Moments ago it was a blinding sleet that sent Vince back into the house, his hoodie simultaneously soggy and half frozen. Now, in a fresh T-shirt, he gazes in boredom out a sitting room window, doing his best to pretend the drowned cigarette smell is coming from someone else.
"If she hasn't stopped talking to you then you've still got a chance." Matt glances through his phone messages. "Hey, ask her to the Winter Dance, she can't say no to that."
"Oh, geez, no more dances, it went too well the first time. And she says no to you all the time."
"Well, you're not me, and she always comes anyway doesn't she?"
"Yeah…why is that?"
"The dancing," he answers surely, "or the food. She eats like a full-grown man. Didn't you have fun on Thanksgiving before the…thing?"
"Sure, I thought I was going to kiss a fantastic girl at the end. No, you know what, that whole night was pointless, no more dances."
"So, what," Matt's phone blips with a new message, "you're just going to, get over her?"
"I- Yeah?"
"That doesn't sound very confident."
"Well then what?" Vince turns on him. "I can't win her over, Matt."
"Sure you can."
"How?"
Matt shrugs and types away on his keypad.
"That's what I thought." Vince looks back out at the sodden yard, putting his fingers to his lips, and scowling when there is no cigarette to meet them.
"So, show me how you do that again?"
She smiles with old pride and holds the ID card out in her floury hand. Then there is no ID at all, but a slick ace of spades instead.
I smirk. "Light or telepathy?"
She taps her left temple. Make the other person see what you want them to see.
I nod. "What about showing them something they want to see?"
With a shrug, she hands the ID back. Don't know. Can't read minds.
Nodding to show I understand, I sign a lopsided 'thank you' and 'goodbye,' and she nods in approval, giving me a wink that says 'Go find some trouble'.
I leave the heat of the diner kitchen, skidding in a bit of dishwater on my way out. Not watching where I'm going, I flip my school ID over and over in my hands, using sensory cues to keep from running into anything. Squinting at the card, I only worsen my raging headache.
So far this has proved a fruitful trip. Before meeting the cook there was a young photographer capable of teleportation, a set of elderly telepathic twins, and a single mother who could feel emotions through touch.
The photographer was more than happy to show me his talent, though he complained that some "jumps" tended to erase his camera memory. Photographs, he explained, help him visualize locations he intends to teleport to. The empathic mother I met wasn't as compliant. She was a frail woman with long gloves much like Rogue's. They were worn and pilled, and she sat in the corner of the bus hugging herself. She talked little about her ability and mostly about her young son who was in daycare, never once mentioning the father. Only after demonstrating my invisibility could I get her to remove her glove and shake my hand.
"You're excited," she said, "intrigued? But you're avoiding something that worries you."
I withdrew my hand. She shrugged and replaced her glove, a flush coming to her cheeks. "I told you. It's no gift."
"Is it," I tried covering my indiscretion, "the longer you make contact the deeper you go into their emotions?"
She nodded dully. "It would be nicer to be invisible."
...
The gravel crunches roughly under my feet as I land heavily in the roundabout. Jumping again, I land in front of the mudroom door, listen for people inside, then look up at the second story.
I lose my balance this time and fall into the bed laughing. My last bus stop was ten miles from here, so I teleported the rest of the way. Absolutely exhilarating.
It's the last day of winter break before spring classes resume, so Matt should already be here. I change and march downstairs to the cafeteria where dinner is in full swing. Storm notices my entrance and raises one stern eyebrow. Cutting it a little close aren't we?
At our table, Matt throws his arms wide and stands up, hugging me briefly before sitting back down again. "Where've you been?"
"About. So," I observe Vince carefully, "how was the school trip?"
"It was okay," he concedes. "We went to the Smithsonian."
"Seriously?" asks Matt disapprovingly. "They make you go on field trips over holiday break?"
"No, man, we did other things, it's just the Smithsonian was the coolest."
"What'd you like about it the best?" I ask.
Matt's boredom with the topic disconcerts him. "Nah, nothing."
"No c'mon," I wave dismissively at Matt, "forget him, I want to know."
Vince grins quietly. "Well, they've got this whole wing on mechanics and engineering, you know, robotics and stuff. I thought that was kinda cool."
"Uh-oh, Vinny's gonna build a Transformer," mocks Matt.
Vince punches his arm. "Oh, hey, tell her about the thing."
"What thi- Oh, right." Matt leans forward. "So there's this-"
"Not out loud, somebody'll hear you." Vince gestures to me. "Here, I'll tell you."
"No way," whines Matt, "you guys always leave me out when you do that, c'mon, just let me tell her."
No problem, I've figured out how to include you, I say to Matt.
He blinks. "What the heck just happened?"
Vince looks between us.
Think what you want to tell me, Son, I say to him again. Vin and I will hear it.
Yeah, but so will the Professor.
I've got that covered. I extend the thought to Vince as well.
Matt crooks an eyebrow skeptically, but Vince nods and rests both elbows on the table. Alright, so here's the plan. Son found this nightclub in the city that lets you in if you're eighteen-
Hang on. I repeat what he just said to Matt.
Man, that feels weird, Matt thinks. Yeah, so I'm turning eighteen in like a month, I'm definitely hitting a club, and you guys have to come with me.
Yeah, one problem with that, says Vince.
You're not eighteen? I answer.
Neither are you.
You don't know how old I am.
What are you guys saying? Matt asks.
A dark look steals over Vince's face before disappearing again. No, I mean we don't have ID's that say we're eighteen.
Dude, quit leaving me out, Matt nags.
I sigh at him. We're discussing how to get ID's.
ID's? Oooh, I keep forgetting how little you guys are.
I'm seventeen, jackass. Vince scowls. Not even a full year younger than you.
He can't hear you, Vince. I take out my student ID.
Hey, Sonus, Vince shouts, you look like a Ken doll.
Are you guys even still talking? Matt asks annoyed.
No, he's just making fun of you now, I tell him as I try to focus on the card. There's a curse as Vince gets punched in the arm. I slide the card across the table towards them. "What does that look like to you?"
With a begrudging sigh Vince looks closer at the card, squints, and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. I bite my lip and focus a little harder.
"Where the heck'd you get that?" he asks in surprise.
Matt reaches over and snatches it from him. "It's a school ID, I've got one too."
"That could get you into a bar," Vince chokes, as though I've reached the pantheon of teenage success.
"DAY-UM." Matt hollers.
The table trembles, I wince, and every mind in the room focuses on us.
"Sorry," Matt waves his hand high, "I just really love breakfast."
"So Matt's going to drive," Vince states, "you're providing the ID's, and I just tag along, I guess."
"You provide the awkward atmosphere." Matt forks a breakfast sausage.