Chapter 5
Professor Greenberg stood up at the blackboard in front of a lecture hall full of students in
various states of repose. He was well past his prime, with deep creases lining his face, and the
bulbous, venous nose of someone who'd had more than a few drinks. In one hand he held a piece
of chalk, in the other an eraser. As fast as he could write, he also erased. The students were
expected to take their notes in the few microseconds between the creation and destruction of each
thought.
"The undeniable fact," he lectured, "is that the English language is always changing, always
growing. While its primary ancestor was the Germanic branch of the Indo-European family, it is
being raised by a truly global village, each of which has left -- and is leaving -- its mark on this
linguistic child.
"Some of those marks can be traced to specific places and specific times, others are not so
obvious. One of the questions on the final might deal with this topic, so listening now would be a
good idea." He glared out at the lecture hall. Half the approximately 250 seats were empty, but
weren't supposed to be. From somewhere near the middle of the hall came music, a walkman
turned up just a notch too loud. The beat that poured from it sounded like the fight scene in a
kung-fu movie.
Lisa couldn't hear the song well enough to recognize it; she doubted the Professor could hear it at
all, or he would have kicked the student out of class twenty minutes ago. She shook it off and
tried to focus on the lecture; her pen rested on the open notebook, all set to take notes as soon as
she found find a break in the writing-and-erasing that would let her start. She couldn't seem to
wake up today; couldn't gather the energy to keep up with the pace of the class. Being unable to
sleep after returning from the Ship that morning, she had tried to get some homework done; she'd
ended up sitting in the lounge, staring at a blank television screen.
Now she was sitting in an auditorium, staring at a Professor who might as well be lecturing in
Tocharian. Her mind just wasn't on school.
Adam said he'd lost track of her.
She'd already yelled at him about that, he assured her that he wasn't spying on her, the matter was
supposed to be closed.
Dammit. The matter wasn't closed. She did not like the idea of Adam, or anyone else, keeping
tabs on her every move. It was for that reason that she had come to be where she was now. Not
the college part. The part with the ever super-paranoid mom who made her phone in every day
and who questioned anyone who looked at either of them even a second too long. A mom who
did not know her nineteen year old daughter was dating, and wouldn't approve of it if she did.
Because once someone had tried to keep track of them, and it had nearly gotten them both killed.
Adam had meant to be comforting. He wasn't. It could *never* be a comfort that someone would
both have the ability to know her mind and would choose to use it. Lisa learned that lesson too
well. She felt a shiver run up her spine. She pondered this for a moment, then realized with
surprise that the shiver came not from knowing that Adam hadn't just let her walk out of his life,
but with the knowledge that she expected nothing else from him.
Lisa had long known she would grow up to be important. Really important. Her earliest
memories were daydreams: the kind of super hero stories where the bad guy only looked
monstrous, the challenges were right within her ability to overcome, and she always, always
finished on top. In her dreams she was rich, powerful, and subject to no one. She lived immersed
in the unspoken admiration of all around her.
When she turned twelve, she packed those dreams away along with her Barbies, just another toy
outgrown. Lisa Davis didn't have time for heroics anymore: she had boys, clothes, and a
reputation to worry about. She was a teenager who had a woman to become.
Then came the talent show, the one where she teleported in front of a room full of people.
And it wasn't a fantasy anymore. It wasn't a daydream where she could manipulate the outcome
until it suited her needs; where she could look at all the people who made her life difficult and
think, "If only you knew."
Now she worried about exactly that: who knew? After her mom was captured and held hostage,
after she was subjected to that horrible *thing* that destroyed her ability to think, after her new
found friends had nearly died trying to save them . . . After all that, she learned that wealth,
power and freedom didn't belong to people who had something to exploit. She figured the only
way to ever be safe again was to make sure no one knew the truth. If she didn't acknowledge her
powers, she wouldn't use them. Then, maybe, she could forget she wasn't just like everyone else
sitting in this classroom. Maybe, someday, everyone who knew better would also forget. And
Lisa Davis would be once again left alone to grow into the woman she always wanted to be.
Except it wasn't quite that easy, as last night so succinctly reminded her. Sometimes, she was
learning, she had to be a person she *didn't* want to be.
Like right now: She wanted to be angry. Adam had reached into her head without being invited,
had reminded her of a part of her life she didn't look back on fondly. But she knew that even for
all the distance she had tried to put between them, there was a connection that hadn't been
severed -- because she could still reach back. Adam had let her walk away, but he couldn't let her
disappear. That wasn't in her nature.
The dream. That wasn't his fault. Sara had come to her, twice, and would probably keep coming
to her until she figured out why. She sighed into her pillowed arms. Of all the problems she
thought she'd find in college, this hadn't even made the list. But, it wasn't in her nature to turn
down a request for help.
"Miss Young," the professor said, interrupting her thoughts. "Perhaps you could tell us what
happened in 1066?" He sounded smug, proud to be calling her on not paying attention.
For just a second she panicked. That date was important. She remembered it from her attempt at
studying the other day; it was on the list, one of those dates for which she had neglected to write
down an explanation.
"Norman conquest," she said, pulling the answer from the professor's head, too distracted to care
about the morality or hypocrisy of it. "William the Bastard of Normandy became William the
Conqueror when he defeated the English King Harold at the Battle of Hastings." She spoke the
words without emotion; she had none to spare on him.
"Ummm . . . thank you," she heard the professor answer. He turned back to the board and started
to write, the chalk squealing on each down stroke. "Historical accounts tell us that King William
spoke Norman French. When he moved to England, he brought all of his French speaking friends
with him and, out of them, created the new nobility of England. . . ."
Adam had suggested a mind-merge. He knew how she felt about her powers, and about the Ship.
Yet of all the possible options, that was what he decided was needed. Perhaps it was. While she
had been off trying to live her quiet life, he'd been left to lead the Tomorrow People alone. It had
changed him, but she couldn't bring herself to believe that Adam would make any decisions
without at least attempting to take the thoughts and feelings of the others into account. If he said
mind-merge, it was because he believed it was the best option. The only option?
As much as she hated to admit it, she didn't seem to be getting much of a choice about her
involvement. The part of her that knew that her years of solitude were a temporary reprieve,
knew also that the time of reprieve was at an end.
Once she had promised to return to the island, to Adam. She had said the words without
understanding what she was leaving or what she would be returning to. Still, she had meant
them.
It seemed as if someone were making sure she kept that promise, for real this time.
"That was *tight*," a voice announced in her ear.
Lisa started. Her pen careened across the page, leaving a black ink trail.
"You put him right down. He thought he gonna make an example of you. You made *him* the
example." Each word had the initial syllable emphasized.
"Isaac," she breathed. For some reason she had been expecting Adam. "Hi. You made it to class."
Isaac jumped over the row of seats and threw himself down into the seat next to Lisa. He was
wearing a ratty gray sweatshirt, the sleeves torn off, over a forest green long-underwear shirt. It
looked like he'd dressed in a hurry. Around his neck were a pair of headphones from which came
the same driving beat Lisa had heard earlier.
"Yeah, I made it. Last week and all. Gotta put in an appearance some time." Isaac reached down
to the walkman hooked on his belt and shut off the music. "Let's get gone; nothing here worth
stickin' around for."
"But the class--" Lisa started to say, then stopped and looked around. The class was over. The
blackboard was wiped clean and everyone was gone, including the Professor.
"Sucked. Yeah, I know." Isaac finished for her. "What say we get outta here?" He stood up and
held out his hand to her.
Lisa closed her notebook, shoved it into her bookbag, then took the offered hand. She kept hold
of it while they negotiated down the narrow aisle, up the stairs and out the door into a day that
threatened at Springtime. The air was warm enough that she didn't need to zip her jackets; Isaac
wasn't even wearing a jacket. Passing students walked with a bounce in their steps that hadn't
been present for weeks.
"So," he asked, "What's the plan? We've got a whole evening in front of us. No more classes. I
refuse to study anymore today. Gotta have a brain break."
"Actually," she answered, "We don't. I have to catch up with someone."
"You have something better to do than hang out with me?" Isaac looked at her in disbelief. "I
thought candles, hot chocolate, marshmallows, a rented movie we have no intention of watching .
. ."
"I wish I could," she responded. "It sounds so warm and cozy." She sidled a little closer to him
and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "It's just that I've got other plans."
"But you ain't gonna tell me what they are?" Isaac sounded offended.
"There's not much to tell," she said with a shrug.
Isaac removed his arm. "Why don't you tell me anyway," he suggested. "Who're you going out
with? Where are you going? How long is it going to take? Maybe we can get together later
tonight?"
They stopped walking and Lisa turned to face him. "What's with all the questions? Don't you
trust me?" They were standing in a small courtyard around which the main buildings of the
campus sprawled. The grass was dead; the defrosting ground squelched under their feet. Two
guys, both with their heads covered by red bandanas, walked by hand in hand.
"The world's a big, bad place," Isaac said. "I like to know what my girl is up to. Gotta know she's
safe."
She narrowed her eyes. "You sound like my mother. Why does everyone act like I'm about to
jump off a cliff and they have to step in and save me? I'm not a lemming. And I'm *not*
perpetually on the verge of running off and doing something stupid."
"Tell me the truth, Lisa. You seein' someone else?"
"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "If we're going to stay together, you need to start trusting me.
You also need to realize that I had a life before you, and I still have one that you're not always
going to be part of." With a shake of her head she started walking away. "When you figure out
how to deal with that, give me a call."
She didn't look back to see what, if any, expression he had.
Professor Greenberg stood up at the blackboard in front of a lecture hall full of students in
various states of repose. He was well past his prime, with deep creases lining his face, and the
bulbous, venous nose of someone who'd had more than a few drinks. In one hand he held a piece
of chalk, in the other an eraser. As fast as he could write, he also erased. The students were
expected to take their notes in the few microseconds between the creation and destruction of each
thought.
"The undeniable fact," he lectured, "is that the English language is always changing, always
growing. While its primary ancestor was the Germanic branch of the Indo-European family, it is
being raised by a truly global village, each of which has left -- and is leaving -- its mark on this
linguistic child.
"Some of those marks can be traced to specific places and specific times, others are not so
obvious. One of the questions on the final might deal with this topic, so listening now would be a
good idea." He glared out at the lecture hall. Half the approximately 250 seats were empty, but
weren't supposed to be. From somewhere near the middle of the hall came music, a walkman
turned up just a notch too loud. The beat that poured from it sounded like the fight scene in a
kung-fu movie.
Lisa couldn't hear the song well enough to recognize it; she doubted the Professor could hear it at
all, or he would have kicked the student out of class twenty minutes ago. She shook it off and
tried to focus on the lecture; her pen rested on the open notebook, all set to take notes as soon as
she found find a break in the writing-and-erasing that would let her start. She couldn't seem to
wake up today; couldn't gather the energy to keep up with the pace of the class. Being unable to
sleep after returning from the Ship that morning, she had tried to get some homework done; she'd
ended up sitting in the lounge, staring at a blank television screen.
Now she was sitting in an auditorium, staring at a Professor who might as well be lecturing in
Tocharian. Her mind just wasn't on school.
Adam said he'd lost track of her.
She'd already yelled at him about that, he assured her that he wasn't spying on her, the matter was
supposed to be closed.
Dammit. The matter wasn't closed. She did not like the idea of Adam, or anyone else, keeping
tabs on her every move. It was for that reason that she had come to be where she was now. Not
the college part. The part with the ever super-paranoid mom who made her phone in every day
and who questioned anyone who looked at either of them even a second too long. A mom who
did not know her nineteen year old daughter was dating, and wouldn't approve of it if she did.
Because once someone had tried to keep track of them, and it had nearly gotten them both killed.
Adam had meant to be comforting. He wasn't. It could *never* be a comfort that someone would
both have the ability to know her mind and would choose to use it. Lisa learned that lesson too
well. She felt a shiver run up her spine. She pondered this for a moment, then realized with
surprise that the shiver came not from knowing that Adam hadn't just let her walk out of his life,
but with the knowledge that she expected nothing else from him.
Lisa had long known she would grow up to be important. Really important. Her earliest
memories were daydreams: the kind of super hero stories where the bad guy only looked
monstrous, the challenges were right within her ability to overcome, and she always, always
finished on top. In her dreams she was rich, powerful, and subject to no one. She lived immersed
in the unspoken admiration of all around her.
When she turned twelve, she packed those dreams away along with her Barbies, just another toy
outgrown. Lisa Davis didn't have time for heroics anymore: she had boys, clothes, and a
reputation to worry about. She was a teenager who had a woman to become.
Then came the talent show, the one where she teleported in front of a room full of people.
And it wasn't a fantasy anymore. It wasn't a daydream where she could manipulate the outcome
until it suited her needs; where she could look at all the people who made her life difficult and
think, "If only you knew."
Now she worried about exactly that: who knew? After her mom was captured and held hostage,
after she was subjected to that horrible *thing* that destroyed her ability to think, after her new
found friends had nearly died trying to save them . . . After all that, she learned that wealth,
power and freedom didn't belong to people who had something to exploit. She figured the only
way to ever be safe again was to make sure no one knew the truth. If she didn't acknowledge her
powers, she wouldn't use them. Then, maybe, she could forget she wasn't just like everyone else
sitting in this classroom. Maybe, someday, everyone who knew better would also forget. And
Lisa Davis would be once again left alone to grow into the woman she always wanted to be.
Except it wasn't quite that easy, as last night so succinctly reminded her. Sometimes, she was
learning, she had to be a person she *didn't* want to be.
Like right now: She wanted to be angry. Adam had reached into her head without being invited,
had reminded her of a part of her life she didn't look back on fondly. But she knew that even for
all the distance she had tried to put between them, there was a connection that hadn't been
severed -- because she could still reach back. Adam had let her walk away, but he couldn't let her
disappear. That wasn't in her nature.
The dream. That wasn't his fault. Sara had come to her, twice, and would probably keep coming
to her until she figured out why. She sighed into her pillowed arms. Of all the problems she
thought she'd find in college, this hadn't even made the list. But, it wasn't in her nature to turn
down a request for help.
"Miss Young," the professor said, interrupting her thoughts. "Perhaps you could tell us what
happened in 1066?" He sounded smug, proud to be calling her on not paying attention.
For just a second she panicked. That date was important. She remembered it from her attempt at
studying the other day; it was on the list, one of those dates for which she had neglected to write
down an explanation.
"Norman conquest," she said, pulling the answer from the professor's head, too distracted to care
about the morality or hypocrisy of it. "William the Bastard of Normandy became William the
Conqueror when he defeated the English King Harold at the Battle of Hastings." She spoke the
words without emotion; she had none to spare on him.
"Ummm . . . thank you," she heard the professor answer. He turned back to the board and started
to write, the chalk squealing on each down stroke. "Historical accounts tell us that King William
spoke Norman French. When he moved to England, he brought all of his French speaking friends
with him and, out of them, created the new nobility of England. . . ."
Adam had suggested a mind-merge. He knew how she felt about her powers, and about the Ship.
Yet of all the possible options, that was what he decided was needed. Perhaps it was. While she
had been off trying to live her quiet life, he'd been left to lead the Tomorrow People alone. It had
changed him, but she couldn't bring herself to believe that Adam would make any decisions
without at least attempting to take the thoughts and feelings of the others into account. If he said
mind-merge, it was because he believed it was the best option. The only option?
As much as she hated to admit it, she didn't seem to be getting much of a choice about her
involvement. The part of her that knew that her years of solitude were a temporary reprieve,
knew also that the time of reprieve was at an end.
Once she had promised to return to the island, to Adam. She had said the words without
understanding what she was leaving or what she would be returning to. Still, she had meant
them.
It seemed as if someone were making sure she kept that promise, for real this time.
"That was *tight*," a voice announced in her ear.
Lisa started. Her pen careened across the page, leaving a black ink trail.
"You put him right down. He thought he gonna make an example of you. You made *him* the
example." Each word had the initial syllable emphasized.
"Isaac," she breathed. For some reason she had been expecting Adam. "Hi. You made it to class."
Isaac jumped over the row of seats and threw himself down into the seat next to Lisa. He was
wearing a ratty gray sweatshirt, the sleeves torn off, over a forest green long-underwear shirt. It
looked like he'd dressed in a hurry. Around his neck were a pair of headphones from which came
the same driving beat Lisa had heard earlier.
"Yeah, I made it. Last week and all. Gotta put in an appearance some time." Isaac reached down
to the walkman hooked on his belt and shut off the music. "Let's get gone; nothing here worth
stickin' around for."
"But the class--" Lisa started to say, then stopped and looked around. The class was over. The
blackboard was wiped clean and everyone was gone, including the Professor.
"Sucked. Yeah, I know." Isaac finished for her. "What say we get outta here?" He stood up and
held out his hand to her.
Lisa closed her notebook, shoved it into her bookbag, then took the offered hand. She kept hold
of it while they negotiated down the narrow aisle, up the stairs and out the door into a day that
threatened at Springtime. The air was warm enough that she didn't need to zip her jackets; Isaac
wasn't even wearing a jacket. Passing students walked with a bounce in their steps that hadn't
been present for weeks.
"So," he asked, "What's the plan? We've got a whole evening in front of us. No more classes. I
refuse to study anymore today. Gotta have a brain break."
"Actually," she answered, "We don't. I have to catch up with someone."
"You have something better to do than hang out with me?" Isaac looked at her in disbelief. "I
thought candles, hot chocolate, marshmallows, a rented movie we have no intention of watching .
. ."
"I wish I could," she responded. "It sounds so warm and cozy." She sidled a little closer to him
and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "It's just that I've got other plans."
"But you ain't gonna tell me what they are?" Isaac sounded offended.
"There's not much to tell," she said with a shrug.
Isaac removed his arm. "Why don't you tell me anyway," he suggested. "Who're you going out
with? Where are you going? How long is it going to take? Maybe we can get together later
tonight?"
They stopped walking and Lisa turned to face him. "What's with all the questions? Don't you
trust me?" They were standing in a small courtyard around which the main buildings of the
campus sprawled. The grass was dead; the defrosting ground squelched under their feet. Two
guys, both with their heads covered by red bandanas, walked by hand in hand.
"The world's a big, bad place," Isaac said. "I like to know what my girl is up to. Gotta know she's
safe."
She narrowed her eyes. "You sound like my mother. Why does everyone act like I'm about to
jump off a cliff and they have to step in and save me? I'm not a lemming. And I'm *not*
perpetually on the verge of running off and doing something stupid."
"Tell me the truth, Lisa. You seein' someone else?"
"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "If we're going to stay together, you need to start trusting me.
You also need to realize that I had a life before you, and I still have one that you're not always
going to be part of." With a shake of her head she started walking away. "When you figure out
how to deal with that, give me a call."
She didn't look back to see what, if any, expression he had.
