I laid flat on my bed, rubbing my fingers on my temples, a damp cloth draped over my eyes. Almost there. After five days of effort the mosaic of futures in my mind was almost fully reassembled. Just a little bit more to go. Five or six hours, tops. If I got it done in time to get a good night's sleep tonight, I would be able to go back to school tomorrow and get started on my project of reclaiming my lost friendship with Emma.

The work was exhausting, though. As I moved and manipulated the futures they resisted, sending sparks of pain into my head. It was like nerving yourself to push needles into your skin to give yourself an injection, again and again and again. You knew it wouldn't kill you, that the pain would only be temporary, but it still took its toll.

I lifted the cloth away from my eyes for a minute to glance at the clock. Four hours since my last dose of medicine. I stretched out a hand to find the white plastic pill bottle on my nighttable and swallowed another two tablets of medication. It was technically against the dosage instructions, but the doctor didn't know the root of my problem.

The doctor thought the painkillers were for managing symptoms, for treating the headaches that resulted from an unknown illness. But I was using the painkillers to treat the root cause. To let me rebuild my mindscape without being bothered by the pain, to give me the stamina to stay awake for twenty hours a day without suffering from boredom as I patiently pieced the futures together. I was repairing my power more than twice as fast as I could have otherwise. By the end of the day I would be finished and I could stop using the meds a full week ahead of the doctor's schedule.

I was already feeling the benefits. After another hour and a half of painstaking work I was still as alert as ever, and it was easy to notice when my immediate futures showed a common pattern, a movement in the hallway outside my room.

"Come in, Dad!" I called, an instant before his knock sounded at the door.

There was a pause, and then he came in, chuckling. "You knew I was coming, huh?"

"Your regularly scheduled worry visit."

"I'm that predictable?"

I smiled. "Nah, heard your footsteps."

"Sounds like your getting better, kiddo." said Dad. He was silent for a few seconds. "Are you sure you'll be up to go back to school tomorrow? You say you're feeling better but it doesn't look like it to me."

I frowned. He had a point. I had been lying in bed for eight hours with the lights off and the window blinds pulled shut. From his perspective I seemed as sick as ever. He didn't know how close I was to repairing my power, how the stillness and darkness weren't absolutely necessary for me to function anymore and were now just optimizations to help me concentrate on finishing the job. I sat up in bed, took the cloth off my face to meet his eyes.

"There's no need to hurry, Taylor." he continued. "Take your time. I spoke to Principal Blackwell, and she agreed to give you plenty of time to complete the work you miss. However long it takes."

It was tempting, the idea of taking more time to recuperate. To do it at my own pace instead of devoting every waking minute to repairing my power. But every day I waited to go back to school was a day Emma was left alone with the other bullies. The same ones who had planned that sick torment for me. My magic words had shaken her resolve but the numbers in my head had told me that the bullies still had the upper hand. They would speak with her, use their influence to draw her back into the fold, make it harder and harder for me to pry her away from them.

I swallowed, put what I hoped was a reassuring smile on my face. "I'll be fine, Dad. I promise. My headache is a lot better today. I spent most of the time sleeping, actually-"

I stopped. As I spoke I saw my threat detector changing, giving a new reading.

97.4% chance of being free from attack in one hour's time.

It was ticking down with every second. 97.3%. 97.2%. Still safe, extremely safe, but...not promising. Who the hell would attack me in my own home? Had Emma told the other bullies about my magic words and led them to assault me at home? Or...I hated to think about it, but was Dad was going to get angry at me, insist that I stay home and then lock me inside if I didn't agree?

Dad gave me a stern look. "It's not your headache that I'm worried about. It's the other kids at school. I can't let you go back if the kids who did that to you aren't punished. If they know they can get away with doing that crap to you ever again."

"They're not going to do it again-"

"How can you know that? Taylor, I'm your father. I'm here to protect you. But I can't do anything for you if you won't tell me what's wrong. I feel like I don't know my own daughter anymore. Apparently these kids have been tormenting you for months and I didn't know a thing about it. They leave you bedridden for a week and you still won't tell me who did this to you."

"I didn't see who did it."

Dad's expression turned darker. "Taylor, are you telling me you have so many bullies that you can't guess who did it?"

I didn't respond. Couldn't. If I told him who was behind it, it would ruin my chances of redeeming Emma.

Dad looked at me helplessly. "I look at you here, sitting on your bed and smiling at me and making a brave face, and then I imagine you going back to school and having to face the kids who did that to you, and..." he clenched his fists, turned his face halfway to the side. As if it could hide the raw emotion on his face.

"I don't have to face them alone." I said. "Emma saved me. She saved me from the locker and took me to the nurse after I fainted."

"I'm glad you have a friend to stick up for you, but she can't always be there for you." said Dad. "She was at school when they put you in that locker. I don't know what happened between you two but you haven't talked with her once since it happened."

I grimaced. That was a necessary evil. I needed to talk to Emma more than anyone, but without my power to guide me I was more likely to screw it up and drive her back into the arms of the other bullies. I had to wait until my power was repaired, then I could talk to her and get started repairing her.

"Just...just be there for me, okay Dad? Please. I'll tell you if they bully me again. I'll tell you everything. I promise."

"This doesn't feel right, Taylor. Will you at least talk to Emma?"

95.2% chance of being free from attack in an hour's time.
95.1%
95.0%

Damn it. Dad wanted me to let Emma come over. It was too soon.

"Emma called again today. This is the fifth time. She's called every day you've been sick. She said her other friends want to talk to you too." Dad met my eyes. "You say you'll be counting on her to protect you at school. Then talk to her. Figure out a plan to keep yourself safe."

"I..."

Dad pressed his hands against the top of the bed. Tension in his body he couldn't release. "I understand if you need space. If you won't let me protect you. But please, Taylor, please. Promise me you'll talk with your friends so they can protect you."

"I'll do it tomorrow morning. When I'm feeling better."

"You don't need to be ashamed of your sickness. She'll understand. That's what friends are for. True friends accept you as you are, stick with you even when you're at your worst."

I managed to suppress my scoff. I shut my eyes and tried to think. It was too soon. I couldn't use my power freely. But I could use it if I truly had to. I could get answers to five or six questions, maybe more if I was willing to accept incapacitating headaches for another day.

Give in to Dad and talk to Emma, and risk her trying to bully me at home while my power was crippled? Or refuse Dad and risk him putting me under house arrest? I didn't know which way was best. There was no easy answer. I felt a momentary sting of hatred for my Dad. He was doing the same thing to me as the bullies did at school. Nowhere to run, scrambling to find the least shitty option from the handful of shitty choices they gave me.

...then I remembered that I didn't have to suffer that uncertainty, that anxiety anymore. Never again. I was a parahuman now. If I didn't know what path to follow I could ask my power to supply the answer. I braced myself for pain and posed the questions to my power.

Chance Emma will put a stop to the bullying and be my friend again, if I talk to her now and use my power?

29.5592953338959345%

If I don't talk to her and wait for tomorrow?

13.9295320010599595%

I let out a sharp breath and fall back onto my bed as the waves of pain slammed into my skull. The mindscape I had painstakingly pieced together had ripped at the seams, sent shards of gleaming futures scattering haphazardly in all directions and dimensions. It would take more than an hour of work to repair the damage.

"Taylor? Are you okay?" came Dad's voice. "If your headache is that bad, if you really don't want to talk to Emma I won't make you, but-"

"Mmmrgh." I moaned. I forced myself to sit up. "No. You're right, Dad. You're totally right. I'll talk to her." I managed an approximation of a smile. "Can...can you call her and tell her? I need to clean myself up. Take a shower. Make myself presentable."

Dad nodded, with a relieved smile. "Of course. I'll call the Barnes and let them know."

The minute he left the room, I let out a low moan and pressed my forehead into my hands. I couldn't talk to Emma like this. Asking my power another few questions would turn me into a wreck. I could already get a rough sense of those futures. Confronting Emma in my room and weakly collapsing onto my bed or even fainting in mid-conversation. A show of weakness that would invite her to act like a bully again.

94.0% chance of being free from attack in an hour's time.

But it was too late to take it back. I had already committed.

I snapped open my medicine bottle and downed another two tablets, made a cursory effort at straightening up my room, and hit the shower. I felt the medicine take effect halfway through my shower, like a warm, soft blanket wrapping itself around my mind. The pain loosened its hold on me and my thoughts began to flow freely again. I stood for a few minutes under the spray of warm water and let myself relax, let myself go and simply enjoyed the sensation. Set aside my worries for once and let myself simply be.

By the time I left the shower and finished toweling myself off, I was feeling much better. I could even make myself smile. Getting Emma back wouldn't be easy. It would take time and effort, countless steps. But my power assured me that it was absolutely possible. The futures were right there, floating in front of my eyes. And if I used my power properly, asked the right questions to chart my path, I would take five steps forward for every one step back.

For the first time in more than a year, I found myself smiling at the prospect of facing Emma. One more step.