LXVII
One afternoon a couple of days after the dance, the house phone starts ringing.
"Must be for you," Henry comments as he sweetens his coffee.
Indeed, practically the only reason they keep a telephone is so she can communicate with her friends.
Eleven pushes away from the table and runs to pick up the phone. "Hello?"
However, only the silence answers her.
"Must have gotten the wrong number…" Eleven mutters as she returns to the table.
An hour later, while she and Henry are training, there is a knock on the front door. With their senses so sharp from training, they both notice.
"Wait here," he instructs her, wiping the blood from his nose and the sweat from his forehead.
Henry is gone for a few minutes, which she takes advantage of to collapse in the snow and catch her breath.
When the man returns, he is not alone.
Max, red hair loose and tousled, walks behind him.
"Eleven," he calls her. "Your friend."
She gets up instantly and notices Max is looking at Henry with an uncomfortable expression. She wants to ask what's going on when she realizes something.
Henry hasn't called her by the name she responds to in front of the entire town.
No: he has called her Eleven.
"Henry…"
"For today," he announces in a calculatedly neutral tone, "let's end the session here. Your friend wants to talk to you about something important."
Max's horrified face makes it clear to Eleven that she hasn't said any of this to Henry. And she doesn't know which fire to put out first.
"Henry, what—?"
"I'm not in the mood for games," he sighs wearily. Immediately afterwards, he turns to Max: "Maxine, have you had dinner yet?" The girl can do nothing but nod. "Then I'll go upstairs to take a shower. Eleven, just call if you need me."
"Okay…" she replies weakly.
Once they're alone, Max watches her with a rueful expression. "I swear, El, I didn't tell him anything. I—"
Eleven shakes her head and makes a face as she explains: "No, he… He read your mind."
Max's eyes look like they're going to pop out of their sockets. "He did WHAT?"
"He has… the same abilities as me," Eleven confirms.
And this makes her think: if he has read her mind, he should have known that she never told Max about his abilities, only her own.
"I think…" Eleven murmurs, "he chose to reveal it to you."
"Why would he do that?" questions her friend.
"I don't know," Eleven admits. "But… I think it must be a good thing."
Considering you're still alive, she doesn't tell her so as not to scare her.
She decides instead to focus on the reason for her arrival. She takes her hands—cold, icy, for Max is gloveless despite the winter weather—in hers and looks into her eyes.
"Max… what's wrong?"