Pivot Point (Pivot Point #1)

Pivot Point (Pivot Point #1) Page 30

“There’s your target,” Stephanie says, pointing to the other end of the yard. Her giddy look of anticipation makes me want to rip her hair out. He brings back his arm, takes a step, and releases the ball. It spirals beautifully through the air and lands inches from the desired target. A deafening cheer from the crowd assaults my ears because I’m too anxious to mentally muffle the noise.

Stephanie picks up another ball and tosses it to him. He throws again. His fifth ball makes it into the bucket, but not without its cost; he’s in pain. His whole body has tensed. His face looks painted on for how fake his smile is. And Stephanie keeps handing him ball after ball.

I can’t stand it any longer. I’m feeling nervous and guilty. I jump out of my seat, ready to yell, when Trevor says, “I can’t do this, Stephanie.”

A low muttering of exchanged comments ripples through the onlookers.

“Of course you can. You’re doing it.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry. Thanks for this though.”

Considering how many kids are in the backyard, I’m surprised at how quiet it has become. I grab Rowan and pull him to his feet. “Rowan wants to try throwing some footballs. He thinks he can get way more than one into the bucket.” When Rowan doesn’t move, I elbow him in the ribs.

“Yeah, I totally can.”

Stephanie shoots me a look of such rage that I’m surprised I’m still standing. I raise my eyebrows and then say, “Brandon.” He’s sitting next to Katie and looks up when I call his name.

“Yeah?”

“You versus Rowan. Loser has to do a dare.”

Brandon laughs. “Okay, you’re on, Rowan.” This suggestion seems to loosen up the crowd, and soon everyone is talking and laughing again. Stephanie stomps off, and Trevor goes after her without a single glance back. I wonder if he’s mad at me for my attempt to take the pressure off. When Stephanie comes back, alone, she walks straight up to me and in a cold voice says, “You may think you’ve won, Addison, but when he remembers who he is, he’ll come running back to me.”

“He left?” It’s a stupid response to what she said, but it’s the only thing I care about. I don’t even care if it looks like I’m running after him, since that’s what I’m doing. I turn on my heel and run through the house and out the front door, where I see the tail end of his car disappear around the corner.

CHAPTER 27

ir-reP-A-RA-ble: adj. something that can never be how it was

I knock on the door. Duke’s mom answers. “Hi,” she says. Duke must’ve inherited some of her charm, because her smile makes me feel just as at ease as Duke’s.

“Hi. I’m supposed to meet Duke here.” I hold up my backpack. “Homework.” It’s the excuse I’m going to use with my mom when I get home as well—I haven’t asked her permission, but I really want to see him.

“Oh, Addie, he’s not home yet, but feel free to wait in his room.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Up in his room, I pull out a book and start reading. When I’m done with the chapter, I glance at the digital clock on his wall monitor. It’s been half an hour. I know I can’t stay much longer.

My phone is in my pocket and I fish it out and dial his number. On the floor between his bed and nightstand, the song that corresponds to my phone call starts playing. I sigh and reach down the crack, fishing out his singing phone. “Very helpful,” I mutter, and press End. “Where are you?” Guess I’ll have to leave him a message the old-fashioned way.

I move to Duke’s desk to get paper. In the middle drawer I dig through some pages to find a blank sheet. As I grab a piece, a group of stapled pages comes up with it. I pull it free and start to put it back, but a bright yellow mark catches my eye. It’s an alphabetized list of all the kids at school and their abilities. It looks like it was printed off the school computer. I find my name at the bottom of the page: Coleman, Addison. The word Clairvoyant next to my name is highlighted yellow.

That was the word I was directed to write on my registration papers when I signed up for high school. Clairvoyant. I remember my mom arguing with the dean, telling him that wasn’t my ability. It falls in the same class, he said, and our computers don’t recognize the term Divergence or whatever you said her ability is called. Here my mom sighed. She hates it when people act like I’m the only one in existence with this ability. My ability may be rare, but I’m not the only one.

It’s just a technicality anyway, he assured her, to make sure she gets put in the right classes for her tendencies. This isn’t her official government record. When she passes her ability markers, you can take up her title with the Bureau.

I will, my mother assured him. And she would.

In the meantime my school records show Clairvoyant. The word that is now bright yellow in front of me.

Duke’s phone chimes, causing me to jump. I look to where I had set it on his desk. It just takes the slightest movement of my hand across the screen to bring the text message up. It’s from Ray.

We’re meeting Thursday night @ Fat Jacks to talk about football game strategy. 7 o’clock.

I close the message and look back to the paper, a surge of anger working its way up my chest as the implications of this highlighted word sink into my mind.

The door behind me shuts, and I whirl around, the paper fluttering to the ground with my movement. “Duke, you scared me.”

He smiles. “You weren’t expecting me to walk into my room?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just that I was about to go because my mom will be expecting me. You left your cell phone, so I was going to leave you a note.”

With those words his eyes move to the paper on the floor, and a look of panic flashes across his face, then is gone just as fast. It’s the only confirmation I need.

“You’re using me.” Anger stings my eyes.

“What? No. That’s not true.”

I point at the paper. “Then explain that?”

“Okay, maybe at first I thought you could help me out, tell me my future, which college I’d do the best at. But then I got to know you. It hasn’t been about that in a long time.”

Tears attempt to fill my eyes, but I push them down, frustrated by their presence. “Well, you should’ve done your homework better, because I can’t tell your future, only mine.”

“Exactly. See, don’t you think if I were using you, once I learned the exact nature of your ability I would’ve been gone?” He holds up his hands and takes a step toward me.

The edge of his desk presses into the backs of my legs. “I don’t know.”

“Of course you know, Addie.” He reaches me and runs his hands along my shoulders, then kisses my cheek. My suspicion starts to waver.

He takes my arms and wraps them around his waist. My anger melts to uncertainty as his hand moves softly down my hair. “Addie, I don’t need to be Clairvoyant to see you in my future. I want you there. I need you there. If you can’t trust me, Search it. You’ll see me there too.” He tucks a section of my hair behind my ear and then kisses my jawline.

“That’s not how it works. I can’t just Search my future.”

“I bet you could if you tried hard enough. And when you see me there, you’ll have to apologize for all this mistrust.”

I meet his eyes and when they’re full of sincerity I feel guilty. “I think I’m just waiting for reality to hit. I don’t understand why you’d want to be with me. We’re so different.”

“Different is good. Right? I wouldn’t want to date myself.” He kisses me softly. “I’m falling for you, Addie. Don’t break my heart.”

I lay my head against his chest, and he holds me tight. My eyes find the paper on the floor. The black letters of my ability stand out bold against their yellow background. He must sense my gaze, because he picks up the paper. “Look.” He drops it into the slotted recycle bin next to his desk. It sizzles as the solution disintegrates it. “Gone,” he says, and pulls me back against him.

CHAPTER 28

aNO[R]M-a-ly: n. a deviation from the (agreed upon) arrangement

I end up on Trevor’s front porch, holding a heating pad and a graphic novel from my house. I hope he’s not disappointed to see me after I didn’t warn him about Stephanie’s party. Brody answers the door. “Hi, Addison.”

“Hi, is your brother here?”

“Yeah, he’s in his room, but he shut the door and when he shuts the door that means he doesn’t want anyone to talk to him.”

“But I brought him a book. Do you think I could just give it to him and then leave?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Okay.”

“Trevor,” I say, outside his door with a small knock. “Are you decent?” There’s no answer. I knock again and try the handle, but it’s locked. “Trevor, please.” I rest my forehead against the door. Never before have I wished I was Bobby, but his ability to manipulate mass and walk through solid objects would come in handy right now.

Brody comes to my side, holding up a key. “Don’t tell him I gave it to you.”

I hug him. “You are a little angel.”

He blushes and runs away.

Trevor’s room is dark; only the light from the desk lamp is on. He’s bent over his desk, drawing. “Trevor?”

“You might not want to stay. I’m busy feeling sorry for myself.” He throws a smile over his shoulder.

The cord to the heating pad slips down my arm and sways by my legs. I look around, remembering all the things about his room that make me cringe a little but at the same time are so him: his messy closet, his unorganized bookshelf, his overflowing trash. I walk forward, searching the wall by Trevor’s desk for an outlet. When I find one, I plug in the heating pad and turn the dial to hot. It takes a few minutes to heat up.

“What are you doing?” he asks, when I drape the pad over his right shoulder.

This was a tip from my dad on how Norms heal sore muscles. “I thought you were probably sore from your performance tonight. And I brought you this too.” I set the book on the corner of his desk.

He stares at the cover without saying a word, then puts his left hand on top of the heating pad and closes his eyes with a wince.

“Too hot?”

“No, it feels good.”

I take the opportunity to study his face. The tips of his lashes nearly touch his cheekbones. His dark hair falls across his forehead and curls up at the ends. His nose is strong, with a knot on the bridge. I wonder if it’s another football injury. And his lips are thin, but smooth, no cracks or dryness. He probably drinks a lot of water, or maybe he puts on lots of lip balm.

When I look back up to his eyes, he’s looking at me. I blush. “Well,” I say, “I’ll leave you alone now. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about Stephanie’s plans for tonight. That was a major best-friend failure on my part.” I turn and walk toward the door.