25

ALORA

FEBRUARY 20, 2147

“Are you okay, Alora?” Mom asks me, her eyes drifting to my hands. I keep clasping and unclasping them, wiping the palms on my pants.

“I’ll be fine.” I can’t look straight at her. I’m barely holding myself together, and if I make eye contact, I’m afraid I’ll burst into tears.

Right now it’s a little after eight o’clock on Monday morning, and we’re taking a transport shuttle to the Academy. Other parents are escorting their kids back to school, too, and everyone is quiet. I guess we’re all thinking the same thing: wondering if Jode Lincoln will send one of his gunmen here as his next act of protest.

My body grows tense as I remember the fear I felt at the museum. And then there’s the fact that not only was I interviewed by police yesterday, Time Benders have probably already been sent back to investigate the moments before, during, and immediately after the shooting. When the DTA officials view their recordings, they’ll see Bridger and me together and realize that we’ve regained our memories. Because what are the odds of the two of us randomly meeting up at school and becoming fast friends within a week of my arriving?

What a way to celebrate my first birthday in this century.

Mom reaches over and grasps my right hand. “I’m so sorry our plans were ruined last night. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

That’s the last thing on my mind. Mom and I still had my birthday supper together, but it was really subdued. And it was hard for me to show enthusiasm when she gave me my present—a set of canvases and paints. I really love them. It’s just … how can you feel any joy when you’ve just witnessed people being murdered? Adults and children. And the look on Shan’s face as Bridger and Professor March tried to comfort him is seared in my mind.

As we land, the pilot’s voice comes over the intercom. “May I have your attention? I’ve been instructed to inform you that as you disembark the shuttle, you will find armed escorts waiting for you. Please stay with them until you reach your destination.”

Mom and I stare at each other in shock. So now we’re going to be escorted everywhere on campus? Things must be way worse than I thought. Last week, the escorts were only for the worst of the protests.

Our escort drops me, Mom, and several others off at the entrance to Watson Hall, where we find another guard posted at the door, and several more on the first floor. It’s disturbing, seeing them here. We shouldn’t have to live in fear like this.

We exit the elevator on the fourth floor and promptly run into Everly and her mother coming out of her room. “Hi, Alora,” she says, waving.

I really don’t feel like making small talk right now, and from Mom’s expression I can tell she doesn’t, either. But the Darvilles approach us anyway.

While our moms introduce themselves, Everly pulls me to the side. “Have you heard anything about the shooting yesterday?” she asks. “The DataFeed isn’t reporting any new information, just the same old stuff.”

My stomach lurches. Why did she have to bring that up? The shooting is the last thing I want to talk about. But she’s eyeing me so expectantly. So I take a deep breath and say, “No, I haven’t. Have you?”

Everly jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “My mum has been trying to find out news from our embassy, but those bloody bureaucrats don’t know anything either. Just that Time Benders have already been sent back to investigate and they will let us know if we need to evacuate.”

I take a few steps away, feeling lightheaded. “I … I’ve got to go,” I stammer. “I’m not feeling so good right now.”

Everly’s face pinches into a frown. “Oh no, I’m sorry if I upset you. I’m an idiot sometimes. You must not want to talk about all that. My mum says that some people are really sensitive to violence.”

I excuse myself, rush into my room, and lie down on my bed, wondering how long it will be before someone comes to take my memories again. I don’t want that to happen. I can’t lose my past again. It’s not fair.

Mom soon joins me and sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing my back. “Maybe I should take you back home for a few days. I don’t think you’re ready for this.”

A part of me wants to take her up on it, escape the school. But if I do that, then the DTA will come for me there, and that will freak Mom out. She doesn’t deserve that. If I’m going to have my memories wiped again, at least they can do it here, where she won’t have to find out about it. And I won’t have to be hurt again, knowing that Mom would let them do whatever they want.

“It’s okay. I’ll be fine. Tara should be here soon, so I won’t be alone.”

She seems skeptical and insists on staying until Tara gets here. So twenty minutes later, after Mom finally hugs me goodbye, I collapse on the couch.

“I take it she’s having separation anxiety,” Tara says. She sets her portacase on the floor and sits next to me.

“I know. But I understand. She has every reason to worry about me.”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Tara exclaims. She rummages in her portacase and extracts a small box. “Sorry I didn’t have time to wrap it. Anyway, happy birthday!”

It takes me a few tries to swallow the lump in my throat before I can speak. “Oh God, Tara, you really didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Of course I did. We’re friends, and friends get birthday presents for each other. By the way, mine is May twenty-seventh.”

Fingers trembling, I take off the lid and find a small, lilac-colored journal with a matching pen. “It’s perfect,” I say, grinning. “You don’t know what this means to me. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. I remembered you said that you used to have a journal when you were younger. I thought you might want another. I have one and can vouch for how therapeutic they are.”

My DataLink beeps, alerting me to the fact that our first classes will start in fifteen minutes. “Time to go,” I say, groaning.

“Yeah, I guess we need to get the day over with,” she says with a heavy sigh.

Those words fill me with dread. Because what if today is the last day I have with all my memories intact?

The rest of the day is a blur. I’m hollow, waiting for someone to come for me, but nobody ever does. Everly even surprises me in the cafeteria with a small birthday gift—a four-leaf-clover pin.

“How did you know it was my birthday?” I ask, feeling terrible for storming out on her this morning.

“Your mum mentioned it to mine. And when I saw how upset you were, I figured you could use a little cheer. This is my good-luck charm,” she says, while pinning it to my uniform. “It’s been good to me. It helped me survive through things I never thought I’d get through.” She looks down for a moment. Then she brightens. “But Mum and I made it to the NAF, and we’re just fine. So I think you could use it now.”

“Thank you. I love it,” I say, wondering what she meant by surviving things. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own problems that I forget other people have to deal with demons, too. My arms itch to hug Everly, to try to comfort her in a small way, but I don’t because it would draw too much attention to us. I’d much rather remain invisible for now—but at least I’m certain I have another new friend who cares.

That counts for something.

At the end of the day, I attend my private tutoring session. If anybody had told me last year on my birthday that I’d spend part of my next birthday bending space while jumping from a moving shuttle, I would’ve thought they were high. Or trying to mess with me.

And yet, here I am, doing just that. Lucky me.

I’m in a small shuttle with Professors March and Jackson, complete with an armed escort who is making me extremely nervous. At least I didn’t have to deal with Chancellor Tyson today. Professor March said he often leaves the city for conferences and meetings, so his absence isn’t unusual.

Because I can’t be seen shifting outside anywhere near campus, we take the shuttle to a small field several miles out in the country that’s owned by the feds. It’s used by all three schools for the Talents to train without prying eyes around. Today we have it to ourselves.

So far today, I’ve jumped out of the moving shuttle ten times. My goal is to shift while I’m in motion to a safe location on the other side of the field. Another of my teachers from the Academy, Professor Cayhill, waits for me. The other professors had to recruit him because we needed a third teacher here to help out with the drills. I wish they had asked any other of my teachers. Cayhill seems to be a bit of a jerk. Out of my ten attempts, I’ve only been successful three times. And each time I managed to get to him, Professor Cayhill had a smart comment to say. Most recently, it was a snide “It’s about time you got it right, cadet. I was about to go to sleep over here.”

I wanted to ask him how well he could bend space just to see his expression, but I kept my mouth shut. You never get anywhere fast by mouthing off to teachers. That’s true in any time period.

Back when I lived with Aunt Grace, I used to watch a lot of movies where actors would leap from moving cars or whatever, and they always made it seem so easy. Clearly, that was a lie. My whole body feels like one giant bruise.

As if he can sense my weariness, Professor March looks back at me from the pilot seat and says, “I think this jump should be her last one for the day, Dan.”

“I agree. We don’t want to push her too hard,” Professor Jackson says, giving me a sympathetic smile. I find myself smiling back. I’m starting to feel more comfortable around him. It’s unfortunate that he shares features with a dead psychopath, but he’s definitely nothing like Mr. Palmer. He’s been super helpful and patient with me, especially today. I’ve really needed that to counter Professor Cayhill’s attitude.

Professor March turns the shuttle and slowly guides it to the opposite end of the field again. I stand by the open door, my knees bent slightly, and close my eyes. Picturing the soft patch of grass next to Professor Cayhill and the portable chair he brought to sit in, I jump, hoping with everything in me that my attempt to shift works.

But my eyes are jolted open when I slam into the ground yet again. I groan.

Worst. Birthday. Ever.

When I get back to my room, I fully expect someone to be there, waiting to haul me away to see General Anderson, or to just erase my memories right there. But still, nobody shows up. Don’t get me wrong: I’m beyond grateful, but I wonder what’s going on. The DTA has to know by now that I was at the museum with Bridger, and if they sent an investigator into our room to eavesdrop, then they should know we’re looking for Halla Fairbanks, too. The only thing they couldn’t know is that I have a new shifting ability: the ability to shift without knowing the exact location I’m going to.

At least I know for sure I can trust Professor March. He could have told someone that Bridger and I have our memories back, but he hasn’t. In fact, he went out of his way to be nice to me today.

It’s late at night before I can shift to Bridger’s quarters. When I get there, Bridger is stretched out on his bed, sleeping. I think about leaving him alone; he looks so peaceful, and I know that the last two days have been traumatic for his family. But I need to talk to him.

I gently touch his arm. Immediately, his eyes fly open and he bolts upright, his head swiveling back in forth in confusion. He blinks a few times when he notices me standing next to his bed.

“How are you doing?” I ask, sitting next to him.

“I’m okay, I guess.” He rubs his hands over his eyes, then turns to me. “What about you? I’ve been looking for you all day, but I never see you anywhere.”

“Our schedules are way different,” I say with a shrug. That’s to be expected since he’s a Level 5, and I’m only a Level 4. “How is Shan? I haven’t heard any news about him.”

“He’s going to be fine. He should be back at school in a few days. That is, if Mom will let him out of her sight.”

Then he reaches over to the table next to his bed and grabs something. “Before I forget, I got you something for your birthday, and I hope you’re not mad when you see what it is.”

A tingling sensation starts in my belly and spreads throughout my body. I can’t believe he thought to get me a gift, even with the stress over his brother getting shot—with everything that’s happened, really. “Why would I be mad?”

“You’ll see. Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

He sets something cool and metallic in my palms. My eyes fly open and I gasp. It’s my necklace—the one I thought I’d lost in 2013. The one with the silver chain and black pendant that I found hidden in Aunt Grace’s safe.

I look up to face Bridger and smile. “I figured you took it. But why?”

Holding up his hands, Bridger explains. “Because it’s not just a necklace. It’s a Jewel of Illusion. I couldn’t let that kind of tech stay in the past. I realized that you had one when you told me about seeing yourself and you thought you were losing your mind.” He takes the necklace from me and fastens it around my neck.

Understanding dawns on me. I’ve learned about these: they’re cloaking devices, but now are considered illegal. And in 2013, they didn’t exist. So that’s why I was invisible when I shifted in the bakery at Willow Creek and scared the crap out of the past version of myself.

It should be funny to me, but instead I find myself tearing up. Then I get mad at myself for getting all weepy in front of Bridger, and that in turn makes the tears flow faster. Jeez, Alora, stop being such a crybaby, I tell myself.

“Are you okay?” Bridger asks. His voice sounds so worried.

I can’t answer.

Then I hear a second voice right next to my ear. “Man, what did you do to her?” Elijah asks.

An arm drapes around my shoulders. Looking up, I find that it’s Zed. “It’s okay, kid. Even though you’re all red-faced and snotty, you still look good to me.”

That’s enough to make me laugh. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m ridiculous,” I say to Bridger.

“No,” Bridger says. “You’ve been through a lot over the past year. I’m surprised you haven’t wilded out before now.”

I smile at that phrase. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.

Elijah leaves the room for a moment, then comes back in with a handkerchief. I wipe my eyes and thank him several times. I explain how scared I am that someone will come to erase my memories again because of the Time Benders’ shooting investigation.

Bridger looks down at his lap, his face turning red. “What’s up?” Zed asks. “Because clearly you know something.”

Heaving a sigh, Bridger then says. “I had a visit from my dad last night.”

I’m sure I have a dumbstruck look on my face. “And what did he say to you?”

“You’re not going to like it,” he replies. “He knows about us, and that you restored our memories. He’s fine with not reporting us, but only on the condition that we break off all contact with each other.”

I’m pretty sure a punch to the face would hurt less than what he just said. Why would his father want to keep us apart?

Bridger goes on to explain how his dad doesn’t trust Dual Talents. Even worse, the only reason he agreed to my mom’s request to save me in the first place is because of General Anderson. The general ordered him to make sure I returned to this era because he already knew it would have to happen.

So basically, we’re nothing but puppets to Anderson. That pisses me off more than anything. “Don’t you see, we need to fight back. We can’t just follow in line and do what they tell us. Otherwise, what kind of lives are we living? We have free will. We need to be free to make our own choices, not be at the mercy of anyone in our future.”

“Alora, if we continue to see each other, my dad said he would tell Anderson that you have your memories. I honestly don’t know how we can get around that. Since Dad put me on notice, I’m afraid he could check in on me at any time. He’s already done it twice—last night, and right after you restored my memories. Even if we tried to meet off campus like we did at the museum, I’m worried that he could follow me and find us together.”

I shake my head. Bridger is the one person I trust more than anyone, other than Elijah, Zed, and Tara. I can’t stop being around him. I can’t.

“What about Colonel Fairbanks?” I ask. “Your dad doesn’t know that I can still shift to her location just by thinking about her.”

“No, he doesn’t. But maybe that’s not such a good idea,” Bridger says. “It could be too dangerous right now, with everything going on with the Purists. And besides, Dad brought up something else. He says he’s working on something to keep us all safe for good. I think it might have something to do with stopping the bioweapon that Ellis mentioned. Maybe we could focus on figuring out if there’s a way we could help with that.”

I shake my head. “Your father still doesn’t want us to be together,” I say bitterly. “So I think I should still find Halla and see what she knows. You know, the thing we were planning to do yesterday?”

Bridger gets real quiet. So do Elijah and Zed. They know something. “Okay, whatever it is, just tell me.”

“I don’t know how to say this. I mean, I was going to wait and all … but I guess you deserve to know now. When I talked to Dad, he said to tell you that he knows who’s responsible for your father’s death.” Bridger reaches out and takes my hand. “Alora … your father was killed by the DTA. All because they saw him as a threat. If you shift to Colonel Fairbanks without having a plan, you could get caught. We don’t even know where she is right now. You have no idea where you’ll materialize, or whether the DTA will be watching her location. And if the DTA was willing to kill your father just because he was caught doing something they didn’t like, they could decide to do the same thing to you.”

I snatch my hand away. “You’re seriously flaking on me like this? It’s obvious the DTA killed my dad. He wasn’t following their orders, and he was a clone. He was showing signs of instability. And since my father was becoming more unstable, what’s to say the same thing isn’t happening to yours? Should you really put so much faith in what he says?” I pause, realizing I’m almost shouting. In a lower voice, I continue. “Besides, you just said that your father doesn’t like me because I’m a Dual Talent. So of course he told you that information. He’d probably say anything to get you to stop helping me.”

Bridger’s face flushes. He glances at Zed and Elijah, as if looking for help.

Elijah holds up both of his hands, palms facing out. “Hey, leave me out of this.”

Zed, rubbing the back of his neck, says, “Same here. She does have a point.”

Bridger stares at them as if they just betrayed him, eyes narrowed. Then he sighs and looks at me again. “I don’t like any of this. I hate that he wants to keep us apart. Maybe, with a little time, I can convince him to change his mind.”

“Are you serious? He doesn’t like Dual Talents. He’ll never accept me.”

“I have to try,” he says again, almost in a whisper. “Please, just wait a little longer. Let’s find out what his plans are to keep us safe.”

“I can’t sit here and do nothing,” I snap at him.

Before Bridger can argue with me any further, I close my eyes and shift back to my room. I don’t need someone like that in my life—someone who is willing to ditch me at the first sign of trouble.

So why does my heart feel like it’s been shattered into a million shards?