9

Aura could not believe it. She didn’t think it was possible. How could this happen?

She’d spent four months in detention, being interrogated over and over again, till she’d finally gotten transferred to TYL. They were supposed to be mindraking her, not forcing her to dress up in electric-orange short-shorts and jump around on an excessively lacquered floor.

It seemed that no matter how far she traveled, there were some things she could never escape.

And one of them was gym class.

“All right then,” Coach Prater said, piping a whistle between her teeth. “Let’s go over the rules one more time for the sake of the new girl. The object is to avoid contact with the round projectile. Don’t be fooled. It may be a hologram, but if it hits you, it will trigger receptors in your uniform and you’ll feel like you’ve been hit by the real thing. Hard. This whole playing field is holographic, but if you run into a wall, it’s gonna sting. So don’t be stupid. And don’t make yourself a target. Keep moving at all times. Last team standing wins. Remember—physical health is essential to mental health. Having a fit body is the first step toward a fit mind. So don’t hang back. Give it all you’ve got. And remember, there’s no ‘I’ in team.”

But there is “me,” if you spell it backwards…

“Aura, do you understand the rules?”

She nodded. What was there to understand? It’s high-tech dodgeball. The bane of gym class since time immemorial.

The Coach blew on her whistle. “Go.”

The virtual orange ball appeared in the middle of the field. She’d been teamed with Tank and Harriet, who stared off into space as usual. Sure, she’d be lots of help. The other side had Dream and Twinge and Gearhead. Mnemo somehow got excused. She sat in the bleachers reading.

She assumed Tank was paired with the players the coach perceived as weakest in an effort to create some semblance of balance.

The ball bounced toward Harriet. She recoiled as if it were a cobra. Tank grabbed it and hurled it toward Twinge, who managed to duck in time.

The virtual ball bounced back and forth. She had some near misses, but no one made contact. She found her pulse accelerating. How badly would that thing sting if—more like, when—it hit her? Which was only a matter of time, given her general ineptness when it came to team sports. Maybe that was a function of her PTSD—and what Mark had called her “bad attitude.” Which was ridiculous.

Just as ridiculous as the fact that she couldn’t get that man out of her thoughts.

Everyone here kept saying they wanted to help her. But he was the only one who made her believe it.

The virtual ball whizzed past her, missing by inches. Time to get her head in the game.

She knew the ball would hit her eventually. Maybe she should just get it over with. Take charge of her destiny, in a suicidal way.

Then again, her teammates might get mad if they thought she threw the game. So she plastered an expression of fear on her face. Oh no, I’m so scared of the big orange not-really-a-ball that I can’t move!

The ball loomed larger in her line of sight. Impact rapidly approaching. Three…two…

At the last possible moment, Tank leaped into the fray, grabbing the ball, saving her and holding onto it. Tank landed on her shoulder and rolled three times, then sprang back to her feet. She whipped the ball back at the speed of light.

Behold the Amazon of Dodgeball. The other Shines weren’t going to put Tank down. She doubted if a hundred Shines could put Tank down.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

Tank grunted a reply.

“Let’s see you catch one on your own, sister,” Twinge taunted from the other side. “If you think you’re up to it.”

“Nah. She needs the big bad Tank to protect her,” Dream added in a baby-girl voice.

If they thought that would provoke her into doing something stupid, they really did not know her very well. She’d put up with a lot worse than this. And survived.

The game continued. Harriet got tagged out. Even the Amazon couldn’t protect someone that physically inept. Her departure left the team at a significant disadvantage. Still, she figured Tank could handle it.

Until Tank slipped. Butt first, smack on the varnished hardwood. Like a ghost knocked her legs out from under her.

Tank was strong as titanium, but possibly not the most coordinated person on the planet. The Amazon picked herself back up before anyone nailed her, but favored her left leg. Twisted ankle, maybe worse.

The one-minute signal bleeped. Two more virtual balls appeared in the air. Final showdown.

She tried to get one but she wasn’t fast enough. Now each member of the opposite team had a ball. They all converged on Tank. Tank fell back, one hand pressed against the wall, standing on her good foot. Even the mighty Amazon couldn’t dodge three balls at once. Especially when she had a nonfunctional ankle.

Damn. She owed that girl a proper.

She could fix this. But that might get her in trouble.

If they found out.

She made a point of not letting it show. She didn’t furrow her brow. She didn’t stare. She didn’t extend her hand in a dramatic gesture.

She just did it.

Focus. Concentrate. Envision the muscles contracting, the swelling subsiding. Everything resuming its natural configuration.

This was minor surgery. It shouldn’t take long. She felt the tendons tightening, snapping back into place.

So did Tank. She put down her other foot and sprang into action.

All three balls fired at once. Tank jumped up, executing an aerial pirouette. One ball went to the left, the other to the right. She caught the first one, bounced it off Dream’s unsuspecting shoulder, then caught the other, hurling it into Gearhead’s gut. Gearhead went down hard.

But her weight brought her down a fraction of an instant too soon. Twinge threw low and nicked her in left foot.

Tank hit the ground with a floor-shuddering impact. Twinge jumped up and down, clapping her hands.

“I did it! I took out Tank! I win! I win!”

And then the ball bounced off Twinge’s head.

“Not quite,” Aura said, brushing matted blue bangs out of her face. “I do.”