“It’s too bad I can’t push them like I used to,” I mention as we walk across the Golden Gate Bridge on our way into San Francisco. We’ve been camped out in a park near the water on the far side for a couple days, trying to spare-change enough money to get the rest of the way to LA.
“Push who?”
“My targets—I used to be able to get them to do things.”
Corina stops, leans against the rail to look at me. The bridge shakes beneath us as the traffic passes. “That’s not possible.”
“It was for me. I just went to the Jungle from my perch and found their strand.”
“Don’t joke.” She shakes her head, but she’s smiling. “You’re saying you have mind-control powers?”
I nod. “I did. I don’t now.”
“Did you ever make me do anything?”
I shake my head. “Nuh-uh.”
“How do I know my kissing you that day wasn’t some Jungle mumbo-jumbo mind control?”
She’s not smiling anymore. She looks upset. Her music is off. “I didn’t—” I reach for her. “I didn’t ever do that, Corina.” I’m starting to sweat.
She’s still for a moment, then nods. “Alright, then.”
I don’t know if it’s the bridge shaking or if I’m just dizzy with relief because she believes me.
She pushes herself off the rail and starts to walk again. We’ve gone five steps when she stops. “Back there, at the compound? How did you do it?”
I think back on it. “I just sort looked for the places where there weren’t solid notes in place—places where they were having doubts or were afraid of something.” I stop to try and come up with a way to explain what I did. “When I found one, all I had to do was sort of ‘connect’ to it and fill it with my thought for what should happen.”
She raises her eyebrows. Skeptical. “And that worked?”
“Yeah. It did.”
“Why can’t you do it now?”
“I . . .” I don’t finish. I start picturing the sheet music I have in my head. “Maybe I can.”