Chapter Two

READING SOMEONE’S MIND IS different than some may believe. Believe me, Hollywood has it all wrong. The exchange between me and Laura took maybe two seconds. It’s a good thing, too, because every time I use my power, I feel like my body is like an idling car just ready for a mind thief to jump in and drive it away. Well, that is, if something like that actually existed.

Most people were fooled by Laura’s sparkling white teeth, blonde locks, and teasing giggle. Even though she was probably flirting her way through her classes (she might as well already hold a degree in hot trends or at least own the trademarks to some), the fact remained that Laura was undeniably very popular.

“Hey, Laura,” I called to her, “who are you going with to the dance?” A look of shock melted her face as the three of them laughed together.

“Not with you.” Her bottom lip cartoonishly pouted at me. “And sweetie, a tip. You might want to get that disgusting nosebleed under control before you start asking the rest of the leftovers around school.”

I touched a finger to my nose. It came back smeared in red.

In the guys’ bathroom, I ran cold water and washed the blood off my finger, and then splashed some of the water on my face. A nosebleed? I drew in a few deep breaths and looked at my reflection. I looked haggard. Did it have something to do with my lack of sleep? Dark circles under my eyes reminded me that I was a full-fledged insomniac, but it was not how you’d think. And yet now I had this new problem.

My attention quickly shifted to a more pressing matter. Trent Philips sauntered into the bathroom. In with him came an air of tension. This was a bad start to the day. Trent was built like an end-of-season cornstalk, shabby and thin. He was not much bigger than me in size, but the word “scrappy” came to mind.

I dried my hands with a paper towel and moved toward the door. My mind pretended he didn’t even exist. Trent reached across my path and planted his hand on the side of the wall. This wasn’t good.

“What up, loser?” He pushed himself into my personal space. Trent seemed to be chewing on something—gum, or maybe just his own tongue. He just chomped away at it. “How’s Daddy doin’?” He made a mock worried-looking face at me. “I’m surprised you haven’t joined him in your own little white padded room yet!” Trent crackled with laughter.

“Forget you,” I said back. Trent excelled in torturing. He made it his mission to key in on a person’s personal struggles. It was common knowledge around school that I lived with foster parents, Rick and Tracy Mitchell. But the answer to Trent’s question was that I hadn’t seen my dad in over a year.

“Okay, then, new topic. How’s your snitch business these days?” Trent said through a toothy smirk.

“It’s an information business, and I don’t work for sewage like you,” I said.

Trent shook his head slowly, his smirk still present. “I’m not one of those pathetic idiots looking to hire you to learn somebody’s stupid secret.” He let his statement hang for a moment. He had my attention. “See, instead I’ve got bit of secret information for you.”

My body started to tighten; I was ready to defend myself. Trent was a worm, slimy at best, the type of guy who was out to hurt people for his own entertainment. I may use my gift to infiltrate people’s minds, but I didn’t do it to destroy them. Their thoughts belong to them; I just read them and then pass along the facts. Trent was a wild card.

He lowered his hand from the wall, dropping his guard. This was my chance to get past him and end our little encounter.

“No, thanks.” I moved to make my escape, but Trent was faster and caught me in my chest, a fistful of my shirt in his hand. Out of instinct, I grasped his forearm with both my hands. He pushed me backward, my feet lost their place, and I went crashing on my butt to the tiled floor.

“You’d better listen to me. It’s for your own good, Nolan,” Trent said through gritted teeth, his smirk gone. My heart raced now. Trent pointed a finger down at me. Instantly, memories of Dad flooded into my head. I shook them off and used the rage that had bubbled up inside.

“Go to hell,” I said.

Trent’s face looked even more firm now. “Listen,” he said, letting out a short breath. He was obviously very serious. “You’d better keep a close eye on the punk you call a foster brother.”

I squinted in confusion. “Dean?”

“You can’t trust him. Get—” Trent’s words were cut off as a pair of arms grabbed him from behind, restraining him easily.

“You all right, Nolan?” a familiar voice said. Dean stood behind Trent, having easily locked him into a full nelson.

I stood. “Yeah,” I answered.

Trent didn’t seem worried about Dean and kept his eyes fixed on me.

Dean leaned in, whispered into Trent’s ear, “Get lost,” and spun him around, back out into the hallway. I spit on the floor, my breathing returning to normal.

“Thanks.”

Dean looked at me and smiled. “Hey, what are brothers for?”

I smiled back at him, although a question swirled in my head. Was Trent just messing with me, or was the school bully trying to warn me?