protect me works against me now.
The gleaming black Land Rover with a light bar on top is parked backward in its slot like it might need a quick escape. This vehicle serves a function. It’s more than a status symbol.
It’s a machine designed to bring me down.
Old springs groan beneath me as I lean forward. “Can we get out of here?”
Mom motions to the cars before us. “What do you suggest? I just plow through the line?”
I can’t help myself. I glance at the Land Rover again. A group of girls loiter near the front bumper, close to Xander and Angus, who lean against the hood. Brooklyn is there. She talks with her whole body, tossing her shampoo-commercial hair, hands hopping on the air.
I sink down in the backseat, wondering why he is not among them, both glad and disappointed he isn’t.
And almost as if I’ve summoned him, I feel him arrive. My skin shivers, and the tiny hairs at my nape stand on end. Like in the hall today before I even saw him, but knew he was near.
Given the pattern, I sit higher and search the parking lot. He emerges between two vehicles, striding with the ease and confidence of a jungle cat. The sun hits his hair, gilding it.
Seeing Will again makes my chest tighten and lungs burn. I breathe air deeply through my nose, trying to cool the heat rising inside me.
I must have made a sound, a gasp maybe. I don’t know, but Tamra looks back at me. Maybe it’s just the twin thing. It reminds me of when we were still connected. She gives me a funny look, and then peers out the window. I can’t help it. I look, too. I can’t not look.
Will stops, lifts his face. Like he’s scented me on the air, which is impossible, of course. He can’t sense me the way I sense him. But then he finds me.
For a moment, our gazes lock. Then his mouth curves into a smile that makes my stomach flip. He resumes walking. Brooklyn skips toward him. He doesn’t break stride for her and she falls behind him, struggling to keep up.
Tamra mutters something beneath her breath.
“What?” I ask, defensive.
“You’re not manifesting, I hope.”
“What?” Mom demands in her old voice. The high-pitched anxious tone that I’m so used to hearing.
No more pep.
“Jacinda nearly manifested at school today,” Tamra tattles in that singsong voice of whiny kids everywhere. It reminds me of when I would take her dolls and give them haircuts.
Mom’s eyes find me in the rearview mirror. “Jacinda?” she demands. “What happened?”
I shrug and look back out the window.
Tamra is nice enough to answer for me. “She started to manifest when she saw this cute guy—”
Mom asks, “What guy?”
Tamra points. “That one over—”
“Don’t point,” I snap, fresh heat washing over my face.
Too late, Mom looks. “You just…saw him?”
“Yes,” I admit, sliding lower in my seat.
“And started to manifest?”
I rub my forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “Look, I didn’t try to do anything. It just happened.”
Through the grimy window, I watch as Will gets behind the wheel. His cousins hop inside, too. For not liking them much, he definitely spends a lot of time with them. It’s a needed reminder. He belongs with them.
Brooklyn watches him, too, next to her friends, arms crossed tightly across her chest.
“Jacinda.” Mom says my name softly, with such disappointment that I want to throw something.
Yell. It hurts that I’m such a frustration for her. It makes me feel like she can’t love me as I am.
Dad loved me—had been so proud when I first manifested. And beyond proud when it became obvious I was a fire-breather. The first in generations.
Not Mom. Never Mom. With Mom there had only ever been wariness…as if I were some dangerous being she gave birth to. Someone she had to love, but wouldn’t have chosen.
Our car moves at last. I resist staring after the Land Rover as it pushes through the throng of cars.
Tight lines edge the sides of Mom’s mouth as she pulls out
The gleaming black Land Rover with a light bar on top is parked backward in its slot like it might need a quick escape. This vehicle serves a function. It’s more than a status symbol.
It’s a machine designed to bring me down.
Old springs groan beneath me as I lean forward. “Can we get out of here?”
Mom motions to the cars before us. “What do you suggest? I just plow through the line?”
I can’t help myself. I glance at the Land Rover again. A group of girls loiter near the front bumper, close to Xander and Angus, who lean against the hood. Brooklyn is there. She talks with her whole body, tossing her shampoo-commercial hair, hands hopping on the air.
I sink down in the backseat, wondering why he is not among them, both glad and disappointed he isn’t.
And almost as if I’ve summoned him, I feel him arrive. My skin shivers, and the tiny hairs at my nape stand on end. Like in the hall today before I even saw him, but knew he was near.
Given the pattern, I sit higher and search the parking lot. He emerges between two vehicles, striding with the ease and confidence of a jungle cat. The sun hits his hair, gilding it.
Seeing Will again makes my chest tighten and lungs burn. I breathe air deeply through my nose, trying to cool the heat rising inside me.
I must have made a sound, a gasp maybe. I don’t know, but Tamra looks back at me. Maybe it’s just the twin thing. It reminds me of when we were still connected. She gives me a funny look, and then peers out the window. I can’t help it. I look, too. I can’t not look.
Will stops, lifts his face. Like he’s scented me on the air, which is impossible, of course. He can’t sense me the way I sense him. But then he finds me.
For a moment, our gazes lock. Then his mouth curves into a smile that makes my stomach flip. He resumes walking. Brooklyn skips toward him. He doesn’t break stride for her and she falls behind him, struggling to keep up.
Tamra mutters something beneath her breath.
“What?” I ask, defensive.
“You’re not manifesting, I hope.”
“What?” Mom demands in her old voice. The high-pitched anxious tone that I’m so used to hearing.
No more pep.
“Jacinda nearly manifested at school today,” Tamra tattles in that singsong voice of whiny kids everywhere. It reminds me of when I would take her dolls and give them haircuts.
Mom’s eyes find me in the rearview mirror. “Jacinda?” she demands. “What happened?”
I shrug and look back out the window.
Tamra is nice enough to answer for me. “She started to manifest when she saw this cute guy—”
Mom asks, “What guy?”
Tamra points. “That one over—”
“Don’t point,” I snap, fresh heat washing over my face.
Too late, Mom looks. “You just…saw him?”
“Yes,” I admit, sliding lower in my seat.
“And started to manifest?”
I rub my forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “Look, I didn’t try to do anything. It just happened.”
Through the grimy window, I watch as Will gets behind the wheel. His cousins hop inside, too. For not liking them much, he definitely spends a lot of time with them. It’s a needed reminder. He belongs with them.
Brooklyn watches him, too, next to her friends, arms crossed tightly across her chest.
“Jacinda.” Mom says my name softly, with such disappointment that I want to throw something.
Yell. It hurts that I’m such a frustration for her. It makes me feel like she can’t love me as I am.
Dad loved me—had been so proud when I first manifested. And beyond proud when it became obvious I was a fire-breather. The first in generations.
Not Mom. Never Mom. With Mom there had only ever been wariness…as if I were some dangerous being she gave birth to. Someone she had to love, but wouldn’t have chosen.
Our car moves at last. I resist staring after the Land Rover as it pushes through the throng of cars.
Tight lines edge the sides of Mom’s mouth as she pulls out
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