Elevated (Book 1): Elevated (10 page)

***

“He fell out of the sky?” Aaron says as he drives me home from another session with Jex. “Wish I could have been there. Bet that was something.”

“It was terrible. He could have been killed.”

“Flying is dangerous. Even trained Fliers don’t fly that much.”

I’m beginning to wonder why I ever put Flier as my desired ability. Thinking back, I remember Zach’s reaction, and that awful groan when he saw the results. Did he want to be a Flier?

Aaron’s rants about Fliers exhaust me, but at least he’s talking to me again. Then again, I wish for silence when the subject returns to Zach. “Bet the girls will love him now. Everyone swoons over a martyr.”

“Aaron.”

Out the window, I spot the boundary of Fowler’s Grove. The daylilies dot the hillside with flares of orange blooms.

“Pull into Fowler’s Grove,” I tell the car.

“I told you not to do that!” Aaron yells as the car slows and shifts towards the turning lane.

 “Just for a few minutes. I need some quiet time.”

 “I’ll be back in 30 minutes,” he says as the car comes to a stop in the parking lot. “There’s a store nearby that interests me.”

The grass and the summer breeze tickle my skin. The air is a soothing mix of aroma from blooming flowers. After a few minutes, I feel refreshed. Nothing is better than a quiet stroll on a warm day like this. A parade of pet owners passes by, walking their dogs. Among them strolls Elliott with a little white terrier. Our eyes meet and he quickly averts his gaze. He continues to move towards me, but keeps his focus on his dog.

“Hi, Elliott,” I call out.

“Hello.” He watches as his dog scratches an ear.

“What’s his name?”

Elliott still refuses to look me in the eye. “Snowy,” he answers.

“He’s cute.”

“Thanks,” he says as he walks away.

I call out to him as he passes, “So that’s it?”

He turns back, gives a flash of a smile, and then continues.

My voice gets louder. “Sorry, ok? Didn’t mean to upset you, I was just trying to help.”

“You don’t have to yell,” Elliott says.

“I’m not yelling!” I yell.

“Yes, you are!” he yells back.

His hands begin to glow a bright blue. Just like before he zapped me in the hallway. I crouch down and shield myself.

“Oh don’t worry. These hands are good for nothing. They just turn blue, that’s all. Great power. Glowing blue hands!” He buries his face in his hands and sighs. His hands slowly return to normal.

I stand up and approach him. “They’re not good for nothing, Elliott. I can help.”

My hand gently taps his shoulder, but he snaps back,“You can’t help! I need to go!”

He scoops Snowy up and darts off. The dog yelps and leaps out of his arms. He whimpers and then sprawls down on the ground.

Elliott’s voice trembles. “Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

Snowy lays there. At least he’s breathing. After a moment, he gently stands up, his tail wagging. Elliott tries to reach down to pet him, but he lurches out of the way. “What’s wrong?”

“You scared him with your touch.”

“What do you mean?”

“If it’s anything like me, he probably got a good shock. I wonder if something will develop.”

“Nothing is going to develop! I frightened him, that’s all.”

“But what about my Scanner—”

“Enough with that crazy Scanner stuff!”

“I can prove it. Give me one minute!”

“Ok, fine.”

I turn around. “Put up some fingers and I will guess how many you hold up.”

Elliott keeps changing how many fingers he holds up as I guess. “Ok—three and—um, five—no, wait—three. Hey, that’s cheating!”

Turning back, he doesn’t seem too impressed. “Not a bad party trick,” he says. “But it doesn’t really prove that—”

His eyes grow huge as he sees something behind me. “Snowy ,what are you doing!”

Snowy has grabbed onto a park bench with his teeth and has lifted it over his head.

“Stop, Snowy!” Elliott waves his arms around.

Snowy looks back and bobs his head, following Elliott’s hands. The bench smacks against the ground, hurling grass into the sky.

I push Elliott’s arms down. “Wait. I think he thinks you’re playing.”

“Put that bench down right now,” Elliott says as if talking to a three year old.

Snowy flings his head around and releases the bench, sending it flying directly towards our heads. We dive into the grass just as the bench careens over and lands behind us with a loud crash. Opening my eyes, I notice that Elliott has me pinned down on the ground. We lie there for a moment, faces inches away from each other, gasping for breath. He flashes me a smile and a dizzy feeling comes over me. His eyes are so blue. Trapped by his body, I tense up. My arms reach around to push him off me.

We sit up, Snowy quietly standing beside us, wagging his tail.

“Last time I play fetch with you for a while,” I say.

We both laugh as Elliott lifts himself off the ground and helps me up.

“How did he—how?” Elliott asks.

“Super strength.”

“Where he did get super strength?”

I flash him a grin.

“So what you’re saying is—”

“Your ability is unlocking others ability.”

Elliott’s cheeks turn pink. “Rose I-I’m-I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok. I know it was hard to believe.”

He shakes his head. “Yeah, I—wow.”

“It seems to manifest itself when you’re angry. That can happen sometimes with a new ability.”

“Yeah, heard that too.”

“In the meantime, I would suggest that you keep this quiet. I’m not sure if it’s a good idea telling people you can give them powers.”

“Yeah, probably not.”

“Are you ok?

“Yeah, a little rattled.”

Elliott’s grandmother comes up behind us. “Elliott, I think it’s time we headed home.” She glances over at me. “Oh, Rose! Nice to see you again.”

“Thank you.”

She notices the bench lying on its side a few feet away. “These street parties are getting rowdier by the day. Someone should put a stop to them.”

We laugh.

“May I have your number?” Elliott asks.

“Sure.” I borrow his phone to input my contact information. “Call me anytime.”

“Ok, will do.”

The two of them leave and I have to chuckle as Elliott picks up Snowy and clutches him in his arms. He obviously doesn’t want any more benches thrown around that afternoon.

***

At last, the day arrives to talk to Dad. The entire class period is spent with my eyes glued on the clock, which only makes time stand still. I race out of class, making sure to avoid any altercations with Fliers, and am disappointed to find Mom missing from the parking lot. Can’t remember the last time she arrived late. This is unlike her. I pull out my phone to call when Mr. Roberts waves to me from out the window of his purple SUV.

He stops the car next to me. “Your mother sent me. It’s been a tough day for her.”

I shrug, pick up my backpack and enter the car. It smells of oatmeal and lemon cleaner, like always. Mr. Robert flinches as I toss my backpack into the back of the car. He makes a quick check to ensure the leather of his rear seats is undisturbed, cranks the car, and then turns back that vile heavy metal station back on. It would have been nice to have some warning if Mr. Roberts had planned to pick me up. Still, the buzz of excitement over talking to my dad is more than enough to stomach the annoying music and driver.

Mr. Roberts swivels his seat towards me. “It will be helpful if you can make it easy on your mother today.”

“I didn’t realize I was so difficult.”

“That’s not what I meant. She’s had a tough day.”

“You said that already.”

“I-I don’t know if I should be the one to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“It should be your mother’s job. I don’t think it would be appropriate if I—”

“Tell me what!”

He pauses, and his voice drops about an octave. “Your father. You see, your father…died last night.”

My body goes numb, like someone sucker-punched me in the gut. I can’t quite grasp the words I heard. Mr. Robert stares back with a blank expression, and I turn my seat towards the window, not able to stand seeing him anymore. I gaze out the window, trying to find an answer in the passing scenery.

“I-I’m sorry,” Mr. Roberts says. “Your dad was a—”

“You don’t know anything about him! Just shut up.”

I continue to stare out into space, where everything is passing by in an unrecognizable blur. I won’t turn around to look at the man I’m stuck with, the worst possible person to deliver this news. My eyes fill with tears. “You’re right. Should have let my mom tell me.”

I wipe my face. Something inside tells me to be strong, that Mr. Roberts doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of seeing me this upset. It’s impossible to hold the tears back. Mr. Roberts reaches around to hand me a tissue, which I snatch from his hand. I desperately want to escape, to run. When we stop for some traffic, my hand jumps for the handle of the door.

Mr. Roberts grabs my hand and grips it in his boney fingers. “Stop! We’re almost home. You don’t want your mother to worry about you too. You need to be there for her.”

My fingers relax around the cold metal door handle. As much as I hate it, Mr. Roberts is right. My mom will want to see me, and I owe it to her to be as strong as I can. For the rest of the drive home, I silently watch the world pass by me, wishing I could make it all stand still.

We reach home and Mr. Roberts heads towards the front door. My arm quivers as I reach for the car door. After spending the entire trip wanting to escape, I’m now terrified to leave. Once I enter the house, and I see my mother’s face, I know the weight of the news will fully hit me. I still want to believe it’s all a lie.

But no matter what I do, I can’t change it. Staying in the car won’t bring my dad back. I take a deep breath, exit the car, and go inside. I’m only a few steps inside before Mom pulls me into her arms, squeezing me close. Her shirt is drenched with tears. We hold each other without any words. Nothing we can say would matter right now anyway. We just need to know the other is still there.

***

After Mom gets tired enough for sleep, I curl up in bed and begin to watch the last messages I received from Dad. Thankfully, Aaron gave me some software allowing me to record the conversations, though I’m certain it wasn’t exactly legal. I owe Aaron everything now, since it’s all that I have left from him. My lips mouth along as I listen to the same last words my father always used to end his messages.

“Remember, if you ever miss me, just remember to look up. You’ll always be in my heart,” he says as he gestures towards his chest, “tonight, and every day. I—”

The computer glitches, causing the screen to freeze. I try to shut down the video to restart it, but it won’t respond. It’s stuck on the image of my father, his hand touching his chest. My fingers touch the screen and I imagine his warm skin. As I lift them, I notice something curious about his hand. My dad’s thumb is tucked into his palm, leaving four fingers up. An awkward pose.

I try to rewind the video but the program won’t respond. I keep clicking around, hoping to get somewhere. After a few minutes of frantic clicking, the program jumps to the next video. I advance it to the end to see if he makes the gesture again.

“Remember to look up. You’ll always be in my heart,” he gestures towards his chest, “tonight, and—”

I pause the video and study the picture. This time, his hand is closed into a fist and with only his pointer finger up. I roll back onto the bed. I’m grasping at straws. Examining for anything that could possibly prove something. Aaron and Jex were giving me hope in something that didn’t exist.

I stay in bed, trying to relax, but my mind keeps racing. Maybe there is something to it. I try another video and this time my dad has two fingers up. Then another. Three fingers up. Then four fingers up. Then the next time he has one finger again. I wonder if there’s a pattern.

It takes hours examining the videos, but a pattern begins to emerge. My dad showed different amounts of fingers each time in a sequence, starting with one and ending with four. But I’m not sure what the numbers can mean. For some reason Dad gave me one through four in a sequence. My brain searches for a correlation between the numbers and anything I knew.

“Remember, if you ever miss me, just remember to look up. You’ll always be in my heart, tonight,” Dad says as he gestures to his chest, “and every day. I love you.”

If he always did the gesture at the end, maybe the number has to do with what he says at the end. I play it back again and type up the words. Looking them over, I search for patterns, or clues, anything that might help. If my dad counted the words, then the message would be “You’ll always be in,” which doesn’t make any sense. I’m still missing something.

I search the videos again and notice another pattern. Dad put his hand next to his chest at a different word. In the videos with one finger, it’s on “be,” two fingers it’s on “every,” three fingers it’s on “love” and in the videos with four fingers, it’s on “tonight.”

But even if the message is “be every love tonight,” it still doesn’t make any sense.

Hours later, I still can’t stop watching the videos. There’s an obnoxious knock on the door. I slam my laptop shut. I don’t even need my sonar to tell me it’s Mr. Roberts.

“It’s late, you should be getting to bed.”

“I’m fine.”

“Were you watching something? I heard voices.”

“Just an episode of My Ability Stinks.”

Mr. Roberts lowers his eyebrows. “Liar.” Before I have a chance to stop him, he snatches the laptop off my bed and flips the screen open. “Videos of your dad?”

“Yes.”

“Your mom thought she was hearing things. You tortured her half to death.”

Crap. I never played the videos with mom in the house. I kick myself for forgetting Mom’s super hearing. But my brain is scrambled at the moment.

Mr. Roberts paces like a tiger. “The government gave us special access to talk to your father. They didn’t grant us rights to record the conversations. If they knew we had been recording them they’d—”