Opheliac (5 page)

“Impressive,” Alan deadpanned.

“Is something wrong?”

“It just seems too easy. Capture, rehabilitate, win. I don't want to lose my realism. Anything could happen. The teenagers we've captured and tagged already weren't afraid of us. They've been under our watch for months and have been so indifferent to all contact that has been made. It makes me nervous. The few we have rehabilitated or gotten to join our side, I'm not sure how much I trust them.”

A scowl formed on Jaes's face. “Yes, we took them from the Doctor, learned their identity, and they've since been abandoned. Watching them has proven to be…fruitless. Granted, there are only a handful of them that we were able to capture. We have the names of more, thanks to our double agent. If the other tribes knew how informed we are, they'd be a lot more aggressive against us and the Earth teenagers they have taken charge over. I'd prefer they abandon the teens they've already experimented on. It only helps us. The teens who have chosen to join our side have proven useful in other ways. They're almost ready to join our teams.”

Alan wasn't so sure he agreed, but he wasn't the prodigy—Jaes was. On a mission, Alan had been able to take four teenagers away from the Doctor. The Doctor was a member of the
Gelandrosimbol , a tribe allied with the Basatlavan. His mission was to develop a drug that would prematurely unlock the abilities of the Earth teens who took it. A dangerous advancement with frightening implications for Altura. The Doctor chose Earth teens who attended a party held back in the fall. Angela had been there and was one of the experimented. Twelve teens had received the drug that night, in all. So far, Alan had been able to locate eight of them. One was their double agent, four were members of the enemy tribes and were being tracked, two worked for one of Alan's allies, and the last was known but untouched for the time being. Four more of the experimented teens were still missing. The Doctor had taken other teens before and after the party, greatly increasing the number of his charges.
There's still a long way to go.

Bringing the Doctor down and deciphering his work should have been the Rosalotuve's number one priority, and Alan would do all he could to help his people achieve it. Cadence was close to making a breakthrough on the drug formula. If the drug could be understood, huge progress would be made. Hopefully, she could figure it out before anyone else on his ship could. He trusted Cadence more than his shipmates, and he selfishly wanted to prove himself even more useful. Then maybe he wouldn't have to be hidden from view. Jaes thought Alan's ability to be incognito an asset to the cause. Another thing Alan wasn't so sure he agreed with, but it did give him something more to do than sit around and wait for orders. Personal projects kept him occupied; he just wished he didn't have to feel as if he were going rogue while he did them.

Alan waved his folder in front of him. “I'm going to go through this before I see my charges.”

“Good idea. Be sure to tell them there is more work for them soon. After all of their help with retrieving the Ilotus, Sir Orioltogorthan wants to use your charges for more complicated missions. We wouldn't have been able to do half of what we accomplished that mission if it wasn't for you and all of your hard work. Not to mention how observant they were. I'm impressed that even the least skilled of your charges caught on to there being a leak on the mission. Not to mention all of the work Cadence has discovered in her free time. The fact that she has been able to recreate the chemical structure of each version of the drug is incredibly impressive.”

“Yes.” Alan held back a “sir,” knowing it would insult his friend. He finally could see Jaes as his equal instead of a boss.

Jaes's smile never wavered. “Please give her my regards.”

“Of course.” Alan faced away from him so he could roll his eyes and have it not be seen. It was no secret Jaes was attracted to Cadence. She was a beautiful and exquisite girl. Her dark skin and deep dark eyes were indeed amazing to behold. There was a lot of charm to her personality as well. She was more than just a pretty girl, even before she gained her ability of knowledge. For whatever reason, the crush annoyed Alan to no end. Jaes was a good man, so it shouldn't have been so bothersome.

He entered his room and lay on his bed, not saying another word. Being polite was the last thing on his mind. Exhaustion filled him, but there was too much for him to do before he could rest. Pulling out the files he'd been given from Sir Poland, Alan hoped he could find some information that no one else had seen. He was desperate to be useful.

“And I'm tired of band. The music is too easy, and every time I've tried to audition for Concert Orchestra, I'm told I can't because the new freshman are so good and blah, blah, blah.” Angela huffed, still frustrated by the conversation she had with her band teacher. Just thinking about it got her blood boiling all over again. Exhaling, she risked a glance at Orlando, who was sitting across the table from her. The two were at a coffee shop, killing time after school. Per usual, he was stoic and expressionless as he sucked down the blended, highly caffeinated, sugar-filled contents of his cup through a straw.

She peered at him. “I'm boring you, aren't I.”

“Nah.” He shook his head and scooped some whipped cream into his mouth. She tried not to focus on the action, but the attention he drew to his lips was irresistible, and she wondered, for perhaps the millionth time, what it would be like to kiss them.

Stay focused.
She raised an eyebrow. “Okay, because if I am, you can just say so. I won't be offended.”

“You do remember who you're talking to, right?”

“I know. It's kind of hard to forget. You're just a lot more quiet than usual.”

“It's called polite listening. That can't be the end of the story.”

“There's more.” She sighed. “I'm dropping band class. About the only reason I'm taking it was so I could do marching band this summer, but with everything going on I don't know how I can commit to something so time-consuming.”

“You make a good point. I don't think ‘Alan, I can't save the world today, I have a parade' will go over too well.” He smirked then proceeded to slurp the last of his drink, loudly. It was more than a little annoying, and she made sure to shoot him a glare. All he did was offer a goofy grin and stop. Most people wouldn't think that to be in character. Orlando liked to be dark and mysterious, not fun. But the more time she spent with him, the more she noticed how average he actually was. Either that, or something about her brought that side of him out. Getting him to be normal had to be some kind of divine miracle or impossible task, so she felt pretty special for being able to do it.

Angela sipped her mocha, her fingers tapping on the tabletop. “My parents aren't going to understand.”

“They don't need to. They just have to respect your decision.”

“I'm not sure they'll do that either. Don't get me wrong, I love playing the piccolo and my flute. It's why not being able to advance to the orchestra is so frustrating for me. Quitting is going to suck, but I can progress in my playing on my own. I'm tired of wasting my time in a class I hate so much. And I'm not going to be missing out on much by not doing marching band this year anyway. Sure, the trip is always fun. They're going to Washington D.C. this year. At the same time, I can do without the bus fever and petty drama. You know?” She was rambling again. Embarrassing, but for whatever reason, she could open up to Orlando a lot better than she could anyone else.

Sitting back and raising both of his eyebrows, he laughed. “No, I don't know. What is bus fever?”

Immediately, she felt her cheeks grow warm and she tried to hide behind her cup by taking another drink. “It's like cabin fever, only on a bus. You start to see every member of the opposite sex like a supermodel and get dating rabies.”

“Dating
what
?”

“Rabies.” She squeaked out a nervous laugh. “It's where you just absolutely have to have a boyfriend or girlfriend. Being enclosed in a small space for a long period of time with the same people kind of makes you start to go crazy.”

“Dating…rabies…” he repeated. “Is this how the cool kids talk these days?”

She shook her head. “No, that's just my own secret lingo.”

“It's definitely unique.”

Coming from him, Angela couldn't tell if unique was a good thing or a bad one. He had the tiny hint of a smile, so she decided to not read too much into it. “Yeah, like I said, it's a whole lot of drama. I'm glad JD never got into music like that, because if he went on those trips…hoo-boy, it would be nuts.”

“I don't think he'd survive. Someone would get fed up with his hyperactivity and strap him to the roof of the bus eventually.”

She laughed. “I know, right?”

“So, you play the piccolo.”

“You got a thing against piccolo players?” She pursed her lips, setting her drink down on the table again. The goal was to come across as mildly intimidating, but he saw right through her. His blue eyes sparkled a little as they made eye contact and his smile widened. A smile that caused her heart to pound just a little harder.

As casual as ever, Orlando leaned back in his chair, like they hadn't just shared some kind of magical moment. “Not when they're played correctly. I'm just trying to figure out if it's a suitable instrument for your personality. You can tell a lot about a person based on their musical talents. For example, I, personally, played the piano for a little while, but gave that up because I was too lazy and not any good at it so it felt like a waste of time. My brain hates being creative.”

“That's too bad, but I guess not everyone can be an artistic genius,” she said.

“Nope, so I just enjoy what other people can do. You know, it doesn't surprise me that JD doesn't play one. Guy doesn't have the patience for practice.”

“He dabbled in the trumpet for a little while, actually.” She shrugged. “It's hard to practice at home because of the twins. When they were born, that hobby of his kind of got the ax since it's loud and annoying.”

“How fitting,” he deadpanned. “And if JD does anything, he doesn't do it halfway.”

“Right,” she said. “He does choir for his music credits. Bare minimum, but I think he enjoys it. You didn't hear that from me ,though.”

Orlando stretched out his arms slowly. “Who am I going to tell?”

“Him?”

“Yeah…no. We're not that close,” he mumbled, and she briefly wondered if that was a fact that bothered him. Did Orlando want to be better friends with her brother? Sometimes she wished she could read minds instead of start fires. Then there would be a lot fewer mysteries in her life.

After a moment of quiet, she shrugged. “So what does a piccolo say about a person?”

“There aren't a lot of them, so you like to stand out from the crowd. It's also not an easy instrument to play, so you're ambitious. Flute players in general are all a little cocky.” He tossed his cup into the trash can from where he was sitting. The way his hand arched and ended in a perfect forty-five-degree angle suggested that he'd been athletically trained. When the cup fell into the hole with a quiet swoosh, she applauded. Orlando only rolled his eyes.

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Last time I ever try to pat your ego. You make a lot of interesting observations about people and the things they do. What if you're wrong? What if I'm not those things?”

“Then I'm wrong. I observe because I don't have anything better to do with my time. People watching is
my
hobby.” He stood.

Standing as well, Angela tilted her head to the side, curiously. “No other favorite ways to pass the time?”

“Favorite is a strong word. I don't like to have a favorite anything. It makes me feel like I can't change my mind.”

“Let me rephrase that: any other ways you
enjoy
passing the time.”

When Orlando didn't respond right away, she'd worried if perhaps she'd offended him. He had a tendency to get worked up over small things. What might not be rude to the average person could have been to him. But what was so bad about wondering what he liked to do? If he got upset over such a stupid question, the guy had a lot more issues than he let on.

Frowning, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his black leather jacket. “Reading, video games, I don't know. I haven't stopped to think about it for a while. Going out to do something fun hasn't exactly been high on my priorities for the past couple of years.”

“Because you were punishing yourself,” she said softly.
Dallas.

She knew the story. It took a little work, but she finally earned enough of his trust to make him comfortable to the point where he could tell her. Back in the day when Orlando had been one of the popular kids, he'd gone out to a party and in turn blew off his best friend. That night, while Orlando partied, Dallas had taken a razor blade to his wrists and killed himself. Ever since then, Orlando placed a lot of blame on himself.

No one around him seemed to understand his reaction, but Angela got it. He needed a way to cope with the pain, to make some kind of an amends for his mistake. No, he didn't have to be so hard on himself, but only he could decide when he felt forgiven. Regardless of what anyone said, even Dallas, who was now as alive as ever, only Orlando got to decide when he was done feeling guilty. She understood, and she respected it, no matter how painful it could be to watch at times. Forcing him to snap out of his funk wouldn't help, and neither would making a big deal over the issue.

For a long time, Orlando gazed at her, his attention never leaving her face. “Punishment is a strong word and only half-accurate. Yes, part of me did with hold myself from certain things because I didn't feel like I should be allowed to have them, but I also just lost a lot of interest. In the grand scheme of things, football, sports in general, life in general…started coming across as really petty. I couldn't figure out the point of it all. It wasn't as important as people made it out to be, so I stopped.”

“Makes sense,” she said quietly. Words escaped her. How was she supposed to respond to that? Tell him he was wrong? Because he wasn't. Logically speaking, he made a good point. And yet, he was the furthest thing from right.

The smile returned to his face. “But I still found things I liked to do on occasion anyway. Mostly reading, video games. It took some time, but I'm starting to see that petty things might be more important than they seem. I'm blaming it on you.”

“Me? I didn't do anything!”

“Don't get so defensive. It's not like you pushed me into doing heroin, relax. You just have a way of making the smallest of things seem…big.”

“Gee, thanks.” Her jaw tightened and she stood up as well so she could throw away her cup.

Orlando sighed and averted his gaze to the floor. “I was giving you a compliment.” Before she could reply, he walked to the service counter and ordered another drink, along with something from the bakery case.

She hated seeing him so bummed out. “Fine, then the ‘thanks' is still applicable. Just pretend I said it without the sarcasm.”

“I'm not sure my imagination is that awesome, but I'll give it a shot.” He pouted—he was actually pouting at her.

Groaning, Angela nudged him in the side. “Now you need to relax. Don't make me tickle you happy, because I seem to remember you're pretty susceptible to that sort of thing.”

“I've lost my touch.” He sighed dramatically, taking another large, blended, coffee drink from the barista before putting a five-dollar bill into the tip cup. “It used to be, when I pouted and got all sad, I got all kinds of ego-patting attention. Not tickle threats.”

Angela poured herself a glass of water from a nearby plastic container. “You do remember I live with JD, right? He's the king of pouting. I'm sort of immune.”

“Good point.” He led the way out of the coffee shop, holding the door for her. “For the record, if you want an excuse to put your hands all over me, I could give you a lot better suggestions than tickling. Not to mention, they'd be a lot more pleasurable.”

The statement caught her off-guard, and she choked on the water she'd been drinking while he spoke. Coughing, she glanced up at him. “Excuse me?”

“I don't like to be tickled,” he stated, like that was supposed to explain everything. It didn't, and she was left more confused than ever.

Okay
…She decided to just get in his luxury sports car and ignore his comment for the time being. “You never answered my question. What kinds of things you enjoy doing, I mean.”

“I like drinking these.” He shook his coffee drink as he climbed into the car as well. “Concerts are fun, the zoo, museums, the park, the pool. Just getting out of the house sounds like a little slice of heaven right now.”

“Because you don't want to be at home,” she pointed out. “That was the whole point of hanging out now. You said you didn't want to be by your parents, and we had, like, five hours to kill before our meeting tonight.”

Orlando started up the car. “And we only managed to kill about two. I don't suppose you want to go see a movie?” He paused. “Wait, you said you had to be home for dinner and then you and JD were going to carpool or whatever.”

“Yeah, and my mom is making her fettuccine alfredo. Don't want to miss that.”

“Even if I offered to pay, buy you endless amounts of snacks at the counter, and sit through two hours of a chick flick starring some guy who only got the part because he looks good with his shirt off?”

She shook her head. “Tempting, but not even a six-pack of gorgeous man could keep me away from my mom's fettuccine. You know…you should come over for dinner!”

“I'm not sure your parents would like that…”

“Why not?”

“They don't know me, and you didn't exactly ask them if it was fine.”

Snorting, Angela gazed out the window. “I have friends over all the time to eat and never ask. This isn't any different. My mom cooks enough food for an army. JD eats for five all by himself. If anything, she'll be happy for another teenage boy who can make sure we aren't stuck with a week of leftovers.”

“Let me tell my parents,” he grumbled. “Can't believe they're making me check in with them every time I want to do something. What's going to happen when they leave? I have to send an email to ask them to go out and play? This is stupid. Lyssa trusts me. Why can't they?”