Page 11 of Mind Games (Mind Games 1)

“B

ut you said you had perfect instincts.”

“I’m nobody. I’m collateral damage with a lot of training.” Chicago looms up ahead of us, old buildings and new buildings and cars and trees and lake, and I am so tired and my arm hurts so much and I have to go home and somehow keep my thoughts and emotions safely hidden.

No problem.

“As soon as we get into the city, pull over and get out. You can take the cash in my purse. Let me see your wallet and your phone.”

He pulls them out of his pocket and I check his phone. He hasn’t called or texted anyone. Good boy. I open the window and fling them both out as far as I can.

“Hey!”

“Hey nothing. Keeping you alive, remember? And if you want to stay that way, you have to do exactly what I tell you with zero deviation. Find the cheapest hotel you can. I don’t want to know where or which one. Set up an email account—[email protected], password north1—and email yourself. I’ll check it and we’ll set up a meeting. I don’t know when I’ll respond, but I will. I can’t plan things too far in advance or the Seers watching me will pick up on it. If they haven’t already.”

“Do you do this often?” he asks, his brow furrowed.

“Only for you. Don’t screw it up. Don’t forget you’re dead. I’m risking everything here. Do you understand that?”

He pulls over; we’re in an outlying neighborhood, the buildings old brick, the trees not quite blooming and budding yet. It’s windy. And cold.

Turning all the way toward me, he nods. His face is open and innocent, and I know he couldn’t lie if he tried. “You saved my life, Fia. Or spared it. Whichever. I’m not going to do anything that would risk yours.”

I smile tightly. “I’m glad you stopped to pet the dog.” Then I get out. The wind hits me and makes my arm hurt even more as we get out and pass around the front of the car. I peel off the shirt and hand it to him with an apologetic shrug. I can’t show up in it. I don’t look down at my arm (the blood, I hate the blood, at least it’s mine this time).

“So, I’ll talk to you soon, then?”

“If I’m not dead,” I answer brightly, then, on impulse, which is how I live my life, I go on my tiptoes and kiss him on the cheek. It feels…nice. Really nice. I wish I could keep that emotion, treasure it up inside, try to figure out what it means to me. But it’s not a safe emotion to bring home.

I get back in the car and drive toward the single most dangerous place in the world for me right now. I should be terrified. I should turn around and go anywhere else. I should curl up in a ball and cry. Instead, I think about everything in the whole entire world that makes me angry—there is a lot, oh, there is a lot—and I start singing Justin Bieber at the top of my lungs.

I can do this.

FIA

Four Years Ago

“IT’S NOT FAIR.” I STAND, FEET PLANTED, ARMS crossed. I will not be scared of Ms. Robertson. I don’t care how broad her shoulders are, how tight her bun is, how many students whisper that she knows you’re cheating without even looking at you. She doesn’t scare me (she does, and I hate it).

“What’s not fair?” She raises a thin eyebrow at me.

“Why is my test all essays? Everyone else has multiple choice!”

She smiles; it doesn’t touch her eyes. It is a lie of a smile. She is a liar. Everyone here is a liar. I hate this place, I hate it, it’s wrong, every day it’s wrong and I feel sick all the time. I hate the two postcards Aunt Ellen has sent us in the three months since we came here, saying she’s in Egypt and isn’t it great that the school will do all holidays and summer breaks for us. I hate the beautiful dining room with the fancy food, I hate the laundry room with the spinning washing machines, I hate the classrooms with too few students and too much attention.

Annie loves it all. She has a private tutor. They’ve talked with a geneticist about her eyes. She is happy.

“Well, Sofia, part of our goal at this school is to challenge our students. And you have demonstrated that you excel at multiple choice. You never miss a question. Ever. On any test in any subject.”

“Are you accusing me of cheating?” I don’t break eye contact. I won’t. I have never cheated in my life.

“Of course not. I’m simply saying you have an uncanny knack for answering multiple-choice questions. If everything comes easily, how will you ever learn?”

I barely hold back my eye roll. Annie wouldn’t approve. She tells me to roll them as much as I possibly can and makes me tell her when I’m rolling them at her. But Annie doesn’t understand. She’s not sick all the time, doesn’t have these thoughts bouncing around in her skull making her crazy. She doesn’t feel like the bottom has just dropped out of the room, like she can’t quite get enough air to breathe. I do, ever since we came here. I’m crazy. But I am not a cheater.

“Fine. Whatever.” I stomp back to my seat, my stupid plaid skirt swishing. The girl I share a table with, Eden, scowls. There are only five of us in the thirteen-year-olds’ class. I don’t get to know them. I don’t want to. I wish I had classes with Annie.

“Stop being so angry all the time,” she whispers. “It’s distracting.”