Chapter 32

QUIETLY, I SLIP out of the cargo-box office and sneak back into the school. I already made up my mind. I’m not leaving Marisa. I just have to figure out a way to save her.

She needs medicine. And it must be something expensive, or something hard to get, or otherwise we would have gotten some from the pharmacy already. I would need to get into a hospital, and…and…

Well. I’m not sure what I’d need to do. But I know I’d need to be strong.

And maybe I’d need some help.

I find the gym, dark but orangey from the snowy sky. I sit under the basketball board and unfold the note Marisa gave me.

Last resort, she said.

Well, this is a last resort.

I slip out Marisa’s cellphone. I feel bad for stealing it, but I don’t have my own cellphone, and I doubt the phones in the school’s office still work. I flick it open and stare at the little screen, my thumb hovering over the glow-in-the-dark numbers. Who would pick up on the other side? Social workers? Marisa's distant relatives? Whoever might be waiting for us outside the country?

Before I lose my courage, I punch in the numbers.

It rings. And rings. And rings.

When it finally picks up, my heart is racing at a zillion miles per hour.

“Marisa?” the voice on the other end says, and my pulse grinds to a stop.

Lilian.

I slam the phone shut. Lilian. Marisa said she betrayed us to the cops at the motel. Marisa said she lied.

But she’s supposed to be my last resort?

The phone rings, and I can tell it’s from Lilian. I decline it and shove the phone back in my pocket.

No. I’m not taking help from Lilian. She pretended to be Marisa’s friend and then tricked her. She and her dad want to cut me apart and steal my power.

I just sit there, trying to calm myself down from the close call. Good thing I didn’t say anything. Good thing I hung up before she could track us.

But now it means I’m on my own.

I stare at the other end of the gym, kneading my hands together until I’m sure they’re not shaking anymore.

On my own? Fine.

I don’t need anybody’s help, anyway.

I haul myself to my feet. Even in the dark, I can make out the basketball lines and volleyball lines.

I remember the day at the motel. The sparks, the brightness, the heat.

If I could call them again, I would be unstoppable. I could march right into the hospital and demand the medicine and if they call the cops, I’ll blast right through them.

Yeah, the cardinal rules. I know.

But this is a last resort.

I start small. A warm-up. Tiny, after-image sparks right above my palms. I can feel the slight ripples in the air, barely a tickle.

I will them farther from my hands, first upwards until they’re a full head above me, and then forwards until they reach the free throw line. I make them grow, like feeding gasoline to a fire. They’re the size of thumbtacks, then my hands, then the tires on a truck. The edges of the deep-purple sparks shimmer like light around a closed door, thin and fragile.

I drop my hands, catching my breath. I’ve never gotten my sparks to be visible on purpose before. I didn’t even know it was possible until the motel. I didn’t know my sparks could be so bright. I didn’t know my sparks were like fire.

I take a deep breath and focus on the spot above the free throw line. This time, I don’t care about the size of my sparks. I care about making them seen.

I call up a spark. Again, it’s only barely visible at the edges.

Come on, Dany. Try harder.

I focus it over my palms instead. The closer, the easier. But it’s still doing that thing. That flickering edges, blink-and-you-miss-it thing.

What was I feeling when I called the bright sparks for the first time? I was hiding in the washroom, terrified. And then I was in the parking lot, anger boiling over.

Volatile, Marisa told me. I know calling my sparks like this is dangerous. But I have to start somewhere.

Angry. Afraid. I imagine the cops surrounding the school, guns ready, about to burst in. They’re going to take you, Dany. Are you going to just let them?

I try again. The spark is only a little brighter.

Dany, they’re grabbing you, throwing you into the car, bringing you to the police station. They—They!!—are going to march right in and take you. They are going to cut you apart.

I try again. It flickers like a candle about to die.

They’re going to cut you apart.

And They’re going to kill Marisa.

Fear tunnels into my heart, cold and hollow, but I clamp hard against it. No. I won’t be afraid. Afraid makes me useless. It makes me that helpless mess in the bathroom, sparks skittering out of my control, hiding.

I twist the fear around, wrangling it until it feels like flames in my chest. I hold my palms facing each other and concentrate, remembering the way the sparks felt between them, the wild energy trying to break through the cage.

Standing in the parking lot, fire running up my arms, down my spine. I remember I could still feel the first blast in my hands, a buzz singing through my bones, and when my anger spilled over, the second wave of bright sparks came easy, like the paths were already cleared for them.

And the thing that made my anger spill. The thing I heard, over the crackly walkie-talkie.

We have Marisa Lane coming down the road.

And all I could think was, No.

I can’t let them take Marisa.

So I didn’t.

Now, Dany. Now you have to be strong like that again. Because if you’re not, Marisa will die, and it will be your fault. It will be your fault.

You can’t let that happen.

The first bright spark bursts. There, and then gone again, leaving a real after-image in the middle of my sight. A strange, jagged firework.

A buzzing begins in my ears.

Again.

The second one comes easier. I call a third one a little ahead of me, and a fourth near the free throw line.

My head spins. I feel hot pressure on my temples.

Again.

Over the free throw line. Over the midcourt line. A little to the left. A little to the right.

Bigger.

Red-hot metal pools in my head. I try to shake the feeling away, but it only makes my head spin. I focus on the spot over the midcourt line and will my sparks to grow. Bright spots flicker like a string of firecrackers, each spark the size of my fist, but I need more.

They grow. Bigger by each flash, overlapping, bleeding into each other. They’re so bright I can barely keep my eyes on them, and I feel the heat, waves and waves of it, and then—

And then something snaps, and the room lights up like a bolt of lightning. I stumble back, startled. Heat flashes against my skin, and the sound...not really a thunder, but like the beginning of one. A deep, dark, chest-fuzzying rumble.

I laugh. More from surprise than anything else.

And then I get so dizzy I have to sit down before I faint. My head hurts, and I’m out of breath, and I feel like I can sleep for a billion years, but I did it. My sparks. Bright and hot and terrifying and powerful.

I dig out one of the sports drinks I stole from the vending machine and take a long, long drink. I need to practice more. I need to be able to call the bright sparks without taking so long to psych myself up.

But first, I need to catch my breath and wait for my head to stop spinning.

I sit with my back against the wall, my legs stretched out in front of me. The ringing in my ears is slowly draining away. My arms are still tingling with the power. I watch the shadow of snow falling through the gym’s windows, and I laugh again, just a small one. I can really do this. I can save Marisa.

But the little joy disappears when, somewhere down the hall, a door bangs open.

I scramble to stand up, but stop on my knees because my sight is clouding over with black. I scrabble for the wall, using it to pull myself up.

Footsteps. Far, but getting closer.

For a short, hopeful moment, I think it’s Marisa. She woke up and realized I’m gone, and now she’s here to look for me.

But then I hear a deep voice, two deep voices, and I know it isn’t her at all.