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  “Did she catch you trying to break into the house?” Oliver asked, eager to hear the details of my latest escapade.

  “No. I was actually looking for Jackson at Winters. I thought he might be working today.” I hurried down the block at a quick clip, feeling a rush of adrenaline pulsing through my body.

  “I take it he wasn’t,” Oliver said, stating the obvious. “So what happened with Mrs. W.?

  “Turns out not only did she know my mother,” I declared, “but they also worked together.”

  “And?” Oliver replied, seemingly unimpressed, waiting for something more exciting.

  “And nothing. She blew me off when I tried to get the specifics. Anyway, I still don’t know where Jackson is. Neither did she,” I confessed, having hit a major dead end in my search.

  “Maybe Rebel Boy finally ran off to find Dana?” Although Oliver said it quite flippantly, a lightbulb went on in my brain.

  I stopped in my tracks. “Oliver, that’s totally genius.” I then did a complete one-eighty and strode across the street from Winters Sporting Goods heading in the opposite direction.

  “It is?” He sounded pretty stoked by the compliment, until he thought about it. “Why?” His confusion and surprise were audible.

  “Dana Fox. She lives over on Stony Wylde, doesn’t she?” I’d found out her address when I’d Googled her the other night. I heard Oliver suck in an apprehensive breath as I turned back onto Fox Hollow Road.

  “Don’t.”

  • • •

  I arrived at the Fox family’s imposing gray-and-white McMansion after less than ten minutes, most of which I spent listening to Oliver vainly try and talk me out of going. It was an exercise in futility for him. I’d spent the entire day trying to hunt down Jackson. I had to see if he was there. I thanked Oliver for his genuine concern, then hung up because my phone battery was nearly out of juice.

  Unlike most homes in Barrington, which seemed to have the standard security system of reinforced door and window locks and a burglar alarm, Dana’s house was fortified like San Quentin prison. I’m talking maximum security. With a huge iron gate and a six-foot-high wall surrounding the sprawling property. There were even video cameras strategically placed along the perimeter to discourage trespassers. My mind immediately wondered whether all this high-tech security was really necessary to keep intruders out, or just Jackson Winters.

  I followed the property wall around to a quiet country road that ran behind the three-story imitation French château and its lushly landscaped grounds. (It never ceased to amaze me how unnecessarily big houses were built in the US; did a family of four really need two formal living rooms that they would never use?) That was where I discovered Jackson’s Mustang tucked under some willow trees. There was no sign of Jackson inside the car, but I knew he must be close by.

  I scanned the area and immediately understood why Jackson had parked here. The road was deserted. And there were no video cameras or other houses within sight. Equally important: The Mustang was parked beside the wall, which was under one of the willow trees. For a moment I thought about just hanging by the car and waiting for Jackson to return. But with the sun setting behind the mountains, it would be dark in less than thirty minutes. If I wasn’t home before my dad got back at six p.m., I might as well kiss the rest of my teenage years good-bye. I had to find Jackson now. Time was of the essence.

  Next thing I knew, I was standing on the roof of Jackson’s car, hoisting myself up onto the thick branch. I balanced myself upright. Then I carefully inched my way across the limb until I hovered over the other side of the wall. I looked down at the ground below. It was at least a ten-foot drop. Worst case I might sprain an ankle, which would make walking home rather difficult. If I landed on both feet just right, I’d probably be okay. I steadied myself, making sure my weight was evenly distributed. Then, channeling Master Kru, I breathed slowly and deeply. On the count of three I jumped.

  My landing on the grass was less than Olympic graceful but good enough that I wasn’t injured. I got up and brushed the leaves off my butt. Then I crept through the overgrown bushes and shrubbery toward the big house, which resembled a wedding cake on steroids, to find Jackson.

  I began to wonder exactly why Jackson was here. Did he come every day, searching for clues about Dana’s disappearance? Or did he believe she was really locked inside the house, held prisoner against her will by her controlling parents? Or was he merely an obsessed psycho, who was unable to face the truth that his girlfriend had dumped him?

  Speaking of being obsessed, what about me? Why was I here, really? I was not only trespassing, but I was spying on this potential nut job. Stalking, according to Oliver. I felt out of control, more than I ever had. And I didn’t know why. Something was compelling me. Hormonal lust? Maybe. Whatever it was, it was a strong, almost primal instinct that I felt helpless to resist even though I knew it could put me in danger.

  I snuck closer to the house. A pair of French doors opened onto a large patio. Had Jackson actually broken into the house? Just as I got nearer, I heard howling. Deep, doglike howls coming from inside. Followed by a loud, thunderous thud. As if an enormous piece of furniture had toppled over. And then: ominous silence. The kind of eerie quiet that made me wished I’d never climbed over that wall.

  I immediately turned to leave and ran straight into Jackson Winters, who was standing right behind me. Flustered, I opened my mouth to scream, when he clamped his hand over it and dragged me behind a hedge of willow bushes.

  “Let me go.” I wrestled free from his powerful grip, even though I didn’t think he was actually going to hurt me.

  “You’re lucky it’s only me,” he whispered through a clenched jaw, his anger apparent. Our faces were less than a foot apart, as we crouched down, hidden among the thicket.

  “I’ll count my blessings after you tell me what the hell’s going on,” I whispered back, all the while staying close beside him. The tiny hairs on my arms stood up as my body barely touched his. I couldn’t help but notice his well-toned arms and the pulsing vein running down the side of his taut neck.

  Jackson looked at me, about to say something. I felt his heart thumping as rapidly as mine. Before he could utter another syllable, we heard glass shattering from within the house. He instinctively held me back as a large black mastiff came barreling out of the house through the open French doors. The dog was so huge it almost looked like a pony.

  “What the hell is that?” The voice came from nearby. Jackson and I both jumped as we discovered Oliver crouching behind us. Unfortunately, big, bad devil dog heard him too. The monster charged across the lawn, barking and snarling.

  And he was hurtling straight for the three of us.

  Jackson pulled Oliver and me to our feet: “Run!”

  We took off in the direction of the wall. But that dog was so fast he was nearly upon us in seconds, snapping at our heels. I was terrified and so was Oliver. We just ran as fast as we could, our legs pumping like pistons.

  Without warning Jackson whirled around and thrust out his arm like one of those attack-dog trainers, motioning to the dog to stop. Except he wasn’t a trainer offering a treat; he was a teenager with an exposed, meaty arm that was about to be bitten off.

  Oliver and I both turned and looked at Jackson like he was suicidal. I think Oliver shouted, “You’re crazy!” Even the dog thought so, because instantly he lunged up several feet in the air to take a chunk out of Jackson’s flesh. Cujo bared back his slobbering mouth and exposed those huge canine fangs. I screamed.

  Except instead of getting a hefty taste of Jackson’s forearm, what Cujo got and what I saw were silvery bolts of electricity blasting from Jackson’s outstretched fingertips like lightning discharges.

  Full-on, sizzling, white-hot currents of power exploding out of his body.

  Zapping the dog, which literally sent it flying thirty feet across the lawn like a soccer ball. It landed on the grass with a giant thud. And just lay there. Eyes wide open. For
a second I thought it was dead—just like all those birds. Except with one major difference. This dog was still alive, but immobilized. I could see its heart thumping in its chest. Stunned by the powerful electrical discharge that had shot out from Jackson’s hands.

  Oliver and I looked at each other, mouths hanging open, too shocked to speak.

  This can’t be happening. We must be imagining this. Did we really see what we just thought we saw? We turned to Jackson, who shrugged. And then, for the first time, I saw his dark scowl turn into a wolfish grin.

  6. JUMP

  * * *

  “Is he alive?” Oliver stood over the big dog lying on the ground, nervously watching for any signs of sudden movement.

  “Resting like a baby,” replied Jackson, quite matter-of-factly.

  “Yeah, one who just sucked on some live wires.” I was about to nudge the dog’s hind leg with my foot when Jackson grabbed my arm.

  “Don’t. Cujo’s still hot.”

  “And you’re not, Mr. Generator?” I squirmed out of Jackson’s grip and took a half step back, admittedly wary of what he could do to me.

  “Harmless as a kitten. Unless of course I choose not to be.” Jackson sounded sincere, but I was still less than completely reassured. He acted as if what Oliver and I had just witnessed was the most natural of activities—like jogging or swimming—instead of a mind-blowing, what-the-hell-was-that-shooting-out-of-your-hands astounding occurrence.

  “How can you be so laid-back about the whole thing?” I asked Jackson, incredulous, still trying to fathom the phenomenon I had just witnessed.

  “Believe me, I’m not,” Jackson snapped back, his intense eyes fixed on mine. “I didn’t ask for this. For any of it. It first happened six months ago. Thanks to the pulse.”

  “And again last night,” I reminded him.

  “And one other time in between,” Jackson added, revealing just the slightest hint of unease.

  Oliver’s eyes, on the other hand, lit up like a Las Vegas marquee. “A real-live power source. Think of the possibilities.” Totally stoked, he beamed as though he’d just discovered a cure for cancer or at the very least an awesome new video game.

  “Limited,” Jackson interjected. “Far as I can tell, this only happens to me after the pulse. Twenty-four hours later I seem to go back to normal.”

  “There we go with that pulse thing again,” Oliver replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes for my benefit.

  “Told you I wasn’t hallucinating.” My eyebrows raised, I shot a look of absolute vindication back at Oliver.

  “I wouldn’t broadcast it around town, if I were you.” Jackson stared right at me. He wasn’t smiling, and he definitely wasn’t joking. His warning was severe and unambiguous.

  “Why not?” I folded my arms and bristled at being told what to do—even by someone as sexy as Jackson. I was not about to roll over and just accept his edict without an explanation. Neither was Oliver, for that matter. Not after what we’d witnessed. I was relieved when Oliver moved next to me, silently declaring solidarity.

  Jackson sighed in exasperation. This was obviously a moment he had dreaded. A moment of absolute truth. He could either risk trusting someone else with his secrets or just walk away and continue being the lone cowboy. I hoped he’d choose to come clean. I hoped he’d choose me.

  I didn’t know exactly what was running through Jackson’s mind. He seemed to pull back and withdraw into himself. Was he thinking about her? About the elusive Dana? Finally Jackson spoke. “Six months ago I was like every other deluded fool in this town. Believing that Barrington was the best place to live—a kind of suburban Eden. Until some freaky green flash lit up the sky and changed everything.”

  “Was that the first pulse?” I casually asked, trying my best to cover my excitement at being taken into his confidence.

  Jackson shrugged and shook his head, uncertain. “I’m not sure. But all of a sudden my body was vibrating at warp speed.”

  “These pulses have always happened at night?” Oliver questioned Jackson as if he were part of a research experiment.

  “Always.” Jackson emphasized. “After curfew.”

  “Is that why you’re sneaking out every night?” I probed him even harder. “You’re waiting for the next pulse to occur?”

  Jackson coolly nodded. “I’m hoping to find what it is and where it’s from.”

  I listened intently as my mind processed the information. Things were starting to make sense to me. Jackson’s mysterious personality change six months ago and his sudden fall from the social pecking order all dated back to that first pulse.

  “There’s no way of predicting when it’ll occur again?” I asked, pressing for more information.

  Jackson shook his head. “I still don’t even know what’s causing it. The only hint that anything unusual has happened is how moody everyone gets afterward.” He took a beat, pensive, before adding: “The dead birds are new. Maybe it’s gotten more powerful.”

  Oliver and I exchanged looks of comprehension. “That might explain why Maya and everybody else seemed so unhinged today,” I said. Still, I had significant questions that remained unanswered. “So why hasn’t the media been all over this? There’s not a single link on Google. I’ve searched everywhere.”

  “I’m not sure how many people know,” Jackson said. “But those that do are maybe keeping their mouths shut. When I asked my parents and Coach Lurrell about it, they got angry and insisted it was just a nightmare I had.”

  “You make it sound like it’s part of some giant conspiracy.” That seemed a bit extreme—even paranoid—to me.

  “Is that so hard to believe?” Jackson stared right at me, definite, unwavering. “I have my theories.”

  “Well I, for one, have never seen it.” Oliver’s voice revealed a healthy dose of skepticism mixed with irritation at being left out of the conversation.

  “But you did see all those dead birds today,” I reminded Oliver quite pointedly.

  “True.” Oliver nodded, a bit begrudgingly. “But then again it could’ve just been a weird coincidence. The scientific record is filled with them.”

  “I doubt it’s a coincidence,” Jackson interjected forcefully. “I bet it’s some kind of an escalation—a cumulative effect of the three pulses. There’s no telling who will be affected or what might happen after the next one hits.”

  “Does the pulse have anything to do with why Dana Fox left town?” I couldn’t stop myself from blurting it out. Someone had to ask Jackson the tough question. Oliver’s eyes opened wide as saucers and his mouth was agape; he was surprised but also impressed that I was being so direct with Jackson.

  “Dana didn’t leave,” Jackson barked back. “She disappeared. The day after that first pulse hit. We were supposed to meet in the quad at school. She never showed. Coincidence? I don’t know.” His blue-green eyes cast a resolute glare my way, erasing any doubt that Dana Fox was still an extremely painful topic for him to discuss after six months.

  Just as I was about to press him further on what he thought had happened to Dana, we heard loud voices coming from the house. I turned around to see who was there. Through the trees I caught sight of a pair of very distinctive navy-blue-and-white BTS uniforms—and they were heading in our direction. The sophisticated security system had obviously done its job and alerted BTS.

  “Time to go, kiddies,” insisted Jackson as he waved us in the opposite direction. “And remember: Promise me you’ll keep your mouths shut. No matter what.”

  Oliver and I nodded and quickly followed as Jackson broke into an all-out run toward the back wall, which was well over a hundred feet away. I kicked into a healthy sprint. The last thing I needed was to get caught by the friendly folks at Bar Tech Security. Not only would Dad be furious with me for disobeying him a second time (not to mention trespassing!), but he would never trust me again.

  Unfortunately, Oliver was lagging behind. I heard him panting as he tried keeping up with me. I looked over my shoulder
and yelled, “Hurry!” I could see the bushes moving in the distance and suspected that the security guards were not far behind.

  “I’m trying!” Oliver’s scrawny legs pumped harder and harder, but he was in less than optimal condition.

  “Maybe if you cut back on the video games and science journals, you’d be in better shape.” I slowed my pace. He glared at me, huffing and puffing and pushing as hard as he could to catch up.

  Jackson, meanwhile, had already reached the wall and was urgently waving us over. I knew by his tense expression and the way his jaw was rigidly set that the security guards weren’t too far behind us.

  I grabbed Oliver’s arm and yanked him along. I couldn’t leave him behind to take the fall for Jackson and me. The only reason Oliver was there in the first place was because he’d been worried about me.

  “Go ahead without me,” Oliver shouted.

  “Come on! You can do it,” I called back, trying to will him to go faster.

  Just as it seemed like we might not make it to the wall in time, Oliver’s feet miraculously kicked into hyperdrive. Suddenly his legs began pumping like a couple of racing pistons. He was moving so fast that he was dragging me along. I glanced over at him, stunned by his newfound speed and power, as was Oliver. He didn’t know what the hell was happening either, but he was now moving at the speed of an Olympic runner.

  And then something really strange happened. Oliver’s legs pumped so fast that he literally left the ground and took flight, like a cheetah chasing its prey in the wild. I hung on to Oliver’s arm for dear life as he leaped over the wall with me in tow.

  We soared at least forty feet in the air before landing safely on the other side, without getting even a scratch.

  “What the hell was that?” I muttered, dazed.

  Oliver just shook his head, breathless and in a state of shock, totally staggered by what he had just done too.

  “Get in!” Jackson, having already scaled the wall, hopped into his Mustang and threw open the passenger door, revving the engine.