Overtaken Read online

  Before Jackson had a chance to respond, Dana abruptly interrupted us, flashing her big, warm grin. “You guys having fun?”

  Jackson and I exchanged tense looks.

  “Can’t believe how quickly you pulled this all together in just a few hours,” Jackson interjected, hoping to diffuse the awkwardness that hung in the air.

  “You know me. Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” Dana flipped back playfully. “Can’t believe how much I’ve missed everyone.”

  “And everyone seems to have missed you,” I replied in my sincerest voice. “Judging by the turnout.”

  Dana scanned the big crowd. Everyone seemed to be having fun. “I’m touched to know that people didn’t forget about me,” she said, humbly patting her heart with her right hand. “I’m just sorry that Maya’s not here.”

  I stole a glance at Jackson, desperate for guidance.

  What do we say about Maya’s disappearance?

  “Yeah, too bad,” Jackson said, all cool and calm. “Haven’t seen her since school the other day. I don’t know where she is.”

  “Well, I’m happy everyone else came. And I know we only just met, Nica,” Dana added with a warm smile, “but I’m so glad you came too.”

  “Thanks for including me.” I smiled back, relieved to be off Maya but also determined not to reveal even the slightest hint that I might not trust Dana.

  “Now, if you don’t mind,” Dana said, slipping her arm through Jackson’s, “I need to steal this guy for a few.”

  “Steal away,” I retorted dryly, my eyes lingering on Jackson, wondering what he was thinking.

  Jackson looked back at me, giving me a subtle nod, knowing we had much more to discuss. “Catch you later, Nica.”

  I nodded and watched Dana lead Jackson over to her suddenly effusive parents, who embraced him like a long-lost relative or future son-in-law—instead of the persona non grata he’d been since Dana’s disappearance. I could read from Jackson’s stiff body language that he was being polite but skeptical. He didn’t seem to be buying their abrupt conversion any more than I was.

  While everyone gorged on barbecue chicken wings and pasta salad, I felt claustrophobic and forced my way outside. The cold, crisp Colorado air hit my lungs. I needed to clear my head and try to think, which I seemed to be having a lot of trouble doing lately. I breathed deeply and looked up at the sky. Because of the altitude and our relative isolation, the sky was dotted with thousands of tiny stars. It was so beautiful.

  “Everything okay out here, Nica?” A sweet voice expressed concern.

  Busted, I spun around to see that none other than the hostess of the party, Dana Fox, had come outside to check up on me with a steaming mug of hot cocoa.

  “Yes, fine,” I sheepishly replied to Dana, taking the mug from her with a grateful smile. I was completely mortified at being found out. “Just needed some fresh air.”

  Dana furrowed her brow, definitely unconvinced. “You’re going to freeze your ass off.” Her arms were crossed and she was rubbing them briskly to keep warm. The sweater she wore over black leggings seemed to help.

  “That wouldn’t necessarily be such a bad thing,” I joked, turning my head as I pretended to check out the size of my butt in my favorite black jeans.

  Dana laughed and shook her head in casual dismay. “Anyone ever tell you you’re—no offense—the tiniest bit crazy? And I mean that in a good way.”

  “I seem to recall the expression nut job being bandied about by various shrinks.”

  “Ugh, I hate shrinks,” replied Dana. “All they ever want you to do is yak, yak, yak about bullshit. Just leave me alone.”

  “You went to one?” I was surprised by her admission. I hadn’t seen that one coming at all. But I used the unexpected opening to do a bit of snooping.

  “Please,” she remarked with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Who hasn’t?”

  “The curse of our generation,” I quipped, trying to engage her and create a sympathetic bond.

  “Tell me about it. My overprotective parents had me see this very nice woman in Denver last year. Specialized in teenagers. She meant well. Such a huge time suck.”

  “My mom sent me to one when I was ten,” I confessed. “To make sure I was coping with my parents’ divorce. What was your problem,” I gently pressed, “if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “No big deal really.” Dana shrugged and shook her head. “Jackson and I were going through . . . a rocky patch. Things just got too intense between us.”

  Her version of events certainly matched the official story I’d heard when I’d first arrived in Barrington.

  “And that’s why you left town,” I probed, hoping to get some additional insight or clue about those missing months when she was away.

  “I stayed with cousins in Connecticut. Anyway, old news,” she declared with a sigh and an exasperated roll of the eyes, “because I’m back to stay.” Signaling she didn’t want to discuss the matter any further.

  I was about to probe a little deeper into Dana’s time away when a gang of her BFFs from cheerleading, Annie, Emily, Maddie, and Jaden, suddenly came outside and surrounded her.

  “Here you are,” squealed Jaden. “The party’s inside! C’mon!”

  And the girls dragged a laughing, protesting Dana by the arms back into the jam-packed pool house.

  I wasn’t exactly sure if Dana had told me the truth and nothing but the truth about her time away, but it was a beginning I intended to build upon.

  • • •

  Dana’s party finally started to wind down around eight forty-five p.m. My father was on call at the hospital and insisted on picking me up, even though Oliver’s mother had offered to drive me home. With everything so uncertain, I had wanted to skip Dana’s party so that we could continue strategizing, but my father had practically ordered me to attend. I hoped it was because he saw us as a clandestine father-daughter Alias spy duo. Except without the exotic and glamorous locations.

  Exactly where that left my mother in this complex equation, I had no clue. To be honest, I was so wrapped up in my own personal angst and turmoil over my life that I couldn’t worry about her. Paranoia and caution had gotten the better of me. It was hard for them not to. Instead, I chose to send a brief, bland e-mail filling Lydia in on my classes (I used “fine” a lot), extracurricular school activities (busy supporting our football team in the playoffs), and my hectic social life. I told myself it was better this way, that I was protecting my mother. What could she possibly do all the way from Antarctica anyway? When in fact the truth was a bit more complicated and something I wasn’t quite ready to face just yet. And that was my (not so) repressed anger at her role in all this.

  How could she have sent me to Barrington? Did she have any idea what was really going on? She’d worked here years before, when the incident occurred—while she was pregnant with me. Did she have any clue that sending me back to the “safest town in America” would actually be the most dangerous thing for me?

  I just wasn’t prepared to take on that drama—a problem wrapped in a riddle wrapped in a bunker-buster of a bummer: If she knew, it would break my heart, and if she didn’t, I had no earthly way of explaining it to her. I didn’t have a shred of proof except for my currently nonexistent powers and a few hastily scribbled journal entries detailing a scattered selection of the whiplash-inducing revelations of the past few months. It’d be enough to convince my mom that I’d somehow developed an overreliance on cough syrup but not exactly groundbreaking revelations.

  My powers? Bar Tech?

  Hi, Mom, long time. Listen, I— No, no, things are good. They’re great, actually. I discovered my DNA is—yes, I know. Good stock. Not so much Dad’s side, sure, but— Are you sitting down? Yeah, you’re gonna want to do that. No, I’m not pregnant. That would be easier to say than . . . Um. Well. I can turn invisible.

&nb
sp; *Click*

  And that would be that. For as much as she loved to explore different philosophies, religions, and schools of thought, she was scientist and a journalist at heart. Rational to the core. Tales of superpowers and conspiracies were not even gonna make it in one ear and out the other; they’d be torn to shreds halfway by her twin Gatling guns of “Reason” and “Logic.”

  I felt my pocket buzz, and my eyes shot to a clock on the wall. Almost nine p.m. Curfew. The screen of my phone lit up with DAD. He didn’t sound thrilled.

  “I hate to do this to you, but do you think you can get a ride home?” Oh, Marcus. Always full of the best intentions, always coming up just a little short. I didn’t need a superpower to see this coming.

  “Sure, yeah. Everything all right?”

  “Couple of scuff ups. Nothing serious, but we’re slammed. Oh, and Chase seems to be recovering his memory.”

  It was obvious that Dad didn’t want to say anything more explicit to me on the phone. And I knew not to ask. Who knew if Bar Tech was listening to our calls?

  “I’m sure a ride won’t be a problem.”

  “But with a parent, okay? No friends. I don’t want to see you end up in here.”

  “Got it, Dad.” Click.

  Oliver was waving down a car as my dad wrapped up the call. I started to jog over to the old station wagon as he got inside.

  “Oliver!” I shouted. “Can I get a ride?”

  “You up to date on your shots? Car’s a little messy.”

  “I can handle it.”

  I opened the door and was greeted by a sluice of files and folders that spilled out and piled at my feet. Oliver’s mom turned around, and I realized in that moment that we’d never actually met. She was older than I expected—wiry haired and a little spastic—like if Doc Brown were a cat lady. And clearly not the most organized secretary Bar Tech had ever had, although now she managed Cattle Baron, the local steak restaurant.

  “Sorry. Just put that stuff to the side. Wherever. Floor’s fine. Sorry. Work, you know, and just, well, you eat in the car when you can between meetings and they tell you to drive here and drive there and it gets messy and you want to clean, but there’s so little time. So. Little. Time.”

  I smiled as I stooped to pick up the papers before they got too messy. The neurosis that bubbled underneath her words hadn’t wormed its way fully into Oliver’s personality, but he displayed hints of it, and it was charming to see where it came from.

  “It’s okay! Plenty of space,” I said, pushing some of the papers and books to the side, creating a clear patch to squeeze myself into. Somehow, everything I moved made its way back into my lap as Mrs. Monsalves finished rearranging the mess into a slightly different mess. Oliver turned around and offered a silent, mouthed apology. I shook my head and laughed. It was fine. Compared to my own family drama, other people’s families were a comfort, even when they were strange.

  “I’m Nica, by the way. It’s so nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Monsalves.” I couldn’t really extend a hand to shake, so I tried to lean forward with as much glowing good-girl earnestness as I could.

  “Oh, Nica! You’re the mystery best friend I’ve heard so much about!”

  “Mom . . . ,” said Oliver, trying to shut down the quirk machine, probably before something really embarrassing leaked out.

  “Guess so.”

  “I’ve always told Oliver he can have friends over whenever he wants, but he prefers to be in his room with those video games.”

  “Oh, we see plenty of each other,” I assured her, hoping as I spoke that I wouldn’t be squeezed for details of how our adventures had drawn us closer than most high school friends.

  Oliver turned around in his seat. “So your dad’s having a busy night at the hospital after all.”

  “Seems as though Chase’s memory is returning.” The urgency in my tone registered with Oliver. Chase’s recovered memory would undoubtedly implicate Maya.

  “Some guys have all the luck,” snarked Oliver. “I can’t believe that douche is my half brother.”

  It wasn’t immediately clear to me that I’d set Oliver up to drop an offhand comment that was actually a grenade primed to explode. It wasn’t until I saw Mrs. Monsalves’s fingers clench the wheel that I realized a mistake had been made.

  “Oliver.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be okay knowing Chase and I share DNA.”

  Mrs. Monsalves tried to play dumb. “What are you talking about?” A nervous laugh slipped through her teeth. “I thought I told you—no drinking.” Oliver rolled his eyes at his mother’s attempts to suppress the secret of his lineage.

  “It’s fine. Nica already knows.” Oliver announced it like it was no big deal.

  “Knows what?” Oliver’s mother shot him a withering look.

  “The whole thing, Mom. It’s fine. Trust me.”

  “I don’t even know this girl.” Mrs. Monsalves’s eyes darted up and fired at me from the rearview mirror. No putting that secret back in the bag.

  “You don’t have to. I do. She’s my friend, and I’m telling you: It’s fine.”

  The only thing worse than fighting with your parents was being trapped in a car with someone else fighting with their parents about you. I pushed back in my seat, wishing, praying, that my powers would come back so I could vanish—and then maybe fling open the door and dive out for good measure. Their voices started to rise:

  “No, it’s not fine. I told you that in confidence, Oliver!”

  “And I had to talk to someone about it! Sorry I don’t deal with my problems by pushing everyone out of my life the way you do.”

  I cringed and looked out the window, trying to get my mind far, far away from the morass I was in. That’s when I saw it from the backseat, pulsing in the sky. By now my brain interpreted any light in the sky as an appearance of the pulse that changed us all, but this light was different. I honestly had no idea what it was at first. It was barely visible, no brighter than a far-off star, but it got exponentially bigger each time it pulsed, like a balloon slowly being inflated. I opened my mouth to say something, and in that instant, the light took over the sky with an immense, silent flash. It was so incredibly bright and violent that I would’ve thought it was a megaton nuclear bomb detonating if the flash weren’t so . . . intensely green.

  The same glowing, sickly, skin-crawling green pulse that unlocked our powers in the past had suddenly infiltrated the entire sky. It was a clear night, and for a split second the rest of the evening’s stars sparked from diamonds to emeralds.

  And then we were upside down.

  I don’t know if Oliver’s mom hit something or if the flash was so violent that she wrenched the wheel in shock, but my hair dropped toward the ceiling, and for a second I felt weightless. My seat belt slammed into my sternum like a body pillow made of concrete and all the air in my lungs escaped to join the rest of the debris crisscrossing my vision. The car was rotating upside down in midair.

  My life wasn’t flashing before my eyes. Instead, just a surge of overwhelming panic. There I hung, suspended between the sky and the ground and life and death, and I couldn’t even conjure a comforting moment. I tried desperately to make eye contact with Oliver or his mom in the rearview mirror. Just eyes. A glance. Something before this all came to an end. But there was nothing. All I felt was the burning in my neck, something that felt like gravel in my chest, and my heart pounding in my ears.

  An ancient oak tree trunk stopped our journey cold. With the deafening crack of a thunderclap—WHAM—the windshield exploded into a thousand raindrop-sized shards, and the deadly torrent of glass washed over Oliver, his mother, myself and—

  I came to upside down. What felt like miles and miles away.

  “Nica?” Oliver sounded like he was shouting down a train tunnel.

  I tried opening my mouth. It worked. Voca
l cords? Intact. I scratched out a hoarse “Oliver.” My body continued to reboot: hearing, check; vision, check; pain, check. Like a thousand checks on that last one. My body was screaming that I was wounded, but—cut? Broken? Bruised? I couldn’t tell. I glanced around to get a look at myself but could barely make anything out in the dark.

  “Nica?” Oliver called my name again. My mind raced and pinpointed that it was coming from outside the car, to my left.

  “Here,” I replied. “Here.”

  His face suddenly appeared in front of me, sideways and upside down. Confusion registered in his eyes even though he was staring right at me. “Nica?”

  I started to get angry. Our game of Marco Polo was getting old. I needed to get out of the car and probably go straight to the hospital.

  “I’m right here!” My voice was as ripped as my clothes felt like they were, and I could tell I was frightening him. I took a breath and calmed myself down. “Sorry. I’m here.” His shaky, wide eyes told me the truth before he even dared vocalize it.

  “No, you aren’t.”

  Holy shit. There was no way. I held my arms out directly between Oliver’s face and myself, trying to block him out with my hand, my forearm, anything. But I could still see him, staring right where I should be, where physics and common sense promised I would be, but wasn’t there. There was no escaping it: The pulse had struck again scarcely more than twenty-four hours after the last one. And I had vanished.

  I reached for the seat belt and—ka-click—let myself free. Gravity left me sprawled on the ground. I tested my legs. They weren’t broken, but I wasn’t getting to my feet anytime soon. Desperate to leave the cramped, broken confines of the wreck, I crawled forward, past a wide-eyed Oliver, and propped myself up against the side of the car. I watched his eyes follow the sound of my body scraping against the ground. When I settled, so did they, though about two feet to the side of my head. I tried to regain my composure, but my thoughts were scattered, panicked. I focused on the gentle shower of papers falling from the sky. Mrs. Monsalves’s papers. Wait.