I squeezed Drake's hand. "I still think we should go to the police. It's not like we live in a third world country. The police are the good guys, right?"
"In theory," said Brad. "But you're talking about paranormal powers and secret organizations. They could just as easily put you in a mental institution."
"But we can prove we have these powers. They don't have to take our word for it. They can test us. Then they'd have to at least listen to our story."
"Then they'd just put you in a lab."
Drake nodded. "I don't disagree with you, Bro, but I think it's worth a shot. I'm not a fan of the system, but maybe we can get some support. If not, we leave. We haven't committed a crime and we're not a danger to our selves or others, so they can't keep us against our will. If all else fails, I get us out and no one remembers we were there."
I shifted under Drake's arm. "You know, Brad, I thought Drake would be the cynical, can't-trust-authority one. Not you."
Brad frowned. "If you guys really want to risk it, I have a contact in the department from my Crime Watch days. We can talk to him tomorrow."
A huge weight lifted off my shoulders. If we could get support from the authorities, we had a chance at success. "In the meantime, I still think we should get our story out there. And I have an idea. Brad, you could use your blog."
"Sam, my blog gets all of twenty hits a day, if I'm lucky. That's hardly enough to gain us huge support."
"But anything can go viral at any moment. We just need a little luck and an interesting story."
We stood and walked down the sidewalk littered with displays, homeless people, street performers and shops. I thought about Gar, my Rent-A-Kid bodyguard who had died trying to help me escape. He had a little girl out there, Serena, with powers to heal. His wife was probably in hiding, but if I could find her, maybe she could help us get the story out.
Or maybe not. She wouldn’t want the world knowing about her daughter. The power to heal was special, but dangerous. If Serena used her gifts too often, she would die.
We needed to find our own way of convincing the world to believe us.
Brad fidgeted with his phone as if it held the answer to reaching the masses. "I’ve been working on building my social media following, and this is a compelling story. I guess it can't hurt, and there's nothing else I can think to do at this point."
He searched his phone for something then smiled. "It does have a recorder app. Want to do a quick interview right now?"
"Um, sure, I guess."
He clicked the record button. "What's the first memory you have of your childhood, Sam?"
Drake's body pressed into me—or mine into him, I couldn't tell—as I thought back to my earlier years. "I don't know if this is my first memory or not, but I was young, four or five years old, and my teacher was asking me a question...."
***
"Hello, Sam, what are you drawing?" Mrs. Rosewood asked.
"It's a mommy and a daddy with a little girl."
"Are you the little girl?"
"No. I don't have a mommy and daddy."
"That's because you are a very special little girl, with very special gifts." 'So awful that these kids are taken so young... no family... alone... breaks my heart.'
I touched her hand. "Don't let your heart break, Mrs. Rosewood. I'm okay. I'm not alone. I have you."
"Sam, did you just read my mind?" Mrs. Rosewood pulled her hand away.
"I don't know what that means. You said it was awful, that I was alone and your heart was breaking. Don't be sad. I'm not."
***
"...Mrs. Rosewood rushed out of the room, and the next day I was moved to a different class. Looking back, I don't understand. I was already at Rent-A-Kid—that's what we called it. They knew I could read minds. I guess this teacher just wasn't prepared for it. It freaked her out. After that, I learned to tell the difference between thoughts and speech. I only responded to what people said."
Brad nodded. A mime started to follow us while we walked. He pantomimed swinging one arm while holding his phone up, then mimicked Drake's arm around me. At another time, I might have laughed—he captured the nuances of their body language perfectly—but my mind was too distracted. He shrugged dramatically and moved on to another group when we ignored him.
"No wonder you and Drake bonded. He's had similar experiences."
Catching Drake's eye, I smiled and blew a kiss at him. He leaned down to make it real.
"What experiences did you have?"
'There's a funny story about a Bishop that I'll tell you later. But there was other stuff too, like that time I beat up one of my foster dads when he was beating on his wife and the other kids. It's impossible to live a normal life with power like this, no matter how hard you try.'
Brad nudged us, and we nearly toppled over like dominoes. "Get a room, guys."
Drake punched Brad's shoulder, though I could tell he held back considerably. After all, a true punch would send Brad flying across the sidewalk and would probably break his arm.
Brad retaliated with his own punch, and the boys were suddenly running around me like toddlers.