“Fun as it sounds to have a fungus rush,” Keefe said, bouncing on his toadstool, “why do I have to be here for this?”
“To ensure their interpretations of their emotions are accurate. And the mold’s effect is incredibly subtle. All it does is clear the mind of other distractions.” Mr. Forkle turned to Fitz. “Do you remember how to find Miss Foster’s emotional center?”
“I think so.”
Keefe laughed. “Annnnnnnnd, the Foster panicking begins.”
“I’m not panicking,” Sophie told him, with a very unconvincing squeak.
She ignored Keefe’s laugher as she gave Fitz permission to enter her mind.
Several uncomfortable seconds passed before Fitz said, “Okay, I think I’m there—and whoa, it’s even more overwhelming than last time.”
“Sorry,” Sophie mumbled, wanting to hide under her giant mushroom.
“Powerful emotions are an asset,” Mr. Forkle told her. “Especially for this. And now I must lead you to the same point in Mr. Vacker’s consciousness. Try to follow my lead and memorize the trail.”
The “trail” was a thread of warmth winding deep into Fitz’s mind. It ended in a patch of darkness that hummed with energy.
Push through, Mr. Forkle transmitted, and Sophie gasped as she obeyed. She’d studied fractals in her human math classes, but she’d never been surrounded by a 3-D version. Every color. Every pattern. Every style and shape were woven together into something both breathtaking and completely overwhelming.
“It takes some getting used to,” Mr. Forkle said. “But what you’re seeing is a visual representation of each other’s moods.”
“So, does that mean if I do this . . .” Keefe tickled Sophie’s neck.
“GAH—everything just went supersonic!” Fitz said.
Sophie snatched Keefe’s wrist as he reached to tickle her again. “Don’t. You. Dare.”
“Whoa, now everything’s red and ripply,” Fitz said. “Is that because she’s angry?”
“Precisely, Mr. Vacker. Every time her emotions shift, the patterns and colors will change. And with practice, you’ll learn to interpret what you see.”
“Okay, but . . . can’t they just say, ‘Hey—I’m feeling this’?” Keefe asked.
“People aren’t always honest about their feelings—even with themselves,” Mr. Forkle told him. “Plus, many telepathic assignments involve stealth and secrecy. So for this exercise I’m going to need you both to forget everything around you. Let the world drop away, leaving only you two.”
Keefe sighed. “Just tell them to stare into each other’s eyes and they’ll be good.”
“None of that, Mr. Sencen. From this moment on, you have one job and one job only: to judge their translations of the various emotions I’ll be triggering.”
“Triggering how?” Sophie asked.
“You’ll see soon enough. And you’ll guess first, Miss Foster. For this to work, Mr. Vacker, it’s crucial that you not react externally. No yelling or thrashing or screaming or—”
“Uhhh, what are you going to do to me?” Fitz asked.
“Nothing you won’t survive. Consider it an exercise in self-control. And try not to listen to his thoughts, Miss Foster. Study only the changes in his emotional center and make your deduction. We begin now.”
Sophie closed her eyes and focused on the colors weaving around Fitz’s mind. She was about to ask if she was missing something when the pattern exploded into a swirl of pale blue tendrils. The color felt too bright to be sad, but also too wild to be peaceful.
“Tension?” she guessed.
“Kinda close,” Keefe told her.
The laughter in his voice made her wonder what had happened to poor Fitz.
She tried to think of other emotions as his mind turned electric blue.
“Shock?” she guessed.
“That counts,” Keefe said. “Though the best answer would’ve been ‘surprise.’?”
“Is that an emotion?” she asked.
“Indeed it is,” Mr. Forkle said. “One of the most common emotions you’ll experience as you navigate someone’s mind—hence why I chose it as our starting point.”
“Can I talk now?” Fitz asked. “Because that was seriously disgusting!”
Sophie opened her eyes and tried not to laugh when she saw red fruit smashed all over Fitz’s face. He wiped his cheeks on his sleeves, but that only smeared the pulp.
“I think I’m going to like this assignment,” Keefe said. “What else can we fling at Fitz?”
“Nothing for the moment,” Mr. Forkle told him. “It’s his turn to interpret. Everyone close your eyes. And remember, no cues of any kind, Miss Foster.”
Sophie counted the seconds, bracing for the worst—and when nothing changed, she opened her eyes and found Mr. Forkle with his finger over his lips in a “shhh” sign.
“Um . . . confusion,” Fitz guessed.
“That works,” Keefe said. “It started as anticipation, but then it shifted.”