Where to begin? “Well . . . something weird is happening to this girl. . . .”
Daniel placed his hand in his chin and glanced up at the ceiling. “Fairly standard,” he said. “And familiar.” He grinned.
“And she doesn’t know what it is.”
“Okay. Is it something supernatural weird, or something normal weird?”
“Supernatural weird,” I said, without hesitation.
“How old is she?”
“A teenager.”
“Right, of course,” he said with a wink. “Does anyone else know what’s happening to her?”
Just Noah, but he was as lost in this as I was. And everyone else I tried to tell didn’t believe me. “She’s told other people, but no one believes her,” I said.
Daniel nodded sagely. “The Cassandra effect. Cursed by Apollo with prophetic visions that always came true, but were never believed by anyone else.”
Close enough. “Right.”
“So everyone thinks your ‘protagonist’ is crazy,” he said, making air quotes with his fingers.
Everyone does seem to. “Pretty much.”
A smile appeared on Daniel’s lips. “But she’s an unreliable narrator who happens to be telling the truth?”
Seems that way. “Yep.”
“Okay,” he said. “So what’s really happening to you—I mean, her?”
“She doesn’t know, but she has to find out.”
“Why?”
Because she’s a murderer. Because she’s losing her mind. Because she’s being tormented by someone who should be dead.
I studied my brother. His posture was relaxed, his arms draped casually over either side of the patterned black and gold armchair. Daniel would never believe that the things that were happening to me, the things I could do, were real—aside from Noah, who would?—but it was important to make sure he thought I didn’t believe they were real either. I had to make sure he didn’t think I believed my own fiction, or I would set off his alarms.
So I lolled my head back and looked at the ceiling. Stay casual, stay vague. “Someone’s after her—”
“Your antagonist, good . . .”
“And she’s getting worse. She needs to figure out what’s going on.”
Daniel leaned his chin on his hand and raised his eyebrows. “How about an Obi-Wan slash Gandalf slash Dumbledore slash Giles?”
“Giles?”
Daniel shook his head sadly. “I hate that I never managed to persuade you to watch Buffy. It’s a flaw in you, Mara.”
“Add it to the list.”
“Anyway,” he went on, “throw in a wise and mysterious character to swoop in and help you—I mean, your heroine—along on her quest, either by offering much-needed guidance or by taking her on as his pupil.”
I should be so lucky. “There’s no Dumbledore.”
“Or go really old-school and pull a Tiresias,” he said, nodding to himself. “From Oedipus.”
I shot him a look. “I know who Tiresias is.”
But Daniel ignored me. He was getting excited. “Make him blind but able to ‘see’ more than she can. I like that.”
“Yeah, Daniel, I get it, but there’s no mysterious figure.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “You just started working on it, Mara. Make one up.”
I clenched my teeth.
“Wait a second,” Daniel said quickly, rubbing his hands together. “Are you going to make her an orphan?”
“Why?”
“Well, if you don’t, you can have her family help,” he said and grinned. “You could give her a profoundly insightful and knowledgeable older brother.”
If only my profoundly insightful and knowledgeable older brother believed me. “I think that might be a little too transparent,” I said, growing frustrated. “It’s a creative writing assignment, not a memoir.”
“Picky, picky,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Write the requisite Google scene, then.”
I could see it now: Searching for “kids with powers” would generate about a billion hits about X-Men and derivative novels and movies.
“She wouldn’t even know what to Google,” I said, and sank back against the couch. This wasn’t turning out the way I’d hoped.
Daniel rubbed his chin, squinting. “How about a significant and portentous dream?”
Sure, I’ll just snap my fingers. “That’s a little . . . passive?”
“That’s fair. Is not-Mara a vampire or a creature of some kind but just doesn’t know it yet?”
I seriously hope not. “I don’t think so . . . she has, like . . . a power.”
“Like telepathy?”
“No.”
“Telekinesis?”
I don’t think so? I shook my head.
“Prophecy?”
“No.” I didn’t want to tell him what she—what I did. “She doesn’t know the extent of it yet.”
“Have her test it out. Try different things.”
“It would be dangerous.”
“Hmm . . . like she shoots lasers out of her eyes?”
I smiled wryly. “Something like that.”
“So she could be a superhero or supervillain. Hmm.” He folded one leg beneath him. “Is it a Peter Parker or a Clark Kent situation?”
“What do you mean?”