“You shut up,” I said back, quite maturely.
“No—stop. Say that again.”
“Say what again?”
“About dogs.” His eyes were still closed.
“They’re either scared of me or hate me?”
“Fight or flight,” Noah said as something clearly fit into place for him. “That’s it.”
“That’s what?”
“The difference between the humans and the animals that you’ve—you know,” he gestured. “When we went to the zoo and the insects died, it was because I nearly forced you to touch the ones that terrified you most. But once they were dead, I couldn’t push you anymore.”
Flight.
He ran a hand over his mouth. “In the Everglades, you were terrified we wouldn’t reach Joseph in time, and so you eliminated what was in your way—you reacted—without needing to think.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “You were pushed, and unconsciously you pushed back.”
I knew what was coming next and preempted it. “But with Morales . . .”
“You weren’t afraid,” he said.
“I was angry.” Fight.
“There are different biochemical reactions that occur in response to different emotions, like stress—”
“Adrenaline and cortisol, I know,” I said. “I took ninth grade bio too.”
Noah ignored me. “And they’re processed differently by the brain—we should read more about this.”
“Okay,” I said. But I was still frustrated; Noah once again managed to turn the conversation back to me, thereby avoiding what I wanted to know about him.
So I said, “I still think we should test your ability.”
Noah’s eyes went sharp—he was uncomfortable again. “You want to do this scientifically? Here,” Noah said, and stood. He crossed the room and picked up a bottle of Tylenol that I left on my bookshelf. Placed it on the floor. “We’ll use the scientific method: My hypothesis is that you can manipulate things with your mind.”
Deflecting again. He didn’t actually believe I could do it; he was just trying to distract me. I went along with him—for now. “Telekinesis?”
“I don’t think so, exactly, but in order to figure out what you can do, it would be helpful to know what you can’t do. So here, move this.”
“With my mind.”
“With your mind,” he said calmly. “And I’ll know if you’re not trying.”
I glared at him.
He gave me a nod. “Go on.”
Fine. I’d do this and then it would be my turn to make him do something. I dropped to the floor, crossed my legs and hunched forward, staring at the bottle.
About twenty seconds of fruitless silence later, Daniel knocked and pushed my bedroom door open all the way.
“I’m here to announce that we’re departing for the carnival in approximately twenty minutes.” He paused. I felt him look down at me, then up at Noah, then back at me. “Uh, what are you doing?”
“Mara is trying to move a bottle of Tylenol with her mind,” Noah said casually.
I glared at him, then back at the bottle.
“Ah, yes,” Daniel said. “I tried that once. Not with Tylenol, though.”
“What did you use?” Noah asked.
“A penny. I also tried that ‘light as a feather, stiff as a board’ game—the levitation one, you know?” he said to Noah. “And Ouija boards, of course,” he said to me, adding a melodramatically meaningful look.
“You played with a Ouija board?” I asked slowly.
“Of course,” Daniel said. “It’s a childhood rite of passage.”
“Who did you play with?”
“Dane, Josh.” He shrugged. “Those guys.”
“Was it yours?” I felt nervous without quite knowing why.
Daniel looked taken aback. “Are you kidding?”
“What?” Noah asked.
“I would never keep one in the house,” Daniel said, shaking his head vehemently. “Conduit to the spirit world, Mara, I told you.”
Noah cracked a wry grin. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”
“Hey,” Daniel said. “Even men of science such as ourselves are entitled to get the heebie-jeebies now and again. Anyway,” he said, a smirk creeping onto his lips as he gestured to the Tylenol bottle, “nice to see you giving something the old college try, Mara. Though, my brain is bigger, so if I didn’t have any luck—”
I refocused on the bottle and said, “Go away.”
“Any progress on the vampire story?”
“GO AWAY.”
“Good luck!” he said cheerfully.
“I hate you,” I said as Daniel closed the door.
“What vampire story?” Noah asked.
I was still staring at the bottle. The bottle that hadn’t moved. “It was his other theory about my fake alter ego,” I explained. “An alternate to possession.”
“Well, you are awfully pale.”
I exhaled slowly. Refused to look up.
He reached for my bare foot and squeezed my toes. “And cold.”
I pulled my feet away. “Bad circulation.”
“You could always bite me, just to test.”
“I hate you, too, by the way. Just so you know.”
“Oh, I do. I would suggest make-up sex, but . . .”
“Too bad you have scruples,” I said.