I shake my head back and forth, my brain rattling around inside, clattering against my skull. “No, she’s not!” I say, and Phoebe flinches from my raised voice, cowering against the house. “Sorry. It was an accident. But don’t worry, I’ll save her. That’s why I’m at Berkshire. To control my powers, so that I can save her.”
Phoebe’s head cocks, and there’s confusion in her eyes and something else. Sympathy? “Oh, Bo,” she says, her voice cracking.
A curtain near the door shifts—our father has noticed us outside, a frown on his face, and the curtain swishes closed again. In moments, he’ll be at the door.
I grab Phoebe by her shoulders, whirling her around to face me. Her face pales, her eyes widen. “What have they told you?” I snarl. “About Berkshire? About me?”
“You know why you’re there,” she says, but as her eyes drink in my face, she adds, “Right?”
“Why?” I demand. “You tell me. Why am I at Berkshire?”
“You’re . . . you’re sick. They haven’t found a full diagnosis yet, but I’ve been researching on the Internet. The doctor you see, Dr. Franklin, he mentioned a dissociative disorder, but I think it’s more complex than that—” She pauses, seeing the rage building on my face. “Berkshire Academy is designed specifically for teens with mental issues. They said it was a specialized environment, that they could help you better than the special ed programs at school, that they can treat you better . . .”
Already, I can feel the timestream pulling me further and further away. Phoebe is slipping through my fingers, evaporating before my eyes.
“It’s all a lie!” I shout with all my might, flinging the words across time and space. “It’s a lie! I’m not sick! Don’t let them tell you that! You know the truth!”
Despite the fact that I’m shouting, my words are nearly whispers. Phoebe’s face blanches, and she grabs at me. Our hands slide away from each other, as if we were both made of water.
“I’m not sick!” I scream, but Phoebe can’t hear me anymore.
CHAPTER 51
My eyes open, but I can’t see anything. My vision is blurry, and my head feels fuzzy. I’m in my room at the Berk, the painted walls covered with scraps of art I drew or posters from home, my closet an odd mirror to the one I have at home—everything that wasn’t there is here. I shift in the bed. I’m not wearing my clothes; I’m wearing an odd sort of medical robe. There’s a bandage around my elbow and a Band-Aid on the top of my hand.
“Wake up, asshole.”
My attention focuses on the doorway. “Ryan,” I mutter.
“Man, you are really messed up.”
“Huh?” I strain against the fatigue, trying to focus on Ryan’s face.
But when I look again, he’s not there.
I struggle to sit up, but it’s like I’ve been buried under sand. There’s movement by the door again, but this time I see Dr. Rivers and Mr. Minh. I thought they had gone. They cluck their tongues as they walk by, almost comically, their movements long and swinging. I rub my eyes, not sure if I really even saw them. I’m left, however, with a rising sense of dread filling my stomach. Real or not, I know I can’t trust those people.
Wait. What am I saying? It does matter if they’re real. It matters if I’m just . . .
Hallucinating.
Had I even been home at all? My shift to my parents’ world was sudden—maybe the timestream threw me back here violently, far more violently than it ever has before.
I try to call up the timestream. Maybe it has answers. But I cannot control my power—I can barely focus enough to stay awake.
And then I can’t even do that anymore.
? ? ?
I wake up to the sensation of someone sitting at the foot of my bed. I keep my eyes shut. I’m tired. But then I smell lemons and lavender, the same scent as Sofía’s shampoo, and I shoot up in bed.
She’s here.
“How . . . ?” I start, shocked.
Sofía smiles. “You came here in your sleep,” she says. And then she frowns. “If you’re randomly showing up places while you’re asleep . . . You’re losing control, aren’t you?”
I run my fingers through my hair. “I don’t know anymore.”
“You’re losing control,” she says firmly, “and you need to wake up.”
“Bo?”
I open my eyes. The fuzziness is gone, but the grogginess remains. The Doctor sits in a stiff-backed chair by my bed.
“What happened?” I ask.
“You were briefly treated at a local facility, and then your parents sent you back here.”
That doesn’t really answer my question at all.
“Bo,” Dr. Franklin says in a kind voice. “I want to be honest with you, and I want you to be honest with me.”
I nod as I peel the bandage off the back of my hand. There’s a puncture mark over my vein.
“Can you tell me why you’re at Berkshire Academy?”
Because I can control time. And you can heal. And we have powers, powers normal people wouldn’t understand.
“Because I’m not normal,” I say.
“You are normal,” Dr. Franklin says immediately. “But can you be more specific about your reason for being at Berkshire?”