“So where are we going?” I buckle my seat belt and hang my arm out the window. I’m not cold today. I haven’t been since I got back.
Harper slips on her sunglasses and shifts gears. “We’re going to the grocery store. We ran out of bread, which is something of a tragedy in the house, as you know. Sorry it couldn’t be more of an exciting trip for you.”
“I don’t care as long as I’m out of that garage. Plus …” I steal the chance to look at her while her eyes are on the road. Even now, I can’t believe things turned out the way they did. Harper—the girl who lived next door every summer when we were younger, and the girl I’ve never been able to forget—is sitting next to me now, making the summer warmer and my blood run fast. “Plus,” I start again, “as long as you’re there, it doesn’t matter where we go.”
Harper grins. “That was really corny.” She pauses and looks over. “But I like it.”
Even when I look away, I can feel myself smile. The familiar fields and houses pass by. The gas stations and empty lots. Even though I’ve driven down these roads countless times in my life, it feels different today. Newer. I haven’t felt this happy in months.
I keep waiting for something to take it away.
“I’m sorry about your car,” Harper says when she stops at a stoplight.
I stare ahead at the traffic waiting in front of us, trying not to think too deeply about the fact I’ll never see it again. The bruises and cuts on my face have healed over the last few days.
I wish I could say the same about what I lost.
I turn the subject around in a way she doesn’t notice. “Have you named yours yet?”
The light turns green. “No, but I will. I promise,” Harper says after she sees my unconvinced look. “Naming things is hard.”
I give a skeptical look. “I think it’s just you.”
She pulls into the parking lot of the grocery store and finds an empty space. We’ve never been here by ourselves before. It was always with Aunt Holly, or Bryce when my parents would send him to get something. Libby would rarely tag along, but we would.
So, like it was all those years ago, Harper and I are here again.
Just the two of us this time.
We pass through the sliding doors where the dry air of the air conditioning battles against the hot air from outside. The beeps from the checkout lines echo through the store. There are only two cashiers on duty—proof of the small town.
Harper has already grabbed a cart and is making her way over to the meat department. I’m about to follow her before a couple of book titles catch my eye, claiming to have time-traveling in them. I haven’t read a book in years, but I miss it. Leaving the books without seeing what they’re about, I catch up to Harper and do my best to walk up quietly behind her. Her hair is in a ponytail, pulled over one shoulder and leaving the back of her neck exposed. I can’t stop looking.
“Does Uncle Jasper like pork or sausage more?” she asks, tilting her head back toward me.
“How did you know I was here?”
Harper places a package of pork chops in the cart, already knowing the answer. “Maybe you aren’t the only one with a superpower.”
My smile fades. “Don’t call it that. Please.”
“If it’s not that, then what is it?” She waits for my answer with her eyebrows raised.
I can’t count how many times I’ve wished I was normal, though I know some people would do anything to have what I have. But all I want is for it to go away.
“An inconvenience,” I answer.
I push the cart for her down the mostly empty aisles. Harper doesn’t say anything else, but I know she’s thinking—she’s biting one corner of her lip and her eyes roam the shelves, not really seeing anything.
An old country song plays over the store radio and people pass by, pushing their carts with squeaky wheels. The lights overhead need replacing. This place hasn’t changed since I was born.
“If you could go to school for something, what would it be?” Harper asks, stopping in front of the shelf of canned soups.
“I don’t know—I haven’t thought about it.” Why would I? I’ll never be able to go to school unless I learn to control my inconvenience. With it as it is, the future has never been my top priority.
“You’ve got to have some sort of idea.” She glances from over her shoulder. “What were you best at in school?”
I smile jokingly. “History.”
“What about being a history teacher?” There isn’t an ounce of sarcasm in her voice.
“You’re serious.”
She’s still staring at the canned soup. “Why wouldn’t I be? Give me one reason why you wouldn’t be a great history teacher.”
I open my mouth.
And no words come out.
I’ve never thought of myself in any other place except where I am now—it’s never been possible. I don’t like dwelling on things that might never happen. There’s less disappointment later on. For years, I wanted to graduate with a baseball scholarship, because that’s what I loved. When that was taken away, I never felt more lost. So now when she’s asking me about my future, I don’t have an answer.
“What soup are you looking for?” I step forward, grateful for a store full of distractions.
“Cream of mushroom,” she says. “I swear, looking for the right kind of soup is almost as bad as looking for a certain spice.”
I grab the can off the shelf and place it in her hand. “Come on, Sherlock.”
We roam the rest of the aisles slowly. Harper doesn’t need many things; we’re mostly killing time before we have to go back. I want to reach for her hand, but I’m afraid to. I want to kiss her again, but I don’t know how.
I follow Harper down the frozen food aisle. Most of the glass doors are fogged up from people opening them, and a few of the lights are burned out. We stop somewhere in the middle while Harper tries to decide which frozen vegetables to get.
My mind keeps going back to what she said near the soup. About the possibilities of having a life I never thought I would. About becoming something more. If I can control my ability, I’ll actually have a chance at a life.
It’s something to think about. I’ve tried to control it so many times before that I’ve grown used to the idea of never being able to.
Harper opens the freezer door and a rush of cold air trails up my arms. Raising the hair along my neck and causing a shiver to trace my spine.
I flinch from something unseen, my muscles already stiff.
It’s happening. I can feel it.
The white, shining floor turns to snow. A growing patch of red surrounds my feet, soaking me with Adams’s blood. Urging my heart to beat faster.
It’s not real.
It’s not.
It’s not.
When I close my eyes, all I can see are the woods. All I can hear are the gun shots and mortars. The screams.
I don’t want to be there.
Not now when everything is going so well.
I force my eyes open, hanging on to the reality around me. I’m afraid to look down and see red, and my heart won’t stop pounding.
There’s no blood on the floor.