Page 36 of Flickerstate

I take a deep breath. “To know about me, you’ve got to know about my family.”

I talk about trying to be the perfect oldest daughter: babysitting Jo, babysitting Kev and Irene, handling chores, working summer jobs, winning school awards, being the Sullivan kid to do everythingfirst. My mom and dad assumed that I would be a little helper to them and a role model to my siblings and an academic star. Everything to everyone. It made me so proud and so resentful. I want to care for my family, and I hate how much care they need. The combination’s combustible. I want to warm people; I end up burning them. “I have a lot of posters, reproductions of paintings, in my room at home. I brought a couple with me to the Academy. There’s one—Fire in the Sky—I mean, it’s abstract, it’s notofanything, but…it looks how I feel.”

Desperate. Terrified. Furious.

Burning. Burning. Burning.

Vik watches me for a long moment. Types something into his phone. His dark eyes reflect the intense red, slashing black, and pale bright sparks of the painting on his screen. He stares down at it with deep seriousness. Looks up at me. “It’s beautiful.”

A hot flush rolls up my skin, chest to hairline.He’s talking about the painting, and itisbeautiful. Calm down, loser.“So, um. Can we make this work?”

“Let’s try.” He holds out a hand.

***

Our first try, I flinch from the tug on my nav and give Vik anothernosebleed. When I babble apologies, he flashes glinting eyes at me and says he remembered Kleenex this time. Our second try, I overcompensate and blast him with all the nav I can muster. In flickerstate I hear a hiss, like water heated to steam. When he rolls his dice, he gets two sixes but then rolls a five. Sheepishly, he admits he lost his grip on the metalwork concept, reverted to his river, and started boiling.

Our third try, I direct a steady tongue of flame at him. The gold filigree lacing the air brightens and drips, liquid, mobile, full of potential.

Vik looks into that Byzantine flux. Blinks. “Now.”

We drop out of flickerstate. He rolls the dice across the matted grass.

Six-six-six-six-six-six.

***

We try it the other way, Vik channeling to me. It takes five tries, but at last I nav six rolls out of six. We stand sheened in sweat over the conquered dice. I feel like I’ve been navigating for hours, but when I look up, three stars still glint in the sky’s navy dome.

“I’ve never got the hang of channeling that fast with anyone.” Vik’s tone is inexpressive.

“How long does it usually take?” I ask, thinking of my team’s failures.

“It took me and Griffin two months, last year. We still havetrouble sometimes.”

“Your concepts don’t mesh?”

“I don’t know. He won’t tell me how he sees his nav.”

“He won’ttellyou?”

“He gets squirrelly when I ask.”

Big, blond Griffin—acting like a rodent. I smother a laugh. I want to ask Vik whether he sees Griffin that way in flickerstate: furry little creatures scurrying to the heavens. But grilling Vik about his teammates wouldn’t be a good move. If he thinks I’m fishing for intel, he might call off our deal.

Speaking of.

“All right,” I say. “Time to league.”

Chapter Nine

For the next half hour, Vik and I fail at leaguing. We don’t know where to start: We’re like two hostages trying to escape after we’vebeen blindfolded and locked in a closet together. Elbowing, pathetic flailing. But Vik seems sanguine about it. At 6 a.m. he hikes up the footpath, stoic and unbowed, same as always. I walk behind him, staring at his neck, wishing I could make my picture of him clearer.

I’m used to predictable reactions from people. Teachers like me because I turn in my homework on time, never text in class, and participate in discussion in ways that carefully avoid challenging their unspoken but easy-to-guess opinions. My friends respected me, back when I had friends, before they started avoiding my whole family like the plague, because I kept my promises. And boys flirt with me as a third option when their first and second choices aren’t around—it’s almost like they feel obligated, but my personality keeps them from getting too enthusiastic about it.

Vik doesn’t exactlyflirt. Instead, he has this half-professional, half-playful mode of talking to me that I can’t interpret. He’s not wounding my pride—I swear, I’m not a complete ego monster. I just like to know where I stand. That way, I can manage interactions better. (I know, how conniving.) But Vik’s a sheer cliff face: no handholds. Or maybe, given how he sees his nav, I should say a river: He slips through my fingers.

I’m brooding on this point when we exit the trees. Beyond the basketball courts, Candace sits framed in one of the dining hall windows. Griffin, beside her, spots Vik and me right away. He gives us an air-control wave.