Page 6 of Flickerstate

Like Dad did.

Guilt and terror race through me. I can’t let this happen again. I can’t.

Iwon’t.

Mom’s scrappy. She’s also a petite prediabetic smoker. I’m a varsity basketball player who runs four days a week and lifts three. I break Mom’s grip, throw her behind me, and plunge on desperate instinct into flickerstate.

Beasts don’t always manifest fully. Sometimes they flicker halfway into reality, only to flicker out again. If I can navigate to a future where the beast vanishes—

Dr. Langmore’s way ahead of me. In flickerstate, her manifestation towers, an infinite railroad branching as it ascends, looming over the beast, which pulses between families, classes, phyla of animal while it burrows into reality. Before I can try to demanifest the beast, Dr. Langmore’s rails light up with current.

The beast exits existence.

When I blink out of flickerstate, Dr. Langmore is glaring at us. “I said don’t move.”

Mom raises her chin. “My daughter was in danger.”

Dr. Langmore ignores her, looking hard at me. “What did theyteach you about beast-manifestation protocol at your Navigation Department?”

“Um.” I drop my eyes. “To freeze. Occlude.”

“And?”

“Wait for an experienced navigator to deal with it.”

“All right answers. Tell me, since you know the right answers, why did you move?”

Because Jo and the twins need one parent still alive if I can’t figure out how to cure my dad’s bites.“I’m sorry, I—”

“Any more demonstrations you’d like to give?”

Her tone is emotionless, but I can only interpret her words as sarcastic. “No,” I grit out.

“Then this interview is over. You may hear from us as early as next week. I can tell you now, in terms of raw aptitude, you’re an impressive young navigator—”

I smile on reflex.

“—but the Academy has very…particular criteria. If I were you, I’d look at other options. May I walk you back to the shuttle?”

Chapter Two

Mom and I don’t talk about what happened until we board the flight home. I’m in the window seat, oval glass separating me fromgray tarmac and pure blue sky. When I pull out the safety information card, Mom says quietly, “I won’t apologize for trying to protect you.”

I stare at the card, where a cartoon woman is putting on her oxygen mask before helping the kid beside her. “Let’s not talk about it.”

“I can’t believe Dr. Langmore would hold it against you.”

“Uh-huh,” I say. “I’ll transfer to a public school. And get a job.”

“Saint Cat’s financial aid—”

“Isn’t good enough. It’s not like a year of public school will kill me. After that, a state school will give me a full ride, or an Ivy will cough up enough need-based aid. I’ll be fine.”

“Why does it have to be you? Why not Jo?”

If I can’t find a cure for my possibility wound, I’ll be dead inten years at the outside. We should invest in Jo’s future, not mine, because mine may not exist. But I can’t tell Mom that. She’d lose it, right when Jo and the twins need her strong and steady. That’s why I’ve hidden my bite from everyone: One more blow, and my family will shatter completely.

The plane jolts under us. I focus on the lumbering beneath me and blink down tears prickling my eyes. “Remember when you brought Jo home from the hospital? You told me I had a baby sister now, so I had to be a big girl and take care of her. Here I am, being a big girl. Let me.”