Page 96 of Flickerstate

“Nice coat,” I choke out.

He gets it. Iseehim get it. He stills, surprised. His gloved hands open and close, convulsively. I think, if I just stepped toward him—

Candace saves us from doing anything stupid. She whirls down the footpath exactly on time, all faux-shearling jacket and cashmere scarf and embroidered designer beanie, and says without preamble, “Youshowedme leaguing. But I was thinking about it all night, and I’m still not sure what leaguingis. So I’m going to need you to explain it in more detail.”

“Uh,” I say. Because, well. Leaguing is one thing, but explaining… I mean, in elementary school, I failed that classic assignment to write step-by-step instructions for assembling a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I got so annoyed considering the nitpicky steps my teacher might demand we include (Do I have to remind thesandwich maker to keep breathing? To keep standing? Wait, are they even standing, or are they sitting down to start? DoIdecide?) that I violently erased my entire anxious thirty-and-counting steps, scrawledJUST MAKE THE SANDWICH, YOU KNOW HOWacross the ruler-lined paper, and handed it in with a challenging scowl. Naturally, I spent the rest of the period in time-out, facing the wall, instructed to reconsider my bad attitude.

And that was a sandwich—not the weirdest, wildest, most widely considered impossible thing I’ve ever done.

I cast a beseeching look at Vik. Maybehecan step-by-step the impossible leaguing sandwich.

Our eyes lock. His expression mirrors mine: beseeching, dismayed.

The absurdity hits us. Eyes still locked, we start smiling, then laughing, at our shared helplessness.

After a minute, Vik gets a hold of himself and turns to Candace, who stands with her arms crossed, her platform oxford tap-tapping the ground, decidedly unamused by this little burst of hysterics. “Let’s say navigation is like driving a car,” he says. “If I channel to you, it’s like, instead of driving my own car, I drain the gas from my tank, pump it into your tank, and hop in your back seat. Then you drive away. We’re sharing gas, and we’re in the same car, but you’re the one who decides where we go.”

“Yes,” Candace says testily. “I have channeled. I understand channeling. Channeling is not the problem.”

“I’m just using it as a contrast case,” Vik says, not taking offense.“Because leaguing is like…we co-own a car. All our gas is in the same tank from the get-go. And when we drive, we’re both driving. Four hands on the wheel.”

“Here is where I run into problems with your analogy. With two drivers, how do you avoid jerking the wheel in two different directions and losing control of the car?”

Up to this point, counter to my usual bossy need to bust in and run any conversation that involves me, I’ve shut up and let Vik do the talking. The—ugh, I wish I could use another word, but—theintimacyof our laughter has shaken me. It’s one thing to admit to myself that, fine, I still find the blatantly hot guy attractive. It’s another thing to keep stumbling into the knowledge that I, a person built of sharp edges and friction, can slide so easily into sync with this one specific other person. But I can’t just stand around and freak out, leaving Vik alone to grope for a vocabulary of the inexpressible.

“When we league,” I say tentatively, “we don’t just share power. We share eyes.”

“Infinite eyes,” Vik murmurs.

“And not just eyes. A mind. Like we’re…surrendering our individual selves.”

He nods. “But the surrender leads tomorecontrol.”

“More control because we access this…unity. Unity of purpose, unity of power. Like…we-ness.”

Candace’s foot taps faster. An annoyed sigh hums in her throat.

I cringe a little. I mean, I get it. The girl finds rhythmicbreathing too woo. I can’t expect her to embraceYeah, if you could grow metaphorical infinite eyes, that would be great.“That might have been too vague,” I admit.

“You think,” she says.

“What about this. We already told you that the first time we leagued, it was an accident. We’d miscommunicated. I thought Vik wanted me to channel him all my nav. So I tried to. But he tried to channel me allhisnav at the same time. When the channels crashed into each other, the impact created this…fusion. And we leagued. So maybe, instead of trying to league, you and I should try that.”

Candace’s foot stops tapping. “I channel to you, you channel to me? Sure. That I understand how to do.”

I prop my phone against a rock, flashlight gleaming on our various footwear, and—after an obvious, awkward hesitation—extend my hand to her.

She takes it firmly and lowers her eyebrows at me:I’m over the fight. I won’t bite you; get out of your feelings and let’s do this.

“Right,” I say. “Um. Three, two, one—”

I hit the ground face-first, grass and blood in my mouth, night in my eyes as my flailing foot kicks over my propped-up phone.

Beside me, Candace retches dryly. “Well,” she gasps, “that didn’t work.”

I spit blood onto some dead leaves and gasp back, “Now try it with Vik.”

“Why would I do that?”