Pivot Point (Pivot Point #1)

Pivot Point (Pivot Point #1) Page 22

“No. I was about to let her in before she messed up my hair.”

“Sorry, he’s just so cute.”

Trevor laughs. “Addison, this is Brody.”

“She said her name was Addie,” Brody accuses.

“Only special people can call her that.”

“Like who, her boyfriend?” Brody asks.

I stare at Trevor, surprised at his reasoning. Here I thought he didn’t realize Addie was my nickname, when really he just felt he hadn’t earned the right to use it. It takes me a moment to notice he’s staring back with his normal casual expression that seems to portray more than laid-backness in that moment. But what, exactly, I can’t decide. Embarrassment? Amusement? I look away first, remembering Brody’s question and now feeling awkward that I had locked eyes with Trevor after Brody’s mention of a boyfriend. “Exactly, only my boyfriend,” I say, looking at Brody. “So will you start calling me that?”

“Ew. No.” He runs away.

My cheeks heat up, and I don’t know why. I try to talk my way through it, hoping Trevor won’t notice. “He’s adorable. I could squeeze him all day long.”

“When he was three, he might’ve let you. But he’s a tough eight-year-old now. Girls are disgusting.”

“I know, they are.”

“Did you want to come in or just hang out on my porch all night?”

He leads me into a room with a pool table and a couple of couches. A television is mounted to the wall, and a couple guys stand in front of it, pointing remotes at the screen. I’ve heard about Norm video games, but it’s funny to see one in person. These guys would die to play the virtual-reality games in the Compound—no remotes required.

I can see why Trevor’s friends hang out here a lot—it’s like a rec room. Lisa and Brandon sit on a couch drinking sodas, and Rowan and Daniel play a game of pool. Rowan looks up when I walk in, and I feel guilty. He probably hates me after Trevor told him I wasn’t interested. But if he does, it doesn’t show.

He smiles and waves. “You want to play the winner, Addie?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Now I have some motivation to beat you, Daniel,” Rowan says.

My head immediately whips over to Trevor. “I promise I told him,” he says quietly. “He’s just persistent. He thinks he can wear people down.”

“So is that why—”

“No,” he interrupts, “that’s not why I invited you tonight.”

“It better not be, or you would be on my list.”

“What list is that?”

“People-to-kill-when-I-gain-superpowers list.”

“How many people are on that list?” he asks.

“You’d be the first.”

He laughs. “Nice.” He gestures toward a table in the corner where food is laid out, and I follow him there. “What would your superpower be?” He grabs a handful of chips and eases into a chair.

Even though I’m the one who brought it up, the question catches me off guard. “I’d, uh …”

“Bore people to death with your knowledge of ancient literature?” he offers.

I pick up a chip and throw it at his face. “Shut up. No. I would definitely have Telekinesis.”

“You’d want to read people’s minds?”

“No, that’s Telepathy. I’d want to move things with my mind.”

“Yeah, I guess that would be pretty cool. I was referring to real superpowers though, like flying or superstrength.”

I’m sort of offended but can’t show it, or he’d wonder why. “You don’t think mind powers are extraordinary?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So if you could have a mind power, which one would you want?” I ask, curious.

“I’d want to be able to tell the future.”

I curl my lip. “It’s not that great.”

“Are you judging my fake superpower?”

“No, it was a good try, but it’s not the best one.” Not even close.

He throws a chip back at me, and it bounces off my cheek. “Well, it’s the one I want. Then I could warn you that Rowan is heading your way and will reach the table in approximately three seconds.”

I take a handful of chips and shove them into my mouth.

“Addie, I won. Your turn to get crushed,” Rowan says.

I turn and point at my mouth. “I’m eating. I’ll be right there,” I say through my mouthful, but I can tell he doesn’t understand me because his brows go down and he leans closer. I scoot back.

“Give her a sec, Rowan. She’s eating,” Trevor says.

“Okay, I’ll be waiting over there.”

The chips scratch my throat going down, and I cough. “Thanks.”

“If you don’t like Rowan so much, why did you come?”

“Because you’re my only friend.” I point at myself and say, “New girl here.”

“So when you find some new friends, you’re bailing on me?”

“Probably.” I have to shield my face as a handful of chips fly at me. “Hey, do me a big favor? Will you hang out with Rowan and me while we play pool? Just pretend you’re watching. The last thing I need is for him to try to teach me how to play or something.”

“Sure thing.”

The first half of the game goes smoothly, with Trevor acting as my buffer. It’s actually pretty fun. We laugh and joke around, and for the first time since moving here I feel like maybe I’m part of this group, not an outsider. Rowan is on pretty good behavior tonight too, not extra flirty. Just when I start to think I belong here, Stephanie walks into the room. She takes in the scene, then slowly walks to the food table. When she sits down, she says, “Trevor, can I talk to you?”

He looks to her, then back to me. “You’re good now, right?” he whispers, and starts to walk away.

“You are officially on the list. Just wait until my superpowers come.”

He turns and smiles that amazing smile. “First zombies, now superpowers. I think you actually might be trying to kill me off.” But he doesn’t stop and joins Stephanie at the table.

“He is still so whipped,” Rowan says. He takes a few steps toward me, and I grab my pool stick and put the table between us, pretending to study the ball positions.

“Do you like him?” Rowan asks.

The change in his tone surprises me. It went from player to nice guy with the single question. “Trevor?”

“Yeah.”

“No, we’re just friends.” I think I’m being truthful, but Rowan raises an eyebrow like he’s suddenly gained the ability to detect lies and he finds my answer false.

“Then what is it about me that you don’t like?” he asks.

“Honestly?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You come on too strong, very touchy. It’s uncomfortable. And you remind me of this not-very-nice guy from back home.”

“That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not. But just this conversation is making you less like him. This is what girls like, sincerity and honesty.”

“So you’re saying you like me now?” he says, his cocky smirk coming back onto his face. I sigh, but then he adds, “Just kidding.”

I laugh. “Good. Now whose turn is it?”

“It’s mine.”

He hits a blue ball into the corner pocket.

I pick up the square piece of chalk and twist it between my thumb and forefinger, my gaze drifting to Trevor and Stephanie. She has a sour expression on her face (surprise, surprise) and is talking with big hand gestures. Trevor is staring at the chip bowl, his normal relaxed posture replaced by a rigid back and tightened jaw. Are all relationships just a series of fights strung together?

I’ve never had a boyfriend and have kissed only one boy, not counting Searches. Joey Turner. I met him at the bookstore when I was fourteen and assumed we were made for each other, brought together by our common love of books. Turned out his mom had dragged him to the bookstore. Of course, I didn’t find out any of this until several days and several kissing sessions later.

“For what it’s worth,” Rowan says, standing by my shoulder and bringing me out of my memory, “he seems much happier since you’ve started coming around.”

“What? Who?”

He nods his head toward Trevor. Obviously I had been caught staring. “This last year has been hard on him. With his shoulder and everything. Then you show up and … I haven’t seen him smile and laugh so much in a long time.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

I smile. I’m glad Trevor enjoys himself around me, because I enjoy being around him too.

Rowan lines up his next hit, and I ask, “So all these injured players you’ve been telling Trevor about, did they all get injured while playing the same school—Lincoln High?”

“Yes. That’s why it’s so suspicious. Am I the only one who finds that suspicious?” he asks the ceiling.

“No. It’s definitely odd.” That confirms it for me—some football players at my old school are purposefully thinning the competition. But who? Is it the whole team or just a few rotten players? It’s one thing to use powers to do better at something, like Laila had said, but to me it’s completely different to get ahead by hurting someone else.

A few more people show up during our game. Rowan does end up crushing me, but at least he doesn’t try to give me a conciliatory hug.

“Do you know where the bathroom is?” I ask Rowan.

“Yes.” He points. “It’s down the hall, third door on the right.”

“Thanks.”

On my way back from the bathroom, the sound of someone humming the theme song to Star Wars comes out of a slightly open door on my right. I peek in and see Trevor’s little brother, Brody, sitting on his bed looking at a book. The door creaks a little when I bump against it, and Brody stops humming and looks up.

“Hi, again,” I say. “What are you reading?”

“Star Wars comics.” He holds up the book.

“Awesome. That’s Episode One, right? Have you gotten to the part where Anakin enters the race yet?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “I just passed that.”

“Can I look and see what else you have?” I point to a bookcase in the corner.

“Sure.”

The bookcase is a disorganized array of graphic novels. Some are stacked sideways, others with their bindings toward the back. The sideways ones are one thing, but bare pages to the front make my teeth hurt. I turn several around. There are a few books I’ve had my eye on so I take them out and study the covers. “Are these any good?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t read those. You should ask Trevor. They’re his.”

I pause halfway through flipping a page. “Oh, is this Trevor’s room?”

“Yeah, I come in here to read his comics.”

I look around and realize it’s nothing like an eight-year-old’s room. There’s a large bed with dark bedding against one wall, a desk topped with stacks of paper against another, and several pairs of big shoes spilling out of a messy closet—the boy needs some serious organizational intervention. I put back the books in my hands, resisting the strong urge to organize them. On the wall above his bed is a large eye painted in shades of black and red. The pupil has the scene of a city in it. “That’s cool.”