Tempest (#1 Destroyers Series) (8 page)

A case of beakers had tipped on a nearby
counter and shattered. The floor was a mess: papers, water, and
bowls everywhere. The blinds hung in a tangled mess on the other
side of the room. At the next table, a girl held her hip as tears
formed in her eyes.

Janelle's stomach threatened to lose its
contents. The panic rose up her throat, and she couldn't swallow it
back down. Now wasn't the time to break down in front of all these
strangers.

“Uh…Mrs. Vanderson? Can I go to the office? I
don’t feel well and I kind of need to dry off.” She had to leave.
Now. Even if she got busted for skipping the rest of class.

The teacher studied Janelle’s clothes. “Go
ahead. At least go dry yourself off. I think we’ll just be doing
some reading today, anyway.” She picked up the fallen chair,
muttering something.

Janelle made her way for the door. Nervous
chatter surrounded her. No one stared in her direction, but that
didn't stop a prickling sensation from crawling up her back, like
someone had a camera trained on her. Out. She had to get out.

The hall was empty. Good. She hugged herself
and leaned against the lockers. It hurt to swallow over the lump
that had formed in her throat.

That cruel voice invaded her head again.
Didn’t that look a bit familiar?

Gary’s guardian had also made a mysterious
wind kick up, only on purpose.

Ice flowed through Janelle’s veins. No. She
wasn’t like that woman. Gary's guardian could roar words and who
knew what else.

A strangled cry escaped her throat. Janelle
ran into a bathroom, glad that no one could see, and unrolled a
handful of paper towels to soak the water off her shirt. Another
little tingle shot through her body as she pressed the wet clothes
against her skin, but this one faded a second later.

Something clicked.

Ocean water. Somehow the ocean water had set
off her reaction—a reaction that could’ve hurt somebody. Tap water
had never done this. Neither had lake water. Nothing anything like
this had happened before she’d moved here.

Janelle stared at her reflection. Blond
strands stood up everywhere from the windstorm and her eyes stared
back, huge. The girl in the mirror wasn't the calm, collected one
who had watched her house in Flint disappear behind her for the
last time. It might have been the light, but even the blue of her
eyes seemed to have deepened to an ominous gray. She was something
different, someone new.

But who, exactly?

She wanted to run home and let that new
person take over. Beg, scream, and cry until her dad moved them
back to Michigan.

And do you think he will? He
knows
you’re not normal.

"Shut up," she muttered. After splashing cold
water on her face, Janelle grabbed the edges of the basin with
trembling hands and stared down at the water swirling into the
drain. It sparkled like the vortex that Gary had appeared out of.
Like the ocean her father forbade her to go near this week.

She let go and made her way to the office.
With a gentle nudge, she opened the door. It stayed on its hinges,
letting her breathe a sigh of relief. Nobody else needed to see her
freak powers.

Mr. Deville leaned against an empty
workstation, chatting with a man that was probably the principal.
He turned to face her as she walked in.

“I don’t feel the greatest. Is there anywhere
I can lie down for a while?” Janelle kept her gaze fixed on the
nearest desk. It was best not to look all freaked out in front of
these people.

“Um…there’s a sick room right over there.”
Mr. Deville pointed to the back of the office. “If you feel like
you’ve got to go home by one-thirty or so, let someone know. Who
sent you?”

“Mrs. Vanderson,” Janelle said in the lowest
voice she could. The way things were going, she’d start roaring her
sentences next.

The sick room had a long examining table and
an ugly plastic plant in the corner. The paper crinkled as she sat
on the table. She kicked her feet, watching them go back and forth.
She had to think. There was no way her dad would move back to
Flint. Nobody who wanted to have a job and pay their bills did.
Maybe she could talk him into moving inland, as far from the ocean
as they could get. Her father could still go to his job, and she'd
never have to worry about having this weird reaction again. They'd
both win, provided he even wanted to listen to her. Or would he
just go hide in his study again, like he had that entire week?

The reassuring father who'd driven them out
of Flint seemed to be gone, too. The fact settled in her like a
stone as she leaned against the wall, studying a crack near the
ceiling. Janelle watched, it seemed to open up a bit more and grow
larger.

Phones rang outside the door and Mr. Deville
talked about coaching football—normal stuff—as she focused on her
breathing. The words blurred into the background until the door to
the office squeaked open.

Mr. Deville went silent as if the President
had walked into the room.

“Excuse me,” said Gary’s guardian. “I’m
looking for a student. I’m not sure what her last name is now, but
I know she must be going to a school around here. Her name is
Janelle.”

Silence. A fist of horror squeezed at her
heart. Janelle lifted her leaden body off the exam table, careful
not to make the paper on it crinkle again. It didn't, but the sick
room door gaped open like a giant mouth, threatening to give her
away. Should she close it? No. She’d draw attention to herself.

Gary’s guardian continued as if it were
perfectly legal to breeze into a school and ask about students. Her
voice dripped with a fake candy coating. “She’s sixteen now. Born
on the seventeenth of August. I’m a relative and I haven’t seen her
in years. If you’d allow me to explain, I'm sure you'd—”

The principal cleared his throat. “You’re
family and you don’t know her last name? I'm sorry, but that's not
flying with me. Also, Ma'am, it's our policy not to give out
information on our students. You need to be authorized by her
parents or legal guardians if you’re wanting to visit. If you want,
we can call her parents and get permission. What’s your name?”

Janelle stiffened. This woman
knew her
birthday.
She felt invaded, watched, like a lab mouse in a
maze. What else did she know?

The woman whispered something and took a few
steps closer to the sick room. “You’re a teacher. You’ll certainly
be helpful and tell me if there are any students named Janelle in
your classes?”

Janelle muttered a curse as panic surged into
her chest. She must be talking to Mr. Deville. He’d taken her name
earlier, so he only had to march over here and say
here you
go.
Please,
she prayed, drumming her fingers on her
jeans. Her vision wavered as she held her breath, not daring to
exhale.

“Not that I’m aware of, Ma’am.” Mr. Deville
said at last. “And even if I did, it wouldn’t stick out to me. I
have over a hundred students a day.”

Thank you, thank you!
Janelle sagged
against the table and exhaled as quietly as she could.

“Your name, Ma’am,” the principal said.

“Okay. I’ll go,” the woman snapped, the
sunshine in her voice replaced with a faint, rolling thunder. The
double doors squeaked again. “Why are all these mainland schools so
difficult?” Her high heels clicked all the way down the hall as she
departed.

Janelle strained her ears. There were no
blasts of wind. No roars. She grasped the cold table and urged her
heart to slow back to normal as the two men in the office conversed
like spies. She would have to make her teacher some cookies, maybe
even a cake, for that. Heck, she might even buy him some flowers to
put on top of it.

Mr. Deville pushed the sick room door all the
way open with a thud, sticking his bald head in. His face had
turned into a mask of concern, real concern that reminded her of
her dad before the move. “You know that woman who just came here? I
hope not, for your sake.”

She shook her head and forced a smile. “Can I
go to my sixth hour? I feel better now.” Big lie, but between the
roaring woman and Trig, Trig sounded a lot less scary.

“You can go when the bell rings,” Mr. Deville
said. “I want to be sure she’s gone before you go out in those
halls.”

* * * * *

“Getting all excited for the vacation?” her
father asked the next morning, slapping some toast down onto a
plate. Sunlight and the aroma of breakfast filled the kitchen.

“Yeah. I can’t wait to get out of here.”
For more reasons than you know,
she thought. She hadn’t told
him anything about yesterday, except for the
I have this
teacher, I have that class
parts. How would he take the news
about that woman coming to look for her? Probably like every other
weird question she'd had: by going into the computer room and
closing the door or changing the subject.

And if she told, he'd know she'd gone back up
to the hospital without permission.

Janelle fidgeted on the seat cushion. Her
stomach rolled, urging her to spill everything.

I can't. I just can't.

The words repeated themselves in her head,
mirroring her father's from his phone conversation. It seemed that
both of them were hiding fear under breakfast and work, and the
walls showed no sign of coming down.

So instead, Janelle poked at the keys on her
new phone, putting Leslie’s street and zip code into its address
book. Maybe she should say something; it was the right thing to do.
But before she could open her mouth, he piped up again.

“It’ll be a spectacular trip. You’ll never
forget it.” Her dad sipped his steaming coffee. “Start telling your
teachers today so they can give you stuff to catch up on before we
leave. You won’t feel like homework right after you get back.”

With his words lingering in the back of her
mind, Janelle picked up her huge backpack and made her way out the
door. It felt light. Full of air, definitely not like it contained
a ton of homework. In all the excitement of yesterday, she hadn’t
noticed.

Once on the bus, she set her backpack on the
floor and unzipped it. Literature, Geography, and Trig—those were
not
light books. This should have broken her back with all
the weight it had.

Grasping one of the handles and making sure
that no one was looking, Janelle flexed her wrist to lift the
backpack. It came off the floor with all the ease of an empty
plastic bag. No weight seemed to tug down on her forearm.

Freak.

Janelle put the backpack down with a thud and
leaned against the bus window. The gift shop door, that little
kid’s arm…and now this. It couldn’t be. She had truly left that
other life behind when she'd moved. But for what?

The bus came to a squeaky stop to let someone
else on. She stiffened and let a storm of anger wash through her.
This was it. She deserved some answers, and she ought to demand
them out of her father after school. No more of this wondering. No
more of her being quiet. She’d rip the door off his study if she
had to. If she had to be a freak, she might as well get the full
benefit of it.

The day blurred past. Piles of worksheets,
mountains of book assignments, and masses of study materials filled
her backpack. Her head started to pound by lunch and only let up
when Mrs. Vanderson announced that she wasn’t trying the sea water
experiment again.

When the last bell rang through the halls,
Janelle told Serena she’d catch the bus home and try to start her
massive amount of homework on it. Serena took one glance at
Janelle’s folder—which looked ready to explode—and bought it.

Janelle walked out into the hot sun with her
head down, scraping her shoes on the concrete. She needed to think
about how to confront her dad, and Serena couldn't help her with
that.

“Hi, Janelle.”

“Huh?” She spun around.

A youth of about sixteen leaned against the
brick wall of the school, black bangs hanging in his face. A bit of
stubble had appeared on his chin, his skin seemed a bit tighter
around his cheekbones, and he now wore a gray shirt instead of a
purple one, but the same freckle stood out on his nose.

“Gary,” Janelle exhaled. He'd returned, one
week later. Now she wouldn’t have to confront her dad. “You’ve got
no idea what a relief this is.”

“Relief?” Unsmiling, he peeled himself from
the building. “Uh, I bet you’re wondering what the hell’s wrong
with you by now. What have you noticed so far?”

The buses waited, rumbling near the front of
the school. Screw them. She could walk home, since it wasn't that
far to begin with. “Okay. This is going to sound stupid. But I need
to talk to you.”

“I kind of figured that. Nobody’s walking
home with you?” His eyes were searching as he studied his
surroundings.

“No. I’ll call my dad and tell him I’m going
to Serena’s to do homework, so I don’t get his wrath for being
late.” Janelle barely heard her own words as she plucked out her
phone and made the call. Her voice must not have matched her racing
heartbeat and tingling palms, because her father agreed to it
without any questions.

Gary studied the pavement as they left the
school behind them and turned down a residential street. Music
boomed out of passing cars and faded in the distance.

Sweat gathered on the back of Janelle’s neck
in the hot sun and her palms itched with nerves. Where to start?
Now that she had all of her answers--well, maybe--walking beside
her, she didn’t know what to say. Since Gary had bailed out of
Serena's car, she hadn't rehearsed any questions. “Well, how’d you
find me?”

“I’ve been wandering around for a week now,”
he said, hazel eyes locked on hers. “You told me you lived in Palm
Grove, so this had to be your school. I saw you leave yesterday,
but I couldn’t come out and talk to you with that Serena girl
driving you home.”