“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.
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.”