Friday, June 15

  Home

  Mission: N/A

  20:47

  I knocked on the door.

  Dad opened it in pajamas and fuzzy slippers—which always concerned me. I stepped inside, drifted into the living room, and stared at the couch.

  Greg wasn’t there.

  Then the door to the left creaked and Greg popped out—meaning he’d just come from my backyard like a raccoon with a key.

  “Remember when we used to play on the swings back in fourth grade?” he asked.

  “I didn’t know you in fourth grade,” I said flatly.

  Greg chuckled, scratching the back of his head as he flopped onto the couch. “Yeah, I know, I know. Anyways—roster.”

  He pulled out his FMA tablet. After a series of swipes and aggressive taps that should’ve cracked the screen, he finally brought up a roster of students.

  I wasn’t sure what I expected, but they just looked like… people. Like another set of classmates.

  “Alright,” Greg said, turning the tablet toward me. “Anyone catch your eye?”

  He zoomed in on a profile. “This guy looks kinda cool.”

  I squinted.

  Messy black hair. Long face. Diamond jaw. Dim eyes like he was high 24/7. And a smile that looked like it was begging to be on a magazine cover.

  “Carlos Merendez,” I read. “Cool-looking guy.” I glanced up. “How many girls in the class?”

  “There’s twenty-five people total,” Greg muttered. “Although there’s literally fifty organizations.” He frowned. “I guess the others haven’t graduated into juniors yet.”

  “How much you wanna bet all of them fall for Carlos?” I asked.

  Greg stared at me, sighed, and shook his head. “Focusing on the wrong thing, Connor. Wrong thing.” Then he swiped. “Besides, there are other guys too. Like—look. Dylan Foreman.”

  Caucasian. Dirty blond hair, kind of like Mr. Drails’s—scruffled, but somehow organized. Freckles scattered near the tip of his nose. Eyes blue and sharp.

  “Now look at this,” Greg said, excited, clicking again. “Terrell Jackson. This guy should definitely be in Mageball.”

  He pulled up the profile: an African-American guy with short dreads, a lined-up beard, and those shiny-dot earrings that look like tiny stars in your earlobes.

  “Hmm,” I muttered. “Fair.”

  Greg kept swiping. “Not to mention, there’s probably multiple people that they’ll probably li—oh…”

  He paused.

  He clicked on a girl’s profile, and both of us went still.

  Soft black hair—clearly maintained like a daily ritual. Caramel-toned skin. Brown eyes that looked warm even through a digital screen. Lips naturally red. And a single black dot on the side of her face that—oddly—made the whole picture hit harder.

  “Tess… Rolandez,” Greg muttered, nodding in approval.

  He looked at me.

  I nodded too.

  But the question in my head wouldn’t shut up.

  “What about their Perks?” I asked. “That’s why we’re looking at the roster. Right?”

  “Yeah, yeah—you’re right.” Greg started digging through the profiles, but the more he swiped, the more his face fell. “I… I can’t find it,” he said. “I don’t see that information.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “I’m sorry?” I blinked.

  “It only shows what academy they’re from,” he said. “We’re going in blind.”

  I sighed and facepalmed. “What if someone’s power is making people spontaneously combust?”

  “Not much for them to learn in APCC then,” Greg replied.

  “Okay, but you said it yourself—they probably have some crazy Perks,” I argued. “What if somebody wants to wipe me—us—off the face of the earth?”

  Greg leaned back, unfazed. “Look at it this way: as much as we want to understand what we might be dealing with, we can’t.” He pointed at me like he was giving a commandment. “So don’t say anything.”

  I gave him a hard stare. “What does that even mean?”

  “Uh—‘don’t say anything.’ It’s self-explanatory,” Greg said. “If we don’t talk much, it’ll be harder to offend anyone. Sure, it’ll also be harder to make friends, but it’s not like we’re trying to.”

  I nodded slowly.

  Hate to admit it, but he was right on that part.

  Monday

  The last week of the school year rolled in, and somehow I found myself actually getting excited for camp.

  From what I’d heard, it sounded way more fun than whatever soap opera this year had been. Sports. Tents. Campfires. Leisure. Things that don’t involve getting almost murdered every other week.

  Mom found out—well, she asked first—so she went straight into over-preparation mode. Clothes were already being washed. Which made me wonder… do we even wear uniforms at camp?

  I walked downstairs and Mom called from the sofa near the front door, “How long ago did you get your toothbrush?”

  “Didn’t you take me?” I asked.

  She turned toward me, hair scattered, face scrunched like she was digging through old files in her brain. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. I think it was your dad.”

  I stared at the ceiling, and then it clicked.

  Dad took me to the dentist last month—when the dentist said I had four cavities on the bottom row. I still don’t know if that was real or just capitalism, because I floss, brush twice a day, and use mouthwash after.

  A dentist’s gotta keep his job, I guess.

  “Yeah,” I said. “He did last month.”

  “Okay, so your toothbrush doesn’t need changing,” Mom said, immediately switching topics like a professional. “How about your deodorant—”

  “It doesn’t start until next week, Mom,” I groaned.

  “I don’t care if it starts next year,” she snapped. “If your deodorant is running out, you change it. Is it running out?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Now what about—”

  I didn’t get to hear the rest.

  A portal ripped open beneath me.

  I dropped.

  Then landed—feet first, finally—right at the entrance of the school. Other students spawned behind me in blue flashes like someone was running a teleportation factory.

  I headed inside, and I swear I didn’t even make it to the cafeteria doors before someone stopped me.

  “Hey, Connor!”

  I turned.

  Jackson stood behind me, hand clamped on my shoulder, eyes sparkling like he’d been waiting all morning. “I’ve been running around the whole school for you. Where were you?” he demanded.

  “Here?” I said. “I just got here.”

  Jackson stepped back, head tilting with furrowed brows. “Oh.” Then he waved me forward. “Well, anyways—follow me. We got somethin’.”

  My eyes widened. “Something? What happened to Mageball?”

  “Nothing,” Jackson said. “But Mikey needs our help. Mike is kinda against it, but we do not abandon our brothers.”

  He walked faster, like this was a mission briefing.

  “Anyways,” he continued, “Mikey did this afterschool project with a girl. Since then, he’s been thinking about her, dreaming about her, talking about her… basically gushing.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So why can’t he just talk to her again?”

  “Because he’s Mikey,” Jackson replied. “Mikey can’t even effectively talk to a female teacher—let alone a girl he actually likes. So he needs all of us to assist him on his journey.”

  “All of us?” I repeated.

  “Yeah,” Jackson said. “Like I said—it’s Mikey. You don’t leave one person with the burden.”

  We reached the training center—basically a gym, except one side opened into a full virtual fighting zone, a.k.a. apply your magic skills or get humbled.

  Inside, a group stood in a circle like it was a timeout huddle.

  Tisiah. Mike. Mikey (of course). Danne. Andre. Malachi.

  “Guys,” Jackson announced, proud, “I finally found him.”

  They all looked up. Most of them seemed relieved.

  Andre and Danne looked like they’d been forced to attend.

  “Did we really have to wait for him?” Andre muttered.

  “Yeah,” Mikey said quickly. “I trust him. He’s dealt with plenty of them.”

  “One of ’em tried to kill him,” Danne said. “Still is. If anything, I have more experience with women. I get into them.”

  “What…?” Jackson muttered.

  I sighed and glanced at the floor like it would reveal a hidden sign telling me to leave.

  It didn’t.

  “So who’s the girl?” I asked, stepping closer.

  Their faces shifted—smiles, looks passed between each other, silent agreement—like they were about to show me a legendary pull.

  “Show him the picture,” Malachi said.

  Mikey nodded and handed me his phone.

  The second my eyes hit the screen, I froze.

  It made sense why they were all in unanimous agreement.

  It was Tess.

  But that wasn’t the real reason my stomach dropped.

  Because the person with the closest access to Tess was… me and Greg.

  Danne misread my expression instantly. “I don’t think she looks that pretty, Connor,” he said.

  “No, no, no,” I said quickly. “It’s not that. It’s just… I don’t know her.” I paused. “Yet.”

  Every face in the circle tightened.

  “What does that even mean?” Mike asked.

  I turned toward Tisiah, dragging him into the center of the spotlight. His head sank like he could already tell where this was going.

  “Tisiah,” I said, “remember that class I told you about?”

  “Yeah…” he muttered.

  “Well,” I said, holding up the phone like evidence, “Tess is in it.”

  The narrowed eyes around the circle widened into ballooned stares.