Natalie Whipple: Blindsided

“East isn’t much better.”

“Nope.” The Midwest is no-man’s-land, filled with roving gangs trying to build enough following to grow into a real syndicate. The Northeast belongs to Walter Barrington, who can erase memories. And the South is home to Maude Thomas, who some say is immortal but no one really knows.

“We’d have to start over and over. Forever.” Mom’s voice is sad, and I wonder if she just wants a home like I do. Why is that so much to ask? “There’s no way we could get overseas with our abilities and no syndicate help. Not that international syndicates are any better.”

“There’s nowhere to run,” I whisper. Maybe we got away from Dad, but that doesn’t change the reality for all ultra-gifted people—everyone’s looking to use you, and tools like me and Mom are priceless. “We don’t have anything else we can strike a deal with?”

“Oh, sure we do. We could trade contract jobs, or there’s always selling out Miles’ scent-replicating ability to take down your father. You know how much your dad and Juan hate each other. Juan would definitely go for that.” Her eyes get that glint in them. “Or wait, did you mean non-horrible options?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, preferably.”

“No, we don’t have any of those.”

“Awesome.” I pull out my phone and start typing.

Mom tries to look at the screen, but I angle it away from her. “Who’re you texting?”

“Seth. He was gonna come over tonight, but I figure he shouldn’t if a bunch of thugs might show up.” I hit send, bummed that I can’t see him at least one more time before all this goes down.

“You blamed it on me, didn’t you?”

“No!” I scoff, though she’s totally right. I said she wanted “mother daughter time,” which is kind of what we’re doing anyway. We wait in the quiet, my ears straining to hear anything that might signal an ambush.

Three days go by, and no one comes to force us to work for Juan. But that doesn’t stop me from worrying, because his men are everywhere. They stand outside the school and eat at the diner and loiter in the parks. All they do is watch, while everyone in town squirms and tries to pretend they’re not there.

As The Pack and I take our usual courtyard table at lunch, the warm air feels heavy with fear. The sun might be shining, but it may as well be gray and cloudy with how everyone acts. People don’t chat and laugh, but instead look over their shoulders while they whisper conversations.

“This is weird,” I say as I sit by Seth.

“It really is.” Brady claims the seat opposite me, eyeing the crowd of students. “Have you noticed that with every day Juan’s people stick around, everyone seems to sit closer and closer to us? Or is that just me?”

“Not just you, bro,” Carlos says. “Pretty sure they think it’ll be safer to be next to the gifted kids if a fight starts.”

“Talk about tables turning.” Bea slides in next to Brady, glancing at the other tables with annoyance. “Hate on us for years, label us as The Pack because our abilities are stronger, but when things go bad we’re suddenly the coolest people around?”

“It’s kind of suffocating,” Seth admits. He’s always been a loner, and even needs his space from me sometimes.

“At least my ears aren’t killing me,” Hector says through a mouthful of hamburger. “I might even be able to take out my plugs if people keep being so quiet.”

“Well, as long as you’re happy,” Bea says. “So what if the town is crawling with thugs and no one knows why? Hector’s ears don’t hurt!”

Hector blinks a few times. “Sorry for finding a silver lining.”

“That’s one thin silver lining, dude,” Carlos adds. “Especially when my Fiona could be in serious danger.”

I groan. “If you keep talking like that I hope I do get kidnapped.”

Carlos pouts. “Why are you so mean to me?”

“Because…” Seth grabs me by the waist. “She’s taken.”

“And it’s fun,” I add.

Seth laughs and kisses my cheek, to which Carlos makes a gagging sound as usual. I wish he’d stop, because I can’t help being invisible. It probably wouldn’t look half as weird if Seth wasn’t “kissing air.” What I’d give to be visible in moments like this.

Someone clears their throat behind me, and I turn to find a few students I don’t know. I think they might be freshmen. “Hey, Fiona. What’s up?”

“Um, nothing?” I look around our table, wondering if the rest of The Pack is weirded out by this. Seems they are. “Do you need something?”

“We just…wanted to ask you a question,” one of the girls says, looking from side to side like her backup might flee at any second.

“About what?”

The teal-haired girl practically shakes, and I can’t tell if it’s because of me or not. “Do you maybe know what’s going on with all the guys in town?”

I bite my lip, unsure of what to say. She’s asking because I’m syndicate-born, as if that makes me the expert on all criminal activity. “Why are you asking me?”

Her teal eyebrows pop up. “I…um…”

“Chill, Fi.” Bea nudges my shoulder, her expression seeming to beg me to be nice to the little freshman. “She’s not blaming you—we’re all looking for someone who might have answers, you know?”

“We know you’re cool,” another girl with an abnormally small nose says. “But my parents are freaking out, and…well, they told me to ask if you recognized this kind of behavior. It’s like they’re standing guard, but why?”

Bea sighs, seeming to take pity on these normal girls despite her complaining a second ago. “No one’s even come to take our money,” she says. “We wait every night, but then nothing.”

“Same here,” I say, the weight of waiting feeling heavier each day. From the little I’ve dared to watch Juan’s men, it does seem like they’re staking out Madison. I wouldn’t be surprised if they set up a border soon, there’s so many thugs. It doesn’t make sense. “I wish I knew, but I don’t.”

A scrawny boy steps forward. “My parents are this close to pooling money for a vigilante group. It sounds like they should.”

I barely restrain my groan. “Seriously?”

“Mine were thinking The Triumvirate,” the teal-haired girl says. “Or The Freedom Squad.”

“Huh, we thought maybe Fighters For Peace.” The boy’s face is way too serious, and for the first time in my life I realize less gifted people might actually take those idiots seriously.

The girl claps her hands together. “Oh, yeah! I’ve heard good things—”

“Guys, stop,” I say, unable to let this continue. “I may not know why Juan’s people are here, but I do know you shouldn’t waste your money on vigilante protection.”

The girl frowns. “Why not?”

“Because they way overcharge for their services, and they use Radiasure just as much as the syndicates.”

The boy’s eyes bug out. “No way! They fight for good.”

I shake my head. “And how can they compete with syndicates who use enhancement drugs constantly? They might have different motives, but every group in power gets what they want the same way. Vigilantes follow their own rules, kill people, take Radiasure—they justify it because they see themselves as saviors. They’re con artists at best, gangs at worst. And do you know what Radiasure does to you when you use it like that?”

They shake their heads.

“It exaggerates your ability, right? Well, you get addicted to that feeling—of being more powerful—and when your body doesn’t have Radiasure it hurts . The worst addicts go crazy from messing with their genes so much. Then they die. You want those kinds of ‘vigilantes’ taking your money?”