Natalie Whipple: Blindsided

The goalie always tenses when I approach, which makes me smile because I know I’ll score before I’ve even kicked the ball. She can’t see my eyes, can’t anticipate my moves, and it turns out this makes me an excellent soccer player. I aim for the low right corner—the ball zings by her before she can lunge for it.

“Curse you, Fiona!” She bites back a smile. “If you weren’t on my team, I’d hate you so much.”

“Guess it’s good I am then,” I say as she kicks the ball back to me. Stopping it, I tap it back and forth between my feet like Seth taught me.

One of our defenders joins in the conversation. “We might have a chance at winning this year. It’s so hard to compete when we don’t have enough gifted players to make a whole team.”

“It’ll still be fun, though. All the schools we’re playing have just as few.” I roll the ball onto my foot and pop it into the air, trying to juggle it from knee to knee. It doesn’t work so well. Since I haven’t been playing long, I’m still struggling to visualize where my knees would be between my shorts and shin guards.

A midfielder laughs as she calls, “For someone with a killer instinct on the field, you sure are relaxed about the competition!”

I laugh. “Maybe I’m just that good.”

Or I’m enjoying the fact that all I have to worry about is my grades and soccer. That’s nothing in comparison to my old life, where every day I had to stress about what my syndicate-boss father would make me steal next. The three months since I made that deal—Dad leaves us alone, and Miles, who managed to imitate Dad’s mind-controlling scent, won’t share it with the world—have been the best of my whole life.

The goalie snatches the ball from me, a mock glare on her face. “It’s annoying that I can’t argue with that, seeing as you’ve only been playing for a few months and you rock.”

“I have a good teacher.” I grin like an idiot at the thought of all the hours I’ve spent with Seth because of soccer.

“True.” The defender sighs, looking over to the adjacent field where the boys practice. Seth and Hector pass the ball back and forth as they run across the field. Their timing is perfect, since Hector’s sensitive hearing means he can hear any whispered directions. “Sometimes I can’t believe Seth isn’t gifted with perfect aim, because I swear he never misses.”

“He’s just an obsessive practicer.” I’m glad none of them can see my face, because I must look like I’m lying. Seth may not have perfect aim, but he does have perfect vision—more than perfect, since it’s so sharp he can see through things. Even my invisibility. And nobody knows about it.

“Girls! Ten laps and you’re done!” Coach Ford’s low, booming voice spreads over the field before she moves on to the boys. The other girls groan, but I happily jog with them. I’m not sure I’ll ever get enough of running.

About five laps in, someone whistles long and sharp on the boys’ team. Carlos. Ever since practices started, he’s gloated about being starting goalie as a sophomore. Like this is supposed to impress me enough to break up with Seth and “realize the error of my ways,” as he always tells me. He cups his hands around his mouth. “Looking good, Fiona!”

Hector and Seth both kick soccer balls at him, which causes the rest of the team to join in. Seth looks right at me, his eyes seeing all my post-practice grime. He says he thinks it’s hot that I’m athletic, but I’m still not sure I look hot. He’ll never give me a straight answer, like any good boyfriend, though it drives me crazy.

As I pack up my things to go, I notice some of my team members huddled together, whispering. Not in a gossipy way—they all seem nervous, maybe even scared. I follow their glances and see a man standing in the bleachers. And he’s watching me. For how long, I don’t know.

He’s too far away to see clearly. All I can make out is long hair, a ridiculously thin frame, and black marks on his arms that I’m pretty sure are tattoos. I try not to jump to conclusions, but the way my team is freaking out puts me on edge.

I head over to them to ask, “Who’s that guy in the bleachers?”

They stare at me like I’m suddenly visible. The other striker clears her throat. “Uh, we gotta go, Fi. You probably should, too, okay?”

They run off before I can ask more questions. Clearly everyone’s afraid of that guy, so I’m guessing those tattoos are probably jaguars.

Which means he’s from Juan’s syndicate.

A chill runs down my spine. So far Juan Torres hasn’t stirred up any trouble with my mom and me, but I’ve always wondered how long that would last.

I look back up to the bleachers to see if I can get a better visual, and the guy is gone. I stare at the spot he was standing in, wondering how I didn’t catch him leaving. I only looked away for a moment. He can’t have just disappeared—I should know. But he must have an ability dangerous enough to clear a field in seconds.

Hands come down on my shoulders, and I let out a little scream. Could that guy be a teleporter?

Seth laughs. “Jumpy today, are we?”

I turn around and smack his arm. “Don’t do that! I thought you were…never mind.”

His brow furrows. Sometimes I hate that he can see my expressions—especially because I can’t. There’s no hiding from him. He says in a low voice, “You look seriously scared. Did something happen?”

I look into his blue eyes, knowing it’s pointless to lie. “There was a guy in the bleachers. He had big black tattoos, and the other girls freaked out and left without telling me who it was. Then when I looked back he was gone.”

“Shit. Definitely one of Juan’s guys—they show up every now and then.” Seth goes into full worry mode. “So he saw you?”

“Pretty sure he was looking right at me.”

Seth chews on his fingernail, thinking. “Hector, wrap it up, we gotta go.”

Even though Hector is a field away, he calls the boys’ team in and they start packing up their stuff. He and Carlos are by our sides in under a minute.

“What’s up?” Hector asks as he puts his earplugs back in. His ears hurt if he doesn’t wear them most of the time, but he always takes them out for soccer. “We haven’t done laps yet.”

“One of Juan’s guys was here,” Seth says.

Carlos cringes. “Back on the rounds again, huh? Better tell Dad to get the money ready.”

“You think he was here for that? Not me?” I ask.

Hector shrugs. “They show up every six months or so, bleed the gifted families dry, make threats. Not saying you’re safe, but whoever it was probably didn’t come here for you, you know?”

I take a deep breath, but it doesn’t quite calm my nerves. “It’ll take a lot of money for Juan to ignore me.”

“Let’s not think about this right now. We should get out of here.” Seth puts his hand on my shoulder and follows my arm until his fingers are laced with mine. Little things like that remind me how careful we need to be about keeping his real ability secret—it can be hard to remember when I’m so used to him seeing me.

We walk towards his beat-up black truck. Hector and Carlos climb into the bed, and I take the passenger side.

Seth’s knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel, and when I put my hand on his knee he’s the one jumping. “Sorry, Fi, but I’m freaking out here.”

“We knew this could happen.” I try to sound calm. Mom and I might be out of my dad’s control, but being safe from every syndicate is impossible. “My mom’s been saving — we’re prepared.”