Earthbound

before Benson can say anything. “She wasn’t like Reese at all. I talked to her like six times. There’s no way it was Reese. Or Elizabeth. She was kind of cutesy and peppy, like a cheerleader. Like … like …” Like Barbie. Like Secretary Barbie. Who does her best never to talk to me, who’s hardly ever there even when I have an appointment.

My heart is pounding in my ears.

One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.

“It was all fake,” I say, my voice shallow and strained. “Why … why would they do that?”

I hear Benson breathe in and out slowly a few times. “I’ve been thinking about this.”

“You knew?” I almost shout.

“No, no,” Benson says, his hands coming to my arms, rubbing up and down to calm me. “I didn’t know about the school thing. I mean I’ve been thinking about the whole plane thing, in light of everything else that’s happened.”

“And?” I say after the silence grows heavy.

“I hate to bring this up, I mean, I’m sure it’s still kind of fresh and all, but maybe … maybe you being in a plane wreck isn’t a coincidence.”

“What do you mean? Like someone—” But the words are hardly out of my mouth when I realize what he’s implying. “No,” I whisper. “No way.”

“Tavia, with everything that’s happened, you have to at least consider it.”

Despair rips through me. “No. No! I am not important enough for someone to bring down an entire plane! Do you know how many people were on that flight?” I’m managing to not yell, but only just.

“Two hundred and fifty-six,” Benson whispers. Of course he looked it up.

“It was an accident.” The words are shaky as they wisp from my mouth.

Benson is quiet, but his eyes don’t leave mine. Just as I’m sure I can’t look at him anymore, he says, “I don’t think it was, Tave.”

I sink to the floor, defeated. It’s one thing to lose my parents in a tragic accident—I’ve learned to deal with that—but murder?

Murder that was intended for me?

“Benson?” His name is a croak from my dry throat. “I’m no one.”

“You’re not no one.” He reaches an arm around me, pulling me to his chest, where I bury my face. He strokes my short hair. “Think about it. Someone must have found you when you were living in Michigan. They sabotaged your plane, tried to kill you because of what you can do. It all fits.”

Like a glove.

The most horrendous glove in the world.

I think I’m going to throw up.

“Then why am I still alive?”

“Maybe … maybe something changed.”

“Did I change?” My voice is so hollow even I can hear it, and I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Everything went crazy after the plane wreck. Did the crash change me? Have I always been this way, or did the crash turn me into something … something strange?” I look up at him now. “Did I survive a plane wreck because of my powers, or do I have powers because I survived a plane wreck?”

“Does it matter?” Benson whispers.

I look down at my file. “Maybe.” As I stare at that name—Tavia Michaels, is that even really me anymore?—a conviction solidifies in my chest. “I have to leave, Benson. I have to get out of here. Away from them, from everyone.”

“You can’t leave, Tave.”

Our heads jerk up to Elizabeth standing in the doorway.

With a gun.

Pointed right at us.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I don’t think.

I don’t have time.

There’s a picture in my head—a flicker of a picture—and metal bands appear from nowhere, wrapping around Elizabeth’s body, around her hands, forcing the gun from her fingers. More bands. And more. Iron. Cast iron, I realize, and it feels vaguely familiar, as if I’ve done this very thing before.

But now I can’t stop. More metal wraps around Elizabeth—her arms, her shoulders. Soon the weight drags her to the ground.

“Tavia, you … holy crap, what did you do?” Benson stares in horror at the uneven contraption holding Elizabeth to the floor.

“I don’t know. It just … it just happened.” Again. What is wrong with me that I can hurt people without even consciously thinking about it!

Shaking the thought away, I scoop the files from the floor. “Come on! We only have five minutes.”

“Tavia! Stop! Talk to me!” Elizabeth calls, but I ignore her as I scoot through the doorway and sprint to my room, Benson close behind. “You don’t understand what this all means,” she yells. “There’s more than you could possibly know.”

“Tavia, stop, you need to slow down and think about this.” Benson’s face is white and his words tumble like white water. “What exactly are you doing?”

I scarcely hear him as I stuff socks, underwear, and my favorite jeans in my backpack. “I have to get out of here. I need answers,” I mutter, more to myself than to him. A pair of red bikinis drops to the carpet and I don’t feel even the barest twinge of embarrassment when Benson looks down and sees them a second before I snatch them up and stuff them in with the rest of the clothes.

We are way beyond that.

“Tavia, seriously. Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t care. Away. That’s all that matters. I have to go now!”

“Go where?” Benson demands, grabbing my shoulders to make me look at him.

I don’t want to—I let my eyes dart to the ceiling, his shoulders, the window, anywhere but his soft blue eyes. He gives me a gentle shake and I can’t avoid it anymore. I let my gaze rise to meet his.

“Where?” he repeats. “And what are we going to do with her?” He inclines his head to where I can still hear Elizabeth calling me, begging me to come back.

“They killed my parents, Benson. Reese, Jay, and Elizabeth—they’re all involved. They murdered them. They got me on that plane! I know that Reese and Elizabeth are working together; they’re just trying to get something out of me and then they will Fry. My. Brain.” A sob builds up in my throat as hopelessness washes over me. “If I don’t leave, I’m as good as dead.”

He says nothing, but his hands loosen on my shoulders, and when I pull away to stuff things in my backpack again, he doesn’t try to hold on.

“Can I stay with you for a few days?” I ask on impulse.

“I guess,” he says. “But …”

I’m not sure I can stand to hear what he wants to say. I’m already so overwhelmed my fingers are trembling as I dig into a sock and pull out the money that represents the extent of my personal fortune.

It’s less than forty dollars.