“Usually, we teach mental defense in the second year. But who knows what else may be possible? Likely the astral telepathy means you can also master astral projection and telekinesis.”
“What, like moving things with my mind? Like Carrie?”
He continued, barely registering Teddy’s questions now. “Dunn would explain it better. Think of it this way: inside every physical body is an astral body with an astral self, the seat of your mind and soul. For most people, including psychics, astral bodies are tied to physical bodies. Today your astral body became untied. It visited your classmates’ conscious and then subconscious minds. If you can learn control, you can learn how to project your astral body—on both planes. How to use it to move matter on the physical plane. How to use it to travel on the astral plane. The possibilities are endless.”
She wasn’t really following what Clint was saying. Did he mean teleportation was a thing? Teddy rubbed her forehead. It was still sore from earlier, and Clint’s explanation wasn’t making it any better. “So what happens next?” she asked. “I just keep working on that astral thing?”
“Definitely not.” He laughed. “Pacing, Teddy. You don’t put a new diver on an Olympic platform and tell him to jump.”
“But—”
“Just because you’ve demonstrated an ability to perform astral telepathy doesn’t mean that you’re ready to use it. Mastering psychic skills take time, practice, and moral responsibility. That’s why Whitfield is a four-year program. We don’t want our recruits rushing headlong into anything without first building a solid foundation.”
Teddy shifted in her seat. She’d just learned that she could fly, psychically speaking, and Clint wanted to ground her.
“Here’s what I’m willing to do,” he said. “Second-year recruits work closely with tutors to develop their specific psychic abilities. I’ll begin your tutorial process now, but only if you agree to do it my way.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we start at the bottom and work our way up. Before we do anything, you need to learn mental defense.”
“You mean I need to build my wall.”
“Exactly.” Clint made his way back to his desk. “And then maybe we’ll start with telekinesis. We don’t have any telekinetics at Whitfield at the moment, and the ability is highly sought after in government service. Mental influence as well. It’s a psychic skill that walks a delicate ethical line and should be used only when absolutely necessary. In the wrong hands, it can be deadly.”
Teddy shivered, his words leading her to imagine the worst: What if someone could influence her? Tell to walk off the cliffs overlooking the bay? Or stop breathing? The lighthearted exercises in Seership could be so easily twisted. She had to remember that this wasn’t a game. The ultimate goal wasn’t to beat the Alphas; there was something larger at stake.
“You and I will meet for private tutorials once a week. Until then, work on your mental defense: start building your wall. It can be made of anything, but make it strong, Teddy. Throughout the day, as you’re walking to class, talking to your peers, eating lunch, imagine placing a barrier around your mind. Do it until it becomes second nature. That’s the first way you can stop someone who wants to gain access where you are most vulnerable.” Clint looked directly at Teddy as if reassessing her.
Teddy avoided his gaze, her eyes moving again to the screw on Clint’s desk. “Got any other loose screws?” she said. “Or just this one?”
Clint picked up the screw. Underneath the glass, Teddy could see a date and a symbol engraved in gold. It looked like the number 3, overlapped in a series of concentric circles, underneath the year 1994.
“Special football award or something?”
Clint looked down. “No.” He took a deep breath. “It’s to remind me that when you’re missing one piece, a piece as small as a screw, the machine will fall apart.” He looked back at Teddy. “One gap in your wall, and you’ll fall apart, too. Next week we’ll meet here. Same time.”
Teddy knew she had been dismissed. She got out of the chair, then paused. “Thanks,” she said, stopping herself from adding for believing in me, because it was just too cringeworthily corny.
“It doesn’t matter how much I believe in you,” Clint said. “You have to believe in yourself.”
Okay, that was even more cringeworthy.
“Work on your wall. And get out of here already,” Clint said, returning to his paperwork. “It’s last call at Harris for dinner. And I’ll see you tomorrow for our first Empathy 101 class.” Teddy had almost forgotten that the next day they would begin a new class—Clint’s famous seminar.
* * *
Teddy headed straight to Harris Hall. The dining room was full of the usual laughter and conversation that accompanied meals at Whitfield. But the second she stepped inside, the noise level abruptly dropped. Whispers whipped across the tables. Some students leaned forward to confer with classmates, while others craned their necks to get a better look at her.
Every person in the room was psychic. Why single her out for freak status? She lifted her chin, meeting their curious looks with a ferocious don’t-mess-with-me glare.
As Teddy settled into a seat at the Misfit table, Jillian raised a shot glass brimming with wheatgrass juice. “All hail my roommate, psychic goddess.” The others raised their glasses.
Teddy reddened. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
Jillian lowered her glass. “You should be proud of yourself. I am. For weeks, weeks, I’ve watched you struggle. We all thought you must have pulled strings or something to get in here.”
“The point is,” Dara added, “when opportunity knocks—”
“Jillian’s probably inside doing naked yoga,” Teddy said.
“The point is,” Dara repeated, “when you suddenly become legend at a school full of legendary people, you take advantage of it.” She nodded toward a table full of upperclassmen who were staring at her. “Scare them a little, would you?” Dara
