For a second, Teddy caught a glimpse of a hallway, heard the sound of crying from somewhere above. But then it was gone. Teddy’s parents had always been happy to have her around, even if she was a troublemaker. In fact, they’d done that thing so many adoptive parents do—assured Teddy again and again that she was special because she’d been chosen.
Teddy opened her eyes to find Jeremy watching Molly, visibly concerned. Molly turned to look at him quickly before she continued, “I’m working now on learning to shut out people’s emotions. But high school was a nightmare. College, too. Even this place can be overwhelming. I took a break last year because I still wasn’t ready to be around so many people. That’s why I like computers.” She laughed. “Just data, no fear. But I’ve been working with Professor Dunn. He’s teaching me how to control it.”
“I’m glad,” Teddy replied, her throat dry. “Your wall helps, though, right?”
Molly looked at her, eyes wide. “What?”
“In Seership, that day I broke through your wall. You know it was an accident. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy.”
Molly nodded. She looked even more drained than usual. Dark circles showed under her eyes, her pale brown hair was lank, and her skin had an almost ghostly pallor. It was like each day at Whitfield sucked a little more out of her. Teddy made a silent vow to check in on her more often.
“All right, people.” Clint’s voice carried across the room. “That’s enough for today. Remember: empathy won’t just make you a better psychic; it’ll make you a better government official, a better colleague, a better friend, a better spouse, a better human being. So keep working at it.”
Teddy stood up and extended a hand to Molly. “Want to go grab a coffee down by the docks?”
Molly looked to Jeremy, who was still watching them. “Can’t,” she said. “I promised Jeremy I’d hang out with him.”
“All right, maybe another time.”
“Yeah,” Molly said. “Another time.”
As the students gathered their belongings, Clint called Teddy’s name.
“How’s your wall coming?” he asked.
“It’s coming,” she said as she made her way toward the door.
Alone, Teddy walked to the meditation lawn. Even though she hadn’t been able to tackle the thirty minutes of meditation that Dunn advised the students to perform each morning and night, Teddy slipped off her shoes, threw down her bag, and sat down on the damp grass. She turned her palms up on her knees and began to breathe deeply. She cleared her mind. She then waited for the idea of a wall. It wouldn’t be sand or steel. She blinked, letting in a bright flash of light. Yes, she thought. Light. Electricity. So strong that no one could even touch it, let alone manage to break through. She would build a wall of pure power.
Teddy imagined the light crackling. She breathed in deeply and visualized sending more energy to her electric wall until it jumped in waves, giving off sparks. She spent an hour on the lawn turning the shield on and off. She didn’t notice the students walking by, she didn’t notice the sun start to set, and when Teddy finally got up and walked back to her dorm, she felt calm, as if she finally had gained some control over her mind and her body.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE END OF OCTOBER CAME to Angel Island faster than a dealer could yell “No call bets” at craps. Midterm exams were still far enough away that the students at Whitfield felt like there was time to celebrate. Conveniently, October brought an occasion for it: Halloween.
The Whitfield Institute took Halloween seriously. Like, too seriously, considering it was a government institution for adults. And while its celebration could never reach Vegas proportions, it captured a certain level of Vegas enthusiasm. The highlight of the evening was a costume contest—everyone on campus was encouraged to dress up, even teachers.
That was how Teddy ended up in the dining hall, next to Jillian, wearing a plaid shirt and jeans covered in blood (okay, fake blood): she’d gone with a Walking Dead theme. Recruits from all years crowded into the dining hall. As Teddy took a sip of her nonalcoholic fair-trade fruit punch, she thought about how quickly life at Whitfield had taken on a rhythm—she went to class, she did her work, she strengthened her mental shield, she met with Clint, he tried to break her mental shield, she got her ass kicked by Boyd, she meditated, she tried (and failed) to replicate her astral ability in Dunn’s class, she went to bed exhausted, and she woke up the next day and did it all over again. She’d done her best to keep her nose clean, play nice, follow the rules. It wasn’t that hard to want to fit in. She liked the other Misfits. And there was a part of her that had grown to enjoy organic nonalcoholic fair-trade fruit punch.
She looked around the dining hall. The staff had even gone to the effort of decorating, cheesy cobwebs gracing every surface, complete with plastic spiders. The coveted prize for winning the costume contest was a weekend pass for two off-island. Teddy knew she didn’t have a shot at it. She’d discovered she was merely one of a zombie horde.
Jillian had done better, transforming one of the diaphanous rolls of fabric that hung above her bed into a toga in order to become the empress from a tarot deck. Thankfully, she had let up on the patchouli, instead dusting herself from head to toe in shimmery body powder.
“So are you meeting with Brett?” Teddy asked.
Jillian shrugged. “We just have some loose plans.”
“Yeah, sure,” Teddy said, rolling her eyes and taking another sip of punch.
“And what about
