Did she ever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BY THANKSGIVING DAY, TEDDY WAS regretting her decision to stay at Whitfield over break. For all of her idealistic plans of bumping into Christine around campus, Teddy hadn’t seen the girl once. She went to the meditation lawn each morning; hung out around the gym; stayed in the dining hall until the hot pumpkin soup the staff was serving in honor of the holiday went cold. And despite her fear of slipping back into her old bad habits, she missed the idea of being home for the holidays. Even if that home was Jillian’s parents’ split-level in New Jersey, with a menagerie of bizarre animals, hippie parents, and a full vegan dinner.
Teddy walked to the main office in Fort McDowell, the Ping-Pong ball in her pocket. She hadn’t managed to move it with her astral body, or whatever Clint had said, but she had taken to carrying it around with her. She’d come to think of it as a sort of talisman, a symbol of what she might accomplish.
Because there was basically no one on campus, there was no line to use one of the phones. She called her parents but wasn’t surprised to get the answering machine. Thanksgiving in their family began with a morning hike in Red Rock Canyon. Her mom considered it early penance for all the food they’d devour later.
Teddy left a message and hung up. She decided to follow tradition as best she could, so she walked back to her room and suited up for a jog. Following the trail around the island’s perimeter, Teddy tried to put home out of her head. She pushed herself to run faster and longer, through the burn in her chest, the cramps in her legs. She didn’t know if she was running toward or away from something—all she knew was that if she kept moving, she’d eventually be too tired to think.
* * *
Exhausted, Teddy couldn’t even bring herself to put in an appearance at the on-campus Thanksgiving celebration. Instead, with legs feeling the approximate texture of the cold canned cranberry sauce her mother usually served, she passed out on her cot, thankful for sleep free of Jillian’s snores. When a knock came at the door, she was surprised to see that it was Pyro. They hadn’t been alone together since that night at the Cantina. Teddy hadn’t realized that he’d also decided to spend the holiday on-campus.
“Come on,” he said, leaning against her door. “It’s even more pathetic if you don’t show.”
She suspected she wasn’t alone in feeling moody and out of place. The handful of students who remained sat together at a single table, decorated with perfunctory gourds. All except the one she’d hoped would be there: Christine.
Teddy and Pyro were the only first-years; the rest were upperclassmen, and the difference in conversation was noticeable. Where Teddy and her peers discussed nothing but the midyear exam, the upperclassmen compared their internships and debated the qualifications of the new FBI liaison on campus. Whenever Nick’s name came up, Teddy felt Pyro’s gaze shift toward her. She kept her face blank and her wall up. It was none of his damn business.
Just when Teddy had made the decision to return to her room, Christine took a seat across from her, wedging in between two upperclassmen.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said to her friends. “Had to finish a report.”
“Don’t tell me you’re working on those Russian theories again,” a blond third-year woman said from down the table. “You know that Cold War remote-viewing stuff is garbage.”
This is your chance, Cannon. Be cool.
She didn’t want to scare Christine off by seeming overeager. Teddy thought of the dining table as being like a poker table. She needed a play to get the most information. First-year suckup? Aloof but interested?
“You’re a remote viewer?” Teddy asked.
Christine nodded. Teddy found she didn’t have to act at all as she listened, fascinated by Christine’s report.
“It’s funny,” Christine said, “I’m in here, but everything important is happening outside these walls.” She paused, shaking her head. “I’ve seen it. I know.”
Teddy found it hard to stay invested in Christine’s rant when all she wanted to do was ask about the blood samples. But how did you ask a stranger about her genetic makeup without coming across as creepy?
“Brett agreed with me,” Christine continued.
“Brett Evans?” Teddy said, the name slipping out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
Christine turned to her. “He was my best friend.”
“Was?”
“Is. I only meant he’s no longer here.”
“He was really nice to me when I first came here. At the party.”
Christine nodded. “He’s a nice guy.”
Teddy wondered how far she could push Christine. Should she bring up the lab? “He was nice to everyone, trading for Internet and stuff.”
Christine rolled her eyes. “That wasn’t nice. That was stupid. But Brett was always a sucker for extra cash. If he had twenty bucks in his pocket, he could turn it into a hundred, and then he’d show up in Wyoming three weeks later with a new horse, fresh from a wild bender. He was like that.”
“So has he called from Wyoming yet? What’s the horse’s name?”
Christine smiled. “Nothing yet.”
“Do you know where he is?” Teddy asked.
Christine shook her head. “Brett could be anywhere. Surfing in Hawaii. Backpacking in Tibet. He’s pretty impulsive that way. But one place he isn’t is back home in Austin.”
“Oh?”
“He didn’t get along with his grandparents. Strict religious types. They raised him after his parents died. He couldn’t wait to leave.”
“How did his parents die?” Teddy asked. She knew the question sounded crass before she even finished asking it. She’d met plenty of people whose parents were divorced and a few who had lost a single parent. But never had she met someone her age whose mother and father had both passed away, like hers had.
“Actually, the same way I lost mine,” Christine replied. “Car accident. I think that’s one of the reasons he and I bonded: we both understood what it was
