I glance into Carson's bedroom as we take the short trip to the lounge room. He's sprawled out on his bed, the blanket wrapped around his feet. I smile in spite of myself. At least one of us is going to get a good night's sleep.

Marcus flops down on one of the sofas in the lounge room and tilts his head back. His chest rises and falls with deep, slow breaths. I wait by the doorway, rubbing my heel with the toes of the opposite foot. I don't want to disturb him, but we have to start somewhere.

"So . . ." I begin.

"I want you to understand something about me, Rose."

I freeze.

"I don't take shit from people. Call me an asshole, but I like to be in control." His smile is dark and vicious. "All these losers running around in here doing exactly what I tell them to do, looking to me for answers. It's fun. And when someone like Rudolph gets it in his head to try to stand in my way, I don't lose any sleep over it. You know why?"

"No," I say warily.

"Because no one can beat me."

"Did you bring me here so you could brag about how great you are?"

Marcus's smile is gone. He looks at me, gritting his teeth like he's debating with himself. Finally, "I didn't want to kill him."

"You didn't?"

"That's not entirely true," he says. "I did feel like killing him. I couldn't look at that ugly mug of his and not want to choke him to death. And to be honest, I can't say I'll miss him. One less headache for me to deal with."

I frown, feeling hopelessly lost. "So you meant to kill him."

"No. It wasn't my intention to do that when I punched him." He gets up and walks over to me. He holds up his hands, looking at them with a mystified expression. "That kind of strength. It shouldn't have been possible." He lowers them and laughs. "I pushed the basketball pole over. It was easy. Does that seem normal to you?"

"What happened to Rudolph was a fluke," I say, wondering if he realizes how insane he sounds. "And maybe the pole wasn't bolted down properly."

"I thought a smart girl like you would've figured it out by now. They did something to me. These people—the Takers or whatever you call them. I'll prove it to you."

Marcus walks into the adjacent bathroom, gesturing for me to follow. I approach him with hesitant steps until I have a clear view of him at the sink. In the mirror, the overhead light casts a pale hue to my skin. I look every bit as worn-out as I feel. Marcus points to the brass faucet. It's one of those semi-long spouts that curves like an upside-down U over the sink. Delicate and sturdy all at once.

"Watch this. I'm going to bend it."

I should stop him. If he succeeds and we end up with a screwy faucet, who'd want that? But that's crazy, so I keep quiet and watch him wrap his large hand around it.

His knuckles turn white as he tries to twist it. Even though I don't believe he can do it, I'm holding my breath. Marcus is grounded in his own way, in that he sees a certain order in the world. He wouldn't make up something this crazy.

Then again, he did have a seizure. It's not too wild to imagine his world has been thrown out of order and now he's trying to reason it through some external force.

And who better to blame than the Takers?

He huffs in frustration and releases the spout. Blood rushes to his palm, flushing it as red as his face. "This doesn't make sense."

"Marcus," I begin, "I know what happened to Rudolph is hard for you to accept. But if you really didn't mean to kill him, that makes it an accident. It's not—"

"No," he cuts me off. "You don't get to stand there and patronize me. You think I would say this for no reason? That these Takers have messed with my body somehow and turned me into some kind of freak?"

"Then you must realize how crazy this sounds." How crazy you sound.

He makes a disgusted noise. "I should've known you'd be no help."

"This isn't my fault."

"Yeah. Whatever you say." He gestures behind me. "Just go back to bed."

"So why did you drag me out here?" I ask, irritated. I doubt it's because he needs reassurance or solace.

No. What he needs is confirmation, something I can't offer him.

Not without proof.

"It was a mistake," he replies. "For all your so-called smarts, you have a hard time understanding the simplest things."

Now I'm really pissed off, something Marcus is quite adept at making me feel. It makes what I'm about to attempt a whole lot easier.

"I'm not the one with delusions of grandeur," I say, matching his hostile tone. "I'm not the one trying to terrorize people and murder them, and most importantly, I'm not the one who thinks so highly of herself that I believe I'm beyond human capability."

Marcus seems surprised by my outburst. That lasts about two seconds before fury flickers in the depths of his black eyes. "Only because you're happy settling for being average."

"At least I'm honest with myself. I don't have to put on an act to get people to like me."

He leans in close to my face, jaw tight. "Walk away, Rose. Right now."

That only makes me dig my heels in deeper. "You're a jerk, you know that? Everyone is too scared to tell you this, but the truth is that you're so full of—"

I see the moment when he snaps. I go tense all over, expecting him to strike me. Instead he spins away from me and slams his fist into the wall next to the bathroom. The concrete surface caves around his fist in an explosion that creates a deep dent. When his hand moves away, little chunks of stone fall to the floor.

I'm stunned into silence.

He really did it. He broke concrete with his fist.

Marcus opens his hand and rubs the back of it. Other than some redness on his knuckles, he's fine. The blow didn't even break skin. A surprised laugh bursts from his mouth. "I don't believe this."

I lean against the wall behind me, weak now that the adrenaline is fading. I don't believe it either. No amount of logic will explain this one away.

"I was right," he says.

"I won't argue with you on that," I reply weakly.

"They did do something to me. How's this even possible?"

I shrug, still trying to process it.

"You were taunting me on purpose, weren't you?" he asks. "All those things you said. You were trying to get a reaction out of me. To see if I'd get angry and become strong again."

He's right, of course, but I'm surprised he figured it out. "What makes you say that?"

He smirks. "You're a runner, not a fighter."

I'd be offended if that wasn't a point of pride for me. It means I have a need for survival. A need to extricate myself from dangerous situations. But I have an equally powerful need. To make sense of the world. That's why I had to know if Marcus was telling the truth.

Hard to believe he was.

Footsteps come down the hallway. Carson appears, his bleary eyes going alert the moment they land on the broken wall. "Uh, what's going on? What happened to the wall?"

"Nothing you should worry about, champ," Marcus says, still in a chipper mood. I don't blame him. He did nearly punch through freaking concrete. "Go back to dreaming about milking cows on your dad's farm."

Carson looks at me for a better answer.

"I'll tell you all about it tomorrow." I want information, and I know by now that Marcus won't talk with an audience. If he talks at all. Carson gives me a slow nod, takes one last look at the wall, and heads back to his room.'

"How do you feel?" I ask Marcus.

He sets his mouth into a hard line, and I think at first that he won't tell me anything. But then he shrugs. "Normal at the moment. When it's . . . about to happen, I feel a headache coming on. This intense pressure that makes me think my head will blow of. But I also feel like I could lift a mountain. Like nothing could stop me."

"Not even you?" I ask.

"I'm not going to hold myself back if that's what you're asking. They gave me this strength for a reason. It would be ungrateful of me not to use it, wouldn't it?"

"What if you hurt someone else?" I press. "What happens the next time you lose control?"

"Anyone I hurt deserves it."

"Do you think anyone deserves to die because they got on your bad side?"

Marcus narrows his eyes at me. "Enough with the psychoanalytical shit. Go to bed before I start thinking you're dying for my company."

"No one will enjoy your company when you're so insulting."

"Rose," he exhales.

I hesitate, torn between wanting to know more and that inherent urge to flee. The urge wins out. As I head down the hallway and return to my dark bedroom, my mind is already thinking beyond him, considering what this means for everyone in this place.

Because Marcus can't be the only one the Takers have screwed with.



Over breakfast the following day, I describe Marcus's unnatural strength to Carson and Willow. Willow glances at the camera closest to us when she hears this, frowning. Her reaction contrasts with Carson's unbridled excitement.

"Holy—you serious?" he says in a hushed voice, so excited he's almost jumping out of his seat. "They turned him into some kind of Superman? Minus the flying, of course. And the x-ray vision. And the super-speed. And—"

"At least we don't have a psycho on our hands," Willow interrupts, shooting him an exasperated smile. "Now we know we're still dealing with good old egotistical Marcus."

Carson snickers. "Super Ego. That should be his superhero name. Man, this is awesome. I always imagined a world with superheroes, but to think it's actually possible . . ."

I don't know how being turned into super-anything could possibly be a good thing. A couple of weeks ago, the only thing I had to worry about was surviving another year with Sam and taking off for college far, far away from him. After everything that's happened so far, I'm more certain than ever that I want a quiet and uneventful life. But something tells me that's not going to happen any time soon—if at all.

I mention my theory that Marcus might not be the only person the Takers have done something to, so we decide to approach Lisa, one of the girls who had a seizure. When we ask her if anything strange has happened to her since, she trades a heavy look with her friend and says, "I can't show you here."

We go into the shower room. The porcelain sinks and slate-gray tiles are so immaculate they reflect my image. Even the mirrors are spotless. Every night when we go into our blocks, someone is in here. They watch us during the day and clean up after us at night. But they don't do anything to protect us. Rudolph is proof of that.

"What'd you want to talk to us about?" Willow asks.

Lisa wrings her hands as she looks around at us. "After we talked to you guys, the rest of the day was pretty normal. I felt better by the time we got back to our block. I was watching TV with Rochelle and a couple of others when Eli and Pablo joined us."

"Pablo?" I ask.

"The long-haired dude who was running the kitchen yesterday." Carson makes a face. "He's a prick like the rest of Marcus's buddies."

I remember him. He hasn't tried to make our lives hell like Rudolph did, but the arrogance and self-entitlement rolling off him makes him just as unbearable.

"Eli started grilling me," Lisa continues. "He wanted to know what the seizure felt like, why it happened to me, what it meant. And soon, everyone was joining in with all these questions. I started to feel lightheaded, so I went to my room to hide out."

Rochelle laughs. "She was hiding, alright. When I went to find her, I couldn't. Then someone grabbed my arm. I thought my heart would explode out of my chest. It was Lisa. She was still in the room, but she'd turned . . . invisible."

"Invisible?" I ask, scrutinizing Lisa's expression. Super-strength is one thing, but invisibility? It's unimaginable. It's too fantastical to be real.

Willow steps in closer. "Really? How did it happen?"

"Your clothes turned invisible, too?" Carson adds. "Otherwise Rochelle was treated to the sight of a pair of pants and a t-shirt walking around."

Lisa's cheeks turn pink. "Um, it's not like I knew what I was doing. I just felt so flustered by all of the attention, kind of like . . . kind of like . . ."

"Kind of like now?" I fill in when she vanishes from sight.

"Yeah," she squeaks from somewhere in front of us.

My mind reels as I struggle to fit this latest development into the list of strange occurrences the past few days. I can't make sense of this curveball. I have no idea what I'm seeing—or rather, not seeing.

"This is so cool," Carson breathes, reaching out to touch her. "Are you still there?"

Lisa yelps. "You—you touched my chest!"

Rochelle slides between them and crosses her arms. She's at least half a foot taller than him, and it makes her even more intimidating when she growls, "Back off, perv."

"I'm not—I wasn't trying to—" Red-faced, Carson sticks his hands in pockets and stares down at the floor. "I'll shut up now."

Willow gives me a look. "Do you realize what this means?"

I lean against the wall next to the first sink and fold my arms over my chest. I need to stop thinking about how this can't happen and focus on what it says about us and our purpose here. "The Takers are changing us. They did something to us—maybe a few days ago or when we were kids—and now we're turning into something else."

"Turning into what exactly?" Rochelle asks.

I shrug. "Your guess is as good as mine."

By now Lisa has reappeared. I look past Rochelle and meet her nervous gaze. "You said this new ability of yours works when you're anxious?"

She nods.

"This is interesting," Willow says. "Lisa's ability is turning invisible and she's obviously very shy. Marcus is always angry, and now he's able to punch through walls."

I nod, starting to see some logic in this madness. "Emotion is the trigger."

"It has to go deeper than that. What if the power a person gets is based on their personality?"

"Cool," Carson says, wide-eyed with wonder. "Like if somebody is sleepy all the time, they might, I don't know, doze off wherever they want no matter how bright or noisy it is."

"Feeling sleepy all the time isn't a personality type, Carson," Willow says.

"I don't think the Narcoleptics Association of America would appreciate hearing you say that."

Rochelle looks at him like he's nuts. "How can any of this even happen?"

I have no answer for that. It seems with each question we answer, a dozen new ones pop up in its place. I don't know how we'll ever be able to get ahead.



We decide to talk to the rest of the seizure kids. As we're making our rounds, a familiar boy approaches us and lingers behind us, listening to our conversation. I turn to him as Willow addresses two guys hanging out in a corner of the cafeteria.

"Weasel, right?" I say. "You had a seizure, too?"

He nods and inches closer.

"Have you noticed anything unusual about yourself?"

"Maybe." He smiles a little, his beady eyes flicking from my face, around the cafeteria, then back again. "What do you care?"

"We're trying to get some information," I reply. My skin crawls at the way he's staring at me. There's nothing sexual about it, but it's still pretty creepy.

"If I've got one of these powers you're asking about," he says, "does that make me special or something?"

"I'd say it does." Why doesn't he get to the point? "Do you have one?"

He just stares at me. Then he licks his lips and tilts his head to the side a little. "You're scared. I can sense it."

"What?" I ask, stepping back.

"Just before that Rudolph kid got his lights punched out, he was scared too. It was like an explosion of emotion, like gunpowder sparked by fire, but your fear is different. It tastes stale and sour. Whoever did this to you messed you up real bad, huh?"

My heart's hammering by the time he's done talking. "Get out of my head." The words are out without my permission. I'm more than distrustful now; I'm deathly afraid. He can't know about Sam. No one can know about Sam.

His smile is wider. "I ain't inside your head. I just know what you're feeling. I can do a lot more, too. You're always scared, but some part of you is braver than most people. I can make your courage so big you don't feel afraid anymore. Or I can show you real fear."

I'm hit by a wave of terror so strong I stagger back. I trip over someone's foot and stumble into the table. And then the fear shuts off. Everyone around me is staring with shocked expressions. Willow spins around, mouth parted in surprise. "What happened?"

I can't seem to get my heartbeat to slow down. What happened? I have no idea. One second I was perfectly fine, the next I felt something I've never felt before. Like the world was exploding around me. Like all the joy had been sucked out of my life. Like I was seconds from dying in the most gruesome way.

Weasel's eyes are wide, too, but there's guilt mixed with his surprise. I resist the urge to press a hand to my raging heart. "What did you do to me?"

He looks beyond me toward Marcus's table. The fear drains from his eyes when he doesn't find him. "I don't know how to control it yet, okay? I'm not looking for trouble."

"What did he do?" Willow asks, abandoning the guys she was questioning.

He found out about Sam. "He scared me. And I don't mean he did something that made me scared—he literally put fear into my heart without lifting a finger."

"It's not just fear," Weasel rushes out. "I can take the emotion someone's already feeling and multiply it or redirect it. Happiness, anger, sadness." A smile dances over his lips. "Desire. Cool, huh?"

Willow gives me a look. No, it's not cool. It's dangerous. Lisa's invisibility is one thing, but the ability to manipulate a person's emotions? It makes this kid too powerful. Far deadlier than Marcus. It makes him a threat to someone like me.

Control yourself.

How can I do that against someone like Weasel?

"Don't worry your pretty heads about this one, ladies," Eli says as he walks up to the group. He slings a heavy arm across Weasel's shoulders. "I'll keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn't get too full of himself."

Like that's supposed to comfort me.

"Come on, April," Willow whispers.

I follow behind her, not sure if we're doing the right thing. Then again, what exactly can we do? Admonish him and hope it gets through to him? Report him to Marcus and treat him like a criminal before he's done anything?

"Y'all don't really think Eli's going to stop him, do you?" Carson asks.

"No," Willow answers in a heartbeat.

He pauses. "So why are we walking away?"

Because Weasel scares me and Eli scares her. We don't tell him that. Instead I say, "We'll deal with it when we have to."

Hopefully never.