Overtaken by Mark H. Kruger Page B

server behind the counter handed him a fresh pepperoni pizza. It was the same kid I’d nearly mowed down in the hallway only minutes earlier.
    â€œHey, Topher,” said Oliver, überfriendly. “You know Nica.”
    â€œHey,” he responded with an affirmative nod. “Think we have Spanish together.”
    â€œYeah, hi.”
    Topher Hansen was the quiet, unassuming type. Super polite, a low flier on the radar, never got in anyone’s way. He kept to himself so much that he seemed like the kid who wasn’t there. And yet there he appeared in my life twice in the span of fifteen minutes.
    â€œCan I get you anything, Nica?” Topher asked, staring at me with the same odd expression he’d had when I’d run into him in the hallway. He gave me an uneasy, paranoid feeling. Was he watching me?
    â€œI’ll just have some of his,” I replied, pushing Oliver along, wanting to get away.
    â€œNo one remembers anything from Dana’s party,” I announced to Oliver moments after I dragged him over to an empty table at the back of the cafeteria. “Even the host.”
    Oliver almost gagged on a slice of piping-hot pepperoni pizza as he tried to speak. His first attempt was barely distinguishable as English. He swallowed a bit and tried again.
    â€œWait, what?”
    â€œAfter the pulse, I mean,” I whispered. “Jackson changing color and blasting a kid across the room. Shit, did you forget about it, too?”
    â€œNo,” Oliver replied, “of course not. What exactly did Dana say?”
    â€œThat she blacked out.”
    â€œYou think she’s lying?”
    â€œI don’t have a clue what she’s doing,” I retorted. “For all I know, maybe she’s telling the truth.”
    A tsunami of guilt hit me. Had I been so eager to suspect Dana that I had discounted Occam’s razor’s much-preferred explanation? The simplest explanation is usually the best one.
    â€œEven so,” Oliver added. “It’s super creepy.” Though not creepy enough to curb his voracious appetite. He snatched up his final quarter of pizza.
    All I could do was nod in agreement. It was even impressive, in a supervillain sort of way. How had Bar Tech done it? How had they gotten into the minds of so many students and just wiped them out?
    â€œIt’s a good thing, right?” Oliver’s observation sent a chill up my spine. “At least our secret’s safe.”
    â€œMaybe. Not to whoever covered it up,” I pointed out.
    Just then my phone buzzed. So did Oliver’s.
    â€œJackson wants us to meet him,” I announced, reading the brief message.
    Oliver nodded. He’d gotten an identical text from Jackson. “What’s in the library?”
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    Oliver and I hoofed it upstairs to the library. Trying to arrange secret meetings aside, I hated how awkward I was feeling around Jackson. Then again, I was barely used to having to compete for his attention. I’d been one of a whopping two people who would even speak to him at school. With Dana’s return, I had no idea where that left me—or us. As I learned, though, the denizens of Barrington High could have quite short memories.
    Oliver and I entered the library and headed toward the back. It was deathly quiet. Everyone was having lunch, even the faculty. Finally, something was actually going as planned.
    Jackson looked upset. “What’s going on, Nica?”
    I took a deep breath. There was a lot to explain. A few deep breaths from my core—and my hand slowly started to disappear from the end of my fingertips up through my palm.
    â€œOur powers have never lasted this long. Can you . . . ?” I looked to Oliver, but he had already loped the entire length of the library and back in barely the blink of eye.
    â€œActually . . . yeah,” Oliver replied, stunned that he still had the ability and