Zapped by Sherwood Smith

was back. I nearly jumped out of my skin. “No name on their mail slot. So I checked their recycle bin.” She wrinkled her nose. “Bill stubs made out to Jason Davies, Sr.”
    Mercy’s eyes rounded behind her glasses. “Jason Davies’ dad. I don’t get it. Jason Davies isn’t even part of Kyle’s gang.” She turned to me. “You sit right next to him in math.”
    â€œThe blond guy? With the peeling nose?”
    She nodded twice.
    I couldn’t believe it. Just a boring, everyday kid, who sat there doing his work like nothing had happened.
    Fletch wiped his face on his sleeve. Bec gnawed a finger.
    Harper looked from Mercy to me, and back again, then said slowly, “How does this sound? An anonymous tip from the school computer to the police, saying where the bat is, and that it belongs to Jason Davies. If it turns out to belong to some other Jason Davies Junior, they should be able to figure it out, and find any other evidence, but all that is police business. Does anyone disagree?”
    Bec said, so softly I almost couldn’t hear her. “It’s not going to fix Michael. But at least he’ll know.”
    And nobody would know about us.
    Fletch said, “And how’s that going to make him feel? This whole thing is a total downer.”
    Nobody disagreed.
    Bec murmured, “I hope the next project is us finding out how we got talents.”
    â€œAs long as,” Harper said, “someone really powerful doesn’t find us .”
    That pretty much killed the conversation. The three of them headed back toward their car in a gloomy silence.
    Mercy rode next to me. We were also silent.
    When we reached the intersection where I usually went one way and she the other, she slowed, and I slowed too. She burst out, “Here’s what gets me. Jason was always hanging around Kyle during middle school. If he really did it, I bet anything it was to butter up Kyle. And I bet Kyle is acting guilty because he feels sick about it.”
    I looked down at my bike, totally depressed. I had been thinking about my expectations—that we’d all use our powers in some grand climax that would uncover the villain, that justice would somehow make things okay for Michael Abrams, but instead, if anything, there were more questions than before. About everything.
    â€œMystery talents or not, people suck,” I said.
    Mercy looked around at the mini-mall, the gas stations, the palm trees, the hard, bright blue sky overhead, as if seeking an answer. Or waiting for a question? Then she said, “I found out when I was little that my great-grandmother Mercy had a saying. It’s from a Roman called Seneca: Non est ad astra mollis e terris via .”
    â€œWhat does it mean?” I asked.
    â€œâ€˜There is no easy way to the stars from earth.’ When I first started dancing, I really thought that if I sprang high enough, my talent would take me to the stars.”
    â€œThat’s kind of cool,” I said.
    â€œI think it’s pretty dorky.” Mercy made a face. “I mean, I love dance. I love to soar, just high enough so people feel that lift in here, because then it’s art.” She smacked her ribs. “But not too high, so they think it’s not normal. Like anyone knows what normal is.”
    Her smile went crooked, and she looked at the palm tree. “Anyway, I got it wrong.” She looked at the mini-mall. “I think the saying is really about how you have to try more to overcome the suck.” She looked at the ground. “That’s what the group is really for, after all. Even if Harper thinks I’m a freak.” She glanced skyward, the crystals in her earrings winking and dancing in the bright sunlight. “Harper trusts me this much, at least.” She held up one hand, her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.
    The sun blasted the side of my face as we stood there in the hot wind, midway