The Tesla Legacy Page 6

Begrudgingly, Lucy forked over the laminated nightmare. Why hadn’t she let Claudia style her hair for the photo like she’d offered? Megan barely stifled a snicker at Lucy’s unruly black curls. Lucy had invested in a straightening iron soon after the photo was snapped. Not soon enough, as it turned out.

  The computer beeped twice as Megan scanned in the barcode of her ID and then the book. “Speaking of fun,” she purred at Lucy, slanting forward like they were co-conspirators. “We missed you at the swim party. I kept Cole entertained, though.”

  Blood roared in Lucy’s ears. Don’t rise to the bait.

  “I bet,” she replied shortly. It didn’t matter if nobody else at school understood why Lucy and Cole were together.

  Megan raised her eyebrows. “I’m glad you don’t mind sharing … your homework, I mean.”

  Lucy leaned across the desk, panic surging in a cold sweat across her back. “Shh! Keep your voice down.”

  “I thought that was my line.” Nonchalantly, Megan tapped the sign on the desk that read: LIBRARIAN, and slid the scanned book toward Lucy.

  “The cheating was a one-time thing.” Lucy’s voice was tight.

  Megan’s lips parted in a supermodel pout. “Is that what Cole told you?”

  “I mean it,” Lucy ground out. “He could get expelled. So could you.”

  The other girl flipped her hair, unperturbed. “And you.”

  Mutually assured destruction. How could Cole have jeopardized his scholarship and Lucy’s college plans?

  In an oh-so-innocent voice, Megan said, “I’d never rat Cole out.” The implication wasn’t exactly subtle.

  “Glad we’re clear.” Lucy clutched the book to her chest as if it could provide a protective force field.

  “Of course. Cole’s an amazing guy. I mean, he’s even willing to overlook your…” She glanced pointedly at Lucy’s charm bracelet.

  Sucker punch. Cole was one of the only people at Eaton High besides Claudia who didn’t see Lucy as Helmet Head. Lucy would always be supremely grateful he’d moved to town after that phase in her life. Megan, however, had been one of the kids cheering on Tony Morelli.

  “Hold on to him—if you can. Not everyone is so open-minded.”

  Tears pricked at Lucy’s eyes and then something strange happened. The tears evaporated, replaced with rage. Pure, hot rage. It swam from Lucy’s heart through her veins. Her body sang with it. Time became too fast and too slow at once. From the corner of her eye, she spied the stapler on the far side of the desk rise from the tabletop and fly toward them.

  Not them.

  Megan.

  Megan’s head to be precise.

  “Watch out!” Lucy yelled. She plunged forward, pushing Megan out of the stapler’s trajectory. Thwack. It crashed against Lucy’s temple and clattered to the floor.

  Megan shrieked. “What the hell?”

  “I—” Lucy had no words. Only fear. Fear because the rage, and the power that came with it, had felt so good. Electric. And hers.

  The other girl’s expression changed from fury to apprehension.

  “Shit. You’re bleeding.”

  It was true. A cold, wet trickle dripped down her cheek. Lucy hadn’t even noticed.

  “I—” she tried again, but broke off. Lucy needed to get away.

  “Freak,” she heard Megan mutter as she ran from the library.

  This time Lucy didn’t have a comeback.

  QUIS CUSTODIET IPSOS CUSTODES?

  Lucy couldn’t decide if the cherry on top of her craptastic morning was watching a twelve-year-old merrily pick his nose or the Wonder Woman Band-Aid adorning her eyebrow. Both were the result of the junior high field day taking place on the football field. The nurse’s office had been littered with skinned knees and was fresh out of flesh-toned bandages. Lucy had opted for Wonder Woman over the Flash but, either way, she was sure the universe was mocking her.

  Nurse Díaz had given Lucy the third degree while patching her up. A millimeter deeper and the cut would have required stitches. The prospect made Lucy go stiff. Stitches would definitely send her parents’ Lucy Watch to DEFCON 1. The nurse had barely been convinced by Lucy’s “I lost a fight with my locker” excuse.

  For the first time in Lucy’s life she’d wished what happened in the library were an ordinary seizure. She highly doubted Nurse Díaz would believe her if she told the truth: “I made a stapler fly at a would-be boyfriend stealer with the power of my mind.” Lucy had no idea what Megan thought had happened either. She would waste no time embellishing the incident for the known world—but what would she say?

  Lucy’s heels clicked on the linoleum as she hurried to the physics lab. The sound reverberated in the empty hallway, further straining her nerves.

  There was no rational explanation for the flying stapler. The non-rational explanation was that it had been attracted to her. Not the Tesla Egg—which remained safely stowed in her locker—but Lucy herself. As if her emotions had given the metal a charge. Maybe the same thing had happened when Cole had surprised her? The shot of adrenaline could have attracted the bike lock to her bracelet.

  Which was all well and good, except that inanimate objects couldn’t read emotions and emotions weren’t electric or magnetic.

  Lucy scowled and scratched at the Band-Aid. The one person she wanted to discuss all of this with was the one person she couldn’t: her dad.

  Putting aside logic, if Lucy somehow generated electrical currents and fields, then might it not also stand to reason that they would become more intense when her body’s temperature and heart rate increased? And those things did occur when emotions were heightened. It was the same story for seizures.

  Given that everything Lucy had seen and experienced since Friday would earn her a one-way trip to a place devoid of sharp objects, she had nothing to lose by testing her outlandish theory.

  Glancing at her watch, she picked up the pace. Physics class was her haven. Lucy needed it more than ever now that her world had been turned inside out.

  Slam.

  “Crikey!” said a male voice straight out of a Masterpiece Theatre costume drama.

  It took Lucy a moment to recover enough to reply. A flush crawled up her neck as a prickling sensation swelled throughout her body. Unlike the spun-in-a-blender reaction she’d had to kissing Cole, these tingles were pleasant.

  Daring to lift her gaze, she repeated “Crikey?” as a question.

  Amusement glittered in his brown eyes, which were captivating even from behind the square, tortoiseshell hipster glasses.

  Hold on, it wasn’t like Lucy to notice another guy’s eyes. Or that his smooth-looking skin was a few hues darker than his eyes; his hair midnight black, closely cut, almost military.

  “Sorry, didn’t see you there,” he said without a trace of irony. Did he really think the collision had been his fault?

  “Yeah, me neither.”

  The stranger chuckled and it had a different cadence from American laughter. Something about it coaxed a wry smile from Lucy. She couldn’t resist giving him a quick once-over: tweed blazer, chinos, and a Doctor Who T-shirt. Definitely not from around here.

  “Are you new?” Lucy asked for lack of something more original to say while showing off her evidently acute deductive reasoning skills. There was the faintest hint of stubble on the stranger’s jaw. She didn’t think he could be younger than her, but why would a senior transfer in so close to graduation?

  He quirked his lips. “If I don’t answer, will you rope me with your Lasso of Truth?”

  Lucy just stared.

  “Wonder Woman.” His smile faltered and he touched his index finger to the Band-Aid.

  When no sparks flew, Lucy let out a short, relieved breath.

  “Oh. Right. Justice League aficionado?”

  “I like comics.” A casual shrug. “Although Watchmen is more my speed.”

  “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes, huh?”

  “Good question. Who will watch the watchers? And they say Americans have
less culture than yogurt.” He pronounced it yah-gurt, which made the dairy product sound infinitely more sophisticated than it was.

  Lucy laughed. “I suppose I should be offended on behalf of my countrymen.”

  “As well as friends and Romans?” he said.

  Was the Brit flirting with her? And wait, was Lucy flirting back?

  “If I’ve offended you,” he began, clenching a fist to his chest. “I sincerely apologize because I need a favor.”

  “What kind of favor?” She arched a brow.

  “I was looking for the physics lab.”

  Physics! Argh! “I’m headed that way. Let’s go.”

  He grinned. “I’ll follow your lead.”

  Lucy was careful not to graze him with a hand or shoulder as she navigated them down the corridor. She couldn’t begin to understand the different kinds of tingles he’d provoked. She only knew she couldn’t control it.

  The droning of teachers from behind classroom doors provided an awkward soundtrack. After a few moments of walking in silence, she said, “Don’t worry about being late—Mrs. Brandon is a total softie. I’m her student aide.”

  “Oh, really?” He smoothed the lapels of his jacket, considering the tip. Catching her eye, he said, “To answer your question, I am new. Just arrived from Cambridge. Near London, not Boston.”

  “You don’t say.” A smile tugged at Lucy’s lips. “One day I’d like to see Newton’s apple tree.” He was probably their most famous alumnus. Next to Stephen Hawking.

  “It doesn’t really exist, you know. There’s a tree outside Trinity College—but that’s just for tourists.”

  “Then I guess that’d be perfect for me.”

  He laughed and gave her a long, curious look.

  Lucy was kind of sad to bring their conversation to an end, but they’d arrived at the lab. The Brit had provided her with two whole worry-free minutes.

  “Here we are.”

  He broke eye contact. “Right-o. Here we go,” he said, opening the door for Lucy like a gentleman—not the instinctive behavior of American high school boys—before his expression transformed into something far more earnest.

  “Hey, I forgot to ask,” Lucy started. “What’s your name?”

  Mrs. Brandon answered for him.

  “Ah, there you are!” said the teacher from the front of the lab, smiling brightly. “Class, this is Ravi Malik. He’s a final-year student at Cambridge University and he’s on an exchange program at our very own Heron College.” That was where Lucy’s mom taught. “Ravi will be my teaching assistant for the rest of the semester. Please make him feel welcome!”

  Teaching assistant?

  The Brit wasn’t a new senior. He was a college senior.

  And Lucy had been flirting with him. The fact that he’d been polite enough to humor her only made her want to curl into a ball and die.

  This was definitely the cherry on top.

  SPEAKEASY

  Caffeine, like duct tape, fixes nearly everything.

  Lucy took a gulp of her triple-shot gingerbread latte, closed her eyes, and sank into a plush turquoise sofa at the café where Claudia worked after school. Since she had an in with the barista, Lucy ordered Christmas concoctions all year-round. Claudia made up a few of her own, like the Sugar Plum Fairy, just for Lucy.

  The Gallery—which displayed works by local artists in addition to being a coffeehouse—was located on the other side of town near the Heron College campus. It was relatively slow this afternoon because most of the college kids were off spring breaking. The Eaton High crowd tended to hang out at Casey’s Diner or the fast-food restaurants closer to school. Lucy was happy for some distance from her classmates—and from Cole.

  His smile was tinged with hurt when she’d rejected his offer for a ride home in favor of accompanying Claudia to the Gallery, but Lucy was afraid of what might happen if they were together in a confined space. How could she tell her boyfriend that his kisses made her want to hurl? She took another sip and heaved a sigh.

  At the register, Claudia was laughing while providing service with a smile to a lone patron, probably a Heron student. The girl had spiky blond hair, an eyebrow ring, and sported one of those Ceci n’est pas une pipe T-shirts.

  Just Claudia’s type. She loved a good tortured artist—on canvas or in the flesh. Lucy would rather “solve for x” every day of the week than try to interpret a Monet. Art was her bestie’s department. Claudia would be spending the summer interning at the Art Institute of Chicago before freshman orientation began.

  Overhead, the mellow stylings of folk rock about star-crossed lovers streamed from the speakers. Not what Lucy needed.

  Megan had pierced her with ice-pick glances throughout the entire double-period physics lab while shamelessly flirting with Ravi, calling him Mr. Darcy, and asking, “Is it true bodies rest in motion?” Ugh.

  Not that Lucy could entirely blame the other girl. When Mrs. Brandon had asked Lucy to stay after class with Ravi, her insides had performed an ambitious trapeze act. Her physics teacher said it would be a great experience for Ravi to take over supervising Lucy’s independent-study project and hoped Lucy wouldn’t mind.

  Mind?

  With a warm smile, Ravi told Lucy he was keen—he’d actually used the word “keen”—to work together. So was Lucy. Which made her the lowest of the low. Worse than Megan.

  It’s just because things are weird with Cole, she told herself.

  She finished her latte in record time and decided she needed another shot. Or five. Thank goodness caffeine wasn’t one of her triggers or Lucy wouldn’t survive high school.

  “Earth to Minnie Mouse?” asked Claudia as Lucy approached the counter.

  Lucy faux glared. “You know I hate that nickname.”

  Long ago, her friend had decided that Minnie Mouse was a fitting substitute for Lucy’s middle name. It beat Minerva, anyhow.

  “Yep.” Who could resist her friend’s impish smile? Not her. Lucy doubted the Heron girl could either, from the way her eyes meandered back in Claudia’s direction.

  “More caffeine, please.”

  Claudia waved her hand across the menu board with a flourish. “Any specific variety?”

  “Strong.”

  Drawing her eyebrows together, her friend’s reply was unyielding. “One more and I’m cutting you off. Capisce?”

  “Capisce.” Lucy tried to keep a straight face as Claudia vanished behind the enormous chrome espresso machine. Immediately the rumble of the coffee grinder and whir of the frother drowned out another folk song about being done wrong.

  “I’m still waiting for you to dish about your fight with Megan,” Claudia shouted over the din. Fortunately the café was empty except for the Heron girl, who was now sprawled in an armchair next to the bay window completely absorbed—or pretending to be completely absorbed—by a dog-eared copy of Sartre. The Existentialists had never interested Lucy. She found all the reason she needed for existence in the laws of science. Until this past Saturday, that was.

  The grinding stopped and Claudia reappeared with two mugs in hand.

  “Hurling office supplies is no way to get out of library fines,” said her friend with a wink. Lucy sucked in her cheeks. “Come on, Minnie. I’m due for a break.” Obediently, she followed Claudia back toward the sofa, and they melted against it side by side.

  Growing up, most of the neighborhood kids were afraid to touch Lucy. No doubt her parents had provided their parents with a laundry list of dos and don’ts that made offers for playdates dry up like the Sahara. While the likes of Tony Morelli and Megan thought they could catch Lucy’s “seizure cooties,” Claudia never once shied away from holding her hand.

  Froth covered Claudia’s top lip as she took a swig of her hazelnut cappuccino. Lucy loved that she knew how Claudia liked her java, that she preferred curly fries to regular, and that the spaghetti-and-meatball scene in Lady and the Tramp always made her cry. She would miss this, just spending time together, so much next yea
r.

  Lucy took her hand now and gave a squeeze.

  “Why so glum, chum?” Claudia asked, her over-the-top Oliver Twist accent a marked departure from Ravi’s.

  Lucy shrugged. “I’m not.”

  “Liar.”

  “Did Megan really claim I threw the stapler at her?”

  “If you did, you have extraordinarily bad aim.” Claudia smirked, nodding at the Wonder Woman Band-Aid. Interrogation wasn’t really her style. She never prodded too hard until Lucy was ready to talk, but her concern was plain.

  Lucy laughed her trademark self-deprecatory snort-chuckle. “It’s nothing so dramatic,” she said. “My locker holds a grudge is all.” In reality, the flying stapler had demonstrated perfect aim—something the pre–Tesla Suite Lucy could never have pulled off.

  “If I need to kill someone, just tell me which tools to bring,” Claudia offered, dead serious despite her smile. “I can make ’em suffer.”

  “I know you’ve got me covered, Clauds.”

  “Damn straight.”

  Lucy’s chest caved as she exhaled. Claudia scooted closer, smile fading, and placed a hand on her knee. There was no static electricity this time but a sensation similar to when she had collided with Ravi flared at the point of contact.

  Lucy was confident she wasn’t attracted to her best friend in the same way she was to the Brit. (And okay, she was attracted to him, but that was beside the point.) But maybe the tingly feelings had nothing to do with an ill-advised crush. That would simplify things. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but it was promising.

  Claudia’s eyes never left her face as Lucy put this together.

  “Did something happen…” she began gently, “like, in the city?”

  Lucy hadn’t offered up any details beyond telling Claudia she’d felt lightheaded, and Claudia hadn’t pressed her on the ride from the train station. Now, though, Lucy saw genuine worry—maybe fear—in her friend’s eyes. She hated herself for putting it there.

  “No. Really. It wasn’t … that.” Lucy met her friend’s pained gaze. She hated herself even more for lying. “I would tell you, Clauds.” And yet there was no explanation Lucy could give Claudia that didn’t sound like a lie.