Текст книги "Touched"

Автор книги: Cyn Balog

Соавторы: Cyn Balog
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

I didn’t want to go home again, but I did. I had a lot of time to kill before six, and after Taryn left me, I realized I looked like a slob. I wanted to brush my teeth, wash my face, and change out of my holey gym shorts and T-shirt so I could look halfway presentable. I opened and closed the screen door carefully, then quietly climbed the stairs and did all I needed to without my mother noticing. Well, maybe she did know I was there, since she could see the future and all, but if she did, she didn’t come out of her room or call to me, and I was glad for that. Quickly, I threw on some cargo shorts and one of the few clean plaid button-downs I had lying around, and was still buttoning it when I ran into Nan downstairs. “Don’t hold dinner for me,” I said.

“Oh, it’s that girl, isn’t it?” she said, beaming. “A date?”

“Not exactly,” I said, nerves tweaking as I thought about what it was. “But we’re … hanging out.”

“Not exactly,” she repeated, mimicking my voice, then swatting my backside with a dish towel. “Dating, hanging out. It’s the same thing. You kids and your funny expressions.”

“Whatever,” I said with a smile, then went out the door, this time not caring if my mom heard the slamming. When I straddled my bicycle, in my mind I saw these things: pizza, smiley face, strings of disgusting peppermint. I was halfway down the street in a matter of minutes, heading toward the Heights, when I passed the badge-checking station at the Seventh Avenue beach. A thought of Jocelyn, my old babysitter, popped into my mind. I figured it was probably because that booth was where she worked, but I’d passed it a hundred times before and never thought of her once. I shook the thought away, stood on the pedals and pushed harder, past the piles of sand on Ocean.

It was a weird night. The wind was blowing steadily from the east and thick clouds, like a pile of charcoal, were hovering over the mainland. I could see the white outlines of the seagulls against them. Somewhere, far away, thunder rumbled. That meant a nasty summer downpour, the kind that raged for a few minutes and then disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving a rosy sunset and a rainbow as a parting gift. I crossed my fingers and hoped I wouldn’t be drenched by the time I made it to the stand on the boardwalk.

I didn’t have to worry. When I got there, the storm was still rumbling in the distance. Taryn was sitting on one of the green benches overlooking the beach, her backside on top of the backrest and her feet planted on the seat. There were seagulls swarming around her. As I got closer, I noticed she had the fabric of a long skirt bunched up around her knees and a scarf over her shoulders. Hoop earrings and a tambourine would have completed the picture so nicely. She was feeding the birds funnel cake. She shrugged as she saw me. “I know, rats of the seashore and all, but we’re all God’s creatures.”

I sat beside her. “Will you still think that when one craps on your head?”

“As a matter of fact,” she said indignantly, “one already did, on my knee. Anyway, this stuff is pure grease. It will probably kill them.”

I stared at her knee. She was probably the only girl in the world who wasn’t bothered by seagull crap. “Nothing can kill them. They’re like cockroaches.”

She turned and held the plate out to me. “Want some?”

I grinned. “Are you trying to kill me?”

She stood up and let the skirt fall over her knees. She caught me looking and said, “Grandma says people expect us to wear this stuff. It makes us seem more authentic, more dark and mysterious. But”—she lowered her voice—“I feel like a total idiot.” She tossed the plate in a trash can, then licked the powdered sugar off her fingers. Thunder boomed in the distance, and a jagged edge of lightning slit the sky beyond the bridge. “We’d better get inside. It’s going to pour.”

I noticed as I followed her toward the tent that she was wearing rainbow-colored flip-flops with smiley faces on them. So much for dark and mysterious. She stopped. “Wait. I’m hungry. Want to get a slice of pizza with me?”

“Didn’t you just have funnel cake?”

She shook her head. “That was left over from the Mugsy’s stand. It fell on the ground. So I fed it to the seagulls.”

“Wait. You offered me food that fell on the ground?”

She blushed. “I didn’t think you’d accept.”

“What time do you have to do the Touch?”

She looked at her cell-phone display. “Five. Plenty of time.”

I was hungry, too. We’d started to walk to the Sawmill when she stopped short. I followed her gaze down the boardwalk. Devon and a couple of other cute girls were coming our way. Her friends. I thought she’d wave or go up to them, but instead she started looking around the stands nearby. It wasn’t crowded, so I know they saw us. Finally Taryn grabbed my wrist and pulled me into a surf shop. She pretended to inspect the hemp necklaces on the wall, but kept peeking out the door every two seconds. She gasped and hid behind me, then drew me even farther into the store, to the very back. The shop was so crowded with stuff that I rammed various body parts into three racks of T-shirts and smacked my forehead into a fake parrot hanging overhead before the trek was over. “Hey,” I said, as she stood on her tippy-toes, peering out the opening. “Inspector Clouseau. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I just can’t take them anymore.”

Her friends? What girl didn’t want to hang out with her friends? As I stared at her, the answer came to me. “What? You don’t want your friends to see you with me?”

She snapped her eyes to mine. “No, that’s not it at all. They’re not my friends, anyway.”

Okay, now I was confused. “Did you get into a fight with them? Devon—”

“She’s okay, I guess. But all the rest of them drive me bonkers. I guess I can understand why you’d think I was friends with them, because they’re constantly following me around. Didn’t I tell you before? I attract them. They’re drawn to me, but they don’t know why. They all want something from me. After the great friends I had in Maine, I don’t want any more.”

“You mean, they want something, like a Touch?”

She laughed bitterly. “Yeah. ‘Taryn, can I get you this?’ ‘Taryn, you look so pretty today.’ ‘Taryn, can I rub your feet?’ It gets old really fast. But the problem is, I don’t have any Touches they’d want.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s a limited number. There’s only a few left now.” She glanced quickly outside. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

We got slices at Five Brothers, the next pizza place on the strip, which was a little more private. We sat down in a booth that wasn’t splashed with too much pizza sauce or swarming with too many black flies. She folded her slice up and took a bite, letting a long string of cheese hang down to the plate, then scooped it up with her finger and piled it into her mouth. “Yum. Jersey pizza is the best. I missed it like crazy. In Maine, it’s like raw dough. Gross. So the night I came back here, I ate an entire pie by myself.” Then she shivered visibly. “I am so nervous.”

“Yeah.” I laughed as she took another huge bite. “I can see. You can hardly eat a thing.”

She blushed. “I eat when I’m nervous.” Then she reached into her flowery backpack and started to pull something out. I thought it would be her phone again, but it was old and dusty and completely conspicuous … great. The Book of Touch. She’d actually taken it with her.

“Why do you have that?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

“Well, I need to practice. Duh.” She took the key and opened the lock. For some reason, I’d thought that the book was this big secret, that the only people who could lay eyes upon it were people like her. That she’d entrusted me when she let me look at it. I didn’t know that she could whip it out at any pizza place on the strip and not have to endure the wrath of her grandmother. In the bright light I could see the book much better. There were a few small red tabs sticking out from some of the pages. She flipped through the pages until she came to one of the red tabs. I could tell that it was a Touch that hadn’t been performed because there were more words inscribed on the page, and the signature line was blank. “This is the one I have to do.”

I stared at it. It was all nonsense to me. “What is it?”

“Flight of Song. The ability to make people do what you tell them to.”

“Like … you mean, anything?”

She nodded.

“Are you serious?” I couldn’t believe how nonchalant she was being about the whole thing.

“Yes. Why?”

“Because, that’s dangerous. Right? I mean, whoever gets that Touch could just say, ‘Go jump off a cliff,’ and you would have to do it. Right?”

She thought for a moment. “I guess.”

“Then, how can you just go ahead and—”

She bit her tongue and threw the pizza down on the plate. “You think I want to do this? I have to! This book has been our curse since the beginning of time. We have to give people their deepest desires. We’re tied to this book. If we don’t perform these Touches, all of them, Grandma says we’ll die. There are only five Touches left in this book. Once we finish with them, we’re done. We’re free.”

“Why doesn’t your grandmother do them and leave you out of it?”

“Because she’s dying, that’s why,” Taryn said, her face reddening. “She has pancreatic cancer, and the doctors gave her fewer than three months to live. That was two months ago. She needs to train me so that I know what to do in case she dies before the Touches have been used. If I’m not properly trained to carry out the Touches by the time she dies, I won’t be able to do them, and I’ll die, too.”

I just stared at her. “Wow. How did you guys ever get so lucky?”

“It was over two hundred years ago. Back in Hungary. Basically one of my ancestors pissed off a Gypsy. Supposedly my ancestor was a charlatan, and a very gifted actress. She used to go from place to place and promise she could perform miracles, but she used cheap parlor tricks and stuff to make people believe in her. Even so, she thrived. She was very successful at fooling everyone, and it was majorly cutting into this other woman’s—the real Gypsy’s—business. To exact revenge and prove who the real mystic was, the Gypsy placed this curse on her. She would have to perform these spells on people—her very life depended on it. Her last grandchild inherited the book, and that grandchild’s last grandchild, and then Grandma, and now me. And here we are.” She turned back to the book. “I really hate this,” she whispered. “Don’t think I don’t.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “Well, maybe this will be a good one. Maybe this person will do amazing things with this Touch.”

“Maybe,” I said, thinking, Not possible. It was too volatile. There was too much room for bad things to happen. After all, how often do people say things they don’t mean? “Do you know who is getting it?”

She shook her head and hunched over the book for a minute, quiet, and I watched her, her blond hair pooling on the pages.

“Do you have to memorize it?”

“Yeah. Well, I can always refer to the book, but it’s tricky because it’s in Hungarian. If I say one syllable wrong, the Touch won’t work and both the person receiving the Touch and I will …” She cringed. “I don’t want to think about that right now. But anyway, that’s why I want you there. If anything happens, I’d hate to be alone.”

She didn’t have to complete the sentence. I knew what she meant. If she didn’t do it, she’d die. If she didn’t do it right, she’d die. Death was a pretty big part of the whole thing. For some reason, the thought comforted me. Like maybe I’d finally found someone with a curse worse than mine. “Your grandmother—”

“Not the same,” she muttered. “She would probably just stand over me and curse my stupidity in Hungarian.”

She studied the page, her brow furrowing and her lips moving slowly. Every once in a while some strange syllable came out of her mouth. Then she exhaled heavily and took another bite of pizza. “I am so not cut out for this. You know when we moved to Maine, I had it in my head I was going to be a veterinarian.”

“Oh, yeah?” I said. Explained why she liked seagulls so much.

She nodded. “But my parents just patted my head and said, ‘That’s cute.’ I guess because all kids under ten want to be veterinarians.”

“I never wanted to be one,” I pointed out. But then again, I never wanted to be anything. I never had any plans for the future. I just wanted to be … normal.

“Okay, so you’re the only one. But really, I still wish I could be one. I love animals. And I really think I could be good at it.” She looked at the book in front of her. “Not this. I never wanted this.”

“Who would?”

“Well … I get the feeling my grandmother doesn’t mind doing it.”

“She’s probably just been doing it so long, it doesn’t bother her.” I leaned forward. There were four more red tabs sticking out from other pages. “Are the tabs the Touches that haven’t been used yet?”

“Yeah.”

“Not that many.”

“I know. Only five. And when I was saying that I didn’t have any Touches my ‘friends’ would be interested in, it’s because there aren’t that many left. I’m sure they would have clawed each other to death to get ahold of Evan’s Touch, even if they knew it would cause them tumors. That’s how shallow those girls are. That’s another problem. I attract all these weak people. But I can’t help them all.” She snorted. “Help. I know. Hilarious, right?”

I said, “Which ones are left?”

She didn’t need to look. “Flight of Song. Open Heart. Broken Ice. Invisible Assassin. Architect of—”

“Whoa. Invisible Assassin? That sounds brutal.”

She swallowed. “It is. I don’t … it’s the ability to kill whoever you want, in … It’s—”

As she spoke, I suddenly had this really uneasy feeling that made me grip the edge of the table. My thumb got stuck in something mushy on its underside. Taryn studied me and asked, “What?” as I pulled my hand away and saw a line of white gum that smelled like peppermint. Nasty.

I plucked a napkin from the dispenser. “That sounds like a pretty powerful Touch. And that other one. The one you’re doing tonight. The power to make people do what you tell them to do. You’re saying that in hundreds of years, your ancestors couldn’t find someone who wanted that Touch?”

“First of all, if you looked at every Touch in this book, you’d see that they’re all really powerful. And second, the ones left over are the hardest ones to perform. So my ancestors never recruited for them.”

“Recruited?”

“Well, we don’t actively recruit. When someone approaches me, if I touch them, I can tell what their need is. Or I can tell what Touch they’ve been given. If I have a Touch they might like, I’m supposed to take them aside and explain things to them. Grandma says she’s never had anyone say ‘no thanks,’ even after she explained how much it cost or what the dangers are.”

I smirked at the thought of my mom dropping everything and running to Babe’s tent with all the money in her savings account. Nan had said she’d been a free spirit, always doing things without care to the consequences of her actions. That was nothing like what I knew of her. I sat there, not speaking, thinking of my mother piling that money on the table in the tent and demanding her Touch. I wondered what she did when she realized that her life had been changed irrevocably for the worse. I wondered if she’d lost her sense of adventure overnight, or if it had happened in baby steps. Maybe she had tried to stay the free spirit she once was, but the Touch had eventually beaten her down, taking all the things she loved and twisting them into something ugly and frightening. Then I said, “I really can’t wait for tonight, then. Watching another unsuspecting person ruin his life. Good times.”

Taryn looked me up and down. She furrowed her brow for a moment. “I know it might be a lot to ask, knowing your mother … If you really feel bad about it.…”

“I said I’ll be there. I’m not backing out,” I told her.

“Thank you. Maybe we should have signals. In case Grandma suspects something. Like, if I yawn, that means get out.”

“Okay.” I couldn’t help sounding amused, which was probably why she thought I was making fun of her. She was really cute when she thought seriously about things. “And if you cough, that means all clear. I can come out.”

She nodded. “Right. And we should have a meeting place. The front of the arcade, next to the crane game with the fuzzy dice. If I run my fingers through my hair, it means we should meet there.”

I tried to think of what a secret agent would say, but nothing came to mind. “Got it.”

She stood up. “I’ve got to get going. Grandma will be there any minute. You know how to get to the hiding spot? Through the arcade?”

“No problem.”

“And …” She looked a little flustered. “You know, forget the cough. Don’t come out, okay? No matter what happens. If Grandma finds out you’re there, she’ll … I don’t know what. But it won’t be good.”

“Okay,” I said, shrugging.

The whole thing seemed kind of pointless, me hiding there, unable to do anything to help her, but then I thought of what she’d said. What if she died tonight? I didn’t see that happening. I knew when she would die. But we couldn’t talk of things like that. Not now. Not when she was so on edge.

She was visibly shivering, her lower lip trembling, so when she leaned forward—to give me a hug? A kiss on the cheek? I’m still not sure—I turned the wrong way and ended up jabbing her cheek with my jaw. We both pulled back suddenly, and I could tell she was in just as much pain as I was by the way she rubbed her cheek and grimaced. Total idiot move. I wanted to bury my head in the sand. Instead I walked to the Kohr’s stand and got an orangeade so I could have adequate refreshment for the “show.”

Ten minutes later, I’d thrown away my last dollar’s worth of quarters on a classic video game called Mr. Do! and my orangeade was gone. The clock on the wall said 4:45. The arcade wasn’t busy yet, but I knew it would be soon; it was Sunday. Right now, it was mostly families, a lot of kids trying their luck at Frog Bog and the fishing game. From where I stood, I could just see the wall I’d need to shimmy over to make it to the hiding spot. Part of me wanted to go there right away, but I’d forgotten to ask Taryn how long the Touch took, and another part of me didn’t want to be sitting there for hours. As I stood there trying to decide, the orangeade hit me full force.

When I came back from the men’s room, I saw a face I recognized. I stopped abruptly because I wasn’t expecting to see anyone I knew. It took a while to place the face, but it was her, my old babysitter and Seventh Avenue badge checker. Jocelyn. She’d been there the day Emma died. It was Jocelyn who’d finally gotten through to me as I tried to revive the little girl. She’d put her hand on my shoulder and yanked me back from the lifeless body, saying, “Nick! Nick. Get ahold of yourself.” She’d looked at me the way she’d done when she sat for me, and I’d found the knife drawer. Condescending, but mostly just horrified.

Now she was the one who looked small and vulnerable. It was right at that in-between time, the blurred line where family-friendly fun and party-all-night mixed. But despite the fact that she belonged to neither category, she melted into the scenery perfectly. She stood alone, but she wasn’t dressed for a night out on the town. She had on a prim white sweater, the kind old ladies at church socials wear. She had her hands laced in front of her, as if praying. Jocelyn was probably in her late twenties, but she looked a lot older, probably because she was so serious and proper. Her hair was pulled back in a very severe way that made every line and flaw in her face visible. She was always frowning, but with her hair like that, the frown looked mean. She fidgeted, taking in all the games and attractions as if she’d never seen them before. I almost had to laugh, watching her standing there like she’d rather be anywhere else.

It was hard for someone to be more out of place than I was, but she managed. Why the hell she was here, of all places? Maybe she was meeting someone. Maybe she was going on a date.

I was trying to think of what kind of guy she’d date when I neared her. I wasn’t expecting to stop and talk to her, but then she folded her arms across herself. She was shivering. Her face was pale and ghostlike. There was something wrong.

She glanced at her wristwatch, and in that moment, something caught in my mind. It was the first night I’d met her. She’d taken some Hot Wheels out of her backpack and let me play with them. She had one that was aqua blue, with doors and a trunk that opened. It was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. She was telling me that I could keep it when my mother began moaning from upstairs. That night, when Nan came home, I’d cried, clutching that car in my hands, knowing I’d probably never see Jocelyn again. But she came back. She babysat for me a few more times, until she went to college.

I stopped short in front of her. Immediately, pangs of pain thudded in my head. I wasn’t sure if I could bring myself to speak to her, if I could find the right words. I opened my mouth, still not certain what would come out. “Jocelyn? Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” She’d been inspecting her fingernails and I startled her. When she recognized me, her face softened. “Hey.”

“You looking for something or someone?” I ventured.

She just stood there for a second, perplexed. Then she smirked as if to say, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“You just look a little out of your element,” I explained, and as I did I saw it all in perfect clarity.

When we were done speaking, she would walk away from me, step out onto the boardwalk, and go next door. To the tent. I swallowed as I saw it, as if it had already happened.

Jocelyn was the one getting the Touch.

“I’m perfectly fine, thanks,” she said, her voice a whisper. “I have an … I’m meeting someone.”

She began to turn away, but I grabbed her hand before she could. When she turned back, the shock and anger in her face made me flinch. She started to yank free when I said, “Why are you doing it?”

She stood there, her cheeks aflame and eyes intent. “What?”

I didn’t need her to confirm it. I knew it like I knew my own birthday. “The Touch. It’s you, isn’t it?”

Her eyes softened, but she finally yanked her arm away from me. “Why should you care?”

“Because I …” I searched for the words. “Because I don’t want you to do it. It could ruin your life.”

“I already got the warnings and precautions talk,” she said, her voice dull. “What do you know about it, anyway?”

I laughed under my breath. “More than you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Why do you want people to do whatever you say?” I asked. “You really think it would be that great?”

Surprise dawned on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but I stopped her.

“What if you told someone to go jump off a bridge?”

She bit her tongue. “Well, I wouldn’t—”

“How do you know? What if the Touch made everyone do everything you said, no matter what? Even if it killed them?”

“Then I would just be careful to—”

“Have you ever said anything you didn’t mean?”

She choked on her words. “Well, yes, but …” She sighed. “Please go away. This has nothing to do with you. You don’t know what it’s like. What my life is like.” I waited for her to say more, to tell me what it was like, but she didn’t. She just stood there, staring at the ground, her breathing short and erratic. “I can’t. I can’t go into this with you.”

I backed away. Of course she couldn’t. I was everything she detested; that much I could see in her eyes. “Do you remember when you used to come over to my house to babysit?”

She nodded. “So?”

“My mom. The moaning upstairs. Nan probably told you she was sick,” I said. “She wasn’t sick. She was Touched. Jocelyn, I’m Touched.”

She drew in a breath, her fists clenched slightly. “You … you are?”

I nodded.

“What do you have?”

“I can see my future.”

She slumped against the pinball machine, dropped her bag to the ground, and shook her head. “But then you should understand how important—”

“I understand that you can ruin your life. My Touch ruined mine. Sure, some things about it are good, but they’re seriously overshadowed by the bad. Just … keep that in mind.”

She looked out the door, toward the seagulls circling above the beach in the clear blue sky. “My whole life, everyone ignores me. Everyone walks all over me. I’m about to lose my job. It’s like nobody even sees me.” She buried her face in her hands. “I am so sick of being walked on, and I don’t know what else to do.”

I shrugged. I knew what she meant. Sometimes I was so sick of being a freak that I probably would get a Touch if it promised to make me normal. I said, “You were the best babysitter I ever had, you know. You were the only one who ever played with me. I was crushed when you went to college.”

Her frown didn’t soften, but her eyes brightened for an instant. She looked away. “I’ve got to go,” she said. From the way she said it, I didn’t think she’d pay any attention to me. Now the arcade was a little more crowded. I walked to the outer edge of the room, where the cinder-block wall stood, and, checking to make sure nobody was watching, quietly slid over it. I hit the ground unsteadily and had to grasp the velvet curtain to prevent myself from landing in the tent. I found the opening and crouched there, where I could hear Taryn’s smooth, sweet voice and her grandmother’s gruff one playing off each other. Just another way in which they were extreme opposites. They were busy gazing at the entrance and hadn’t noticed my less-than-slick appearance.

“What time is it now?” her grandmother croaked.

“Ten after,” Taryn said. From between the decorative tassels on the curtains, I could see her peeking outside the tent.

Ten after, I thought. I hadn’t realized I was that late. But Jocelyn still wasn’t there. If she’d gone straight from talking to me to the tent, she would have been. I tried to think of the future but couldn’t place Jocelyn in the tent. Maybe I had convinced her. Yes!

The tent was dark, lit only by the cobwebbed crystal chandelier that was up so high it barely cast down any light. But I could see creases in Taryn’s face. She looked in my direction, shrugged, and then sighed. “Well, what do we do if she doesn’t show up?” she asked.

Her grandmother was sitting with her back toward me, and I could see the book opened on the table in front of her. “We go home, sevgili,” she said.

“But I only have three days left,” Taryn said.

“Yes. We will find another. I have some interest.”

I found myself leaning forward, my forehead almost out the opening of the curtains, trying to figure out what they were talking about. Three days? Three days for what?

“But don’t worry, sevgili. This one’s a stupid girl. She will come. Stupid people are easily led to us,” her grandmother croaked.

“But what if she isn’t?” Taryn’s voice was an octave higher, clearly worried. And here I thought she’d be happy if she didn’t have to do a Touch tonight.

“Calm. Like I say, we have other interest.”

Taryn walked to the table and leaned her knuckles on it. She said, “I don’t understand how you can be that way. Calling the people stupid. They’re people. And we might just ruin their lives.”

“We don’t ruin life. They ruin life.”

“But we help them do it. Doesn’t that bother you?”

Her grandmother shifted her weighty bottom in the seat, and the small chair creaked in protest. “Let me tell you something, sevgili. It bother me. Of course it bother me. Once, long time ago, I learn something about one of them. Something terrible. Too late. It made me very, very sad. I told God to take me then. I did not care if I live or die. I went many, many years before I open the book again. But then you came. And you were the one, the next in line. And so I start again. I hoped I could finish the book before God take me. For you. But not so. Not so.”

Her grandmother’s voice trailed off, and Taryn walked around the table, leaned down, and hugged her. Her grandmother didn’t move, despite the extra weight on her. It occurred to me that hugging a cactus would probably be more natural. But then her grandmother trembled a little, and I realized they were both crying. Who knew the old lady had feelings? I felt stupid, witnessing that. First, maybe I’d misjudged Taryn’s grandmother, and second, it was a private moment, not something I was meant to witness. I rose to my feet, turned, and scuttled up the wall and into the arcade.

I’d just gotten another dollar’s worth of quarters to blow on Mr. Do! when Taryn came rushing up to me. “There you are! What happened?”

“I just—”

“She’s over a half hour late,” she said, chewing on her thumbnail.

“Why aren’t you in there?”

“I excused myself to use the ladies’ room.”

“What is the deal with three days?” I asked.

“That’s when I turn seventeen,” she said, ripping the thumbnail off. “I have to perform my first Touch before then.”

“You what?” I asked, my voice rising. “Or else what?”

She bit her lip. “Can we not talk about that?”

“Are you telling me that you needed to perform that Touch or else you’ll die?” My voice was now so loud a kid at the video game next to us stopped killing zombies and stared at me.

“Shhh!” She threw her hand over my mouth. Her voice was just as loud as mine, which was probably why a bunch of other people started giving us looks, too. “I did tell you. I told you we had to perform these Touches or we’d …”

“Well, I know, but I thought you’d have longer than three days,” I said.

“It’s fine, though,” she said. “All I need to do is—”

“She’s not coming,” I muttered.

She stared at me. “What?”

“Your five o’clock appointment.” When her eyes narrowed I said, “I figured out who it was. I knew the person. I didn’t want her to ruin her life. So I convinced her not to do it.”

Her eyes filled with something, not anger, but desperation. Horror. “You … what? Why?”

“Because I thought I was doing you a favor! I thought you wanted to get out of it. That was before I knew you would drop dead in three days if you didn’t go through with it. That makes a big difference.” I squeezed the words out of my tightening throat.