Chapter Three

Lunch was after photography, but Saylor and I knew our conversation was reserved for much later, in the safety of one of our bedrooms—one of our three bedrooms.

Faith Castillo, the other half of my best and only friends in life, had joined us for lunch. She was both the fire and electricity to our otherwise unremarkable duo and I loved her for that, but she had no sense of volume.

That wouldn't work out well for our seating arrangement. To ensure no one sat alone, teachers ushered students to tables from the lunch line like cattle, only opening up another table once one had been filled.

I didn't mind that so much, but we couldn't risk being overheard. Juice was a buzzword that made ears perk up and I wasn't dumb enough to think saving his life could've spared me a beating.

We sat somewhere near the middle of the raucous cafeteria on a white, circular picnic-style table. Faith, with fiery red hair—as in, dyed in a color gradient like fire—sat in between Saylor and me. While we wore blue jeans and unremarkable solid colored tees, she had on a yellow crop top that was formerly too short to be worn at school.

To fix this in the most Faith way possible, she had cut two inches off the bottom hem and reattached it with thick, hot pink strands of thread so it hung below her navel. I couldn't imagine how long that must've taken, but she was bold and she always had crazy ideas. I never could wait to hear what came out of her mouth.

"So, Friday we're having a painting party a mi casa," Faith said.

Perhaps, I'd built her up too much. A paint party sounded tame and actually quite fun. Not that I was much into art. I shot her a glance and saw her hands white knuckling the edges of the table.

"What's a paint party?" I asked.

I narrowed my eyes while carefully setting her hook on my tongue. I fingered the grooves on the table where the paint had chipped to downplay my interest. Faith thrived on keeping people in suspense, and would do so, if ever she smelled an opportunity.

"Tighty whiteys or boys shorts only. You show up, we paint bodies. Drink, laugh... ganja if you're so inclined." Faith paused to make eyes at me. She knew marijuana was a pass from me. "Entonces, the night ends in the pool or the hot tub. Your pick."

She stared at Saylor. She knew he was easy to break. She wasn't playing fair. The friend vote was sure to follow, forcing my hand.

Saylor broke her stare near instantly, though he'd already given up. "She'll do it anyway. Do you really want to risk not being around? You know, in case..."

He didn't need to say another word for me to understand and I was glad he didn't. Superpower was also a buzzword, only for torment. I didn't want to defend my sanity for another lunch period. Regardless of who knew or believed, I was doomed to the thankless job of bird watching, so I was going to make damn sure my friends were always safe.

"Come on, it'll help with your glaucoma!" Faith bubbled up with laughter.

She had this goofy cackle that was equal parts adorable and always seemed like it'd end in a snort, but never did. I loved it so much that I could've squeezed the snort out of her anyway, but I resisted. We had a 'no touching in public' rule that benefited us both. Lest we be confused as a couple.

"All eye problems aren't the same," I replied mopily, instantly giving myself away.

Faith had an eagle eye for all moods Regal. One hooded eyed glance and a curved index finger across her chin was her invitation to the bedroom discussion. A cough or clearing her throat would've done the same. We didn't have set codes. We weren't baseball catchers, but we knew each other better than any one had ever known their pitcher.

Faith grabbed the tater tots off my tray in one handful and traded them for baby carrots. They're known to be rich in carotene which is good for the eyes. What a dumb name though? Good thing a different scientist dissected bananas or potassium would've been banana-tene.

I chomped down my double helping of carrots as quickly as I could without tasting them. As I ate, I couldn't help wondering whether I'd actually saved Juice Williams.

The first person I had ever saved with my power was my younger cousin, at his twelfth birthday party. Weeks later, he came down with meningitis although he'd been vaccinated months before. He survived, but I couldn't help wondering if the gray spires had a way of circling back for their intended targets.

If so, I couldn't let Juice fall victim to some other calamity comparable to a lightning bolt. I had to watch out for him, but what the hell could I do for a man so wild and fearless?

"Don't worry, Juicy-juice and his boys already RSVP'd," Faith said in her best attempt at a whisper. It was terrible. The rest of her body knew what she was up to, but hadn't bothered cluing in her voice.

She ended with a sharp elbowed nudge to my shoulder, as if she'd read my mind.

And basically, she had.