“Hey! Fire Kissed! Over here!”
Rashida waved wildly across the food court, attempting to get Trinity’s attention. Trin waved back awkwardly, then headed over. She could feel the stares of the other Potentials as she wove through the tables and tried to acknowledge each of them as she passed, not wanting people to think she was a snob. At school, Trin always tried to avoid being the center of attention, but she realized there was no helping that here.
“This place is like a maze,” she remarked as she slid into her seat. “I got lost three times trying to get here from my room.”
“That’s because you were given a crap tour guide,” the tall, blond boy across from her quipped, playfully poking Rashida, the tour guide in question. She poked him back twice as hard.
“As if you don’t still get lost going to the bathroom,” she retorted, “and you’ve been here half a year.”
“This was the biggest mall in Nevada before they shut it down.” The petite Asian girl on Rashida’s left looked up from the journal she’d been scribbling in. Some kind of poetry, Trin noticed. Or maybe song lyrics? “But I found the original blueprints if you ever want to learn your way around.”
“If you ever want to be a complete nerd,” the boy shot back, but he was smiling at her.
“This is Aiko,” Rashida introduced, ignoring him. “Our very own rock star, straight from Japan. She may look like a tiny little thing out of an anime film, but don’t let her fool you. The girl’s got mad pipes.” Aiko blushed prettily, closing her notebook and reaching out to shake Trin’s hand. Her fingers were dainty but calloused on the tips, assumedly well acquainted with guitar strings.
“And this is Malia,” Rashida continued, gesturing to a broad-shouldered, dark-skinned girl across from Trinity. “She’s from Kenya and serves as our resident gamer girl. Many of the boys have tried to take her down,” she added with dramatic flair. “But the girl somehow manages to frag them all.”
Trinity raised an eyebrow. “You have video games here?” she asked, her heart beating a little faster.
“Of course,” Malia replied shyly. “The Dracken turned the old Apple store into a game room. We have every system and all the best games. A few of us meet up on Friday nights to play. You should join us sometime. We could use more girls on the team.”
“Do you have Fields of Fantasy?” Trin dared to ask, her breath caught in her throat. “The new expansion pack?” Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be stuck here after all.
Sadly, Malia shook her head. “Sorry, nothing that requires a Wi-Fi connection,” she told her. “We can play on a closed LAN line with one another, but Darius has strict rules about going online.”
“Which means no satellite TV to watch the matches,” the blond boy added gloomily. “I don’t suppose you know who won the Rugby World Cup this time around? It’s been bloody killing me.”
Trinity shook her head. “Sorry,” she said. The boy sighed loudly, dropping his head onto the table with over-exaggerated despair.
Rashida rolled her eyes. “And last but not least, this is Trevor,” she introduced with an impish smile. “As you can probably tell, he’s from Australia and like most Aussies will never let you forget it.”
“It’s a bloody great country,” he declared, breaking out into what Trin assumed to be some kind of national anthem in a loud, booming, and terribly out-of-tune voice. The girls groaned and threw their napkins at him, which only made him sing louder.
Trin shook her head, watching their antics, surprised at how normal the whole scene felt, as if they weren’t in the middle of an abandoned shopping mall, but rather some kind of European boarding school or something. It was hard to believe, just by looking at them, that these kids weren’t studying for their SATs. They were training to take care of dragons.
“So where do we get the food?” she asked, gesturing to her tablemates’ heaping trays.
Rashida waved an arm around the food court. “Each of the stations has food from a different continent,” she told her, “to make sure all of us get to eat what we’re used to. Well, not all of us,” she added, glancing teasingly at Trevor. “The Dracken come from a long line of animal rights activists, which means no shrimp on the barbie for poor Trevor here.”
“I could skip the shrimp,” the blond boy protested, “if only I could score a nice, juicy T-bone once in a while.” He stabbed a piece of tofu with his fork and stuffed it into his mouth with a miserable look. The girls giggled.
“So how long have you guys been living in this place?” Trin asked curiously. They all seemed so at home here, so comfortable with one another. And their English was impeccable. She could barely detect any accents.
“Malia was one of the first to come here. You’ve been here almost two years, right?” Aiko asked the girl across from Trin, who nodded in agreement. “I’ve been here just over a year myself.”
“I’ve been here a year and a half,” Rashida offered. “Trevor’s the baby of the group. He only arrived six months ago.”
“And yet I’m already beating you in your lessons,” Trevor shot back. Rashida patted him on the back patronizingly.
“Sure you are,” she said.
“Wow,” Trin marveled, looking them over. “That’s a long time to be gone. Do you get, like, spring break or summer vacation to go visit your families?”
The four Potentials exchanged looks. “We don’t have families,” Malia replied quietly.
“What?” Trinity asked, completely thrown by the answer.
“We’re all orphans,” Aiko explained.
“All of you?” Trinity glanced around the bustling food court. There had to be a hundred Potentials eating lunch here alone. Did none of them have parents? Family? People back home?
“My parents died in the tsunami,” Aiko said matter-of-factly. “My entire village was wiped out. I had no family left, no place to go.”
“I was living on the streets of a Mumbai slum,” Rashida added. “I’d spend my entire day just trying to find a place to sleep where I wouldn’t be attacked or robbed.”
“My mother died of AIDS when I was young,” Malia said quietly. “My aunt took me in until the drought hit. Then she had to make a choice—her own children or me.”
“What about you, Trin? What happened to your parents?” Trevor asked pointedly. “If you’re here, you must be an orphan too.” They all turned to look at her. She felt her face heat and she stared down at her hands.
“She doesn’t have to say if she doesn’t want to,” Rashida scolded him. “It’s not any of our business.” She gave her a kind look. But Trin knew they were expecting her to say something. After all, they’d all shared their stories with her—stories that must hurt to talk about just as much.
“I…I never knew my father,” she said at last. “He died before I was born. My mother…well, I guess she was one of us. She had the gift too. But the voices got too loud…” Her own voice cracked on the words and she found she couldn’t continue. In any case, what could she say? That her mom preferred to blow her own head off than spend Christmas Eve with her only child?
The girls looked at one another. Then, without saying a word, they reached out, grabbing Trin’s hands in their own and squeezing them tight. She watched, puzzled, as they closed their eyes in unison and bowed their heads. For a moment she was convinced they were about to break out into prayer. Or at least a rousing round of “Kumbaya.” But no words came from their lips. Instead, suddenly Trin felt an overwhelming sense of comfort pass through her. As if she were being wrapped up in a warm, billowy blanket and hugged tightly.
They’re using their gifts, she realized, fascinated. Trying to send her comfort. And it was working too. She could actually feel the anger and pain slipping away. Which was cool, she tried to tell herself. But also massively weird—not to mention invasive. Like, what if she wanted to keep that pain? Hold on to that anger? What if it was a part of her she wasn’t ready to let go of yet? They hadn’t even asked permission. Just dove inside her mind and—