The Medusa Project: The Set-Up

  I tried again, but the tyre still wouldn’t move.

  Jack leaned against the garage wall, watching me thoughtfully. He’d brought me in here – the little garage next to the kitchen – after I told him how my telekinesis could easily get out of control.

  ‘My car’s parked outside,’ Jack had said with a grin. ‘And there’s nothing else in here that matters.’

  I looked round the garage. There wasn’t much here at all. Just some shelves with stacks of old newspapers for recycling at one end, a few tools on a bench and the tyre I was trying to move propped up against the wall opposite.

  ‘Have another go,’ Jack said in an encouraging voice.

  I focused on the tyre once more. Move. Move, you stupid thing.

  Nothing. ‘AAAGH!’ I turned away in frustration and thumped the palm of my hand.

  ‘Hey, Nico, easy tiger,’ Jack said smoothly. ‘I think . . . if you don’t mind me saying . . . it looks like you’re trying too hard.’

  I nodded, my face burning. Why couldn’t I just make it work?

  ‘I know it’s frustrating when you can’t control it,’ Jack said, shrewdly. ‘But the telekinesis is already there, inside you, part of who you are. Just relax and it will happen.’

  I nodded again, but inside I was all jangled up – how could I relax, feeling like this?

  ‘Can we try something?’ Jack said. ‘I’d like you to focus on your breathing for a moment. Don’t change the way you’re breathing, just become aware of it. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ I concentrated on my breath. It was shallow and jagged to start with but, as I concentrated, it calmed a little. I closed my eyes and took a few deeper breaths. Ketty’s face floated in front of my mind’s eye.

  ‘Nico?’ Jack’s voice made me jump.

  My eyes snapped open. ‘Sorry,’ I said.

  Jack smiled. ‘No worries. It’s easy to lose focus, but I’d like you to try again. This time look at the tyre but keep concentrating on your breath.’

  I did as he told me. My mind wandered off several times, but Jack kept reminding me to watch my breathing and, after a few minutes, all my earlier frustration seeped away.

  ‘Okay.’ Jack rubbed his hands together. ‘Now, breathe out, then, on the in-breath, say to yourself: I will lift that tyre.’

  I did as he asked. It was funny. I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else without feeling ridiculous, yet Jack – a complete stranger – made it feel like the most natural thing in the world.

  I focused on the tyre again. Breathed in . . .

  I will lift that tyre.

  ‘Good. Now, don’t think about it, but on your out-breath, make it happen.’

  I breathed in again. I can do this. I breathed out. And the tyre rose gently into the air.

  I could hear Jack gasp beside me, but my eyes followed the tyre up . . . up . . . to the ceiling.

  ‘That’s amazing.’ Jack’s voice was completely awestruck.

  Yes. Adrenalin surged through me and in a split second my focus vanished and the tyre plummeted to the ground.

  No. Furious, I felt my mind connect with the gut instinct to lash out. Seconds later the tyre was careering round the garage, completely out of control. Again I had that weird sensation that I was both watching it and making it move simultaneously. As the tyre flew past the shelves my eyes lit on the piles of old newspapers. The entire bundle flew up into the air. Papers zoomed in all directions.

  ‘Okay, Nico. Bring it back to your breath. Focus on your breathing.’ Jack’s voice was tense beside me.

  I tried to do what he said, but I was too frustrated with not being able to control the tyre. My eyes followed it as it bounced against walls and spun in the air.

  ‘Come on, Nico, you can do this.’

  With a huge effort, I brought my awareness back to my breathing. I was almost panting . . . my breath coming out in fierce gasps.

  ‘Okay, now slow that breathing down. Come on, calm down, Nico. You can do this.’

  My eyes still on the tyre, I slowly calmed my breathing. As I did so, the tyre slowed down too. Gradually it came to rest above my head, hovering in mid-air.

  ‘Now breathe out and lower it to the ground.’

  I breathed in and then out . . . a long, slow breath. Without consciously telling the tyre to move, I held the direction to lower it in my head. The tyre wobbled for a second, then slowly, steadily, descended to the floor.

  I watched it for a few seconds to make sure it had really stopped, then I closed my eyes. My head was aching but I felt exhilarated. Not in the wild, intense way I’d felt before, but with a new, deep-rooted, calm feeling.

  A hand on my back. I looked up. Jack was smiling at me.

  ‘Well done. You did it,’ he said. ‘Would you mind if I get my camera? Then I can film your telekinesis . . . study it when you’ve gone. That might help me work out how to help you better.’

  ‘Sure.’ I was so excited I think I’d have agreed to anything at that point – not that I could see any harm in Jack filming me.

  He got the camera and I managed a couple more demonstrations with the tyre. I felt like I could go on practising for hours, but, after a while, Jack insisted we went back into the kitchen so I could rest – and have something to eat and drink.

  We sat at the table and Jack ordered in some pizza, advising me as we ate that I should start a daily practice.

  ‘Just ten minutes every day. Go outside, Nico. Find something small to work on and stay focused on your breathing. Once you’ve got on top of that, I honestly think you’ll be able to move anything.’

  I stared at him. Did he really think that?

  I remembered Ketty and what I’d said to Jack earlier. ‘So how can I use what I do to make money?’

  Jack laughed. ‘First things first,’ he said. ‘Practise every day for a week and we’ll meet next weekend and, if you’re ready, I promise I’ll take you to a place where the Medusa gene will make you rich.’

  I practised on my telekinesis as often as I could. Before and after school and even at break times, I’d go out to the trees by the playing fields and attempt to move whatever was out there – sticks, stones . . . even the bench again.

  It was hard at first, especially without Jack there to remind me about my breathing. But the more I worked at it, the better I got. I found the idea that I had to stop trying so hard really weird – but I knew now how that felt, and after a few days I’d got into the habit of holding what I wanted to do much more lightly in my mind.

  I kept my practice sessions completely secret. I’d always got on with everyone at school but I knew how anything – let alone something weird like telekinesis – could turn the most popular person into a big-time freakshow.

  That meant I didn’t hang out with my friends so much. Apart from Ketty, that is. I made sure I still saw as much of her as possible. We were still best friends, after all . . . even if she was going out with stupid Billy Martin. Every time I saw her, I made sure I listened out for something expensive that she might like. Not that Ketty was particularly interested in material things. She was more into running than owning stuff.

  Still, there had to be something she really wanted. I didn’t have any idea how Jack was going to help me use my telekinesis to make money, but I wanted to be ready to buy something good once he had. My plan was to hand it over, then, once Ketty could see I was just as able as Billy to give her stuff, ask her out myself.

  It was Friday, the day before I was due to meet Jack again, and I was in a good mood. It was taking me a couple of minutes to get the right breathing going but, once I had, I could move whatever I wanted, for a few seconds at least.

  Having just managed my first bit of telekinesis in the dorm – lifting my pillow off my bed – I headed outside. A group of us were meeting out the front of school to get the bus to nearby Hanmore Park and go to the movies. Ketty was already there, chatting with Lola and Lauren. I could see Billy hovering nearby. Ignoring him, I went over to the girls.

/>   Ketty was in her normal going-out gear of jeans and trainers. But something was different. Lola and Lauren were ooohing and aaahing beside her, pointing at her hair . . . no, not her hair . . . I got closer . . . at her earrings. I did a double take. Ketty hardly ever wore jewellery and these were long, silvery earrings that glittered as they peeked through her dark, curly hair.

  Lola caught me staring. ‘Hey, Nico.’ She giggled.

  Ketty turned. ‘Hey.’ She made a self-conscious gesture towards her ears. ‘They’ve got diamonds in them . . . what d’you think?’ she said. ‘I got them off Billy.’

  Unbelievable. My heart slid into my shoes. What kind of teenage boy buys his girlfriend diamond earrings?

  I forced a smile. ‘Cool, babe . . . though it’s kind of crazy giving you nice stuff like that. I mean, they’ll fall out as soon as you start running.’

  Ketty’s face flushed. Lola sidled up to me.

  ‘She’s not going to wear them when she’s running, Nico,’ she simpered. ‘Anyway, now she’s got Billy, Ketty’ll probably stop going running quite so much.’

  Ketty and I exchanged glances. I knew from previous conversations that none of Ketty’s girlfriends understood why she liked running so much. To them it was just something tiring and boring that made your body all sweaty and your hair look crap. For Ketty, though, running was everything. She said it made her feel good about herself in a way nothing else did.

  I got that. But nobody else seemed to.

  ‘If Ketty stops running, I’ll eat those earrings, babe,’ I said.

  ‘Nico!’ Lola giggled.

  Ketty just smiled. A minute later, she drew me aside.

  ‘Lola fancies you, you know,’ she said.

  I shrugged. I kind of knew that already. It didn’t matter. Lots of girls behaved like Lola around me, all giggly and nervous. I wasn’t interested in any of them.

  ‘Hey, listen,’ Ketty went on, breathlessly. ‘I’ve just found out about this Youth Marathon. Well, it’s really a halfmarathon but that’s still over thirteen miles. It’s perfect for me.’

  ‘That’s great, babe,’ I said, transfixed by the way her eyes were all lit up and shining.

  ‘Not really.’ Ketty’s face fell. ‘It’s in Scotland and the closing date to enter is this coming Monday and it costs forty pounds to sign up. Then there’s the fare to get there and finding somewhere to stay . . .’

  I opened my mouth to say something sarcastic about Billy picking up the tab, but then it suddenly occurred to me this was my ideal opportunity. I could research the marathon and buy everything Ketty needed!

  ‘How much d’you think the whole thing will cost?’ I asked, as lightly as I could.

  ‘A couple of hundred quid.’ Ketty made a face. ‘I asked my mum and dad. They said they didn’t mind me going, but it was too expensive for what it was, and wouldn’t I rather have a laptop . . .’

  Better and better.

  I made a sympathetic face back. Ketty had often complained to me how her parents hated her obsession with running. Not that she saw them very often. They lived and worked abroad and, since Ketty had joined Fox Academy at the beginning of the school year, I knew she’d only seen them once, at Christmas.

  ‘What about your brother?’ I asked.

  Ketty talked about her older brother a lot. I’d never met him but, as far as I could tell, he was the only family member she was really close to.

  ‘Yeah, I tried Lex too,’ Ketty sighed, ‘but he said he was skint until next week and I need the registration money by Monday.’

  I nodded. Billy was watching me over Lauren’s shoulder, a slightly aggressive expression on his square-jawed face. I caught his eye for a second and smiled.

  Diamond earrings, my arse. I was going to buy Ketty something she really wanted.

  It was a good evening after that. I mean, I had to endure the sight of Ketty and Billy with their arms round each other. But Ketty talked to me and her girlfriends just as much as she talked to him. I had no idea how to ask her how much she liked him, but I was confident it was less than he liked her.

  The next morning I told Tom I had another date with my mystery London girl and asked him to cover for me again. He agreed, but only after teasing me about her.

  ‘What does she look like, then?’ he said.

  I described Dylan, telling Tom quite truthfully that she was one of the fittest girls I’d ever met. I didn’t add that I hadn’t really fancied her. In fact, I exaggerated what we’d done quite a bit – just to wind him up. Tom swallowed the whole thing and made me promise to text him a picture of her. I forgot about it as soon as I reached the tube station where we were meeting, of course.

  Ten minutes passed, and I was just starting to wonder if Jack had forgotten our arrangement, when a screech of brakes at the corner made me look up. My mouth fell open. Jack was pulling up, in just about the coolest car I’d ever seen – a sleek, black Aston Martin DB9.

  ‘Nice wheels,’ I said, trying to sound as if I rode in cars like this most weekends.

  Jack grinned. ‘Hop in. We’ve got a football match to get to.’

  Football? To be honest I wouldn’t have expected Jack to be a big fan of the game. He hardly looked like your average supporter. Today, as before, he was wearing a stylish suit with an open-neck shirt and designer sunglasses.

  The Aston Martin zoomed away.

  ‘Who’s playing?’ I asked. ‘And, er . . . I thought . . . I mean, how is this going to make us any money?’

  ‘You’ll see.’ Jack shot me a mysterious smile. I shrugged and sat back as he asked about my week and how I liked boarding at Fox Academy. I gave him a swift outline of how boring life at school was. Then I plucked up the courage to ask a question that had been on my mind since last weekend.

  ‘Why are you doing all this?’ I said. ‘Helping me, I mean?’

  ‘Several reasons.’ Jack glanced sideways at me. ‘I was part of the original project so I feel involved. But it’s mostly because I want you to have a chance to fulfil your potential – and I know Fergus won’t let that happen.’

  ‘Why does Fergus hate what I can do so much? I mean, he actually called my abilities “evil” . . . said my mum would have hated them. He even tried to make me promise that I wouldn’t use them any more.’

  Jack was silent for a few moments, then he pulled the car over and parked. ‘There’s something I didn’t tell you last weekend,’ he said, his blue eyes bright and intense. ‘Something that explains Fergus’s reaction. But it’s not going to be easy for you to hear.’

  ‘What?’ I said, feeling nervous.

  ‘There was a problem with the Medusa gene. That is . . . d’you remember I told you it was embedded in a virus before it was injected into your umbilical cord?’

  I nodded. ‘You said that was normal in gene therapy.’

  ‘It is, and William did all the necessary tests on the viruses he used, too – but the procedure is always risky.’ Jack hesitated. ‘Sometimes when you inject a gene code into what appears to be a harmless virus, the presence of the gene code makes the virus mutate . . .’

  ‘Mutate into something harmful?’ I frowned. ‘But I’m fine.’

  ‘I know.’ Jack sighed. ‘You were immune, but the viral DNA also seeped into the bloodstream of the carrier.’

  ‘The carrier?’ I stared at him, blankly.

  ‘The person carrying the baby injected with the gene synthesis.’ Jack shook his head. ‘In other words, your mother.’

  A cold wave washed over me. ‘But . . . but my mum died of cancer,’ I said.

  Jack nodded. ‘Yes. A cancer caused by the virus that the Medusa gene was embedded in.’

  I froze. ‘But that means the gene . . .’ I could barely bring myself to think it, let alone say it. ‘That means my gene, my powers . . . that means I killed her.’ My voice was hoarse.

  ‘No.’ Jack shook his head again, more vigorously. ‘No way. It was an accident. Or, if anyone’s to blame it was William Fox. That’s why
Fergus felt so responsible for you . . . because of what his brother had done. And that’s why he hates the gene inside you. But that’s like hating the wind for becoming a hurricane.’

  ‘But even so . . .’ My voice was strained. ‘Even so, if I didn’t have the gene she wouldn’t have died.’

  ‘No.’ Jack shook his head. ‘That’s not how your mum saw it, Nico. I met her twice – once before you were born, at that Christmas party; and once when you were a baby and William was dead. That second time, she knew that the Medusa gene . . . that it was going to kill her . . . and she saw the fact that she was going to die as a sacrifice she was making for you, so that you could be special. Your mum was proud of that sacrifice. And you should be proud too. You can’t let Fergus stop that sacrifice from counting. You should make the most of what you can do . . . of who you are . . . for your mum’s sake, if for nothing else.’

  Jack smiled reassuringly, then revved up the engine. As we sped off, I tried to think it through. It was hard not to feel it was my fault Mum had died. And yet, Jack was right. I hadn’t asked to be injected with a gene wrapped inside a virus. Just as William Fox hadn’t known that the virus would kill Mum.

  At least Jack had had the courage to tell me the truth, which was more than Fergus had done.

  And if Mum had given her life for the Medusa gene the least I could do was make the most of its power.

  Jack said nothing more as we zoomed round a series of streets, finally pulling up outside Arsenal’s Emirates stadium. We went inside and Jack led the way to brilliant seats – they must have cost a fortune – in one of the directors’ boxes.

  Arsenal were playing a charity friendly against a Championship side I’d never heard of – Sweeton United. I tried to put what Jack had just told me to the back of my mind. At first I kept going over what he’d said but eventually the football sucked me in and I settled down to enjoy the match.

  I forgot about my telekinesis – and Jack’s plan for me to use it to make money – until the game was nearly halfway through. The home team, clear favourites, had already scored two goals.

  Then Jack leaned over and whispered in my ear. ‘You know, I’ve got a bet on at six to one that Sweeton will win three-two.’