Here Today, Gone Tomorrow

  Ken shook his head. "Nah, no way. A team can't get to the finals with only one good forward. Mike can't keep this up--he's not that great a player."

  "So why do you go to all the games?" Charles demanded to know.

  Ken shrugged. "Those guys are my buddies."

  "Yeah, well, they're my buddies, too," Charles declared.

  Ken rolled his eyes in disbelief.

  "He was sitting with them at lunch today," Jenna told him.

  Ken grinned, as if he assumed she was joking. "Yeah, right. Anyway, don't expect much from your buddies today, Charles. Who are we playing? St. Mark's? They've got an amazing team. They

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  haven't lost yet this season. I hate to say it, but our guys are doomed."

  "Don't talk about my friends like that," Charles yelled.

  Suddenly the big fat dictionary on Madame's desk rose and took off in the direction of Ken's head, moving fast.

  "Charles!" Madame was in the doorway. "Stop that at once!"

  The book froze in midair. Then, at half the speed, it sailed back to Madame's desk.

  "Don't waste your gift on nonsense," Madame said as she went to her desk. "That goes for all of you. Your gifts may be needed for more important purposes."

  "Like what?" Charles asked.

  "Charles, have you not noticed that half the class is missing?" "Oh, that."

  Madame glared at Charles and seemed about to lecture him when the door opened. Jenna gasped when she saw Carter Street walk into the room.

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  "Carter!" Madame exclaimed. "Where have you been? Are you all right?"

  Jenna almost laughed. Did Madame really expect a response? Carter never spoke, and today was no exception. Without making eye contact with anyone in the class, he went to his usual seat and sat down.

  Madame studied him for a minute. Then she turned to Jenna.

  "Jenna, read his mind. See if you can find out where he's been."

  Jenna now had another reason to gasp. Madame had never asked her to read someone's mind before. In fact, she was always telling Jenna to stay out of other people's heads. She'd been scolded numerous times for invading the private thoughts of classmates.

  But there was one student in the class whose mind had always been closed to her. "I've tried to read his mind before, Madame. I can't get anything."

  "Try again," Madame ordered.

  "Okay." She looked at the boy and concentrated. It was as she expected--nothing was revealed to her. After a moment, Madame asked, "Would it help to get closer to him?"

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  "Maybe," Jenna said, but without much hope. She got up and took the vacant seat in front of Carter. Moving the chair so she could face him, she stared into his eyes. Carter stared right back. She tried to think of her gift as an x-ray, something that could see through anything. And maybe she really was penetrating Carter's mind. But all she saw was complete darkness, a black void. She didn't know if he was intentionally blocking her gift or if there was just nothing there.

  "I'm sorry, Madame." She started to turn away, but something about Carter's face made her look at him again. "Madame, his eyes look funny. Like, sort of watery. The way mine get when I have a cold."

  Madame approached and gazed at him thoughtfully. "Yes, I see what you mean. And he's more pale than usual." She turned.

  "Amanda, would you accompany Carter to the infirmary, please?"

  Obviously programmed to behave like Amanda, Other-Amanda let out a heart-rending sigh. Then, with an expression of great reluctance, she got up.

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  "Carter, go with Amanda," Madame said. And as always, Carter obeyed a direct command.

  They had just left the classroom when Ken uttered a word that was highly frowned upon by Meadowbrook teachers. It wasn't typical of him, and Madame looked more concerned than annoyed.

  "Ken? What's wrong?"

  He was clutching his head with both hands. Jenna didn't even have to concentrate to read his thoughts. She thought everyone might be able to hear the shouting that was going on in poor Ken's head.

  You must talk to my son. It's urgent! My boy is in big trouble, and he needs my advice.

  "Leave me alone!" Ken pleaded.

  This is important! Listen to me. You have to contact him, now!

  "No! Get out of my head!"

  Jenna jumped. She'd never heard Ken sound so angry.

  Jenna and Madame watched him anxiously. A few seconds passed, and Ken's eyes widened. "Hey, I think she's gone."

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  "See?" Jenna said. "I told you, you just have to be tough with these dead people."

  Madame, however, still looked worried. "Ken . . . you're sure you haven't heard from, from ..." she looked like she was having trouble saying the words ". . . from the missing students?"

  Ken shook his head. "No, Madame. I'd listen to one of them. I just hope ..." his voice trailed away.

  "You hope what?" Madame asked.

  "I just hope I won't have to."

  By the end of the school day, Jenna's frustration level had reached an all-time high. It was pathetic-- working math problems, conjugating Spanish verbs, and playing volleyball in gym class when her friends were missing and possibly in grave danger. And here she was, doing nothing about it.

  Her thoughts went back to Carter. He had to know something. He was their only link to the others. If she couldn't read his mind, maybe she could get some information out of him another way.

  Back in the days when she'd run with a pretty rough street crowd, she'd known some scary people. At least, they knew how to act scary. Jenna could

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  recall a few tactics that just might shake up Carter and frighten him out of his usual zombie state. The last bell had rung, and students were leaving the building, but there were a lot of after school activities going on--club meetings, the basketball game--so the infirmary had to stay open. There was a good chance Carter might still be there.

  Unfortunately, the school nurse was still there, too. It wasn't going to be easy to threaten Carter with her watching.

  "Yes?" the nurse asked. "Can I help you?"

  Jenna thought rapidly. "There was an explosion in the chemistry lab! A teacher told me to come and get you."

  The nurse rose from her desk and glanced into the little room off the reception area. Whatever she saw must have reassured her because she snatched up a bag and hurried out.

  Jenna berated herself---she should have sent the nurse to the gym, which was all the way on the other side of the school. It wouldn't take her long to get up a flight of stairs and see that there was nobody lying on the floor of the lab. Jenna didn't have much time.

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  In the little room, there were four cots, but only one was occupied. Carter was sleeping.

  "Carter!" Jenna said sharply. "Wake up!"

  Carter didn't move. She went over to him and poked his arm. "Come on, Carter, wake up!"

  There was still no response. She put her hands on both his thin arms and shook him. But the guy could really sleep. If she hadn't seen his chest going up and down, she would have thought he was dead.

  But Carter was weird in so many ways. When he was awake, he was like a sleepwalker. It made sense that his actual sleep would be something else altogether.

  Now what was she going to do? The nurse would be back any minute. Another idea occurred to her. If Carter was in a really deep sleep, he could be dreaming--and there was a chance he could be dreaming about his recent experiences. And if he was really, truly unconscious, maybe he wouldn't be able to block her efforts to read his mind.

  Having never tried to read the mind of a sleeping person, she wasn't sure if it would work. But it turned out to be even easier than reading a mind

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  that was completely awake and alert. She didn't even have to concentrate very hard--an image formed almost immediately.

  It was a house--a large house that looked old and abandoned. Windows were boarded up, and a door that
had once been red was covered with graffiti. There was something vaguely familiar about the scene.

  "Excuse me, young lady!" A very irate nurse stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. "What's going on? There was no explosion upstairs! And what are you doing in here with my patient?"

  "Gosh, I thought I heard something. It must have been my imagination. Sorry!" Jenna slipped past the nurse and scurried out of the infirmary.

  She had to share this news with someone who would care. First she ran up to room 209, but Madame wasn't there. Then she remembered Charles talking about the basketball game. Had Ken said he was going, too?

  Outside the gym, she could hear yelling and cheering. When she pushed the door open, it was practically deafening. How could people get so excited

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  about a stupid basketball game? she wondered. Especially since, according to Ken, Meadowbrook's team wasn't so great.

  Not according to the scoreboard though. Under the heading "Home," the number was 110. Under "Visitors," the score read 0. Jenna vaguely recalled Ken saying they were playing some super duper team today. It certainly didn't look that way to her.

  But Jenna wasn't really interested, and she didn't waste any more time thinking about the score. She scanned the bleachers for Ken. Finally she spotted him, way up on the top level.

  "Excuse me, sorry, excuse me," she chanted while squeezing by the cheering fans. When she reached the top, she practically pushed some guy off the stands in order to plant herself down next to Ken.

  Ken glanced at her, but his eyes went back to the game immediately. "Can you believe this?" he exclaimed. "I don't know what happened to these guys, but they're playing brilliantly! It's not just Mike--they're all making baskets. And St. Mark's can't even score! They can't even get the ball near the net."

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  "Who cares?" Jenna asked impatiently. "Ken, listen, I read Carter's mind!"

  That tore his attention away from the court. "What did you find out?"

  "Just the image of a house. But that could be where he was being held, and where the others are now."

  "Where's the house?"

  "I don't know," Jenna admitted. "But I've got this feeling I've seen it before. I just need to remember ..." "Oh, forget about it!"

  Jenna was taken aback by Ken's reaction. Then she realized that he wasn't responding to her--his eyes had strayed back to the basketball court. A boy, one of the guys Ken knew, stood at one end of the court and held a ball. He was looking at the hoop at the other end of the court.

  "I can't believe Mike's going to try that," Ken said. "Why doesn't he toss it to another player? There's no way he can make a basket from that distance."

  Looking at Mike's position on the court, Jenna had to agree. She knew nothing about basketball, but she couldn't imagine any normal person being able

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  to throw a ball that far and actually meet a target. Then she realized that something far from normal was going on.

  "Ken, look!" She pointed at Charles, whose wheelchair was parked at the bottom of the opposite bleachers. He was staring at the basketball with an expression that was very familiar. And when the ball left the hands of the player, it flew the length of the court and fell right into the basket, so neatly that the net didn't even rustle.

  A roar went up from the crowd. But even with all the noise, Jenna didn't miss the groan that came from Ken.

  "I can't believe it!" He smacked the side of his head. "Charles is moving the ball for them!"

  "Do you think the team knows he's doing it?" Jenna wondered.

  "I doubt it," Ken said. "They don't know about his gift--nobody at school does, except for us. "Then he frowned. "But Mike was asking me about him earlier. He called Charles spooky."

  Spooky . . .The word ignited something deep in her memory. Back when she was hanging with

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  the low-life types and staying out all night, they were always looking for shelters when the weather was bad.

  She drew in her breath so sharply that Ken looked at her in alarm. "Are you okay?"

  "I just remembered," she said. "I know where that house is."

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  ChapTer nine

  EARLIER THAT SAME afternoon, Emily sat with Amanda-Sarah on a sofa facing the big flat-screen TV Amanda had chosen the DVD they were watching, a romantic comedy. It didn't matter to Emily, though, since she wasn't actually watching it. She was more interested in trying to drum up a vision.

  More than ever before, she needed to see the future. She had to know what they were about to face so they could prepare themselves--to fight? To escape? How could she help them if she didn't know what was in store for them?

  It was easy to zone out in front of the movie because she'd already seen it and hadn't really enjoyed the first time. Amanda was totally engrossed in it and wouldn't interrupt her. Martin was playing a video game--either saving or destroying the

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  world--and the last time she'd looked, Tracey had been reading. She was in a decent environment for receiving visions.

  And the visions came, one after another. The only problem was, they didn't make any sense to her. She saw Martin lifting the very sofa she was sitting on and leaning back to throw it across the room. She saw Tracey disappearing and reappearing, blinking on and off like a light on a Christmas tree. She saw Charles breaking down a door with his mind ... Wait a minute. Charles? He wasn't even here! Maybe someday, somewhere, Charles might break down a door, but what did that have to do with their own immediate future? It wasn't like he'd break down this door to rescue them--Charles wouldn't lift a finger to help anyone but himself.

  Frustrated, she shook her head violently in the hope that this might clear her mind. What was it Madame had said about her visions? She had to interpret, to look for clues that would give the visions meaning.

  If Martin threw the sofa really hard, and if he threw it at the door, there was a good chance the

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  sofa would break it down. Then they could get out. Even if only one of them made it through, that one person could get help for them all. But would Martin throw the sofa toward the door? She needed to conjure up the vision again and see exactly where the sofa would go. She could be standing by the door when Martin lifted the sofa, ready to escape and run for help. Or maybe Tracey should be there instead. She could disappear--and be much harder to catch if Clare and the others went after her as she ran away.

  She looked over to where she'd last seen Tracey. They needed to talk about this and get a plan organized.

  Tracey wasn't there.

  Emily went over to Martin, who was still playing his Toxic Teen Avengers video game. "Where did Tracey go?"

  Martin didn't take his eyes off the screen. "I don't know."

  "Did you see her leave the room?" "No. Whoa, did you see that? We just destroyed France!"

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  "Congratulations," Emily murmured.

  Martin turned to her. "Hey, you know what? It's not so bad here. My mother won't let me play violent games like this. The food's better here, too, and there's lots to do. And the people aren't mean."

  "Not yet" Emily said. "I'm going to look for Tracey."

  But Tracey wasn't in the bathroom or the bedroom. Had she gone invisible to do some snooping? Emily went back to the living room.

  "Tracey?" she called softly.

  To her relief, Tracey suddenly reappeared. "I was looking around," she began, and then stopped. From behind her, Emily could hear the sound of someone clapping. She turned to see Clare standing there.

  At least, she thought it was Clare. This time, the woman had her hair in a short black bob, and she was wearing a sharp business suit. Only the pale blue eyes and the hard voice assured her that this was really the same woman. It was impossible to guess what she really looked like, Emily realized.

  "Very good, Tracey," Clare said. "I'm pleased

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  to see how well your gift works. I'd like to see
demonstrations from all of you."

  As soon as she left the room, Amanda-Sarah hurried over to Tracey and Jenna. "What am I going to do?" she asked in a panic.

  A germ of a notion popped into Emily's head. "I've got an idea." She glanced at Martin to make sure he was still absorbed in his game. From the way he'd been talking earlier, she wasn't sure he should be included in any plans to foil the kidnappers.

  They were called in for an afternoon snack a few minutes later and presented with a make-your-own-sandwich buffet.

  "Wow, this is great," Martin enthused as he spread huge gobs of peanut butter on a slice of bread. "My mother never gives me peanut butter."

  Emily wasn't very hungry, but she forced herself to eat. She knew she had to keep up her energy levels.

  Clare and the two men ate with them, so the girls were on edge. Fortunately, the adults seemed most interested in talking with Martin, and Martin was happy to answer their questions.

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  "Does your gift cause you problems at school, Martin?" Clare asked.

  "Oh sure," Martin said. "People don't believe how strong I am. But if they mess with me, they're in for a big surprise. Once the captain of the wrestling team picked on me. He ended up out cold."

  Emily remembered that. An ambulance had to be called, and the big guy was carried out of school on a stretcher.

  "You must have gotten into some serious trouble," Howard commented.

  Martin grinned and shook his head. "Nope. When the guy accused me of attacking him, nobody believed him!"

  "So people don't know about your gift?" George asked.

  "Some people know about it because they've seen me in action," Martin said. "But then later, they look at me and they think, No way he did so much damage. Once I hit someone so hard, he went out a window on the second floor. Luckily for him, he landed in a bush, or he could have had serious injuries. A couple other kids were witnesses. But

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  when the teacher asked them about it, they said the boy fell."

  "Because they were afraid of you?" Clare wanted to know.

  "Probably," Martin said proudly.

  Emily doubted that. It was more likely that the kids didn't believe their own eyes. Who would believe someone as babyish and whiny as Martin could have that kind of power?