Here Today, Gone Tomorrow by Marilyn Kaye
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young but they weren't old. Emily guessed they were around her mother's age.
It was the woman who really grabbed her attention. For one thing, she was very pretty, sort of glamorous looking. Emily estimated her age at around thirty, but she wore a lot of makeup so it was hard to tell. She wore fashionable tight jeans with boots and a polka-dot shirt. Her long black hair gleamed with midnight-blue highlights, and she wore hoop earrings that looked like real gold.
Her eyes were blue, but a very different shade of blue than the streaks in her hair. They were so pale they were practically transparent.
What was really amazing was her expression--or, more accurately, her lack of expression. Her perfectly sculpted features were completely blank. For a second, her lips stretched and turned up slightly at the ends, but never in a million years would Emily have called that a smile. If anything, it made her shiver.
"Welcome," she said, although there was nothing welcoming about her flat voice. "I hope you're all comfortable. My name is Clare." She indicated the
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chubby guy. "This is Howard, and the man on my other side is George."
George looked at the ground and murmured, "Hello." Howard beamed at them. "Hi, guys!"
Now she was positive George was the man who'd been in the back seat with her. But she wasn't sure about the woman. The voice sounded familiar, and she could be wearing a wig. Or last night's blond hair was a wig. Or the red hair Tracey had seen . . . Oh, why was she thinking about hair at a time like this?
Clare continued. "I know this must be strange to you, and you have to be wondering what's going on. Well, now that you're all here, we can explain."
Emily looked at Tracey and knew she had to be thinking the same thing. If the point had been to kidnap all the gifted students, then they weren't all here.
The woman might have been a mind reader. "We're not bringing in all your classmates, by the way. You're the ones we need now."
Tracey spoke up. "Why?"
"For your gifts, of course." The odd lip twitch
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which must have been her version of a smile appeared briefly again. "You're all exceptional young people with very special talents. Tracey, you can become invisible. Martin, you're capable of great strength. Emily, you have the ability to see the future, and Sarah . . . Sarah, you have the greatest gift of all. You can control people."
Emily shuddered. She sounded so matter-of-fact, she could have been talking about who excelled at math and who could play the piano. Maybe this was why she seemed scarier than the men. There was something unreal about her.
As scared as she was, Emily had to say something, and she said the first thing that came to mind.
"What about Carter? He doesn't have a gift."
Clare didn't seem surprised, and she only glanced at Carter, almost as if he was insignificant. "That doesn't matter. We've got the people we need."
Again, Emily was amazed at her own daring. "The people you need for what?"
The pale blue eyes rested on her. "You're going to help us rob a bank."
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Chapter Seven
THIS TURNED OUT TO be all the information they were going to get for the moment. The group was dismissed, with Clare's promise that they'd learn more at lunchtime. Emily followed the others into what they called the living room.
Tracey hadn't been exaggerating when she described the amusements available in their prison. The room was like a massive media center, with a large flat-screen TV, video game equipment, computers, and iPods with headsets for anyone who wanted to listen to music. A bookcase held books (all the latest teen series), DVDs, video games, board games . . . everything and anything remotely entertaining to meet everyone's taste.
Sarah immediately curled up on a plush pillow chair with an iPod and earphones, which she
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clamped to her head, shutting everyone else out. Martin went over to the bookcase and studied the video game titles.
Emily was vaguely disappointed. Robbing a bank---it seemed so ... so ordinary. It was a felony, of course, but she'd been expecting something bigger.
People didn't normally try to use her gift, which was a good thing. She hated the thought of someone trying to manipulate her. Tracey had asked her for a weather prediction once, when her family was planning a beach vacation. That wasn't a big deal. But once a crazy student teacher had demanded that she predict the week's winning lottery number. That had been seriously creepy. She'd refused to do it, but the teacher had hypnotized her and tried to force the prediction out of her.
But how could her gift provide any assistance in this plan? Would they want her to predict how much money would be in a bank's vault on a particular day? She'd never been very good at math.
"Any criminal can rob a bank," she murmured to Tracey. "What do they need us for?"
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"To make it easier, maybe," Tracey suggested. But she admitted she was puzzled by the goal. "I thought their project would be something grander."
Martin was surprised, too. Clutching a video game box, he joined them. "I don't want to rob banks," he complained.
"Neither do we," Tracey assured him.
"I'd rather do something like this." Martin showed them the video game cover.
Emily read the title." Toxic Teen Avengers. What is it?"
"It's a video game about these kids with superpowers who save the world."
"Save the world from what?" Tracey wanted to know. She took the box and began reading the description.
"From some other kids with superpowers who want to destroy the world," Martin replied.
Emily couldn't help smiling. "Whose side are you on, Martin? The savers or the destroyers?"
"Who cares? I just think this sounds a lot more interesting than robbing banks. And we've got superpowers, too. We could be like these guys."
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Tracey shook her head. "I think a lot depends on the kind of superpowers a person has, Martin. We're not fire starters, we can't fly . . ."
"Sarah's gift is better than those powers," Martin said.
"But Sarah won't use her gift," Emily reminded him. Still, in the back of her mind, she was a little comforted to know that Sarah was capable of doing amazing things. She turned to Tracey. "Don't you think if one of us was in serious danger, Sarah would call on her powers to help out?"
"I hope she would," Tracey began, but she couldn't continue. From across the room, Sarah let out a wail.
"Sarah, are you okay?" Emily asked anxiously.
Sarah didn't hear her--she was still wearing the headset. But she was staring at her hands with horror. Emily and Tracey hurried over to her.
"What's wrong?" Tracey asked.
Sarah took the headset off. "Look at my nails," she moaned.
Emily looked, but Sarah's fingernails looked perfectly normal to her. "What's wrong with them?"
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"They're all bitten! I don't bite my nails!"
"You're nervous," Tracey said, trying to comfort her. "We all are. You probably didn't even realize you were biting them."
It seemed odd to Emily that Sarah would be agonizing over her fingernails when they were all being held captive. She'd never struck Emily as being particularly vain, but of course, she didn't know her all that well.
"Maybe that woman Clare has a nail file," she suggested, but now Sarah was looking beyond her, and her eyes were wide with fear.
"Where's Carter?" she asked in a whisper.
Emily and Tracey looked around the room. Carter was so quiet and unobtrusive that people frequently didn't even notice if he was around. But he was definitely not in the room.
"In the bathroom?" Tracey suggested.
"I think he's gone," Sarah said.
"Gone where?" Emily asked.
Now Sarah was trembling. "I think . . . when you told them he doesn't have a gift . . . they just got rid
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of him. I mean, if he can't hel
"You think they sent him back to Meadow-brook?" Emily wondered.
"I think they killed him." Sarah choked on the words, and her eyes filled with tears. Tracey sat down on the puffy chair and put an arm around her.
"Calm down," she said soothingly. "Those people didn't seem like killers to me. I'm sure Carter's all right."
Sarah pushed Tracey's arm away. "I don't care what they did to Carter. I'm worried about me!" "Sarah!" Emily exclaimed.
"Shh," Sarah hissed and beckoned the two girls closer. She glanced over at Martin to make sure he wasn't listening, and then she spoke in a whisper. "I'm not Sarah."
For a moment, both Tracey and Emily were silent. Then they looked at each other, and Emily was pretty sure they were both drawing the same conclusion. The girl's next words confirmed it.
"I'm Amanda."
A small groan escaped Emily's lips, and she could
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have sworn she heard Tracey mutter something stronger.
"What else could I do?" Amanda demanded. She glared at Emily. "It's all your fault, you know. You told me I'd be the next one to disappear, and I believed you. That's why I took over Sarah's body."
"Wait a minute," Tracey interjected. "I thought you could only do that if you felt sorry for the person."
Amanda nodded. "That's right."
"How could you feel sorry for Sarah?" Emily wanted to know. "She's smart, she's cute, she's not a nerd or anything like that."
"She's got really big feet," Amanda said. "And she doesn't have a boyfriend."
"That's all you needed to feel sorry for her?" Tracey asked. "Big feet and no boyfriend?"
Amanda nodded. "Yeah, that's kind of weird, huh? I guess my gift is getting stronger. Or maybe it's just easier for me to feel sorry for anyone who's not me."
Tracey and Emily exchanged looks again. "Amanda, this is not good news," Tracey said sternly.
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"We were counting on Sarah's gifts to get us out of here."
"She never uses them anyway," Amanda pointed out.
"Yeah, but we figured if we got into a bad situation, she'd give in and help us out," Emily told her. She looked at Amanda thoughtfully. "You don't have Sarah's gifts by any chance, do you?"
Amanda shook her head. "I tested myself at breakfast. I tried to make you spill your juice."
"Thanks a lot," Emily muttered.
"Well, like I said, it's your fault I'm here. And it's not like I can just snap my fingers and get back into myself--you know it's not that easy. It's harder getting out than getting in." She looked at Tracey accusingly. "Do you think I would have stayed in your body for so long if I could have gotten out faster?" She got up and began to pace. "You know what really bugs me? That I believed you! Everyone knows your predictions are off the wall most of the time. If I'd just stayed myself, I would have been fine."
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Emily wasn't even aware she was smiling until Amanda asked, "What's so funny?"
"It was Sarah I saw disappearing. I only said it was you because you were getting on my nerves and I wanted to scare you."
Amanda scowled. "So it's even more your fault than I thought. And when the kidnappers find out I don't have any talent, they'll get rid of me just like they got rid of Carter."
Emily had a feeling an apology would be appropriate at that moment, but she didn't think it would make Amanda feel any better. And Amanda was being so--so Amanda-ish that she didn't feel very sorry.
Tracey spoke. "Amanda, when you took over my body, after a while we started to bond or something." Amanda-Sarah looked horrified, so Tracey quickly amended that. "Okay, not like friends, but you picked up on what I could do. And you were able to disappear, remember? So maybe the same thing will happen to you now, and you'll get Sarah's powers." She turned to Emily. "Can you see if that's going to happen?"
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"I'll try," Emily said. She backed away from the two girls, half-closed her eyes and let everything go blurry. Then she concentrated on a mental picture of Amanda. Slowly, the picture took on a life of its own, and she saw Amanda-Sarah in a big space where there were desks, a counter, people waiting in a line--could it be a bank? Yes, and Emily herself was there, and Tracey, too, and other people she couldn't see very well. The person who looked like Sarah was flapping her hands worriedly and looking totally useless. Frightened, too.
Then, it was like a curtain dropped briefly over the vision. When it went back up and she could see the vision again, the Sarah figure was in a completely different role. She was in control, making people move, taking charge. She looked confident, like someone with power . . .
The picture faded, and she opened her eyes. Amanda-Sarah and Tracey looked at her expectantly. "Well?" Amanda asked. "Do I get Sarah's gift?"
"I don't know," Emily said helplessly. "I had two completely different visions. In one of them you had power, and in the other one you didn't."
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Tracey's eyes widened. "You saw two different futures?"
"I guess," Emily said. "And I don't know which one is right. That's never happened to me before."
"You really are worthless," Amanda declared in disgust.
"Amanda, that's not true," Tracey snapped. "Emily just happens to have a gift that's more complicated than ours."
Amanda's eyes narrowed. "I hope it's not too complicated for our kidnappers. Or she'll end up just like Carter." She gulped. "And me." Her eyes filled with fear again.
"Calm down," Tracey ordered. "We're all in this together, and we're all gifted, and we'll work together to figure this out." But this time, she didn't sound very sure of herself. Amanda certainly didn't look convinced.
"You disappeared yesterday and it didn't help us out," she said. "Martin can't turn his strength on by himself--something has to happen to him. I can't do anything as Sarah. And Emily . . . well, we just saw how useful she's going to be."
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Tracey didn't have a comeback for her, and Emily didn't either. At that moment, she was experiencing something she could never have predicted.
She was in complete agreement with Amanda.
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Chapter EighT
Jenna sat alone in the cafeteria. It was strange, in a way. Before she got to know Emily and Tracey, she'd always sat alone in the cafeteria, and it never bothered her. But maybe she wasn't as much of a loner as she thought she was. Now, she missed her friends.
She looked around for Ken, but she didn't see him. She did see Charles, and she was surprised to notice where he was sitting. His wheelchair was parked by one of the tables where the jocks sat. Among them were the basketball players Ken had been talking to that morning on the steps.
Poor Charles, Jenna thought. Did he really think he could break into that exclusive clique? But she didn't give this too much thought. She had more important things on her mind.
It wasn't time for class yet, but she decided that
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being alone in an empty classroom was better than being alone in a crowded cafeteria, so she sneaked out of lunch early. She could think better without all the noise. And she needed to think, hard.
She wanted to make another attempt to contact Emily. Once before, when Emily had been trapped in a storage room, Jenna had been able to read her mind from a distance and come to her rescue. Of course, Emily hadn't been very far away that time-- the room was in the basement of the school. But maybe she wasn't far away now. Or maybe Jenna's gift could extend to longer distances. In any case, it was worth the effort.
She concentrated with determination in the silence of room 209. But the effort was wasted. As hard as she tried, she couldn't hear Emily. Or Sarah, Tracey, Martin, or Carter. She slumped back in her seat and wished someone else would arrive in the classroom to distract her from her own thoughts.
Someone did--but it was only Amanda-the-robot, or whatever that thing was who looked like Amanda. The pretty duplicate went to her seat and
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pulled out her cosmetics case. Without much hope, Jenna tried to communicate. "Hey, Amanda."
"Amanda" tore her eyes away from her own reflection. "What?"
"You wouldn't happen to know where the real Amanda is, would you?"
The blank expression on fake Amanda's face gave Jenna her answer.
Ken came in next, followed by Charles. Ken looked glum. Charles was beaming.
Jenna started with Ken. "What's up?"
Ken scowled and rubbed his forehead. "Someone's been bugging me."
Jenna knew what he meant. Every now and then, dead people tried to send him on a mission. Ken's problem was that he was essentially a nice guy, and he hated to say no. So he kept putting them off, telling them "not now" or "maybe later," and they kept on nagging him.
"Just put your foot down and make it clear that you're not going to run their afterlife errands for
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them," Jenna advised. "They'll have to give up sooner or later."
Ken shook his head. "This one's a mother. I don't think she's ever going to give up." He blinked. "What's that noise? I don't think it's coming from inside my head."
"It's Charles," Jenna told him. "He's whistling."
Charles had never whistled in class before, and they both turned to stare at him.
"That tune sounds kind of familiar," Jenna said.
"No kidding," Ken replied. "It's the school fight song. Don't you ever go to any games?"
"No."
"Hey, Charles, what's going on?" Ken asked. "Are you getting school spirit or something?"
"Just trying to remember the tune," Charles said cheerfully. "I'm going to the basketball game this afternoon."
Ken sighed. "Charles, if you're going to get into sports, why don't you back winners? Watch the wrestlers or the soccer guys. Our basketball team stinks this year."
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"They won the past two games," Charles pointed out.
"Yeah, but they lost the ten games before that, and they lost big time," Ken said. "And it's only Mike Brady who's scoring."
Charles stopped smiling. "That's your opinion. I'll bet they make it to the finals this year."