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  He pressed his ear to the man’s chest and looked at his face. He felt the man’s ribs rise, and at the same time, a blast of alcohol-laced breath hit his nose. Okay, the guy was alive. Stinky, but alive.

  A homeless guy, maybe? The man lay on his side, one arm askew above his head. Demarcus rolled the man onto his back, thinking it might make him more comfortable. That’s when he noticed a trail of dried blood from the man’s scalp running down the other side of his face.

  The man wasn’t breathing very fast. Demarcus’s fingers searched for a pulse on the man’s neck. Very faint, from what he could tell.

  He’d better call 911. He pulled his phone out to dial. Before Demarcus could swipe the screen, the man started convulsing. His body shook and a frothy substance spilled from his mouth.

  Demarcus recoiled. This dude was going to die right in front of him. No way would an ambulance make it in time.

  He glanced around. The street was deserted in the early morning hour.

  But he could.

  He stooped down and pulled the man to a sitting position. With one knee down, Demarcus managed to wrestle him up and sling him over his shoulder, despite the man’s quaking.

  Okay, where was the hospital? He was a block from Parkland, so St. Matthew’s would be a couple of miles away. Now the test was how fast could he go carrying an adult.

  His legs churned like pistons against the sidewalk, propelling him forward. The extra weight challenged him, and even using the fireman technique, the body threw off his balance. He struggled to keep steady, and it affected his momentum.

  The homeless man gurgled and twitched.

  Push it, Demarcus. He’s not going to last much longer. He leaned in, willing his legs to move faster. His mouth dried out with the stress.

  A crosswalk signal changed to red, and a truck turned right in front of him. Demarcus grabbed onto the man tighter. He planted a foot to spin. The truck veered by a few inches away as Demarcus finished his turn and squirted past the bumper toward his destination. His eyes stung from the exhaust hanging in the air.

  The lights of the hospital windows rose in the skyline in front of him. A couple more blocks. A surge of power emanated from deep within Demarcus. Reserves he didn’t know he had flooded over his skin and soaked to his bones. He flew forward, a new gear unlocked.

  A ramp led up to the receiving area for the ER. He slowed his pace enough to avoid questions. Okay, God, thank you for getting me here. Now forgive me if I have to lie a little.

  He paused for the automatic doors. They slid open with a whoosh. A bored female clerk and a police officer over in the corner both looked up at him.

  “I need help, here! I found this guy passed out nearby and he started shaking.”

  A bunch of people in scrubs surrounded him and led him past the check-in desk. An empty gurney rolled forward, and Demarcus laid the stricken man on the bed. A circle of nurses and doctors surrounded the man and barked out orders to stabilize him.

  Demarcus didn’t know what to do now. Running, he could do. Medicine? Nuh-huh. He backed through the ER doors and planned to quietly excuse himself when a woman with red hair cornered him.

  “Did you bring that man in?”

  Demarcus looked around, but there was no one else to finger. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “How did you find him? I need to ask some questions.”

  The clerk took down notes on what Demarcus could offer about the man he saved. Demarcus glanced at the clock on the wall. Great. Even with his speed, he’d have to push it to get his routes done before school. If he arrived late he’d hear it from his mom. Would school take an excuse note about saving someone’s life?

  “Now I need your contact information if we have more questions, or if the police have any questions.”

  “You need to get a hold of me? And what do the police have to do with this?”

  “Sometimes we need more data afterward, and law enforcement may get involved.” The clerk looked down at her clipboard. “What’s your name and address?”

  Before he could answer, he noticed the police officer walking up in his peripheral vision. Great. What kind of attention am I going to get now?

  Demarcus turned to face the officer, ignoring the last question of the clerk. “Can I help you, sir?

  The name tag read Maldonado. “That was a good thing you did. What I would like to know is what you were doing out at this hour.”

  Scenarios juggled in Demarcus’s mind as he considered how to answer. He clicked his tongue and drew in a breath. “Just delivering the newspaper.” Probably best to leave out the part about drag-racing on foot.

  “So, where’s your papers?”

  “I left them outside.”

  The officer raised an eyebrow. “You mean you stopped before the door to leave them, while carrying a sick man on your back?”

  Mama’s admonition to keep it polite and open, especially with dealing with authority figures, screamed in his mind.

  “I’ll go get them and show you, if you’d like.”

  The clerk glanced at the officer and took the hint—she could get her information later. The officer nodded. “Sure thing. Don’t take off. I’ll be watching you.”

  Demarcus turned without showing any emotion and strode through the sliding door. He wasn’t prepared for the officer calling him on the papers. The trouble he landed in just for helping a person in need! Panic momentarily fluttered through his gut.

  Sorry, Lord, for the lie. And forgive me for what I have to do now.

  Demarcus walked just past the view of the doors, checked his surroundings, and made a beeline for his newspaper route, hoping that the officer would have something better to investigate other than a random black kid doing a good deed.

  Chapter Four

  Lily’s heart resumed beating as everyone shouted. The auditorium erupted in chaos.

  Missy gaped and waved her hands at her eyes, all the while claiming the push was an accident. Mr. Barton barged his way through students to get to the point of impact.

  Clara curled up into a ball, her arms covering her head for protection. The spotlight lay crumpled in a heap a foot away from her, smoke rising from the canister.

  Lily rubbed her throbbing temples as she tried to comprehend what happened. The light must’ve blown on its way down, and the force knocked it away from her friend. That was the only explanation.

  She had screamed and raised her arms out to knock the metal canister out of the way, then a white light flashed as the stand fell. Maybe she had hit it. Her hands tingled like they were asleep.

  Although, the tingling had been happening more often lately.

  Mr. Barton knelt next to Clara. “Are you okay? Does anything hurt?”

  She slowly unfurled and checked her arms and legs. She shook them all for good measure. “I think I’m good, Mr. Barton. As long as it doesn’t involve open flames, I’m ducky.”

  He helped Clara up. Lily stepped close to get in his field of vision. “Mr. Barton, Missy pushed her into the tripod, and that caused the thing to tip over. It was no accident.”

  Missy shot a look of innocence at Mr. Barton. “I did not push her. I just put my hands up to keep her from running into me. I swear.”

  Kids bickered over what really happened. Lily fumed at the bully’s obvious lies. It would feel really good to knock some of those perfect teeth loose. She couldn’t believe they’d once been friends.

  Before Lily got the chance to do something she might regret, Mr. Barton corralled everyone into the house seats to calm down and doing some “centering” exercises. Lily glanced at her goofy friend as Clara focused her breathing and gamely went along with the rest of the class. Justice was delayed, but if Lily could help it, Missy wouldn’t get away with anything.

  Lily closed her eyes so she wouldn’t get caught glaring at Missy and concentrated on shaking her hands out, trying to get the feeling in her fingers to return.

  The rest of the day droned on. Thankfully. She didn’t need
the excitement of drama class to repeat itself. Lily noticed a few people giving her funny looks toward the end of the day, the only thing that appeared unusual.

  Ugh. Let ’em stare.

  All she wanted to do was get her homework over with and shut the world out with her headphones and laptop. Maybe she could find some solace playing with pictures if she could get her editing software to cooperate. Clara met her at the stairs and hugged her before they hit the main doors.

  The morning clouds had broken, and the California rays bathed Lily in warmth. She took a deep breath and savored the feeling. After the stressful day, the sun felt especially bright and cheerful. Not quite enough to clear her internal storms, but it calmed them.

  Clara spied her ride and waved goodbye, bounding down the curved ramp to the main sidewalk. Lily softened her frown at Clara’s energy. The girl survived another near disaster and appeared none the worse for wear.

  Lily leaned against a white colonnade and scanned the parking lot. She wondered where Kelly was. Out of character for her to be late. Lily was ready to get out of here. Especially when she heard snickering behind her.

  “Who do you pay to do your hair? You should fire them for the mess they made of it.” She knew Missy’s condescending tone anywhere.

  Lily whirled around and snarled, “What’s your problem? Black not your color? Well, it should be—it matches your heart.”

  The pack of girls pointed at Lily’s head, and Missy giggled. “She doesn’t even know how bad it looks.”

  Laughter followed her as Lily stomped out to the parking lot. Kelly pulled up just in time. Lily ripped the back door open, threw her backpack across the bench, and plopped inside the front seat.

  “How was your day, honey?”

  “Awful. Can we just go home?” Before the tears start.

  Kelly didn’t answer. When Lily looked at her, Kelly was gawking at her hair. “What?”

  “Sweetheart, can you decide on a look and stick with it?”

  Lily shook her head, confused. What is everyone babbling about? She yanked the sun visor down and checked out her reflection. Her jaw dropped.

  Only the last half of her long hair was black. The rest had turned back to shiny yellow.

  Chapter Five

  Demarcus slipped in through the kitchen door, worn out from a long, dragging day at school. He wanted to hole up and do more research on how to test his speed.

  First, some fuel. As he reached for the fridge door, he heard conversation from the living room. His mama and a strange voice. Who was here?

  A man’s voice carried past the door. “What time does Demarcus get home from school?” Paranoia jolted through his chest. Was he caught by the police for this morning? The question of security cameras or other ways to ID him had nagged him all day.

  Demarcus snatched a banana off the counter to satisfy his rising hunger and crept up the wooden staircase. Hopefully he could avoid any unwanted entanglements.

  A loud creak reverberated from the fifth step.

  Dang. That one was the trap.

  “Dee, are you home?” Mama’s voice carried through the hallway. With the voice of a gospel singer, there was no mistaking when Mama called.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I need you in the living room, please.”

  He hung his backpack, steeled himself with a deep breath, and pushed through the swinging door into the living room.

  “Hey Mama. How’s your day? And who’s the strange guy on the couch?”

  Whoops. His stream of consciousness ran right out of his mouth. He wasn’t expecting to see a dude wearing Chukka boots, rolled up pants, and a button-up shirt under a sweater sipping a glass of lemonade. Total. Hipster.

  So he wasn’t a cop. Sweet. But who was this guy? Could it still have to do with his racing on the highways? Or with the homeless man at the hospital?

  “Demarcus! Where are your manners?”

  He hid the banana behind his back as if it were a secret weapon and offered his other hand to the visitor. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone. My name is Demarcus. Pleased to meet you.”

  The hipster took Demarcus’s hand with a weak grip and wiggled his arm, then adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses as he sat down. “I’m glad to meet you, Demarcus. I’m Fredrick Noble. I was just talking to your mom about you.”

  Demarcus’s heart skipped in his chest.

  Mama’s demeanor seemed normal, though, so that was a good sign.

  Demarcus backed toward a floral-patterned chair and sat down, smashing his fruit in the process. He pulled the banana onto his lap and tried to act relaxed, lazily draping an arm over the armrest. “Really? You were talking about me? What’s up?”

  Fredrick sipped his drink. “Well, Demarcus, I’m with the Alturas Collective. Our company is looking for some bright youth to help us in our global outreach.”

  Wait, Alturas? As in, Flare? Dee fingered the outline of his phone in his jean pocket. This was trippy. He’d just checked his Flare account before getting off the bus.

  Mama poked his leg, jarring him from his mental shock. “Dee, pay attention.”

  “Sorry. Did you say Alturas?”

  Fredrick set his lemonade down and adjusted his cuff. “Yes, I did. We’re hosting a conference for gifted individuals a few weeks after school ends. We’ve been scouting regional schools to find teens with exceptional potential. I was talking to your mother about the possibility of your coming to our gathering in June.”

  Now this was weird.

  “I don’t know what to say. I guess one thing is: are you sure you have the right Demarcus Bartlett?” His grades were good, still, he was no genius. Mama made sure he worked hard at homework as the price for doing sports, but he didn’t feel like he belonged at some super-smart symposium.

  Fredrick chuckled. “I assure you that you’re the one we’re interested in. If you’re wondering, it’s not all about grades. It’s about potential. Leadership. It’s about the ability to make a difference in our world.”

  Mama leaned over from her sage green couch and squeezed Demarcus’s leg. “Isn’t this great, Demarcus? I’ve always said you were special. You have a destiny. God has kept you for a reason. It’s time to let your light shine.”

  His finger traced one of the flowers on the cushion. Was this a coincidence? A few weeks ago, he’d finally gotten out of his walking boot, the result of an ankle fracture. Since then he’d lived the most amazing—and fast—days of his life.

  Fredrick flashed a wide, inviting smile. “See, we’re interested in people who influence peers, who show leadership, and who can point the way to others. Everyone is concerned about bullying, isolation, and wasting time, especially in cyberspace. Flare holds the center of the social media world. We want to use our influence to transform society. That’s why we don’t need the best GPA or test scores. We are drawn to potential.”

  Demarcus absentmindedly peeled his bruised banana and chomped a bite. What kind of opportunity would this be? Could it lift his hard-working mother out of the edge of the suburb into a place she deserved to live?

  “Well, what does this conference mean?”

  Fredrick slid a glossy multi-page brochure out from a black leather attaché embossed with the symbol for Flare, a torch with swirling lines around it. Boy, that case looked fancy.

  Demarcus glanced around their tiny home. The secondhand furniture had never bothered him before. Now the worn upholstery and mismatched décor seemed out of place with this upscale dude.

  “Alturas is inviting you to come. It’s short notice, we know, so don’t worry about the cost. It starts the second week of June, and we hold it in Santa Clara at our main campus. You’ll join about fifty other potentials for inspiration sessions over four days. It won’t be anything like school. It’ll be an experience you’ll never forget. You’ll brainstorm, bounce ideas off of other gifted peers, and unlock the doors for the next generation.”

  “Heh.” Demarcus eyed him. “Does that mean a lot of
texting and make-out sessions?”

  Mama gave him that look again, and his shoulders dropped.

  Fredrick laughed, then he tapped his watch a few times and focused on Demarcus, his eyes offering a warm acceptance. “Don’t worry. There will be plenty of supervision from Alturas’s best and brightest. Bringing a bunch of teens together might seem like a bad idea, but we believe in you. How will anything change if those with the keys aren’t allowed to start driving?”

  Demarcus heard the ticking of the wooden Swiss clock Mama had just found at a yard sale. He watched the second hand flick across the face as he considered Fredrick’s offer.

  Pride welled up in him. He’d been recognized. For a long time, he was just another kid trying to climb out of a difficult past. Mama’s powerful will wouldn’t let him settle for gang-bangin’ or slacking, so he’d always kept his head up and pushed forward.

  This spring was supposed to be his earth-shattering debut on the track team, especially since he was still the new kid at school, only to have it dashed with the freak accident that broke his ankle. Then his gift manifested—only after he couldn’t show it off on the field.

  Well, what could he hurt in going to this conference?

  But would his overprotective mother let him go?

  “It sounds cool. What do you think, Mama?”

  Demarcus’s mother, Mary Bartlett, was a woman full of faith, yet sensible to a fault. She wouldn’t get talked into the name brand if there wasn’t a real benefit. Demarcus’s hopes had been dashed in the past when she didn’t go for something because it was the must-have gadget or label. Would she buy this guy’s sales pitch?

  Her eyes glistened as she gripped a few Kleenex. “I knew when I woke up in the hospital and you looked at me for the first time that you had a purpose. You were born for such a time as this. This must be a gift from God. I’m so excited for you.”

  She sighed and tilted her head up in a faraway gaze looking off to the horizon. Or at the spider webs he was supposed to have cleaned up in the corner of the living room last weekend.

  Mr. Hipster slapped his legs. “Well then, let’s talk. I need your personal info, and we’ll get the application started.”