Satellite: The Satellite Trilogy, Part I Read online

  “What do you think about Rigby?”

  He eyes fall to the tabletop.

  “Don’t look so disappointed. The guy’s not that bad,” I tease.

  She looks up, embarrassed. “Oh, I know. It’s just—he’s…there’s someone else who…never mind. I’ll see you later, OK?”

  “Um…OK.” Weird. “Thanks for telling me about Willow.”

  Her face brightens again. “No problem. I bet you’re the only one who didn’t know she had a Rebellion assignment.”

  “That I doubt.”

  “Seriously, ask around. If I’m right, you owe me dinner.”

  I shake her tiny hand to accept her bet, hoping she’s wrong. Not only would Rigby disapprove of us spending time together, I’m getting the vibe that dinner means something entirely different to her than it does to me.

  7. It’s like a jolt of electricity, but worse

  Prepared for the landscape this time, I open the doors to the courtyard and try to keep my jaw hinged. I do wish the old man could see this. When I asked him three months ago if he believed in Heaven, he gave me the same answer he always did to every non-work-related question: “Shouldn’t you be talking to your mother about this?” Yep, that was my dad.

  After walking down the stone path, I climb the bleachers to Anna and Rigby. “Did you know about Willow?” I whisper to Anna.

  She knits her brows. “About Willow?” she repeats, thinking for a minute. “You mean the Rebellion assignment?”

  “You knew?” I whisper harshly.

  “You didn’t?” Thankfully, Anna’s volume doesn’t match her bugged-out eyes. Looking down, I shake my head.

  “Seriously?” she says in disbelief.

  I don’t reply.

  “Wow, I can’t believe she never told you. It’s pretty major.”

  Rigby leans over Anna and asks, “What’s major?”

  “He didn’t know about Willow and the Rebellion assignment,” Anna whispers.

  Rigby pulls the toothpick from his mouth and grins. “You’re kidding.”

  It looks like I have a date for dinner. Super. Maybe Rigby can take my place.

  The whole Willow-leaving-me-in-the-dark routine is getting old. Speaking of, here’s Miss Loon now. She stomps her boot between Anna and me and then sits behind us. “Hey, kids, whatcha talking about?” She ruffles my hair.

  I swat her hand away and turn around to face her. “Is there something you think I should know?”

  She purses her lips at me before responding. “Yes. Your hair looks terrible today.”

  Rigby cracks up when my hand raises to smooth my hair.

  “Come on, Willow. You know what I’m talking about. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She feigns ignorance. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Man, I can’t believe you didn’t know.” Rigby shakes his head.

  “I’m sure she had her reasons for not telling you,” Anna whispers.

  “Oh, I get it. This is about the Rebellion, right?” Willow asks.

  “It’s a big deal!” I blurt out.

  “How does it affect your training?” When I don’t answer, she says, “That’s exactly my point.”

  “It would have been helpful to know,” I whisper angrily.

  “Why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” I sigh dramatically. “Maybe because I seem to be the only person who didn’t know.” And because I now have a date with Clara, which Rigby is surely going to be ticked about. Maybe I should tell him and wipe the annoying smile off his face.

  “And that’s a problem?”

  “Yes, it’s a problem!” I yell.

  Everyone within earshot stares in our direction.

  “Look, kid, I have bigger things to worry about than your ego. Like your training, for example.” She looks over my head to the field. “Now pay attention, will you?”

  Still angry, I turn around as Jonathan begins. “Welcome back. It’s wonderful to see you all again. Today you will be performing drills with your Legacies. The exercise will teach you the fundamentals of blocking. Remember, blocking requires great effort and skill. Practice and patience are key.” He pulls the clipboard out from under his arm and flips a paper over. “Legacies, please pair off with your Satellites and begin your training.”

  The crowd disperses across the vast field. I follow Willow like a sulking brat, still loathing her for being so insanely maddening. She stops thirty yards away from the other pairs of Satellites.

  “Ready to learn?”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  She ignores my sarcasm. “Thanks to my volunteering us yesterday, you’re a step ahead of the others. You already know how it feels on the receiving end of a block.”

  “Yeah. Bad.”

  “You should work on your vocab, kid.”

  I cross my arms. “Fine. It was destabilizing.”

  Willow seems pleased. “Better. First things first. The most important element of blocking is timing. You have a very small window for a successful block. If you want to master this skill, the key is getting your timing right.”

  I answer with “OK,” but only because she’s obviously waiting for a reply.

  “Now, to the action itself. You need to focus on the outcome you want. For example, when I blocked you, I focused on you sitting instead of catching me. Following so far?”

  “I was, until you brought up the part that I apparently don’t remember.”

  Unamused, she says, “Just keep up, kid. So you focus on the outcome you want after centering your energy around your thoughts.”

  “Centering my what?”

  “I knew this part was going to be tough for you to grasp.” She looks at the ground, taps her finger on her chin, and then looks back at me. “It’s like this: you possess an energy that’s in constant motion throughout your body. You need to focus this energy, because you will be transferring your thoughts to your Tragedy through it.”

  Clearly she’s mental. “OK, go on,” I say, humoring her.

  “At first, it can be helpful to bring your hands into a position like this.” She poses like she’s praying. “Once your energy is tightened, give the order ‘haze.’ This will produce the necessary filter that clouds your Tragedy’s mind. It’s then that you focus on the desired outcome. Your thoughts will transfer to your Tragedy through the haze. Still following?”

  No. “Yeah.”

  “You’ll feel the moment your Tragedy accepts your thoughts.”

  “Feel?”

  “Yeah. It’s like a jolt of electricity, but worse.”

  “That sounds…uncomfortable.”

  “Quite, actually. Now, following that jolt, you will need to break the connection by giving the order ‘block.’ This is important, because it will clear the haze and complete the process.”

  “And what if it’s done incorrectly?”

  “Well,” she rolls her eyes, “that’s why we’re here. One more thing—all of this needs to happen within a few seconds. You can only maintain the haze for a short time. If the haze evaporates before your thoughts are transferred, the opportunity is lost.”

  “Which equals a fail.”

  “Ding, ding, ding! And I guess that now you know what too many failures leads to.”

  “I’ve just recently been told,” I say, feeling crabby again.

  “Get over it.” She looks around the field. “Whitfield’s about to give it a shot. Wanna watch her before you try?”

  Whatever will buy me some time. “Sure.”

  We pass by groups of working Satellites to get to them. Shyla’s telling Whitfield she’s going to walk left, and Whitfield needs to make her go right instead.

  “Go,” Shyla instructs, unbuttoning the sleeves of her shirt before swinging her arms loosely at her sides.

  After Whitfield tucks her flaming-red hair behind her ears, she takes a stance like she’s praying and shouts, “Haze!” A light blur surrounds the girls.

  “Block!” Whitfield yells, but it sou
nds more like a question than an order.

  Unaffected by Whitfield’s attempts at persuasion, Shyla walks to the left. “You’re not quite there yet, but that was a decent first shot,” Shyla adds with encouragement. “With enough practice, you’ll own this.”

  “Ready to take a stab at it?” Willow asks.

  “I guess so,” I mumble, realizing there’s no delaying the inevitable.

  We move back to a free area on the lawn.

  “Since you refused to hit me,” she mocks, “I guess I’ll offer you the same courtesy. Let’s duplicate Shyla and Whitfield’s block. I’m going left. Make me go right. Got it?”

  I nod and close my eyes, looking for my so-called energy. I open my eyes before a grin slips out. “You’re going to have to give me a little more guidance concerning this whole energy thing.”

  “You’re so high maintenance.” She looks up to the sky. “OK, this is how it was explained to me. Try to be open minded.” She lowers her glare to me, waiting for a response.

  “OK!” I say to pacify her.

  Unhumored, she keeps going. “My energy is a color. I visualize it and form it into a tight ball.”

  I crack up.

  “Shut up! I’m trying to help you here. Now go, already.”

  I close my eyes, but I only laugh harder.

  “Come on!”

  “Fine. But just one question,” I say evenly.

  “What?” she snaps.

  “What color?”

  “Forget it. Let’s go.”

  “Please.” My expression is controlled. “I think it would help.”

  “Purple.” She pushes a braid out of her face and exhales deeply. “Now, do you think you can at least act like an adult?”

  “This coming from a woman with purple energy?”

  “Shut it, kid. Let’s go.” She turns her face away from me.

  “Is that a smile?”

  “Just concentrate, will you?” she says, but her composure is breaking, too.

  Finally, we both can keep a straight face. “All right, I’m ready.”

  “Good. Same drill.”

  With my eyes closed, I search for this energy: a color—any color—as Willow suggested. At first there’s nothing. Then, slowly, a very faint blue forms behind my eyelids. When it darkens, I open my eyes. Everything around me is covered in this sapphire filter. I concentrate on pulling the color in. It retracts slowly at first, but then pulls in faster, eventually forming a small translucent ball. Forgetting to bring my palms together, I shout the order: “Haze!”

  A rippled glasslike filter forms around me before extending out to Willow, and my hearing is muffled like I’m underwater. My senses fight against the claustrophobia while my brain screams the directions: Go right. Go right. Go right. Go right. Go—

  Ahhhhhhhhggg!

  Every nerve in my body is assaulted and paralyzed by pain. I can’t think; I can’t concentrate. My jaw clenches against the electric current, and the torture radiates through my teeth so intensely I’d swear they were about to fall out. How do I make this stop? Think, think, think!

  “Block!” I yell.

  The pain evaporates with the filter. I gasp in relief as my muscles twitch. I look to Willow for an explanation. She turns to her right, and thunderous applause breaks out around us.

  “Grant, that was killer! I’ve never seen someone block that well on their first shot,” Shane calls to me.

  Willow is frozen.

  “Willow?” I manage to say, even though my muscles still hate her.

  She stares back at me. For once, she is speechless.

  “Willow?” I ask again, starting to get a little worried.

  Only her eyes move. “What happened?” she demands of Jordan.

  “You should have seen him—he’s a natural!”

  I can’t help but gloat when Willow stares at me in disbelief. Blocking her was downright torturous, but now I’m thinking it may have been worth it. “Huh. It’s funny when the tables turn—”

  She cuts me off. “Again!”

  “What?”

  “Again! Let’s go. I’m coming at you. You should probably make me turn and walk away,” she orders.

  My eyes all but jump from their sockets when she gets into position. She’s not kidding—she’s going to attack me.

  My energy comes faster this time, despite my trembling muscles. I look at Willow through the blue mask and tighten the filter as fast as I can. “Haze!”

  The muffled hum doesn’t throw me off as it did before.

  Turn around. Turn around. Turn—holy mother!

  The agonizing current swallows me. I try to remember what I’m doing while the jolt suffocates me. Think already!

  “Block!” The paralysis stops, but this time I stumble forward. My knee catches me before I face-plant into the grass.

  Willow turns and walks the other way, but this time my audience’s response is more subdued.

  “Did he block me?” Willow demands of the silent crowd. “Did he block me!” she yells.

  A voice I don’t recognize answers. “Yes, but—”

  “Again.”

  “Willow, he needs a break,” Jordan interjects.

  “Again!” Her glare blazes through me. “I’m going to punch you. Come up with whatever you want.”

  I somehow right myself, knowing if I don’t she’s going to hit me—hard. My muscles scream in protest when I close my eyes and try to find my energy. Its color is very faint, but I’m able to center it. “Haze,” I mumble.

  Under the waterfall, Willow comes at me too fast, like a cat after its kill. Her eyes are wild and her white knuckles grow bigger and bigger…

  Sit. Sit. Sit. Sit!

  The pain crushes me. She moves in slow motion while I’m held hostage by a jolt that’s ripping my muscles apart. I welcome her fist—anything that will make the current stop.

  I force out the words, “Block!” and crumble to the ground. My flaming muscles seize uncontrollably.

  When I can finally focus my eyes, Shane and Jordan are at my side, and Willow is sitting on the ground a foot in front of us. She doesn’t ask this time. My beaten body must be proof to her that I performed another successful block.

  When she pushes herself up, the look in her eyes is terrifying. “Again!” she yells.

  “Enough!” a commanding voice shouts from behind me.

  Willow stares over my head, considering her challenger. Then, she marches off toward the building. I try to relax my shaking muscles. She’s lost her mind!

  “That was brutal,” Shane says.

  I push off the ground, but my legs buckle under me. Jordan grabs my waist and hoists me up. As much as I hate to, I lean on him for support. “Was that normal?”

  “No. I’ve never seen a new Satellite block so easily. That was sick, man.”

  “It wasn’t easy,” I manage to tell Jordan, but don’t have the strength to clarify what I meant by “normal.”

  Anna looks like she’s about to cry. “Why can’t he stand on his own?”

  “He’ll be fine. He just needs to rest,” says a voice behind me. “Jordan, I can take him from here.”

  I’m passed off to Jonathan and left wishing that I could walk on my own. No dice, though, since my legs are the consistency of wet noodles.

  “That was quite a show out there,” Jonathan compliments, which makes me defensive.

  “I didn’t mean for it to be.”

  “Oh, I’m not coming down on you. Quite the contrary. Your blocking skills are impressive. I have no doubt great things are in your future.”

  My lack of energy makes the rest of our journey to the apartment a quiet one. By the time we reach the elevator, I am relying on him less than before. Still, I’ve never been more ecstatic to see the dreadful sofa.

  “Thank you,” I say when Jonathan lowers me onto the cushion.

  “You’re welcome. You should feel well after some rest. Can I get you anything before I go?”

  “No, I’m OK.
”

  Jonathan nods and crosses the room, but turns back when I call his name.

  “What do you think got into Willow?” I ask. “I mean, I’ve never seen her like that before.”

  “Willow likes to be in control. I believe this afternoon’s events left her feeling a bit out of sorts, with someone so new getting the upper hand.”

  “Has anyone else ever reacted that way?” If so, I pity whoever was on the receiving end.

  “No, not that extreme. That’s Willow, though. Go big or go home.”

  I’d like to laugh, but I haven’t recovered from my beating.

  Jonathan continues. “It’s important to consider the internal struggle that takes place throughout a Legacy’s transition. Embracing the promise of the future means letting go of the past. This doesn’t come easy. One day, you may find yourself faced with the same difficulty.”

  I’m facing it right now, I think.

  “I hope you can forgive Willow for her actions. I’m certain that she feels bad about today’s events.”

  Uh-huh. Right.

  I stay on the sofa when Jonathan leaves, because unless I want to army crawl across the room, I have no other choice.

  An hour later, I trust my legs enough to carry me to the kitchen. When I return to the sofa, the assignment book on the trunk catches my attention. I hesitantly set my coffee down, open to the page with the bad glove drawing, and push my hand down. The book yanks me in without pause this time, sending me on the blind, oxygen-free roller coaster of needles. Thankfully, I land more quickly than I did on the previous ride.

  Because she’s such a lovely hostess, GPS Jeanette extends her welcome, and like before, the wall spins to present a single rusty door.

  After the handle sends the expected jolt, I step into 2001. The chirping crickets are deafening, and my steaming breath seems to float even longer in the air. Ryder’s sitting on the grass beside a blonde girl. Behind them, Granite lifts his head when the street lights blink on.

  “Only a week left, you know. Are you ready to go back?” the girl asks.

  “I dunno. It’s been great hanging out with you this summer,” Ryder answers.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah!” he says, but then adds with less confidence, “Don’t you think?”

  Oh yeah, she’s definitely into him. An airplane skywriting her feelings across a clear sky would be subtler than her current glowing expression.