CHAPTER EIGHT:
Parkour Around Your Problems

Camille stared at herself in the mirror, eyes narrowed in on her arms. She flexed and un-flexed several times, watching her muscles contract closely. She was either tripping or something really strange was going on with her body, and she knew it couldn't be the first one.

Her eyes flickered from her unusually-toned, muscular arms to her face, where she met her own tired gaze. Dark circles hung under her eyes—a dead giveaway that she hadn't slept a wink the night prior. Wiki articles on super-strength and blogs about a phenomenon called hysterical strength were still pulled up on her phone, but even after a full night of reading article after article, Camille had yet to find a reasonable answer for what's going on with her. At one point, probably around four in the morning, she found herself eagerly reading a medicine.net article on the drug alpha-pyrrolidinopentiophenone, also known as alpha-PVP, or more commonly known on the street as Fakka. The drug was responsible for multiple people showing "super-strength" while high. At first, this one seemed the most likely to explain her weird, sudden strength since she didn't start experiencing it until after taking a drink from the cup that she sat down.

If only I was paying attention to my cup, she thought, then I could've seen who drugged me.

But maybe it wasn't a drug at all. After all, she wasn't just imagining having enhanced strength—people around her had started to notice, and it hadn't faded since that night at the party. If anything, she's just been getting stronger.

Dragging a hand down her face, Camille reached for her makeup bag. The zipper broke off but she pretended not to notice. She dabbed some concealer under her eyes, around the stress pimples forming on her forehead, and on her chin before blending it in, taking extra care to be gentle. Remembering what happened last time, she decided to skip mascara and out of fear buried her eyelash curler in the bottom of her makeup bag.

She gave herself one last look in the mirror before heading out. The walk to school was a long one, especially on a day like today. The wind threw her hair over her face and chilled her through the sweater she hugged snugly to her body. The weather had been acting strange lately, but Camille brushed it off as an early winter clawing its way back from resting all summer.

She pulled her phone out as she rounded the corner into an alley that she found as a shortcut to Northwood. She refreshed her Instagram feed for the fourth time and barely glanced up. She looked back to her phone, then froze. She did a double take.

At the sound of Camille's halted footsteps, a short and stout black dog looked up from whatever it was eating on the ground.

Camille wasn't afraid of a lot of things, but dogs? Yeah, no. "Stay . . ." Camille whispered, hands held out in front of her, mentally willing the dog to continue its meal and let her be on her way.

The dog watched her curiously, head tilted as he licked his nose. Camille gulped and took a step forward. The dog's ears lowered and he cowered back slightly. A small whine reverberated from his closed mouth.

"I'm just gonna . . . walk . . . over here." Camille walked forward again, keeping eye contact with the animal. The longer she stared into his eyes the more she realized he was kind of cute, in a rugged way. He was probably left on the streets to fend for himself. Camille felt a strange connection to the dog in that way.

Maybe dogs aren't that bad, she thought.

She took another step and smiled at him. Immediately, the dog's frightened stance switched to a defensive one and he growled at her. Camille couldn't help the short scream that left her mouth. "I'm sorry—" The dog cut her off with another bark and started to stalk towards her.

"No, go away—NO!" she shrieked and started off in a run down the alleyway, the dog hot on her heels. Her backpack bounced off her back as she pumped her legs and arms, but when she glanced back, the dog was nearly biting at her ankles. Eyes wide and sweat forming on her forehead, her eyes focused on a metal bar sticking out of the building on her left about ten feet off the ground. Without a second thought she jumped up and kicked off the wall on her right to build enough momentum to get her to the bar. She flipped through the air and landed on the other wall, scrambling to grasp the bar. Her breath caught in her throat as her fingers slipped and she fell, but she tucked and rolled as she hit the ground. Camille whipped her head around and saw the dog only a couple feet away. She begged her legs to go faster as she spotted the chain-link fence at the end of the alley. The dog growled and barked at her heels.

"Just—go—away," she puffed, jumping and flipping off the side of the wall, up and over the fence, landing on a foot and one knee on the other side. Her breaths came out heavy and fast. As she stared at the ground in front of her and her mind finally caught up with her body, her brows pinched together in confusion. She whipped her head around and stared at the growling dog on the other side of the fence.

She fell back onto her hands and took her time to climb back to her feet, eyes darting around rapidly. She brought a hand up to push a braid out of her face.

"Okay then," she breathed. With a fleeting look at the dog, she hitched her backpack higher on her shoulder and headed towards Northwood High.

★

Ross glanced behind him for the tenth time that day, but once again, there was nothing there. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the classroom. High school students filled the seats on all his sides, chatting away with each other or staring at the phones as the teacher graded the tests they just finished. Ross scratched his head and turned back around. He could've sworn someone was staring at him.

A sudden hand on his shoulder made him jump and whip his head around. One of the guys from the football team, Luke, gave Ross a wary glance.

"Hey bro, you good?"  Luke asked.

Ross forced a smile. His eyes involuntarily flickered to the right and caught Camille Long turned around in her seat, staring at him. She didn't even look away when he caught her, she just continued to stare into his soul.

What is his deal, an unwelcome voice said in his head. Look away.

He glanced back at Luke and nodded. "Yeah, I'm good."

Luke sent him another look before turning around in his seat, returning to his Clash of Clans game on his phone. Ross let out a breath and clenched his fists. After an agonizing second, he pulled his phone out and turned the volume up on the music filtering through his earbuds. The little white, wired pods had found a permanent home in his ears—from the time he left his room in the morning to the time he laid down to sleep.

Ross tried to relax in his seat as the voices muffled, but there was still that feeling of being watched ingrained in his mind. After a moment of deliberation, he glanced up again and met Camille's auburn eyes.

Stop staring at me, Ross thought. His breath caught in his throat when Camille's eyebrows shot up and she actually turned around to face the front like he had said his thoughts out loud.

Ross blinked at the back of Camille's head.

Wait.

Hello, he thought again, directing it to Camille. To Ross's bewilderment, she spun around and gave him a look before facing forward again.

That was weird, one of his intrusive thoughts said, but Ross recognized the voice of the thought—it sounded exactly like Camille's actual voice.

Ross yanked his earbuds out and surveyed the classroom. Several deafening voices filled his head even though the classroom was quiet. It was all making sense and falling apart at the same time—these intrusive thoughts weren't his thoughts at all, they belonged to other people.

Ross didn't know if he should celebrate or cry. On one hand, he finally figured out what these weird voices were and that he wasn't actually going crazy, but on the other hand, he could frickin hear people's thoughts.

The realization finally hit him like a ton of bricks. The pencil he'd been fidgeting dropped to the floor as his body froze.

I can read minds.

He wondered what else he could do. Just to test it, he internally screamed as loud as he could in his head to see if anyone would flinch. As his eyes swept over the sea of students in the classroom, he noticed that nobody even blinked at his internal outburst. So, he stared directly at the back of Camille's head again and focused on just her.

Turn around.

There, a simple enough message. Ross waited anxiously for a second, but just as he predicted, Camille whipped around and stared at him, just like he told her to in their minds. Her eyebrows raised as he continued to just stare at her without saying anything.

Ross froze. What was he supposed to do now that she turned around? He didn't know. To be honest, he was just overjoyed that she could actually hear him. It was amazing and mind-boggling and way more interesting than whatever lesson the teacher was explaining at the front of the room.

"Camille, turn around and quit givin Ross heart-eyes, I'm trying to go over your tests," Mrs. Crowley scowled suddenly as she stood at the front of the room, breaking the strange spell the two teenagers were in. Camille rolled her eyes at the old woman's nagging and graciously flipped Ross off for getting her noticed before slowly, almost elegantly turning back around in her seat. Mrs. Crowley didn't continue until she saw that she was facing her completely. She sighed as Camille watched her with a bored expression.

"I'm sorry if my class bores you, but you signed up for it so you better pay attention young lady. College is right around the corner, and universities don't accept failing grades."

"I'm not failing, Mrs. Crowley," Camille stated, crossing her arms as she eyed the teacher. "But if I was I'd be very upset that you disclosed personal information about my academic success."

Mrs. Crowley frowned at her but shifted her eyes back to the tests in his hands. "Kids are weird." She thumbed through the stack of papers and started handing them out. Ross stuffed his into his folder without paying much attention to the grade written in red ink on the top, too busy watching Camille with furrowed eyebrows. She was picking at her chipped black nail polish, and when she tried to kick her feet up on the metal tray beneath the desk in front of her, the tray snapped and her heels fell back to be ground. She groaned, but Ross noted that she didn't seem surprised, just annoyed.

Not again, Camille thought disdainfully.

In his head, Ross questioned, Again?

A second too late Ross realized he'd said it directly through their minds and she heard it.

Camille's fidgeting movements halted. She hesitantly started to turn around. This was the second time she'd heard a weird voice in her head, and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to find out where it was coming from.

Slightly panicked, Ross sank in his seat, shut his eyes tight, and imagined himself hiding in the bathroom—anywhere but here.

The sound of a flushing toilet caused him to snap his eyes open. His wide eyes scrutinized his new surroundings with an ever growing confusion and incredulousness.

He stood from the sticky floor he was sitting on and turned in a small circle. Ugly metal surrounded him on two sides, a brick wall stood behind him, and a latched metal door that matched the walls sat in front of him. He flipped the lock on the door and stepped out of the stall. The familiar school's bathroom tiles stared back at him. A younger student stood at the sink, splashing tap water onto his hands before cranking the chunky paper towel dispenser. He gave Ross a weird look as he passed him on his way out.

The bell rang overhead. It reverberated within the bathroom and Ross's confused head.

"How—" The word escaped his mouth in a breathless pant as he stared ahead, eyebrows drawn. He turned back around and noticed his books and folder sitting on the floor next to where he "appeared" in the stall.

I'm not crazy, he told himself, and picked his stuff up and shouldered out of the bathroom towards his next class.

★

Cole plowed through the sea of students, his mind ablaze with too many thoughts and emotions to latch onto just one. Students, underclassmen and upperclassmen alike, glared at him and sent him rude glances as Cole pushed them to the side. The last bell of the day had rung two minutes ago. As soon as he was released from his last class of the day, Cole was on a mission to split as fast as possible.

He just needed to get home before it was too late.

Evette had been suspended from school for the past three days. So far, those three days had passed without any altercations, but Cole wasn't taking any chances. Evette may have been his dorky sister, but she was his sister nonetheless—the same sister who'd been there for him when their mom left, the same one who took care of him even though he was fourteen minutes older. Now, it was Cole's duty to keep her safe from the demon she wasn't even aware of that lurked in their own home.

Cole slid into his truck and wasted no time in tossing his bags in the backseat and reversing out of the parking lot. His arms were stiff and tense as he drove out of the parking lot, passing a couple of guys in their practice gear heading to the football field. Cole kept his eyes trained straight ahead. His jaw tightened as he passed his coach, hoping he didn't notice him driving away when he knew full well they had practice right after school.

Cole hated missing practice, especially since he was banking on a football scholarship so he could go to college, but protecting Evette was more pressing than a silly football practice.

Cole let out a breath as he turned onto his street, but as he neared closer to his house, his mouth went dry. There, in the parking lot, sat a little black truck.

No, he wasn't supposed to get off work until later.

Cole parked behind the other truck and rushed up to the front door.

"Evette?" he called, shutting the heavy door behind him. He slipped his shoes off and crept through the living room, peeking into the kitchen. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. With his nerves still shot through the roof, he continued down the hallway to his sister's room. He rasped his fingers against her door. "Eve?"

After a beat of silence, the door swung open, revealing his sister standing on the other side wrapped in a blanket.

"What do you want?" she asked, genuinely confused. Cole never seemed to bother her, but this week she noticed how he'd been acting almost clingy. Something was up with him, that much she knew, but she didn't want to press for information since she, too, was hiding something. She subconsciously shifted to shield the singed sheets of paper sitting on her nightstand.

Cole's head filled with all the questions he wanted to ask her—Are you okay? Has Dad been in here? How the heck did you start a fire at school? Blocking out most of the questions, he settled on: "Have you seen Dad?"

"No. I think he forgot I was suspended to be honest." Evette rolled her eyes, somewhat annoyed but at the same time not too surprised. Cole, however, couldn't have heard better news.

"Okay," he breathed. He looked up and noticed the overflowing trash can by her bed, the open backpack on the floor, and the pile of snacks on her dresser. "How have you been holding up?"

"I'm grounded, not in jail, Cole. I'm fine. Just, you know, stressing about the schoolwork I'm gonna have to catch up on when I get back." She folded her arms and studied his tense stature. "Shouldn't you be at practice?"

"No, coach cancelled today," Cole lied easily. Evette nodded.

"Oh. Well, I'm gonna get back to my book, unless you needed something . . . ?" Her voice trailed off as she started inching the door closed.

Cole snorted. "You're such a nerd."

"Shut up, reading is fun," Evette scowled. Her brother shook his head and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"You're definitely adopted."

"We're twins, you crackhead."

With that, Evette closed the door with a loud laugh, making Cole laugh, too. Memories of the two of them from years ago, back when they were inseparable best friends, flashed before his eyes, making his smile linger. He crossed the hallway to his own bedroom with lighter shoulders. See, he told himself, she's fine. No need to worry.

"Cole."

Cole's hand froze over the doorknob. He was so close to escaping to his bedroom.

"Yeah, Dad?" Cole replied over his shoulder.

"C'mere," Mr. Bonavich's rough voice called again. Cole stared at his bedroom door for a second, imagining just ignoring his father and playing video games all night instead.

Cole shook the image out of his head and reluctantly stepped away from his bedroom. The floorboards creaked under his feet as he made his way to the kitchen, where he found Mr. Bonavich sitting at the counter.

"What do you want?" Cole asked, his face stony. His father mirrored his expression.

"Why aren't you at football?"

"Coach cancelled —" Cole jumped as Mr. Bonavich slammed his fist down on the tabletop.

"Don't give me that bullshit, boy. Your coach just called. He says you've been skipping all week."

Alarms went off in Cole's head. He watched his father's tense figure with wary eyes. He tried to straighten his back and appear fearless and indifferent, but the tremor in his voice as he looked his dad in the eyes gave him away. "Look, I just wanted to be here for Evette since she's been stuck in her room for the past three days."

"Be here for her?" his father repeated him, incredulous. His eyes darkened as he leaned forward. "She's being punished, Cole. She lit a fire at school. What part of that don't you understand?"

Cole remained silent.

"You can't be risking your future on stupid shit like this, boy. You need football or you'll never get out of here." He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled heavily.

Cole felt his hands curl into fists at his sides. "This isn't stupid shit, Dad. I'm trying to protect her."

"Protect her?" Mr. Bonavich scoffed. "From what?"

"From you!" Cole blurted, throwing his hands up. He stole a glance down the hallway, then turned back to his fuming father with fire in his eyes and a lowered voice. "Every second I'm at school and she's at home, all I can think about is what if you get home early and I'm not there to take the hits anymore?"

Mr. Bonavich shook his head in finality. "I'd never hit my daughter."

"And how am I supposed to know that? You hit your son, how is hitting Evette any different from hitting me?"

Cole held in a gasp as his father's hand whipped across his face. He pretended not to care and stared right back at the man before him. For a split second tears sprung up behind his eyes, but, biting his tongue and willing the waterworks away, they never fell.

Mr. Bonavich glared his son down. "It's discipline, Cole. It's what good parents are supposed to do. And I'll continue to do it until you shape up and act like a man." He turned away from Cole and busied himself at the fridge. "Now don't talk back to me."

Cole bit his tongue and glared daggers at the back of his dad's head. There were so many things he wanted to say, but the mental dam in his head kept everything piled up before he could release the flood gates and make everything worse.

Cole, silently fuming, turned to go back to his room, but as he passed the threshold to the hallway there was a knock at the door. Without even thinking of who it could be, he stomped to the door and swung it open. Cole's eyes narrowed at the tall, broad boy before him, still wearing his practice gear. "What do you want, Remington?" he seethed.

Ross held up the binder in his hands and glanced over his shoulder, then back at him. The wires on his earbuds swung slightly against his collarbones. "Your sister's my partner in government. Mrs. Davids is making me come over and work with her on our project since she's been suspended all week."

"She'll be back at school on Monday. Just, work on it then." Cole went to shut the door, but Ross held onto it and pried it back open. Cole glared at him.

"But it's due Tuesday," Ross said. Cole didn't even try to appear sympathetic.

"Then work fast." Cole swung the door shut in Ross's face.

Ross stared at the wood door in his face, an annoyed expression clear on his face. He considered just leaving and telling Mrs. David's he tried, but Ross had to admit that he needed Evette's help on this project unless he wanted another failing grade to add to his struggling GPA. Football was too reliant on his mediocre grades to blow this project off just because Cole Bonavich was being a dick, as per usual. So, Ross pulled his earbuds out and brought his fist up and knocked again, more forcibly this time.

Cole rolled his eyes and toyed with the idea of ignoring him. However, as the stubborn brunet on the other side of the door kept knocking, Mr. Bonavich emerged from the kitchen. His beady eyes moved between his son and the door.

"Cole, you're seriously going to ignore that?" he questioned. "And make me get up from what I'm doing?"

"It's just some kid from school," Cole replied monotonously. He was so done with everything—his dad, Ross Remington, himself. What he needed was his bed and his TV. Cole brushed Mr. Bonavich off and started towards his room, but a tight hand gripped his upper arm and forced him back.

"Fine," Cole muttered under his breath as he crossed the living room again to answer the door.

As soon as the door started to open, Ross sprang right into what he wanted to say before Cole shut him out again. "Listen, I didn't want to come here in the first place, but—" Ross's voice left him as he looked up at Cole. His eyebrows quirked down immediately. Cole's thoughts drifted straight into Ross's mind now that his earbuds were out, and what he was hearing made absolutely no sense to him. Flurries of anger-filled insults towards Mr. Bonavich filled Ross's mind, insults Cole was throwing around in his own head.

"What?" Cole spat. Ross was looking at him funny. He didn't like it.

Something clicked in Ross's brain as he caught another strand of Cole's thoughts. His eyes flickered up to the side of Cole's face, where a red, hand-shaped mark stood out. How had he not noticed it before?

"What happened to your face?" Ross asked.

"Nothing," Cole replied, a little too quickly. He cursed himself in his head. Way to be inconspicuous.

Ross, of course, heard every word of Cole's thoughts. He glanced behind Cole. Thankfully, there was no sign of Mr. Bonavich. He looked back to Cole. "Are you and Evette okay? Do I need to call someone?"

Cole didn't like where this was going. He glared at Ross. "I don't know what you think you know, but it's wrong," Cole denied, "You're wrong. We're fine."

"Cole, I'm not an idiot." Or maybe I am, Ross thought. He hadn't noticed before, even when the evidence was laid out in front of him all the time. Cole always had unexplainable bruises and scratches all over him, and even though they both played football competitively, there was always something fishy about Cole's wounds. And now, Ross could see why.

Cole bit his lip, thinking of a lie to get Ross off his back, but nothing came up. With a quick glance over his shoulder, Cole shoved Ross out of the way and stepped out of the house next to him, closing the door behind him so they were both standing on the front porch. He grabbed Ross by his collar and shoved him against the wall.

"If you tell anyone, especially Evette," he seethed lowly, "you can say goodbye to the football team and any scholarships."

Ross glared at him and shoved his hands away. "What the hell, I just wanted to help, bro."

"Well we don't need any. Go home before I make you."

Ross stood, feeling his heart beating quickly in his chest, staring at Cole in front of him. He felt like he should help—even if it was Cole, he was still a person, and nobody deserved what was happening to him. But Ross didn't know what he could do. Call Child Protective Services? No, Cole and Evette were both almost eighteen, and then they couldn't do much for them. He could tell his own parents, but what good would that do? Everything he thought of came to a dead end.

Finally, Ross tossed the binder on the ground between their feet and took a step backwards.

"Fine."

◌•★•◌