PROLOGUE | EMMETT
If I don’t write this down, I’m going to forget. They want me to forget. No, that’s not quite right. They want me to believe it’s not true. So I’m writing it here, just for me, so I can’t drift too far away. Like an anchor. Or like roots that run deep.
I used to live in Vehpese, a small town in Wyoming.
I used to love a boy named Vie. He was broken and beautiful and a hell of a lot of trouble. He was psychic, and he saw the worst things about me and still loved me. I left him on the side of the road because I knew we were bad for each other. No, that’s not true. I left him because I was bad for him. And because I was scared.
I used to fight monsters. Some of my friends had abilities like Vie’s: the power to call up fire, the power to control metal. I let one of those monsters carve me up, covering half my body with scars, in exchange for power. I used to be able to create an impenetrable barrier to keep myself safe.
Used to.
And now here I am, in a nowhere town on the California coast, locked down in a psych ward.
So this is for me, for when I get out of here, so I’ll still remember. And, more importantly, so I’ll still believe it’s true.
1 | EMMETT
My parents had never said no to me, and I didn’t like hearing it from other people. I decided Jim had just made a mistake, saying no. We were sitting in the San Elredo psych ward’s rec room at a corner table. Our table. The window looked out on the garden, the pond, the tall white walls. Today, there was fog, but I could smell the ocean. And a hint of Jim, like sweet smoke from a campfire.
“Ok, but for real,” I said. “Tell me.”
“Come on.”
“Just tell me.”
“Not again.”
Riffling my hair, I sprawled in the chair. “It helps me.”
Thing one you had to know about Jim: he used to be a teacher, so he was a sucker for the words It helps me.
“When they let you out of here, we’re going to celebrate.”
“When I get out of this hellhole prison,” I said.
He had eyes like a watercolor—the same shade of blue that only lasted a few minutes after a storm passed through. Right then, he was rolling those baby blues.
“When you’re better,” he corrected.
“When I’m not crazy. I’ll always be an addict, but I don’t have to be crazy too.”
“You’re not crazy.”
“I know that. And you know that. But my parents don’t, and neither does the state of California. Or the doctors here, for that matter.” I kicked out my legs a little farther. “I’m starting to feel like it, though. The longer I stay in here, the crazier I feel.”
“Emmett, you’re not crazy. The things we went through, those things would mess anybody up.”
“I know.”
“But you do have some issues you need to deal with.”
A dead girlfriend, I thought. A boy I’d ditched on the side of the road. The nightmares, and then the nights I couldn’t sleep, and then the nights it had been easier to swallow a few oxy instead of trying to deal with any of it.
“You’re getting better,” Jim said. Like a teacher. “You’re sleeping, right? No nightmares. You’re not getting caught up in those thoughts.”
“I know.”
“When you’re all the way better, we’ll go out and celebrate.”
I made a gimme gesture. “You can do better than that.”
“We’ll go to dinner.”
“No,” I corrected, “first we’re going to see your school.”
“Ok, we’ll see my school.”
“And your classroom.”
“And my classroom.”
“And you can show me where the shithead who likes to break pencils sits.”
Jim grinned. “And I’ll show you where Kaleb sits.”
“And then?”
“And then dinner.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Really?” Jim asked. “The whole thing?”
“I just want to make sure you didn’t forget.”
“Ok, we’ll go to Claude’s. We’ll get ribeyes. Mine will be medium; yours, medium-rare. We’ll both get the garlic mashed potatoes. You’ll get a house salad; I’ll get the cobb.”
“And dessert.”
“Chocolate mousse for me. Apple pie a la mode for you.”
“And then?”
“And then I’ll sleep for a week.”
“No.”
“Emmett.”
I crossed my arms. “I’ve got nowhere to go. Literally. I can wait all day.”
Sighing, he said, “And then we’ll go back to my apartment.”
I did another gimme.
“I’ll give you the grand tour of the efficiency unit at La Costarica.”
“You’re messing it up.”
“Ok, ok. It’ll be dark by then, so we’ll go out on the balcony. I’ve got