I wake up in my bed, not sure how I got there. The image of suit guy tugging me in is too disturbing to linger on. I sit up and try to shake it out of my head.

“Don’t do that.” I look over and see Mr. Tardy sitting on the other bed with an arm reached out as if about to make me lie back again.

“What are you doing here?” I ask stupidly. He lowers his arm and looks down at his feet. “I’m sorry,” I start out, not exactly sure how best to approach him. “I just meant that you were out, they had searched the whole school for you, you didn’t have to come back here and hide. You were in the clear.”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he grunts and gets up. “I’ll get out of your way now.” But he hesitates at the door.

“Are they still out there?”

“Patrolling the hallways.” He looks at his hesitant hand on the handle as if it was disobeying him.

“If I let you stay will you tell me why you are hiding from them?” His shoulders tense up, he moves his foot slightly, and his hand presses down on the handle. “Stay anyway,” I tell him. He looks back at me over his shoulder. “You could tell me something else. Like how Joseph wasn’t able to find you for them.”

“Too many people on the dorm floors.” he says simply, but still maintains his position by the door. The handle is no longer pressed down though.

“You know a lot about this place, don’t you?”

“A bit,” he agrees hesitantly, but this time he turns around fully and faces me.

“Is there a way to get out of here? Some hole in their defenses?”

“Joseph is on sick leave every time there are families here to visit. Other than that, nothing a single person could use.” I try to signal him to go on, but he just replies: “So that’s the price, is it? You help me and I tell you everything I know about this place? I help the great Langdale do what no one else has ever done before.”

“You are very mistrusting, has anyone ever told you that?” I ask. He doesn’t reply, and his face doesn’t turn less angry, but he hasn’t reached for the door again. I get up and throw my sketch pad on the bed and look around for one of the games my family left behind.

“What are you doing?” he demands.

“Do you like card games, Brody?” I reply. I don’t turn around, but I can hear the confused pause as clearly as I would have been able to see it on his face. I find the small purple set of cards and put them on the bed.

“My name is Boy,” he tells me, apparently confused that I could confuse the two.

“I just added a few letters, call it a nickname.”

“Why?”

“Do you enjoy being called Boy?” I ask. He doesn’t answer, he just looks down at the cards in my hands. “If you don’t love your name I see no harm in a nickname.” I do however see the harm in calling someone ‘Boy’, it is nothing but cruel. “You up for it?” I ask to change the subject neither of us are comfortable with.

“I don’t know it,” he evades.

“It’s not hard to learn, don’t worry about it. I think this might be right up your alley. It’s called Set, and once you get the hang of it it’s quite useful if you want to make someone look like a fool.”

“I don’t have the hang of it and you do. You want to make me look like a fool, no thanks.”

“But given your apparent dislike for Thursday mornings, I’m assuming this might be a weekly thing. Give it two weeks and you’ll have it down. It’s all about using your mind anyway, somehow I don’t think that’s your weakness.” Especially given the fact that he not only baited me into doing fight club but also was the one to get the others to attack. Plus, he’s in the advanced classes and smart enough to avoid detection in a search like this.

“It’s basically about finding matching sets. There are four categories of cards with three specifications in each. Three different colors, three different shapes, three different numbers, and three different fillings.” I show him the cards as I talk. “A set is anything that is either the same or different.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

He walks over and takes a seat at the end of the bed opposite me. I shuffle the cards.

“When I put the cards down we both try to find a set. That could be for example three green ones with different fillings, same numbers, different shapes; it could also be one with a single purple, full, circle, one with two green, half filled, parallelograms, and one with three red, empty, wavy lines. There’s no taking turns, if you see a set you simply say so and take it for your point. You with me?”

“Sure.” I don’t believe him, especially since his eyes keep darting towards the door. I plug my phone into my speakers (thank goodness for jack sticks, I don’t think Bluetooth would work here) and let Chester See hide our voices. I lay out 12 cards on the sketch pad. He stares intensely down at them.

“Answer me this one question, and I’ll go easy on you.” He looks up at me as if he couldn’t care less. “Set,” I say and pull a single, full, purple circle, a double, half filled, green square, and a triple, empty, red wiggle to me. I lay out three new cards. “Set,” I repeat and pick up three single, filled, circles, one in each color. I lay out three new cards. “Set.” I pull three green ones to me, different fillings, different shapes, all threes. I lay out three new ones and look at them for a second. “I’m just curious as to how you got in here? Can you walk through walls or something?” I locate the next set but don’t tell him.

“Abilities don’t work in dorm rooms unless you’ve been invited in.” That does make sense, otherwise, a teenage boy who could walk through walls would be every girl’s worst nightmare.

“Hang on, I didn’t invite Joseph in.”

“Teachers and staff don’t count.”

“So how did you get in?”

“Picked the lock.”

“You know how to pick a lock?” I ask in amazement. It still doesn’t explain how he got past the hallway patrol though, but something tells me he won’t admit to anything ability related, not to me at least.

“What, you don’t think I can do anything?” he demands. “Set,” he says in spite. He picks up three cards different from the ones I had found.

“Set,” I answer and pick up mine before putting new cards on. “Could you teach me? To pick a lock?” I ask in a calmer voice.

“Why would you want to know that?”

“Could come in handy someday.” He just looks at me like I’m crazy, and then looks back at the cards. I summon the key to my door and put it down in front of him. I lock it mentally anyway, and evidently, he can get in with or without it. He looks down at it but doesn’t pick it up.

“The mighty Langdale is too good for keys?”

“The mighty Langdale is sick of the assumptions, you don’t know anything about me.”

“I know as much as you do about me.”

“Okay then, let’s put that to the test. I know your father is a violent idiot. True or false?”

“He’s not an idiot, he has his own company.”

“Can you be violent without being an idiot?” I ask, and there’s almost a little wondering smile on his lips - however unwelcome to him. “Your turn.”

“I know you consider yourself too good for this place.” I pause to find the right words.

“As I understand it, this place is meant to teach it’s students control, I’ve had that since I was five.” Or 1, depending on whether control means knowing how to use my gift or knowing when to use it. “I get that there are things here I could still learn from, I also get that I am the only one forced to be here and that that is because I’m a Langdale, and I resent being ripped away from my family so someone could add my name to their collection.” He mumbles something I don’t get.

“Sorry?”

“It’s the law,” he says, but that wasn’t what he was mumbling before.

“The advanced levels are voluntary.” He keeps quiet. “I know people are afraid of you,” I say instead. “And that you won’t do anything to change that.

“They’re right to be scared,” he says. “I killed my mother.” He looks down at the cards between us and I pretend not to notice the small drop of water landing on my bed sheets. Whatever the true story is there I don’t think he actively killed anyone, it looks more like survivor’s guilt. Survivor’s guilt and bad parenting on his father’s side.

“I know the Langdale family is perfect,” he says, and he almost succeeds in masking the lump in his throat with spite.

“Yes, that one is true,” I confide. “We never fight, we never do anything stupid, we’re never proud or conceited, we never disagree, and we definitively never bullied each other as children.” What else was I supposed to say? That we have problems too? That would sound hollow and fake compared to his childhood, better to let him make that deduction on his own. “You should come over for game night sometime, we never cheat.” I look down at the cards and notice the key is gone.

“I can find an extra set of bedding if you can’t go back tonight, but I have to get some sleep before classes tomorrow.” I have to go back to the library, and after that, I have a lesson with Pam. His brow furrows for a second as if the idea is ludicrous to him. It’s not like I think trying to fall asleep with him in the room would really be easy, but kicking him out just isn’t an option, and I really need some shut-eye.

“Just put me back up in the tower.” Is he planning to stay up there all night or hoping he can wait them out up there? He tone doesn’t invite argument though. The sergeant used to use a voice kind of like that sometimes, but where his was an order not to argue Brody’s sounds more like an assumption that no one will, which is somehow more powerful. I lift him up to the tower and get to bed, somehow less tired now than… I look at the clock; four hours ago. I left the library four hours ago, exhausted, and ready to go to bed fully dressed, now it’s 2AM and my mind is spinning.