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"Knock knock," I edge Dallon's bedroom door open and stick my hand through, "it's me."

"I don't have a shirt on." He grunts, clearly still in bed, and definitely not awake. His voice is all warm and husky, and I melt.

"Well, go get one, because I have my superpower now and it makes me physically nauseated to think about."

There's a couple thumps and a bit of rustling but he swings the door open in record time, with a shirt on. It's a tatty red one from a cat adoption event we attended around a year ago, and it doesn't match the blue plaid pajama pants at all. "You what?"

"I guess I'm The Thinker Junior now, so fucking kill me." I can feel my head trying to detach itself from my body. I spent the entire night trying to teach myself how to lift myself up so I could tell people I can fly instead of having telekinesis. It didn't work.

"Mind reading or telekinesis? Just one or both?" He lets me push past him into his room, which is still an absolute mess, and sits down next to me when I grab his blankets and curl up in them.

"Just one. Watch," I snake my arm out and point to the broken lava lamp on one of the shelves, and I fling it full speed at his face until it's inches away, "I need to be thrown out of the window immediately. I've already written you into my will."

He plucks it out of the air and clutches it in his bruised hands. "Shit, it seems like you've got it under control. What an ability — you're one of, like, nine people to ever have it. Eight, maybe?"

I nod. That was the worst part. It came naturally to me. I didn't have to think twice about tossing tree branches across the jungle gym or spinning a lost frisbee over the horizon. "And good ol' John came home last night, so he got to see his disappointment of a kid get his bag of tricks. He seemed stoked, but to be clear, fuck that guy."

Now, it's on another level, because my dad killed his dad, and fuck that guy is quadrupled. Dad wars.

He nods. "So I take it last night didn't go very well?"

"How can you tell?" I peek at him over my shoulder. He stares at his hands as he traces the pattern of his pants.

"You called him John. There wasn't a creative insult."

He's right. However, there are more important things to be focusing on. "Whatever. Have you figured out anything about your power or whatnot?"

He bites the inside of his cheek and nods. "We leave tomorrow and I'd like to have some understanding of what I can do before I'm quarantined and isolated for the rest of my natural born life."

"That won't happen—"

"It's going to happen," He grits his teeth and points to the window, which is just barely cracked open, light peaking through the sheer curtains, "so sit down and shut up while I tell you why it will, for a fact. I did my research."

I take a seat at the edge of his bed, and just as I finish tugging my feet into the criss cross position, I look up and his mom is standing right where he was in the glow of the sunlight, holding a small cluster of butterflies. It's still early in the morning, it's impressive she's out of bed and dressed in moderately nice clothes, like she's about to head to church. "Oh, hey, uh, when did you get here?"

"It's still me." She says, but her skin flips like domino tiles falling until the wave has spread over every part of the body and it's Dallon standing in front of me in the red cat shirt and blue plaid pajama pants, still holding the butterflies.

And then I think I understand why he's just a little freaked out, because I just about piss my pants. He's always been a little more levelheaded than me, but he should be in full on freak out mode, not impersonating his mom in an open window. "Ah. Very cool."

He shrugs. "I was gonna turn into you but I didn't want you to shit yourself. Yet."

"Thanks. I definitely was about to."

Dallon stands and watches me inwardly lose my shit, because I'm seriously about to jump out of the window and sprint home fueled by pure terror, and taps my shoulder when I don't say anything else. I'd be excited, but I'm absolutely terrified. "What's wrong?"

I shrug. "You're right. They're going to find out. At Next Steps, I mean. And then... well, and then what?"

He settles down next to me and let's out a sigh. "Well, if what I read is really what I can do, I don't think they can hold me for very long."

No shit. "They're really going to fuckin' try, though."

I look up from my feet and in the blink of an eye, his arm is out and the Rubik's cube from across the room sits in his hand. He's replicated my ability now too, how much longer until it's my face on his?

"Y'know," he starts flipping through it slowly, "I was reading about The Reckoning and who he was before... everything... and if he is my dad, I think I'll be pretty well off."

"Well off as in...?"

"Well off as in I'll have a decent artillery. Maybe I'll join Council if they don't find out about me, because I sure don't plan on murdering thousands of people. Maybe then they'll give me a chance and realize I'm not a sadistic murderous kid."

I think the most I know about The Reckoning is that he could replicate people and their abilities, and that something snapped and he killed thousands of people, then my own dad killed him. Other than that, he isn't really used as a lesson to learn from, because nobody else can do what he did. Someone can now, but he hasn't been wronged and stabbed in the back for his whole life like The Reckoning. "I sure hope you don't destroy anything. That would be pretty un-cool of you."

"It sure would be, so I won't, okay? I grew up with an amazing friend who kept me sane for eighteen years, so don't think I'll be losing my shit any time soon." Dallon pats me on the back and grabs a pair of blue jeans hanging off his desk chair. He's resorted to solving the cube with one hand, and he's doing it.

"So... how do you do what you do? Or how did The Reckoning do it?"

"I think if I touch someone, I can copy their ability. But I don't think I have to touch someone to turn into them. Wikipedia told me he had, like, shapeshifting, but next level shapeshifting. I guess he developed anger issues too? I'm not sure. Wikipedia doesn't have much information about him either, but I wonder how much is hereditary."

"That's pretty cool."

"It is," he grins, "I can't wait to figure everything out, even if I am a little scared. I shouldn't even have committed to Next Steps, I could probably do this on my own and I wouldn't be risking anything."

He has this sparkle in his eyes, like he's excited. Yesterday he was halfway through a nuclear meltdown. It's like a switch flipped inside and I'm with a different person. For years, he refused to say a word about the half of his family he never knew, and now he's ecstatic about it. Is this some weird phenomenon that sweeps the nation's new adults? Do I just have the wrong outlook on all of this, or is he really just out of it?

"Please go and keep me company," I tell him and he turns, a little confused, "because I still have to go. I don't think fighting with Brainy Bitch last night convinced him that I'm not a piece of shit."

Dallon smiles, and my heart stops when he grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. "You know I wouldn't leave you, right?"

I manage to suppress the blush, but I do smile back and my stomach twists in knots. "Yeah, I know."

"I hope you do. You're my best friend." He tosses me the Rubik's cube, colors matched and solved.

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