Free Shifted by Lily Cahill Page A

moment, the dream world seemed to overlay the real world and she was still in that hallway, still at the top of those stairs, still spinning in a world flipped upside down. 
    Then she was in her bedroom. Morning sunshine streamed through her curtains, illuminating the dress form and sewing machine that sat on her desk. The birds were just beginning to chirp, and she heard Mikey Gould whistling as he threw papers from his bike. 
    She was safe here.
    Still shaky, she turned on her back and stared at the ceiling. She could feel the dream lurking, sticking to her like the tar she had imagined. Through all the years she lived in Independence Falls, these nightmares had only come two or three times. But since the festival—since her powers—she dreamed of her mother nearly every night. 
    Three quick knocks sounded on her bedroom door. “Breakfast!” Norine sang out. “Mom says now or never.”
    Briar was in no mood to deal with Norine or Patrice. But her stomach was growling, and lying in bed brooding wasn’t going to make the dreams any easier to deal with. Sighing, she threw back the covers and stood.
     
    She found Norine and Patrice already sitting at the table, eating flapjacks doused in syrup. “Get the paper before you sit,” Patrice said, barely glancing at Briar. By the time she got back to the table, there were only two small flapjacks left, and they were cold.
    Patrice stared at her as if daring her to complain. Briar’s rent was supposed to pay for food as well, but Patrice seemed to be giving her smaller and smaller portions. It was fine, she told herself. She could always make herself a mid-morning snack after Patrice went to work. It wasn’t like Patrice had put a padlock on the refrigerator.
    Yet. 
    Besides, she reminded herself, thinking of the dream—there were worse things than cold flapjacks. 
    Norine unfolded the paper and let out a little squeak. “Look at this!” She spread the paper on the table, pointing at the text. 
    Briar felt the same sinking shame she always felt when someone asked her to read. The words spun away from her, the letters twisting and jumping on the page. Really, she could hardly blame Charlie for thinking she was simple. Her grades had been abysmal all through school. 
    It was impossible to do well in class when she could barely read. 
    She knew it was futile, but stared at the paper for several long seconds, trying to puzzle it out. Finally she sat back in her chair. “What does it say?”
    Patrice snorted. “Don’t help her, Norine. She’ll never learn if we pander to her.”
    “You really think I haven’t tried to learn?” Briar asked, hurt.
    “All I know is, I spent hundreds of dollars on specialists and drove you all over the state to tutors and fancy schools. And for what? You still can’t read.” 
    Briar’s face was hot. “I know you made sacrifices for me. But if I haven’t learned how to read by now, I’m never going to. You’re just going to have to accept having a dummy in the family.”
    Patrice said, “Maybe if you just applied yourself—”
    “If I could, I would—”
    “It’s a shameful thing, in this day and age, to be illiterate—
    “Oh, give it a rest, Momma,” Norine sighed. “I don’t mind reading aloud. Especially when it’s this juicy.” 
    She crossed her legs and flicked out the paper in front of her. “The headline says ‘Identities Exposed: The Powered People Among Us.’” Norine settled into an anchorwoman voice and read on:
     An anonymous source has provided this paper the names and abilities of all the people in Independence Falls with so-called “powers.” This source, known only as “A Concerned Citizen of Independence Falls,” claims that this group is referring to themselves as the “Independents.”
    “Well, that seems a little presumptuous,” Patrice sniffed.
    “Hush, I’m reading. It says here the powers started to appear after the Firelight Festival … purple fog, illness, blah blah blah