Free Mind Games (Mindjack Origins) by Susan Kaye Quinn Page A

skittering down the hall. She’s barely in range and her name pops into my head . Jessica. She’s a cheerleader from last year’s championship games.
    There are plenty of other girls. Tony’s thoughts grab her attention and she tosses her long hair back to get a look at us. Proper ones that have gone through the change and that would be happy to share more than thoughts with you.
    Jessica pictures herself in my arms, fingers tangled in my hair. Anytime, Raf. Anytime. Then she bounces out of range.
    Tony sends me a smile, and I shiver.
    I don’t know this girl, but that doesn’t stop her from wanting to entwine emotions with me in the way that only touching brings. If it were just the physical part, that would be ... acceptable. But the idea of sharing emotions with a girl I barely know: it chills a spot deep inside me. While the possibility of doing that with Kira makes my skin feel like it’s scorching the air.
    Tony whacks the back of my head, careful to avoid any skin-on-skin contact. Man, I mean it! His thoughts are cut with frustration. It’s not mesh to think about her that way. If you keep it up, people will think you’re actually doing those things, not just fantasizing. The rumor mill is already whispering. He points at me as he backs down the hall. You’ve got a good thing going, Raf. Don’t ruin it.
    He’s talking about the popularity that follows me around like a stray I can’t shake, still lingering from last year’s championship win. Girls like Jessica think openly about me and they’re not shy about the things they’d like to do. The first few times I stumbled across their blatant fantasies, I was flattered, and not a little intrigued. But that was before I knew what touching really meant; how deep the sharing went inside my head; the hollow feeling it left behind with girls I didn’t care for. Now I do my best to ignore the offers. If having a reputation as a praver would keep that at bay, it might be worth considering.
    I sigh and lumber toward first period. No matter what the mindreaders of Warren Township High think of me, it still won’t change the fact that Kira considers me her best friend. And she would never cross the line to something more unless— until , I tell myself—she changes.
    ~*~
    Mr. Friedman’s booming recitation of the opening line of The Iliad crashes over the thought chaos of my first period class. His words are Latin, but his thoughts, which aren’t a language at all, beam the buried meaning of the ancient language directly to our minds. The students’ minds quickly synchronize with Mr. Friedman’s and beat a perfect mental cadence of the poem. Next year, they’ll only mind-teach, but for now, I’m glad for the verbal drumbeat that helps train our minds. It draws my thoughts to Achilles’ anger and away from Kira.
    At least until Latin zooms by and the class breaks apart into disparate thoughts again. Then I realize that English is next, my one class of the day with her. I sweep my scribepad off my desk and shove it into my pack. Coach’s dexterity drills do double duty as I zip through the halls, ignoring stray thoughts.
    I reach English early and pause in the doorway. The bustle of minds in the hall gives way to scattered thought conversations around the room and Mr. Hampton mind-talking to students up front. Kira scribbles on her scribepad, hair hanging down and hiding her face. A buffer zone surrounds her, an empty seat in every direction. The other students don’t want to partner with the only girl in class—in the whole school, actually—who doesn’t read minds. It’s been going on all year, but it still makes me cringe. She doesn’t have to read thoughts to notice the ring of space around her.
    I think of them all as saved seats for me.
    I sail down the aisle, ignoring the gaze of two girls in the next row and willing Kira to look up. The metal chair creaks when I drop into the seat behind her, and Kira peeks over her shoulder, giving me a wide