Free Legacies Reborn by Pittacus Lore Page B

preschooler. Left behind when the train stopped for whatever reason.
    Suddenly I don’t feel so hungry anymore.
    I take a seat with the bag in my lap, feeling a little woozy.
    I try to shine the light of the phone out the window, but it just reflects off the glass. There’s nothing but darkness waiting for me outside, and the idea of going through the dark tunnels by myself seems crazy.
    But then, everything seems crazy now. I concentrate on the book bag. It floats away from me and bobs in the air. I look down at my hands. This power. What am I supposed to do with it? I realize now that I’ve been running—mostly literally— ever since I first took out the Mogs with my telekinesis. I haven’t had time to just sit and think about what all of this means. What my next steps are. I’ve had such tunnel vision about getting down to Mom’s restaurant that I haven’t let myself consider what happens if she’s not there. That hasn’treally even been a possibility.
    What would I give to go back to the diner eating waffles? To walk with Mom right now? I’d even be nice to Benny—would see him in a whole new light. How does life get so messed up so fast? Yesterday morning I was just a normal girl. My biggest concern was getting some new headphones. And now . . . now everything’s different. I’m different. I’m powerful. And the world is falling apart.
    But maybe I can help stop that. I’m just not sure what I’m supposed to do.
    Honor the person who’s not there with your actions .
    My hands start to shake and I make the kid’s bag return to my lap, where I hug it tightly. I wonder what its owner is doing now. I hope to God that he’s safe. Maybe the kid and his parents made it to the Brooklyn safe zone John and the guy on the radio talked about.
    Brooklyn . I try to put things into perspective. This whole time I’ve been counting on Mom being down at her restaurant. Hiding. Safe. But realistically, that’s not what she’d be doing, right? Not if she survived. She’d come looking for me. She’d try to make her way up to Harlem. She could be anywhere.
    Or maybe she was taken to Brooklyn against her will. If she was hurt, they might have sent her there. Or if the army finally showed up they might have forced everyone to evacuate. She was pretty close to the BrooklynBridge at work. Maybe she’s there now, waiting for me.
    Maybe Brooklyn is actually my best shot at finding my mom.
    And John and Sam can help me get there.
    I realize that I’ve started rocking in the seat, and at that moment the last place I want to be is all by myself in an abandoned subway car, alone with my thoughts. I’ve got to get moving again. If the sun’s not up yet—if it’s still there—it will be soon. A new day’s starting; my mom will be wondering where I am.
    I stand up, putting the little blue book bag on the bench carefully. Then I take a deep breath, gather up the rest of the stuff I’ve found and return to the car where my new weirdo friends are sleeping.
    When I get back I try to sit still and wait for the boys to wake up on their own. I check the battery power on some of the cell phones I’ve collected, leaving a few fully charged ones on to try to make the inside of the train car feel less depressing. After a minute or two, though, I start to worry that they’re both going to sleep all morning, and I’m too fired up to get going again to wait for that. So I cough a few times and chuck the fake Prada purse onto the seat over by John’s head.
    He bolts straight up.
    â€œYou’re alive,” I say. I don’t have to fake my smile.
    John seems groggy, but that doesn’t keep him from going pretty much straight into another recruitmentspeech after giving me some shit for having a duffel bag full of money, as if I’m some kind of common thug. Like he even knows me. I don’t know where he