A Fractured Light (Beautiful Dark)

wasn’t sure he could teach me to fight the Order’s mental manipulation, I needed to find another way. Running was one way to channel my powers. It was a start, but it wasn’t intense enough. It was sloppy and freeing—it didn’t require the precision I knew I needed in order to focus. Only one thing I knew could do that.
    Skiing.
    I’d quit the team because I’d been afraid of what my powers might do if I lost control in the heat of the moment. My teammates would get hurt. I’d been terrified that I might cause another avalanche, or worse.
    But I knew that I had changed. In the woods the night I’d almost died, I’d caused the earth to shake and lightning to crack and trees to split and fall to the ground. And I couldn’t control it, couldn’t stop it. Now I could feel myself grow stronger with each run. I was learning control.
    I’d been so afraid before that night when Devin had tried to kill me. But strangely, I wasn’t afraid anymore.
    This time I knew that skiing would help me to focus my powers—not threaten the balance within me. Through skiing, maybe I could find what I’d been searching for.
    I made a decision right then. The next day, I would rejoin the ski team.

Chapter 13
    I n the morning, Aunt Jo flitted about the kitchen like a trapped bird, not sure what she was doing or where she was going next, only concerned with keeping alight.
    “I’ll be home for dinner,” she said. “What else?” She rested for a second by the counter. She looked tired, like she hadn’t been sleeping very well.
    “Are you okay?” I asked.
    “Me? Fine, fine. You’ll call me if you need anything, right?” She’d finished washing the dishes and was still holding an empty mug in her hand, turning it over and over. “Right?”
    “Right . . .”
    She absentmindedly put the mug in the sink, even though she’d just washed it, and left the room. A few seconds later, I heard the front door slam and her car start. If it was possible to feel like an outsider in your own home, that’s how I felt. Like she couldn’t get away from me fast enough. Like she didn’t want to talk to me or touch me or even be in the same room.
    I finished my cereal and left a few minutes later. On the way to school, I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel in time to the music, giddy at the thought of being back on the ski team. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it.
    Even though it was only March, everything felt like it was coming alive—including me. It had been a long, cold winter, a dark winter, full of fear and an aching I’d never known before. But now the spring was coming and I could feel it at the tips of my fingers and on my cheeks. I could choose what I wanted to be.
    The student lot was deserted, and I pulled into a spot close to the front doors. I had gotten to school especially early today. I had a feeling I would run into someone here. And I wanted to be alone with him when I did.
    The halls were mostly empty. As I walked, the heavy soles of my boots echoing against the shiny floor, I caught sight of a dark figure retreating at the other end of the hallway. His solid frame was silhouetted against the window.
    For a second I thought I’d fallen into one of my dreams, the ones that kept repeating until I could barely remember what the truth was anymore. But this wasn’t a dream.
    I stopped short.
    “Hey,” I called. “Hey! Devin!” My voice echoed down the empty corridor. The figure stopped walking and stayed still. His head was lowered as if he was looking at the ground.
    I sucked in my breath. Suddenly I wasn’t so sure I wanted to do this.
    Slowly he turned around and lifted his eyes from the ground in front of him. They were cold, blue as a frozen lake. Memories of Devin came rushing back to me. I remembered the night I first saw him at Love the Bean; the day we met, outside of homeroom; our snowball fight; and the morning after when I woke up lying next to him. How could those eyes, that had looked so sleepy and innocent and surprised to find me in his bed that morning—how could those eyes be capable of such coldness? How could they look at me as if I meant nothing to him? As if emotion wasn’t something that you felt but that you chose—cold and calculated just like the Order had taught him?
    Hadn’t he cared about me at all?
    Hadn’t he loved me?
    “What do you want?” he asked.
    “Did you want to talk to me? I thought . . .” I wasn’t sure what I thought. “Didn’t