One (One Universe)

bars, and then my arms pump furiously, beating the crap out of those poor tired snares and cymbals. I’m going to have to give them a damn retirement party if I ever get a new set.
    After three furious songs, the tightness in my chest has loosened, and I finally feel like I can breathe again.
    I listen for the giant cricket that’s made the back of the garage door track his home for the last few weeks. There he is. The sun must finally be setting. Time to practice again.

FOUR
    T oday, I’m looking forward to driving myself to school. A quiet morning drive is one of the few things besides my drums that can calm me. The car glides along the narrow road, and I breathe in deeply, taking in the sunrise, which is gorgeous even through the windshield. One good thing about living in the country is that there’s lots of open sky.
    Superior, Nebraska, is a tiny town situated right above the Kansas border, almost exactly in the middle of the United States of America. Cornfields and the wind turbines that live among the stalks line the roads as far as the eye can see, and millions more ears of corn live here than people.
    Two miles north, in Nelson, there’s one bar, one movie theater, and three restaurants, two of which are sad steakhouses. Nelson is centered on the same things it’s been obsessed with for decades: 4-H and football. But on the Superior side, it’s a whole different story.
    Superior is the home of the Biotech Hub for the Super community of the United States. The money its inventions bring in from the United States government alone could fund more tech-advanced schools, movie theaters, and restaurants than the small number of Supers who visit and live in Nelson could ever want. It’s kind of a shame that most Normals would rather die than set foot in a Hub-centered city — most of them are completely freaked out by Supers. Even though there are no formal structures or laws in place to keep them apart, everyone knows that Normals and Supers don’t mix.
    I’ve always thought that was weird. Supers are everywhere, and everyone knows it. People with powers are technically mutants, but everyone here calls them “Supers” — much more flattering. Mom told me we don’t really have all the genetics nailed down yet anyway, and “mutants” suggests there’s something the Hub can do, something they can manipulate about the genetics.
    She assures me there’s not. I asked her almost every day from sixth to eighth grade.
    At the Biotech Hub they develop new vaccines, medical supplies, and foods for the general world population. At least, publicly. I know Mom has something to do with mapping the Supers’ genomes and genetic research. That’s what I want to get in on, too.
    But Dad’s happy to work in the part of the Biotech Hub that manufactures toothpaste. There’s no hope for power or notability there, but he likes it that way. And after all, it’s certainly a better fit for him than the Warfare Hub, down in Texas, where the Supers design weaponry, or Intelligence in DC, where Supers do all their society-helping good by way of dangerous spy missions. And even though he’s a do-gooder, he’d really hate working for the Social Justice Hub in California, where the Supers spend their days coordinating rescue missions, conflict resolution, relief efforts, and other stereotypical hero stuff like that. He wouldn’t want the attention.
    I’m different. I wouldn’t mind being recognized for doing something good.
    The sun’s gorgeous watermelon and orange display distracts me so much that I almost don’t notice when Nelson High comes into view. Day two.
     
    One of my first priorities at Nelson was finding the smallest desk in the most secluded corner of the library, which really should be called a study room since it doesn’t have any books anymore. That’s where I hide out whenever possible — especially lunch. Every morning, I remove the wrapping from my brownie or pastry and repackage them in quieter bags.
    Today, something makes my stomach churn, and as I eye my schedule again, I realize what. Tuesday is art class day. Hopefully this won’t be as awful as last Thursday.
    I shake my head. What was so bad? A cute boy trying to talk to me? I need to get a grip.
    I duck into my corner of the library and start working problems in the organic chem textbook I found on one of the download catalogs back here. It’s familiar, and it calms me. My mind runs through the questions like a computer, loving the