One (One Universe)

practice, they’ve been spending a couple hours three nights a week at the Hub. I kind of freaked out when I first found out because they’re just kids. They deserve a break, and whatever they have them doing at the Hub has them coming home even more exhausted than soccer. But Mom explained that they’re starting the period of adolescence where Supers see the most dramatic changes, and they’re just going for checkups and testing of their abilities.
    I wouldn’t know about that stuff. I was never an adolescent with a Super.
    I’m hanging out at our house with the twins today since Elias is in another private coaching session anyway and has no idea when he’d be back. I watch them closely because they dragged an awful lot when they came home yesterday and had pretty big bandages on each arm. Blood tests, Mom said. They both collapsed into bed, which is strange for them.
    But today, they’re mostly their normal selves. Compared to yesterday, “mostly normal” is good enough for me.
    The three of us spread out on our worn brown sectional, each of us curving against a different part of it under throw blankets. I balance my reader on my lap and tap more organic chem models into shape on my tablet.
    Some stupid cartoon show where the characters knock each other over the heads with stuff and make farting jokes blares on the TV. Max snorts, sniggers, and pops cheese balls into his mouth. Michael is absorbed with something on his tablet, and knowing him, there’s an equal chance that it’s a stupid game or some classic literature he’s plowing through at the speed of light. The only reason that Mom and Dad are more impressed with Max’s super and not his IQ is that mine is still way higher than his.
    I reach over into Michael’s bowl, grab a cheese ball, and throw it at Max’s head.
    “Whatcha doin’, nerdface?” I ask.
    “Reading,” he says and locates the cheeseball, which bounced down and wedged itself under his leg. He pops it in his mouth for a second, takes it out, and lobs it back at me. I raise up my blanket and deflect it onto the floor.
    “You are gross, Max,” I say, brushing my fingertips over my hair to remove invisible drool that didn’t fall there.
    He shrugs and flashes a grin. “You called me nerdface. Besides, what you’re doing is way nerdier. Who reads textbooks that aren’t for class?”
    I stick out my tongue and glare at him. He sticks his tongue back out at me and goes back to his book.
    There’s a knock at the door, and I sit up straight, rubbing my lips together. Too late for a delivery guy, too frigid for door-to-door salesmen. It’s got to be Elias. I check the clock — 8:15 — still an hour before he has to go home.
    Mom strides down the hallway to open the door. From the looks of her, she’s almost as excited to see Elias as I am — we try to avoid parents at all costs, with our limited hang out time, and she barely ever sees him.
    Elias’s voice floats down the hallway. “Good evening, Mrs. Grey.”
    “Come on in, Elias. Can I get you anything? Something hot?”
    “Yeah, that would actually be good. Some coffee?”
    “If you don’t mind the dregs.”
    “Thanks.”
    By this time, I’ve sat up and run my fingers through my hair, trying to smooth it.
    “Yeah, Merrin, better try to look nice for your boyfriend.” Michael draws out the last word, and I roll my eyes and kick him under his blanket.
    “’Try’ is the best she’ll be able to do,” Max cracks, and I glare at him before looking down to straighten my shirt.
    Elias strides in and stands behind the couch over my head. I look up and back at him, grinning. He pulls his glasses off to wipe off the steam that formed there from coming into the warm house so quickly, and my heart stutters at seeing his eyes, open and bare, the way I normally only see them when we fly.
    “Hey,” I say, my voice way different than it was when I was yelling at my brothers. Lighter and softer. Just like I feel when he’s around.
    He puts one of his huge hands on either side of my head and bends down to kiss the top of it from behind, then strides along the back of the couch and peers down at Max’s reader.
    “Ah, awesome, man. Classic.”
    Max beams. He ruffs Max’s hair, and the adoration on Max’s face is plain. He nods like Elias has just spoken the Gospel, and he’s hearing it for the first time.
    Elias sits on the floor in the center of the semicircle the couch makes. Does he look thinner? It’s hard to tell