One (One Universe)

I could use some of those.
    The presentation isn’t so much of an exposition as a teaser.
    Like everything else about this building and this Symposium, the background of the movie playing glares stark white. Friendly figures show up on the screen, though, softening it. A woman in a cardigan and khakis that reminds me of Elias’s mom. A kid and her dad playing catch. She has a pink baseball mitt like the one I have stashed in my keepsake box at home. The girl catches the ball and then dashes to the other side of her dad in half a second, standing 20 yards from him.
    “Getting faster every day, sweetie!” the man calls and then turns to grin at us from the screen.
    This time, a middle-aged man sits reading a newspaper at a breakfast nook in a warmly decorated kitchen. A woman stands at the counter making pancakes in a waist apron. I snort, and Elias reaches over to hold my hand.
    “Grab the milk for me, hon?” the woman asks.
    Without looking up from his paper, the man flicks a finger at the fridge, and a gallon of milk floats out and goes straight to her hand.
    The woman turns over her back to the screen and beams. “A year ago he would have dropped it.”
    A little girl reaches for a candy jar, trying to grab a piece of chocolate inside, and starts crying when the tips of her fingers disappear. A teenaged girl who’s supposed to be her sister or her babysitter comes over to comfort her, and then gives her a pill. She pulls her hand out and the tips of her fingers rematerialize.
    The older girl turns to the screen and says, “Without this patching solution from the Hub, this singly gifted little girl would have lost her fingers.”
    I squeeze Elias’s hand hard. “They fixed her,” I whisper. “Now can she…?”
    Elias shakes his head and sets his mouth in a hard line. He leans in and whispers, “Just a patch.”
    The man in the suit steps to the front of the screen again.
    “Genetic improvements are being made every day, thanks to new discoveries at the Hub regarding the malleability of the gene structure. Think of the implications. For the elderly gifted, for the worker who wants to step up in her career, even…” It switches to a photograph of a sad-looking young boy. “…for the singly gifted individual. The Hub isn’t only here to help. It’s here to make your whole life better.”
    And for the first time in a long time, since I met Elias, I feel it, strong. I can see it in this man’s face. There’s hope for people like me, for people like Elias. We’ll be more than just Ones. I know it.

SIXTEEN
    A fter we leave the presentation, Elias says, “I told Mom and Dad we’d sit with them for coffee.” He jerks his chin toward the hallway, and I look up and see a tall man with wire-rimmed glasses and sparkling eyes headed our way.
    “Hey, Dad.” Elias shakes his hand. Mr. VanDyne nods toward me, smiles, then turns over his shoulder.
    “President Fisk.” Mr. VanDyne pulls a figure in a dark suit, impeccably pressed, over to where Elias and I stand. The man has short hair cropped close to his head, the same length as his goatee. He’s almost as short as I am, and that alone is a total shock.
    “Miss Grey,” he says, tilting his head back a bit to get a better look at me. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
    Mr. VanDyne turns his head to President Fisk, his eyebrows pushed up in a silent question. Elias raises an eyebrow at me, and I can’t help but think I see hurt in his eyes.
    “I’ve heard about the late transfer to Nelson High,” Fisk says, “and that you’ve shown a lot of promise in your class exercises. Mathematics, especially biology. Organic chemistry.”
    For the first time ever, I wonder who else can see the answers I punch into the computers at school besides the remote teachers. I wonder who else is watching. Paranoia skitters over my shoulders.
    Fisk lowers his voice and leans in a bit. “A second round of application testing with Mr. Hoffman during your lunch hour. I’m sorry you never felt…comfortable at Superior. Unfortunate, really, since we expect so many of your classmates to work and be quite influential at the Hub. I assume you plan to pursue a career with us.”
    Something about the way he draws out every “S” freaks me out. I feel the familiar skin crawling sensation but tamp it down.
    “Oh.” I blush. “I’m flattered that the Hub selected me for the second round. But…I’m just a One, sir.” But maybe you can fix me. Can you?
    President