The Seeker

"Okay, it's time for the judging," Jerry said. "I get to be the East German judge. You can be the Swedish judge." He sca

"See that girl over there?" He tilted his head toward a tall girl dressed in a white shirt and pressed khakis. "I give her a ten for technique. See how she's always on the right foot and how she never breaks her grip on the person in front of her? But she only gets a two for originality. She's not letting enough of her shine through. She's not owning the bop."

Liz laughed again. It felt good. Maybe she wouldn't need a crying session in the shower after all. Maria was right, Liz thought. I'm glad she talked me into doing this.

"The guy over there has the opposite problem," Liz said. She pointed, trying not to be too obvious. "He's so original, I don't think he's even doing the same dance as everybody else."

"So what's his score?" Jerry asked.

"Hmmm. I'd say originality-an eleven. Technique-a minus three. And for the tattoo-four bonus points because I love a guy who's not afraid to walk around with a koala bear on his arm."

Jerry shook his head. "I don't know who let you on this panel. You can't just throw points around like that. Bop judging is a serious responsibility. You're deciding who gets the multimillion-dollar contract to do Cosmic Crunch commercials and who goes home with only a bucketful of shame."

Liz laughed so hard, she snorted. She didn't think Jerry heard because the room had erupted in the post-bop hooting and cheering. When the crowd finally calmed down, a slow song started up.

"You want to?" Jerry asked.

"Sure," she answered. The touching thing… it didn't feel like so much of a thing anymore. It was just a dance. She didn't know why she'd been so weirded out by the idea. What was the big deal?

"You positive you don't want to get some air, or go to the bathroom, or get a soda?" he teased.

Uh-oh. Jerry had caught on to her no-slow-dance strategy. "I'm sorry-" she began.

"It's okay," he interrupted. "I'm sort of shy, too."

Sort of. Liz remembered how she had pegged Jerry as a sort-of guy. But it wasn't true. Now that she'd gotten to know him a little, she realized there was nothing sort of about him.

Jerry held out his hand, and Liz took it. His fingers felt a little sweaty-he was nervous, she realized. He found a corner of the dance floor that wasn't totally crammed with people, then he slid his arms around her back and held her lightly. He didn't try to pull her up against him, and he didn't let his hands wander too low, the way some guys did.

Liz rested her head on Jerry's shoulder. That way there wouldn't be any awkward moment when he moved in for a kiss and she pulled away. She hoped Jerry didn't notice that she was holding herself a little stiffly. She was having a hard time getting comfortable. Jerry's shoulder was the wrong height for her or something. The muscles in her neck felt all tense.

Liz closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Jerry was wearing some kind of musky aftershave. It made her nose itch. And his shirt was sort of rough under her cheek. Ever heard of fabric softener? she thought, and immediately felt bad.

She could feel Jerry's heart pounding against her cheek. It was beating so fast. And hers wasn't. Because she was totally calm.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why-Jerry wasn't Max.

When the song ended, Liz gently pulled away. "Would you mind if we left?" she asked. "I'm not feeling that well. I need to go home."

Yeah. She needed to go home so she could take a long, hot shower.

I'm going to die, Maria thought.

She felt the water enter her nose, trickle down her throat. I'm going to die.

Then she was free. Her body was under her control again. She scrambled to her feet, sliding on the wet porcelain.

She hauled in a deep breath of air and coughed, spitting water. When her legs felt steady enough, she carefully climbed out of the tub. She wrapped her bath sheet around her and sank down on the floor. She needed to rest for a minute before she could even walk across the hall to her room.

That was lethally stupid, she thought. She knew she lost time every time she used her psychic powers. And she decided to go spy on Michael while lying in the bathtub. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Maria grabbed another towel off the rack above her and scrubbed her face with it. She wanted every drop of water off her. She ripped open the cabinet under the sink and yanked out her blow-dryer. She leaned across the room and plugged it in. She pulled off the diffuser and turned the dryer to high. She didn't care that it would turn her hair into a matted mess. She needed to be dry right now. Completely dry.

She held the dryer so close to her scalp, she felt it starting to burn. She had to calm down. She clicked off the dryer and pushed herself to her feet. She sprayed a little conditioner into her hair, the kind you could leave in, then gently started pulling a comb through her wild curls.

See, you're okay, she told herself. Probably because the water hitting her face made her come out of her blackout faster than usual. You're okay. It's not a problem. You just have to be more careful next time.

Yeah, she was okay. But she could have died.

Alex made a left onto her street. Isabel wished he would keep driving. She didn't care where. She loved sitting next to him in his little VW Rabbit. It felt so cozy and secure.

"Do you want to come in?" she asked when he pulled up in front of her house.

"I should get going," Alex said. "My dad believes in getting an early start on things. He'll probably roust me out of bed at six. By noon he'll be doing the old white glove test on the garage, then after lunch I'm scheduled to start in on the basement."

Isabel felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Both her parents' cars were in the driveway, and Max's Jeep was parked on the street. So it's not like she'd be alone when she went inside or anything. But she just felt better when she was around Alex, like nothing bad could happen to her as long as she was with him.

"I could come by and help you tomorrow," Isabel volunteered, partly because she really did want to spend the day with him and partly just to keep him talking so she could stay with him a little longer.

"I think my dad would consider you more of a distraction than a help," Alex said.

Isabel popped open the glove compartment. "I'm always curious to see what guys keep in their cars," she said. Which was a total lie. But she studied the license and registration, gum wrappers, penlight, map, and loose change, anyway. She just wasn't ready to get out of the car.

And Alex shouldn't be ready to let her get out. Isabel crossed her legs, hoping the move might remind Alex that yes, there was a real live girl in his car. She wasn't used to having to give hints. So what was going on? Why was Alex over there with his hands locked on the steering wheel when he could have his hands on her? She knew he was gaga over her. There had been days when she'd practically had to step around pools of his drool when she walked past him.

I must have flipped Alex out when I started crying on him the other day, she thought. She'd definitely flipped herself out.

It had felt like Alex accidentally pressed some "tears" button when he touched her. She hadn't been feeling sad or anything, at least she didn't remember feeling sad, but suddenly whoosh, the floodgates opened.

"Um, I really have to take off," Alex said. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."