Schrödinger’s Cat

“Oh, hey Elaine.”

Blaise is not surprised when I blip next to him. He is used to this because he is my best friend. I brush some of his curly dirty blond hair from his brown eyes and scowl.

Blaise is actually very handsome. There was a time when the other test subjects would fawn over him and try to win his fancy. His toned, tanned body, strong jaw line and long eyelashes made him the dream boy of any teenage girl. But Blaise is crazy. See, Blaise can make fire with his hands, and he loves to set things on fire. His word from the scientists is ‘pyromaniac’.

“Badly.” I answer. “I got into a fight with Gertrude.” I anxiously chew on the overstretched sleeves of my peach cardigan. It’s a nervous habit I have.

Blaise laughs his easy laugh and tugs on one of the sleeves of my peach cardigan. “You’re still wearing this, Laney? The scientists aren’t very fond of colors. I can’t believe they haven’t stolen it from while you sleep.”

It was true. Everything in this facility was a pristine, crisp white. The carpets, the walls, the scientists’ lab coats and even the pajamas and slippers us test subjects were required to wear 24/7. Sometimes it made the building seem more like an asylum than a research facility. Mostly it just radiated a sense of complete domination and an apathetic environment.

“They’ve tried to steal it while I wasn’t looking in the past,” I tell Blaise as I lean against the wall next to him. “But I never take it off. Ever. It’s the only thing I have from the Outside.”

“I know,” Blaise murmurs, his fingers twitching like they do when they have the urge to ignite something.

“Blaise, did you burn anything today?” I ask, concern etching into my tone.

Blaise doesn’t answer and I touch his shoulder. He sighs and admits, “Okay, no. Not yet. The scientists haven’t given me anything to burn.”

I always liked to see Blaise create fire with his hands. The spontaneous light and danger of fire made it enthralling. And there was some odd satisfaction to seeing the starch white walls charred black. “Here,” I say while plucking a long brown hair from my head. I hand it to him and smile encouragingly.

He holds the hair and looks into my eyes, searching for something. I ignore his gaze and watch the strand excitedly. There is a flash of light followed by warmth. It lasts a second as the hair is consumed in the orange heat. It leaves behind a repulsive burnt hair smell.

“Feel better?” I ask after the reek subsides.

Blaise looks into my hazel eyes and smiles, “Yes.” His smile is contagious and a similar one spreads across my face.

We relax against the wall and Blaise prompts, “So, another fight with Gertrude, huh?” Blaise smells like clean linen and lemongrass. The scent is soothing and familiar. I nod and pick a piece of lint off of my sweater.

“You know,” Blaise drawls while gazing at something across the room, “I can burn her into a smoldering crisp. If you wanted me to. No more Gertrude, no more problems...”

There is a serious note that makes his statement hold more than a joking inquisition. His eyes are ablaze with something dark and anticipating, and it frightens me.

“No, no, that’s quite alright,” I say in a small voice, shrinking away. “But thanks for the, uh, offer.”

Blaise snaps out of it, but I am still wary of him. And then I remember that he is my best friend, and that if I should be wary of anyone, it’s Gertrude. I relax and Blaise smiles at me. It is not at all like Lucille’s last tight-lipped smile.

“There’s something else I have to tell you,” I say slowly. Blaise snaps to attention. I fumble with my next words. “Don’t trust Lucille anymore. She’s not who we think she is.” I tell Blaise about the incident and her warning in detail. Several times during the story Blaise either nods, scowls or clenches his fists. When I get to the part where Gertrude clipped my ear, he swears that he’s going to re-fracture her nose. I have to soothe him after that.

It is silent as he registers my story. “We’ll get Outside eventually. I can feel it in my bones.”

He slides down the wall until he was sitting against it, and I mimic his actions. We are sitting shoulder to shoulder: one tanned and muscular, the other pale and thin. Best friends. I tip my head upwards and try to absorb the rays of the bright florescent lights.

A finger touches from below my injured ear and traces my jaw, then my lips and up my nose. Blaise is always touching me, his large hands barely fluttering against my skin like a timid butterfly. I decide to mess with him. Opening my eyes, I grab his hand in mine and start outlining the weathered lines on his palm. I sense his posture stiffen. Fighting the urge to giggle, I trace up his wrist and arm until my fingers play against his collarbone. A breath of air leaves his lips. I touch my forehead against his and whisper, “Gotcha.” Then I teleport across the room and burst into a mad fit of giggles.

I think I hear him grumble something along the lines of “tease”, but I cannot hear him over the roar of my laughter. “Blaise,” I say, “you are the most gullible person I have ever met.” He stands and reaches for me. I prepare to teleport again.

“You can’t avoid me forever, Elaine!” he calls, but I have already blipped out of there.

* * *

It is four hours later.

The scientists have summoned all of the test subjects into the eating room. There are all eighteen subjects scattered about the room, save for Gertrude, who is in the infirmary. I had taken Lucille’s advice and apologized to her, but that only lead to a string of profanities aimed at me. Good ol’ Gertrude.

There is a light chatter in the room, but I am nervous. The scientists only call assemblies when something large is happening. Usually us subjects just wander and wait for the scientists to summon us for our daily ability-enhancing sessions. I gnaw on my sweater sleeve and stare straight at the Head of Board. He is the boss of our facility and therefore will be the one speaking during the assembly. Blaise’s hand finds mine and squeezes it encouragingly. I know that he has forgiven me for toying with his feelings. I squeeze back to say that I’m grateful he’s my friend, but my eyes never leave the Head of Board.

The Head of Board is a stout man with a large torso and gray thinning hair. His face is always covered in a sheen of grease and sweat, and his fingernails have been chewed ragged. Blaise and I pity the poor man, but do not trust him all the same. He clears his throat to announce that he is ready to speak. It seems as though you can cut the tension in the room with a knife.

“Get on with it,” Evan calls in his thick Irish accent. He is the leader of the subjects, with broad shoulders, a shock of flaming red hair and defiant emerald eyes. I think that if he went to school, he would be the quarterback. But his brawn isn’t what makes him leader; it is his wit. Evan is as slippery as an eel, and can talk his way out of anything. His ability is telekinesis. He is dating Jasmine, who can become invisible. Jasmine is a quiet, anti-social girl who would be the goth kid in school. Ironically, they seem to be exact opposites, but Evan loves her all the same. Jasmine’s word is ‘chameleonism’.

The Head of Board scowls and then smiles tautly at the arrangement of teenagers and children displayed in front of him. “Subjects,” his scraggly voice fills the room, “I would like to introduce you to someone new. Meet Subject 19. Ability: disproportion of kinetic fields.”

A pair of silver eyes flash like coins. I am holding my breath from the suspense. Subject 19 has entered and speaks. He studies the rest of us subjects. “My name is Andrew. I can make force fields.”