Infinityglass (Hourglass 3)

“Downloads or CDs?”

“Records,” she answered in a drawn-out voice, like I was an imbecile.

I continued. “Vanilla or chocolate?”

“Strawberry.” She turned it around. “What about you?”

“Butter pecan.”

“Boxers or briefs?” This came with a grin.

“Neither.”

I watched as her eyes wandered in the direction of my waistband. When she knew she’d been busted, her cheeks got a little pink.

Clearing her throat, she asked, “Beach or mountains?”

I blanched. She caught it.

“You have an immediate comeback for your underwear choice, but beach or mountains stumps you.” She tapped her lips with one finger and studied me. “Why is it a hard question?”

“Mountains.”

“No.” She leaned against her door frame. “I asked you why that’s hard to answer.”

“I don’t think you know how to play either-or. There aren’t supposed to be explanations, just one-word answers.”

“My house,” she said. “My rules. Tell me why you’re avoiding.”

I straightened my shoulders. “It has to do with my special brand of magical powers.”

“Which are?” When I didn’t respond, she said, “You don’t have to tell me, Dune. But I’d like to know.”

I sensed we’d reached the tipping point of our tentative alliance.

I answered because she gave me the opportunity not to, and because her authenticity peeked out from behind her curiosity. “Tides. I can control the tides. Water in its many forms. We think that I can affect moon phases as well, but it’s not the kind of thing you can test.”

“That’s … wow. That’s pretty serious.”

“It’s okay on a small scale, because I understand how to control it, even though I rarely let other people see me do it. Tiny things like plumbing leaks or condensation, not a problem at all. Ponds, contained bodies of water that I can see end to end—wide open and easy to handle, as long as they’re people free. Streams, creeks—those are doable, but aren’t ideal. Lakes and rivers. Possible, but also possibly catastrophic. I avoid them altogether. And oceans … well. I haven’t been to the ocean since I was eleven.”

“Why? Same offer stands. You don’t have to tell me.”

Growing up in American Samoa had its advantages. For me, it was the Pacific Ocean. I used to race over the dunes to get to the water when I was a kid—hence my nickname. The moon’s gravitational force drew the tide, and the tide drew me, pulling me to the ocean over and over again.

When I was eleven, I pulled back.

“I was at the beach, on a picnic with my family. Understand, in Samoa, everyone is family. That’s just the way villages work.

Warm sun, cool breeze, good food. We laughed a lot. Anytime we were all together, there was music.”

Such a simple thing, my hands in the water. The rush that ran through my extremities, the way my pulse tuned itself to the crashing of the waves. The water became an extension of my fingers; when I waved them to the left, the fish swam that direction. When I moved them to the right, they followed.

“I’d been able to manipulate the current ever since I was little. I always wanted to see fish up close. Not the tiny minnows that were always by the shoreline, but the big kind fishermen would bring back from excursions and hold up to have their pictures taken.” I knew most of those were eventually stuffed, and probably left to gather dust while hanging on a wall somewhere in Middle America. “I didn’t want to turn the fish into trophies. I just wanted to see them.”

Hallie crossed her arms over her chest. “Any kid with an ability like that would.”

“So, that day, I concentrated a little harder than usual, curling my fingers in toward my body.