Chapter 1
Will
Jonnie’s Gift started making itself known when he was six, a little earlier than normal. Will’s sixth birthday came and went, then his seventh. Every passing week felt like another disappointment, every hour spent glaring at small objects filled with hope and fear.
People started talking. The Saveas were a powerful Gifted family, but their youngest son was either a very late bloomer or a Blank.
More birthdays passed, and eventually no one wondered if he was just a late bloomer.
His thirteenth birthday came and went. A few days later, the letter arrived, summoning him to be tested. Everyone knows what the result will be, but Will still has to go.
The testing centre is a plain-looking building, dull brown brick and windows you can’t see into from the outside. Will doesn’t want to go in, but he doesn’t have a choice.
It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. It’ll be over in a few hours.
The door swings out in front of him, Mum’s Gift holding it open. “Don’t be scared, baby boy, you’ll be fine. Maybe we’ll get a burger on the way home? Special treat?”
“Alright.” Will follows her into a small waiting room filled with scuffed blue chairs.
She walks past the few people waiting with her chin held high, approaching a man with sharp eyes sitting at a wooden table. “Will Savea.”
He looks down at a list of names, drawing a thick black line through Will’s when he finds it. “Take a seat.”
Will makes a point of looking at the grey lino while he waits. He’s not sure why he’s nervous, he knows what’s going to happen, already knows the result. He pulls the cuffs of his sweatshirt down, hiding his hands.
Mum leans over to whisper in his ear. “I love you. You know that, right?”
“Yeah.”
It’s not a lie.
Mum and Dad don’t love him less for not having a Gift.
Dad goes off to work at the hospital to do his surgeries, and comes home with stories of Blanks, porters and nurses and administrative staff, working just as hard as the Gifted.
Mum works in an office now that he and Jonnie are bigger, and she brings home dinner from her favourite restaurant, made by a chef who makes all his food by hand, no Gift at all.
Jonnie teases him. Flies small, soft objects into his head when he’s not looking.
One time he even slipped an open tube of toothpaste into Will’s bed in the middle of the night, laughing so hard he nearly wet himself when Will woke up with minty fresh legs.
Jonnie teases him, but he’s protective too.
If anyone uses the word Blank as a weapon, his brother is right there, lobbing apples and schoolbooks and pencils with vicious glee.
I’m loved. Gift or no Gift.
Still, the testing centre makes him nervous.
Maybe it’s the sterile white walls or the smell of anxiety in the air. Maybe it’s the way kids are shepherded through one door and never come back.
“Will Savea?”
He looks up. A pretty woman in a white lab coat smiles warmly at him, her shiny hair the same light brown as Nathan’s.
They stand up, Mum smoothing down her skirt like she’s the one on display.
“I’m his mum.” She holds a hand out long enough that the lady in the lab has to take it. “He’s nervous. Can I come with him? I’ll stay back, I promise.”
Another parent throws them a surprised glance, but the lady seems understanding enough. “Uh… of course.”
Mum follows them through the door, hands clasped primly behind her back.
They enter a small room like a doctor’s office. The smiling lady weighs him and records his height, rolls his fingers over a piece of glass until a machine beeps.
She doesn’t accompany them into the next room.
It’s like a familiar toy, the equipment, a large wooden barrel with an open top set in the centre of the room.
There’s a green ring painted onto the floor around it, and a yellow ring painted around that, a rainbow of colours spreading outwards.
A man in a white coat leads Will to a line marked on the floor.
Mum shakes his hand too, backing away soon after.
There’s a row of objects set out neatly on the floor in front of him, starting with a tiny origami crane and ending with a bowling ball.
Will can’t lift a single object, let alone move one towards the barrel, let alone drop it inside.
The man makes a note and sends them on to the next room. Will can’t move any of the objects in there, either. Nor in the next. They walk from room to room, Mum following quietly as Will stands behind the line and fails, fails, fails.
The last few rooms are the strangest. One hums with a sound that sets his teeth on edge.
Another contains a metal pad marked with the outline of a hand.
Nothing happens when he lays his fingers on the surface.
One has a table and two chairs and a pink-haired lady who pours him a glass of water and asks him about school while she holds his hand.
Finally they reach the end of the gauntlet. To no one’s surprise, Will is designated a Blank. It feels like an anti-climax, the confirmation of something he already knew.
“I love you, baby boy.” Mum takes the document and squashes it dismissively into her handbag. “Wanna get that burger now?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Shall we see if Nathan can come too?”
Will cracks a tiny smile. “Yes please.”
Nathan’s dad doesn’t like him, but he definitely likes his parents.
Or respects them. Or whatever grownups call it when they spend time with someone because they think they should, rather than because they want to.
It doesn’t take long for Mum to convince him that they can pick Nathan up from school.
He scrambles eagerly into the back of the car, face lit up with excitement. “So, how was it?”
“I’m a Blank. It was a massive surprise.”
Mum clicks her tongue and turns out onto the main road. “You’re a bit young for sarcasm.”
“Sorry.” Will stretches out each vowel, grinning as she leans over to poke him in the side.
“So it’s official?” Nathan’s green eyes catch his in the rear-view mirror. “You’re officially a Blank?”
“Yeah. Not that it makes a difference. Just a bit of paper.”
“Oh. Okay.” Nathan raises his eyebrows like he sees right through him. Will looks away. “Where are we going, Mrs Savea?”
“I promised Will a burger, and I thought he’d enjoy it more if you came along too. Your dad said it was okay. We’ll drop you home afterwards.”
“Thanks! But I… Well, Will missed the whole day. I could come to your house and tell him about the homework?”
The homework. Sure.
Will glances in the mirror, smirking at the naked hope on Nathan’s face.
“The school already sent it. But thanks. I’m sure Will’s glad to know you’d be willing to tell him about the homework.”
Their eyes meet in the mirror again. Will looks away before he laughs.
Mum orders burgers, fries and milkshakes for them and a coffee for herself. “I’ll take this to that table over there and make some calls. I’m sure you don’t want me cramping your style.”
Will has never been so grateful. He doesn’t miss the longing on Nathan’s face, a familiar expression whenever Mum does something that makes him pine for the mother he lost.
They carry their food over to a moulded plastic table and sit down, stuffing fries into their mouths between hasty slurps of milkshake.
“So.” Nathan pushes his hair back from his face, leaving a grease smudge on his forehead.
“I can’t tell you. There was this very official warning at the end of it where they said it’s forbidden to tell anyone about the tests.”
Nathan rolls his eyes. “Oh, so the practice tests our parents put together are just guesses, are they?”
Will laughs, enjoying having the upper hand for once. “Not telling.”
“Will. C’mon.”
“You can’t tell anyone, okay? Promise?”
Nathan presses his hand against his chest, green eyes wide and earnest. “Promise.”
“There were all these rooms, different tests in every one. Most of them were basically the same as the practice tests they set up for us.”
“The ones for testing strength or dexterity?”
“Both.” Will pauses to take a bite of his burger. “I think one was for reflexes. This guy kept throwing stuff at me.”
Nathan raises his eyebrows. “What kind of stuff?”
“Small things at first. A crumpled-up bit of paper. Worked his way up to a cricket ball.”
“What did you do?”
“You’re meant to use your Gift to deflect them. I caught a few of them, got bored, and started jumping out of the way. He didn’t look very impressed.”
“Brilliant.” Nathan giggles. “What else?”
Will leans in, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Some really weird stuff. A room with a sound that made my teeth hurt, and one with a metal pad that didn’t do anything. And a room with a lady who held my hand.”
Nathan frowns, his face a picture of confusion. “She held your hand?”
“Yeah. It was a bit creepy.”
“She didn’t do anything else?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe if I was Gifted I’d have felt something?”
“Maybe.” Nathan finishes his milkshake, noisily hoovering up the dregs. “If I feel anything when I go, I’ll tell you. Promise.”
“I bet you’ll feel something. You’re strong. Probably gonna be a ten when they test you. The strongest. With a best friend who’s a zero.”
Nathan winces. “Don’t be stupid. You’re not a zero. You can break an apple with your bare hands. That’s cooler than being able to put a bowling ball in a bucket from five metres away.”
“Course it isn’t. It’s fine.” Will summons a grin and throws a cold fry at Nathan’s face. He deflects it thoughtlessly, batting it onto the table between them. “Anyway, I’ve got you to do stuff for me. I’m just fine.”
“You’re great. The best. There’s more to life than Gifts, remember.”
“Thanks.” Will’s heart warms a little. He’s made his peace with being a Blank, but that doesn’t stop him from wishing every now and then. “You’re gonna be so strong when they test you, Nathan. I kinda wish you were six months older than me so you could have gone first.”
“I’m glad you went first. I have the inside knowledge now.”
“Nothing your dad doesn’t already know.” Will watches Nathan nod slowly, begrudgingly acknowledging his dad’s expertise. “How strong does he think you are?”
“He’s not sure. Definitely more than a five. Hopefully less than a nine.”
“Less than a nine? Why?”
Nathan squirms a little in his seat, leaning in conspiratorially. “He said something about the very strongest having limited career options.”
“What does that mean?” Will frowns at the new information.
“I dunno exactly. When I asked he said they usually go into the military. I said it might be cool to be in the army and he looked at me like I was crazy. I guess the nines and tens don’t go into the family business, that’s what he’s afraid of.”
“Weird.”
“Super weird.”
“The weirdest.” Will catches Nathan’s gaze and finds himself giggling, Nathan following a moment later. “You done? Mum’s probably waiting for us.”
“Yeah. You sure you don’t need me to explain the homework?”
“I mean, yeah, you should come back to ours. We’ll have to convince Mum, though.”
“Alright.” Nathan crushes their rubbish into a ball and floats it over to the bin. “Let’s go.”
But Mum doesn’t want to be convinced. They drop Nathan off on the way home, and Will cranes his neck to watch as he disappears behind the big white front door with a face like a brewing storm.
“I wanted Nathan to come to ours.” Will’s aware he’s pouting like a baby. He’s also aware that pouting will make precisely no difference, but he does it anyway.
“I know.” Mum flicks the indicator on, scanning the oncoming traffic for a gap. “Nathan’s dad was very clear. He’s got homework to do—”
“Which he could do at our house.”
“Yes, which he could do at our house. But he’s also got a training session.”
“Oh. He didn’t say.”
“No.” They pull out onto the main road, moving smoothly through the late afternoon traffic. She sighs, shifting in her seat slightly. “His dad really wants him to develop his Gift. Nathan’s strong.”
“I know. He said something about hoping he’s not a nine or a ten.”
She throws him a sharp look before she turns her eyes back to the road. “Why?”
“Something about the army. I dunno.” Will imagines Nathan at the test centre in six months’ time, his dad waiting eagerly for the document at the end.
What if he really is that strong? What if the paper says nine or ten, and Nathan goes away to some other town and leaves Will on his own? “D’you think it’s true?”
“I don’t know. Sounds a bit far-fetched to me.”
Her fingers are tight on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
Will sighs and fiddles with the radio, changing it from her favourite station to something that plays music that isn’t tragically old fashioned.
“Look, why don’t you take the night off?”
“Huh?”
She glances over, a tiny furrow between her brows. “Take the night off. The homework can wait ’til tomorrow. Play that building game you and Nathan like so much or something.”
He snorts derisively. “That’s for babies, Mum. We stopped playing it ages ago.”
“You were playing it just before your birthday.”
“Ages ago. There’s this new racing game I want…” Will lets his voice tail off hopefully. “Nathan has it. We could play online after his training.”
She rolls her eyes, but she also turns the car around, driving them back towards the centre of town.
It turns out that quite a few kids in his class have managed to get the game. The online play is good, five of them racing alongside five CPU drivers.
“Olly, Will, you were at the test centre today, right?”
“Yeah. Didn’t see Olly, though. What time were you there?”
“My appointment was at eleven.”
“Oh, mine was at two. Guess you were gone before I even got there.”
“How’d you score?”
“I’m a two. Strongest on dexterity, but still pretty weak.”
“Zero for me. Officially a Blank.”
A chorus of “sorry, mate” follows.
“Thanks. Expected it.”
“I heard Gina’s up tomorrow.”
“Yeah, she said she was going at midday. Bet she’ll be at least a five. You see her smash that netball into Janet’s head?”
“C’mon, she’s at least a seven. And I don’t mean her Gift. Well, not that Gift. The other ones.”
The other boys snicker. Will doesn’t join in.
“Where’s Nathan?”
“He had a thing. I messaged him, he said he’d come online when he can.”
“Alright. Bets on him being a ten?”
“Bullshit, no one’s a ten.”
“Scale wouldn’t go up that far if no one’s a ten, duh. Coming through, grandma, try to keep up.”
Will focuses on the game. The controls are simple enough, but he can’t drift like the others can. Not yet, at least.
If he concentrates hard enough, he won’t be disturbed by thoughts of what might happen if Nathan is a ten.
The banter continues as they race and race and race, just one more until their respective parents start yelling in the background. Will’s grateful that his own parents are generally chill so long as he tries his best at school.
Eventually he’s alone, drifting around corners with nine CPU players in hot pursuit. Nathan is still missing in action.
He plays until he starts yawning. Falls asleep wondering what Nathan was doing that left him too tired to play.