Landon
THE HOUSE SETTLES AROUND me; light streams in from the floor-to-ceiling windows of the living room. I can hear Mom in the kitchen, noise leaking from there as she makes herself another drink.
I tap my foot anxiously, the belt of my baseball uniform digging into my stomach as I wait for Dad to finish thinking. Sitting in front of him like this feels vulnerable, like I’m waiting for his disapproval. His punishment.
But I didn’t mean to do it. One second, my sister was taking my Spider-Man action figure, and the next, she was slapping herself in the face. Over and over again.
I’m not sure why she listened when I told her to do it—when I said, “Scarlet, if you’re going to be bad, you should slap yourself silly as punishment.”
It was a joke. Every time I’ve been bad, earning a serious talking-to from our nanny or my dad, it was always said in passing that I’m lucky no one slaps me silly. It’s a joke. No one has ever slapped Scarlet or me.
So why she took it upon herself to redden her cheek, crying as she called out for Dad, I’m unsure. And now I wait anxiously as Dad ponders the situation, the hard lines of his face furrowed in concentration.
My dad’s not mean, but I do fear he won’t let me go to Julian’s house for a while. He might very well ground me.
“Landon,” he finally speaks, giving me a soft smile as I lift my head to acknowledge him. He reaches forward, running a hand through my hair. “It’s about time we talked. Like men.”
Like men? I’m always waiting for Dad to treat me like an adult, to understand that I’m fifteen now. I’m not a child.
“Okay,” I breathe out, eager and determined not to let him regret this.
Dad sighs. “Our family is very… gifted. You know you’re lucky, right? To have been born into such a successful bloodline, to have a job securely waiting for you once you’re older, and all the toys you could want?”
I nod. Of course I know this—I see the difference in my world compared to most others almost every day. I mean, I stay over at Julie’s all the time, and he lives a completely different lifestyle than I do.
It’s just him and his dad, barely scraping by. Not that Julian cares; he’s always smiling.
“Well, your great-grandfather wasn’t just handed this legacy. He… well, you took it for himself with his own two hands. And it appears you’ve inherited the same gift that he had.”
“Gift?” I repeat, cocking my head. “What kind of gift?”
I’ve always been smart, an overachiever, a people pleaser—but for some reason, I don’t think Dad’s talking about those types of gifts.
“Yes,” Dad assures me. “Your great-grandfather Lenord was able to… persuade people. If he wanted something, he simply told someone to give it to him. If he wanted a person to do his bidding or feel differently about his own opinions, he would tell them just what to do. And they would.”
“Whoa,” I murmur, my eyes widening. That sounds amazing. No wonder we have such an empire, such a successful family. “Do you have this gift?”
“No,” Dad chuckles. “Only some inherit it. Like my brother, for example. And now you, son.”
It all sounds kind of whimsical. I had no idea Uncle Benji was so cool; I had no idea I was so cool!
“But how… how do I use it?” I ask, remembering the various times in my life when I’ve asked Felicita, our nanny, for something specific, only for her to deny me.
“You have to feel it,” he tells me. “I’ll have your uncle teach you more, since he’s the gifted one, but I can tell you this: when you want to persuade someone, focus right here.”
Dad places a hand over my heart, pressing firmly as he continues, adding, “And once you feel that electricity, force it into your voice. Imagine it sliding up your throat and into the air around you.”
“Okay,” I whisper, leaning into his touch.
My dad isn’t mean—no one in my family really is—but he doesn’t touch me often, and I’m more than happy to soak in these small moments.
“No using it against family, though,” he instructs. “I want you to use your gift to make an amazing life for yourself. To make things easier from day-to-day, but never manipulate your family, Lan.”
I nod once more, and Dad removes his hand from my chest, still smiling so gently.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Of course. Now, the driver is here to take you to practice. Have a good day.”
Standing, I head toward the main foyer of our house—the one that feels a bit too big and sometimes a bit lonely—to greet our driver.
“Oh, and Lan?” Dad calls from behind me, and I stop, peering at him over my shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“Coercion. The gift you have is called the power of coercion. And the more you use it, the more the vultures will circle. Be careful who you trust, because someone will always wish to take it from you. To use you for it.”
It’s an ominous, terrifying thing to say to a kid. Even at fifteen years old, I can see this. But I guess it’s also true, and I guess it’s best I know this information now.
“I understand,” I tell my dad, turning to leave the house with my head held high.
The way he taught me.
I think of this coercion gift the entire drive to the baseball field, during practice, and as we shower afterward.
As I leave the locker room—most of the team already gone with their parents—I message my driver. But my mind is reeling, running circles around me as I try to understand and soak in every word that was spoken early this afternoon.
“Lan!” Julian shouts, running from the locker room with his black hair still dripping.
He is an adorable mess—something I’ve known for a long, long time. Julian has been my favorite person since we met a few years ago, and we do just about everything together.
“Waiting for your dad?” I ask him as he skids to a stop in front of me. He’s grinning, sliding his duffel to the dirt.
“Yep. Nice pitch today, by the way.” Julian’s voice has started to become deeper, something I am startled by almost every time he speaks.
Especially when he speaks my name.
“Thanks,” I reply, unable to hide my own grin. “You can come over if you want; my driver is almost here.”
“Won’t your family be bothered? I was just there,” Julian jokes, his arm brushing mine as he swings them freely.
I love it when Julian touches me.
“They won’t mind,” I promise. “Plus, I always want you around.”
Julian’s grin grows wider, his eyes searching my face frantically. I can feel his vibrating energy, his excitement. The unfiltered happiness he expresses around me.
And his eyes, so big and brown and expressive… they keep dropping to look at my mouth.
Something hot begins to burn inside of me, just as Julian lets loose a stuttered breath. The sharp lines of his features and the warmth that passes through me when our skin brushes are driving me crazy.
I’m not… I’m not sure what is happening. But I never want it to stop.
Julian leans in just a bit, as if he’s swaying, before he stands up straight, laughing awkwardly.
“Well, we should—”
“Julie,” I interrupt, my own heart pounding so loudly that it’s all I can hear. That hot sensation building inside of me is making my stomach tight, but I ignore it and instead focus on my chest.
Right where Dad placed his palm, I conjure up how much I want him to listen to me. How much I crave this truth from him.
“Y-yes?” he stutters, his eyes growing wide as his smile dims slightly.
I force that desire for truth up my throat—metaphorically, of course—and take a deep breath, pushing it out into the air around me.
Time to see if this coercion works.
“You can.” It’s a whisper, a plea. “You should.”
I’m not exactly sure what I’m telling him to do, only trying to persuade his own desires. His own actions that he’s hiding from me. But what I do know is that whatever he was just thinking before he blushed so softly—I want it.
A pat on the back, a long hug, words of affirmation. I want it all.
Julian’s eye twitches, his hand snapping out to grip mine.
“I can…” he breathes out.
For a moment, as he stands stock-still in front of me, I wonder if I’ve failed. It is my first time trying to use my gift after all; it makes sense that I might not be able to—
Julian’s mouth crashes into mine. It’s clumsy and a bit painful as his teeth slam into mine, but he’s so warm. He’s so soft and tastes so much of Powerade and sweat that I can think of nothing else.
This is not at all, and yet exactly what I thought might happen.
He presses himself into me, so familiar and comforting as his mouth covers mine. I’ve never kissed before, so I’m unsure if we’re doing it right, but I can’t seem to care.
Julian is kissing me! Right here by the dugout, my best friend is pushing himself against me so tightly that we might melt into one.
But then he’s pulling away, eyes round as he takes a deep breath. He looks panicked, shocked that he would act on this specific impulse.
My fault; I persuaded him to give in.
I grin, wide and pleased. And Julian? He can’t help but join, his eyes growing warmer with each second.
A honk sounds, telling me the driver has arrived.
“Come on,” Julian tells me, clasping my hand in his as he drags me toward the parking lot.
And I like it—his hand in mine. I’ve always liked it.
I’ve always liked… I’ve always liked him.
Yeah, I think I’m going to love this new gift of mine.