Page 37 of The Imaginary Friend's Obsession

He takes out a briefcase and sets a few objects out on the table between us: a deck of cards, a rubber ball, a few wooden blocks. Noticing my look, he says with a wry smile, “I’m reusing some of the items I initially gave Dorian to play with.”

I reach out and take the ball, squeezing it in my grip. It reminds me of the one I once rolled under my bed as a child, my first peace offering to Dorian. Part of me wonders if he’s played with this in his cell, if I might be able to feel some of his residual energy or presence on it. But it just seems like a normal ball.

“So what do you want me to do?” I ask.

“Try to use your powers,” he says. “Any way you like.”

He makes it sound so easy, but I’ve neverdecidedto use my powers. It’s just something that happens when my emotions run hot enough.

“I don’t know how,” I admit.

“There’s no rush,” Ezra says. “Just try. See what happens.”

I nod. “Okay.” I slowly unfurl my fingers from around the ball, letting it rest in the palm of my hand, and stare at it. I try to picture it rising into the air, hovering above my skin. When nothing happens, I focus harder, narrowing my eyes. I try to imagine a force coming from inside and pushing outward.

Still nothing.

I hold my breath until my face turns red. I focus so hard, I fear I’m about to burst a blood vessel. I envision the ball levitating a hundred times.

It doesn’t move a centimeter.

After about thirty minutes of struggling, my shoulders slump, and I set the ball on the table.

“I can’t do it,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

Ezra, who has been dutifully scribbling notes, gives me his ever-patient smile. “We both know that’s not true,” he says. “You definitely can. It’s just a question of figuring out how to do it on command.”

He’s so warm and encouraging, but to my horror, tears of frustration and disappointment prick my eyes. I’m letting him down. Letting Dorian down. I wipe them away, embarrassed.

“Hey, none of that,” Ezra says. “There’s no pressure. This is day one.”

“But I can’t do anything, and it’s just a stupid ball,” I mumble.

“You’re still the same girl who levitated a table. You can do this. We just have to figure out how you can activate it without those emotions doing it for you. “

* * *

Despite Ezra’s optimism, the rest of the first day of testing proves useless. When I arrive the next morning, I’m still demoralized.

My first attempts to lift the ball again fail to provide anything of note. Trying not to get frustrated, I close my eyes and breathe. Ezra is quiet on the other side of the table, letting me concentrate. I focus on the air coming in and out of my lungs. The faint rattle of the air conditioning nearby. The sensation of Dorian’s invisible presence in the room next door. When I focus and reach out with my senses, I’m more certain that he’s there. Almost like I could see him if I opened my eyes. But I don’t. Instead, I imagine reaching toward the glass—throughthe glass—to my old friend.

An invisible force nudges against my consciousness in return. The faintest brush of sensation against my mind, and something inside of me prickles into awareness in response. I remember sitting on my bedroom floor, reaching out andpullingmy sketchbook into my hand with invisible force. I remember what it felt like, to access that power.

I slowly let my eyes open and set the ball I’m holding on the table. As I hold out an empty palm, I envision an invisible second hand growing from my arm, grabbing that ball, and pulling it toward me.

The ball flies off the table and straight into my grip.

I gasp in surprise and delight. It’s such a small thing, but I’m grinning ear to ear as I look up at Ezra. “I did it!”

He smiles, pushing his glasses up with one finger. “Excellent,” he says. “I think I got some interesting brain activity readings to look at. The EMF reader went off too.”

Twenty minutes later, I have a ball consistently levitating above my palm. I stare at it as it slowly revolves in the air. It feels good, like stretching a long-neglected muscle. What else could I be capable of, if I learn to control it?

A sudden flash of memory, of the house rattling around me as Iscream—

Thump. My concentration shatters as I jump in my chair. The ball drops to the table and rolls to the floor, and the memory slips through my fingers like sand. I turn and glare at the viewing window, where Dorian slams his fist into the window a second time.Thump.

He meets my eyes through the glass before disappearing.

---