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Rebecca clearly isn’t. I let myself listen to her and slump against Logan, breathing steadily.
    My heartbeat speeds again at his nearness, but I’m counting on that. They’re watching, analyzing, but now they’ll think this is my baseline. I try to lose myself in the hypnotic massage, pretending it’s my mom, or even Sammi. Anyone but Logan. Once I’ve detached the feeling of those soothing hands from their owner, I start to let myself think of science again. Of my teacher Mr. Peterson lecturing in his boring fashion. Even explosives were tedious when
he
was trying to explain them.
    I hold the image of his crisp shirt and tie in my mind, recalling the nasal sound of Mr. Peterson’s voice as he dryly listed off ingredients. Sulfur, charcoal, saltpeter. Sulfur, charcoal, saltpeter. Over and over in my head until it doesn’t feel exciting anymore. I let out a heavy breath like I’m
really
enjoying this backrub and stare out from beneath my eyelids. I glare at the wall and then, as I let the air out like I’m breathing through a straw, I create a metal casing.
Inside
the wall.
    I don’t see anything.
    Nothing cracks.
    That was the risky part.
    The ingredients of gunpowder float along in my consciousness, and I remember mixing a small amount in class. I double, triple, quadruple that in my head and—again, as I breathe out—I fill the metal canister.
    I’m so close, adrenaline tingles in my fingers. I toss my head back and pull closer to Logan, turning the simple backrub into something sensual—I need to hide my increased excitement. Logan’s body clenches up beneath me, but he doesn’t fight as I pull him close and rest my lips against his neck. I can sense the Reduciates watching my every move and nearly gag at the thought of actually being romantic in front of them.
    Like. I. Would.
    But apparently they don’t know me
that
well because they don’t do anything to stop me. I’m all the way on Logan’s lap now, and I can feel sweat start to trickle down his back as he grows more and more uncomfortable with the intimacy I’m forcing on him. But we’re almost done. I pull his head down, close to my chest—not sure just what
that
is going to look like. Then, as I set my head down on his back, my arms wrapped around him—covering him, protecting him—I create a spark.
    Debris shatters out of the wall, ricocheting off the other walls and pelting Logan and me. “Come on!” I say, staggering to my feet as I try to pull him with me. “Run!”
    I clench my fingers around his and dive into the smoke, hoping there’s actually a hole all the way through the wall. I can’t see—I can barely hear after the blast—but I keep moving forward, one hand stretched out in front of me, the other hanging on to Logan for dear life.
    I bounce off something warm and squishy enough that it must have been a person, but I keep running. I pivot to my left and run toward light. What I think is light. I trip over something and go sprawling, but because I refuse to let go of Logan, he follows my trajectory and lands on top of me, pushing the air from my lungs. I landed badly on my wrist, but I can’t let that stop me. I don’t need my arms to run.
    Pushing the pain away, I yank Logan to his feet. I’m desperately thinking of what I can make to help us escape when something hard hits me across the stomach and I double over, gasping for breath yet again. Arms wrap around me, and I try to scream but I have no air yet, and I fight against my own muscles as my lungs burn. Finally I get out an enraged shriek that’s way higher pitched than I intended it to be.
    I slam into a wall, and the back of my head clangs against something. A sob of fiery pain escapes my mouth and blackness invades my periphery as my cries reverberate in my aching head. My knees have no chance, and I collapse onto the floor, my whole body quaking in fear and agony.
    A blurry face invades my fading sight, but I can’t even raise my hand to block the view of