I’m never racing only for myself.

But I don’t expect him to understand. Stomping harder across the forest floor, I retort, “And just what teams have you been on?”

“I never said I was a team player.”

“Then why are you here?” I ask. He seems more like the type to take a solo motorcycle trip across China than to spend his summer babysitting tweens and dynamotheos rejects. “You’re not exactly oozing enthusiasm.”

“Let’s just say I owe Petrolas a favor.”

“Because Damian readmitted you after your expulsion?”

I slap a hand over my mouth. The question slipped out before I knew it was coming. I totally want to know, of course, but I totally don’t want to get zapped to Siberia. Xander definitely gives off a cross-me-and-you’ll-never-be-heard-from-again vibe.

I brace myself for subarctic temperatures.

“Not exactly,” he says as we reach a wide spot in the trail—if the barely visible, less dense path is a trail. Picking up his pace, he passes me. “And I didn’t say which Petrolas.”

I’m left watching his back as he catches up with my team. He has definitely cornered the market on enigma. I hope Stella goes for the deeply layered type.

“I found one!”

The piercing little-girl shriek echoes through the woods. I follow the sound of yelps and giggles to where my team and Xander have gathered. They’re pointing at a white flag hanging from a low tree branch.

“This is one of ours,” Tansy insists. “I’m sure of it.”

“Remember,” Xander says, “if you choose the wrong flag, then you’ll lose a point and give the rightful team a two-point bonus.”

Note that rebel boy said “you,” not “we.” And he thinks I don’t understand the team concept.

Though no one appears interested in my opinion, I evaluate the flag.

According to Xander’s instructions, all the flags on the course look identical. White. We can’t trust appearances to know which one is ours. As soon as we touch the flag, it will change colors—to black if it belongs to us, to red, blue, or yellow if it belongs to Stella, Adara, or Miss Orivas. But we can’t know for sure until we touch it.

“You have to feel the flag.” Xander leans casually against a tree. “See beyond the surface.” He looks at me. “If you can.”

I scowl at him. In a perfect world, the tree would be swarming with ants.

Maybe if I concentrate, I can—

“I think we should grab it,” Gillian says, taking a step toward the tree.

Out of the corner of my eye I see her reaching . . . for a red flag.

“Wait!” I dive in front of her, pushing her hand out of the way inches before she could touch the still-white flag.

“What are you doing?” Gillian cries.

Muriel crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me.

“What, Phoebe?” Tansy asks, seeming truly interested in my opinion. From the murderous looks on Gillian and Muriel’s faces and the total disinterest on Xander’s, she’s the only one who wants to hear what I have to say. “Don’t you think this is our flag?”

I glance at the flag again. It’s still white. I have no reason to think Gillian’s wrong—especially since I’m the one with the defective powers. She’s probably decades ahead of me in the whole powers-control thing. But for that instant I was so sure it—

Red. For another split second the flag was red.

“No.” I shake my head. “This isn’t ours. This flag is red.”

“Whatever,” Gillian says, reaching for the flag again.

Tansy gasps. “I see it, too.”

Gillian and Muriel stare at her like she’s betrayed them.

She points at the flag. “Look.”

They both turn and squint. Gillian’s mouth drops. Muriel huffs and stomps away. “Let’s go find our flags.” She ducks under a pine branch. “I am not losing to Tressa Boyd.”

Gillian hurries after her. As Xander passes me, he says, “Nice catch, Castro.”

I just keep blinking, not quite believing what I just did. When I looked at the flag, I saw the white mask or whatever. When I was thinking about something else, though, only catching sight in my peripheral vision, I could see the true color.

“That was amazing,” Tansy says, her voice laced with a sense of awe. “You didn’t even have to concentrate or anything.”

No, I didn’t. In fact, concentrating made it worse.

Stella’s exercise the other night proved that my powers come from my mind. But how am I supposed to control them if focusing doesn’t help?

“We’d better hurry up,” Tansy says. “I bet Gillian tries to grab the wrong flag again. If you’re not there to stop her, we’ll lose for sure.”

I let Tansy lead me up the path, but my mind is still thinking about my powers. And how I only have less than two weeks to figure out how to control them when trying to control them sends them out of control.

At this point, I really shouldn’t be surprised by being tossed into such a vicious circle. Try to control my powers, and they go berserk. Train more, control less. Stay on at the Academy to learn how to use my powers, but be forced to pass a powers test first. Lately, my whole life is one big exercise in contradiction.

“Congratulations, Phoebe,” Stella says when camp breaks up for the day. “Xander says you found two of your team’s flags, and saved them from choosing three wrong ones.”