In psionics, a bridge was exactly what it sounded like: a pathway between two minds where thought could be shared freely. Also like a bridge, barriers could be set up, filtering out unwanted thoughts, or attempts to pull too freely from the other side.

Ambient telepathy could read plenty off the surface level, but no conversation was more private than that shared through a bridge. No recordings were left behind, and the database of the mind was not so easily plundered without breaching innumerable psionic privacy laws.

Others in the same thought bubble could sense a bridge formed, but by its nature, it resisted probing without being granted access by the two bridge builders. Granting too much access, or giving too many different minds access to a bridge had the same perils as any conversation, but the brain was more vulnerable to overstimulation without the filter of mouth and ears.

Telepathy was the gateway to some of the more complex disciplines; despite being categorized as a left-brain discipline, divination relied on telepathy almost exclusively, but through a mind sharpened and disciplined as a Tibetan monk’s.

Only psychics, and all their subcategories, can sense a bridge, so a normal human being often isn’t aware they may be part of a bridge until the psionic maker announces themselves.

The bridge was as fundamental to the basics of psionics as the telekinetic ‘muscle’; it was even argued that it was the very basis of what made psychics so mysterious, awesome, and feared. Mind-reading threatened the secrets of some very powerful people, and though such a thing could be easily blocked with a privacy band, there were subsections of society that argued passionately and angrily against being forced to wear a small, ignorable, and ultimately helpful accessory if they wanted to feel safe.

Stronger telepaths were capable of bridging multiple people from greater distances away, with the Psi-Ops of the Cold War often spread across multiple blocks and sharing sights and conversations, usually filtered through a single, highly capable telepath maintaining such tedious connections.

The more psychics that were present, the easier and simultaneously harder a bridge was to make; psychic resonance elevated psionic powers by borrowing the ambient thought energy of surrounding minds, but multiple active minds nearby created interference, almost like foreign signals disrupting radio transmissions.

Knowing all of this was key to understanding even basic telepathy, and necessary for its more advanced applications, which was why Taz and Melodica were eagerly writing down the underlined words and their definitions as their teacher’s voice rang loudly in their minds, implanting the very ideas in their heads alongside their written notes.

{—imperative you keep written notes on the subject! Remember, what I am sharing with you is short-term memory only! Why can’t I give it to you long-term?}

The classroom’s thought bubble stirred with ruminations, until a small, but insistent blip emitted from Fatima near the front of the class.

{Yes Ms. Ping?}

{Because forcibly implanting ideas within a person’s long-term memories falls under the domination discipline.}

{Correct! It is fine to share ideas and answers, provide guidance and insight, but the moment you attempt to bury an idea, a command, a personality quirk, or a change in emotion and relationships within somebody, you are forcing yourself upon them.}

Mr. Moquat stood in front of the class with no white board, but the words hung in the air as cleanly as they floated into the minds of the two-dozen or so first year students. He was a fairly short man with brown skin, with a heavy-hanging brow over black eyes, and high cheek-bones around a big nose. His ink-black hair hung long and straight down his back in a ponytail decorated with a big, blue-glass bead.

He wore a plain brown jacket over a white shirt, matching brown pants and leather shoes, and a leather necklace around his neck with a few white cube beads with the names ‘Teneya’ and ‘Lucy’ printed on them. He waved around fistfuls of rings, and had a very friendly smile, revealing one of them was gold.

His classroom was on the first floor of the general mentalism and fine arts building, with thin red curtains drawn over the windows, giving the room a cozy orange atmosphere. Instead of desks, the students sat on comfy little pillows around low, circular tables in groups. Incense burned on the teacher’s desk, giving the room a pleasant sandalwood scent, and posters around the room gave advice on telepathy and handling both overload and burnout.

The room itself had a lead lining; no interference from outside the classroom, all telepathy and psychic resonance generated from within.

Taz herself sat at a table in the back with that willowy redhead, Theresa, and the big, muscular, sandy-haired boy Patriot.

She would have preferred a table up front, but a pair of somebodies insisted on spending a late evening with her after curfew gossiping the night away about people who were back at school…

Not that Taz had room to complain. Between chatting with her mother, Robbie, Madeline, and Noelle, she’d willingly stayed up late enough to sleep through her alarm until a certain mermaid’s tail smacked her.

{Now class, today we’re going to use the second-half of the period to do some basic telepathy exercises with your fellow classmates. What you are going to do is spend a moment thinking about the proudest moment of your life, and then I will assign each of you a partner to share the experience with using telepathy. Then you will write down what you learned and share it with your partner; if they got it right, give your partner a checkmark! If they got it wrong, let me know and we’ll find out about interference in your bridge, or mental blocks you may have.}

Mr. Moquat smiled around the room, taking in their ambient curiosity, before turning his head towards a hesitantly raised hand. The rest of the class glanced over at Theresa, who swallowed thickly.

“Do… do we have to? Can I opt out?”

{I would very much like it if everybody participated.} Mr. Moquat answered gently. {Can you use your telepathy voice, please? That’s what this class is for, after all.}

Theresa gave him a blank look, her hand frozen in the air. Taz gave the red-head a worried glance as she lowered her hand and stared at the table, not answering with either her mind nor her mouth.

{If there are no further questions, get to thinking, everyone!}

The room immediately buzzed with thought; the students were thinking – some far harder than they should have – about their favorite moments of accomplishment, a sense of empowerment beginning to fill the enclosed thought bubble as such memories drew out senses of pride and strength.

Taz was right there with them. She had a few moments she could think of where she was proud of what she’d done, but one in recent memory was particularly special, and she figured it was safe enough to share.

{Is everyone ready?} Mr. Moquat queried, and got a roomful of confirmations, other than one silent mind at Taz’s table. {Good. Close your eyes, and I will put a number in your head. Your objective is to find the partner with the matching number, and write down the memory they share with you.}

“Man, I’m no good at this telepathy stuff…” Taz heard Patriot whisper nearby, and she tried to shoot him a reassuring smile, except he wasn’t looking her way.

{Eyes closed!} Taz obeyed the command, and nearby felt Melodica do the same.

Taz waited, and waited, until an image appeared in her head: {4}

She opened her eyes, and heard questions bouncing through the room, mostly regarding their assigned numbers.

“Hey, who has two?!” Patriot asked out loud.

{Telepathy, Mr. Traynor!}

Patriot grumbled and scrunched his brow, glancing around the room, all but shouting his number through the thought bubble with zero focus. Taz turned her head slowly, much more delicately broadcasting her number, listening for others doing the same, but politely, if insistently, made herself louder as she failed to sense a response, or similar lines of thought.

Fatima, rather suddenly, stormed over to their table, and Taz straightened up in worry that she was her partner, until the girl – without so much as a glare in Taz’s direction – grabbed Patriot’s arm and all but dragged him away.

“Hey! I’m not an idiot!” Patriot whined at a voice Taz couldn’t hear.

“Oh!” Melodica suddenly piped up. She flew across the room and landed in front of a confused looking boy with straight black hair and black lipstick.

She focused on him, and he blinked slowly and in confusion before turning to give Mr. Moquat a worried look. {Mr. Moquat?} His addled voice rang through the bubble.

The telepathy teacher who, at the start of class, had regarded Melodica with amused curiosity and little more, tilted his head and walked over, glancing between the two as they held a private conversation.

Taz continued to stare around, watching people break into groups of two, leaving her alone. She scanned the room, looking for single persons, but it wasn’t until she turned to look at the only remaining person at her table that she put two and two together.

Red-headed Theresa St. Claire was giving her a quiet, unhappy look.

After a moment of thought, Taz focused, and sent her a gentle, mental prod. {Did you get 4 also?}

Theresa flinched, staring at Taz and reaching up to clutch the crucifix hanging off of her necklace, but then gave a meek nod.

“Yeah.” Theresa answered in a low voice.

A moment of thought longer, and with a small pout, Taz stood, taking the cushion she’d been sitting on and setting it closer to Theresa. The girl drew back, squeezing her cross as Taz sat down with a ‘flump,’ a foot away, wearing a happy smile.

{Okay! Then let’s—}

“No no no no,” Theresa whimpered, “don’t talk to me that way!”

{Why?} Taz asked instinctively, then, after a wince: “Why not?” She asked out loud, hoping Mr. Moquat didn’t notice, but he was busy having a very intense conversation with Melodica…

Theresa stared at her with discomfort in her eyes.

It was only the second day of Taz’s first semester, and she’d yet to really bond with anybody outside of Madeline and Noelle… or Fatima, if she was being realistic. Thinking about it, she’d never seen Theresa do much in their classes from the day before, but they’d only shared two of them.

Theresa did stand out a little bit. Taz had never seen a real redhead before in her life; not this close at least, and her hair didn’t look dyed. Theresa was taller than she was; not Madeline’s height, but a bit taller than Noelle. She thought of Theresa as ‘willowy’ and not without reason: she almost had Taz’s overall body type, with long limbs and a skinny body bordering on unhealthy, though whereas Taz could be favorably compared to a washboard, Theresa at least had something resembling breasts.

Like yesterday, she was in a loose, billowing dress that looked, frankly, cheap and unflattering, except when Theresa moved just right to let it clutch to her body, and always wore tall socks and simple little shoes. The girl looked like a doll made out of a pillowcase, with a little metal cross around her neck at all times.

“Theresa, it’s okay, it’s just some basic telepathy!” Taz said, trying to look reassuring. “It’s nothing dangerous.”

Theresa turned her head away and mumbled something as she squeezed the cross hanging in front of her chest.

“Theresa?” Taz leaned forward. “I couldn’t hear you…?”

Theresa turned to give her quiet, cold look, and in the same instant, Taz felt a cold feeling in her head. It was weak, and simple, but clear in its intention, an instinctive attempt to ward Taz away.

“I don’t want to.”

“But it’s for a grade!” Taz said, flabbergasted.

“I don’t care.” Theresa huffed, turning away from Taz and holding her cross up to her lips, mumbling a sad little prayer as Taz gave her a perplexed look.

Dumbfounded for a moment, Taz reached out, then stopped herself, and hummed.

“Why not?” She eventually asked, and Theresa stopped in her prayer to grimace.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

Taz’s brow further creased, and she frowned deeper still. “C’mon, it’s—if we don’t do it—”

“Find a different partner!” Theresa insisted.

“But I was assigned you!” Taz sighed. “And you were assigned me!”

“I don’t care!”

“Well why not?!”

“I just said I don’t have to tell you!” Theresa almost snarled, and for a moment, Taz got a brief, weak flash of sheer loathing from the girl that made her flinch.

{What is going on over here?} Mr. Moquat walked over, his business with Melodica having ended, leaving the mermaid swimming around the bewildered, lipstick-wearing boy in delight.

{She doesn’t want to do the assignment…} Taz thought back, and Mr. Moquat’s lips pursed.

{Miss St. Claire, I’m afraid this is required material for first year students.}

“I’m not doing it!” Theresa curled up tighter, refusing to meet his eyes.

{It’s for a grade—}

“Stay out of my head!” Theresa’s voice suddenly raised, and then she stood, squeezing her necklace, her face growing puffy and red as her distress began to fill her eyes as tears.

The whole class was staring now, their conversations on pause as the room went quiet, and the thought bubble filled with trepidation.

“Miss St. Claire…” Mr. Moquat said out loud, trying his best to sound calm and soothing, but it was so much easier when he could send the right vibes via the bridge she was refusing. “Will you come up to my desk?”

Theresa didn’t move for a bit, but eventually untangled herself, her scarecrow-like frame lurching after the teacher as he went to his desk to talk with her in a hushed tone. Taz watched after them, but a strange fuzziness filled her ears from that direction… some sort of sensory interference thingy? Kinda neat, but she was all curious!

Taz heard whispers and thoughts all around her as she sat there alone, people staring at her in curiosity as much as they stared at Theresa.

Eventually Melodica swam over, catching her attention with a strained smile and a question: “You alright?”

“I’m…” Taz trailed off, feeling both disappointed and disturbed. “I’m okay, just a little weirded out I guess.”

“Yeah. You wanna come join me and Cecil? He’s got this whole thing about his bar mitzvah!”

{Can you tell me what the heck is going on with her…?} A male voice sounded in Taz’s head.

{Cecil?}

{Yeah, that’s me.}

{And you mean Melodica, not Theresa?}

{Yeah.}

{She’s a lot.}

{I noticed.}

Taz glanced around the room at the other two dozen students in their pairs, most distracted, some getting back to forming their bridges and working on their assignments. Taz simply tried to relax to the smell of incense before giving Melodica a shrug.

“I dunno if I should butt in…”

“C’mooon!” Melodica’s tail swished. “I was going to share how I put together your surprise birthday party! You can show him how you nearly peed yourself!”

“Hard pass!”

“Killjoy!” Melodica swam closer, and whispered: “But seriously, come join us if you wanna, I dunno if my grade’ll count.”

Taz groaned, sighed, rolled her head back, and glancing around, her eyes eventually met Fatima’s.

She didn’t know why Fatima was looking her way, but she couldn’t help but notice the shake of her head and the look of… amusement on her face. Taz’s expression soured a little, but Fatima wasn’t looking at her anymore, focused on Patriot, who seemed unhappy himself.

Theresa had sequestered herself in a far corner and had her hands together in quiet prayer, and Taz swore she saw her shiver… part of her wanted to go over and see if she could do anything, but she wondered if that would only make that somehow worse.

She eventually just turned to glance over her notes on the class, thinking she could at least study before the bell rang, when Mr. Moquat prodded her conscience, making her glance up as he approached.

{Theresa isn’t quite ready to join us for telepathic activities. How about you go join Melodica and Cecil?}

{Sure, I can—}

{Mr. Moquat.}

Taz and Mr. Moquat both turned their heads to face Fatima, who stared their way with a frustrated look.

{Ms. Ping?} Mr. Moquat answered.

{Patriot won’t work on the assignment with me.}

{Mr. Traynor—?}

“Look, I don’t want to do a mind-bridge thing with a girl!” Patriot interrupted him out loud, causing another round of curious glances from the classroom.

{Telepathy, Mr. Traynor!} Mr. Moquat thought with frustration, making Patriot grumble. {Why not? She’s just like any other person.}

{No, I’m Zhou Ping’s daughter, not just anybody.} Fatima’s mental voice was almost a snarl, and Mr. Moquat gave a nod.

{Yes, you are correct, I’m sorry Ms. Ping. Mr. Traynor, Fatima here is a very trustworthy telepath, I’ve taken her measure myself, you can be sure she won’t do anything crude.}

“Noooo way.” Patriot frowned and shook his head, drawing a sharp-eyed glare from Fatima. “I heard a story about a guy who did a telepathy thing with a girl once and it turned him gay; I ain’t okay with that.” Patriot tried to look firm with his declaration, but the silence that followed, then the soft, poorly concealed snickering ultimately made him frown deeper. “If you cross minds with a girl, you start to think like a girl!”

Fatima took a deep breath, and sputtered. “I’m not dealing with this.” She said out loud. “I want a new partner.”

{Well you can partner with Ms. Cooper here—}

“Absolutely not!” Fatima snapped, and by now, Mr. Moquat just looked tired; Taz pitied that he had further classes after this. “It’s one thing to be paired with a misogynistic idiot, but an evolink? She’s just as likely to ruin my mind as she is to ruin her own!”

“I’ve done telepathy with plenty of people before!” Taz argued back.

“And can you say for sure you didn’t hurt them?!”

“Of course not! Heck, my older sister’s on campus and—”

“—And if she’s still willing to associate with you, you’ve obviously driven her insane!”

“Enough.” Mr. Moquat rubbed his temples. “This classroom is getting very distracted with strange ideas of how psionics works. Fatima, please go join Cecil and Melodica.”

“Hell no.” Melodica asserted immediately.

“I’m not going to do my assignment with a tulpa!”

“Melodica, be with Taz.”

“That’s super boring though!” Melodica whined.

“Well I don’t know what to do if none of you will cooperate!” Mr. Moquat glared between Melodica, Patriot, and Fatima, their eyes suddenly refusing to meet his.

{Fatima, go to Cecil, Melodica, come with me.} The orders rang through the thought bubble. Mr. Moquat looked Taz’s way as she stood up, and sighing, carried her seat cushion over to where Fatima and Patriot sat.

{I’m not taking orders from—} Fatima didn’t get the chance to finish her thought before Taz dropped the cushion next to the handsomely built boy.

“Look, I’m not telepathing with a girl.” Patriot said nervously, while Fatima begrudgingly stormed over to where the very concerned Cecil sat, and Melodica awkwardly swam over to join her progenitor.

“Because you’re worried it’ll make you gay?” Taz asked.

“Yeah, I’m not into that!” Patriot insisted. “Lots of guys turn gay when they telepath with gays or girls!”

“Where’d you learn that?”

“My older brother said that his best friend had a psychic girlfriend, and they used to do telepathy stuff all the time, and out of nowhere, the two break up and he tells everyone he’s gay!” Patriot said, radiating concern as Taz gently read off of his projecting thoughts and emotions.

“Just your brother’s friend, though?” Taz asked.

“No, lots of guys.”

“All of the guys though?”

“Well no, but lots of them.”

Taz sized up Patriot for a moment. For such a big guy, he seemed on the defensive; he easily outweighed Taz by over fifty pounds in muscle alone, and he was either a little older than Taz, or had one heck of an early growth spurt.

For a moment, Taz stared at him, taking in his manly face with the strong eyes, strong jaw, cute haircut, all on top of a body that he worked for…

“Did you have a bunch of girlfriends in… where were you from? Alabama?” She asked, giving him a curious smile.

“Um… not a bunch.” Patriot’s apprehension turned to confusion, though he folded his arms on his lap thoughtfully. “Just two. Not at the same time, though!”

“Did you have lots of girls who wanted to be your girlfriend?” Taz asked with a tilt of her head.

“... I dunno. I mean I hope so?” Patriot flexed subconsciously, and Taz took note. “Like, I guess I had a few girls who were super nice to me, and my brother always said that girls are only nice if they think you’re hot.”

“Your brother sounds like a dumbass, dude.” Melodica said dryly, getting a pout from Patriot.

“What’s your deal? You’re like a tulpa, or whatever?”

“I’ve heard I’m a ‘whatever’ by now, but yeah, I’m a tulpa.” Melodica crossed her arms.

“Okay… what’s a tulpa?” Patriot stared at her tail.

Melodica blinked, speechless.

Taz decided to interrupt… “You’re okay with being called Pat, right?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, most people think it’s weird I’m named Patriot.” He said, then gave her a long look. “... Taz, right? Like the—”

“Tasmanian Devil, yeah.”

“Oh. Your name’s easy to remember.”

“Yours too!”

“Thanks! Everyone gives me a weird look when they find out my name’s Patriot, and it’s annoying.” He paused, frowning a little. “Like, usually I get a sorta… thought, y’know? From them. Like, they think I’m gunna all crazy pro-American, and, like, fuck yeah, America’s great! But they have this whole idea like I’m a crazy guy, or my parents are crazy.”

“You seem pretty okay.” Taz shrugged.

{He’s a himbo.} Melodica thought at her.

Taz ignored her. “Why’d your parents name you Patriot?”

“I was born on July fourth, the same day my great grandfather died.” Patriot answered with a bit of an awkward shrug. “He fought in world war two. He knew I was coming on his deathbed and he told my parents to make sure I was a true patriot, so they thought it was a sign that his last word was ‘patriot,’ so they named me Patriot.”

“Sounds…” Taz sought the right word… “Reasonable!”

“I dunno, I always thought it was cool, but now people think my family’s nuts.”

“That’s okay, people think my mom’s nuts because we used to go to a gun range as a family activity.”

“Oh, no shit?! That sounds awesome.” Patriot’s eyebrows raised high, his arms crossed over his chest. “I always wanted to try shooting but my mom always got real angry about it. ‘Never in my house!’ And stuff.”

“My mom thought it was good for self-defense.”

“Man, your mom’s cool, always wanted to try it.”

“I could show you.” Taz offered, suppressing a sneaky smile.

Melodica gave Taz a surprised look, and Patriot opened his mouth, his eyes wide as he stared at Taz. Briefly, she sent out an image, of her little hands around the handle of a pistol aimed downrange, and she was aware more than a few eyes curiously glanced her way, other than Patriot’s.

He swallowed thickly and tugged his shirt collar, a frown on his face.

“I—... okay, that sounds super cool, but I don’t wanna be gay.”

“Why not? It’s working out for me.”

Holy shit she’d said it outloud.

She locked eyes with Melodica.

{AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—}

{AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—}

Patriot blinked. “... Okay, telepathing with a gun-shooting lesbian sounds cool.”

{TAZ FOCUS.}

{NO WHY DID I SAY THAT PLEASE KILL ME.}

“Then you wanna try and get a good grade today?” Taz asked with a ‘calm’ smile.

“I dunno…” Patriot winced.

“I like girls, you like girls, so there’ll be no problems there.” Taz tried to ease him.

Patriot looked thoughtful for all of four seconds. “Yeah, y’know what? That makes sense. Do… do you have any memories with, like, girls…?”

{NO you do not.}

“A few.”

“Nice.”

“But I wanna share a different one. One that’s not gay.”

“Okay, fine. But, like, you aren’t tricking me, right? You aren’t trying to turn me gay?”

“Look.” Melodica groaned, rubbing her face. “Besides the fact that that’s not possible with telepathy – because Mr. Moquat already told us that’s domination, which is super illegal – do you really want your first grade of the semester to be a zero because of something your brother told you? Is he even psychic?! Is he even smart?”

Patriot’s handsome face creased with thought. “No, not really.”

Melodica groaned and looked ready to hurt somebody.

“Alright, alright, I get it! I’ll give it a try.” Patriot rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, blushing a little as he stared into Taz’s eyes, neither of them noticing the utterly flummoxed look Fatima was giving them. “Just… y’know…”

Taz rolled her eyes, giving him a relieved nod as he glanced around the class slowly, and closed his eyes.

His mental prodding was awkward and uncertain, like a baby trying to turn a rubik’s cube, or a freshman trying to unhook his first bra. Taz was willing to bet the boy was fantastic with telekinesis, since most boys loved telekinesis, but his telepathy definitely needed some work.

She had been on the receiving end of this before; the guide to the newbie. She thought back to how it felt when Madeline reached out and connected their thoughts, and she calmly reached out to grasp at his prodding mind.

For a moment, he recoiled, but she didn’t clamp down on him, she let him feel she was there, willing to guide him the first step of the way. After a moment’s hesitation, he relented, giving himself over to her, and she created a bridge.

A bridge filled with trepidation and uncertainty; not the sterile mental pathway most unacquainted psychics created, but one that was… incomplete by way of one side’s fear and hesitation.

Like an unfinished road, pock-marked and barricaded that forced a very congested lane of traffic.

{Hi Pat.}

{Hey Taz.} His answer came full of forced relaxation; she could sense his nervousness reaching new heights as they came together, and with a smile, Taz sent him a memory.

She stood at the shooting range, aiming down at a target shaped like a cartoon robber, with the black and white striped shirt, the little black domino mask, and an ugly mug full of uglier teeth.

The smell of gunsmoke filled the memory, sharp and flammable in the nostrils, and the weighty feel of metal filled their hands. She at first sensed disappointment that the gun was such a small, innocuous thing, not like the big hand cannons on TV, but that disappointment was replaced with curiosity as she felt Patriot settle in to watch, to feel, to smell, to listen.

They clicked the safety of the gun off, and they felt the energy of the moment pour into their limbs; one pull of the finger and they’d be firing a lethal weapon, the burden of what it was heavier than its actual weight. They relaxed their wrists and their elbows, and they sucked in a breath, and then they fired the pistol.

It bucked in their wrists, violently and powerfully, with such a loud sound that even with the earmuffs on it made them flinch. The pristine piece of paper had a hole in it, just outside of the center target over the robber’s chest.

Then, they pulled the trigger faster, the steady rhythm of gunshots strangely more relaxing than the first shot; wild and with abandon, accuracy no longer a concern, a smattering of bullet holes in the paper target traveling up and to the left of where they were aiming.

But at this point, they weren’t really trying, they were pulling the trigger to feel that surge of power through their bodies until the gun clicked empty.

‘Had fun?’ A gentle, feminine voice filled their ears, and slowly the memory faded away, until Taz was staring at Patriot, and Patriot was breathing slowly, his eyes closed.

{Had fun?} Taz repeated her mother’s question, and Patriot’s eyes fluttered open.

{That was cool…}

{Yeah. You ready to do our assignment?}

Patriot’s mental connection wavered as concern filled him, his eyes opening slowly as he chewed on her question, but Taz didn’t press upon him. He blinked, slowly, but gave a little nod, and closed his eyes again. Taz did the same, and as flawed as their bridge was, they strengthened it.

{Um, you first…} He commanded, and Taz gave a little mental affirmation.

Taz had already decided what memory she’d wanted to share before numbers had even been assigned, and with a smile, she relayed it, moment to moment.

Patriot found himself seated in front of a piano. He’d never played a piano before, and as much as he’d recognized one, he couldn’t tell anyone the first thing about how they worked or how to play one.

At least, that’s what he’d thought at first. His fingers began to weave up and down the piano keys, playing a song he recognized but had no name—Fur Elise. He knew the name, he’d been practicing it for a year for a try-out for the annual youth orchestra!

And he was nailing it! When he ended with a flourish, he turned to look at the judges and his mother clapping in the audience, and a surge of pride filled him: he knew he’d made it, he knew he’d done it right.

Patriot breathed out loudly, not aware he’d been holding a breath, before focusing on the blonde girl in front of him.

“... I played piano.” He mumbled.

“She played piano.” Melodica corrected him. “You were along for the ride.”

“Right.” He blinked. He held his fingers up; they weren’t small and dainty, they were large and sausage-like, and they wiggled awkwardly in the air as he tried to recall the movements he’d ‘remembered’ through Taz.

{See? That wasn’t so bad.} Taz thought at him with a little smile.

“No it—” He stopped himself. {It was nice.} He thought with a curious look. {Wait… hold on.} His eyes focused on Taz, and Taz tilted her head, looking concerned as he examined her closely.

{Everything okay?}

{Yeah, fine!} Patriot visibly deflated with relief. {Still find girls hot!}

Taz’s expression twisted up. {Okay. Thanks. Stop.}

{Right! Sorry. Okay, so… my turn?}

{Try not to think about girls…}

{I won’t! I think you gave me an idea of what to share, just…}

Through closed eyes, Taz saw the darkness get replaced by blinding green.

Grass… no, turf. A brightly lit football field flooded by stadium lights underneath a dark sky. Taz was sweltering, her undershirt was sticking to her pecs under her football pads and jersey.

Her eyes stared at a player laying on the field wearing a maroon jersey that matched her own, surrounded by men she recognized as medics. He had to be carried off on a stretcher, and she clutched her head as she stared up at the scoreboard: they were down 14 to 20, forty-one seconds left in the fourth quarter.

Deep down she knew it wasn’t a life-changing game, it was one of many that would lead up to the qualifiers, but watching DeAngelo go down like that shook the whole team up. She could hear DeAngelo’s brother screaming about fouls from up in the stands, but the rest of the team was kneeling in silence until the coach called them up.

They’d lost their star runner for the game, possibly for a few more games, possibly for the rest of the season, and with the game coming to a close, they were looking at a loss. They still had control of the ball, but they had forty yards to go and no DeAngelo.

In the back of her mind she knew that Patriot probably didn’t mean to share this memory so vividly. His mind was crashing into hers like an all-consuming wave, not feeding her the light details; the faultiness of the bridge meant that he was having to overcompensate.

To a weak mind, such a powerful memory share was dangerous. It could consume their senses and push down their personality, but as Madeline had told her, Taz had a good psionic filter, so even as images flashed before her eyes, feelings took over, alien sensations filled her, she still observed passively as Taz.

She could do this.

The coach, a big, plump black man with a grey beard and hard eyes walked over to the bench. They all straightened up, expecting him to say something. Taz sat nervously; she was only a sophomore, she was basically a designated benchwarmer unless it wasn’t a serious game, and things had gotten serious, but like everyone on the team, she knew DeAngelo, she wanted to avenge DeAngelo.

The coach sucked in his lips, breathed out a long, stressed growl, and suddenly looked right at her.

“Traynor, you’re on.”

Taz sat, stunned, but she was trained to obey the coach’s word. She shot to her feet, and felt hands slap her shoulders and back as she walked out onto the pitch to join the other players; the heat was even worse out here, she felt like every eye in the stadium was on her. Bobby, their quarterback, gave her a surprised look before she slid her helmet over her head, but then he slapped her back as they drew into a huddle.

“Get the ball into Traynor’s hands.” The coach ordered, looking right at her. “Son, you run like a sonuvabitch and I need that right now. Ya feel mad?”

“Yes coach.”

“You wanna win?”

“Yes coach!” She answered in a deeper, manlier voice than she’d ever had.

“Then run that fucking ball!” He ordered her, and she nodded.

Yeah, she wanted to fucking win! She wanted to win so fucking bad! All the eyes in the world were on her as they spread out into line. She wiped the sweat off her hands onto her pants and crouched down low.

It was all on her. That’s what it felt like, anyways; get the ball into her hands and run like a sonuvabitch. She was fast, always had been, made the coach curse and nearly break his clipboard when he watched her run laps.

Forty-one seconds, forty yards, she just needed the ball.

She heard ‘hut!’, she felt the ball slip into her hands, she watched the two rows of players crash into one another, and she was sprinting in a curve along the right side. She saw white jerseys and white helmets ahead of her, broad bodies closing in to smash into her and throw her down, but she focused.

Like never before, her brain felt sharp; everything seemed to slow down, and she instinctively saw the paths their momentum would take them; spin past one tackle, leap over the next, her cleats hit the pitch, and she was off.

From that moment on, everything was a blur. Her legs moved, lights and colors flowed around her, but in what felt like an instant she was skidding past the field goal, standing in shock at the padded bleacher at the far end of the field.

A hand slammed down on her helmet and she looked up, the school percussion section whooping and hollering, and she turned in awe as she saw her team racing up towards her, her coach cackling off to at the sidelines as what felt like the whole of her school cheered and hollered.

The football team crashed into her, hugging her, asking how she moved so fast, and then her eyes opened to see Patriot sitting in front of her. He wore a proud smile on his face, and Taz blinked in surprise; the rush of adrenaline in her body faded, and she no longer felt nearly as sweaty.

{That was so cool!}

{That’s why I love football! Those moments you get to just run like—}

{Like a sonuvabitch!}

{YEAH!}