It was the weekend.
I woke up to the roar of my alarm and a throbbing in my temples so intense I briefly wondered if someone had taken up residence in my skull. Then I remembered: flight class.
"Of course," I muttered, flinging the covers aside. "Why wouldn't I have a headache on the one day I'm supposed to literally sprout invisible wings?"
I tried to steel myself for the morning, but my brain felt like a tangled slinky. I flopped out of bed, grabbed the nearest clean shirt (a hoodie covered in minor psychic scorch marks from last week's "energy flow drill"), and trudged downstairs.
Mom and Dad were already gone—I guessed they'd left before dawn, probably meeting some Council carpool or hunting down rogue psychics or whatever it was they did that exempts them from noticing their daughter's suspiciously raspy voice. Charley and Harley were no where in sight but I could hear them bickering at the garden out in the back, mum probably told them to clear out the weeds and of course they couldn't even do that without bickering.
Justin was sprawled on the couch, cereal smeared across his face, replaying an animated cat video on loop.
"Justin—move your face," I said, flicking the TV remote off. He blinked and yawned, as though I'd just interrupted the most riveting existential documentary.
"Uh, morning, Ju," he mumbled, eyes drooping. "Need a spoon or something?"
"Yeah, to stir my coffee. I'm heading out. Call me or dad if anything comes up!" I yelled as I bolted out the front door, ignoring his bleary "Okay."
By the time I arrived at the Network's drop point—a glimmering portal disguised as a tacky art installation in a downtown park—my hoodie was clinging to me like drenched cotton. I checked my silver bracelet. It confirmed I was on schedule for a 8:15 a.m. training session.
Julian was already there, looking as alert as a statue carved from moonlight. Alvin was leaning against a tree, clipboard in hand, watching me like a hawk.
"Ready?" Julian asked, arms folded.
"If by 'ready,' you mean 'hurting internally and might collapse at any moment,' then yes, I'm very ready." I took a deep breath. "Let's do this."
He said nothing, just gave me a single nod. Naturally, that said everything.
We stepped onto the portal platform. Within seconds, the cityscape dissolved, replaced by gleaming towers, floating walkways, and a horizon where two suns—one golden, one rose—hovered just above the invisible curve of the world.
~~~~~~~~~~
Our instructor, a tall, serene woman named Selene, stood atop a floating dais wearing midnight-blue robes that matched her eyes. "Rise and welcome, Julia Summers," she said without inflection, gesturing to a broad patch of sky above the grounds. Around us, other recruits—some hovering two inches off the ground, others performing gentle flips—murmured greetings or glances of mild envy.
I swallowed and wiped sweat from my palms. I was early in the roster, so I hovered at Selene's feet rather than hovering myself.
"Your first task," Selene continued, "is to achieve stable lift. Lift off three inches, hover for five counts, and descend gently."
"Sounds… straightforward," I mumbled, though my pulse spiked.
Julian drifted over, standing beside me. "Focus on your core. Channel the energy downward, then push outward."
I closed my eyes, extended my senses, and felt the air beneath my feet. It was thicker than I remembered—like a silent crowd willing me to break free. I focused on the small, electric hum in my chest and tried to push.
Five seconds later, my feet skidded as I tumbled forward like a rolling log. I landed face-first in dew-damp grass, blinking in astonishment.
Crowd snickering. I felt it more than heard it. I coughed, trying to untangle blades from my hair.
Selene hovered down. "Do you perceive the air as resistant or receptive?"
"Resistant," I admitted. "Like it's gritted its teeth and is ready to bite."
"It is neither. It is merely neutral," Selene said archly. "The difference between 'resistant' and 'receptive' is in your mind's expectation. Reframe it."
Great. My mind was a tumbleweed of chaos.
Julian hovered above me, expression calm. "Stand up. Again."
I got to my feet, brushing grass off my jeans. That's when I noticed something weird: The grass didn't bend as much under my weight. It was almost as though my very presence was shifting the ground's composition—just a minor foot crinkle, but enough to startle me.
"Here's a tip," Alvin called from his rigged floating stool. "Imagine you're a balloon filled with water. Light but grounded by fluid pressure."
I rolled my eyes, but wasn't above using any new strategy. I inhaled deeply, imagining my feet as water droplets, the earth as an ocean bed. I felt a flicker—a gentle lift under my toes.
My ankles slid off the ground by a fraction of an inch. Then, as if gravity blinked, I was a foot above the grass.
I blinked. The world tilted.
Next thing I knew, my arms were flailing, and I resembled a newborn foal trying to stand—except in the air. My right foot dipped closer to the ground as my left shot upward.
"Steady," Julian said, floating down to hover at my side. He reached out, brushing my arm lightly, and I felt a wave of calm.
"For five seconds," he said. "Count them in your head."
"Weak," Alvin muttered under his breath, though I noticed a twinge of pride in his eyes.
I focused on Julian's voice, the hushed rhythm of his breathing. One, two, three, four—
And then I wobbled, teetered, and sunken back down, landing on my knees like a failed landing spaceship. My knees buckled under me.
"I'll—be—alive," I wheezed, trying to smile.
Selene hissed softly at me. "You can do better. Height is good, but stability is essential."
I groaned. "I was stable until gravity remembered my existence."
Selene's only response was a look. I glared at my knees. They were covered in dew and sparkles of psychic residue—the result of my sudden reentry.
Julian drifted down. "Six more times."
My throat went dry. "Is that mandatory?"
"Affirmative." His voice was gentle, but firm.
I whimpered. "Great."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I crouched near the edge of the practice pad, watching a girl with neon-blue hair levitate ten feet straight up like she was riding a pillar of incense. Next to her, a boy was flipping circles in midair without a care, casually juggling small rocks while hovering. I imagined writing a mental note: Don't compare.
"Don't do that," Julian's voice whispered behind me. "You'll lose your focus."
"That is literally my focus," I said.
"You'll lose it anyway," he said. "Believe, then do. Not the reverse."
I clenched my fists. "Believe I won't land on my face?"
He nodded. "Exactly."
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. I visualized the air as soft cotton under my soles, the wind greeting me like an old friend. I wasn't a balloon. I was a feather. A feather that trusted the air.
When I opened my eyes…
I was two feet off the ground, standing on the air. And not just a wobbling two feet—I was standing.
My mouth dropped open. I glanced around. Julian was smiling the tiniest, most infuriating smile, and Alvin gave me a thumbs-up.
I grinned so hard I felt my cheeks ache. Then my right foot slipped.
I flailed. Cried "No, no, no!" like an idiot. Threw my arms out like a Jedi in training.
I plunged into the grass, landing on my back with a muffled thud.
"Three seconds," I heard someone murmur.
I shook my head, trying to clear the stars from my vision. "Worth it."
Alvin beamed. "That was four-point-three seconds!"
I sat up, chest heaving. "You're measuring everything now?"
"Of course. Encouragement through precision."
"Encouragement through torture," I muttered.
Julian reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "That was better than most for a first try. Rest, then repeat."
I swallowed, nodding. The glory of three-point-whatever seconds looked a lot better when I wasn't still coughing dew off my lungs.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By midday, I was drained and buzzing with adrenaline. My head felt like it had been rearranged for better storage—too much data, not enough space. I had a small sandwich in my hand, but halfway through the first bite, Julian and Alvin eased into seats across from me and Kim and Jake, who'd flown in via hologram projection.
"Hey," Kim said, reaching over to cover my hand with hers. "How goes the flying death trap?"
"My arms continue to operate under protest," I admitted. "But I've hovered for a full—"
"Four-point-three seconds," Alvin reminded me with a grin.
"Thanks for the support," I mumbled, poking at my sandwich.
Julian shifted in his seat, tilting his head slightly. "You performed perfectly."
I paused mid-bite. "…Really?"
"Really." He took a swallow of his drink, studying me like he was reading the blueprint of my mind. "Now that you know how to hover for three seconds, tomorrow we'll work on sustained flight—seven to ten seconds."
I choked on my juice. "Now? Tomorrow?"
"Correct."
I groaned. "I think my brain is leaking through my ears."
Kim patted my shoulder sympathetically. "It's like a really intense video game level—only instead of respawning, you're literally keeping yourself from face-planting."
Jake nodded sagely. "You'll reach the next checkpoint soon."
Alvin regarded me with a serious expression that would've been impressive if his blazer wasn't neon-trimmed. "If you hold out until tomorrow's session, we'll let you in on some deeper Gossamer secrets."
"Secrets?" My heart lurched. "But my head might explode."
"You'll manage," Julian said. "Now… you need to ask me a question."
I blinked. "Why?"
"Because after Wednesday's session, we'll depart for Snow Valley."
Silence hung over our table like a thick, ominous cloud. My mug of half-drunk juice felt suddenly weighty.
"Snow Valley," Alvin whispered, leaning in like he was about to steal nuclear codes. "That's where the Gossamer Elders hold the next council. You're going?"
Julian nodded. "I was called early for pre-council business. I'm leaving day after tomorrow."
My chest tightened. "And… I'm coming?"
He gave me a slow, unreadable smile. "If you can fly properly, you'll be ready."
My breath caught. "Snow Valley. Council. Elders. Does this mean… I'll be trained by the best? Taught by psychic masters?"
"Among other things," Julian said darkly.
Things like facing the mystery figure from my dream? Things like the Gossamer Network's deep archives? Things like potential war?
I stared at my sandwich, no longer hungry. The world shifted beneath me like one of those floating platforms—steady until you're standing on it, and then it could drop you at any second.
"I—" I swallowed, my mouth suddenly cotton-dry. "I think I need time to process."
Kim squeezed my fingers. "Take all you need. We've got your back."
Jake gave me his signature grin. "Can't wait to see you battle a council meeting in slippers."
Even Julian cracked a tiny smile. "Just remember—no more face-planting."
I forced a grin back, though it felt more like a grimace. "Promise."
—
That night, I barely slept. My mind buzzed with flight techniques, Snow Valley's ominous whisper, and the echo of that figure from my dream: "You're next."
Around midnight, I checked my phone: two missed calls from Mom, one text from Dad ("Dinner at 6? Also, stop oversleeping. We know you sneaked out."), and a text from Kim: Don't die midair pls.
I let out a laugh that came out hollow, then tucked my phone under my pillow and stared at the ceiling.
I pictured Snow Valley: frigid air, crystalline halls, elders cloaked in shimmering robes. Would they welcome me? Would they suspect me? Would they kill me on sight for having a mind that could pluck thoughts like apples?
I clutched my silver bracelet. It glowed faintly—like it was humming with anticipation.
And then, with only the faint hum of the network's far-off hum, I drifted into a fitful sleep.