Over and Run With - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Twenty-Five

It was a new safehouse. But it felt like the old one.

There was plenty of newness to it—this house was based out of the American Midwest, not the Scandinavian North. It was a long, sprawling ranch without a single staircase. It had a great, open yard where we used to have mountains, and a fence where we used to have forest. It still looked like it was living in the seventies, and it had a bit of a draft.

But still. It felt the same. The same voices echoed throughout the rooms. There was still a scratchy plaid chair for Grandpa Joe. And when Grandma cooked, the house still took on a slightly charred aroma. The warmth was there—the comfort was there. Even when everything was different, some things stayed the same, and the Goode family safe house was no exception to the rule.

I found myself in the mudroom—one of the few shadowy corners throughout the new house, and a place I found myself often, if only just to think. To breathe. To get away. But I wasn't alone this time. "You're really making phenomenal progress, Mags."

"It feels like I'm wobbling."

"That's because you are wobbling." Scout Jasons held my hand as I took my shaky steps on another prototype, provided by the new Assistive Technology branch of Anderson Industries, founded and managed by recent Gallagher Academy graduate, Alice Anderson herself.

"Wobbling doesn't seem especially covert."

"Wobbling is exactly where you're supposed to be," Scout said. "I've been consulting with the specialists on your case, and they all agree that you're picking this up quickly. It would take most people six months to get where you're at right now, and you've done it in four."

"Alice," I called over my shoulder. "I'm wobbling."

"We'll fix the wobbling," she said, already sketching away on a tablet held neatly in her palm.

I turned back to Scout. "I like her answer better."

"I'm sure you do," he said, entertaining me. "Another step, please."

And I did as he said, because in my experience, Scout's advice was usually best if followed. Plus, I was still wobbling, and I really didn't want him to let go. I took one step, then another, because sometimes the weight was still too much. "This one-step-at-a-time business is going to get old, real quick," I said.

It was Finn, this time. "One step at a time is the only way you're gonna get there," he said, for what was maybe the thousandth time this summer. "You're gonna figure out how to work with this—and then you're gonna figure out how to use that wobble to your advantage."

"Alice."

"We're fixing the wobble," Alice confirmed again.

"Use the wobble," Finn said. "Be the wobble."

That's about when Alice punched him in the arm, and he didn't fight it, because he knew he'd earned it. He only chuckled and wrapped his arm around Alice's waist, and I didn't give him any shit, because despite my previous impression of him, long discussions with Finn O'Reilly had become one of the largest sources of comfort for me over the past few months.

Behind us, the door creaked open, the bottom scratching against the too-long carpet. The crisp air from the A/C bled into the room, and Luke was soon to follow. "Ellie told me to tell you all that dinner's ready."

There were some appreciative nods. A wave or two.

"Ms. Morgan didn't cook," he tried again. "Woods did."

With that, everyone's head turned. Finn and Alice dropped everything and made their way toward the kitchen in a mad race for the potatoes before they were all gone. Even Scout's stomach rumbled, as he led me to the nearest seat.