Falling by Debbie Moon

the teachers, or the counsellors, or anyone else interested in getting her to participate in training. They knew she had it, the ability, the gift, but no one could get her to use it. The only reason she was still here was because no one knew what else to do with her.
    Jude watched as Emma got up and strolled to the far side of the flat roof, behind the rusted water tower. After a moment, she took two steps forward, positioning herself perfectly like a dancer finding her mark, and swung her foot out in a perfect arc.
    The gravel shifted before her. Same pattern, different scale.
    â€˜They’ll stop selling tickets for tonight’s draw in just over an hour.’ Yona glanced at Jude. Demanding support. ‘We don’t want to be late, draw attention to ourselves. We have to make a decision.’
    Farah stood up, stretching her legs exaggeratedly. Her shoes were new and built up like clogs; the latest, most desperate last gasp of the fashion industry. The beautiful people were neglecting to alter their clothes so often, now they could alter their faces instead, and the rag trade was suffering. And jewellery, the diet business, all the ways people compensated for the body their genes had foisted on them. The TV pundits were talking about imminent economic collapse.
    Not that Jude cared. She was fed, clothed, protected. Paid, though she wouldn’t get most of it until she turned sixteen. Her mother was out there somewhere – a sudden brutal kick of guilt, quickly suppressed – but her mother was a survivor. Always had been. No need to worry about her.
    She swallowed hard, choked by hindsight.
    â€˜This won’t work,’ Farah was saying. ‘I mean, we can’t just go where we like, right? There has to be a crisis, and we get pulled back to the crisis point? Right?’
    She’d forgotten how annoying Farah could be. The way she said ‘Right?’ all the time. The way she tossed her head to get her hair out of her eyes. Like a horse. Been in the Stables too long and coming over all equine herself.
    â€˜Oh, that’s done,’ Yona giggled. ‘I created one.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜I told Ahmed Saxton that Jude had won some money on last night’s InstaLotto. Wasn’t sure how much, but she looked pretty happy. Happy enough for him to pay her a visit.’
    â€˜Yona!’ Farah shrieked, sending the pigeons on the building opposite into a flapping, cooing spiral of alarm.
    â€˜So, now we have a crisis – or at least, Jude has – and consequently, as soon as she ReTraces, she’ll come back here. With tonight’s InstaLotto numbers, thus ensuring that we win and have enough to pay off Ahmed.’
    Farah pouted. ‘The idea, wooden-head, was to get the money for ourselves – not Ahmed and his aggro boys.’
    â€˜If we hit the jackpot, there’ll be plenty to go round.’
    â€˜I don’t know. Ahmed has a lot of friends.’
    Yona sighed, as if irritated by the questions of a small child. ‘If there’s any real trouble, I’ll have a crisis of my own, won’t I? And then I can skip back to the moment I told him – and not say anything.’
    â€˜You’re sure that won’t lose us the money?’
    â€˜Of course I’m sure. Unlike some people, I was paying attention in theory class, instead of flashing my chest at Carlos.’
    â€˜I was not. It’s not my fault people stare.’
    â€˜That doesn’t mean you have to stare back.’
    â€˜It’s rude to ignore people.’
    â€˜Particularly when they look like Carlos.’
    Farah tossed her head again, about to get up and flounce away.
    â€˜Of course,’ Jude said, ‘I could just skip back to the moment before you tell Ahmed, and break your jaw before you even set eyes on him.’
    Farah seemed quite amused by that.
    Yona scowled. ‘And how does that makes us any richer?’
    â€˜It doesn’t. But