Shit. Why did I just tell her that?
“Really? How’d ya know?” She sounded skeptical, and I knew I’d said too much.
“I heard one of the other guys dare him.” I doodled on my notebook and tried to sound bored.
“How? You weren’t close enough to hear him. Besides, if you heard them, Miranda would’ve heard it too.”
“Miranda was busy putting her swim cap on. She wasn’t paying attention,” I said with an exasperated sigh. “And what’s with all the questions and watching everything I do?” I pushed too hard on my paper and broke my pencil lead.
“Nothing.” The word hung between us like a brick. Something was happening to me. Something very strange. Even more strange was that my family seemed to know what it was, but they didn’t want to tell me.
I’m a freak.
“I think we should go see Grandma tomorrow after school,” Muriel said.
“Grandma? Okay. Why?”
“We haven’t gone to see her in a few weeks. We should go. I’ll call and ask her to make some butterscotch brownies.”
“Okay.” I shrugged. “I’m down for some brownies.”
***
The next day at school, it happened again. I started to worry that it was going to be an everyday thing.
I walked through the crowded cafeteria. Long, rectangular tables lined the aisle. The room roared with the noise of people laughing and joking, and a person had to yell to be heard over the chaos. But I heard giggles and whispers in my ears—no, in my head. I sucked in a breath and braced myself.
The same feeling washed over me each time it happened. I could feel it building in the pit of my stomach, filling it. It was as if someone were blowing up a balloon inside of me. It rose from my stomach to my throat, making it hard to breathe. My head started to pound, and I could hear the blood rushing behind my ears. I had only one thought screaming through my head.
Stop them.
The scene fast-forwarded through my mind. They were going to trip a poor freshman as she walked by. She was scrawny, shy, wore braces and glasses, and had a bad acne problem. She had enough on her plate without some idiot tripping her in the lunchroom and embarrassing her in front of half the school.
It’s just like the little girl… I don’t even know her, but I’m drawn to her. But it isn’t my problem. I shouldn’t have to step in. I should have a choice!
I did know the other kids, though. They were notorious bullies. I knew if they were joking about tripping her, they were gonna do it.
I don’t remember walking toward their table. I didn’t choose to—I just did. Like a puppeteer moves a puppet, the feeling moved me. I had no control, even though I fought against it. The more I fought, the stronger the feeling became.
Stop them.
The girl walked toward me. I could see the bullies watching her. I approached from the opposite direction, gripping my lunch tray tightly in my hands. One of us would have to move to let the other pass, and I knew it would be her. In my mind, I could see the scene play out.
With a quick glance up, she stepped to the side so I could pass. I slowed just in front of the bullies’ table, putting myself between her and the group of overgrown two-year-olds.
A foot shot out. A wave of viciousness swept over me, and I stepped down on it with all my weight, bending his foot at a painful angle. The boy howled. I tried not to smile. It was really, really hard.
I gave him a small shrug. “Gee, I’m sorry. You really should be more careful,” I said before walking away with a smile and an unexplainable feeling of peace. I sat across from Muriel. She looked at me with a slight frown, but thankfully, she didn’t say anything.
I took in two deep breaths, letting the air hiss through my teeth. Slowly, my mind righted itself. Their voices faded—but not before I heard him call me a bitch—and the feeling disappeared. The freak show was over.
***
Muriel and I drove to Grams’ after school. I knocked on the black apartment door, which according to Grams was ‘hideous,’ and listened as Muriel told me the latest gossip from her sixth-period class. She hadn’t brought up what had happened at lunch. Maybe she didn’t notice. Yeah, right.
I jumped when the door flung open and my grams looked up at us. “Hey, Grams.” I gave my grandma a hug and kissed her baby-soft skin. It was smooth and smelled faintly of gardenia. She laid her hand, her fingers crooked from arthritis, against the side of my face.
“It’s about time you two showed up! I was beginning to think I’d have to drag you here by the nape of your necks.”
I laughed. “Sorry, Grams.”
Muriel leaned down to give Grams a hug before we went inside. “So.” Grams wheeled her wheelchair into the large, bright yellow living area and swung it around. “What brings you by?”