She was about the same age, I think, but shorter, maybe.
She wore white, or was it green.
Like I said, I only met her once, on the beach, but I could tell by the way she threw sand in my eyes
that she felt the same way about me.
I’ve had a complicated history with girls.
SO, HERE’S WHEN IT HAPPENED
We were in Dad’s
red Ford Thunderbird on the New Jersey Turnpike listening to Harry Potter on tape when all of a sudden Dad falls asleep
(while he’s driving) and Mom yells JAAACKKK!
which wakes me and my sister up and jolts Dad back to life just in enough time for him to avoid swerving into the eighteen-wheeler beside us,
but not before I bang my head against
the armrest
in front of me.
(Yeah, I know, I shoulda had my seat belt on….) After he apologizes Mom makes him pull off at the Thomas Edison Rest Area
which is kind of ironic since Edison’s last breath is supposedly contained in a test tube
at the Henry Ford Museum.
31 FLAVORS
While Dad
power-naps
in the car,
Mom treats us to
ice cream:
Little Sister: Bubble Gum Ice Cream
with Sprinkles (Waffle cone, of course.)
Mom: Lime and Strawberry Sherbet
(She’s lactose-intolerant.)
Me: A Thick Super-Size Chocolate Double Fudge
Milk Shake (With two straws.)
HEADACHE
I don’t know if it was the banging of my head or sipping the shake too fast, but
I get hit hard
with a sharp head pain that travels down my neck and back to my toes, and then, oddly, back up to my head, and I feel like I’m in a cartoon, ’cause I see stars (but my eyes are wide open, so I close ’em), and then a sharp blue light shoots through
the darkness
and my eyes jolt open.
Then everything’s back to normal.
Or so I think.
SO, HERE’S WHAT HAPPENED
“Monk, are you okay? You’re shivering.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“All right, well, finish up, we’ve got to get moving,” she says, and then she says something else, but her lips aren’t moving.
This sherbet is disgusting.
Milk or no milk, next time
I’m getting French vanilla ice cream.
“You want me to order you something else, Ma?” I ask.
“What are you talking about, Monk? I’m fine.”
“But I thought you just said—?”
“I didn’t know dummies could think,” says my annoying sister, right before Mom
slaps her on the hand.
“I’ve told you about using that word, young lady.”
“Sorry, Mom,” and then she says something else, but her lips aren’t moving, either.
Why is she always picking on me?
Monk’s her favorite. I hate him.
And now they’re both talking, and their mouths are shut.
WHAT. IS. GOING. ON?
I better drive, ’cause Jack almost killed us.
I want a dog.
And they just keep talking, or thinking (out loud), back and forth, and
I just sit there, speechless, looking
and listening, and
it’s scary
and funny
at the same time.
UNBELIEVABLE
When we get back to the car,
I text Hervé,
who naturally
doesn’t believe me when I tell him I can hear
other people’s thoughts when I’m looking at them.
“Bet you ten dollars I can,” I tell him.
“Make it twenty, sucker,” he responds.
“Bet, and I’ll prove it,” I text, “soon as we get back to school on Monday.”
MONDAYS ARE QUIZ DAY
in Mr. Olley’s science class.
I always ace them, but that was before I had a superpower to practice all weekend instead of studying biology.
Mr. Olley doesn’t give multiple-choice and true/false quizzes like most teachers at Greenwood Middle.
This dude gives essay questions. (Lame.) There are always two items on each quiz that he wants us to explain in great detail: one paragraph per answer.
Most students only get one right, ’cause there’s just so many possibilities and it’s hard to study
if you haven’t been paying attention in class, like, uh, most students.
To be fair to Mr. Olley, he does give us one last chance
to pass.
Five minutes before the quiz he stands
in front of the class and answers
our last-minute questions about anything
we studied
the previous week.
Just like Jeopardy.
I ask Hervé if he’s ready for me to prove
that I can read
minds. He nods.
Here we go.
GAME ON!
JEOPARDY
I walk
to Olley’s desk
to ask him
something bogus
about extra credit
or something,
when Hervé, just like
we planned,
raises his hand
to get Mr. Olley’s attention.
“Yes, Hervé?”
“Mr. Olley, I was wondering if you could tell us
what’s on the quiz today?”
Everyone in the class gets quiet.
Mr. Olley looks up, smiles, and continues
listening to me
yap about extra credit.
I’m staring right at him, and that’s when I hear him:
Kids these days. If they just studied
instead of playing those video games,
maybe they’d be better prepared.
Mitosis and DNA. Easy stuff,
if you bothered to study.