High School Heroes Chapters 1-3
Introducing our team of teenage superheroes.
This is one of our first books we published.
When we first wrote this book more than a decade ago, we set out to tell a superhero story in a place that it hadn’t really been before—a novel. There were very few novels out there about superheroes, unless you count the occasional Spider-Man or Superman novel.
So, we created stories about Christine and her friends. We started off trying to figure out a horrible superpower, something that would torture someone to have, especially if they couldn’t control it. And what you are going to read in these opening chapters is what we came up with.
As you read, think about what you would do with these powers, if you couldn’t turn them off.
Anyway, here are the first chapters of High School Heroes.
Enjoy!
Prologue
February
Sophomore Year
I wasn’t supposed to be dead by the end of my sophomore year! I had plans: get a car, go to college, attend prom wearing an outrageously expensive prom dress.
Faced with my imminent destruction, I saw just how unimportant all those things really were.
I could hardly see in the dark room. He… no, IT was in there with me. They weren’t coming to save me this time, not after all I’d done to them. There was nothing to stop it from tearing me limb from limb.
Why me? I asked myself for the thousandth time. Why did I have to be blessed with this curse?
Because, I always answered, you’re just that lucky.
School was supposed to be the safest place a person could be. That obviously wasn’t true of my school, not when things like that thing were crawling around in its bowels.
Its low growl came from a spot by the door, my only escape. It was just toying with me. It could smell my fear. It knew what I was thinking.
Isn’t that ironic?
It was closing on me. Getting ready for the kill. Needless to say, I wasn’t ready to die. What fifteen-year old is? Still so much to do.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I crawled out from my hiding place and stood, trembling.
I never really thought of myself as a hero, but I really wished I was one just then. At least then I’d have the courage to take this thing on.
I looked into its face. I was looking at death. Mine. The thing made a noise, a sort of chuckle. It brought itself to its full height. Then all went black.
Chapter 1
First Day Blues
September
5 Months Earlier
The school had put up a new sign over the summer. It was bright, shiny and new, saying simply “Thomas Jefferson High School—Home of the Jaguars—Jefferson Hills, PA”. I guessed it was last year’s senior class donation. The seniors did that every year. Three years ago, the class had a beautiful crest made and had it sunk into the floor of the lobby.
Last year Tommy Fulton and his cronies destroyed it. I hoped I wouldn’t have to lay eyes on that delinquent this year. If there was one person who made my school unbearable, it was him.
I watched my mother’s car turn the corner as she left me to the wolves for another year, and again counted the days in my head until I had a car of my own. One hundred and seventy eight days.
It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate my mother driving me to school every morning. I just wanted to do it myself.
“Hey Chris!” someone called from behind, startling me.
I hated being called Chris. Chris was a boy’s name.
Is it really so difficult to add an extra syllable to the end? Chris-TINE! It wasn’t that hard! I wanted to turn and tell the person as much, but bit my tongue when I saw who it was. Sam Jeffries rolled up on his bike. Man, he’d gotten tall. At the end of last year we’d been about the same height, now it looked like the boy had a good four inches on me. That’s what I get for not keeping in contact with my friends over the summer.
“What’s up, Sam?” I asked, not bothering to mention the last syllable, even though I’d asked him a hundred times to use my full name.
He jumped off his bike and walked it to the rack. I got a whiff of that new-clothes smell coming off him. His mother must’ve taken him to Walmart, like she did every year the night before school started. “Not much. How was the summer?”
“Worked.” It was sad how a single word could sum up three months of a person’s life.
He locked his bike. Other than the height difference, he looked the same. He always wore those stupid t-shirts with the idiotic sayings on them. This one read, in super small writing, “If you can read this, you are too close.” I rolled my eyes, but refrained from comment.
“Yeah, me too,” he said.
“I’m saving up for a car. I promised myself that as soon as I get my license, my mother isn’t driving me around anymore.”
“Isn’t it early to be planning for that?”
“Nope. I turn sixteen on March 5th. Less than six months away.” I mustered the biggest smile I could. I was so proud.
Sam stepped back from me. “Anyone ever tell you how creepy you look when you smile?”
“Yeah. You. All the time, actually.” I laughed slightly and smacked him.
He smirked a little then. “Maybe it’s the black lipstick.”
“Hey, black is the new pink.”
“You’re not even Goth.” It was true. I wasn’t some dark and brooding soul like the Goth cliques. I just thought the style was cool, which was why black was the only color you’d find in my wardrobe.
You haven’t changed a bit.
“Neither have you?” I said, jabbing him in the arm again.
“I haven’t what?” Sam asked. He had a puzzled look on his face.
I shook my head, thinking he was joking, “Changed, you idiot.”
His response was cut off as a pair of blue Mustangs roared down the school driveway. They were identical, just like their drivers. Sound systems blared out some rock music as they pulled up. Lance and Kyle Morgan—the twins.
The cars shut off at the same time, the music going silent. The twins stepped out together. They always competed with each other, even though neither wanted to express their own individuality. They were the same person, in two different bodies. They dressed alike, they walked alike, they even spoke alike. I swore they would marry identical twins, just so everything about them would be exactly the same. They dressed like rock stars: leather jackets, sunglasses, jeans with holes purposely cut into them. If they weren’t my friends, I would have told them how ridiculous they looked.
“Chris! Sam!” Lance or Kyle said. I could never tell them apart.
“Hey guys.”
“Ready for another year in hell?”
I sighed again. I knew I’d be doing that all day. “Not really.”
“I am!” Sam said.
“Finally let you on the news team, huh?” one of the twins asked.
“Yeah. They called last week.” Sam stood even taller as he told his news. “Mitch Robinson moved to California.”
“Good for you.” Sam had wanted to be in front of the camera ever since the sixth grade, but they never had room for him. Those AV geeks really stuck together, and Sam was far from being an AV geek.
As more cars pulled up, I decided to move inside and find my first class before the halls got overly crowded. I’m not one for crowds, I have this thing I refer to as “people claustrophobia.” I’m okay in a small confined space. I could deal with sitting in a locker all day if someone shoved me inside. But put me in an overcrowded hallway with a bunch of rowdy kids and I lose my cool. That’s why no one thought it strange when I bounded up the steps.
Every year we never received our schedules until we arrived at school. Principal Philmore apparently couldn’t decide where to put all us students until the last minute. I walked up to the wall where our first period classes were posted and looked for my name. I was on the second sheet: Carpenter, Christine E.—Rm 206.
Mrs. Blank’s room. She taught math. Just my luck to get the most boring subject to start my day.
Who needs math anyway? I marched upstairs to Room 206. I definitely don’t need to know how to find the angles of a triangle. Don’t get me wrong. I’m good at math. I just loathe it.
Mrs. Blank was already standing by her door. She seemed happy, ready to greet all her students and begin teaching. I hated those first day smiles. It gave a false sense of security—probably it was intended that way. Students would think the teacher was nice and fun, but come October, that smile became a frown. Then it was a fight to get that passing grade until the end of the year.
You’re not fooling me. I stepped passed the aging teacher and took the seat closest the door. If the teacher didn’t assign seats, that was where I sat… so I could bolt out as soon as the bell rang.
Following me in was a pack of wild animals. It was like they’d all been living in a hole for the last few months. I knew most of them, but noticed a few new faces. I wasn’t sure if they were new to the school or if I spent so much time avoiding the crowds that I never saw them before.
Tiffany Zane sat next to me. She wore a new dress that looked like it came straight off the rack. She had her long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. She began talking before I had the chance to say hello. “Oh my God, Chris, I haven’t seen you in forever.” She talked so fast and full of excitement that it took me aback. Usually she was laid back, minding her own business. Obviously, she had something important to say. Since it had been almost two months since I’d seen her, I waited through the barrage. “Where have you been? I’ve been everywhere. My family went to Florida, then David’s family took me to some lake up north. Can you believe it? Me and David have been together three and a half months. It’s so unreal and—”
I could take no more of this assault on my ears. “Tiff, take a breath.”
“Sorry.”
“So, I guess you’re still with him then.”
“Yeah, who would have thought a girl like me would be going out with the hottest guy in school?”
“Maybe because you’re hot too?”
“No, I’m not.” Her cheeks flushed a little pink. She’d always thought little of her looks. The truth was, with her blonde hair and perfect complexion she looked like the typical cheerleader. The good thing was, she didn’t act like one. Actually, she acted more like one of the “Plain Janes.”
Unlike Samantha Diddle, the captain of the cheer squad—that girl was evil on legs, and those legs were passing my desk at that very moment. I glared at her. She didn’t look down as she passed by. Her perfect little face and her perfect little hair, in her perfect little uniform just bounced past, without even a comment.
“You realize that’s the first time Samantha hasn’t been nasty to you, right?” Tiffany asked.
“She probably didn’t see me,” I admitted, though it did feel good not to be criticized on my appearance in the first two minutes of the school year. “Her head was probably up her own butt like it always is.”
We laughed but were quickly cut off as the bell rang and Mrs. Blank entered the room.
It took Mrs. Blank about a minute to get everyone in their seats and to stop talking. She didn’t understand that we hadn’t seen each other in months and all were dying to catch up. “Welcome to Trigonometry,” Mrs. Blank announced and the class groaned.
After that single sentence I zoned out. I calculated again how much I’d have for my car. Hey, this is math. I did this for almost the entire period, trying to figure out how much I would need to make each week to keep up when Mrs. Blank’s voice broke through my thoughts. “I’m sure you are all eager to take a look at your schedules. Please, wait for me to call your name and you can come up and get them.”
I was among the first to get mine, one of the advantages in having a last name that begins with “C”. Tiffany, on the other hand, was last since her name was Zane.
We had our first and third classes together, and lunch. At least we’d see each other three times a day. During lunch we could talk all we wanted without getting into trouble.
I had Mr. Jenkins second period for chemistry. I’d never had him before, but heard he was cool. Mr. Murray third for history, and Ms. Schroeder for English finished out my morning. Lunch was next, and then finally to round out my day I had Art and Gym with Mrs. Fletcher and Coach Green respectively. I didn’t think I could get a more perfect schedule. Maybe this year wouldn’t be that bad.
“I’ll see you third,” Tiffany said as the bell rang.
I waved over my shoulder and bolted for the door. Tiffany understood.
Unfortunately, the science hallway was downstairs on the opposite side of the school. There was no way to make it without getting caught in the crowd. I breathed deep and regular and moved as fast as I could. It wasn’t too bad today. At Mr. Jenkins’ room I was third in the classroom behind the twins.
I perched on the stool nearest the door. If there was anything that could make a chemistry class fun, it would be those two. They would figure out some way to blow something up, “accidentally”.
“Christine! Christine!” they chanted in unison.
Mr. Jenkins, who stood behind his desk, looked at us and shook his head, a hint of a smile on his face.
The class came in a few at a time, pounding fists, giving high fives and hiding cell phones that they’d been texting with in the halls. Again, I recognized most of the faces. Nobody I hated terribly, which was a good thing.
When the bell rang, Mr. Jenkins welcomed us, then explained what he expected of us. However, he was crazy enough to want to teach today. Doesn’t he understand that we aren’t supposed to learn anything the first day of school?
“Let’s see how much you guys know about chemistry,” he began, getting groans from the class. “Let’s start with the elements. What is an element?”
“Isn’t that like fire, water and air and stuff?” called Frank Brown from the back, bringing a few giggles.
Mr. Jenkins laughed a little too. “No, it has nothing to do with that.” He looked around to see if there were any hands up. “Anyone?”
He wouldn’t get an answer from anyone on the first day. I put my head on the table.
He continued talking as I closed my eyes. Someone better answer me! I swear if one of your stupid kids don’t answer me I’ll…
“What?” My head shot up.
“I’m sorry…” Mr. Jenkins waited for me to tell him my name.
“Christine.”
“Christine. Do you have an answer?”
He still wore the same smile as when we walked in. All eyes were on me. Usually when someone said something stupid the boys cheered and the girls giggled. No cheers. No giggling.
“Didn’t you just say… Oh never mind.” I shook my head to clear it. I couldn’t have been dreaming. My head was only down for a second.
“Continuing on then.”
I dropped my head back to the desk.
Another year and another group of retards. How did they ever get this far…
My head shot up once again. “Okay, what’s going on?” I shouted this time.
Mr. Jenkins stopped mid-sentence and looked directly at me, no longer smiling. Everyone’s eyes were boring into me again.
“Is there a problem, Christine?”
“You call us stupid and a bunch of retards and you expect me to say nothing?”
His eyes glazed over and his hand seemed to shake for a second, but he composed himself so quickly I was sure I was the only one who noticed. “I didn’t say that.”
The whole class was laughing now. Not the regular murmurs or giggles, but great bellows of peeling laughter. No one had heard it. Why not? He’d said it clear as day.
“You won’t be a problem for me this year, will you?” Jenkins asked me.
I just put my head back down on the table and waited for the bell to ring. When it did, I escaped even faster than usual. I didn’t want to talk to anyone about what just happened.
I knew what I heard. Mr. Jenkins definitely said those things. The fact that no one else heard it meant one of two things. Either someone was playing a joke on me—which was highly unlikely—or I was going insane. I really, really hoped it wasn’t the latter.
Chapter 2
Sanity
When the bell rang signaling history class was over, Savanah Stevenson pushed me out of her way to get out the door first. Normally I would have pushed the preppy little twit through the wall, but my mind wasn’t really there.
I had English with Sam. He knew something was bothering me and elbowed me in the ribs. Said he’d do that till I told, but I couldn’t talk to him right now.
Lunch was next, just what I needed. A little substandard food and hopefully some conversation would do me good. Not that it would really be conversation, Tiffany probably wouldn’t let me get a word in. That was fine with me because I couldn’t talk about how my day was going so far. If I told her I’d been hearing voices, she’d think I was crazy too.
I went straight for the lunch line. Most of the students would be staking their claim to a table, but Tiffany would do that for me. The only decision I wanted to make right now was: burger or pizza. I grabbed a slice of pepperoni that looked fresher than the rest and had the lunch lady to ring me up.
Tiffany had a table chosen near the wall. She was sitting beside Sam. His mom always made his lunch—she didn’t trust school food. Not that I blamed her.
When I sat, Tiffany stood. “Be right back.”
“So,” Sam began, “I heard you gave Mr. Jenkins a hard time.”
So word had gotten around already.
“Yeah, I think I fell asleep.” I hated lying to my friends, but I also didn’t want to sound insane.
“I figured it wasn’t as interesting as everyone said,” Sam mentioned between bites of a ham sandwich.
“Those stories never are.” I took a bite of my own lunch and winced when the cheese burnt the roof of my mouth.
Tiffany returned and sat next to me. Four classes didn’t seem to have dampened her spirits. It didn’t take much to get her talking. For fifteen minutes she told about her classes. Then she went into detail, practically a day by day account of everything she did over the summer.
Across the room, something—or I should say someone—caught my eye. Ethan Everett. His eyes sparkled like the ocean at sunset. His hair flowed like fields of grain in a light breeze. His smile was godlike. Everything about him was wonderful.
He was probably the best athlete the school had ever seen. He played football, basketball and track. No one could beat him in any game. It wasn’t at all unusual to see girls pawing all over him, hanging on his every word, everywhere he went. He sat with all the other jocks two tables away.
I could only admire him from afar.
“Give it up, Chris,” Tiffany said. “You’ll never have the guts to talk to him.”
“I do too,” I argued, even though she was right. I got tongue tied within a few feet of him. I’ve never heard anyone make so many odd sounds around a person before. I apparently was the queen of strange noises.
“I dare you to go up to him now,” Tiffany prodded.
I looked to Sam for support, but he just took another bite of his sandwich and chewed like it was the only thing on earth.
“I can’t,” I moped. “He’s around too many people.”
Lunch ended with Tiffany deciding I was the biggest chicken in the world, and that I would probably die alone because I was too afraid to talk to him. I laughed it off and rushed to art class.
I didn’t know anybody in the class. All Mrs. Fletcher did the whole time was tell us how we needed a sketchbook, a portfolio and special artist pencils for her class. She didn’t go into any detail about the projects, just that there would be a lot of them.
Gym was one of my favorite subjects, not because of the sports, but because it was another opportunity to socialize. Coach Green went over all his rules and regulations, and then talked about how he was splitting his time between teaching and coaching football. He paced up and down like a drill sergeant.
Ethan was in the class too. He watched Coach Green with the utmost respect. And I watched Ethan watch the coach for most of class.
Finally the last bell rang. One day down, a hundred, seventy nine to go.
I saw Ethan headed for the locker room and knew he was headed for the football field. I developed a sudden interest in football. Amazing how quickly someone can make their mind up about something. I ran outside to my mother’s car and leaned in the window. “Can I stay and watch football practice?”
She looked at the dashboard clock. “I don’t know, honey. I’ll have to come all the way back to get you.”
I rolled my eyes. It was a five minute drive, not that big of an inconvenience. She just liked to do things at their appropriate time and this wasn’t on the schedule.
“Pleeeeeeease.”
“Alright.” She smiled. “I have to get some groceries anyway. I’ll be back at 3:30.”
“Fine.” I moaned. Only an hour. Oh well, an hour watching Ethan practice was better than nothing.
I walked around the outside of the school, hoping to run into him when he came out of the locker room. He’s going to think you’re some kind of stalker, said the little voice in my head.
No, he’s not, I answered back. I’ll be lucky if he even knows I’m there.
I sat in the bleachers. The football team was already on the field, throwing passes and stretching. They wore their practice uniforms: white jerseys with red helmets. I realized I didn’t actually know Ethan’s number, and with their helmets on, I couldn’t tell one player from another.
That didn’t deter my enthusiasm though. Even when Coach Green started yelling and making them do “up downs”, which apparently meant throwing themselves on the ground and picking themselves up on each toot of the whistle, I sat there trying to figure out which one was Ethan.
I concentrated so much that I didn’t realize I was no longer alone. I nearly jumped out of my skin when a voice from behind said, “Hi, Christine. Everett’s number 26, by the way.”
I spun around, heart beating in my throat. Two people sat three rows back. “Hey, Kyle. Hey, Lance,” I said with very little enthusiasm. Not only had they broken me out of my perfect mental game but I knew exactly what they were going to ask me.
“So what happened in Chem today?” Kyle (I think) asked.
“Yeah, you totally spazzed out,” finished Lance.
I sighed and went back to watching practice. Green had the team broken in two groups now. Offense ran passing drills while defense pushed a metal sled across the field. I searched for number 26 and saw Ethan beat the man covering him by a mile as he caught a pass. I cheered for him in my head.
“Come on, Chris,” one of the twins said. “It’s the talk of the school. You have to give us the scoop.”
“Everyone is saying you had a meltdown,” said the other. “I keep telling them it’s way too early for that.”
“October holds the record for first meltdown.”
“Look! I put my head down on the desk,” I practically yelled, not knowing where my sudden anger came from, “I dozed off and I thought I heard something. I was wrong! Okay?”
Lance made a noise that sounded like a hissing cat and they laughed. I rolled my eyes and went back to ignoring them. I wished they would have left it alone like I asked. I looked for Ethan, trying to remember his number, but my mind blanked.
Now I heard three distinct voices.
I gotta get gas before we go home, from either Kyle or Lance.
We’re never gonna win a game this year, came the exasperated groan of Coach Green.
Why the hell is that little freak out here? This from Samantha, the evil cheerleader.
The voices, overlapped one another, but I heard and understood each one. I turned to Kyle and Lance, thinking that they were trying to trick me, but neither were laughing. Worst of all, neither were paying any attention to me because they were gawking at the cheerleaders.
I hadn’t even noticed Samantha and her crew of goons come out onto the track. Samantha shot me a smile, as if I hadn’t heard what she just said about me.
I realized then, that she hadn’t said it. If she had, all the cheerleaders would have been glancing up at me, and a few would at least be giggling. Coach Green was yelling at his players that they weren’t trying hard enough. And Kyle and Lance were simply whistling the tune to “Saved by the Bell.”
I didn’t want to ask, knowing what the answer would be, and afraid of being made fun of. But I opened my mouth anyway. “Did one of you just say something?”
“No,” they both said.
“I could have sworn one of you said you had to go and get gas.”
Kyle put his head back and opened his mouth to crack up laughing, but Lance stopped him by saying, “I was thinking that.”
“Thinking?” Suddenly my head spun in five directions at once.
“You a psychic or something?”
How to answer? I wasn’t when I got up that morning. At least that gave me two options. I was either psychic, or psycho.
Then I thought about that morning. Sam didn’t seem to understand when I commented on something he’d said. Or did he think it?
Could I have possibly read his mind?
“What am I thinking now?” Kyle asked, testing me.
I stifled a giggle with a hand against my mouth. What did I have to lose by giving it a try? I concentrated on Kyle and Kyle only, willing my mind to touch his. I scrunched up my face and knew I must look ridiculous, but I wanted so badly for it to work.
I got nothing. “I don’t know.”
“She’s not psychic,” Kyle told his brother. “It was just a coincidence.”
“Just a coincidence.” I sighed. Not being psychic only left the other option and I decided I didn’t want to think about it anymore.
****
The more I tried not to think about it, the more I thought about it. That night, in bed, I worried something was wrong with me. I couldn’t tell anyone I was hearing voices. My mother would haul me to hundreds of doctor’s to check everything from head to bladder.
Somehow I knew that wasn’t the right course to take. The problem was, I couldn’t convince my rational mind that I was, in fact, sane. So, I lay there, in the complete blackness of my room, staring up at the ceiling until I drifted off into oblivion.
The next thing I knew sunlight poured through my window. My mother was banging on my door. “Christine! Get your butt out of bed! I’m not going to call you again!”
“I’m up,” I groaned.
She tromped back down the stairs. Either she’d given up, or she was going to get a sledgehammer to break down my door. My money was on the former. I sat up and stretched until my spine cracked, then crawled out of bed and prepared for another dreadful day.
It can’t be worse than yesterday, the voice in my head tried to convince me.
Are you sure?
Not really, the voice admitted.
I threw on a black shirt and skirt and went into my bathroom to do my hair and brush my teeth. My hair wasn’t too terrible, not that I cared much anyway. I threw a couple of rubber bands in it to make a pair of very short pigtails and was done.
Would you stop speaking to me? I asked the voice. Talking to myself isn’t helping the whole sanity thing.
No, the voice said and went silent.
“Great,” I muttered after I spit the toothpaste foam from my mouth. “Even my own mind is copping an attitude with me.”
My mother was waiting in the kitchen, appearing very impatient. Dad sat at the table, finishing his coffee. I couldn’t have been that late if he was still here.
“Morning, little girl,” he greeted me with a smile and a kiss on my cheek.
“Morning, Dad.” I yawned, a hand over my gaping maw.
“You better start setting that alarm of yours, young lady.” My mother pulled a Pop-tart out of the microwave. She pretty much slammed it down on the plate and slid it across the blue and white checkered tablecloth. “I’m tired of having to wake you up every morning.”
“I’m sorry, I forgot.”
“You better remember, because I’m not waking you up again. By the way, we’re going shopping this weekend. I’m tired of you wearing black all the time. You look like a vampire.”
I didn’t know how I managed it, but I’d really pissed her off. It was the only time she ever mentioned my clothes. I looked to my father for support, but he suddenly found something interesting at the bottom of his mug.
Leave the girl alone, he said, but his lips never moved.
I jerked my head toward my mother. She went about washing the coffee pot, making no response to what my father said. And something like what would’ve received a comment. Which only confirmed…I was hearing things again.
Wonderful.
I swear I’m going to kill that girl one of these days, my mother’s voice said.
Wow. I knew she was angry, but I hadn’t realized I’d made her homicidal. I could practically feel the rage radiating off her like the heat from the sun. Without meaning to, I found myself backing away from her.
After a few bites of my Pop Tart, I concentrated. I wanted to see if I could hear more of her thoughts, but the harder I tried, the more impossible it got. Again, I wondered if I was insane. Seemed the most likely answer.
I jumped up. “I’ll walk to school today.”
I grabbed the remains of the Pop-tart, kissed them both goodbye and was out the door before either could object. School was only a little more than a mile away. Still had plenty of time to make it. I needed time to think, and I certainly wasn’t going to get that at home.
Maybe, if I just don’t think about it, it will go away.
That’s what I intended, whole-heartedly, to do. This little problem would go away as quickly as it came if I just ousted it from my head. I felt a little more cheerful as I walked down my driveway, staring up at the slightly pink sky.
Chapter 3
Lunch
It didn’t work. As a matter of fact, the situation grew worse. I rushed through the halls, not to get out of the crowd, but to keep people’s thoughts from invading my head. It was horrible.
My friends thought I was having a nervous breakdown. I kept yelling at them to speak up, even when it was quiet. I rubbed my palms against my head, over and over, as if that might wipe out the voices. They were giving me the worst headache, but unfortunately, not the kind of headache Tylenol could cure.
If I wasn’t insane yet, I soon would be.
Nearly two weeks into the school year, I was in English, listening to Ms. Schroeder talk about Edgar Allan Poe. I really wanted to listen because I liked Poe, but I just couldn’t concentrate. Gina Russel was thinking about her date on Friday night with Jim White. Kenny Mitchell was doodling a picture of a jet fighter in the margin of his notebook, and thus was playing scenes from Top Gun in his head. Ian Lowry was even worse; he was going over lines for his audition in the school play.
How could anyone concentrate with all that going on?
Sam, who loyally sat next to me, even as I drifted into madness, passed me a note when Ms. Schroeder was writing some notes on the board.
Go to the nurse.
I shook my head. No way I was going to the nurse’s office. First, she would ask if I was pregnant. Then, she’d call my mother. Then, I’d be sitting in the doctor’s office, which I didn’t want. “I’m fine,” I mouthed.
He didn’t believe me.
Thankfully the bell rang at that moment.
However, the thankfulness ended in the cafeteria. Lunch: the most dreaded period of the day. The one period I could actually socialize with Tiffany had been taken away by this curse. The evil hex wouldn’t let me get my thoughts in order to string together words into sentences.
I grabbed lunch (pizza again) and ignored the lunch lady’s nasty thoughts about what I wore to school. Lately, I found it amazing, the difference between what people said and what they thought. So many kids got on someone if they considered them to “fake”, but as it turned out, everyone was fake.
“I love you,” I heard David tell Tiffany after school one day last week, but his thoughts were much different. I can’t wait to go out with Amber on Thursday.
I tried to tell Tiffany, but she claimed I was jealous and demanded evidence. But I had none. I could hardly use mind reading in a court of law. I dropped the subject, because I didn’t want to lose her as my friend. I could at least be there for her when she found out the truth.
I sat at our usual table, and it wasn’t long before Sam and Tiffany sat too. I tried my best to concentrate, but it was so hard, and only made my headache worse.
They sat on the opposite side of the table, and stared. I knew I looked like hell. I saw the dark circles under my eyes, and the paleness of my skin in the mirror that morning. I thought about what Sam said to me the first day of school about how I “wasn’t Goth”. I certainly looked the part now. All I missed were the fake fangs and the huge cross around my neck (mine was only a small one).
I didn’t need my mind reading talent to tell they were worried about me. It was on their faces and in their voices.
“Chris? Are you listening?”
Tiffany shot me an annoyed look.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized for the millionth time. Not for the first time, I wondered how much more patience my friends would have with me.
“I was asking if you wanted to see Bloody Hatchet with me and David on Friday.”
“No,” I said a little too quickly and regretted it immediately. Going to a crowded theater to see the latest psycho killer probably wasn’t the best idea. “Sorry,” I added.
My apology didn’t stop her from thinking, You don’t need to be so rude.
“Chris,” Sam said. “You really need to tell us what’s wrong. You haven’t been the same since school started.”
“Nothing,” I lied, and they both knew it. “Let’s just say I need to deal with it myself.”
“Whenever you decide to talk to us...” Tiffany grabbed her tray and stood up. “Come on, Sam.”
He said nothing, but thought, Feel better, as he followed Tiffany across the cafeteria.
I wanted to kick myself. Why couldn’t I just tell them what was going on? They would understand; they were my friends after all. We’d been through thick and thin together. We’d been friends since I moved here in seventh grade. I thought about following them, but there was no way they would listen.
I chewed my pizza, wallowing in my misery. I tried to oust the thoughts from of my head. Unfortunately, they only grew louder. My mind latched onto one thought, louder than the rest: Look, her so-called friends even abandoned her.
Samantha. My eyes landed on her. She sat three tables away, with the other cheerleaders. Normally, I ignored her. Today, I needed to take my rage and frustration out of something. It might as well have been her.
I thought about punching her in the nose. Not only would it make me feel better, she’d also miss some competitions because of the bruises. I glared daggers, at the hateful girl. Nothing. She didn’t burst into flames or drop dead where she sat. Not that I expected her to, as much as I hoped she would.
Oh god, she’s staring at me now, she thought, but her mouth said the same words.
How “one track mind” can you be? I thought.
My anger boiled up. A stupid airhead like that could do nothing better than make fun of me. She could barely keep her own thoughts out of the clouds.
It’s no wonder her friends abandoned her, she thought again, who would want to hang out with a freak like that? She emphasized the word “freak”.
Freak. If there was anything I hated more than being called Chris, it was being called a freak. I wasn’t a freak! Yeah, I heard other people’s voices in my own head, and yeah, half the time I felt like I was going to crack, but I was not a freak!
I restrained myself once again from walking over there and tearing her still beating heart from her chest. However, my eyes remained locked on my nemesis.
She glanced at me for a second more, before turning back to the other airheads. What do you think of a freak that wears all black, has pasty skin, and no friends? She whispered it, but I heard every word. The others giggled, knowing full well who Samantha was talking about.
I wish she’d stop staring me, she continued whispering, it’s making me uncomfortable.
Good, I thought. It wasn’t much, but discomfort was good enough for now.
Maybe she loves you, Rebecca Monswa, one of the other cheerleaders said, which earned her a quick slap from Samantha.
Suddenly Samantha yelled, “What are you looking at, freak?”
Our eyes locked and the strangest thing happened: I felt like I was sucked out of my seat. Everything swam in a sort of haze. Somehow I’d gotten inside Samantha’s head.
The first image I saw was Mr. Diddle, Samantha’s father, standing in their kitchen. He looked drunk; he held a half empty beer in his hand. Samantha was cleaning off the kitchen table.
“You’re never going to amount to anything!” he screamed. “I don’t know why we even put up with you!”
Samantha, holding back tears, continued wiping the table with a sponge. “You don’t contribute around here. You’re grades are a joke!” he continued.
Samantha laid the sponge on the table and walked out of the room.
Her father continued, “All you think about is boys and that stupid dancing you call cheerleading!”
My mind followed Samantha up the stairs. She slammed her bedroom door and threw herself onto her bed sobbing. I almost felt sorry for the girl. Almost, but not quite.
The scene shifted. I was in the back of the bus. Samantha and Betty, another of her cheerleading friends, sat in front of me. “Oh my god, what are you going to do?” Betty asked.
“I don’t know,” Samantha whined.
“They’re going to kick you off the squad. I can’t believe you failed history.”
The scene shifted again, and again and again. Each time I witnessed things inside Samantha’s head. A date that ended badly, a deadly car accident when the driver had too much to drink. Her father came up many times, each time worse than the last.
Finally, I settled into blackness. I’m not sure if that’s the best way to describe it. It was an emptiness, all around me and Samantha. Suddenly, something changed: Samantha screamed. I realized that I was looking at her greatest fear. My mind latched onto this before I even realized it. When I was firmly attached to this particular fear, a swarm of rats ran up and completely covered her body. Samantha screamed in utter terror. She kicked and flailed and hit herself, trying desperately to beat the rats off her.
After several moments the blackness melted away, as did the rats. I was back in the cafeteria, looking at Samantha scream and kick and hit herself. I was confused for about half a second, until I realized that Samantha had been seeing exactly what I saw. She really thought she was being attacked by rats. As she realized the images had faded, she stopped screaming and flailing about.
It was the quietest I had ever heard the cafeteria. It was unbearably silent. Everyone was shocked by the cheerleader’s blood curdling screams.
For the first time in weeks, the entirety of the cafeteria laughed out loud, and it wasn’t aimed at me. That felt good.
Samantha, still confused, peered around at the laughing faces and began to cry. It was the first time I’d seen her cry in real life. Again, I almost felt sorry for her as she sprinted out of the room, her hair flailing the same way her arms had just moments ago. I couldn’t give her even an ounce of sympathy.
She’s gone psycho.
What was that all about?
I think she has her period.
I always knew she was crazy.
I wonder what we’re having for lunch tomorrow.
These and a thousand other thoughts raced through the brains of the students. I noticed, with another small sense of satisfaction, that even her supposed friends were making fun of her.
“Who has no friends now?” I found myself saying. Cruel, but true.
I got up from the table and threw out the remnants of my lunch. Once again, the torrent of thoughts was too much to handle. I had to get out of there before my head really did explode.
Even though the headache was unbearable, I still found myself thinking, Maybe this isn’t such a curse after all.
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