Then the dread hit me. English class. UGH. But wait! I didn’t have to worry about my stupidpowers flaring up! I could say and do whatever I wanted. I could get even.
“Mrs. Brannon? Can I be excused a few minutes early?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said, waving me off.
I grabbed my stuff, ran to my locker, and scooped up every notebook I had. There weren’t enough, so I opened Charlie’s locker and dug through the wasteland at the bottom. “How is it so messy in here already?!” There I found many abandoned notebooks that didn’t have any writing on them or in them. Perfect. I wrote as I ran, flipping over the notebooks as I scribbled on the covers. It wasn’t my most pristine work, but it was very effective.
The bell rang, and I was ready and waiting. As the class before ours trailed out of Mr. Murray’s English room, I kept an eye out for Mr. Stephens. As the last student left, so did he.
Yes, I said to myself.
I ran into the classroom and quickly set a notebook on each desk, saving a very special one for Mr. Stephens’s desk. I was tired of him thinking he was so cool for picking on me. And, honestly, tired of the other kids thinking he was cool, too. They needed to see what Mr. Stephens really was: a control freak and a bully. I knew that if the joke was at his expense, he would lose his cool. And that’s exactly what I wanted—even if it landed me in the principal’s office.
Then I went across the hall and waited, watching my classmates enter. One by one they went in, and a few seconds later I’d hear them laugh. Excellent. I wished Charlie could be there to see it.
Finally, Mr. Stephens returned and I followed him in. All the kids were standing around the edges of classroom giggling.
“Well, hello,” he said to them. “What’s going on here?”
I slid in unnoticed with the other kids as Mr. Stephens approached his desk. He spotted the notebook I’d left him. “Oh, hardy-har-har,” he said, then looked for me. I ducked behind one of the basketball players. “Has she left one on all of your desks, too?” he asked, then walked around the room checking. “She did. An entire classroom of imaginary students, including an imaginary teacher!”
The kids giggled. I stood on my tiptoes to get a view. Mr. Stephens was obviously embarrassed by the kids laughing. Suddenly he let out a giant laugh. “Ha! Well, it looks like Imagin-Amy is going to be the teacher today, or at least that’s what it says on my desk.”
Oh, crud. He was trying to go with it so the kids didn’t laugh at him.
“Maybe she will take on one human student?” he asked my classmates as he flicked one of my notebooks off the desk in the center of the room. “Yep. Looks like Ian-maginary will give up his seat!”
The kids started to laugh with him. My plan was backfiring!
“What are we going to learn today, teacher?” he asked Imagin-Amy. “It’s a shame that there isn’t space for the other students today. I think someone thought they could get me to lose my temper and show that I can’t take a joke.” He surveyed his audience, my classmates. “I’ll just have to be a big old meanie. Or…” A sly grin spread across his face. “… Give all of you the day off!” Mr. Stephens laughed loudly as he put his feet up on the desk. “No teacher, no seats, no class! What else can I do? I’ll just be here wasting taxpayer money!”
The class went berserk! Everyone was cheering, and Mr. Stephens was basking in the love. Gross.
“Mr. Stephens!” a very irritated southern drawl bellowed from the open doorway.
Mr. Stephens nearly fell out of his chair! I pushed to the front of the group of students to see what was happening.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing to my students?!” Mr. Murray asked him.
Mr. Stephens stood up, shocked. He quickly scanned the room until he found me and pointed. “I-it was Veronica McGowan!”
Mr. Murray shook his head in confusion and turned to me. “Miss Veronica, could you enlighten an old man about this frivolity happening in his very own learning sanctuary?”
I loved Mr. Murray.
“Well, sir. I’m not sure why Mr. Stephens is singling me out presently, but these are the facts: Mr. Stephens invented an imaginary friend on our first day of school,” I began.
Mr. Murray raised his eyebrows, and Mr. Stephens started to visibly sweat.
“Well, that’s not entirely—” Mr. Stephens started.
“Don’t interrupt,” Mr. Murray scolded him.
I continued, “And every day he made that imaginary friend more and more part of our class. He even gave her a name.”
“It’s not—” He tried to interrupt again.
“Imagin-Amy,” one of my classmates chimed in.
“Oh, all of you were in on it,” Mr. Stephens said under his breath.
There were a few gasps as the other kids began to turn on Mr. Stephens.
“He was bullying Veronica, Mr. Murray!” Evelyn Baker called from the back of the room.
“Yeah!” a few other students agreed.
“Bullying? Please, Evelyn,” Mr. Stephens scoffed. “The only one here who has been bullied is me. And it was by you when you sang Ave Maria at the talent show.”
“Mr. Stephens, did you just chastise a child?” Mr. Murray was horrified.
“I think I’m done here,” Mr. Stephens said with a big, fake smile, ignoring what Mr. Murray had said.
There was a lot of muffled laughter as Mr. Stephens grabbed his things.
“Settle down, class, and kindly take your seats,” Mr. Murray instructed.
I made sure to linger long enough that Mr. Stephens and I would cross paths as he left.
“You’d think after all these years a sense of humor would have grown on you!” I said quietly as he stomped by.
He narrowed his eyes and shook his head at me.
I pretty much floated through the rest of the day. If I had my powers, I probably really would have! But also, if I had my powers, I never would have stood up to Mr. Stephens for fear that they would flare up. So, there ya go. I took a very detailed account of what had happened in a note for Charlie. When I popped it in his locker, I couldn’t help but worry what was waiting for me in mine. There was a green, ragged piece of paper folded into an uneven square waiting on top of my math workbook. I took it but hesitated before opening it. Everything was really about to change. Charlie would have a girlfriend. And here I had thought it was weird to say my dad had a girlfriend. Saying Charlie did was one hundred times weirder. Thinking it was Betsy was about a million times weirder still.
I exhaled sharply and opened the note before I could think anymore. Charlie had written extensively about his breakfast and what he planned on having for lunch, then at the bottom he had added, “Haven’t told her yet! Gonna make it special and tell her after school today, so don’t wait for little romantic me!”
I didn’t. As soon as the last bell rang, I began a victory march home.
Now that was a day at school. I had forgotten just how much easier things were without powers. I could go back to focusing on Normal Kid stuff! I bounded down the hill. At the intersection I was thrilled to see a familiar green SUV.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A MOTHER OF A PROBLEM, THE SEQUEL
I looked around to make sure there weren’t any witnesses. I would tell Dad and Charlie about this … when the time was right. Given how no one was trusting me to make decisions lately, I wasn’t going to waste an opportunity by handing over my decision-making power this time.
“Hi,” I said quietly as I got in the passenger seat and put my seatbelt on.
“My place okay?” my mother asked.
“Sure.” Getting asked to my mother’s house the first time we were hanging out was funny. Not ha-ha funny, but amusing considering I had yet to be invited to Ms. Watson’s house. We drove a few minutes to the east side of town and parked in front of a brown brick duplex.
“I didn’t know you lived so close.”
“It’s a fairly new development. Come on in.”
She led me up the short set o
f stairs and unlocked the door. Once I stepped inside, I noticed a definite decorating style.
“You like figurines?” I asked.
A broad smile covered her face. “Yes, I’m a bit of an addict,” she confessed.
Addicted would be a descriptive, apt word for sure. All the shelves, every ledge, and even the top of the refrigerator were covered in small ceramic statues. Most of them were of cute children doing old-timey things like carrying buckets or talking on a rotary phone.
“How about a glass of milk?” she asked.
“I’m okay,” I answered.
She went into the kitchen, which was just on the other side of a breakfast counter. She poured a glass of milk anyway and brought it to me.
“Cheers,” she said, and sat down on the couch. I followed.
Then it was quiet. I certainly didn’t know what to say.
“I like that one,” I said, pointing to a figurine of an elf that was holding a microphone.
“Oh, that’s Elvis,” she said with a small laugh. “He and Ignacio are never apart.”
I looked next to Elvis and saw what must have been Ignacio: a statue of a turtle with a dripping bucket of paint resting on the back of its shell.
“Cute,” I said.
Then it went silent again. I took a few long sips of milk. It wasn’t very cold.
“So, the last time I saw you, things went badly,” she said hesitantly. “And I guess the time before that went really badly.”
That was true. If you wanted me to be all police-reporty about it, I would describe what would be considered an attempted kidnapping, followed by Agent/Ms. Watson stepping in and keeping the mother away. Then, unfortunately, the spited mother called the troubled daughter all sorts of not-friendly names and may have implied that she was a freak of nature.
“It wasn’t that bad,” I offered.
“Sometimes things get out of hand,” she said. “Just happens. I hope you know I only wanted what was best for you.”
I nodded. “I’m sorry.”
She let out a sigh. “You shouldn’t need to be sorry, Veronica. What has happened to you—you can’t control that. Or couldn’t? But now?”
“Uh, yeah! I’m cured. Charlie’s moms are scientists and they found a way!”
“You’re cured now?”
“Yep!”
She looked at me, unsure.
“You can scare me or, you know, make me mad or whatever. It won’t make my powers flare up.”
“Powers? That’s how they work?”
I hadn’t even realized. She was so not part of my life that she didn’t even know we called them powers or how they were triggered.
“That was our, uh, best guess. Emotional stress. Different things happen. Would happen. Still trying to get used to that.”
“Right on,” she said.
“I mean, something definitely would have happened today. Mr. Stephens had been kind of a jerk to me at school.”
“Jason Stephens?” she said bitterly. “Yuck.”
I giggled. “Yeah, that’s how I feel about him, too. He’s not my favorite teacher by any means.”
“And Agent—I mean, Ms. Watson is a teacher there now, too?” she asked.
“No, she’s a guidance counselor.”
“So weird.”
“She’s actually pretty good at it,” I said. Why did I say that? Something made me instantly defend Ms. Watson. My mother didn’t seem to notice.
“And now your father is getting married to that woman?” she continued. “Blows my mind.”
“Mine, too,” I confessed.
“Really?”
I nodded again. It felt weird to be so honest with her. Actually, it felt kind of good.
“Is she good at taking care of you?”
“Ms. Watson is … different,” I said.
“Suppose you’ll be calling her Mom soon enough, huh?” she asked. She got a cigarette out of her purse and put it in her mouth. She was about to light it, but then stopped after she spotted me. It was almost like she had forgotten I was there for a second. “Sorry.” She tucked the cigarette behind her ear.
“I don’t think I’ll ever call her Mom. She doesn’t really do traditional ‘mom-type’ things.”
“Good. I’m your only mom ever,” she said fiercely, then gave a sharp laugh. “I wish I had more of a say in that. Being your mom, I mean.”
“You do,” I assured her.
She nodded. “There’s been a lot I’ve wanted to say to you. Like, it’s okay to be freaked out by your powers. You know that, right? Rik wants you to think they’re great and all, but it’s okay to disagree. That’s why I’m here now. To be a good influence. So you have someone on your side, you know?”
I took a sip of my milk and then put it on the end table, sliding it between two matching baby figurines.
“How is everything else? School? That friend of yours … the boy with the accent…”
“Charlie,” I refreshed her memory.
“You two a couple yet?”
I laughed. “No! No. He’s my best friend.” I paused. “Or, he was my best friend. I’m not sure anymore.”
“You get in a fight or something?”
“No. He’s just been busy with…” I trailed off, not knowing how to phrase it.
“Ah! Another woman,” she declared.
“He’s been hanging out with his friend—our friend—Betsy a lot.”
“That’s how it goes. Men find new friends and other lovers. Suddenly you’re obsolete.”
I thought about Dad and Ms. Watson.
“And it can’t be easy being the third wheel with your father and that woman.”
She had read my mind. “I don’t think they think that.”
“They will. How could they not?” She shrugged. “But anyway, let’s do something fun, shall we? Do you like board games?” She dug under the coffee table and produced a deck of UNO cards.
“Sure,” I agreed.
We played a few rounds before my phone began to buzz.
“Aren’t you a little young to have one of those?” my mother asked.
“Dad says it’s for safety.” I added, “He doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Maybe let’s keep it that way,” my mother said, rolling her eyes playfully.
I giggled and then looked at my phone. It was Dad just warning me that he ordered the asparagus side dish with our dinner, and that I was going to try it. I hated asparagus. “I should get going,” I told her, having also noticed the time.
“No problem.”
“Can I use your bathroom before we go?”
She nodded. “Down the hall to the left.”
Walking down the hall I noticed that there were two bedrooms. One was obviously her bedroom, but the other was filled with boxes and Christmas decorations. A room waiting for someone to fill it.
She drove me to a few blocks from our house, so that we wouldn’t be spotted.
“Wanna hang out again tomorrow? I think you owe me a rematch,” she asked.
“Yeah, I’d like that … Mom.”
“Great! Same time, same place, doodlebug!”
I waved to her as she drove away, then headed home—though I was starting to wonder how much longer it would be my home.
* * *
“Help yourself.” Dad pointed to the stack of Thai food takeout containers in the kitchen.
“What are you guys doing?” I asked, looking into the living room. It was an odd sight; they were both holding their left hands in the air and looking at them.
“Rings came,” Ms. Watson told me.
“Oh, neat. Can I see?” I asked as I rushed up to them.
They both pulled the shiny gold bands off and plopped them into my hand. “You two are so traditional,” I commented as I twirled the bands around in the light. I noticed some writing inside each of them. Squinting, I read “Two hearts…” engraved in one band and “beat as one” in the other.
“Can’t go wrong with U2,” my dad s
aid confidently.
“Yeah,” I said weakly. I handed them the rings. “Mind if I eat in my room? I have some major homework.”
“Sure. Get to it, go-getter,” Dad said.
“Do you need assistance?” Ms. Watson asked as I left the room. It was the first time she’d offered to help with homework, so both Dad and I turned to look at her strangely. “Do you?” she repeated.
“Uh, nope,” I said. “Thanks, though.” Oh, no … I forgot that I was supposed to … “Ms. Watson. I, um, really want to apologize for my behavior, um, when I murdered your windshield. Please let me know how much it cost to fix and I will repay you.”
Dad nodded at me.
“I’m really, really sorry.”
He gave me a thumbs-up.
“I accept your apology, McGowan. It takes a great deal of maturity to admit when you’ve acted inappropriately, especially when you are in the pre-adulthood, post-child stage of your life. So, well done. And no need to repay me. Insurance covered it.”
“… Thanks,” I said slowly. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.” As I left I spotted my dad giving Ms. Watson the same thumbs-up he gave me.
Upstairs, I messaged Charlie. A few seconds later, the video messaging app on my computer trilled.
“Hey!” I said nervously. “I thought you’d be out on a date.”
“Timing wasn’t right,” Charlie sighed, and conked his head on the camera. “I’ll tell her tomorrow.”
“Maybe it’s a sign that the timing will never be right?” I ventured.
“It’ll be right tomorrow,” he said confidently.
“How do you know that?”
“I just do.”
I laughed.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “You might want to wipe off your camera. You got it a little greasy.”
He wiped it with his shirttail while talking. “Seriously, why the laughs?”
“It wasn’t a laugh-laugh. It was just a life-is-weird laugh,” I explained.
“That really is of no help, V.”
I paused and gathered my thoughts. I wanted to say this in the smartest way possible. “What do you like about Betsy? I mean, it’s Betsy.” Oh, Veronica.
“I dunno. I mean, she’s—”
All the Feels Page 7
