by Alana Siegel
I picked up a pair of round silver balls on the ends of two earring posts. Closing my fist around them, I held them against my chest and shut my eyes. I didn’t feel any tingling sensations or surges of power. Actually, I felt empty and alone.
“Hey Liv, what are you doing in my jewelry box?” Mom asked warmly, surprising me with her presence.
“Mom! I didn’t think you were home. I would have asked to look through your jewelry,” I stammered and placed the earrings back in its place. She came up behind me, putting her hands on my shoulders.
“I was in the basement. I guess I didn’t hear you come in,” she said with a smile. “Oh! I always loved those earrings. Are you looking for something to wear to the homecoming dance?” she asked excitedly, holding my shoulders and shifting my weight to get a better look at me. I stepped back, out of her hold.
“Homecoming…yes, yes I was,” I said. Concerned filled her eyes as she looked at me. She was always able to hear the things I didn’t say out loud. Her eyes traveled from my face to my neck. I looked down and saw my hand clasping my necklace. I quickly dropped my hand to my side.
“Did you already find something you like?” Mom asked, coming closer to get a better look. I stood there as she cupped the charm in her hand and examined its details. It took all my effort to keep my hands at my sides. I grasped my pants to ensure they stayed in place.
“No, this is my own,” I practically whispered. Her eyes flickered to my face again. I saw the concern swell. Creases dug into her forehead and around her eyes. I knew that look. She was analyzing the situation, trying to figure out the right thing to say. Time moved slowly.
Did the necklace look familiar to her? Did she know my fate as one of the Gifted? Was she a part of the Gifted as well?
“Did Max give you this necklace?” she asked, her voice thick with loathing. I was surprised that she would connect the necklace to Max. I tilted my head, trying to decipher what she meant by her tone. She didn’t like the way Max treated me, but this sounded like outright hatred. I stepped back once more. Allowing me the space, she released the charm.
“No, he didn’t,” I said with a little more feeling than was necessary. I had extinguished my mom's concern about Max and the necklace, yet I did not find what I was looking for and felt more alone than ever.
* * * *
Chapter Twelve: A Gifted Player
“I’m glad you decided to come to the game. You sounded upset after the incident at the mall,” Helen said, linking her arm through mine as we walked into the gym.
Of course Helen would notice my hesitation and anxiety on the phone and would want to fix it. I was upset and there was no hiding it from her. I didn't purposely keep it a secret from her, however; I just didn’t know how to explain that everything I understood to be true in the world had been turned upside down and inside out.
I didn't know how to answer questions like 'Why did I have this power?' and 'Was it fair to use it on people?' They were logical questions a person like Helen would ask.
Although, let’s be honest. I wasn't as caring as Helen. I was more concerned about myself than my affect on the rest of the world.
We climbed to the middle of the bleachers. The seats were filled with fans, and the girls’ varsity basketball team was warming up on the court. Helen adjusted her bag in her lap and turned to face me. A devious smile spread across her face.
“Come on, Liv. I’ve been patient for long enough. Are you going to tell me what happened with Cliff or not? Did he ask you to the homecoming dance?” She asked, exasperated. I had almost forgotten my sudden friendship with Cliff, or should I say control over Cliff. I should have guessed that word would spread quickly. I internally debated telling her the truth, but what would it sound like to her? I put Cliff under a magic spell? It sounded delusional.
Instead, I scoffed at her, “Really, Hel? Cliff is on the football team. Do you really think he would ask me to the homecoming dance?” She stared at me, stunned by my sudden guarded reaction. The confused look on her face cut right through me. Lying to her didn’t feel right, but what other options did I have?
Helen looked down at her hands, nodded her head, and said, “Right. Of course.” Her eyebrows pinched in concern, she looked right at me and said, “I knew that if anything was going on, you would have told me.” It was painful, but I nodded my head in agreement, never breaking her eye contact.
The tension subsided as the game began. I watched the uniformed girls step on to the court. Jaime stood in the center with her knees slightly bent and her hands out to her sides. She was in ready position. The referee blew his whistle, and Jaime jumped up and claimed the ball. She shot off in the direction of the basket, leaving the other school’s offensive players in the dust. With ease, she dribbled down the court, avoided the other team’s players, and scored a basket. The home section of the bleachers jumped up and cheered as her fellow teammates ran over to give her high fives.
You could tell immediately who was a talented player and who wasn’t. Jaime was all over the floor. Her skill was unmatched by any other player.
Halfway through the second quarter, Pandora was up by fifteen points. It wasn’t the game that I found interesting. It was Jaime’s style.
Jaime’s head turned left and right looking for her other teammate’s positions. She zoned in on Mary, an eager teammate, who was jumping up and down, waving her long, awkward arms in the air. Jaime had a clear path to the basket, but the team held the lead and the game wasn’t only about her.
Dribbling the ball behind her back and around an opponent, she positioned herself in a straight line to Mary. She ensured the pass to Mary was smooth and then continued to the net. Blocking the largest defensive player, she urged Mary to shoot the ball. The ball left Mary’s hands unblocked and formed an arc directly into the basket. The entire team charged Mary with excitement.
The farther ahead Pandora was in points, the more Jaime passed the ball to her teammates or subbed out for a freshman. She was a fierce competitor, but she humbly helped the other team’s players up from the floor if she knocked them out of the way. She could easily have been the star of the game, but she shared the spotlight with her teammates, using her talent to let others shine.
Right before halftime I turned to Helen and asked, “Has Jaime always been like that?” Helen gave me a quizzical look. “Like what?” She asked.
“Superbly talented, yet undeniably selfless?” I clarified.
“Sure, her mom is the same way. Just look at the way she treats her children,” Helen said, pointing to Jaime’s mom sitting in the front row of the stands. “She puts everyone else’s needs before her own. My mom always said Mrs. Forte was the reason all our camping trips went smoothly,” Helen added.
I watched Mrs. Forte sitting in the front row. A friendly woman with short brown hair, she threw her hands in the air and cheered for Jaime as she dribbled the ball up the court. As Pandora maneuvered the ball around the other school and into the basket, Mrs. Forte sat on the edge of her set with her eyes glued to Jaime.
At a pause in the action, she turned to Jaime’s sister, Emma, on the bench next to her. Emma had just asked Mrs. Forte a homework question, and I watched Mrs. Forte point to the textbook and gesture with her hands as she answered. Like a magic act, Mrs. Forte finished her explanation and turned her attention back to the game just as Jaime scored another point.
I watched Emma return to the books in her lap. Her light brown hair was pulled away from her face, but not tightly in a bun like Jaime’s. Her eyes and lips were similar enough to Jaime’s that you could tell they were sisters, but that was where the physical similarities stopped.
As Jaime subbed out of the game to give another teammate a chance to play, Jaime’s little brother, Michael, appeared on the other side of Mrs. Forte. Carrying a skateboard and leading a group of four of his friends, it was clear he cared little for the game.
Impressively balancing her attention, Mrs. Forte reached into her pocket for som
e cash and directed Michael to the concession stand before Jaime subbed back into the game.
Mrs. Forte split her time equally between her children. It was obvious that she put their needs first and foremost, whether it was as their cheerleader, their tutor, or their financial means.
The game resumed after halftime. Once again, Jaime stood at center court, keeping her eyes on her opponent and the ball. As the referee brought the whistle to her mouth, Jaime bent her knees, preparing to jump. The referee tossed the ball, and I watched Jaime lunge upward. Something wasn’t right. She was out of control, surging past the ball, high into the air.
Her face went from fierce and competitive to shocked and confused as she tumbled to the ground. Trying to regain her footing, she took a step back for the next few plays. The other players ran after the ball, but constantly checked for Jaime. The team was used to following her lead.
Eventually, Mary gained possession of the ball and passed it Jaime’s way. With the ball in her hands, she stood frozen. The seconds passed. Taking advantage of Jaime’s hesitation, three players from the other team charged her from different directions. Before they could slap the ball out of her hands, she dribbled the ball in a full circle and around the group.
Faster than I’d ever seen her run, she crossed the court. The crowd was silenced, anticipating a fantastic layup. Jaime was practically under the basket when she leaped toward the net. She released the ball from her hands with perfect timing and direction. The fans started clapping for the faultlessly executed layup, sure of two more points.
They celebrated too soon. There was too much power in the toss. It slid over the backstop, slamming against the ceiling and falling back to the ground with just enough distance for the other team to claim possession of the ball.
Jaime stood under the basket looking at her hands, flipping them over in front of her. I saw something sparkle in the dim light. No wonder she was flying across the gym when the three girls charged her. She was wearing her bracelet.
Jogging back into the game, she continued to play, switching back and forth between amazing plays and erratic movements. Jaime tried to balance the power, but I could tell it was frustrating her. I listened to the fans cheering her on. They didn’t seem to mind, chalking it up to extreme effort and exhaustion.
After the game, Helen asked if I wanted to grab something to eat. When I declined, mumbling that I wasn’t hungry, I could see the cloud return over her head. The smile completely drained from her face as she said goodbye and walked out the door by herself.
I gathered my belongings and walked out the back exit of the gym to wait for Jaime. I was thinking about the night with Ms. Magos. At the time, it had seemed surreal. The farfetched story was a fantasy, a sci-fi tale about a group of people called the Gifted. How could I possibly believe it?
Of course I felt the change of temperature in the room, but if anything was going to convince me, it was the necklace. Even after I heard the ridiculous story, I didn't want to take it off. I felt like it was part of me. And once I’d experienced my Gift, I also felt like it was an extension of me. Even though it made me act differently, it felt right. Maybe it was the way I ought to be?
That was as much as I had analyzed when Jaime walked up to me. I saw the sympathy in her eyes, like she knew I was mulling over the reality of my Gift in my head.
“Hypothetically speaking, are you sure it’s my Gift causing Cliff to act differently, and he doesn’t have a big crush on me?” I tried to look like the topic bored me. She shook her head, like she was apologizing for an unfortunate situation.
I didn’t want to believe it, but in an odd way, it made sense. I thought about gym class and how Jaime miraculously made it to over to protect me from Max's lightning. I pictured her impressive tumbling skills the day in the cafeteria when I thought I was being attacked by a tornado of hot lunches and plastic silverware.
“So that’s your Gift? You can run really fast? That’s definitely more useful than creating a lovefest,” I said, thinking of my own Gift. Jaime was suddenly shy and kicking rocks on the ground.
“Yes and no. It’s kind of like those stories you hear on the news of people doing superhuman things when they are under stress, like the mother who lifts the car off her trapped child. My body takes over when someone is in trouble. It’s like an adrenaline rush. Until that moment, my Gift is useless,” she said.
That’s exactly what caused her erratic performance in the second half of the game, after she put her Gifted bracelet on. Her speed and strength, emphasized by her Gift, was not controlled unless there was trouble.
We were quiet for a moment, both kicking the rocks at our feet, unsure what to make of this change in our lives. It was like we were finally seeing our real selves for the first time. I glanced at Jaime.
“Do you think it’s all true?” I looked into her eyes, scared of her answer. She shrugged.
* * * *
Chapter Thirteen: The Fifth
“The lotus flower begins its life as a small bud at the bottom of a pond,” Mr. Stackhouse said, beginning the Biology lesson for the day. He was sorting through a plastic container of materials on his desk. Every so often thick mud would slop over the sides and splatter on his lab station. I was starting to worry that I would be getting dirty this period. It was a small, welcomed concern, just like my full schedule of classes, and the loads of homework that distracted me from my growing list of troubles.
I glanced at Jaime who was my lab partner and felt a little less lonely. Our friendship didn’t flourish overnight, but at least she was someone I could share my Gifted experiences with. Despite Ms. Magos’s urging not to tell anyone about our Gift, I wasn’t purposely keeping it a secret from Helen. I knew she would never tell anyone. It was just that I hadn’t figured out the best way to say it. I could feel myself pulling away from her to avoid the conversation, and my guilty conscious was weighing on my shoulders.
To be fair, this new life was dangerous. I didn’t need to drag her into it. I thought of my brush with death and automatically checked for Max in the opposite corner of the room. I was taking every precaution to avoid Max in the hallways, but I don’t think it made a difference. Since that day he was even more detached than usual, staring out the window during class for full class periods without making one sarcastic comment.
“It slowly grows toward the water’s surface, continually moving toward the light,” Mr. Stackhouse said, the excitement building in his voice, even though he remained hunched over the materials in his hands. He walked through the rows of lab stations and handed out muddy pink plants and microscopes.
“Once it comes to the surface, it blossoms into a beautiful flower,” he said wistfully, brimming with pleasure that the class didn’t share. Approaching my desk, he handed me a microscope.
“Oh dear, I ran out of lotus flowers. Olivia, please move to Justin’s table. You will be his lab partner for today. Cliff and Jaime, please share with the table in the back.” I nodded my head and collected my belongings. Was this karma, some sort of cosmic punishment for using my Gift on people without their consent?
Cliff gave me a cautious smile as we passed each other to switch desks. Thanks to my new control over my Gift, we were pretty much back to the acquaintance status that we shared a few days ago. He never brought up the awkward moments between us, and I tried extra hard to keep my Gift in check whenever our paths crossed.
Justin barely looked at me as I reluctantly transferred my books over. I bet he thought I would try to flirt with him, but I hadn’t forgotten his obvious repulsion for me last gym class. I was beyond embarrassed, and flirting with him was the last thing I would be compelled to do.
I peeked at his face from the corner of my eye. His hair looked soft, and I had a sudden urge to run my fingers through it. My immense feelings for him rushed back. Plus, I wouldn’t soon forget that I owed him for saving my life from Max’s stray lightning bolt.
I opened my notebook and wrote the date on the top of the pag
e. Mr. Stackhouse was absorbed in his lab experiment, practically speaking to the flowers instead of the class. It was hard to pay attention to his lesson. Torn between wanting Justin to notice me and hoping I never embarrassed myself in front of him again, I finally conceded that he was going to ignore my existence. I was comforted by the thought that being ignored was better than confrontation.
I rested my head on my right hand and looked at him. When Justin still made no acknowledgment, I continued to watch and analyze him. He focused on the rust colored faucet in the center of our ancient lab desks. I didn’t know much about plumbing, but the faucet had a slow leak and the sink was in pretty bad shape. I guess you could say it was interesting if you were comparing it to Mr. Stackhouse’s lecture.
Justin was completely consumed by the task at hand, focused on one thing and one thing only. In a swift silent motion, he whipped out his Swiss army knife, the same knife that diverted the lightning and saved my life. Grabbing my interest, I immediately sat up straighter in my chair.
This was the first time I had a close up view of the knife. The silver handle was about an inch thick and three inches long. His fingers partially covered the engraving that looked like a “Y,” but the cross hatching design was simple and clear, like it had been etched yesterday, just like my necklace. I could see various tools stored inside the knife’s handle. He had one of the tools open. The head of the tool looked like a small wrench attached to the base by a piece of silver designed like a sturdier version of my necklace’s braided chain.
Both smart and good with his hands, I could see the wheels turning in Justin’s brain and his hands hard at work. I watched him use the tool to latch on to the bolts at the base of the faucet. The Victorian scripted “C” and “H” etchings on the knobs that he tightened were worn from overuse, and the basin of the sink had cracks in the side from years of abuse by bored students carving initials into the material with their lab supplies when the teacher wasn’t looking.
