CHAPTER ONE
BACK TO (UN)COOL
There were literally zero days left. The summer had zipped past like so many zippy things do: scooters, bugs, even … um, zippers. We stood at the precipice of The Future.
“Still here, innit?” my best friend Charlie grumbled in his faux British accent as he gazed up at the cold gray concrete face of Pearce Middle. The stark contrast between the dull building and Charlie’s bright red hair strained my eyes.
“Yep,” I sighed.
As usual, our lockers were in the same hall, and this year they were almost directly across from each other. It was a miracle. Charlie and I had been best friends since before the dawn of time, and our lockers had never been this close. Not even when our lockers were called cubbies.
“Sweet!” I said as we both got settled.
“What’s our combo again?” Charlie asked, fiddling with the lock from the set we had bought. It was tradition for us to have the same combination so we could get into each other’s lockers, should the need arise. Sort of our version of the Emergency Contact you put on a field trip permission slip. Except most of the time Charlie was just borrowing books, pencils, and the occasional apple. Not that I would ever want an eaten apple returned to me.
The bell rang.
“Okay, I’m in Fisher’s homeroom,” Charlie reminded me.
“And I’m in McGill’s.”
“Ta!” Charlie raced off. His homeroom was on the next floor. Luckily mine was just a few doors down.
I casually put my hands in my pockets and fanned my fingers, wiping my damp palms on the fabric inside. I was nervous. Who isn’t nervous on the first day of school? That was totally normal, but unlike all the normal kids around me, my nerves could cause a big problem. Not that long ago a very weird thing had started happening to me. My emotions, my strongest emotions—you know, the ones you try really hard to hide—started showing up in real life whenever I had them. Everyone could see exactly what I was feeling! Whether I saw my crush and got bombarded by giggling cartoon hearts or shrank to the size of an ant when I was scared, my emotions could embarrass me at any moment. Not to mention all the bad stuff that would come with the world finding out what I could do. I’m not (totally) complaining, though. Over the summer I had gotten better control over my “powers,” though that’s a whole other messy story. Anyway, I was having fewer uncontrolled flare-ups and was even beginning to feel when my emotions were going to burst into our dimension.
Still, I was very nervous.
I slid in just as the second bell rang and took a seat in the middle of the row closest to the windows. Looking around, I saw a few familiar faces. I easily spotted Hun Su, who looked like she’d just stepped out of a cool-girl boutique’s display window. She had caused me a lot of trouble last year, but we had made up over the summer when we were at film camp together. It was a lot of work but also a lot of fun, and I felt like I got to see another side of her. That side is just as perfect and beautiful, it turns out, but after spending so much time with her, I kinda felt like we came to an understanding. As much as you can really understand someone you have absolutely nothing in common with. But that was good enough for me. We shared a quick wave as Mr. McGill began roll call.
After that, it was time for announcements. The intercom crackled, and I heard the voices of two other kids from camp: the Tech Twins! Lizzie and Dean had been in charge of all things technical during our film production at camp. As you may have guessed, they were twins and very much lived up to everything TV had ever taught me about twins. It seemed like they had this psychic connection that meant they didn’t need to explain anything to each other. It was super cool.
Their announcement was brief and full of info, much like the Twins themselves. They told us about the lunch offerings and team tryouts and reminded us to have a wonderful day. The Twins normally weren’t big talkers, so it was fun to hear them be (forcibly) chatty. A few minutes after that, the bell rang again and I was off to art class. My absolute favorite! I looked around for Charlie. Much like our lockers had always been in the same hall, our schedules had always been the same, too. I wasn’t really sure about the science of it, but I was very grateful to science, or kismet, or Mr. Gonzales, who does all the school’s computer programming. Anyway, Charlie hadn’t gotten there yet, so I found us an open table and got settled in. With art as my first class, I probably wouldn’t be late a single day this year. Fresh from the office, Lizzie and Dean came in.
“Hey, you two!” I said once they spotted me and came over, claiming the table next to mine and Charlie’s. “You did great this morning.”
“Thanks,” Lizzie said. “We’re trying to round out our skill base.”
“The goal is to be in front of the camera and behind,” Dean explained.
“That’s great. I love a double threat. Or a double double threat, in your case,” I joked.
They both laughed.
“How’s Charlie?” Dean asked.
“Good! Should be here any minute.”
“Excellent,” Lizzie added. “I wanted to ask him for his brother’s email address.”
Charlie’s older brother, Nick, had run our film summer camp. I didn’t have a crush on him. Never. Never ever.
The bell rang again, and there was no Charlie.
Our art teacher, Mrs. Brannon, came in and looked around the room. “Happy first day, my morning advanced artists! Looks like everyone is here,” she said with a broad smile. “I’m so excited to see what each of you will come up with this term in our Free Art period.”
I raised my hand and said, “Charlie isn’t here yet, and I’m sure he’ll want to start with us.”
“Hmm.” Her brow furrowed. “Well, let’s get to work and see when he drifts in.”
The thing is, Charlie never drifted in. Not through the whole class.
I started work on my wedding gift to Dad and Ms. Watson. I had gone through a lot of ideas trying to come up with something that would be appropriate for both of them. It had taken about three days of Charlie and me wracking our brains to conclude that no such gift existed in the entire world. My dad was a rough-and-tumble, loud, bossy, nosy, wonderful man. Ms. Watson was stiff, quiet, and exacting—like a mix of a former FBI agent and a guidance counselor, which is exactly what she was. After learning about my powers, Ms. Watson decided to protect my butt as well as be a pain in it—which I say with all the love! It’s just some freaky intense opposites-attract stuff with those two. The gift I eventually landed on was a mantel-worthy portrait of the two of them, and considering realism isn’t my strongest area, it was going to be a really hard project. I was just roughing out the shapes of their heads when Mrs. Brannon stopped by to see how it was going.
“I’m really pleased you’re focusing on your technical skills this term, Veronica,” Mrs. Brannon said.
“At least for this project,” I confessed. “I think I’ll always prefer more abstract art.”
“What do you think about your composition there?” She pointed to the center of the canvas, between Dad’s and Ms. Watson’s heads.
“There isn’t anything there.”
“Hmm.” She nodded. “Might want to consider that.”
I considered it for a solid three milliseconds after she walked away. The wedding was too close and I needed to get this done. I had spent a lot of time trying to get good, natural pictures of the two of them together without seeming like I was their child stalker. I had finally decided to use one that Charlie had accidentally snapped at movie night a few weeks ago. They were both laughing, looking at the TV, but it was a great three-quarter profile shot of both of them. I was in the picture, too, sort of in the background, so I had Photoshopped myself out.
Next, I went to English class. I set one of my notebooks on the desk next to me so no one would sit there while I waited for Charlie to show up. Again, the class filled up, the bell rang, and there was no Charlie to be seen.
I pulled out my phone to text him quickly.
“This is the impression you want to give on the first day?” the voice of our English teacher boomed from over me. But that voice wasn’t the kindly southern drawl of Mr. Murray. It was a pinched, commanding voice that sent shivers down my spine.
“Mr. Stephens?” I squeaked, surprised to see our drama teacher anywhere near the English rooms. Talk about drama. Mr. Stephens had never liked me. I had auditioned for every single play he put on, both at school and at the local community theater, and he never cast me. I couldn’t have been that bad an actor. I mean, how bad do you have to be to get turned down for a non-speaking background role? We were also not the friendliest over the summer when my movie and his play were going to be shown at the same time. Although we found a way to work that out, our relationship had not grown even a degree warmer. Dad told me that people like Mr. Stephens thrive on creating drama, and the best thing you can do is avoid them.
“Unfortunately,” Mr. Stephens told the class, “the cruise ship that Mr. Murray was voyaging on was infected with keel-to-mast dysentery. I will be subbing for him until he is feeling good again.”
“Well,” I corrected him before I realized I was even doing it.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s, um, ‘feeling well,’ not ‘feeling good.’”
“Correcting people is not polite, Veronica.”
“I wasn’t trying to be rude. It’s only because we’re in English class,” I said meekly.
“It’s always something with you,” he said flatly.
Not so easy to avoid this drama, Dad, I thought.
“Which reminds me,” he said, returning his attention to my attempt to text Charlie.
“Sorry,” I said, and went to put the phone back in my pocket.
“Nope. Hand it over,” he said, his hand stretched out directly in front of my face.
I sighed and handed him my phone. There were quite a few snickers from my lovely, mature, and supportive classmates.
“You can get it back at the end of the day,” he said. Then, after he walked to the front of the room and plopped my phone into his desk drawer, he asked, “Who is missing? Did someone leave without asking permission?”
I quickly realized that Mr. Stephens was looking at the desk I had saved for Charlie. More than anything, I really did not want any more attention from Mr. Stephens. I was already embarrassed, and deep inside it felt like my powers were starting to wiggle to life. I wasn’t sure how long I could control them with Mr. Stephens on my case.
“Veronica, do you have any idea? It’s the seat right next to you,” he asked, but I could tell he already knew.
Fighting the biggest eye roll in the history of eye rolls, I said, “It’s mine. I was saving a seat for my friend.”
“An imaginary friend?” he asked. The class burst out in laughter, which only egged on his theater-loving, attention-seeking ego.
“No—” I started.
“Well, there isn’t anyone there, so they must not exist. Don’t worry, Veronica, we’ll keep your secret.” He winked at the class as he pranced to the desk next to me with a few pencils and a spare calculator. After he set them meticulously on the desk, he pretended to pat the imaginary student sitting there on the head, which threw the other kids into further hysterics.
“You’ll be a star pupil, I’m sure!” he said to the empty chair. It seemed as long as my classmates kept laughing, he’d keep hamming it up at my expense. “What shall we call Veronica’s friend? Imagin-Amy?” he asked gleefully.
“Yes!” a few of the kids agreed.
“Great. I think it’s perfect.” Mr. Stephens must have noticed my silent hatred. “Oh, Veronica, don’t be so serious! We’re just having fun.”
Yeah, fun for you. The entire class is laughing at me! I caught myself wanting to disappear. No, no, no, Veronica, I told myself, do not disappear! My stupidpowers were doing their darndest to activate. I looked down at the floor, and sure enough, my sneakers were no more than an outline. Invisibility was starting to spread up my legs. I wanted to jump up and escape! I couldn’t get up. I couldn’t walk out of class on nonexistent legs! I crossed them under me in hopes that no one would notice, but the invisibility was creeping up almost to my waist! Out of desperation, I flung open my English textbook as loudly as I could, letting the hard cover of the thick book hit the desk. It made an adequately loud BAM! It was enough to remind Mr. Stephens that this was English class and we needed to move on.
“We’ll check on our newest, most streamlined friend later,” he said with a sly grin before going back to real school stuff.
So annoying. Almost as annoying as my powers. As the embarrassment wore off, the effects of my powers did, too—and I used my now-visible legs to rush out of there as soon as the bell rang.
“Bye, Veronica! Can’t wait to not see you tomorrow, Imagin-Amy!” Mr. Stephens trilled after me.
I couldn’t wait to vent to Charlie in our next class. But he wasn’t in that class or the next one—or at lunch!
And guess what? That’s how it went all day! Where the heck was Charlie?
After final period, I ran back to Mr. Murray’s/Mr. Stephens’s room and retrieved my phone, somehow resisting the urge to kick him in the shin (I know, I’m a saint), and then I hurried to our lockers.
As I waited for Charlie to show up, I doodled in my notebook. My dad and his fiancée (feels super weird saying that!) were getting married in a little less than two weeks (feels even weirder saying that!), so I was just sketching out some ideas for reception decorations. My dad was a real old-timey tough guy, but he loved weddings. Considering how his marriage to my mother turned out, that always surprised me. Anyway, his love of the matrimonial ceremony was causing a little tension. His bride-to-be was rather insistent on a quick stop at the courthouse followed by a quiet cocktail at home.
Finally, Charlie’s red head came bobbing down the hall.
“Where were you?” we asked each other at the same time.
Without another word, we both took our schedules out of our bags. I unfolded mine as Charlie tried to flatten his crumpled mess.
“Are you kidding me?” I guffawed when I saw what had happened.
“Not a single bloody class together? Veri?”
“How are we just realizing this now?”
“Well, we’ve never not had most of our classes together. And we do have a lot of the same classes,” he said as he eyed the papers, “just not at the same time.”
“Not cool.”
“Not cool at all.”
“Sup?” Betsy mumbled as she walked up to us, her black hair hanging over her eyes.
Betsy is our friend now. Betsy is our friend now. Betsy is our friend now. I often had to remind myself of this. Betsy had picked on me since kindergarten. She was bigger than everyone then and she was still bigger than me. I was never really sure why she chose me as her target, except once in fourth grade she told me my face was “very punchable.” Man, things had changed in the past few months. Betsy found out about my powers and didn’t tell! She was actually really cool and, more importantly, didn’t find me very punchable anymore. Still, even though we had spent the remainder of the summer hanging out with her, there was something about being back in school with my former bully that made me nervous about her all over again.
“Betsy is our friend now,” I blurted out.
She and Charlie raised their eyebrows at me.
“I mean, Betsy, our friend, how is your first day going?” I asked, then let out a tiny, awkward laugh.
“Charlie and I were gonna ask you the same question.”
“’Charlie and I’?”
“Betsy and I have, like, every class together,” Charlie explained. “Even health, and I’m fairly certain I’m not supposed to be in the girls’ class.”
“So you guys get to hang out, but I’m alone? All day? It’s a conspiracy!”
“Totally!” Charlie thought for a moment before saying, “Can’t you have Ms. Watson do something about that? I mean, she is a proper employee here. I’m sure she could quietly change our schedules without anyone noticing.”
The three of us burst out laughing.
“Good one, Charlie,” I said. “Ms. Watson bend a rule? Never!”
“Excuse me?”
We turned around to see Ms. Watson standing in the office doorway nearby.
“Did you need something from me?” she asked, her pristine black leather briefcase in her hand.
“No,” we all said at once.
“I’m leaving, McGowan,” she said. “Are you ready?”
“Uh, I’m going to walk with Charlie, if that’s okay?” I answered.
She nodded and left.
“Ms. Watson being all over your personal life?” Betsy shuddered. “I don’t know if I could ever get used to that.”
“Me either. And she’s about to become my stepmom.”
Betsy grunted and waved goodbye as she headed to her bus.
* * *
On our walk home, I filled Charlie in on what had happened with Mr. Stephens.
“That guy is such a drama llama,” he said, just as annoyed as I was.
“I know, right?”
“I remember Betsy saying that one time she walked in on him giving an Oscar acceptance speech to the empty auditorium,” he told me.
“Oh, that’s so sad,” I laughed. “When did she tell you that?”
“I dunno. Last week maybe?”
“You were talking over the summer?”
“She doesn’t have a cell phone, but after camp we’d message when she was allowed to use her mom’s boyfriend’s computer,” Charlie explained. “Didn’t you message with her at all?”
“Uh, no, I guess I didn’t really.”
“She’s a riot.”
“I know, you may have mentioned that before. Like eighteen times,” I reminded him.
“That’s only because you don’t listen,” he teased.
“What did you say?” I joked as we got to the intersection where we each head home.
“Text me later?” Charlie asked.
“If I survive the pre-wedded bliss.”
* * *
Part of my post-school routine had become heading to my dad’s dental practice to meet him and Ms. Watson to get wedding stuff done. Since we were in the homestretch now, I had expected nerves to be less frayed. I was wrong.
“It’s just a few flowers,” I heard my dad plead as I swung open the glass door. Its little bell let out a jingle, interrupting the bickering that had been going on.
“Kiddo!” Dad met me with a bear hug. “How was the first day?” He had already changed out of his white dentist smock and was clad in his usual uniform: black everything.
“Same old dumb stuff,” I answered. “And some new dumb stuff.”
“That’s the spirit,” he teased, and gave me an extra squeeze.
“Hey, Ms. Watson,” I wheezed from my dad’s enthusiastic embrace.
Ms. Watson had beat me there from school.
“McGowan, please tell your father that we don’t need so many flowers. Unless we’re entering the Rose Parade float contest afterward.”
I giggled. Then I realized she wasn’t joking.
“Flowers are nice, I think,” I said with a shrug. Dad gave me a wink.
The office phone rang.
“That’s the florist,” Dad said excitedly as he reached for the phone. Ms. Watson smacked his hand before he could pick up the receiver.
“Hello, Melinda? Yes, he was expecting your call,” Ms. Watson said. “I know, it is a lot more flowers than we had on our original order…”
Dad and I cringed. She was about to throw the brake on the Flower Train. “… But we would still like them.”
I gasped and looked at Dad. He had a cool smile on his face, but I could tell he was excited.
“Yes, it is very short notice. But if I could dismantle a bomb blindfolded, using only my elbows, in less than ten seconds, I think you can do this, Melinda. Thank you!”
“Wait, what?” I asked as she hung up the phone.
“Let’s go get dinner, shall we?” she asked, ignoring me.
“Dinner?”
“Rik thought we could use a break from planning.”
“Oh, really?” I smirked. “Or did he just know he’d be bombarding you with flowers today and would need to suck up?”
“Hmm…,” Watson considered as she looked at Dad. “I think it’s probably wise to not think about that too much.”
“Agreed,” Dad added. “Sushi?”
“Yes!” I said.
* * *
The walk to Dragon Roll was short, but I couldn’t help noticing how crisp the air was. Summer was definitely on its way out.
“Smells like snow,” I mused as I scanned the trees for any leaves that were changing color.
“It does,” Dad agreed. Then he gave me a questioning look.
“It’s not me,” I laughed.
“Good. ’Cause if you made it snow in September, I’d have to disown you,” he kidded.
My powers. Oof. Occasionally they did do some major things, but nothing that big in the past few weeks for sure. Many little bursts, but certainly not any that caused weather alerts to pop up on your phone.
When we arrived at the restaurant, I directed Ms. Watson toward the booth Dad and I usually sat in.
“Where’s your father going?”
“To say hi to Sam, the owner and sushi chef. He and Dad have been friends since high school.”
“That’s lovely,” she said, sliding into the booth seat across from me.
“And probably to tell him to make it dinner for three.”
“Excuse me?”
“We just eat whatever Sam wants to make us,” I explained.
“Oh, boy.” Ms. Watson gulped. “I’m not sure that will work for me.”
“How do you feel about sharing food? ’Cause we do that a lot. Like, a lot.”
Ms. Watson let out three short breaths very quickly.
“You don’t have to share with us,” I offered.
“Thank you,” she said genuinely.
“Happy to do a favor anytime.”
“Actually, McGowan, I was going to ask you a favor.”
“Do it!”
Ms. Watson smoothed out the paper place mat in front of her with her palms. She hesitated for a minute before she said, “I’m just going to come out and say it.”
“That’s probably a good plan,” I encouraged her. It wasn’t like Ms. Watson to be at a loss for words, which made me kinda nervous.
“It has come to my attention that I don’t really have so many … what you might call ‘girlfriends.’”
“You want to hang out with me and Betsy?” I gulped.
“No. No. Nothing like that.” She shook her head. “Would you like to be my maid of honor?”
“Oh! Whoa.” That was not at all what I expected to hear.
“I completely understand if your other activities would keep you from—”
“I’d love to!”
“Really?”
“Plan a bachelorette party?! Hold the big bouquet at the ceremony?! I’m down!”
“Well, I don’t think we need to have a bach—”
“I’m gonna blow your mind.”
“Why are we blowing minds?” Dad asked as he joined us at the booth.
“Well, Ms. Watson asked me—” I started to say, but then I saw the look on her face and felt like maybe I shouldn’t say anything to Dad. She looked terrified.
“Yes?” Dad pushed.
“Oh, she asked me what my favorite type of sushi is.”
“That will definitely blow your mind. This girl only eats veggie sushi.”
“Say ‘no’ to roe, Dad.”
“Ha!” Ms. Watson let out a sharp laugh that surprised us both. Luckily, we were interrupted by Sam bringing out our first course.
“Edamame and tempura for the table,” Sam said as he set them down.
“Thanks, Sam!” I said. Dad dove in, but I couldn’t help registering how uncomfortable Ms. Watson looked. How had I never noticed she doesn’t like to share food? “Oh, Ms. Watson, do you want a separate order?”
I swear her cheeks flushed when she said, “No!” and started frantically eating the communal edamame.
“Rolls will be out soon,” Sam called over his shoulder on his way back to the kitchen.
“So, what’s the ‘new dumb stuff’ at school?” Dad asked when we were elbow deep in rice and wasabi.
“Oh, get this. Charlie and I don’t have any classes together this semester! None! Zip!”
“What? That’s ridiculous,” Dad commiserated.
“Even worse, he has, like, all of his classes with Betsy.”
“I thought you and she were pals now?” Dad asked.
“I think ‘pals’ is too strong of a word,” I corrected him, “but she’s okay.”
“So, you’re worried they’re having all the fun without you?”
“Something like that,” I said, then jammed the last piece of my gobo-and-avocado roll into my mouth. “I gwuess its gwood to know dat pweople can change, wight?”
“Veri, chew, then speak,” Dad instructed.
I had had something else brewing in the old cabeza for a while now, and I knew I had to ease into it.
I swallowed, then continued. “I’m just saying that we used to be really afraid of Betsy, and for good reason. She was mean to me. Like, really mean to me. But we worked through it and now we’re friends.”
“I thought she was just ‘okay,’” Dad said.
“Let’s not get bogged down in little details, okay? The point is that we thought Betsy was really evil and it turns out that she isn’t. She just needed to be forgiven and brought into the pack with us.”
Ms. Watson looked at Dad, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Well, I’m glad you are having deep thoughts and making analogies, kiddo,” he said, smiling at me.
I couldn’t help but notice Ms. Watson’s expression. She was deep in thought and looked pretty concerned.
“What brought this on?” she asked.
“Um, was just thinking about stuff,” I answered, and looked down at my empty plate.
* * *
After dinner, we walked Ms. Watson back to her car at the office. Through some mix of magic and ninja-like avoidance, I had managed not to see my dad and Ms. Watson kiss. Yet. I knew that eventually I would, but my brain just wasn’t ready for it. Considering the delicate nature of my stupidpowers, I found it was best to listen to my intuition about what I could handle or, you know, I might turn into a blueberry or something.
“Question,” I began as Dad and I walked home. “Is Ms. Watson ever going to move in with us?”
Dad chuckled. “Of course she is. Things have just been busy, ya know? Moving is a lot of work.”
“What? Does she live in a mansion or something? If she does, we should move in there.”
“She doesn’t.”
“Hmm. Then I’m picturing, like, a studio apartment. She doesn’t seem like a person with a lot of knickknacks. Is it tiny? Why have I never been there before?”
Dad slowed down. He was searching for an answer.
I gasped, realizing why he couldn’t answer me. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You’ve never been to her place? You’re marrying someone and you don’t even know if their bathroom is disgusting?!” This was madness. “Dad!”
“I know. I know!” He put his hand to his forehead. “She’s just a very private person.”
“What if her pantry shelves are lined with human skulls or something?”
Dad gave me his patented “Stop being ridiculous” look.
“Okay, maybe not skulls, but what if she squeezes her toothpaste out from the middle of the tube? You hate that. Possibly even more than skulls next to your canned beans.”
“Well, that’s what annulments are for, Veri,” he joked as he unlocked the front door.
Our dog, Einstein, bounded toward us. His little white tail wagged a zillion times a minute.
“Hey, bud!” I exclaimed, picking him up. “Did you know that Ms. Watson probably has eighteen roommates?” I asked the tiny terrier. “All of them are named Steve.”
“Veri, I do need to talk to you about something.”
I felt my eyes go wide.
“Nothing bad,” Dad reassured me. He sat on the couch and motioned for me to do the same.
“Okay…”
“Since we are on the topic of non-traditional marriage traditions,” he began, “I was thinking you could be my best man.”
I must have made a face.
“Not if you don’t want to,” he quickly added.
“Oh, no! I’d love to!” I told him. “It’s a bit unexpected—Ms. Watson just asked me to be her maid of honor, too.”
“Really? I had no idea she was going to … It doesn’t matter. That’s too much, Veri. You shouldn’t do both.”
“Are you kidding? There’s so much fun stuff to do: I get to hold the rings and give a speech and—wait, where do I stand during the ceremony? In the middle?” My mind was racing.
“We’ll figure it out. It isn’t going to be a traditional wedding, kiddo. Don’t go overboard.”
I wasn’t listening. “Oh! I get to plan the bachelor and bachelorette parties! I’m totally in!” I was so excited that my powers literally sparked and a small shower of twinkly sparkles burst from a fingertip and shimmered down onto my lap. I dusted them off and sat up straight. “I’m calm,” I assured Dad.
He laughed, then said, “Let’s make a list of what we actually want you to do, okay? We don’t need a million things going on.”
“Okay, but we have to do the parties.”
He thought about it for a few seconds. “Well, mine better be cooler than hers,” Dad said with a wink.
“Le duh.”
“Let me know if it gets to be too much.”
“It won’t. But I will let you know if by some nightmare situation, it becomes too much,” I promised him.
* * *
I spent the rest of the evening contemplating what ideal parties for both Dad and Ms. Watson would be. Dad would want something macho and fun, but classy. Ms. Watson would want … what would Ms. Watson want? I was going to have to do a little digging. Maybe I should invite the other school staff? The other FBI agents who showed up when my powers destroyed the gym? Might be going too far with that last one. I needed my yearbook so I could write down the names of her school coworkers, but I was so cozy in bed, and the yearbook was all the way over on the bookshelf. I wiggled under the covers toward the end of the bed until my legs dangled off. Stretching out as far as my legs would go, I could just about hook the edge of the yearbook with my toe. “Come on,” I encouraged my little piggy. With one big exhale, I caught my toe on the book’s spine and flicked it out of the bookshelf!… Along with twenty-ish other books and a shoebox.
“Bah!” I complained as I crawled out of my comforter cocoon and slid onto the floor. I grabbed the yearbook and assessed the mess I definitely wasn’t cleaning up until the next day. The toppled shoebox had a small river of pictures gushing out of it.
“I thought I got rid of you.” I picked up a yellowed three-by-five photo and angled my arm to send it flying into the trash can under my desk. Then I stopped. Turning the picture toward me but still keeping it at arm’s length, I couldn’t help but look. My mother and baby me. Me in a baby swing. I’m smiling like crazy, but my eyes look really dark and moody. It must be the lighting, but it reminds me of how Betsy’s eyes look when she’s mad. Again, I was relieved that her anger wasn’t directed at me anymore. Our relationship had totally changed. We were friends, which was something I never thought would happen. It made me wonder about my mom. She was afraid of me and rejected me because of my powers before, but maybe our relationship could change. Maybe there was a way she could be my mom again.
Text copyright © 2020 by Heather Nuhfer
Illustrations copyright © 2020 by Simini Blocker