Here's a little story I whipped up while watching Zoom: Academy for Superheroes for the millionth time. I'd ask you guys to read and review, but that seems so overused…
That song's going through my head, the one that's always on the radio, but I can never remember its name. I barely even follow my schoolwork, so it's no surprise that I don't know this. I'm already known as that loser with no future, or no life, and that's how it's been since I was in elementary school. As some kids learned algebra at light speed or memorized the spelling words, I didn't have a special talent at all, unless you count the power of being really, really average. And that's how my reputation stayed. Never a popular jock, but not a social outcast either. Just…me.
I tap out the rhythm on my desk. At the back of the room, Mr. Davidson shouldn't be able to hear me. Not if he's talking on and on about math or chalking long strings of numbers on the board. Just my luck—he does.
"Dylan!" he calls. Somehow this guy makes everything seem like an order. Taking a few steps towards me, he says, "Perhaps you'd like to come up and finish Newton's equation?"
Crap. Actually, I'm thinking a lot worse than crap, but if I start to blurt out my thoughts by accident again, that's a word they can't give me a detention for.
"I think Newton can finish his own equation," I tell him. My classmates giggle. I'm not quite sure if it's because they want to see me get in trouble again, or because I'm actually funny for a change.
Mr. Davidson frowns. "Now, Dylan," he says, making that come-hither gesture you see in bad horror movies.
I scrape my desk back, taking as long as possible to get to the front of the room. I have no idea what Newton's equation is, and I'm desperately trying to remember. And I can feel everyone staring at my back. Everyone knows that I don't know it, so why does this old teacher want me to do it?
I grab the chalk, still scrambling for ideas. Where was I when he went over this? Probably off in daydreams, as the principal always says, or maybe skipping. Finally a list of numbers pops into my head, and I start writing it down. That's when I feel my body tingle, just a little bit. Even in the dead of winter, our school has the AC up too high. It's always freezing, no matter where you are on campus. I try to focus, to get my thoughts down on paper. The shivering feeling grows stronger and spreads. The rest of the class is whispering, shifting in their chairs. That really doesn't help my concentration, but these people never shut up. I finish up the equation, and that's when I see my hand. Or rather, I don't see it.
See, I'm not as ordinary and normal as everyone thinks. Sure, I'm no geek or superstar athlete. But what no one else knows is that I can turn invisible. It's impossible, freaky, abnormal. And that's why I can't get myself noticed. I thought I had control, or at least some ability to hide this power of mine. Obviously not, if I'm getting embarrassed enough to turn myself invisible in the middle of class. Now everyone knows exactly what kind of freak I am. Not just the stupid, slacker type of freak, but able to do something that no person should be able to do. One girl makes a startled yelp as I let the chalk fall from my fingers. Knowing that I can't stop it now, I drop the little stub of chalk in the tray and turn around.
As my body rushes back into view, like blood into a finger that you've been squeezing tight, I can see my classmates' stunned faces. Mr. Davidson is actually on his feet, mouth open. That goth kid in the middle of the class exchanges a look with the popular, lip-glossed girl next to him. Someone rubs his eyes. Me, I just press my lips together and rock a little on my heels.
I may or may not write a sequel to this, detailing his life after this scene. If not, I'll just tidy up the ending.
