Ryan skated out of school as fast as he could. If that Katy Ann chick cornered him again, he'd have to go through her to get away. Literally.
She obviously had a gift of her own. No normal person was that hot. Wow that sounded weird. But seriously, the touch of her hurt. Ryan had the burn marks to prove it.
Rounding the bend, Ryan kicked up his skateboard and jogged up the driveway to his house. Actually, he went to the welcome area where he went downstairs to the part of the building his dad owned. He couldn't afford to pay for an entire house, so they live in a small section of a house that they rent.
His dad wasn't home so he went into his room. It was small, but he made it his own. A small, dingy window let in only a minimal amount of light. Flicking on the light switch, he took in the site.
Ryan loved his room. Drawings and picture hung on the walls. You couldn't even tell they were white. Every inch of it was covered, either with pictures he thought were cool, or long ago art projects. Unzipping is bag, Ryan pulled out the picture he drew today, taping it up on his wall. He admired it proudly. The leering samurai he painted in art glared back. The topic of the class that day was Japanese inspired artwork. Instead of attempting to draw anime (which he could do way too easily) like everyone else, he decided to make it more classic. The teacher said his work was outstanding.
Hopping onto his bed, Ryan examined his ceiling. Taping pictures on to it was kind of hard. He once tried balancing himself on a chair to reach it but he ended up falling and his dad got really mad at him. Not his smartest move. Only one picture stuck to it, although it brightened the whole room up.
Ryan felt like a creep for have not only drawn it, but hung it up, which took great lengths. Let's just say Ryan managed to only phase through the first floor to the basement up to his knees upside-down. He now gazed up at it, feeling the affection and lo- no, he wasn't going to use the L word. Just friends.
Abruptly, his door swung open, banging against the wall. Ryan jerked upwards.
"Hi, Dad," he said. God, he's really let himself go. His face unshaven and gaunt, lifeless eyes bore into Ryan. His stomach had a bit of a gut to it and his hair, oily and hanging across his face.
"Where's my beer?" he demanded, his tone slightly whiny.
"You drank it all." Without warning, his dad raised a hand, slapping it across Ryan's face. The sound rang out into the silence of the room. Strange, how Ryan didn't cry out in pain any more.
"Don't lie to me," he bellowed, pointing a stern finger at Ryan, an inch from his nose. The boy stared down his father.
"I'm not lying," he said softly. Ryan knew what was coming this time. He didn't even have to think about it.
As his father swung, Ryan didn't even flinch. He didn't exactly feel anything, just warmth run from one cheek to another. His father examined his hand, dazed by what had just happened. Then he snapped his gaze back to Ryan.
"Coward," he muttered. He then turned, leaving the room, and slammed the door shut. Ryan sighed, falling back onto his pillow, gazing up at Maddie's picture. Madame had once said that their gifts emerged most when they felt a certain emotion or when they needed them. An adaptation. Maddie, obviously, got her super-hearing to make up for her lack of sight. Jordan's first emerged after a really bad asthma attack when he was ten, and he accidentally uses it sometimes when he's breathing heavy or something like that. Ella is just an over-dramatic teen girl, always needing to know if people are being upfront with her or whatever, but she did get her power earlier in life.
Ryan always says he doesn't know how his power came to be. But he does know. He uses it when he's afraid.
This wasn't the first time his dad had hurt him, without any apparent reason. He's been like this for awhile, since Ryan's mom…left.
No, she's not dead. She just got up, walked to her car with a suitcase, and drove away. Never came back. That's probably worse than her actually dying. Ryan's dad always has this small hope that she'll come back.
Ryan's not sure if he has that hope anymore.
Not being able to stand the quiet anymore, he grabbed his sketch pad and board. Ryan hesitated at his bedroom door, not wanting to pass by his father. Instead, he turned and opened the small window over his bed. He unlatched the lock and pushed it open. His board and pad slid through the small opening easily and Ryan mentally thanked his dad for sometimes not having dinner on the table as he pulled himself through the window effortlessly.
Having a room in the basement, Ryan crawled onto the lawn when he exited the window. Glancing back one last time, he ran to the side walk and threw down his board. If he moved quickly, he could get to the park in three minutes.
Ryan tucked his sketch pad under his arm tightly. That thing was his life.
Rounding a corner, Ryan stopped and walked to a bench. The scene of the park relaxed him, helped him forget. The little kids playing. Joggers listening to music. People walking their dogs.
Taking the sight of a certain girl dangling from the monkey bars, Ryan flipped open his sketch pad and a pencil from his pocket.
He sat there for hours, carefully examining the people or the tree or creature he drew. His pencil moved across the paper effortlessly. Before he knew it, the sky had darkened, and the street lights blinked on. Closing his book he rested his head backwards before he stood up.
The cold metal against his neck made him freeze. He had been so zoned out; he didn't hear the heavy breathing of the person until now.
"Don't move," a voice said. Ryan tried to swallow the lump in his throat. It wouldn't go away. "Let me see your hands."
"What do you want?" Ryan asked, slowly laying down his sketch book, raising his hands up in. Sweat trickled down his face, cold in the fall air.
"Give me all the money in your pocket," the man demanded. His voice sounded young, slightly wavering. Ryan felt his stomach churn.
"I don't have any money," he croaked. Out of nowhere, a squirrel burst from the bushes. The man jerked, and shot the gun pressed to Ryan's neck.