January 20, 1982
David tapped his pencil against his book, feeling bored. In front of the class Mr. Guthrie was talking about the class's latest reading. David wished he'd just stopped talking: he could care less about the societal norms shown in Pride and Prejudice. If Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet had just bothered to talk to each other than they would have saved him a few hundred pages of reading.
Usually he liked historical books. History and English were his best subjects: they were the ones that he took advanced classes in. However, he didn't like romances. If he'd had to read a romance novel he would have preferred it to be Wuthering Heights. He didn't like the characters in it as much as he liked the ones in Pride and Prejudice, but it was more interesting. More people died.
Ever since he'd gotten placed in the English class with the older kids the books they'd assigned had been distinctly less interesting. He was still waiting for them to discuss a book he actually liked, like Lord of the Rings or something with magic in it. The only books he'd actually liked that they had assigned were the ones about Tom Sawyer and Huckelberry Finn. They'd actually given him a few ideas.
At the front of the class he saw Jaime pass John a note.
This is your best one yet. I like the way you did his eyes when he squints.
David blinked. He'd figured that they were exchanging caricatures of Mr. Guthrie again. He had a distinct Southern accent that made some of his lectures hard to understand. He couldn't say he approved, but mostly because he still didn't trust Jaime.
He hadn't thought that they would talk about it though. He looked at Mr. Guthrie, who just kept talking. David frowned. He supposed that he was too into his lecture to notice. It didn't seem likely, but Mr. Guthrie did have a loud voice.
Up near the front he saw Terry scribbling something in her notebook. She was wearing a Band-Aid on her forehead. She'd told everyone that she'd bumped into the wall the other day, but David knew the truth. She'd been in a Danger Room session, her father teaching her some of the techniques that the X-men knew. She hadn't committed to being an X-man yet, but she'd asked her father to teach her how to defend herself. Her father hadn't argued with her.
David was envious. Even if she had to sit through Mr. Guthrie's lecture at least she had the opportunity to do something interesting afterwards. He looked out the window at the falling snow. Maybe he could get Kurt and have a snowball fight with some of his friends later, if Mr. Guthrie didn't assign any more reading.
"All right," Mr. Guthrie said, "Our time's up y'all, so remember there's a test Friday."
David scooped up his books and headed out. He ducked past a few students and headed for the doorway. It was a little difficult to hold everything in his hands: the books seemed too big. David felt a little embarrassed as he struggled to stack everything.
Jaime moved out of his way as David walked towards the door. He always avoided him, and David liked it that way. David had almost made it when he dropped his first book. Madison, another student, caught it before it hit the ground.
"Thanks," David said.
"No problem. Need some help?" he asked.
"I've got it," David said.
He shifted his books.
"If you could put it on top?" he asked.
"Sure thing," Madison said.
He placed the book on top of the rest of his books.
You need a book bag or something. You're going to hurt yourself.
"Usually I can handle it," David said.
"Huh?" Madison said.
"It's just a few extra books today 'cause I've got a math test day after tomorrow," David said, "I don't need a book bag."
Madison paused.
"I didn't say anything," he said.
"Yes you did," David said.
Madison frowned. His brother Lionel, who was in David's history class, rushed by and grabbed him by his shoulder.
"Come on," he said, "You're gonna miss the basketball game otherwise."
And it's gonna be great. They've got a great line up, and it's gonna be crowded in the rec room if you don't hurry up.
Madison nodded and allowed himself to be pulled away. David walked into the hallway, still balancing his books. Another student bumped into him.
Watch it know-it-all.
David looked up, trying to see who had said that. He didn't see anyone though and he shrugged it off. He'd learned to take know-it-all as a compliment anyway. His father and Uncle Hank were know-it-alls, and they were awesome and everyone liked them. He figured people who used the term were jealous.
Across the hall another class let out.
Oh my God, I hope I never take Calculus. I'm going to see if I can get transferred next year.
David frowned and shifted his books.
"Hey David," Terry said, catching up, "You need help?"
"I'm fine," he said.
Terry rolled her eyes and rubbed her forehead.
I think this thing is giving me a headache.
"You can't get a headache that way," David said.
"What do you mean?" Terry asked.
"From your cut," David said, "I don't think so anyway."
Wow, that obvious huh? I need to stop rubbing my forehead.
"I knew that," Terry said.
"Then why do you think it's going to give you a headache?" he asked, "And you do need to stop rubbing your forehead. I think that might be causing it."
Terry paused and looked at him.
I need to get Mr. Guthrie. Someone.
"Hey, could you stay here for a minute?" she asked.
"Why do you need Mr. Guthrie?" David asked.
Yep, definitely happening.
"Just stay here," Terry said.
She turned and started running back to the classroom.
"What's happening?" David called.
She didn't turn back. David frowned and leaned against the wall. Another class let out across the hall.
I'm five minutes late! The rec room's gonna be packed. Just like Manh to keep us! Why did I take have to take French?
Alison's going to be really surprised. Best Birthday gift ever!
David winced. Everyone was talking really loud. He wished that they would just stop.
I'm going to flunk anatomy. No way around it. I wonder if I can take something easier next year?
No way I'm going to that party Saturday. No way.
Man, the P.E. test really is tomorrow! Summer's such a hardass.
It sounded like everyone was screaming. David let go of his books so he could put both of his hands over his ears. They made a loud noise when they dropped, but it was nothing compared to the way everyone was talking.
"Hey, are you alright?"
What's up with him?
"Isn't that the Professor's kid?"
I should get someone. Who do you get for this though? What is this anyway?
David curled up onto the floor, his fingernails digging into the side of his head. He could feel tears streaming down his face. He wanted to scream at them all to stop, but it hurt too much.
Woo-hoo, it's almost the weekend-!
Wonder what's happening up there-?
"We should probably stand back-"
I wanna go home. This place is so weird-
What's with that kid-?
"Give him some air-"
Is he having a seizure or something?
Is this his mutation? Should we be ducking for cover?
Is he going to explode?
"Out of mah way!"
David felt someone pick him up. He recognized Mr. Guthrie's Southern twang and, through tear-drenched eyes, he could see Terry standing in the doorway.
"Terry, run an' get his father!" Mr. Guthrie yelled, "He's in class, but tell him it's urgent!"
This is bad.
Why're they getting his father?
Terry took off down the hallway, shoving students out of her way as she ran.
Watch it!
Oh my gosh, what's happening up there?
Is he okay?
Mr. Guthrie wrenched the door open to the classroom and pulled him in, slamming the door behind them. The noises became fainter, but it still felt bad.
Oh God. It's happening. I've never seen it like this before-
"Never seen what?" David managed.
Another wave of pain made him close his eyes again. Mr. Guthrie sat him down.
I need to leave. I don't want to, but...calm down. Remember your training.
"We're getting your father," he said, "I'm going to be right outside the door, okay? He's going to be here soon."
I probably sound like I'm screaming.
At last, someone understood. David heard the door shut and the screaming was dulled. He didn't dare take his hands off his ears though. David pushed himself away from the door with his feet until his back hit the wall. He bowed his head, burying his face.
A few minutes later he heard the door open. David braced himself, waiting for the screaming.
David, it's alright.
He looked up. His father was in front of him, his face looking panicked. His voice cut through all of the voices, but unlike them, his voice seemed like a whisper.
It's alright.
What happened? David asked.
He blinked. David raised a hand and touched his lips, realizing that he hadn't moved them when he spoke. His father smiled sadly.
You're just manifesting, he said, I'm sorry I didn't prepare you. I didn't think it would happen like this: it thought we'd get some warning. I had some warning a few days in advance when it happened to me.
What do you mean?
You're a telepath, just like me, his father said.
David's eyes widened.
You mean, these are your thoughts? he asked, And the people in the hall? They were thinking all that?
His father reached out and touched his cheek.
Yes. I'm so sorry it hurts. It won't, in time.
How long? David thought.
I'm not sure, his father thought, In a little bit, I should think. It was subtle at first for me, but when it came in a rush, well, it'll be over soon.
Will it hurt again? David thought.
His father sighed.
Most likely.
I don't want it to, David thought, feeling tears streaming down his face.
His father took out a handkerchief and started to wipe his eyes.
I know David, but it will happen. You can't stop it, his father thought, Don't worry: I'll help you with this. You're not alone David. You're not.
David swallowed and looked at the door.
Do I have to go out there right now?
No, not yet.
David nodded and pulled his knees closer to him. His father maneuvered his wheelchair so he was next to him. He felt his father's hand touch his shoulder reassuringly. More tears were coming and David tried to breathe through his nose, but it was clogged.
Outside the whisperings were becoming fainter and fainter. Even so David could barely control his tears.
Dad?
Yes David?
He looked up at his father.
"Make it go away," he whispered.
His father closed his eyes.
"David, I would spare you any pain if I could," he said, "But I can't change what you are anymore than we can change the number of Kurt's fingers."
He opened his eyes again.
"This is what you are," his father said, "And it's nothing to be ashamed of. You and your brother are special David. What you have is a gift, not a curse."
David looked down at the floor.
"It really hurts," he said.
His father's grip tightened.
"I know David," he said, "I know."