A/N-10/23/14: This chapter has less to it than I hoped to get to, but I wanted to post something for readers. I found a good stopping place so I took it. Since I've divided this chapter, this story is now end on chapter 18. Of course, I hope all of you are continuing to enjoy it. Feel free to review please.

Or not.

CHAPTER 15

I look down the stairs. My legs are shaking so much. Dizziness. I shut my eyes.

I better not trust my body. I might not make it down, and not fast enough.

Sue's close behind me but wisely doesn't touch me. "Really, Carrie, where are you going?"

She sounds like she's shouting, and I can barely hear her. I double back. Sue steps swiftly out of my way. She gapes at me with fear and pity as I go by.

I don't have time to practice my telepathy, but I already know its rules are stranger than telekinesis. First rule I learned was rapport. I have one with Sue. Her thoughts are open to me, but I don't want to see what she's looking at.

"Really, I am going down to take a shower, and . . . " I can see that they're straining to hear me. Broadcasting my thoughts to all of them would not be an option, because: rapport. My throat is dry and cold, my voice probably is not above a whisper. I clear my throat and give the air in front of my mouth a little TK push as I speak.

"That . . ." My voice blares like I'm talking through a loud speaker. They jump so high. I have them on the edge of panic when all I'm trying to do is communicate. If I live, I might laugh at this someday. I tone down the push and continue, "That just so happens to be where Eric is. Chris is with him and . . . the terror twins, Nicki and Lizzi Watson." I walk to the side edge of the building. "No, I don't know what they're all doing there, but they better not come between me and the shower." I step off the edge and let myself float three stories to the ground.

I laugh. I don't need telepathy to know what they think. Crazy as it sounds, it's true. I badly need a shower, I mean, it's life or death.

I can't find my power's off switch. The grinding in my head and the discordant vibration in my bones tell me I'm about to lose control. I don't even have to bother to flex now because power is constantly activating itself in me. I could only deactivate and control it for so much longer.

What's this doing to my body? I'm numb, half blind and mostly deaf. I can't feel my heart beating. I might already be dead for all I can tell, like a zombie running herself on telekinesis.

No.

I know that isn't true because my body craves heat. Hot water. Some instinct tells me it might help. I land softly. I turn and go in the very side doors I blew off their hinges earlier. Plenty of people must see me. I know they point and call. Nobody stops me. I've gone from outcast to dominant in two hours.

I'm their prom queen. No. I'm their Ice Queen.

Inside I turn right back toward the stage. There are cracks in the walls and floors. A few lights have fallen. Sitting against the double doors, a wounded boy in a leather jacket bleeds from his belly. His hair is black. He stares up at me with flat, glassy, brown eyes. "Carrie White." His voice is incredulous. Like everyone, his mind heard my power rev up. Twice.

Even before my power touches him, I know who he is. "Billy Nolan." My amplified voice startles him, but my tone is indifferent.

As I come near, my power touches him, and some of his thoughts fly my way. I know what's going on now. I walk by.

He grabs at my dress. "I'm dying, please . . ."

I pin him to the door without breaking my stride or turning my head. "And I don't have time."

He's shouting and retching in pain. As I reach the steps, I say, without looking back, "So, Chris betrayed you for the guy with the gun."

"Eric and the twins had some kind of deal. They were in . . . "

"I know already, so we're not bargaining." I turn my good eye to him. "You're luckier than you would have been if your plan went right."

"How do you know?"

"How do I do anything? Now both of us have been Chris' victims. Painful, when the knife twists inside you, isn't it?"

"What are you, bitch?"

A half hour ago, I would have squashed him. Now I shrug. "God knows." I pick him up.

"What are you doing?" he cries. "Ow, that hurts! I'm sorry, okay!"

"Poor baby," I say, half in sarcasm. For a macho boy like Billy, even that junior-high jab hammers his ego.

I float him back to the doors I entered from set him down. I turn up my voice. "This building could come down. So, crawl to safety if you can, baby Billy. Or cry for help." I couldn't kill him for being right. I have been a terrible bitch tonight. You can't get bitchier than murder. I might pay for those sins tonight . . . or later.

I levitate myself down the steps to the girls' locker room.