Hours had passed since lunch and Heather McGill was still bewildered by the near-slip and her unexpected rescue, but did her best to maintain her calm and confident composure. She stood facing the home-ec room's window, half lost in thought as she idly tapped out a response text to her mother. Hitting send, she dropped the phone back in her purse and flicked her head back to the view, her perfect blonde ponytail bouncing like a movie star’s as she caught sight of a cute junior varsity basketball player outside, running across to the gym. Biting her lip, she grinned as she imagined teasing such a specimen with her practiced flirtatious look, mixing interest and revulsion to keep them guessing.

She had to admit that it had been a stroke of genius on the part of Heather S. to choose this room for the three to meet regularly. It was one of the largest classrooms at Cady-Stanton High, and in one wonderful corner, it had a feature no other classroom had. Just behind Heather M. were a pair of easy chairs and a couch surrounding a coffee table, next to a bookshelf full of volumes on sewing and cooking. Glancing to the side, Heather M. smirked at the far end of the room where groups of students practiced cooking in a series of mini-kitchens. The rows of sewing machines on her side were currently abandoned, so she and her two minions, Heather S. and Heather K., seated behind her, had the entire half of the room to themselves.

The three had arranged to have a home-ec class at the same time this semester so that they could hang out here during class as well as after school. Normally, Heather M. would be in one of the easy chairs with Heather S. occupying the other, while Heather K. took the couch. She had once tried to get Heather K. to sit at her feet, but Heather S. had put a stop to her before she found out whether the girl would do it. Today, however, Heather M. was too restless to be sitting around.

In aftermath of the cafeteria incident earlier that day an unusual silence hung over the three. Heather S. tried to start a conversation a few times, but nobody felt like talking right now. Heather K. had just gotten out of gym class; the poor girl was even worse at physical activities than her companions and laid limp on the couch. Heather M. idly inspected her nails for flaws, reflecting on the incident in the cafeteria; there was no way that kid would have been able to see the spilled juice, so how had he warned her? For a moment, she had suspected he had discovered some deliberate attempt to sabotage her, but had quickly discarded that theory. A juice spill was an accident, not a prank. It had to be something else, and Heather didn’t know what. Heather McGill didn’t like not knowing things.

It was Heather S. who finally broached the subject. “It was pretty weird what happened in the cafeteria, right? How’d that kid know?”

“I’ve been wondering that same thing,” Heather M. admitted, turning to face the others. “It shouldn’t have been possible for him to warn me. Not that I’m ungrateful, but I want to know how he knew.”

“I asked around about him,” said Heather S. “Thomas Swan. Apparently he also dodged a really close throw in dodgeball earlier today even though he’s a wimp. I guess he’s friends with the captain of the softball team, too; one of the other girls on the team says she likes to throw stuff at him and he always catches them. Maybe he should join the softball team.”

Heather M. rolled her eyes. “Guys don’t play softball, Heather.”

“I know that,” she pouted, “I was joking.”

Heather K. sat up, apparently full of a sudden burst of energy. “Maybe he can see the future!” she exclaimed in excitement.

Heather S. gave her an incredulous look. “Seriously?” she asked. “You think he saw what was going to happen in Tarot cards or something? Too bad they just told him about a girl slipping instead of — oh, I don’t know, The Well.”

Heather K. shrank. “More like a vision,” she said timidly.

“Which is somehow just as ridiculous, but do go on, Heather,” Heather M. stated coldly, striding towards her usual chair.

Heather K. cringed under the sudden scrutiny and started babbling nervously. “Oh. I just mean, I know most of that stuff could be reflexes, but seeing the future could look like strong reflexes. And he knew about the juice spill without even seeing it. And we know that the supernatural is real and it’s pretty silly to think that we’ve run across the only supernatural thing in the entire world.” She paused, crumpling under the stares of her companions. “But I’m probably wrong. I mean, it’s a stupid theory, I mean, supernatural stuff has to be super rare if it’s existed for the entirety of human history and nobody knows about it so—”

“Heather,” Heather M. interrupted her, punctuating the word by deliberately setting down in the easy chair. The nervous girl shut her mouth and sat stiffly. “How would someone prove that a person can see the future?”

Heather S.’s eyebrows raised in surprise, while K. beamed with excitement at the fact that her friend was entertaining this theory. “Oh, that’s easy. Just put him in a situation where something bad’s about to happen and see how he reacts.”

Heather M. leaned forward, bringing her fingers together to ponder. “In that case, I think Tyler is perfect for the job.”

 

* * *

 

Thomas and Chloe reached the statistics room without further incident.

“Alright, I’ll see you in Chemistry,” sighed Thomas, running a hand through his raven black hair.

“No, you won’t,” Chloe pointed out. “The whole softball team has the day off, remember? The coach is treating us to a trip to the amusement park. I just stopped by to say ‘hi’ before I head to the bus.”

Thomas had completely forgotten. Trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice, he replied, “Oh, that’s right.”

“See you Monday. I’ll text you tonight to see how the day went, okay?” she said, trotting away, but turned back to call to him, “And Thomas? Thanks for the quick-thinking with Tyler back there. Normally I’d be pissed at losing a thermos, but, hey, that was worthwhile. But you do still owe me a coffee.” She waved goodbye with a grin, leaving him alone in the hallway as she jogged away.

Feeling dejected, Thomas stepped into the statistics room and drifted to his usual spot, next to Natalie Ashford. Natalie was a small girl who usually kept her mousy brunette hair tied in a braid that hung delicately on her shoulder. Most people knew her as a picky girl who hated when things got out of order. Her habit of reporting when students were misbehaving could earn her glares from classmates, but Thomas still liked her. She was easy to talk to, and appreciated his jokes about math.

Apparently his mood showed because as soon as he sat down she asked, “Are you okay? You look depressed.”

“The softball team is gone for the day,” Thomas answered as he got out his homework.

Natalie just replied with an annoyed sound. He knew that she considered it the epitome of unjust favoritism that others got out of classes for sports while she, even with her immaculate grades, was stuck here in class.

“So you can’t follow around that girl you have a crush on, huh?” she asked.

“I don’t have a crush on her,” Thomas shot back in a huff. “And I don’t follow her around.”

“Hmm, you kind of do,” Natalie pointed out, matter-of-factly. “Don’t you hang out at her softball practices?”

“Only sometimes,” Thomas conceded sheepishly. Deciding to change the subject, he asked, “How’d you do on the homework?”

“Oh, it was easy enough.” She looked down at Thomas’ own homework. “Gosh, how is your handwriting so good?”

Before he could respond, the teacher began talking. Natalie always refused to chat during a lecture, so Thomas was left to his own wandering thoughts as the lesson went on.

 

* * *

 

Statistics let out in a rush, and Thomas entered the hallway with a disappointed sigh, not looking forward to lacking Chloe's company in Chemistry. Fortunately, his journey there was uneventful, at least, involving no angry jocks looking to get revenge. Unfortunately, today was a lab day, and with Chloe gone this meant he would have to find someone else to partner with. With most of the class pairing up as they usually did, the only person left for Thomas to join was Heather S., which struck him as odd; he couldn’t remember who she normally partnered with. Was she friends with someone from the softball team?

“You’re Thomas, right? This is going to be fun,” Heather said cheerfully, while the teacher went through the usual spiel of lab safety reminders. “We get to use the Bunsen burners today.”

Thomas couldn’t understand why she would be excited to work with him, of all people. Normally he was the last pick for everything from Gym teams to group projects, and unless Chloe was around he would often be assigned as the third wheel to someone else’s group. Why would Heather suddenly be so excited to change that, rather than work with her usual partner? At any rate, he had to admit that he was both relieved that he had someone to work with and a little jealous of her enthusiasm.

Bunsen burners wouldn’t usually make Thomas nervous, but Heather was so careless that he couldn’t believe she hadn’t hurt herself yet. She wore a blouse with loose sleeves and kept reaching close to the flame, making him cringe every time, but despite the apparent danger, the lab seemed to go smoothly. Heather, however, seemed to become slightly frustrated. Her exuberant smile had turned sour, and she kept stamping her foot as if in annoyance.

Just as they were about to finish, Thomas managed to knock his pencil to the floor. As he crouched down to find it, though, he was greeted by the familiar pinpricks on his neck. Heather S. was holding a bottle of acetone carelessly over the still-lit Bunsen burner. It was about to spill right onto the flame. Thankfully, the path to prevent it was easy to find; he stood as quickly as he could and grasped the bottle, gently pushing it away from the flame just as it spilled. Carefully taking the bottle from her, he set it on the table, then, just to be safe, turned off the gas, extinguishing the flame.

“Wow, that was a close one,” said Heather, once more grinning ear to ear.

In a moment, Ms. Francesca was at Thomas’ side, checking to see if either of them were injured. “Are you alright?” she asked each of them. Both nodded, and Ms. Francesca looked to the rest of the class. “This is why lab safety is important. We got lucky here, but that could have been a serious fire.”

“Seriously,” Heather declared, way too loudly. “It’s a good thing Thomas has such amazing reaction times. They’re practically supernatural, right?”

He could feel his face heating. The entire class was staring at him; even those whose views were obscured were leaning over to look past anyone in their way. Many of them looked annoyed. He spent the rest of class anxiously glancing from the page to the clock, counting down each tick as he felt the looming stares pressing into him.

As soon as the bell rang, Thomas rushed out of class. He needed to get away from the eyes staring at him. Walking briskly until he reached a corner, he darted around it before slowing down and leaning against a locker, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down.

”Hey, bro!” Came a call from somewhere nearby.

Thomas ignored this, assuming it must be directed toward someone else. No one called him ‘bro’. But then a hand patting him on the shoulder startled him, and he looked up to see a guy he didn’t know.

”Dude, I saw what happened at the cafeteria. Going after Heather M., huh? She’s so hot. Did you get a good feel?” the guy asked.

“W—what?” Thomas stammered, twisting away from him. Looking closer, Thomas slowly began to recognize him; he was a senior as well, Josh Hansen. As far as Thomas had seen, Josh liked to move from social group to social group, never quite finding his footing in any. He’d left a bad taste in Thomas’ mouth ever since he overheard him ranting passionately that men make better scientists than women.

“Come on, man, I thought you were dropping the innocent act. Everyone saw you grab her.”

Thomas felt his face heat. “That’s not what happened! She was about to—“

“Dude!” came another guy’s voice. “Isn’t that the guy who grabbed Heather M.’s boobs?”

“I didn’t—“ Thomas protested, his voice coming out quieter than he meant.

“Yeah, this is the guy,” Josh said, speaking over Thomas.

“Nice job,” said the second guy. “I always thought you looked like kind of a pussy, but you really have some big cojones! Heather M.’s a pretty nice catch.” He raised his hand for a high five and Thomas weakly put a hand up to meet it.

They were so loud that they cut through the chatter of the busy hallway. Thomas glanced around the hall, looking for anything that might give him an excuse to get away, and spotted a group of girls glaring at him. Why did they seem so angry? Was this ridiculous rumor actually spreading around? The glares on top of the congratulatory ‘Bro-Speak’ from the guys was becoming too much to handle. All he’d wanted to do was keep Heather M. from slipping and now he was being treated like a creep. He desperately wished that Chloe would swoop in and save him, but that was impossible today.

“I’m sorry. I have to get to class,” he said quickly, and without waiting for a response, he turned around and walked away as quickly as he could.

Unfortunately, the next class was gym. Thomas dreaded entering the locker room more than he ever had, certain that he would just get more of what he experienced in the hall. Instead, he stood outside for several long seconds as the anxiety in his stomach grew. Looking around between the door and the hallway, nervous that someone might notice him standing outside of the locker room like a weirdo, he decided that the anxiety of being out here outweighed the dread of actually stepping inside.

Once inside, though, no one said anything. It seemed that the rumors about him hadn’t reached this crowd quite yet, so he stayed out of the way and changed quickly. Finally feeling confident that no one in this class would bother him, he was heading for the door when a voice called his name.

He considered ignoring it, pretending he didn’t hear but figured that whoever it was would just follow him, so he turned around to see Ryan Vandbolt.

“Hey Thomas, I saw what you did yesterday,” he said. Thomas cringed, mentally preparing for more introduction to the ‘bro’ crowd.

“I just want to say, that was really cool of you,” Ryan continued. “I know Heather’s boyfriend is a jerk to you sometimes, so it was really decent of you to set that aside to help a girl. You’re, like, a gentleman or something.”

Thomas smiled awkwardly. There was something that didn’t sit right with him about the word ‘gentleman’, but it felt good to have someone recognize that he wasn’t just a perv.

“Thanks,” he replied, doing his best to sound sincere.

“And you’ve got some amazing reaction times,” Ryan said as he closed his locker and made for the door. “Dodging those balls was one thing, but you were like a superhero in the cafeteria. I’ve got no clue how you saw she was going to slip.”

Instead of waiting for an answer, Ryan jogged past, leaving the locker room. Thomas stared after him. Maybe things were looking up today.

That rising hope was squashed the moment he entered the gym. The gym floor was covered in mats. Boys and girls were back to being split up. With the softball team gone there were only a few girls around, and the mats meant that they would be practicing tumbling. Unfortunately, for the boys the mats meant wrestling.

Thomas watched as the dread from earlier resurfaced with a vengeance as boys were paired off to slam each other onto the mats. Each time someone was taken down he flinched, knowing that it would soon happen to him. Eventually, the teacher called his name.

When he saw who he was paired up with, his heart sunk even further. Thomas didn’t know the guy well, just that his name was Jacob and he hung out with Tyler. But that was all he needed to know. Earning Tyler’s ire meant earning the ire of his friend. Jacob sneered at Thomas when his name was called.

The walk to the mat was far too short. It felt like only a moment before they were standing across from each other, the teacher ready to start the match.

The moment the match began Thomas felt the pinpricks on his neck, showing him dozens of scenarios in which Jacob injured him. He could only prevent a beating by surrendering, by fleeing the mat or begging for mercy. But he couldn’t do any of those things. There had to be something else. Some way to win.

But nothing came to him; not even a way to lose without this hurting too badly. Before he realized what was happening, he was on his back, feeling like he’d been hit by a truck, Jacob’s weight pressing him down. The match was already over.

When Jacob finally got up, Thomas tried to take an inventory of what was injured. He could feel a nasty bruise on his chest, but the real problem was his back. It felt like his spine had been twisted into a knot. He struggled to get back on his feet. Jacob walked off the mat snickering at him while the gym teacher looked preoccupied with his clipboard.

 

* * *

 

Thomas was still struggling to walk when he staggered into the cafeteria for lunch. He collected his tray, slowly, earning some annoyed mutters from the people in the line behind him and set off on the ever-annoying task of finding a place to sit.

As he wandered down a row of tables, he spotted Tyler walking towards him, his hand red and swollen from punching the locker. Frantically, he glanced around the room and caught sight of a teacher buying a soda from a vending machine. That was a small relief. Tyler couldn’t exactly beat him up with a teacher nearby. Still, Tyler was walking straight towards him with an angry look on his face.

Thomas expected, even hoped, that he would just slap the tray out of his hand. He loosened his grip on the tray, deciding not to fight it. This had happened to him before. It would be over in a second, his shoes would be a bit messy, and then he’d be able to go on with his day.

Tyler was getting close.

Thomas tensed. 

Tyler’s bulk filled his view. 

How could anyone be this big? 

He felt the tray jerk from his hand, not from above but from below, being pushed up into his chest. Thomas took a step back as the tray hit him, then stood there, stunned.

“Pussy,” Tyler muttered as he walked past.

The tray dropped to the ground as Thomas tried to take stock of what had just happened. His sweatshirt was covered in bits and pieces of food, even the applesauce was smeared across. Thankfully, his pants and shoes seemed relatively unscathed, but the shirt would have to go. Thomas groaned inwardly; he absolutely hated removing his shirt in public, like when his mom had him try on shirts in stores, insisting that he do it in the open instead of going to the changing room. It was a miserable experience every time, but this was infinitely worse. He looked around to meet what seemed to be the collective gaze of the entire cafeteria and felt himself shrink under each pair of eyes on him.

He quickly walked to the nearest exit, nearly slipping on his own spilled food. The hall was much less busy, but his face still went red as he removed his sweatshirt, especially when his undershirt partially pulled up along with it, briefly exposing his chest. With a sigh, he balled up the sweatshirt and walked toward the auditorium.

The auditorium was almost always abandoned during the school day, which made it the perfect place to hide when Thomas was feeling overwhelmed. Most of the doors were kept locked, but there was one without a lock tucked in a hidden corner, leading directly backstage.

Thomas stepped inside carefully. The backstage was often cluttered, and it was easy to trip over something with only the ghost light as a guide. As he narrowly missed tripping over a paper-mâché rock wall he scooted past the fortune teller box the school had used for their production of “Big”. He looked back to make sure that he hadn’t broken anything in his path and bumped his shoulder on a rack of clothing. This gave him an idea. Quickly scanning the rack for something that could replace his sweatshirt for the day, maybe even something fun, but all he found were dresses, and after a long moment looking wistfully over the elegant designs he continued out onto the stage. His balled-up sweatshirt was tossed grumpily into a corner and he began pacing back and forth, brooding about the disaster today had been.

He’d have to spend the rest of the day in his undershirt. He felt so naked, with such a thin layer of fabric being the only thing covering his chest. And worse, it was short-sleeved. For the last few years, he’d worn long sleeves and long pants even in the summer, only changing out of them for gym. He considered going to the lost and found, but doubted they would give him anything since he was already wearing a “perfectly fine” shirt.

But that wasn’t nearly as bad as having everyone think he groped Heather M. The fact that they celebrated it, acted like he’d completed some right of passage or proved that he really was just as perverted as the rest of them made it so much worse. They acted like he was just another … guy. And all the girls hated him, now. What would Chloe think when she heard the rumors? She wouldn’t believe them, would she? Even if she didn’t it was possible she wouldn’t want to hang out with someone who had that kind of rumor hanging over him. How could he blame her? It would just hurt her reputation, too.

He felt tears welling up and stopped pacing to sink down on a piano bench on the stage. A jolt went up his spine where it had been hurt, but he ignored it. He wanted to cry. He wanted to let his emotions overflow to the point that he could express how he felt. But the tears never came. The welling feeling gradually seeped away and he was left wondering how much worse he’d have to feel before he could cry.

“What is wrong with me?” he asked the empty auditorium. “I’m useless. I can’t do anything right. Everyone thinks I’m so disgusting,” he paused for a moment. “I guess I am, though.”

He sighed, resting his head in his hands.

“I hate this. I hate my body,” he stated to the empty auditorium.

He was met with only silence.

Suddenly he felt the pinpricks at the back of his neck. He had to move. Now. Without pausing to wonder what could endanger him in an empty auditorium, he hurled himself to the side just as a sandbag landed where he’d been sitting, knocking over the bench.

Someone screamed backstage. He turned to see Heather S. running out to him.

“Are you okay?” she asked, frantic. “You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine,” Thomas replied, in a daze as he collected himself and sat up. What was Heather S. doing here?

Heather S. looked upwards. “What the Hell, Heather?” She shouted. “We were just supposed to test him, not kill him!”

Thomas followed her gaze. There was a figure on the catwalk above him. Heather K.

“I—I’m sorry!” she stammered. “I just — it’s the auditorium and you told me to drop something on him and I thought of Phantom of the Opera and he was in the right place and—

“It’s fine,” called out another voice, remarkably calm in contrast. Thomas didn’t have to guess who this third voice belonged to. He looked back down to see Heather M. stepping out from backstage. “Nobody’s hurt and we’ve proven what we need to know. Come back down.”

Heather K. squeaked and trotted down the catwalk.

“We really need to keep a closer eye on that girl,” said Heather M. with a sigh. “She gets all excited when she gets these ideas in her head and she doesn’t think them through.”

Thomas stood up, groaning at his aching spine. “What was that about a test?” he asked.

“Oh, right,” said Heather M., as if suddenly remembering why she was there. “You can see the future.”

Thomas felt himself pale as a grin spread across Heather M.’s face.

“That’s ridiculous,” he said, trying to sound as dismissive as possible. “If I could see the future, I’d be rich.”

Heather S. waggled a finger. “Nuh-uh. We figured that out, too. You can only see stuff right before it happens. And it has to be sudden stuff, like accidents.”

“Like someone slipping in the cafeteria,” Heather M. added.

They’d been testing his power, he realized. Heather S. in Chemistry, Heather K. here — maybe even Tyler in the hall.

He shook his head. “That’s ridiculous. I didn’t see Tyler coming in the cafeteria.” He pointed to his sweatshirt in the corner.

Heather M. and Heather S. shared a look of surprise.

“There are a couple of possible explanations for that,” Heather K. piped up as she joined the trio on the stage. “It could be that your power doesn’t always work. Or maybe there was no way to avoid it. However, I think we’ve proven that you have some sort of precognitive power.”

“A power that we think could be useful,” added Heather M. “You kept me out of a very embarrassing situation. And I think your power could help us in other ways.”

Thomas frowned. He didn’t like where this was going.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” said Heather S, with a sweet smile that made Thomas want to believe everything she said. “You helped us out, so we want to be your friend. We can hang out together, and have fun. And if your power ends up helping us, that’s great. Plus, we can help you, too. In ways that no one else can.”

Thomas’ gaze passed over Heather K. What kind of fun could they want to have after dropping a sandbag on him?

“It’s true,” said Heather M. with an assured nod. She shared a glance with her cohorts. “How would you like to see your greatest wish come true?”

“That’s impossible,” Thomas responded, a hint of a snarl in his voice. “My greatest wish could never happen.”

Heather M. leaned down to Thomas’ level on the ground. She was so close that Thomas could feel her breath. “It can. No matter what it is. We can make it happen.”

She was staring into his eyes with that sly gaze. Thomas felt blood rush to his cheeks as he shrunk away from her eyes.

“What would you do if we could make your dreams come true?” she asked, holding out her hand to him to help him up.

It was probably some sort of prank, Thomas decided. Why else would they be interested in him, even with his powers? And even if they were serious, it wasn’t like they could make his greatest wish come true. However, there was a chance that they really wanted to be friends. Could he really pass that up?

“Anything,” he replied, taking her hand.