Home > Glimpsed(9)

Glimpsed(9)
Author: G.F. Miller

I dump the rest of my pad Thai in the trash, walk calmly to the bathroom, and dye my hair deep lavender. Like loneliness. Like a Thai rainstorm.

 

* * *

 


I get a text at 6:08 a.m., which is a really craptastic time for a text. I push the tangle of lavender hair out of my face with one hand and feel around for my phone with the other. When I find it, the screen seems blindingly bright to my barely open eyes.

I squint and read: Unknown. So it’s from Stalker. The text says: Tonight. Then there’s a pin dropped at the playground at Rotary Park.

I rub my sleep-crusted eyes and hammer off a response: There’s a football game tonight.

Stalker: After.

Me: I’m not meeting you at a park at night. Kidnap people much?

Stalker: I thought you wouldn’t want to be seen. But okay. Inland Empire Bakery.

That place will be packed. Every decent place within ten miles will be packed on a Friday night after a football game. Stalker is right. I don’t want to be seen with them. And I most definitely don’t want to be overheard. I sigh heavily.

Me: Fine. The park. But I’ll have pepper spray with me.

Stalker: Me too.

Me: I’ll have a Taser.

Stalker: I’ll have a photon torpedo.

A surprised laugh—more of a blat, really—escapes my lips. Did Stalker just make a joke? Or is Stalker a permanent resident of Imagination Land? I send back: You know only one of those is a real thing, right?

I catch myself half smiling as I wait for the reply, and rearrange my features on principle, even though no one is around.

Stalker: 10:00. Don’t be late.

 

* * *

 


Vindhya’s physics class is the last hour of the day. Even though there’s a chance Stalker is watching me—now and, well, always—I can’t resist sprinting there after trig to catch the meet-cute in progress. As I round the corner into the science hall, I slow to a socially acceptable pace and then stop when I have a clear view of the doorway. Vindhya and Sean are both on their hands and knees, surrounded by books and the contents of Vindhya’s purse. Judging by the blast radius, she must have hit him like a linebacker. Dang, I’m proud of her.

They’re both reaching for books and sorting out his things from hers. They’re also creating a total roadblock in the process. No one can go in or out of the classroom. Which is brilliant, because all those people are now witnessing the meet-cute.

Sean says something that Vindhya smiles at. Their audience grows as more people arrive for class. Sean hands Vindhya a book, still talking. I really ought to learn how to read lips. I inch closer.

Gwen and Scarlett appear in front of me, totally blocking my view. Scarlett exclaims, “Hey, Charity! I don’t usually see you here!”

I shift slightly to see past her shoulder. Sean gallantly helps Vindhya up. I mutter, “Yeah, I think I forgot something at chem this morning, so…”

Scarlett notices me looking past them, turns to see what’s going on, and gets an eyeful of the Sean-Vindhya meet-cute playing to a packed house. She says, “Guys, check it out.”

All three of us move in closer, just in time to hear Tim Smith, baseball player and resident jagoff, say, “HEY, PRETTY BOY! Get out of the way so the rest of us can get to class.”

I clamp a hand over my mouth to hold back a horrified gasp. No, no, no. Tim’s spewing hate speech all over my meet-cute! I try to make Tim back off with a nudge, but I can’t get a clear shot. There are too many people milling around—not to mention Scarlett, who will not keep still.

“I said MOVE, Twinkle Toes.” Tim shoulders into Sean, who backs away looking miffed.

Vindhya steps in. “Excuse me?”

Tim says, “I was talking to Ballerina Barbie here, not you, Kama Sutra.”

Without missing a beat, Vindhya winds up and punches Tim in the temple. The hallway erupts in applause. Tim grabs his head, swearing, looking both shocked and in pain. The bell rings.

The rent-a-cop security guys appear on Segways to break up the crowd, calling, “GET TO CLASS! EVERYBODY GET TO CLASS. YOU’RE LATE!”

The audience begins to disperse, the security guys following the slowest group in the direction of the cafeteria. Tim Smith stalks toward physics looking acidic. Even though it serves no purpose, I nudge his depth perception just enough to make him run into the doorframe. He smacks his face and reels back, erupting in another round of not-school-appropriate words.

Not sorry.

Scarlett and Gwen both turn to me openmouthed. Gwen goes, “OMG. Was that real life?”

Scarlett responds, “That girl is so freaking badass. How do I not know her?”

I shake my head, like, I have no idea what’s going on. But inside I’m weeping for Vindhya and Sean, seething at Tim, blaming the Universe for giving me such pathetic powers, and feeling vaguely guilty for putting anyone in Tim’s line of fire.

The girls announce that they’ve got to go to class. As they walk away, Scarlett says, “Didn’t you used to have a crush on that Tim guy?”

Gwen makes a gagging noise. “Don’t remind me.”

They disappear into a classroom. I approach Sean cautiously, not sure how deep his wounds are. He gives me a half smile that might be conspiratorial… but could just as easily be his brave face.

I stop him with a hand on his arm and a whispered “Are you okay?”

He gives me a nod and a haters gonna hate eye roll.

“I’m so sorry you had to deal with that.”

Sean brushes off my sympathy. “That guy is his own worst enemy. Besides, our plan was good, but that drama—you can’t buy that kind of press.”

Hmmm, when he puts it that way… maybe we can make this work in our favor. But first I have to check on my Cindy. I text her: Tim sucks. Nice right hook, though. You okay?

As I hit send, an incoming notification pops up that Scarlett just posted a video. I click through.

“—not you, Kama Sutra.”

Vindhya’s eyes blaze. Her arm blurs.

Tim staggers and grabs his head.

A squee escapes me. My Cindy is now the knight in shining armor to JLHS’s It Boy. And Scarlett caught it on camera. This is going to blow up. I turn the phone to Sean. “OMG. You were spot-on.”

“You doubted me?”

I whisper, “Wait twenty or thirty minutes for this to build up some steam. Then comment, okay? Make sure you mention Vindhya by name.”

Sean quirks an eyebrow at me.

“Please.”

He nods, lips pursed.

One of the rent-a-cops returns and barks, “You two! CLASS!”

Sean and I go our separate ways. Sure enough, the video is looping on all of Scarlett’s feeds before I even make it to lit. By the end of class it has fourteen shares and thirty-eight comments. Comment thirty-eight says Vindhya Chandramouli for homecoming queen!

 

 

5 It’s Not Illegal If It’s Self-Defense

 


Eight hours post-meet-cute, with our social media campaign going strong, I turn my attention back to the Stalker problem. I arrive at the swing set at 10:02. My heart is pounding, and I can practically hear Memom yelling, “Contain the breach!”

I’m here mostly to protect my Cindies. But I can’t help worrying about myself a little. What if Stalker knows about the magic? I might literally have to drop out of high school and become a wandering fortune-teller in Baghdad or something. I tell myself there is no way Stalker could know. It’s not even in the realm of possibility. Here’s what’s going to happen:

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