After a couple dozen slides, curiosity won out over fear. I had to find out what would happen if I said the wrong thing. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try it once. I’d noticed that every fourth or fifth slide looked like a teacher. The next time one came up, I said, “Wow. What a dork.”
A jolt shot through my arm. I tried to jerk away, but the strap held my arm down. It only lasted for an instant. Afterward, I realized the shock hadn’t really hurt. Even so, I didn’t like the way it felt at all.
Behind me, Principal Davis remained silent. He changed the slide. For the rest of the hour, I made sure not to say anything bad.
“Well,” the principal said when he unstrapped me. “I believe we’ve made some progress.”
“That would be a first for you, wouldn’t it?” I asked. As the words left my mouth, I braced for another shock. Then I realized the strap was off.
Principal Davis glared at me, but then shifted back to that dangerous smile. “I’ll see you here tomorrow,” he said.
I headed for the door. And got another shock.
“By the way,” Principal Davis said, “it’s less than a month since you arrived, but your teachers didn’t see any point in waiting, so we held your review this afternoon. It didn’t take long.”
“What?” I spun back toward him.
“Needless to say, you didn’t pass.”
“But …” As the memories of the day flashed through my mind, I realized there was nothing I could say. I’d run wild, and now they were getting me back. Still, it wasn’t fair that they’d had the review early. “You didn’t give me a chance to tell my side …”
“Surely you don’t have any illusions about your behavior,” he said. “You couldn’t possibly believe you would ever be fit for a normal classroom.” He turned away from me and started fiddling with the slide projector.
I went back to the third floor. I guess my legs were weak from an hour of tension. I stumbled twice on the steps. Torchie and Cheater left the room when I came in. Fine. I didn’t need them.
I skipped dinner. There was no way I was going to sit there with everyone staring at me, wondering what had happened. I’m sure the whole school knew I’d been taken away by Principal Davis.
That night, I dreamed I was being dragged to the electric chair. I couldn’t remember who I murdered.
The next day, I had lunch with Trash again. After class, I was escorted back to the chair. This time, I didn’t get zapped. Principal Davis seemed disappointed.
The day after that, I tried to start a conversation with Trash at lunch. “So, where are you from?” I asked him. This was just wonderful. Here I was trying to get to know one of the school’s biggest losers. What was I going to do next? Shine Mr. Langhorn’s shoes? Take Ms. Crenshaw out for dinner and dancing? Write love poems to Miss Nomad? Maybe volunteer to help clean up the tables after lunch?
I was quickly spiraling down to the bottom of the fish tank we called Edgeview, hovering right above the gravel where all the losers waited, living in the midst of rotting food and waste products. Anyone who’s ever taken a good look at a fish tank knows that the bottom is a pretty crappy place.
“West Hanover,” Trash said, naming a small town about ten miles from Edgeview.
“I’m from Spencer,” I told him. Great. I was having an actual conversation with someone who threw silverware for fun and tore up magazines in his spare time. Maybe he could teach me how to smash plates.
Trash didn’t respond. I guess that was about as much conversation as he wanted. I wondered whether I should try again. But something happened before I had a chance to decide. As Trash reached for his fork, it flew from his tray.
He didn’t throw it. He didn’t smack it or flip it into the air. I swear he didn’t touch it.
The fork moved by itself.
WHY I LIKE BEING ME
DOMINIC “LUCKY” CALABRIZI
IN THE NAME OF SCIENCE
Trash’s fork shot a foot in the air, then fell and hit the edge of the table. It bounced from the table and clattered to the floor. As far as I could tell, nobody paid attention to the slight tinkle the cheap piece of metal made. They were used to Trash throwing stuff.
But he hadn’t thrown it. For a stunned moment, I felt like a little kid watching his first magic show. A rush of excitement hit me with the force of an ocean wave. “Telekinesis!” I shouted, leaping from my chair. I couldn’t believe that I’d missed the obvious explanation for so long. Trash was telekinetic. He could move stuff with his mind. He might not have any control over what he was doing, but he definitely had the power.