The Innates (Book #1)

Chapter 1

So here I am now, 13 years old, eighth grade, still takes prescription medications, amputated from my left elbow, I take Insulin, and pretty much... nobody likes me. Mostly because I'm weird, quiet, or I'm just worth getting ignored at. I somehow love and hate myself for being... me.
"Mom?"
"Yes, Jess?" My mom, Leah Mckidd asked. Like me, she's peculiar. She has the ability to read minds.
"Can you please home-school me? It saves you gas." There, I finally said it. I am so done with all this diversity nonsense I mean, being labeled as a nerd, dork, loser, or a jock. And this is middle school, people. I know high school is going to be tougher. Maybe even deadly, well for me.
"Why is that?"
"Everyone hates me, mom. Even the ones below my grade."
"Let's see, what month is it currently?" She asked.
"April." Shoot! I knew where this was going.
"Come on, my li'l soldier, you can survive two more months until you graduate."
"Not with this hideous mask." I said.
She tilts the rearview mirror," Look at that face, Jess, so cunning."
"Don't flatter me into going to school, mom. Not again."
"Just look, dear."
  And I look, those thick eyebrows, pale skin, hazel eyes, brunette hair, scrawny attributes, thin glasses and stick-out ears. Gosh, I wish I could destroy the mirror like I destroyed the other ones at home, but she needs it more than I need to shatter it. I look away quick and bump my head against the window. She puts it back in its original position. I sigh as my face droops.
  My eyes look at my reflection's eyes, then the reflection looks back to my eyes saying, "Wat'cha lookin' at? Not my fault I'm hopelessly disfigured."
"Sorry..." She said.
"Eh, it's alright."
Leah Mckidd, the only loving mother in the entire earth. She cradles me, she stays with me, she loves me. That is the only thing that I don't even want to change, not even a single tiny detail. Except for when she forces me to go to school with those meatheads. I hated the fact that she's a forceful person though. Well, I guess I do have something I want to change.
  She floors on the brakes, and I said my goodbye. I miss her already. She drives away when I entered through the front doors of my school, John Muir Middle School. I wasn't even doing anything, but three brawny, ashen-skinned eighth graders bump into my left arm, not accidental.
"Oops sorry, my bad!" One of them say, with a pesky raspy voice. "Retard."
I straightened my hooded jacket and adjusted my metallic arm.
"Hey! Check out that Decepticon-Dork!" They ridicule me almost everyday, every week, every month, every year, every semester. Every grade.
They were the same people from third grade. Well at least one of them was the most monstrous. Steak Williamson, the most, well... beasty ogre in the history of abnormals.
I rushed inside the bathroom stall and waited until the bell rang for homeroom, not first period, just homeroom. I sat on the left hand corner at the back of our graffiti-and-gum covered classroom with no one looking at me. I slip my hood over my head and laid my head down until the teacher came.

Third period, PE. My worst subject that I never improved on. Although, my teacher understands that I have an illness. But my classmates never did. Teachers are my backup parents, they're always there for me but not for long.
We were playing volleyball at a gloomy, but sunny day. They kept on passing but I kept on missing. I hate sports, period. And fireworks, and caramel, the dark, and confined spaces. My worst fears. That is what I feel most likely everyday. Dark and lacking space.
I regret not looking directly at the ball, so as a result I received a concussion. While I could still open my eyes, I could see that they were laughing and pointing. And judging by the look on their faces, they weren't contended. Steak, the monstrous ogre who is obviously considered as a potential tyrant (who was also the one who hit me in the head), comes near and touches my forehead with his muddy shoe and said, "Get up, retard! Boy up, at least."
He yanks me by the hem of my shirt and throws me across the rough ground. "Get up, dork!" He launches his fist towards my rib and I let out an agonizing wail. "We don't need you in our team. Nobody needs you!" All I could do was twitch. I'm hopeless.
"Hey! Stop that! Get away from him!" Mr. Harris, our gym teacher, commanded. He grabs my forearm to help me stand up, but it was the wrong arm. It was the mechanical arm. All the other students were crowding over us, laughing at my detached arm. "Oh, Jess, I'm so sorry about that--okay, every student in my class receives a punishment for this!" Here it goes. "A hundred pushups, fifty pull ups, and ninety sit ups! Nonstop!" Everybody groans.
I pass out after he carries me in his arms to the doctor's office.