Mezzanine

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WARNING: This story contains depictions of violence, strong language, bullying, reference to drug and alcohol use, and content that may be shocking to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

Brakes screeched like a metal monster as the school bus careened to a stop. We bumped over a set of potholes deep enough to lose a small child in, and then, with a wheeze like a dying rat, the old door accordioned open.

I pressed my index fingers to my ears and secured my headphones deep within the canals. I turned the volume up, blasting the screaming metal du jour as I braced for what was to come. With each click, the noise blaring through my skull crescendoed, and I begged it to tune out the day.

Of course, I knew it wouldn't be enough.

Nothing was enough to tune out this.

The students at the second stop on our route to Sycamore Falls High climbed into the yellow trap, and so it began. The sensation pounded through my head, the pressure building in my temples like a migraine.

First, it was just the feelings.

Tired. Irritated. Nervous.

I felt them each like my own, only for a split second—a single beat of my heart.

But, as the other students drew closer, their feet shuffling over the corrugated alley between the rows, the thoughts became distinct. Like ink settling to the bottom of a swirling flask of water, they cleared, and I heard everything.

I'm going to fail this history test. Who was Socrates again? It's in my notes somewhere... Stupid zipper! Why won't you open? I have this test first period...

I hope Lola wears that tan skirt again. So damn tight...the line of her thong when she leans over her desk...

I sucked in my cheeks, chewing on my own flesh. Not even the screams, crashing drums, and wail of guitars in my headphones were enough to tune it out. The flood of thoughts made my stomach turn. It would get better once I could get off this bus and out of such an enclosed space.

Enclosed space. The words stuck in my head, ringing louder than the drone of other thoughts ricocheting through my skull.

I leaned over and pulled a black, spiral-bound notebook out of my backpack. After flipping through a couple of dog-eared pages, I reached the one where I'd written "experiments" at the top.

A list of bullet points outlined everything I'd tested so far, starting with proximity. I'd learned the distance I could pick up thoughts varied based on intensity, but maxed out at around a hundred yards. A solid conclusion, but not that useful.

The next test focused on obstructions. I initially thought if I couldn't see someone, I wouldn't be able to hear their thoughts, but that proved to not be the case. They behaved more like sound or radio waves. Thin walls muddled them, but thicker walls blocked them completely.

With the pen I kept clipped to the spiral binding, I jotted a new note:

Test enclosed spaces. Do thoughts become louder? Do they echo? Resonance?

After letting out a heavy sigh, I scratched out everything I'd just written.

What was I thinking? Why did it matter what happened in enclosed spaces? These tests were just a distraction. They weren't getting me any closer to figuring out why this was happening to me, and more importantly, how I could stop it.

I flipped through the notebook until I reached the last page I'd written on, the heading bold and black at the top: Anomalies.

I'd scribbled only one word beneath it: "Lola."