Hospital for the Exceptionals

Four.

Everything begins to slow down, like a video played in slow motion so the viewer can capture all the little details. I'm aware of someone shouting, "Sunday, stop!" It's so loud, they might as well have just screamed it in my ear. My heartbeat competes with it and all the noise around me, and it's losing. Her hands feel like heating pads that've run a little too hot. Breathing becomes harder. She must've filled my lungs with burning tar. Or sleep. Sleep sounds so good right now. Like water after a long run, or dessert after vegetables. I need it. I'm so tired. So tired..

A sudden shot of adrenaline zips through my veins, along with a scary realization. She's going to kill me.

My hand is full of lead and electricity, but I raise it as far as I can with what energy I have left. The plate of food resting placidly on the table quivers a little, then rises steadily into the air. Some of the food spills over the side and splats onto the ground like boring, eatable paint. With one last burst of effort, I flick my wrist to the side and watch the white ceramic rain down as it smashes into her pretty, dark head.

Almost instantly she releases me, and I fall back, unprepared for the amount of work it takes to stand up on my own. I land on the ground with a thud, sucking in large gulps of air and feeling the heat flood my face like lava. Sunday screeches, her hands holding her hair, which is producing a small trickle of blood. It's then that I realize it's the only noise in the room, as everyone else in it has fallen quiet like a muted TV. The silence is deafening.

"What's going on?" Ms. K demands as she purposefully appears on the scene. Droplets of red join the food on the floor. I sit up.

"Ms. K- he, he hit me, with a plate- see?" Sunday displays her hands, which are shiny and a little wet with crimson. I try to protest, but nothing more than a high-pitched noise would escape my throat. The older teacher turns to me.

"Is this true?"

Deciding it's too late for any 'buts', I nod my head.

"Was it provoked?"

More vigorously this time, I nod my head.

She makes an exasperated sigh and mumbles something about kids being immature and violent. With hands on her hips, she faces Sunday and her crew.

"You," she commands, "are to go to the infirmary. No visitors. Meet me as early as you can in my office tomorrow and we will discuss what happened and the likewise. I'll give you a late pass that you can give to your first period teacher. Y'all," she addresses Sunday's friends, "disperse. Don't make contact with this girl, or this boy, unless you want to share their punishment." A moment passes as she studies them. When nobody moves, she yells, "well, what are you waiting for? Go!"

I don't get to see them go, for she turns to me and says, "we're going to my office. Do you need help up?"

I shake my head, but she pulls me up anyways. She's surprisingly strong, for her age. Instantly I feel dizzy and nauseous, like all my strength fell like a weight to my feet, but I follow her out the door and away from everyone's heavy eyes.

I have to keep my pace quickened if I want to keep up with her. "Am I in trouble?"

"Maybe." She doesn't meet my eyes. "Second day here and you've already injured another student-"

"I was just protecting-"

"Don't interrupt me." Her tone is final and it reminds me of how my mom's used to be. I suddenly feel very alone and isolated again. "We'll talk in my office."

"Sorry," I whisper after a moment. Why am I like this? Maybe I'm not even accepted in the Community for Weirdos. Today sucks-

Suddenly, a sort of crash resounds from across the hall. It resembles something tall falling and hitting the wall before sliding to the floor. Ms. K adjusts her shirt.

"What was that?" She questions.

"Sounds too large to be anything smaller than a human," I reply, the emotions suddenly being replaced by a curious panic.

"You're probably right. Come on," she mutters, and takes off down the hall. Her heels clack on the carpet. I struggle to keep up. The hall winds down endlessly, and I'm scared I'll lose her running so slowly.

She stops sooner than I imagine and I almost crash into her. At her polished feet is a boy who looks to be a few years older than I am lying crooked on the floor. He's very pale- almost blue-ish, the only real color on him being his shock of bright orange hair. I know this place is strange, but something tells me this definitely isn't normal.

"Sam," Ms. K insists, kneeling down. She keeps her cool around her like a constant air conditioner. "What happened?"

"Sam?" The boy asks. His breath reeks of alcohol, and though his eyes are focused, his breathing is lethargic, and he's confused.

"Yes, that's you." She's careful not to touch him. "What do you remember?"

He- Sam- attempts to sit up, but falls into a coughing fit once he's half way there. Ms. K gently takes his shoulders in her slender fingers and lies him on the ground, facing sideways. He doesn't resist. She gets on the ground next to him and says, like she's speaking to a child, "Sam, you weren't hanging around Kat, were you?"

"Kat?" He blinks. "No. No, it was.. It was Luther. He said he'd make me forget her. I.. I didn't forget her, Ms. K." He hiccups, and his eyes fix on my face. "Did you forget her?"

"Alcohol poisoning," declares Ms. K tragically. "He's cold. We should get to the nurse's office as quickly as possible. It's closer than the infirmary, and I bet the assistant will be there. Can I borrow your jacket?"

"Oh, sure." I slip off my corduroy and hand it to her. She goes to put it on Sam, only to find out he'd passed out while she'd spoken. She hangs it over his side anyway, and stands up.

"Now," she says, facing me. "We can do this two ways, but it has to be fast. We could carry him, but I'm old and you're weak (so there might be more than one person in the nurse's office by the end of this), or we could try to use your ability to carry him over there. I understand if you're not comfortable with it, we don't have to, but it would save us a lot of time, and effort.. Which is important."

I think for a moment. There's no bargaining with Ms. K, that's for sure, but if I at least try, maybe my punishment will be a little less severe later on. But still... I could hurt him. Accidentally bump him into the walls. Drop him. He'd be the heaviest thing I'd ever moved. I confront her.

"I could try, but I might accidentally drop him a few times.. I don't know, how heavy is he?"

"Heavy enough. As long as we get him there alive without any other extreme injuries, it's fine. Also, make sure he's on his side, so he doesn't throw up and choke on his own vomit."

"Okay." I inhale a deep breath. Concentrating harder than I have on any test, I stretch both my arms out. I imagine he's on a steel platform being raised into the air, but it feels like I'm the one who's raising it, and all the weight is on my back. He has to weigh about one seventy. A lot more than I do. I keep pushing, though, and soon enough, Sam wobbles, and levitates, sideways, two feet off the ground. Only his feet and head dangle slightly.

"Marvelous," Ms. K smiles. "Now, just picture yourself pulling him on a string to get him to follow us."

"Alright." I obey, surprised at myself for what I could do, and pace a few steps back. He follows, but just barely, and kind of slowly."

"That's fine. Move as fast as you can, I'll direct us where to go and what to do if you're struggling. Got it?"

"Yeah." We're fast-walking down the hall. Keeping him in the air isn't like exercising, where you get increasingly tired as you go along. It's more like giving someone a piggyback ride, where getting up is the hardest part, but walking around is easy once you get used to the weight on your back. We continue down the hall, Ms. K walking just a little bit slower than she normally does to help supervise.

"You're doing a great job, Casey," she praises. "We're almost there."

"Thanks," I reply. At this moment, I can't help but wonder what my family's doing right now. And what they would think of me for this. Helping someone for once, I mean.