Spy School Extrasensory Perception

Chapter 10: Extraction Continued

This is a continuation of the previous chapter, which I cut short due to a lack of motivation. Nevertheless, I feel an obligation to continue this story, and so, after yet another unnecessarily long period of time, I am writing another chapter. This chapter will also be short and there will be a third part.

     The bell rung, signalling that it was time to head to first period. Erica cursed under her breath, clearly dissapointed that we didn't have more time. Her icy blue eyes darted back and forth as she tried to formulate a plan.

    "Okay," She said at last. "I thought that encounter would go better but there's nothing we can do about it now. We should just head to our classes."

     This struck me as odd. Erica always had a plan, no matter what, and seemed to be sure of everything. The only time this has ever occured before was when something truly shocking happened, such as when Joshua revealed that he was alive, or when she was preoccupied with something else. I suspected this had to do with the latter.

     "Something's on your mind. What is it?" I asked as everyone else started walking to the front doors.

     Erica sighed. "I'm just worried about this whole telepathy thing that you've got going on. It just doesn't make sense to me."

      "You're worried? You of all people are worried about something that indirectly affects us?"

       "We don't know that it is indirect. It could be much bigger than that. This is unlike anything we've ever faced before and I don't know anything about it. It . . . scares me," Erica said. Her voice faltered, which was certainly a first for her.

        I didn't know what to say to that. On one hand, I wanted to comfort her, but that felt a little weird considering she was normally the one comforting me. Plus, she made a very good point. We knew nothing about it and can't do much to stop it. The fact that we suspected Axel was a criminal who broke out of prison didn't exactly help either.

     "Everything will be fine," I lied, and walked towards the front doors.

      All of the schools I've been too in the past looked about as clean as a McDonalds restroom, so the first thing I noticed when I stepped through the doors was how sanitary and modern everything looked. But as I walked farther away from the front doors, the state of the hallways gradually got worse, as though they tried to make the entrance as fancy as possible but then completely forgot about the rest of the building.

     I was only a little bit late to class, which meant that the teacher had to point it out to the rest of class. "Nice of you to join us, Brock," the teacher said in a sarcastic tone. I was surprised that he knew my name (or, rather, my alias). Perhaps he had been waiting for me to show up late. 

    I apologized and sat down at the only remaining empty seat, trying my hardest to pretend like I was paying attention to the teacher As class went on I realized just how peculiar this man was. Many people call him Old Man Crocus, and according to the student sitting next to me, he stood at his beloved whiteboard six hours a day to tell his classes things that could bore the fur off a squirrel. Furthermore, he looked like he was about 187 years old and smelled like it too. Not to mention the fact that he's bent over like he's got a sack of potatoes hanging from his forehead.

     I was lucky it was AP Calculus BC because I did not listen to a single thing Crocus said. When he passed out pop quizzes for us to complete, I did it in about ten seconds, prompting Crocus to assume I was cheating. He gave me an additional pop quiz to work on, and confiscated my phone because he thought I was using it, despite the fact that it had been in my pocket the entire time.

    I sighed and started working on the second pop quiz, this time purposely trying to go slow, which was even harder than going fast. As if to save me from boredom, I heard familiar yet unwelcome voice from beside me.

    "Having any trouble?" Axel said in his soft, measured voice. "I can help, if you wish."

     I stared at him in shock. Was this real? Or was it another communication. If so, I didn't want to risk talking, because the teacher and the other students would think I had gone insane.

    "There is no need to talk," Axel explained. "Just project your thoughts."

    Now how am I supposed to do that? I wondered.

    "You just did."

     Okay, that's good. .  . how are you here, exactly? I asked him. Suffice it to say, it was quite odd communicating with just my mind.

    "We confirmed the connection," Axel responded with a smug grin. "Just in a rather unorthodox fashion. Nothing brings people closer together than shared trauma, which is why I proposed cutting our hands open, but there are other ways. You were fascinated, afraid, and excited by my telepathic abilities and your mind tended to wander to me. In fact I believe just this morning you were discussing me. That's how I came to realize we were connected. Naturally, I decided to take advantage of that."

    I recoiled the second he finished his first sentence, and painfully listened to the rest of his explanation, but I remembered none of it. The explanation wasn't important because all I could think was one thing: We are connected.