Leatherbound Lives

Chapter One

When I was nearly 14, I developed my peculiarity. My parents were both normals, and at the time, I had no idea such things existed. My first experience with my abilities was a frightening one.

I was in gym class - failing miserably, I might add. We were playing tag, and I was "it." I'd been running as fast as my legs could carry me for several minutes. Each time I lunged for someone, stretching out an arm to tag them, they would lurch forward, evading my grasp by an inch. The athletic kids taunted me, the non-athletes lingered near the walls of the gym, laughing. I had never felt so exposed, so ridiculed in my life. As yet another kid maneuvered away from me, all I could think was that I would rather be anywhere but here, in this stupid class, with these awful people.

And suddenly, without realizing it, I made it so. I blinked, and in that millisecond, I felt this sensation of weightlessness in my very core - a chill went through me, and the next thing I knew, I was in my bed at home, still dressed in my gym clothes.

I was terrified. I had no idea how to explain what had happened - my peers had witnessed it, too. I suppose from their point of view, I had just... disappeared.

It happened again a few weeks later. I had been summoned to the school health center over the morning announcements. I have something my mother called "whitecoat-phobia." My parents told me it was an irrational fear. I believed it was completely rational, especially considering the doctors that worked at the school. One of them was determined that, as I don't regularly see a doctor, I needed about a dozen shots every time I was forced to see her.

As luck would have it, this was the doctor that saw me. She asked me an endless stream of questions - not even taking down the answers, it seemed. And then she came the question I'd been holding my breath for.

"Have you gotten a flu shot this year?"

"Nope. Never gotten the flu, either."

She smiled, her gray teeth showing. "Well, we wouldn't want this time to be the first, would we?" She moved over to the wall, pulling a syringe out of the cabinet and a bottle of clear liquid.

I immediately stood up and rushed to the door. Her head snapped up to look at me. "Lynn!" She looked down at the syringe, slowly drawing liquid from the bottle. "You're getting this shot. I won't let you leave until you do."

"That's not mandatory," I said, keeping my eyes trained on her while fumbling for the door handle. "I don't get any shots I don't have to, and even then, my parents need to sign for it." My palms were sweaty, and I couldn't find the door handle. I was afraid to look away from her, for fear she might lunge. (I wouldn't put it past her - she came off as a sociopath to me.)

I began hyperventilating. As I ran my hand up and down the surface of the door, the handle seemed to have disappeared, and it also occurred to me that the door opened inwards, so I might not be able to duck outside quick enough, even if I could get the damn thing open. I was helpless, and I sank to the floor, petrified. I closed my eyes and tried my best to simply stop breathing, when a familiar sensation came over me. When I opened my eyes, I was sitting at my desk in English class. Ms. Wembley looked up from her book and squinted at me. "Lynn, how long have you been here?"

At a loss for words, I shrugged, mouth agape. "I marked you absent." She picked up her attendance book and made a modification. I took out my novel, found the page number, and pretended I had been there the whole time.

That same day, when I got home from school, I began experimenting. I seemed to teleport whenever I wished not to be in a certain situation, so I tried simply willing myself to another location. I stood in my bedroom, closed my eyes, and thought. I hate this bedroom. I want to be in the kitchen. I felt no weightlessness, no tingling. I opened my eyes, and was disappointed to find that I hadn't moved an inch. Please take me to the kitchen. It's not safe here. That didn't work, either. Then I had an idea. Perhaps if I thought in images, it might be easier. I clearly pictured myself standing in the kitchen. And thought, make this happen. The second I opened my eyes, my body went flying forward. My head smacked into the doorway of my bedroom. I stumbled back, startled.