The Blue Door

Chapter 1

Watery Friends

Nix

I was beginning to suspect that water was following me. I'd been noticing an increase in puddles all morning, starting with an extra damp awakening. I'm no stranger to cold sweats, but my pores had outdone themselves in spectacular fashion, dripping all over the floor. Gross, I know.

By fourth period a pool had gathered under my desk, clinging to my knock-off Chucks with sticky desperation. I glanced at my feet, hoping the water would roll across the room in silent streams like it should on uneven tile. But no, it actually mocked me by shivering like an anxious puppy as the scent of ocean rain rose from the stalkery, stubborn pondlet.

"What the? Stop." I whispered the words, trying not to call attention to myself and my bizarre predicament. My prosthetic left hand clenched and unclenched over and over again in quick succession and then spun around in a circle like a poltergeist prop, hissing and buzzing with the electric motors. It responds to nerves in my shoulder and forearm that I must have tensed without thinking. I took a deep breath and calmed down.

High school wasn't the place to act bat-shiz crazy, especially when you're the newly arrived, one-handed foster kid with cheap clothes that fail to hide star-shaped scars covering half your body. Sorry about the "shiz." It doesn't sound right, but I promised Cindy I'd work on my language. She has no idea how hard it is to quit.

I moved my backpack away from the growing puddle, and the water took advantage of my distraction, climbing rubber soles and licking up canvas. I swore, lifted my feet, and put them on the wire basket attached to my chair. The pond bulged upward.

Maybe I could encourage it to go away. I pushed at the puddle with the edge of a shoe. A globule rolled off my foot, did a u-turn, and strolled back to join the rest. The puddle rippled and bulged higher. Streams spiraled up the metal legs.

My hand shot up, spinning to get more attention.

Twenty seconds later, I was waiting to take the graffitied toilet seat from the teacher—talk about a stupid hall pass—while the lake under my desk broke apart and trickled toward the front of the room. It had grown larger and I heard drippings and tricklings as more liquid found its way into the room

Other kids had noticed too. One raised a hand as water splattered across her desk and rolled to the floor. "Um, Mr. Crossley, there's a leak or something."

"What?" Mr. Crossley let go of the hall pass, leaving the full weight of the monstrosity in my hand. "What the? This school is practically falling apart. Is it even raining?"

I swallowed hard, feeling hot blood rising in my cheeks. The pond spiraled around me like water going down a drain. They were going to notice I was the focus any second.

Mr. Crossley glanced my way and opened his mouth, but before he asked any questions I was ill-prepared to answer, a loud groaning from above made him stop and turn away. We all stared upward as a section of the ceiling exploded. Water rushed into the room, flooding over the heads of half a dozen kids and splashing across the floor in all directions.

I held my prosthetic up. It doesn't play well with water.

#

Cinder

The bus smelled faintly of talcum powder, rust, and urine as it carried me out of town and toward the most recent crime scene. I wasn't happy about ditching school, but I'd be back by lunch, and my godmother had excused me after all.