Unexpected Consequences

3. Well...That Was Creepy

THE SCHOOL WAS buzzing so much that by homeroom, everyone already knew what the fuss was about: Dana Edgar had won a very prestigious cross country meet. The school's reaction didn't really surprise me. We didn't have any cliques like television says we do, and Dana was the closest thing to the 'mean girl' or 'bully' stereotype, but she wasn't as bad as those names made her out to be. Everyone was genuinely happy for her, giving her high fives and pats on the back.

I hadn't thought about my distant cousin in a while. Our interactions these days were...well, nonexistent. But as we passed each other in the hallway, I smiled as a congratulations. She glanced at me but strode by without a word. I wasn't insulted—silence was our usual. We were on good terms, but the years we spent as enemies still had us a little wary of each other.

In the gym, I found Ben sitting on the bottom row of the bleachers, nose buried in a book. I sat down on the gym floor in front of him, tying my shoelaces. "What book is that?"

He was so invested in it that he didn't respond. With one finger, I gently pushed the book up so I could see the cover, expecting some sort of study guide or British classic. Instead I saw a cute, orange tabby gracing the cover of a guide to taking care of cats.

"Why are you reading that?" I asked.

"Rosa wants to get a cat," he mumbled before setting the book down next to him. "She's annoying my parents so much that they might actually get one."

"Won't it be Rosa taking care of it, then?"

He made a face. "She's not responsible enough to do that on her own. And besides, I need to make sure it gets along with my dog, and step number one is to get the cat to like me."

"It can't be that hard."

He shook his head. "You underestimate the power of cats, Peter. Those creatures are vicious."

"But cute."

"But still vicious." He tapped his book, his voice dramatic as he said, "I must learn the ways of the feline if I am to survive."

I laughed, but my amusement was cut short when Mrs. Carter's sharp whistle rang through the air and had everyone turning their heads to look at her. She was holding up a red ball, a mischievous grin spread across her face. "Kickball."

Everyone groaned except for the few kids who actually liked kickball. It was an enjoyable enough game, but most of my class was super competitive and preferred things like dodgeball and floor hockey—things where hitting and shoving people were easier to get away with. Ben stood up to get in line, and I followed suit, wringing my hands together in worry.

Having super strength had made me extra-careful about handling things gently. I'd had enough practice so that I could hug people without crushing them and handle delicate china without breaking it, but kicking? I'd never gotten around to practicing that. I'd never thought I would need to.

When it was my turn, I stood as close to home base as I could, leaving myself no room to get a running start for a kick. The next kid in line was yelling at me to back up, but I ignored her. I couldn't take a chance and kick the ball unimaginably hard, so until I got around to practicing, I'd just have to kick it very weakly. I eyed my teammates, mentally apologizing. They were going to be angry with me when I screwed up their score.

I watched the ball roll toward me and waited until the last second to kick it so horribly that it flew slowly into the air, getting only a few feet out into the field until it was very easily caught by a kid on the opposing team. My team let out a collective groan, and the kid who'd been yelling for me to back up now gave me two thumbs down.