The town of White Oak is well known for its ghost stories and supernatural festivities. However, they aren't used to people coming out of the ground and lighting vehicles on fire with their mind.
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Nothing ever went his way did it? Even when he wanted to be invisible, he didn't have the liberty.
Though Grace tried her best to pay attention in class, she kept catching herself staring at Clay from the back. More so his hands as the boy's fingers twisted and played with his pencil.
Perhaps she shouldn't have pushed him so much this morning, he was already mad and probably not in the mood to talk. Still, why didn't he want to talk to her? They talk about everything — well almost everything. She can't tell Clay her parents don't want him around her though. Besides its none of their business anyway.
It always felt weird watching Clay in his natural habitat. It was clear that the boy easily reached himself from those around him. Even though he found himself seated to the very front in most classrooms he looked both like an outsider and someone who blended in to hide from his predators.
Sometimes being transparent socially is more preferable than having your flaws seen by everyone.
"Watch it you're drooling over the weirdo," Michael's voice brought her eyes back to the teacher. Pretending to have been paying attention the entire time, she continued to copy down the notes.
"You know everyone thinks you feel sorry for him," Michael continued, leaning over just enough for his words to be audible "that's why you let him follow you around like a lost dog right?"
The only dog here was Micheal. Her cousin looked like the cross between a Saint Bernard and a toddler. He had silky low black hair that rivalled his exotic skin and a thin scar that stretched across his jaw from god knows where. For as long as she knew him, he had it.
"Shut up Michael," she created a rhythm tapping her pen on the hardwood table. He didn't need his insistent yapping today as well, not after her parents "it's none of your business."
A light crash found its way to her ears. A hunting sensation grabbed possessed her body immediately. Clay's pencil now lying dead on the ground was the first hint that his cough from this morning meant more than he led on. From her position all she could make out was the shivering of his hand, moving from left to right with immense aggression. Everything only got worse from there. A cold shiver made its way down Grace's spine once she saw the boy's body clench and contort. His hand speed up sending the vibrations to his entire body. Clay slouched in his seat leaning dangerously close to the edge of his seat before collapsing on the frigid tiles.
Grace shot up faster than Morris Katz could finish a painting, running to the front and pushing her teacher away from her best friend. What did an English teacher know about aiding someone with convulsions anyway? His eyes looked like spoilt mile rolled all the way back into his head, his skin, soaked with perspiration and his though calmer, made him move all around the floor. Black foam seeped out of his open lips staining the tiles like tar.
