Not All Heroes Wear Capes

2: Do You Believe in Magic?

A woman about Cecelia's age walks into the conference room five minutes later. She's been over and over her file, taking notes and preparing questions. Something in all of this just doesn't add up. When previously evaluated—this woman hinted at instances where a certain ability presented itself that proved to be rather useful. The only issue is the events started happening long before now.

What makes her so different? Cecelia plans on finding out.

"Please, Miss uh...Sparks, have a seat. Do you know why we're in here today?"

"Yes, I have a feeling I do."

"A feeling?"

The woman's eyes flick to Cecelia's phone sitting across the desk from her. Both of them exchange uneasy smiles before Audra clears her throat to answer.

"My power...ability...whatever you want to call it."

"Well, that and the others with their powers, as you say."

"Others?"

"Uh-huh. We'll get to them a bit later, maybe. Now, please tell me your story."

"Okay..."

AUDRA'S POV

One of my first memories... a core memory, I guess... was from grade school. My early years are a blur, mostly blips of family trips with my parents that I am reminded of when browsing old photographs, but this?

This was different.

It was a normal school day, and we were out on the playground. I was making my way across the monkey bars, calluses on my palms from all the practice I was getting every day. As usual, I was alone. My short arms reached while I grunted, tongue sticking out of the side of my mouth while I concentrated on reaching for the next rung, as the first raindrops hit my skin.

Tzzzzzzzzt.

"Ahhhh!"

The scream was released by instinct as my hands slipped and I crumpled to the ground in a heap. It was easy to explain away as just another clumsy fall from the weird, quiet girl.

Oddball Audra, that's me.

Always small and timid in the corner. Never accepted or understood. They never knew why, but that was my choice. This was not something I had a good explanation for, so it was easier to hide. Judgment was hard enough for normal people. Being different was hard on everyone.

Now, as an adult, I found ways to work with my ... talents.

My parents never knew what made me this way, but they were loving and kind until they passed away when I was in college. I still don't know exactly how they died, but I was devastated at the accident surrounding their passing. Dad had a factory job, working the third shift on an assembly line, while Mama was a waitress at the diner where she first met him right after high school. Blue-collar and diligent, and somehow we always had more than enough to provide for me as I went through school and eventually gained a full-ride scholarship to Seattle University.

I needed to be a teacher.

I needed to show each and every student they are special and valuable, regardless of whether the rest of the world sees them that way. Maybe especially when the world does not see them as important.

My experiences in school were hit or miss, but that teacher in grade school who grabbed an umbrella and sheltered me from a freak rainstorm after a fall from the monkey bars?