The Unnatural

Chapter 6: Thursday, December 23

PETER

Peter was walking through the halls of the school. Though it was more of a strut—an air of confidence and invincibility. His tattoo was covered by his jeans; he didn't care, this newly found poise came from inside of his skin instead. During the past couple of days, he had even noticed the surface of his skin smoothing out more. Patches of acne had settled down, leaving only a few straggling pimples.

He had just gotten out of physics class, during which he'd tested his abilities throughout. Mr. Reardon was an oddly out-of-shape teacher. He was of medium height but massive, with skinny arms and legs and a tiny head on top. Robbie had once made an amusing sculpture of the man using a watermelon, straws for limbs, and a pea for his head, which had made Peter laugh. But in class all he could think about was his new power, like it was a new car, waiting to be driven.

First, he had stared at the clock for a while, watching the second hand slowly tick around. Then he'd concentrate on it, flex his mind, feel the click in his head, and watch as the second hand stopped. He'd timed it out, counting one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi... until he had gotten to eleven and saw the second hand move again.

I wonder if I can slow it down more? was a question that took up the majority of time, his time at least. He was tinkering with the clock for twenty-some-odd minutes, but in real-time only six had passed.

He tried again.

Eighteen Mississippi, nineteen Mississippi, twenty Mississippi...

The hand moved.

Peter realized the more he strained, or the harder he flexed, time seemed to stretch longer and bend to his control. But his head was beginning to throb and when real-time came rushing back his ears were ringing. His goal was to get to thirty seconds per one second. On his last attempt, he'd almost made it, counting twenty-seven Mississippi, twenty-eight Mississippi, twenty-nine Mississ—

Pain struck his head like lightning; he snapped out of it. Time came rushing back. The droning in his ears worsened; Peter held his head and rubbed the sides of his temple.

"Mr. Decker? Are you here to join us today?" Mr. Reardon said and the class turned to look at Peter.

"Are you okay, Pete? You're looking a little pale."

Peter, embarrassed, said, "I'm okay, Mr. Reardon, I'm sorry."

Mr. Reardon looked at him suspiciously as if he thought Peter was on drugs.

"It's okay. But let's see how much you were paying attention. We are on the topic of visual playing fields. What makes the ocean look blue? Casey here suggested the reflection of the sky."

Peter didn't hesitate.

"The ocean is blue because that's the color of water. It just takes a very large amount of it to see the intrinsic color of it. Water absorbs red light and reflects blue light back."

"Correct. Very good, Mr. Decker," Mr. Reardon said, smiling. "You see? If you study as much as Pete here, you can afford to get lost in your imagination."

Ten minutes later the bell rang and the class dispersed.

Now, Peter was walking down the hall with his earbuds in, playing the latest by Kendrick Lamar. His stride was in rhythm with the beat. Calculus was his next class—Peter's favorite. Though something inside him told him he didn't want to go. He'd never skipped a class in his life, but as he rounded the corner into the hallway of the classroom, he was overwhelmed with the urge to turn around, run outside into the winter sun, and further test his ability out in the world.