"Thanks," I say as we separate, stiff arms patting my sides.
"For ten seconds?" Gwendolyn smiles. "You owe me another dance."
But before I can respond, Zahir, G, and Isa ambush me—poking, pushing, and congratulating me on my first slow dance. Blood rushes to my ears.
"So who's the lucky gal?" Isa asks, as a popular rap song starts. "I love your dress!"
"Thanks," she replies. "I'm Gwen." But her voice is lost in the amped up music.
"Sorry," I yell. "They're crazy!"
The next thing I know, Zahir is dragging me into the growing mosh pit in front of the raised platform. I fear for my life and Gwen's—because she follows without hesitation! The physics of 11-year-olds head-banging with 16-to-18-year-olds is a bad idea. Some kids are twice as tall as G and weigh twice as much as me.
My forearms press to my chest for protection as the mosh pit swallows us hole—at least 100 bodies strong. Not ideal for delicate sea butterflies or skeletons in training or a mouse named G. But we are here just the same. Smashing against each other, jumping and shouting out the lyrics in rhythmic chaos. Zahir high-fives me and Isa flips her hair back and forth. The organic mass has a life of its own and smells like one too many nerds forgot to apply deodorant.
No one cares.
The up-tempo beat drives us into a frenzy. My bones aren't breaking. And no one can stare at my weird dance moves. The mosh pit is sooo cool. All I have to do is lift my arms above my head and jump. Up and down. That's all anyone can do.
Until G proves me wrong. He jumps higher and higher. And then he spreads his arms out on his next jump and is caught midair as if the crushing collective has a hive mind. How did they know to catch him? Maybe that's why I haven't shocked anyone—because we're all connected. Seconds later G is horizontal on top of the mosh pit as his body is passed around and then thrown into the air.
Fearless fluff. From one side of the mosh pit to the other—little G is flying!
Cheers ring out with each toss. And each throw is higher than the one before. I'm terrified for him. But G is smiling, laughing—his fists rise into the air in triumph. Somehow the mosh pit catches him with each toss and then hurls him back into the air again. The raw energy in the expanding crush is electric.
Literally.
The haze in my head is small at first, but the more everyone jumps and smashes and rubs together, the more the storm builds. All that friction frizzles in the air around me—the static energy lifting my hair. I need to get out!
But it's too late.
Zaps and bright flashes strike my brain in painful bursts. I can't see, but I don't fall when I collapse. There's too many people pushing in on me. My heart pounds wildly out of rhythm. So dizzy. And my head...it's like the mosh pit is jumping on my brain. All that energy—the entirety of the charge—is killing me.
Until I feel someone on the edge of the pit touch the raised platform. How? I don't know. Perhaps the same way the mosh pit knew to catch G when he jumped. I just know the metal conductor is there, connected to me, to all of us. And there is no choice. I release the electrical charge all at once. Because I don't know if I can hold on. Because I can't control the surging power.
The jolting shock hits me—hits everyone—and forces my heart back into rhythm. A chorus of grunts and screams ring out as the music stops. My vision clears as I fall toward the ground. A shower of sparks explodes overhead. And G...I see him flying among the embers and then falling like me.
YOU ARE READING
Merlin's Curse
Science Fiction[8X FEATURED] Merlin is the greatest-eleven-year-old nerd the world doesn't know because his name has cursed him--he's all parts nerd and zero parts magic and all he wants is to be cool. When Merlin hacks a new encryption code designed to protect on...
