Overcast

3.2

The next day, Willow and Rachel attend third period math. They sit at the back of the room, shooting the breeze as Mister Jenkins prattles on about a lengthy math problem. He calls on a student to solve it, and the student fails. The teacher gives a curt smile, clearly taking glee in giving out problems that are near impossible to solve. High school math is hard. Senior math, you practically need a degree from MIT. Students may grasp it at the time, but ask them five minutes after graduation and they won't have a clue. Jenkins calls on another hapless student, and again the person gives a wrong answer. The teacher maintains a dry smile, calling on yet a third victim. As he fails to answer correctly, Jenkins makes a snide remark. "Harry...come on. Are we in high school or kindergarten, here?" he asks. As a few students laugh, Rachel rolls her eyes in disgust.

"...Ugh. What a dick," she says under her breath. Willow stares on at the teacher, tending to agree. Teachers who humiliate students are the lowest forms of scum. It's one thing if the students do it, but teachers are adults. They're supposed to know better. As Rachel makes her quiet remark, Jenkins perks up, picking up a scent.

"Miss Krantz. Do we have something to say? Perhaps you'd like to solve the equation for us?" he asks. Rachel goes motionless, the entire class turning her way.

"Uhh...!" she replies, clueless. Just then, Willow whispers an answer to her. "...Thirty-eight?"

Jenkins goes quiet, eyeing his book. "...Hmm. That's right. Guess even a broken clock is right twice a day." As a brief laughter ensues from the class, the teacher moves on to the next equation. Rachel balls a fist, giving a violent cringe.

"Tch...broken clock. I'd like to break his cock," she grumbles. "Thanks for the bail back there, Willow. I really can't stand this guy."

"...Yes. Nor can I," Willow replies cryptically.

Meanwhile, in the neighboring town of Redberry, an ambulance blares its way into the hospital's parking lot. The doors to the vehicle swing open, a team of EMTs wheeling a heart attack victim into the emergency room. Nurses and doctors meet them halfway, proceeding to move the unconscious man onto the bed. He's an older fellow. Sixties, gray hair, overweight. Prime heart attack fodder. The usual bustle gets underway as nurses scurry around and doctors attempt to revive the patient.

"Clear!" one yells. After several hits of the defibrillator, the patient normalizes. The doctors tend to the newly arrived man, successfully stabilizing his condition. As the panic of the ER dies down, a girl with white hair watches through the glass. She walks off, hiding a reserved smile.

Lilly moves down the hall, her white slippers slapping the cold ground below. She heads into the hospital waiting room, empty save for her and a frazzled looking woman. Lilly approaches the drink machine, putting a coin in. "Don't worry. He'll be fine," she says. The worried woman turns, eyeing her from a nearby seat.

"...Excuse me?" she asks. Lilly turns, popping the top off the V8 bottle.

"Your husband. He'll be fine," she replies, taking a lengthy swig.

"...How do you know?"

"I just passed the ER. Looks like they stabilized his condition," Lilly says. The woman puts a hand to her chest, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Oh, thank god," she says. "But...how did you know we were married?"

"Just a guess. This place is usually pretty empty," Lilly says. "...Oh yeah. And I'm actually a psychic," she declares. The woman gives a pause.

"What? A psychic? Dear, there's no such thing!"

"Sure there is, and I can prove it," Lilly says. "Let's see, now...you're Margaret Wilbur, age sixty-three. You have three children, and have been married to old Hank for forty-two years. You regret getting married so young, but adore your children, and rely on your husband for financial support."

"Wh...? How did you--?"

"You're a baptist. You smoke and have two cats, Derby and Pippin. You have the peanut allergy, and drive a white 2002 Volkswagen Golf," Lilly says. She then smiles. "Oh, my...looks like you've been getting friendly lately with Mister Baker from across the street. And when your husband was on the verge of finding out, the poor dear had a massive coronary!"

"What?!" Margaret says, rising to her feet. In a flash, a wave of energy hits her, knocking her back down.

"Careful, old lady. You'll have a heart attack yourself if you don't watch it," Lilly says. Margaret stares on in shock, frazzled by the previous blast of energy. It briefly distorted her vision, and seemed to radiate from Lilly's mind.

"Who...who are you?! How did you know all those things? Who have you been talking to?!" Margaret asks.

"Hummmm. I'm bored with you, now," Lilly replies. "In fact, it's best if you forget all this. We never spoke," she continues, suddenly glaring into her eyes. Margaret instantly goes limp, shoulders sagged as Lilly walks away.