Smoke

8: Power Management

Before this morning, I was worried if I would have new friends. But since the start of the school day, I was instead worried about what kind of friends I would even make. It would be better to have no friends than ones that could make you float or kill you or something, I reasoned. It was only my second day and I was worried about everything.

I sat down in my skill management class for the first time, obsessing about what powers everyone else had and if it could kill me, when the teacher suddenly met eyes with me.
"Cecil, welcome to Low Oak." She said, nodding at me. She was sitting in her desk, moving her long ginger braid over her shoulder.

Mother had said something about this class being important, being why I was in this school. I was unsure it would help.
"Thanks." I said quietly, awkwardly, looking up at her from my seat. Everyone else was reading books in their own seats, but glanced up at me, at the teacher, seeing why we were talking. My stomach turned nervously. She motioned with her hand for me to come over there, saving me from further embarrassment and disruption of the class.

I nervously got up, my chair squeaking softly as I did, and I walked up to her desk. She had a small chair right next to it, and I sat in it, my stomach turning in nervousness. She turned her own chair to face me.

I looked up at the other students self consciously. They all went back to reading their books; she must call a lot of students up here.
"So, Cecil." She gently called my attention back to her, smiling. "This is the class where you learn to manage your powers. I'm Mrs. Gren, but you can call me Elinora." She said.

Her hair was pulled back into a braid, but there were still a few loose, fluffy strands that hung around her face. "And to properly manage your power, we need to know more about it. I'm sure you read about this when signing up for the classes, though." She said, her sentence curling into more of a question.
I shook my head, somewhat flustered at talking face to face with a teacher. 

"No? Okay, well," she smiled quickly, getting out a pencil and paper. "Everyone's experience in this class is personalized with one-on-one conversation and books about their power. Now," she said, rearranging the papers and picking up the pencil. "What is your power, Cecil?" She asked gently.
"Uh," I started, nervous. I looked away from her big blue eyes, trying to think, trying to put together my words without messing up. "I can breathe smoke." I said quietly, not wanting the other students to hear.

My face flushed. I knew I was ashamed of my power. I glanced over at the other students. They were flipping through their books, taking notes, but I was sure they were listening in. My heart was beating fast, and I looked back at Elinora. She was nodding, writing it down with small and neat cursive handwriting.

"And when did it start?" She asked me.
"A few months ago. Two, maybe. Probably 5." I said, my voice cutting off, out of air. Everyone talked so normally about powers, and dealt with them as if it was a usual occurrence. I was freaking out for no reason.

"Alright. So you probably already know how to keep your power down." She looked up at me, meeting my gaze. Not at all, I thought, my breaths becoming more uneven. She could see the tension in my body, could see my quick breaths. "Thank you, Cecil." She leaned in, saying it quietly. "I'll get a book for you. It'll be here in a few days, but in the mean time, you can do some research on your phone." She talked gently, calming my state of panic.
"Ok. Thank you, Elinora." I sensed the end of our discussion and got up abruptly, going back to my seat.

I didn't research. I just zoned out, pretending to be on my phone while I calmed myself. I didn't want to know more about it; I wanted to get rid of it. I wanted my old school and my friends.
I tried steadying my breathing, preventing the smoke from leaving my mouth, from thickening and activating the smoke detectors. I breathed, making it quiet so no one could hear, but it just made me more out of breath.