Smoke

38: Alone

I sat in Skill Management, reading my books. My eyes were skimming over the page, watching the sharp ink against the fresh pages, watching dulled and smudged ink against worn pages, reading through the different books I had.

But my eyes kept on drifting to the one book about fire-breathing. They would get stuck there, and I would lose focus, my mind diluting until it was blank, just staring at the fire-breathing book.  And then my mind would click back again and start the cycle over.

Until I finally gave up and closed my book, shaking my head slightly. I placed it back on the stack, pulling out the fire-breathing book from the pile instead. I became more aware of the smoke inside of me, the fire heating my body.

I opened to a page, seeing the pictures. They filled me with the same excitement as before. Seeing other people do this despite how dangerous it is, made me feel more comfortable with my power, made me feel like I could do it too. And the more I thought about working on it, using the fire, the more I wanted to tell someone about it.

I was sick of being lonely all of the time, of hiding my powers from everyone. I wanted to get this burden off my chest, to show someone what I could do. I wanted to confide in someone, to not do this alone.

Staring at this fire-breathing book gave me confidence gave me the confidence to use my power, to practice and control it better. I looked through the pictures and words until the bell rang and I pushed it to the middle of the stack, giving them back.

--

I sat on the bus with Oliver, waiting for the bus to start, to go home. I listened to kids talking, listening to the air conditioning rattling.

I couldn't get Danny out of my head, the conversation I had with him yesterday in rehearsal. I couldn't get the smoke out of my head, how I had to learn to control it for Skill Management, for theater. It had taken over my life.

"Oliver?" I asked him quietly. He turned towards me.
"Yep?" He asked back.
"How often," I closed my mouth, thinking, reluctant to ask, "do you have to use your powers?" My eyes met his for a second before I looked away.

"Oh, uh," he responded. He talked about powers like they were normal. Everyone did. But when it was his turn to talk about his own, he didn't want to. "A lot, actually. For skill management you have to do one-on-one sessions, so I have to use it then. In theater we have to control it..." he trailed off from his listing, and looked back at me. "Is that what this is about? I've seen you using your power in theater. You always seem..." my face reddened at the mention of myself, of my smoke. "Nervous?" He finished, staring at me until I nodded.

"You don't have to be. I know I'm uncomfortable talking about my power, but you shouldn't be about yours." He said. I could feel the rumble of the bus underneath us. I could feel the heat in my skin, in my stomach.

"It seems like a lot of the classes are just for developing your powers." I said, changing the subject slightly, uncomfortable. He looked at me for another long second, probably trying to see what I was thinking.

"Yep, well, that's what this school is for." He shrugged. There was a pause, us sitting in silence as the rest of the bus talked, seats shook, air circulating. "Do you want to hang out? I could help you with Skill Management again, with your power." He offered.

"Uh..." I thought, not really sure. But when I looked at those books, I had really wanted to practice, had really wanted to confide in someone. "When?" I asked. There was another moment of a pause until he responded again.

"How's tomorrow? After school, your house?" He asked, looking at me, running a hand through his hair.

"Sure." I smiled, and he smiled back.