Unsung

Chapter Eighteen

"And then we went into this room that was soundproof and the instructor, named Lauren, led us in a group meditation," I said. "They had this totally weird, froo-froo, hoo-do music on in the background, which made the whole thing feel kind of hokey. And I kept opening my eyes to see if anyone was watching me, but they weren't. Then Lauren would give us suggestions on things to envision, like our thoughts floating by on clouds and stuff, which helped, but it was still sort of hard to forget that I was sitting in a dark room with a bunch of kids my age, breathing funny and picturing things that weren't there. I kept thinking someone was going to jump out at me. Did you know that meditation isn't about just shutting off your mind, but focusing on what your mind is trying to tell you instead? It's all very new-agey, but still kind of cool."

Since stumbling inside the house that evening, I'd been regaling my parents with stories about my first day at the Cain Institute. I described the facility and all the different stations and types of training they had to offer. I gave them the run-down of all the other kids I'd met (leaving out the part about how cute Garrick was, and how sketchy Ris had been). I'd even tried recreating the speech Cain had given us, but was pretty sure I'd botched it.

Then, I'd finally shoved all the papers the front desk girl had given me, into their confused hands, which explained what the program was about, what was required of me to attend and included all the waivers—and to my dismay, an obscenely large amount of wordage like "dismemberment" "paralyzed" and "sudden death"—that had to be filled out before I could attend my next session. Which, I informed them, would be the following day if I decided to join.

"I did know that about meditation, actually," my mom answered. "In fact—"

"Seriously, you won't believe what the other kids can do!" I continued excitedly, cutting her off. "I looked up this one time during the meditation and could see people doing these crazy tricks on the floor. Leaping and flipping and catching stuff mid-air. It was way more complicated than what you see at the Olympics. And it was like, no big deal to them! They were all, la-di-da, and going about their classes. And Cain says that we can all be like that."

"And Cain is the founder of the school?" my dad asked, his face scrunched up like he was trying to keep everything straight. "I'm surprised that he has time to watch your classes. I can barely get our Dean to meet with the department once a year, let alone get her to meet new students."

"Cain's just cool like that," I said, shoving a handful of chips in my mouth. "You know, he's like Michael Jackson."

"What?" my parents both asked, confused.

"He's all 'I believe the children are our future' and stuff," I said.

"Oh," my mom said, sounding relieved.

"He says everyone has the power to be a hero, we just have to want it," I continued.

"And do you?" my mom asked. The elation in her voice was apparent, even though I could tell she was trying so hard to contain it. I was fully aware that by joining the hero school, I would also be fulfilling one of her wishes for me to actually interact with my peers. So, in a way, we'd both be getting what we wanted.

So, why was I finding it hard to answer her question?

"I...think I do," I said finally, choosing my words carefully. It was hard to explain exactly how I was feeling to my parents when I wasn't even sure what it was myself. But my folks had always been good sounding boards in the past, so I was willing to try and work through things with them. Or at least think out loud while they were in the room.

"It's just that...all those things they do; they're fun to watch, sure, but when it actually comes down to me doing them?" I made a face. "The flips, the tricks, the fighting, I'm just not sure I can do it."