Clearer (J.HALE)

18

"Right," I said slowly. "So, if I scream when I feel hurt or angry, I can break shit. What if I just scream normally?"

"You'll get a noise complaint."

"Ha, ha," I said, dryly. "I'm serious. I want to know about this stuff."

Aunt Meg stepped away from the kitchen counter, wafting the large knife she'd been using to dice onions around in a concerningly nonchalant manner. "I told you, it's based on emotions. If you can learn how to harness your emotion, then you might be able to gain a little control over when you can access that kind of power."

I groaned and flung myself down onto the sofa, immediately regretting it as the ache in my lower back flared up into a sharp stab. "I don't have time for a superhero, personal growth and resilience training story arc, Meg."

"You don't have to do that," she sighed. "In fact, I'd encourage that you flip that on its head. Learn to realise when you're in danger of lashing out and subdue it."

I raised an eyebrow at her. "How long have you been a Jedi master?"

She swished the knife through the air and held it diagonally. "Since the dawn of time, young Padawan."

I snorted out a laugh.

Laying on my back, my belly was starting to look like a little mountain. All of my big jumpers were too warm for the hot flashes, and none of my jeans fit me anymore. I existed perpetually in sweatpants and Meg's painting shirts, which were still a little stretched around my stomach.

"Can we do anything else?" I mused.

"Like what?"

"I don't know," I huffed. "Sometimes in stories, Sirens can, like, hypnotise people with singing."

Meg threw her head back in a cackling laugh. "I've heard you in the shower. That power definitely skipped you."

"Hey!"

"As far as I'm aware," she said, still giggling, "there are these chants—incantations, sort of—that I heard my father use whenever he needed to succeed at something. It wasn't really magic or anything, just..." She tilted her head to the side as she searched for the right wording. "...well-wishing."

I pushed myself up onto my elbows, intrigued. "Do you know these chants?"

"Vaguely," she said, dropping the diced onions into a sizzling pan. "He had a book of them, actually. It's in the attic, somewhere."

"Huh. Cool."

"Honestly, Im," she said, "we're not that cool."

I pouted.

Jasper was really starting to get on my nerves.

He'd done a complete one-eighty. Any excuse to accidentally touch my hand, brush at my waist as he walked past me, lean over my shoulder to pick up the textbook, he took it. It was never overt, though. He was perfectly cordial in his mannerisms, not changing his teaching technique one fraction, but for some reason, whatever he did, I could not concentrate.

I blamed the baby hormones.

"Emily invited us over after dinner," Meg said, tugging me out of my train of thought. "Sam's out with the boys tonight so she thought we could have a cosy night in."

I smiled, a little surprised that I got an invite. "That sounds like fun. Nice of her to include me."

"Oh, come on," Meg said. "She loves you. Thinks you're a refreshing break from all the squabbling and testosterone."