*all rights to the original author*
There were advantages to being in ice queen mode again. For instance, Celine’s nasty looks no longer invoked door-destroying emotional outbursts. The painfully delicious make-out dreams about Lauren finally stopped haunting my sleep. And when the obnoxious reporter that used to stalk me in Illinois showed up in the parking lot after school Friday, I managed not to have a complete mental breakdown in front of everyone. Barely, but I managed.
I’d just come down the front steps of the school, headed for the parking lot, and I stopped dead in my tracks when he spoke. "Camila," he called in a low, urgent tone.
The voice came from behind me, but I knew without looking that it was Dave Carter, tabloid journalist extraordinaire and the majority of the reason my family had had to flee cross-country to California.
My blood immediately boiled, and I whirled around to face him, half tempted to zap him accidentally on purpose. When I tensed up, about to explode, he held his hands up defensively. "Now, hold on! Don’t go overreacting, Camila. This is not what you think. We need to talk."
"The only thing we need is a restraining order."
"Camila, about the accident you were recently involved in, you—"
"Check the police reports. I wasn’t involved."
"I have checked the police reports, and your name comes up quite a bit."
"If you’re looking for a story, you should ask the people that were involved."
"I’m not here for a story this time."
"Ha!"
I walked away, not about to give this creep the time of day, but as I turned my back on him he said,
"I know the truth, Camila. I know the toxic waste changed you." My blood froze in my veins, making it impossible for me to take another step. Never in all those countless articles he wrote back in Illinois had he ever once come even close to the truth. Oh, he knew every intimate detail of my life, down to the brand of toothpaste I preferred and my weakness for reality TV. But he’d never even hinted at the idea of my powers.
When I stopped walking, Carter immediately started in again. "The gardener in Monday’s accident claims he watched that sign smash you, and that you just pushed it off two seconds later. There was also some unexplained damage to the marquee. A mysterious dent just about the size of, well, you. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out."
I turned back around and glared at him. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," I said. I’d meant to sound fierce, but my statement came out in a whisper.
"If you want people to believe you’re just a normal kid, you really should stop miraculously walking away from accidents. You shouldn’t be so sloppy."
Okay, he was totally right about that. It was sloppy. And he was spot-on about my powers too. But clearly he had no solid proof. He wouldn’t be here hounding me if he did. So I took the route that every superhero takes. I called him crazy. And why not? To anyone but me, what he was saying was crazy.
"You’re insane," I said with a hard laugh. "You followed me all the way here just to accuse me of what?
Having superpowers? Was homicidal ex-girlfriend not enough? Am I the Incredible Hulk now?
"You can deny it all you want. But that doesn’t make the evidence any less true."
"You call that evidence? A mangled sign and one eyewitness who was in shock from nearly being a sumo pancake? That’s pretty thin, even for you. Go ahead and print your stupid theory. It’s not like anyone will believe it anyway, since it will be smushed in between a story about an alien abduction and a baby born with three heads."
