The Unspeakable

Chapter Eight

(Sam's Point Of View)

I thought things couldn't get any worse and that was even before Rachel walked out of the hospital with that weasel faced know-it-all Kenny from the Unspeakable Compound.

Brady led me out the double doors; I could barely stand on my own from the pain in my head. An ice pack wouldn't do much for me, but it still would be comforting to put something on my head to cover the nasty bruise. We walk over to the curb, right where the parking lot is and Brady helps me sit.

The sun is blazing hot today, which means I have to conserve my powers. It's tough using my energy to make ice when it's hot outside, trust me. I don't understand how I do it either, or why my power doesn't work well in the heat, but that's just how it is. Everything about being an Unspeakable is confusing.

"You alright?" Brady asks, with a worried look on his face.

I nod, running a hand through my hair, I wish I hadn't left my hat at their house, it was something I could twist when I got agitated, "Yeah, it's just my head."

"What happened anyways?" he asked, "Rachel and I totally missed it."

I feel my face grow red, it's embarrassing enough that I got knocked out when they needed me most, but telling the story only puts it fresh in my mind again, "I tripped when we were running," I sigh, "and my head hit on the base of this tree, and it hurts like hell right now."

Brady laughs, "Dude a tree knocked you out, sorry but that's pretty funny."

I squint in the sun and crack a smile, "I guess, but if it were you I don't think you'd be laughing."

"Probably not," he laughs, taking off the backpack he's been carrying for hours, already it has mud and leaves caked onto the bottom and sides, "Man have you noticed how bad we smell?" he asks, "Especially you."

"Me?" I ask, pulling my tank top up to my nose and sniffing it, I shrug, "Not really."

Brady gags, "How can you not smell yourself? When was the last time you showered?"

I shrug again, "It's been awhile, maybe a week or two ago?"

"I believe that," Brady mutters, rummaging through the bag, "here," he says pulling out a clean purple shirt with some bright green logo in the middle, "wear this, it's clean."

I take the soft shirt cautiously, "But I like this shirt," I protest.

"Yeah well- I don't, know change," Brady orders.

I glare at him but set the shirt down and take my tank top off, "What should do with this then?" I ask sarcastically.

"My advice?" he answers, "Throw it in that trash bin and run away."

I smirk, "I bet I can make that shot from here."

"Ha," Brady scoffs, "you'll miss."

I raise an eyebrow, "Is that a challenge?"

Brady snickers, "Sure, if you make it I'll buy you a candy bar or something, but if you miss you have to buy me whatever the hell I want."

"Don't curse," I scold lightly, "you're like fourteen, that's not good."

Brady laughs, "Thanks dad, but I'm fine, now deal or no deal."

"Deal," I smirk, shaking his hand, "and you're item if I lose has to be under five dollars."

"Fine," he sighs, "just shoot already, Rachel will be out any minute."

I concentrate on the balled up shirt, willing my hands to withdraw the heat from the material, in less then ten seconds I'm holding a sleek ball of ice with the shirt still tucked up in the middle.