The School for 'Special' People

        I gaze down upon the small slip of paper Margaret had given to me before she left. "If you ever need to seek refuge," she had said, "go here." Now, standing in front of this huge, ominous building with all the shutters closed, I am beginning to think she has finally gone crazy. I look down at the paper to make sure I am at the right adress, but a gust of wind tears it from my grasp. No way am I going to spend another night alone, so I open the door. 

        My name is Evangeline Smith, or just plain Eva. I go to Westbrook High with my sister: Margaret Smith. We live at the orphanage. Which orphanage? you may ask. Its the only one in the small town of Dillion, Colorado. My parents died shortly after I was born, or so I was told, and when Margaret was only three. We live a pretty normal life, as far as normal gets with me. Ever hear the saying, no reward comes without a price. Well, you could say it was almost the other way around for us. Our parents died, we've been running around the country since I was old enough to walk and talk, and suddenly BOOM! I learn I have telekinesis. Yes, unfortunately you heard me right, telekinesis. I developed my telekinesis around the age seven, and thats partially why we've had to runaway from so many foster homes and orphanages and whatnot. The social workers always find us, however, and thats how we ended up here.

        Margaret is seventeen, roughly three years older than me, and is the best companion I could ever wish for. She has helped me train and prepare over the years for when the worst comes, and I have a feeling it will soon. Without her, I probably wouldnt have mastered my telekinesis by now, or even at all. Even though she has no "superpowers" so to speak, her strenght and agility is way above average. I'm jealous that she still remembers so much about what mom and dad are like, but we never talk much as its such a touchy subject. According to her, Mom died upon giving birth to me. Dad on the other hand, was so shaken with greif that he died several days later. 

        It all started on September 16th, the day Margaret left, and the day my life took a huge turn. We were walking to school with the other girls from the orphanage. There were boys too, but because the town was so small, there were only five or so boys and girls who were in High School, much less other ages as well. We didn't have any friends to hang out with at school. When we first arrived, being socialy active was not my first priority. Looking back on it now, I finally see why I will never make that mistake again. 

       As we enter the front doors together, everyone's eyes swivel towards us, but we keep walking. This is where Margaret and I part ways; her locker is on the second floor, while mine is on the bottom. I allow myself to be dragged on with the flow of students, heading left, then right, then right again. Once my locker comes into in view, I break free and cut across several students. A few people give me annoyed looks, like they can't believe a Freshman is actually cutting them. The throng of people eventually begins to thin out as classes are now in session. Suddenly, someone slams my locker door shut, jolting me out of my thoughts and causing me to jump backwards onto someone's foot. They mutter an insult that I can't make out and kept walking. I turned to go back to my locker, but a snobby sophomore named Ysabel thrusts her face into mine. 

        "What are you doing Fresh?" 

        I swallowed nervously, "Um--"

        "Mmhmm, thats what I thought." she says, "Eew! What is with your hair. Do you ever bother to brush it in the morning? Maybe if you roll around in some mud it'll look prettier." A few snickers break out among the remaining students hurrying to class. 

        A surge of adrenilane and rage courses through my veins. She has no idea what I could do to her if I want. On the other hand, If I do cause a scene, Margaret will never hear the end of it. Besides, I never know how to respond to their insults, and nothing ashames me more. I brush past her and head off to class, my heart racing uncontrollably. 

        "Maybe you should join the track team, with all that running you do!" I hear behind me. More snickers.

        Tears threaten to surface but I clench my fists and hurry off. The bell has already rung and the halls are empty. My class is room 216, in the math wing. I peek inside to find everyone taking their seats. With a flush of relief, I enter and make to sit in my usual spot at the back of the room. 

        "Ms. Smith!" my teacher, Mrs. Jones, says, freezing me in my tracks. "I will not have another tardy from you. Front row." 

        Muttering curse words under my breath, I slide into my new seat. She begins instructing us on how to correctly fill out our scantron--like I havn't heard that a million times before--and occaisionally glaring pointedly in my direction. I ignore her. For the whole period, I simply stare at my test. A few spitballs come flying and hit me in the head. I have no doubt about what some others are doing with their tests. When the bell rings, I get up and throw my test in the trash. I'm also the first one out the door.

        " How'd the test go?" Margaret asks when we sit down at a picnic bench together.

        "Mhhmm? Oh, yeah, it was alright." I try to say casually. I sense that she knows something is up, but is smart enough not to mention it.

        "You have something in your hair." she says, pointing at the back of my head."Here, I got it." she hands me a spitball. I turn away so she can't read my expression.

        We walk home that day, a little farther back from the group, in total silence. Margaret seems a little flustered and uneasy, occaisionally glancing over her shoulder. The woods to our right are eerily quiet as well. Meanwhile, the people ahead of us are goofing off and shoving each other into the street, recieving some well earned honks of annoyance.

        Margaret doesn't say anything that night, and we eat dinner in silence. I have never seen her like this before, and it scares me. I lie awake for hours, staring at the silver moon slowly rising over the treetops in the distance.