No Strings Attached

Chapter 22: Unwanted Attention

Like a wild herd of African antelopes galloping the rocky terrain, the garbage truck charged towards the girl in white.

Its wheels burned against the dark gray concrete, smoke coughed from the rusty exhaust pipes, and I couldn't see the driver inside.

Horrified, I shouted at the girl, but she is distracted by the birds flying above her head.

Her hands clutched the bright pink handlebars and her feet resting against the neon purple bike pedals.

But even though the garbage truck quickened its pace, the girl paid no attention to the vehicle.

"Jesus Christ, " I moaned again, dropping my bag on the sidewalk.

I knew exposing myself is a bad idea, but the last thing I want is the little girl getting hurt. So quickly, I dashed over to the perilous road and selflessly jumped in front of her.

As the garbage truck drew near, I widen my gaze at the monster vehicle then watch as its quickened pace shift into a casual stroll.

Though the truck stopped, my headaches suddenly returned causing me to sway a little.

"Ungh, " I groaned massaging my throbbing forehead.

If this keeps appearing every time I activate my powers, I fear my brain would explode.

Amazed, the little girl hopped down from her bike then asked in wonder: "How did you do that?"

Turning to meet her face, I didn't answer the kid's question. Instead, I checked to see if the girl needs medical attention.

"You okay?" I ask, kneeling in front of her.

"Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

The girl nodded in a blissful manner.

"Then what the hell were you thinking?" I screamed. "You could have gotten hurt!"

Distraught, the little African-American girl stares at her white shoes then mumbled, "I'm sorry."

"Don't do that," I advised staring at her directly. "Not to me, or to your parents. Got it?"

The girl bobs her head once more. "Yes, ma'am."

I stare at the child's big brown eyes then sighed.

"Who could blame her?" I think to myself.

"The girl probably doesn't know."

Besides, she's a kid-not some reckless teenager.

Carefully wiping her tears, I instructed: "Alright, make sure you get home on time, or your mom will call the SWAT team."

In an instant, the girl's guilty frown is replaced by an innocent smile.

"Okay." she beams cheerfully.

I smile. "Okay."

Giggling, the little girl thanked me, climbed onto her bike, and pedaled right past the garbage truck, which mutely drove away in silence.

As soon as the incident ended, I calmly retreated back to the sidewalk, picked up my bag, and resume my journey to the Manhattan Arts Academy.

Strolling past markets and attractive venues, I shuffled back and forth to allow the busy Manhattanites through.

In the meantime, I can feel the sun brushing its scorching light against my dark chocolate skin.

Stinky sweat rained down on my forehead as I tried to navigate my way in the bustling city.