Primed: A Kayla Madison Story

Primed Part 1

CHAPTER ONE: FREAKY STRONG BIRD (part 1)

For someone like me who burned, peeled, and freckled in the time it took most people to say the alphabet backwards, one might think I'd avoid sitting outside during lunchtime. However, when the lunch bell rang, I always rushed to the school's courtyard.

Not because of the potential for severe sunburns.

Not because of facing certain scrutiny by the upper echelon of the student body.

And certainly not for the onslaught of terrible garage bands who "entertained" us.

It was because of the guys who played volleyball on the makeshift court.

Not that I was brave enough to talk to them.

A couple of senior guys stretched and warmed-up. A freshman checked the air in the volleyball. More students filed onto the patio and grabbed available benches and tables.

My phone beeped. I searched my chaotic backpack. I preferred to think of my old, small phone as "retro" and not because my mom claimed a new phone was, "totally unnecessary when I already had a reliable one." The phone beeped again, and I finally found it crammed between the pages of my lab notebook.

I squinted in the sunshine and read Sophia's text—a five-paragraph essay with proper punctuation about why she had to stop by her locker. I was surprised she hadn't written it in Latin. As long as my phone was out, I took a quick video of the courtyard since the band was decent.

I placed my phone on the bench and took a bite of my sandwich.

A squawking seagull swooped down, grabbed my phone and flew away.

"Hey!" I dropped everything and ran after the bird.

The freaky-strong bird dodged palm trees and flew through a narrow passageway away from the main courtyard, between the outer ring of classrooms, and toward the street.

I followed as fast as I could, hoping my great bird-chase-scene wouldn't end up on YouTube and wipe out the exceedingly small amount of social acceptance I had.

My foot hit a small crack in the sidewalk.

My body was catapulted into the air—arms flailing, heart racing—somehow in the brief instance I still knew my unfortunate acrobatics would not end well. And, yes, I face-planted onto the grass.

My cheeks heated up and part of me wanted to stay put, hoping the grass would grow quickly over me and shield me from embarrassment. Alas, I couldn't remain there all day. I slowly pushed myself up and was relieved—or should I be concerned—no one had followed me out toward the street. In fact, the whole block was free of people.

The seagull settled on the gigantic planted palm tree across the street and dropped my precious old phone on the very top, squawked, and flew off.

"Oh, come on, Bird. Really?"

I dusted myself off. My shirt was covered in grass stains and a certain je-ne-sais-quoi of goo. I didn't want to find out what that was. A quick glance around reassured me my fumble was hidden from the courtyard by the building.

As I pondered whether my phone insurance plan would cover wayward bird thefts, a black figure whooshed behind the monster-sized planter then vanished, leaving the concrete container quaking in its spot.

My heart fell.

I'd gone for months without the feeling of being watched. I was finally feeling normal...or normal-ish. But here I was again, feeling something or someone was watching me. Birds were one thing, but hallucinations were another.