True Blood
Introduction
There he sat. True, it was more than a hundred yards away from me, and about fifty other students stood between us, but I felt him there like a white-hot wire wrapped around my brain. I could probably find him easily in a crowded room whilst wearing a blindfold. That’s how easy it was to notice his presence. I can always tell when he’s there because the constant noise that crashes around in my head dims when he’s near.
I’m a telepath. It’s more than likely that I have been since I was born, but don’t tell anyone. My parents and brother are the only ones who know, and they figured it out when I was six when I read my mom’s mind about our money trouble. They were scared for me at first, but countless doctors and years later, here I stand, unscathed, so they don’t worry as much now. Their main concern now is that I’ll lose it someday at school and get abducted by scientists.
They’ve got a good reason. Imagine waking up at five in the morning because your family is dreaming. I lie in bed every morning, forcing a mental block up in my head to keep out of their minds until six thirty. By then the dreams are ending, so I get up and dress before heading to school. I take the bus, which isn’t too bad yet. Half of the kids are semi-dormant, so their stream of conscience isn’t very active, the only person I have to work hard to keep out is the driver. From when I get to school to when I go to sleep, I can hear the thoughts of hundreds of people. During tests, in the bathroom, in the hallways, during the announcements, it never stops. On my good days I can block a lot of it out, concentrate hard on my work and ignore people. That’s why I don’t have any legitimate friends. I know a couple of people in each of my classes, but the contact ends outside of the classroom. I don’t really need friends, though, when I can hear the thoughts of that many people at once.
Back to the boy. He’s clear at the other end of the long cement hallway, on the other side of the rushing groups of students in between us. He’s just standing there, staring right back at me. I can’t see his eyes and I can’t clearly read his face. His hair is covering half of his face like it always does. He’s wearing those loose dark blue jeans and the same black jacket as always.
I can’t move whenever he’s around. I’m almost positive that he knows I watch him, but he’s never asked me to stop, so why lose the peaceful quiet I get when he’s around? In a blink, he’s gone and the noise comes cascading in again. I sigh, hike my backpack strap higher up on my shoulder and turn into the hallway lined with classes on my left.
In case you’re wondering why I don’t just listen to music twenty four seven, there’s a good reason. Listening to music just adds to the cacophony. Don’t get me wrong; I do like music. From the Beatles to the Offspring and everything in between. It’s just that the voices get louder with the music’s volume. So thanks for the suggestion.
In the classroom, the number of voices is narrowed but the volume is increased. I quickly shuffle to my isolated seat in the back of the class. It’s easier to block the thoughts out back here, but it’s a double-edged sword; I can hear practically nothing from way back here.
Having said so, my teacher’s words to the class were completely drowned out by the after-lunch high my classmates’ thoughts were on. My eyebrows shot up with the rest of my head as the thoughts died down. Unless everyone had suddenly died –which they hadn’t- there was only one way it could be so quiet for me. He was there, standing in the doorway, big black binder tucked under one arm with a red slip in his other hand. I did what I always did and stared at him as the teacher click clacked over to him in her high heels, snatching the slip out of his hand. She pointed at the desk next to me and told him to sit down.
My eyes followed him as he walked down the row of chairs, back straight and jaw set. The room was silent as he sat down quietly, deftly opening his binder to the science tab. The teacher clapped her hands, scaring the rest of the class half to death. At least, everyone except for me and the boy, who looked like he was watching the teacher. He looked intimidating, back still straight, facing forward, feet on the floor. Whereas I was slouched in my seat, feet on the book tray of the seat in front of me, watching him.
I straightened up a little bit and paid the teacher some attention for once, seeing as I could actually hear her. She was talking about dimensional analysis. Solid. Possibly the only day I’ll be able to hear her meek voice, and she’s squeaking about something I already know.
“Excuse me.” His deep voice softly bloomed next to me. I looked over at him. He had brushed a little bit of the hair out of his face to reveal clear brown eyes looking straight at me. “Do you have a pen I could borrow?”
I nodded, pulled one out of my backpack and handed it to him. He smiled a little as he thanked me, then turned back to the teacher. Now her pen was squeaking against the whiteboard as she showed the others what to do. He sat there, pen ready, just staring at her.
He didn’t write one thing the whole fifty-five minutes, hadn’t so much as set the pen down. I know because I was watching him like a freaking creep. He must have noticed I was, but didn’t acknowledge the fact. When the rest of the students started packing up, he shut his binder ant turned to me.
“Thank you again.”
I stuck my pen in my backpack and looked up to talk to him again, but he was gone. The voices started flooding in again, almost making me cry. It had been the best fifty-five minutes of my week so far, and it had come to a screeching halt. Gathering my emotions and my bag, I trudged out of class and down to Gym.
I’m a telepath. It’s more than likely that I have been since I was born, but don’t tell anyone. My parents and brother are the only ones who know, and they figured it out when I was six when I read my mom’s mind about our money trouble. They were scared for me at first, but countless doctors and years later, here I stand, unscathed, so they don’t worry as much now. Their main concern now is that I’ll lose it someday at school and get abducted by scientists.
They’ve got a good reason. Imagine waking up at five in the morning because your family is dreaming. I lie in bed every morning, forcing a mental block up in my head to keep out of their minds until six thirty. By then the dreams are ending, so I get up and dress before heading to school. I take the bus, which isn’t too bad yet. Half of the kids are semi-dormant, so their stream of conscience isn’t very active, the only person I have to work hard to keep out is the driver. From when I get to school to when I go to sleep, I can hear the thoughts of hundreds of people. During tests, in the bathroom, in the hallways, during the announcements, it never stops. On my good days I can block a lot of it out, concentrate hard on my work and ignore people. That’s why I don’t have any legitimate friends. I know a couple of people in each of my classes, but the contact ends outside of the classroom. I don’t really need friends, though, when I can hear the thoughts of that many people at once.
Back to the boy. He’s clear at the other end of the long cement hallway, on the other side of the rushing groups of students in between us. He’s just standing there, staring right back at me. I can’t see his eyes and I can’t clearly read his face. His hair is covering half of his face like it always does. He’s wearing those loose dark blue jeans and the same black jacket as always.
I can’t move whenever he’s around. I’m almost positive that he knows I watch him, but he’s never asked me to stop, so why lose the peaceful quiet I get when he’s around? In a blink, he’s gone and the noise comes cascading in again. I sigh, hike my backpack strap higher up on my shoulder and turn into the hallway lined with classes on my left.
In case you’re wondering why I don’t just listen to music twenty four seven, there’s a good reason. Listening to music just adds to the cacophony. Don’t get me wrong; I do like music. From the Beatles to the Offspring and everything in between. It’s just that the voices get louder with the music’s volume. So thanks for the suggestion.
In the classroom, the number of voices is narrowed but the volume is increased. I quickly shuffle to my isolated seat in the back of the class. It’s easier to block the thoughts out back here, but it’s a double-edged sword; I can hear practically nothing from way back here.
Having said so, my teacher’s words to the class were completely drowned out by the after-lunch high my classmates’ thoughts were on. My eyebrows shot up with the rest of my head as the thoughts died down. Unless everyone had suddenly died –which they hadn’t- there was only one way it could be so quiet for me. He was there, standing in the doorway, big black binder tucked under one arm with a red slip in his other hand. I did what I always did and stared at him as the teacher click clacked over to him in her high heels, snatching the slip out of his hand. She pointed at the desk next to me and told him to sit down.
My eyes followed him as he walked down the row of chairs, back straight and jaw set. The room was silent as he sat down quietly, deftly opening his binder to the science tab. The teacher clapped her hands, scaring the rest of the class half to death. At least, everyone except for me and the boy, who looked like he was watching the teacher. He looked intimidating, back still straight, facing forward, feet on the floor. Whereas I was slouched in my seat, feet on the book tray of the seat in front of me, watching him.
I straightened up a little bit and paid the teacher some attention for once, seeing as I could actually hear her. She was talking about dimensional analysis. Solid. Possibly the only day I’ll be able to hear her meek voice, and she’s squeaking about something I already know.
“Excuse me.” His deep voice softly bloomed next to me. I looked over at him. He had brushed a little bit of the hair out of his face to reveal clear brown eyes looking straight at me. “Do you have a pen I could borrow?”
I nodded, pulled one out of my backpack and handed it to him. He smiled a little as he thanked me, then turned back to the teacher. Now her pen was squeaking against the whiteboard as she showed the others what to do. He sat there, pen ready, just staring at her.
He didn’t write one thing the whole fifty-five minutes, hadn’t so much as set the pen down. I know because I was watching him like a freaking creep. He must have noticed I was, but didn’t acknowledge the fact. When the rest of the students started packing up, he shut his binder ant turned to me.
“Thank you again.”
I stuck my pen in my backpack and looked up to talk to him again, but he was gone. The voices started flooding in again, almost making me cry. It had been the best fifty-five minutes of my week so far, and it had come to a screeching halt. Gathering my emotions and my bag, I trudged out of class and down to Gym.